Netflix Is Once Again in a “See What Sticks” Moment
On “Everybody’s in LA,” plus Billie Eilish and more
Everybody’s in LA
Literally no one should have been surprised that Everybody’s in LA was good.
It would have been understandable, to some extent, to be broadly surprised by what it was. After all, before the first episode premiered on May 3, little was revealed ahead of time about what this thing would be.
We knew it would be on Netflix. We knew it would be live and presented by the comedian John Mulaney, and that it would run for just six episodes between May 3 and May 10. We knew it would be about Los Angeles.
Everybody’s in LA, it turns out, was essentially just a limited-run talk show, featuring all the classic talk show segments: a funny monologue, talks with guest celebrities, pre-filmed sketch comedy. Each episode loosely centered around a theme relating to LA. (Emphasis on “loosely.”)
Because it was hosted by John Mulaney, Everybody’s in LA was admittedly a bit more chaotic than the average talk show. Some of the interviews veered off the rails, there was a recurring bit about a food delivery robot, and one night everyone was wearing sunglasses the whole time, for no other reason than “it’s sunglasses night.” The final night, Nikki Glaser told Mulaney the show is “like an inside joke that only you are in on.”
It’s fair, then, to be a bit surprised by the content of Everybody’s in LA. But seemingly everyone—critics and the general public alike—seemed surprised that it was good.
They shouldn’t have been, for a couple reasons.
The first is the Netflix element. And to understand that, you have to understand how weird of a moment Netflix finds itself in right now. The streamer made the decision last year to get into live programming, a move that makes sense for a company trying to make every form of content imaginable.
The thing about live programming, though, is that we don’t really know definitively what kinds of livestreamed content are most effective at getting people to watch (other than sports, of course, which Netflix is also getting into by streaming two NFL games on Christmas). And unlike most other major streamers, Netflix doesn’t have an existing live service to pull content from.
That means Netflix, by both necessity and privilege, is very much in a “throw everything at the wall and see what sticks” moment in its live programming. Since starting out with a safe-ish bet—a Chris Rock comedy special—last March, Netflix has livestreamed baby animals at the Cleveland zoo, a joke golf tournament, an awards show, a not-joke exhibition tennis match and a roast of Tom Brady.
To be clear, Netflix has been in a similar moment before, when the streamer decided it wanted to flood the zone with original content, and in doing so accelerated the “content arms race” of the 2010s. What we learned then, as we’re seeing now, is that in a “see what sticks” moment, the streamer is inclined to give the creators of the work it programs an incredible amount of artistic liberty (and, often, an incredible amount of money).
Of course, that strategy inherently means you’ll end up with a mixed bag, in terms of viewership and critical appraisal. For every breakout series and movie Netflix made in the 2010s, there was one that everyone scrolled past, and for every show that won the company an award, there was a show that cost $55 million and never got produced.
The same thing is playing out with live content. The joke golf tournament flopped, but the tennis match was well-received. The Roast of Tom Brady got mixed reviews, but was the streamer’s second most-watched title the week after it came out. Everybody’s in LA, meanwhile, hovered at the bottom of the Top 10 in the past week, but was mostly critically lauded.
Of course, a big part of the reason so many loved it was because of Mulaney, which is the second reason no one should have been surprised Everybody’s in LA was good. Mulaney has an incredibly strong track record for someone with a very odd portfolio. (Remember the Sack Lunch Brunch?)
Combine that track record with the all-important Netflix elements and, yeah, of course Everybody’s in LA was good. Don’t act so surprised.
Billie Eilish
I’m going to say something that sounds incredibly obvious but it’s important, so follow me here: The microphone completely changed music. And we don’t even really think about it that much.
And I’m not even talking about the music industry, which was obviously completely transformed by the ability to record and amplify. I’m just talking about the literal sound of music—the microphone made music sound completely different.
First introduced for widespread music performance in the 20s, the microphone meant singers didn’t have to get louder to fill a room. They could essentially whisper and sing low—croon, some might even say—and have the whole room feel as if they were nearby. Music could be both public and intimate simultaneously.
It’s actually quite an eerie effect, if you think about it too hard. And yet, we’ve become so used to it, and recording technology has improved so much, that 100 years later we don’t even think about it
Most of the time, that is. I was reminded of this effect once again over the weekend, listening to Billie Eilish’s new album, Hit Me Hard and Soft.
I have always been acutely aware of the microphone while listening to Eilish. Her musical grammar, from the very start of career, has been fundamentally built on the paradox that microphones create. She sings in an intimate, whispery voice as if into your ear—treating, as Jon Pareles of the New York Times wrote, “a microphone as a confidant”—while at the same time imbuing her songs with a level of theatricality more fit for distant viewing. She is a bedroom-pop singer, but only if the bedroom is on an empty stage at Carnegie Hall.
The effect lives most easily on ballads, which is perhaps why her debut album in 2019 insisted upon flexing versatility, to prove from the jump that she could work this effect into other styles and experiments. It worked, garnering her massive critical and commercial success. But with a few exceptions, Eilish largely slipped back into balladry after that. To be sure, it won her a number of awards—Grammys and Oscars alike—but it also meant her music lost some of its initial excitement.
Hit Me Hard and Soft feels like a correction and a demonstration, proof not only that she can still excite with her originality and experimentation, but that her unique musical grammar has not hit its limit. She works in styles ranging from rock to dance to new wave to bossa nova and everything in between. It’s effective. And none of it would have been possible without the microphone.
What Else I’m Following
This article by Texas Monthly on two competing fast-casual taco chains trying to become the definitive Big Taco.
The discourse around the new official portrait of King Charles III.
Nike’s big comeback plan for the Olympics.
How AI is getting in the way of Microsoft’s climate ambitions.
Isabelle Brourman, a young and non-traditional courtroom sketch artist hired to depict Trump’s trial for New York magazine.
The business of airport lounges, a lot of which are apparently money sinks.
This come-to-reality commentary on the recently-announced presidential debates.
That’s all for this edition of Cansler Culture. As always, if you like what you’re reading, feel free to subscribe and/or pass it along.