As a backdrop for a television series, the fashion industry is a bit like the restaurant industry: a rich, untapped source of detail and conflict hampered by the logistical complexity of bringing its insular world to the screen. And just as “The Bear” was preceded by a legion of competing reality shows as well as a failed adaptation of Anthony Bourdain’s “Kitchen Confidential” starring a young Bradley Cooper, the French drama “La Maison” is the latest of many attempts to turn couture into a compelling drama. “Project Runway” remains an unscripted institution, but recent scripted attempts have ranged from dutifully reverent (“Becoming Karl Lagerfeld”) to bafflingly inept (“The New Look,” which also aired on Apple TV+).
Unlike those earlier series, which fictionalized the lives of icons like Yves Saint Laurent and Coco Chanel, “La Maison” feels free to take liberties. Perhaps tied to this is that it is by far the strongest of recent attempts to transpose fashion to entertainment. Created by José Caltagirone and Valentine Milville and executive produced by Alex Berger (“The Bureau”), “La Maison” is more bloated than the inevitable comparison to “Succession” suggests, and barely avoids the inherent problems of conveying creative genius and massive investment on a limited budget. Yet when “La Maison” is freed from the obligation to pay tribute to past legends, it can be a story about chaotic, bitchy, absurdly rich People. And rather than getting stuck in the past, the show can fully exploit the potential of a changing contemporary industry.
Just because “La Maison” doesn’t mention its inspirations by name doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The titular fashion house, Ledu, is a respected global brand and one of the last independent clothing manufacturers in France. It’s comparable in size and structure to Chanel—though its sophisticated designer Vincent (Lambert Wilson) is also a member of the eponymous family, as if Lagerfeld were one of the Wertheimers. The Ledu clan’s main rivals, the Rovels, own a luxury conglomerate that has earned them the largest fortune in France. The Rovels stand in for the Arnaults of LVMH, the mega-corporation that served as the main sponsor of the recent Paris Olympics. (LVMH was also parodied in “Emily in Paris”—alas, the reigning champion of the biggest fashion series on TV. I told you the situation is dire!)
But even viewers who don’t notice these references will find plenty to hold their attention. Vincent is filmed launching into a John Galliano-style racist tirade, plunging the house into an epochal PR crisis. His longtime muse and eventual second-in-command, Perle Foster (Amira Casar), hatches a radical plan to save Ledu: she recruits Paloma Castel (Zita Hanrot), the daughter of Vincent’s long-dead lover, to take the reins. Paloma and her partner Ye-Ji (Park Ji-min) run an environmentally conscious Berlin line that leans more toward outsider art than commerce, so their hiring is a big change for everyone involved.
Paloma’s rise parallels a plot by Rovel matriarch Diane (Carole Bouquet) to defeat Ledu once and for all. Vincent’s brother Victor (Pierre Deladonchamps) defected long ago and married Diane’s wallflower daughter (Florence Loiret Caille) after a sibling quarrel. (He is still carrying on a long-term affair with Perle, however – these people Are French.) Diane, obsessed with cementing her dominance over snobs who look down on her new money, looks for other targets who might help her acquire a controlling interest. One of them is Vincent’s insecure nephew Robinson (Antoine Renartz), a moody nepo baby who dreams of a line bearing his own name, not just his family’s. Robinson’s mother Marie (Anne Consigny) tends to ignore business in favor of her vanity art foundation, but has some potential blackmail material lying around in her walk-in closet.
For Americans, it’s amusing to see the titans of retail—as opposed to the financial or media giants—portrayed as a country’s symbolic elite. (The Roy analogy from “Succession” is more apt here: The Ledus own a private island and publish family photos for visuals, just like our favorite pseudo-Murdochs.) But that also means that the tensions played up by “La Maison” are something new, even if it reduces some characters to archetypes. Paloma is often used as a catch-all for every cliche about socially conscious young people the writers can think of; she can barely open her mouth without mentioning waste reduction, gender equality or body positivity. But when was the last time television tackled the concept of “greenwashing,” or the slow takeover of independent designers by international luxury conglomerates? Or featured a cameo by Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing, who treated the creative director like a celebrity? Casar’s Pearl turns out to be a heroine with more facets, a woman who develops from a passive model to an active leader without receiving the appropriate recognition.
“La Maison” is densely plotted but still light as a feather, packing corporate espionage and fatal diagnoses into its rapid-fire 10-episode sprint. (Paloma seems to design, launch and manufacture her debut collection in a matter of weeks.) The pace and lightness recall “Call My Agent!” and “Drops of God,” two other French-language series that have gained traction in the U.S. in recent years. But in some ways, “La Maison” is just making up for lost time. For a long time, a worthwhile show about fashion was the Hollywood equivalent of a designer’s sketch — a hypothesis without execution. With “La Maison,” it’s finally ready for the runway.
The first two episodes of “La Maison” are available to stream now on Apple TV+. The remaining episodes will air weekly on Fridays.
