Étoile takes a while to find its groove—but when it does, it soars

But this is a Palladino property, which means everything is heightened. The dialogue is, as always, quicker than a chaîné turn; the takes are long and lush (with all eight episodes directed by the Emmy-winning duo, whose love of the master shot emphatically endures); and the settings and costuming are unsurprisingly sumptuous, especially in Paris. That’s no disrespect to Lincoln Center’s lovely campus; it’s just that France has had a couple extra thousand years to get all ornate and magnifique. (By the way, Geneviève may meta-mock that “This isn’t Emily In Paris, Jack—you can’t see the Eiffel Tower from everywhere,” but rest assured that all of the picturesque landmarks from that Netflix series are accounted for here as well.) 

And disciples of the Gilmore gospel will be charmed by the familiar Stars Hollow faces that frequently drop into rotation: There’s the regal Kelly Bishop as Jack’s moneyed mom, Yanic Truesdale as Geneviève’s right-hand man Raphael, Dakin Matthews as a member of the MBT board, and so on. 

The whole transatlantic move is complicated, of course, by interpersonal dynamics. Jack hates who’s funding the campaign, the duplicitous dandy Crispin Shamblee (Simon Callow). Cheyenne refuses to partner with any danseur other than Gael (West Side Story’s David Alvarez), who’s been hiding out on a self-imposed farm “sabbatical.” French-born nepo baby Mishi Duplessis (Taïs Vinolo) struggles with her overbearing stage parents upon her return to the Paris company. And the quirky creative chaos—and, evidently, on-the-spectrum diagnosis—of American choreographer Tobias Bell (Gideon Glick) is lost in translation among the French performers, save for male lead Gabin (Ivan du Pontavice). (‘Shippers, take note.) 

Using real-deal talents (like the New York City Ballet’s Tiler Peck and the Boston Ballet’s John Lam) adds legitimacy to the dramedy’s frequent dance numbers, which are overseen by choreographer Marguerite Derricks. (Each episode lovingly ends with rehearsal footage of actual ballerinas, too.) However, some of the more dance-focused cast members fail to pop against their fellow actors. For example, the supposed heat in the pas de deux between Alvarez’s Gael and De Laâge’s Cheyenne feels barely simmering. Hell, it’s tough for anyone onscreen to match the passion of the French fireball that is Cheyenne: “You feel everything—that’s why you’re such an asshole,” one character shrewdly sums her up. And both Gainsbourg and Kirby are captivating leads but because their characters, like us, are viewers and not doers—lovers of the art form, certainly, but saddled more with navigating the bureaucracy of ballet rather than creating the beauty of it—that means their respective storylines lack the intensity and urgency of their more kinetic company. 

Speaking of lack of urgency, the eight episodes do move slowly. With two companies and cities to get acquainted with, it takes a good half season to really get grooving. However, unlike their one-and-done experience with Bunheads, the Palladinos have the benefit of time here—and money, too. Thanks to an overall deal inked with Amazon MGM Studios back in 2019 (boosted by the success of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel), Étoile was green-lit for two seasons before the curtain could even rise, which means there are plenty more moves to come. Here’s hoping that, story-wise, that adagio speeds up to an allegro in season two.  

Étoile premieres April 24 on Prime Video