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Over the course of nearly 30 years Ryan Murphy has built a formidable television empire through weaponizing two of Hollywood’s hottest commodities: twinks and nepotism. These have proven time and time again to be double-edged swords, for every Emmy-award winner there must be an “All’s Fair” to balance the scales and prove that not every celebrity offspring or Instagram model is entitled to their piece of miniseries pie. However, with FX’s “The Shards”, Murphy may have finally found his one true muse. This time his inspiration doesn’t wear the face of a Kardashian, nor does it come in the form of a young man who looks like he was plucked straight from a 20-year-old Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue; this time Murphy’s muse wears the face of one of Generation X’s most notorious voices: Bret Easton Ellis.
“The Shards” adapts Ellis’ 2023 novel of the same name, following a semi-autographical recounting of his last year at a lavish Hollywood Hills prep school in 1981 as an epidemic of serial killers begins to seize the West Coast. Igby Rigney plays a fictionalized version of Ellis, whose position within a closely-knit friend group consisting of the children of the rich and famous is threatened by the sudden presence of a mysterious transfer student. At the same time, a string of brutal murders targeting the student body begins to push danger closer and closer to Bret and his friends, unraveling all of their secrets and threatening to violently upend the fragile fabric of Los Angeles’ high society.
Though a lot of the drier, more adult depth of Ellis’ writing is sacrificed to transform his novel into more Riverdale-ian fare, the combined talents of Murphy and Ellis manage to mesh Gen X camp sensibilities with trashy teen drama in a way that still maintains the snarky heart of Ellis’ work. The melding of Ellis class criticism and Murphy’s cartoonish camp creates something that feels like Whit Stillman by way of the CW. Murphy’s Achilles heel of filling his projects with nepobabies elevates this material in the places where it usually detracts, adding an extra layer to commentary on the normalized abandonment of Hollywood’s kids. Rigney’s Bret feels all the more adrift in the sea of perms and Peruvian marching powder when surrounded by performers like Kaia Gerber and Homer Gere, cementing him as an insider’s outsider in more ways than one and satirizing the vapid incestuousness of the class both the characters and their portrayers come from. Though the entire main cast succeeds at nailing Ellis’ yuppie cattiness, Rigney earns his keep not just by nailing the author’s mannerisms to a tee, but through humanizing his gaze in a way that Ellis makes intentionally difficult.
The trouble with “The Shards” comes not from its vapidity, but from its restraint. Ellis originally intended for the series to be an HBO production before moving to FX following creative differences, and despite the carryover of notable HBO writers such as Juli Weiner, it’s clear a lot was lost in translation. There’s an identity crisis at the heart of “The Shards” that begins to set in about halfway through its length, marked by what is unfortunately the best episode of the season. Episode five, titled “Murder on the Dancefloor,” pauses the anxieties of missing children and murderous cults to bring Bret and friends on “Dance Off!,” an American Bandstand-esque show where Hollywood’s teens dance to the top pop hits of 1981 in competition for the title of “Groover of the Week.” The episode brings with it a noticeable tonal turn away from the dry class satire of Ellis’ source material, and it’s here that the series begins to lose its way. Episodes six through nine are enjoyable, but there’s a certain bite missing from them that feels like a far cry from the Ellis-penned episodes earlier within the season. In addition, the lack of onscreen sex and violence undercuts the danger supposedly invited in by the neglect of the wealthy, and makes the looming spectre of the AIDs crisis (which drives a significant amount of angst around Bret’s sexual identity in the novel) a non-issue. What should be “Cruel Intentions” meets “Cruising” begins to air on the dangerously tame side of “90210,” clashing with the sharp edges of Ellis’ world.
Despite its lack of tonal clarity, “The Shards” never fully falls victim to the worst crime a TV show can commit: the cardinal sin of boring. Ryan Murphy and Bret Easton Ellis are both masters of distraction, and any time the show can feel itself slipping away, stylistic choices like having characters recite Shakespearean monologues for no reason, or fantasize an elaborate murder simply to exercise an oppressed rage, are quickly employed to slap you back into your seat. Its visual flair is also noticeably worthy of applause, Murphy borrows tricks from “Euphoria” to bring a warm vintage glow to every shot, texturizing where so many TV period pieces refuse to. There seems to be a painstaking level of attention put towards set decoration and costume design as well, ensuring no anachronisms that aren’t purposeful pull you from the mirage of 1980s chaos.
Whether you want it to or not, “The Shards” does seem dead set on swallowing its audience whole. It toes the line of exploitation without provoking so much as to scare away the kids who’ve never heard of Ellis, and yet leaves enough of his signature meanness to still give viewers with fully developed brains something to gnaw on. However, it’s hard to say whether “something for everyone” is what a Bret Easton Ellis adaptation should bring to the table. Though Murphy mentions potentially wanting the show to continue for “three or four years” in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter, critical consensus following a season finale that leaves most questions still unanswered is resoundingly tepid. But, both Ellis and Murphy have never been one to live or die at the mercy of critics, so at the moment any future “The Shards” might have must remain ambiguous. After all, a season finale is not an exit.
Elijah Fischer is a senior majoring in English with minors in Journalism and Film Criticism. He can be reached via email at Af997636@wcupa.