The sex they had was disgusting. The words, vile (“I want to grab you by the ass while I suffocate you with my cock”). The whole thing: straight out of a porn scene bookmarked by a teenage boy. But in The Idol, troubled superstar Jocelyn actually seems into these triple X-rated liaisons with creepy club owner Tedros. Soon he’s moved into her house “for work purposes”. Next, the pair are singing “that’s my family” around a grand piano. And that’s the moment you realise: this is not a family, it’s a cult.
Much has been written about The Idol, HBO’s seedy new drama about a young musician’s attempted comeback following a nervous breakdown and her fledgling relationship with a seedy self-help guru that may or may not have done some “dark s***”, as one of the characters claims. But its most interesting aspect – its depiction of cults – is one that has been strangely glossed over. The much-maligned series from Euphoria’s Sam Levinson and Tesfaye has been criticised for everything from its gratuitous nudity and undeveloped plotlines to its torture obsession and grotesque sex scenes. All this has led to a somewhat disastrous reception, only made worse by the recent news that the six-part series will conclude one episode earlier than planned this weekend.
The fraught reception suggests that The Idol will be remembered more for its shortcomings than its triumphs, of which there are, in fact, actually a few. Alongside the depiction of Jocelyn’s entourage, its representation of cults is one of them, even if the writers don’t quite delve into it with the depth it deserves. It would be fascinating, for example, to learn more about how Tedros’ various followers came under his spell, and why it is that he seems fixated on gathering such talented people, and controlling their talent as if it’s his own.
But the trouble is that nothing in this show is subtle; in Levinson’s script, nuance doesn’t exist. And so, even though you get the gist early on that Jocelyn is being manipulated into Tedros’ army of talented yet tormented twentysomethings, it’s not explicitly spelled out for us until later.
Take the moment Tedros snaps at Jocelyn’s best friend-slash-assistant Leia (Rachel Sennott): “I’m running the show now,” he says, smirking. Or when Tedros takes Jocelyn shopping for a full wardrobe revamp at Valentino because he doesn’t think she has “taste”. The most excruciating moment for the viewer, though, comes in episode four when the duo start writing a new song and Jocelyn tells her strange lover-turned-manager, “I like not having to make decisions for myself,” and goes on to put a variation of the line in her track. We get it, she’s under his spell.
Given how clearcut the cult theme is in the show, it seems frustrating, then, that it’s not explored beyond the superficial. According to Dr Steven Hassan, a world-renowned cult expert, the definition of a cult is “a group that is controlling people’s behaviour, thoughts and emotions to the degree that it makes those people dependent on and obedient to a leader or the group’s ideology”.
In order to ascertain whether something fits this description, Dr Hassan uses a model called BITE, named for the fact that it determines the extent of a cult leader’s control on one’s behaviour, information, thought and emotions. “Many people think of mind control as an ambiguous, mystical process that cannot be defined in concrete terms,” Dr Hassan explains on his website. “In reality, mind control refers to a specific set of methods and techniques, such as hypnosis or thought-stopping, that influence how a person thinks, feels and acts.”
Most people are recruited [into cults] at a vulnerable moment, without understanding the forces that are brought to bear on them— Dr Steven Hassan
This is Tedros and Co to a tee. Throughout the series, we see him subjecting each of his disciples to various acts of psychological and physical torture as a way of enforcing their loyalty. There is the electric shock collar that he uses on Izaak (Moses Sumney) and Xander (Troye Sivan), the latter of whom attempts to frame Jocelyn’s ex-boyfriend by photographing him with another woman, an act of vengeance that can only have been instructed by Tedros.
In the most disturbing moment of the show so far, there is the hairbrush Tedros uses to hit Jocelyn, mimicking the abuse of her late mother. His control over her only seems to grow as a result of this act of violence. It gets to a point whereby, in episode four, Tedros manages to convince Jocelyn to let him bring her to orgasm in front of a room full of people so that they add a recording of her doing so in one of her songs.
All of this is troubling to watch, particularly because Tedros's mind control methods combine sex with torture, exploiting deep-rooted trauma to elicit devotion. Jocelyn has made it clear that she is grieving her mother, which, combined with the complexities of her feelings about the way she abused her, makes her particularly susceptible to someone like Tedros. “Most people are recruited [into cults] at a vulnerable moment, without understanding the forces that are brought to bear on them,” says Dr Hassan.
This is something we see in real-life cults time and time again. The now-defunct wellness giant, OneTaste, taught a practice known as “orgasmic meditation” (OM) whereby men would “stroke” women until they reached orgasm, often in groups of 30 or more pairs. Devoted members of the OneTaste community often ended up working for the company, and in some cases, lived together in a communal house in Brooklyn, New York. According to one report from Bloomberg, several of its employees and devotees were survivors of sexual assault.
OneTaste founder Nicole Daedone (pictured in 2017), who was charged with forced labour conspiracy this month— (John Salangsang/BFA/Shutterstock)
Earlier this month, OneTaste founder Nicole Daedone was charged with forced labour conspiracy after facing other allegations of sex trafficking and prostitution. Prosecutors in Brooklyn said that Daedone and OneTaste’s former head of sales Rachel Cherwitz also subjected members to surveillance in communal homes, instructed them to engage in sex acts for “freedom and enlightenment,” and failed to pay promised wages.
The downfall of OneTaste might sound extreme, but its business model is omnipresent in today’s world. Valued at $1.5 trillion, the wellness industry is booming more than ever. Whether it’s selling orgasmic meditation or strawberry flavoured lubricant, the seductive promise is always the same: you are broken, we can fix you. This seems to be Tedros’ unspoken mantra, too – Chloe and Izaak repeatedly credit him for saving their lives, though what they’ve been saved from is never explained.
Perhaps then, the question that The Idol almost asks us is whether or not the cult of Tedros is that dissimilar from the cult of the music industry. After all, both are fundamentally about power and exploiting talent for some sort of financial gain. Except one of them is legitimised and the other isn’t. It could be an interesting point had the writers explored this further, particularly with regards to the music industry’s treatment of young women more generally. Britney Spears appears to be a clear inspiration for Jocelyn, for example, through her clothing and dance routines. But the show never really goes there.
Instead, it seems that Levinson and Tesfaye were too fixated on showing us every crevice of Depp’s body to make any serious points about anything at all. This is a show that has been sold to us as subversive. But there is nothing shocking about being shocked for shock’s sake. It just makes the whole thing seem a little juvenile. Had The Idol’s creators focused more on the story they’re telling rather than the fanfare around which they've used to tell it, this could have been a powerful series – one that would have been remembered for a lot more than salacious sex scenes that are almost too embarrassing to watch.
‘The Idol’ is on Sky and Now
