‘Flesh and Bone’ and Not Much Else

Of all the new TV dramas this year I was looking forward to, this was probably at the top of the list, along with Cucumber and Banana. Like Cucumber (but not Banana, which is my choice for one of the top five series of 2015), it was also one of the biggest disappointments. On paper, it had everything going for it, starting with it being a passion project from Moira Walley-Beckett, who won an Emmy for writing the Breaking Bad episode ‘Ozymandias’ (my second favorite episode of the series), one of the most harrowing episodes of television I’ve seen. It’s set in the fascinating world of ballet, with all the actors being professional dancers. Given the pedigree behind the camera and the professional dancers in front of it, Flesh and Bone had everything needed to become a landmark in television. It could have The Red Shoes crossed with Enlightened.

Instead, it ended up being Bunheads meets V.C. Andrews, except not nearly as demented and soapy as it sounds. I can’t fully blame Walley-Beckett and the writers for this; from the reports I read, it sounded like she intended it to be an open-ended series but Starz pulled the plug halfway through filming, causing a mad scramble to try to wrap up the story as quickly as possible. It would certainly explain some of the bizarre plotting. Even then, while the backstage details and focus on the minutiae of ballet dancer life, along with the splendidly done dance scenes, there isn’t a whole lot going on. The characters are all paper thing (screeching dance company manager who’s afraid of ageing, young ingenue with a dark secret, the dancer who valiantly tries to be prima, etc) and the plot, a hodgepodge of showbiz scheming, incest, Russian mobsters, a homeless character so colorful and charming he could have wandered out of a Dickens novel, it never really comes together.

The real shame is the series has a lovely pilot and each episode has at least a couple of scenes where all the dark soapiness snaps into place; it’s hard not to see what could have been. It could have been a Dickensian melodrama, tautly balancing between stark realism (the ballet scenes cackle with an energy the rest of the series lacks) and black-hearted soapiness. But, where is the soul? It’s clear Walley-Beckett and her writers have their heart in the right place, but much like its central ingenue, Claire Robbins (Sarah Hays), there isn’t much reason beneath the surface. This would be fine if the narratives themselves were more compelling; a good emotional anchor can work wonders in elevating a so-so plot. Sadly, lovely a dancer as Hays is, she can’t quite make her character feel worth caring. The supporting actors are more mixed, some managing to be lovely (Emily Tyra has a pleasing naturalistic screen presence that makes one wonder why she was cast as the lead), but all and all, they are too scattered and familiar a collection of archetypes.

Mess as the series is, Walley-Beckett is a gifted, interesting writer and I’m eager to see what she does next. A disappointmentthough that her first show didn’t hit its full potential.

The opening credits though, those are gorgeous and I can watch them again and again: