The fight to get to the top is nothing compared to the fight to stay on top. That much has been made clear in the first half of Hacks season four, which, despite a breather here and there, has seen Ava and Deborah pushed to their limits. If only they could confront some of these obstacles, like needling network notes, as a united front—instead, they still need an HR chaperone just to discuss said notes. Five episodes in, Deborah and Ava are no closer to seeing eye to eye; by the end of “Clickable Face,” they no longer even have their referee.
After a strong showing in its first two episodes, Deborah’s late-night show is now in fourth place, which is basically the bottom. Network research, including a focus group rife with useless feedback like “I like when she’s funny, but I don’t like when she’s trying to be funny, you know what I mean?,” has found that male viewers love Deborah. She’s actually overperforming in those demos, which thrills her. Other subgroups she’s nabbed include “middle-aged Black business owners, gay dads under 50, college-educated Singaporeans, and retired divorcees in the Great Lakes region.”
But if, as Jimmy likes to remind them, women are where it’s at, then where are the women at? Not watching Deborah, for the most part. Rob informs the show’s brain trust (Deborah, Ava, Jimmy, and Kayla) that women ages 25 to 45 don’t like Deborah. “Women? Oh god,” Deborah scoffs, which is nearly identical to her response in the season-four premiere that she’d upset women by telling reporters not to think of her as a woman. The show needs women viewers, though, especially the stressed-out moms on high-blood-pressure meds because they have a lot of buying power. At the very least, they’re the ones doing the shopping, which means they’re the target demo for ad sales, on which broadcast shows (among other endeavors) run.
Deborah and Ava, as they so often do, process this information in very different ways. Ava, who makes a half-hearted objection to the “women be shopping” framing (which is kind of a silly complaint since Rob is talking about a specific subgroup rather than painting all women with a broad brush, but you know Ava), grudgingly agrees to find a way to appeal to them. To make the show she wants to make, she’ll make these allowances. The problem is, it’s become increasingly clear that she doesn’t know what that show should be. (Nor does Deborah, but I’ll come back to her in a bit.) Back in “What Happens In Vegas,” Ava said the very least they could accomplish with the writers’ retreat was determining—and then communicating to the staff—what kind of show they’re making. You might have noticed that, despite eventually landing on their opener, they never actually did establish what the show should be. They argue all the time about what they each think it shouldn’t be, but they’ve never presented a cohesive vision.
I’ll admit that I’ve been wondering whether that lack of a vision is intentional (that is, part of the narrative) or some shortcoming in Hacks‘ own world-building. Although the Max comedy has featured some heavy hitters, including Jimmy Kimmel—who plays into the whole “not-so-nice guy” thing here that Jimmy Fallon did to much greater effect on 30 Rock when he tried to kill Tracy Jordan—it doesn’t feel fully immersed in its late-night setting yet. This might be a result of the series creators having to tread lightly in this field; the only late-night contemporaries they’ve referenced so far are the Jimmys and James Corden, and the latter retired two years ago. Now, Hacks is obviously in some alternate reality where a woman can become the host of a late-night staple, so doing away with Corden’s retirement wouldn’t be much of a swerve. (It’s also a reality in which Conan O’Brien has died, so maybe the monkey’s paw went too far?) But, whether it’s because of real-life concerns or the issues between the two lead characters, the show within the show lacks specificity.
This is an observation, not a complaint, to be clear. Deborah’s show is only a few weeks in, after all, and the fact that there even is a show is a miracle, given all the backstage drama. And I’m not expecting a switch to a 30 Rock-esque framing, wherein an episode often comes together within the episode. The vagueness could very well be intentional; it certainly continues to create friction between Deborah and Ava. The latter seems to think she can use one of the most staid formats in TV as a Trojan horse for social commentary, which is admirable if so obviously misguided that even Stacey, worried as she is about carrying around $4,000 in a “volume jar,” tells Ava to snap out of it. That’s after busting her face in front of the audience, which happens because she trips while trying to break up Ava and Deborah’s latest knock-down, drag-out fight. (I told you there would be blood.)
But at least Ava is trying to create something worth protecting, even if it is, in part, so she can hold her head up high around her old colleagues again. Deborah, still terrified of blowing her second chance, doesn’t seem to care that the show she’s trying so desperately to keep is becoming a sham. So she applies all of the network notes—she dons clip-in hair extensions, makes vacuous conversation with vacuous reality-TV hosts, anything to look and act like a down-to-earth mom so she can appeal to down-to-earth moms (never mind that Deborah’s idea of a relatable parenting moment involves sneaking vegetables into D.J.’s remoulade for her shrimp cocktail). She pitches mommy makeovers and balks at jokes built on things you have to google. She even becomes what she threatened to fire Nate over: a riff killer.
Ava fears they’re on the wrong track and rightly so. She tells Deborah that data should be used as a tool, not their guiding principle. Deborah is “trying to reverse-engineer jokes to make specific people laugh,” Ava says, and the truth is they can’t please everyone. Deborah argues that, this being a much bigger enterprise than a comedy tour, it is, in fact, their job to please everyone: “We are selling soap. Yes, we have to be funny, but we are also selling soap.” They continue to lock horns over “the difference between making art and churning out content,” but Deborah’s already thrown any artistic intent out the window. She ends the discussion with a withering remark—”I am the face of the show. No one in that focus group brought you up even once”—that makes Ava back off. Deborah wins that round, but she’s thinking too small, much smaller than Ava. That becomes clear when Deborah intrudes on Ava’s throuple date at Girl & The Goat. While Deborah gets her digs in (“Is there a fourth—or is third sort of the lowest you can place?”), that’s nothing compared to the revelation that Ava is ashamed of their show, a truth made more devastating by Ava sweeping their past under the rug.
Suddenly, Deborah isn’t acting to protect the show, misbegotten as it is; she’s trying to protect herself, which means hurting Ava (with poor Stacey’s chipped tooth as collateral damage). Deborah takes a cue from (yikes) Ellen DeGeneres, taking the stage with Dance Mom (Julianne Nicholson, doing a great impression of a “so humble and grateful” TikTok star) to do the hokiest of dances. When they’re done, Deborah flashes a triumphant smile, and why not? The crowd is on its feet, so Dance Mom is clearly a hit. This puts Deborah back in the game—it also pushes Ava, who has fire and tears in her eyes in the closing moments, a little further out of it.
Stray observations
- • The “Clickable Face” of the title belongs to Kristen Bell, who agrees to be a guest on Deborah’s show after being ambushed at the grocery store, though Jimmy Kimmel’s deal with the devil precludes her appearance.
- • I don’t agree with Jimmy Kimmel’s Deborah bullying policy, but I do agree with his James Corden bullying policy.
- • “She looks like an old Lolita.” “Old Lolita? That’s just a woman.” I kind of get why Deborah wouldn’t take the focus group feedback seriously.
- • “We should have brought you to Mid-City, you know, there’s a lot of ugly people there.” Jimmy’s a good manager.
- • Speaking of, Jimmy and Kayla have really become mirrors for Deborah and Ava—at least when it comes to their differing approaches to running things. Episode director (and Jimmy portrayer) Paul W. Downs and writer Aisha Muharrar (a Good Place and Parks And Recreation alum) show the limits of Jimmy’s obsequiousness and the surprising effectiveness of Kayla’s candor, which is very similar to the dynamic this week between Deborah (who gives up so much ground) and Ava (who tries to stand her ground). Lusaque & Schaefer (or Schaefer & LuSaque)—not just comic relief!
