The second note I took while watching Star, the latest primetime soap from Empire creator Lee Daniels was, was literally: “Uh, this is actually terrible.” Yes, the “Uh” was included. This note came within the first 15 minutes of the pilot, before I generally like to make judgements about an entire show, but I felt pretty confident in saying it would take incredible skill and effort to improve upon that first bit. While Star grew on me as the pilot continued — hey! Those songs are catchy! — this first outting did not inspire a whole lot of confidence.
It seems as if Fox has been trying to brand Lee Daniels in the same way that ABC has branded Shonda Rhimes. In advertisements for Star, Daniels’ name is write large, while Empire, his most-watched creation, is done up considerably smaller. And Star, co-created by The Whole Truth’s Tom Donaghy, certainly fits into the Daniels mold: He tells stories that often aren’t put on screen, buoyed by affable actors, and hurtles through so much plot, it’s a wonder there’s still story to tell after the pilot is over (the football player/love interest is someone I’m supposed to care about, I guess?)
Star isn’t as immediately eloquent as Empire felt on its outset — which is saying something considering Empire, even in its pilot, felt like it could explode into ridiculousness at any moment — for a couple of reasons. Both follow the tenets of tales already told, but Empire’s updated A Lion In Winter is an easier formula to follow than the messier story of the emergence of fame. Like Dreamgirls on speed, Star follows its own tropes: the rebellious rich girl who rues her upbringing despite its privileges, the natural talent who is both fueled and hampered by her demons, and the charismatic leader who outshines them all based on that innate “It” factor.
That latter trope is one of Star’s biggest problem: Jude Demorest, who plays the titular Star, isn’t Cookie Lyon. She affects a ridiculous accent (she’s in Pennsylvania but sounds like she’s from Queens in an attempt to come off as hard) and attitude that is cartoonish and never grounded in Taraji P. Henson’s talent or likability. I believed Cookie Lyon when she discusses her past successes and genius, I didn’t believe Star through her own bullshit swagger. It’s the Smash problem: Just because we’re told a person is deserved of fame because of some intangible quality doesn’t actually mean they are. We first meet Star at a foster home in Pittsburgh that she breaks loose from so she can meet up with rock and roll royalty/Instagram buddy Alexandra (Ryan Destiny) and reunite with her sister Simone (Brittany O’Grady), who Star saves from sexual assault by stabbing Simone’s foster father in the back as if it won’t arouse suspicion when Simone flies the coup immediately afterward.