"Anyone setting out to imagine a parody of what Damien Chazelle’s first television show would look like couldn’t possibly outdo the genuine article, Netflix’s The Eddy," says Alan Sepinwall. "Of course the Oscar-winning La La Land director has landed in Peak TV with a drama about jazz — set in and around a Parisian jazz club, no less. And of course it would share a similar tortured-artist philosophy with Chazelle’s breakout film Whiplash, along with some of the stoic grief of his Neil Armstrong biopic First Man...Yeah, it’s exactly what you would expect". When Sepinwall reviewed the show, he noted that there was no creator. Netflix later added Jack Thorne as the sole creator. Sepinwall wonders if the lack of initial credit "is someone’s way of inflating Chazelle’s involvement on a show where he may have just been a hired gun." Sepinwall adds: "Regardless of how credit — or blame — is assigned, the show feels like Chazelle’s oft-dramatized obsessions as filtered through the glum, workmanlike style Thorne brought to his adaptation of His Dark Materials. Just as the HBO fantasy series managed to present a world with talking armored bears and portals to other dimensions that at times was as lively as a trip to the post office, so too does The Eddy strike the most somber pose at every turn."
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The Eddy is sort of a slow, mellow burn: "At its best, The Eddy can be completely beguiling, largely because of its music, written by (Glen) Ballard and performed by a group of real musicians playing the parts of real musicians, as well as its sense of atmosphere," says Jen Chaney. "The Paris it captures — bustling, gritty, buzzing with the nonstop sound of construction crews — is not the romantic city with the Eiffel Tower backdrop we are used to seeing in films and shows. But it is vibrant, diverse, and fascinating to observe." Chaney adds: "If you can shut off your tendencies to nitpick and simply give yourself over to The Eddy, there is a lot of pleasure to be found in it. The music is lovely and performed with passion, and there are moments of profound joy. A surprise jazz funeral that follows a more somber Muslim service is a poignant release and celebration of life. So is a mini-parade through the streets of Paris spearheaded by the members of The Eddy, who play their instruments as enthusiastic bystanders join the roving concert. It’s the kind of infectious moment of shared spontaneity that, for now, is impossible to experience other than vicariously, through a streaming Netflix series."
The Eddy is testament to the irrepressible power of music: "The series presents life as something that happens simultaneously with music—not just adjacent to it, but surrounded by it," says Sonia Saraiya. "Refreshingly, the camerawork tells the story without gimmicks—no slo-mo, no flashbacks, no dream sequences. The result is that time, too, seems to be composed of music, moving forward at the same tempo."
The Eddy’s greatest handicap is its unnecessary genre notes, which impose structure on a story that desperately wants to be free-form: "The crime that becomes an inciting incident, the mystery of who did it, the strain of mob toughs and sneering cops who pressure Elliot from the margins—all of it is designed to add tension and momentum to a show that doesn’t need either," says Alison Herman. "While watching The Eddy, I kept wanting it to give into the show it clearly wants to be, and already half is: a collection of short stories about people brought together by a shared creative pursuit, nothing else to tie them together except their overarching theme. Farid’s death and its fallout are intended to catalyze The Eddy’s joyous hangout, but the two aspects end up at cross-purposes."
The trouble with The Eddy is it keeps confusing its received ideas of what’s dramatic with what’s actually interesting: "The show keeps putting Julie in peril, getting her wasted and then sending her running through the streets asking strangers for coke as her father frantically searches for her, but there’s more genuine feeling in the quiet conversation they have later, when Elliot gently probes the depth of her knowledge about the history of black American artists taking up residence in Paris," says Sam Adams. "There’s a depiction of Muslim funeral rites that’s breathtaking in its lyrical solemnity, and a wake that’s equally breathtaking in its expressions of joy. The stories come and go, sometimes without resolution, and that can be frustrating, but it also feels true to life. It’s just a shame that what’s pushing those stories out of the frame is a half-baked murder mystery and an equally canned plot about The Eddy’s house band trying to land a record deal."
How Damien Chazelle got involved with The Eddy: Executive producer Alan Poul brought him aboard along with writer Jack Thorne and Grammy-winning producer Glen Ballard, who composed nearly 75 songs for the show and first dreamt up The Eddy.
André Holland's research included learning to play the piano: "I watched a lot of films, and spoke to a lot of musicians and scholars and thinkers in that space, which really helped me to kind of understand the history of it. And then on a technical aspect, I had to play the piano," he says, noting that he had two piano teachers, one in New York and another in Paris, where the series was shot. “Any moment that I wasn’t on set shooting, I was pretty much glued to that piano,” Holland said. “It’s something that I’ve come to love and I want to keep continuing to explore as my life moves forward.”