Angelyne review: Emmy Rossum shines in a loopy love letter to an L.A. legend

The actress stars in Peacock's limited series about the Los Angeles billboard queen.

Television simply can't stop telling us the truth. So far this year, we've seen shows about the shameless (Anna Delvey, Joe Exotic), the infamous (Elizabeth Holmes, Adam Neumann, Travis Kalanick), the murderous (Candy Montgomery, Pam Hupp), and the unscrupulous (Michelle Carter). Now comes Peacock's Angelyne, which spotlights a figure fully nebulous: Los Angeles billboard queen and living (urban) legend Angelyne Llyne. Technically, it's a biography, but the limited series starring a fully committed Emmy Rossum manages to feel like something new — a loving and loopy celebration of a woman who took back her power by burning down her past.

First, a little background for anyone who exists outside Los Angeles. Sometime around 1981, billboards featuring a busty blonde sporting a bouffant hairdo and not much else began popping up around the city. Featuring one word — "Angelyne" — and a phone number, the ads sparked breathless local media reports and what was then still called watercooler talk: Who is this Angelyne, and what is she selling? She pioneered the concept of "famous for being famous" — all the while keeping details of her life very close to her ample chest.

Angelyne is "inspired by" the 2017 Hollywood Reporter article that managed to reveal her true identity, and the action begins on the day of its publication — with the titular heroine lying on a voluminous pink pillow and preparing to hear what the journalist Jeff Glasner (Alex Karpovsky) has uncovered. "I am not a woman. I am an icon," she breathes, comforting herself with the mantra. In fact, she's both, and as the story unfolds, we see that neither title came easy.

Every episode centers on a key figure from Angelyne's life: Cory Hunt (Philip Ettinger), the pliable frontman of a punk band she commandeered in the late '70s; Wendy (Molly Ephraim), the daughter of printing magnate Harold Wallach (Martin Freeman), who financed Angelyne's billboards in the '80s; Rick Krause (Hamish Linklater), the vehemently devoted president of Angelyne's fan club; Danny (Michael Angarano), her first love; Max Allen (Lukas Gage), a young filmmaker who spent years working on a documentary about her that has yet to be released; and Glasner, who profiled Angelyne in 2015 before getting an anonymous tip about her real name. The characters are based on real people, though their names have been changed — and many of them have a very different version of events than the one Angelyne puts forth.

Exec producer Allison Miller makes the most of her unreliable narrator by opting for a documentary structure, with characters telling their tales to an off-camera producer in 2019. While this involves old-age makeup — and I would happily give the television industry my right arm in exchange for a full moratorium on old-age makeup — in this case the look-back conceit works.

Angelyne's flashbacks weave together facts with slippery strands of memory and regret, blending real events with literal flights of fancy (Angelyne and Howard soar over L.A. in her trademark pink Corvette) and meta humor. "Is this the story you've been telling yourself?" Angelyne sneers at Cory, interrupting his flashback about their breakup in 1982. She then demands that he perform her version of the split, calling "Action!" under her breath to start the new scene. The plotting can get a tad repetitive — Angelyne meets a man, uses him to her advantage until they ultimately have a falling-out — but at only five episodes, Angelyne is mercifully efficient in an era when "limited series" are anything but.

Eventually, Angelyne gets to the true story of Angelyne. It's all in the public record, but the details are best experienced fresh, so I won't get into them here. Suffice it to say that as a little girl fleeing generational trauma, she found solace and inspiration in Marilyn Monroe, another blonde icon who harnessed the healing power of reinvention. By young adulthood, the artist subsequently known as Angelyne had a plan to "escape the pain of this life" by creating a new one in the City of Angels. "My quest is to feel good all the time," purrs Angelyne to Glasner during their initial interview. "But it can be challenging in this reality."

Magical realism is the only realm Angelyne ever wanted to exist in, and Angelyne isn't about to take that from her. Unlike many recent true-life adaptations, this series has no interest in recontextualizing its subject through a modern-day lens, presenting her as a martyr to problematic social mores, or even exposing the truth behind the public image. None of Angelyne's answers are absolute because that would be missing the point — she is a masterpiece of open-ended questions, and Rossum presents her as such.

Much has been made about the actress' physical transformation — five hours in makeup, 3-pound fake breasts, blue contacts that wreaked havoc on her tear ducts — and yes, she looks the part. But none of that would really matter if we didn't get a sense of the human underneath. Rossum's Angelyne is savvy and sharp-witted, a charismatic charmer who lures men in with ego-boosting flattery and keeps them in line with schoolmarm disapproval.

The actress speaks with a bit more of a Betty Boop-by-way-of-Marilyn squeak than the real Angelyne, and, at times, the writing leans toward heroizing — see: the pinup's stern dressing-down of Hugh Hefner (Toby Huss) in episode 3 — but what Angelyne lacks in precision it makes up for in spirit. There's an endearing level of protectiveness in Rossum's performance, and indeed the entire production. Angelyne is funny, but Angelyne is never the butt of the joke. Nor is her perpetual acolyte Krause, who Linklater brings to life with a striking blend of humor and pathos.

At 71 years old, the real Angelyne is still tooling around in her pink Corvette, delighting Angelinos who spot her at a stoplight or on the freeway. After watching all five hours of the Peacock series, I was curious enough to call that number on her billboards. It still works. "You can leave a magnificent message," says the voice on the answering machine (most likely Hugo Maisnik, on whom Freeman's character is based). "Thank you for calling Angelyne."

Hearing it gave me a little thrill, like I'd just had a brush with true celebrity. Even though Angelyne says she'll never watch Angelyne, she can rest assured that her mystique remains intact. B+

Angelyne premieres May 19 on Peacock.

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