HBO’s Zennial Comedy ‘I Love LA’ Allows Rachel Sennott to Navigate Life, Love and Influence | TV/Streaming

Early in Rachel Sennott’s riotous West Coast comedy “I Love LA,” a character complains, “What’s the point of being nice if no one who can help me sees it?” » In fact, that sounds like the thesis statement for the 30-year-old actress and comedian’s new show, which is like “Girls” filtered through the Los Angeles showbiz vibes of “Entourage” and “The Other Two.” It’s a show for the self-obsessed, the image-centered, and the painfully irresponsible. In this regard, he could perfectly capture his surroundings and his cohort.

Designer Sennott, who made a splash in Emma Seligman’s “Shiva Baby” before taking on roles in “Bodies Bodies Bodies” and “Bottoms” (which she co-wrote with co-star Ayo Edebiri), plays Maia, an aspiring talent manager who works as a coffee shop girl for a mid-sized talent agency. (Her boss, played by Leighton Meester, is the kind of employer who will oscillate between treating you like a friend and an employee depending on what you can do for her at the time.) She has a dream boyfriend in Dylan (Josh Hutcherson), the kind of sexy, supportive contractor whose generosity is clearly taken for granted by the vapid Maia. Luckily for her, she’s still close to her college friends, celebrity stylist Charlie (Jordan Firstman) and Nepo Baby actress Alani (True Whitaker, daughter of Forest, herself a Nepo baby), who look up from their phones just long enough to validate her own ambitions.

But the tide begins to turn when Tallulah (Odessa A’zion, daughter of Pamela Adlon), an aspiring influencer and former best friend turned enemy of Maia, shows up unexpectedly, looking to rekindle their friendship (and make Maia her new agent). Maia struggles with Tallulah because of past resentments, and it’s clear from seconds of interaction that their dynamic is toxic, codependent, and deeply troubled. But it’s this same codependency that makes them addicted to each other’s orbit, and so the couple falls back into their old New York habits, now filtered by the sun, sex and superfluity of 2020s Los Angeles.

From the outset, “I Love LA” feels like a look back at the era of the Internet’s “it” girls and the parasocial relationships that must be built to succeed in this particular city. Characters use Instagram blocks and TikTok Lives to hurt or gain access to those they love, lust after, or hate; we’re treated to gags about click farms, celebrity parties (although the cameo we get here, which we’ll leave intact, is a choice), and the carefully curated language influencers use to get out of bad PR. (“It’s a lot easier to recover from white-on-white bullying,” a crisis management consultant told Maia after one of Tallulah’s near-cancellations.)

Our core group of best friends, with the exception of Dylan, are completely sucked into this superficial world and feed off each other’s narcissism, which, if you have the courage for unsympathetic characters, is “I Love LA’s” secret weapon. Sennott and his team of writers find a nice cadence for the kind of throwaway, vocal fry-laden witticisms that these same-sex-obsessed sociopaths pour out of their mouths. Maia wryly observes at a mid-level Los Angeles club: “They used to screw people over, but then they fixed it.” » (“Disappointment,” replies Tallulah.) “You were bohemian,” Charlie barks at a customer who has just humiliatingly fired him. “I made you cat.”

It helps, of course, that the performances are natural and brisk, clearly taking Sennott’s acerbic and deceptively nuanced lead. These are clever portrayals of stupid characters; Whitaker, even though she gets the least lead of the core group, makes the most of Alani’s lack of awareness and lands quite a few good jokes. A’zion is also a treat, bouncing off Sennott with carefree glee in a way that conflicts and feeds off their respective energies. (Her eventual romance with a local chief, played by Moses Ingram, anchors her in a way that balances the character’s rough edges.)

Hutcherson is a quietly integral part of the series as the group’s only normal person, whose relative groundedness (he loves cooking and playing board games, man) provides an impeccable mirror for the various flavors of self-destruction on display. But Firstman may be the highlight of the group, a gay man who tries — and repeatedly fails — to channel the wicked energy of an L.A. queen into personal success. (The show delights in forcing us to question whether Charlie has the world’s worst gay guy, or whether Los Angeles culture makes even the most straight guys act really, really gay.)

Amid hilarious dialogue and naturally absurd scenarios, “I Love LA” is more than a zoo where you can point and laugh at obsessive selfie-takers. Sennott finds remarkable moments of vulnerability in Maia’s pathological neediness and insecurity, even as the culture of hustle she so covets leads her down self-destructive paths that affect her friendships and relationships. In the city, everyone is a resource, a chance to network, a vehicle through which you can strengthen your reputation. But you can also tell that these people (spurred on by COVID lockdowns, influencer culture, and the transactional, success-engendering nature of Los Angeles) desperately want to figure out how to belong and matter.

Maia’s codependency on her group of friends comes from a desperate desire for community. In their best moments, they come together in harmony, even if it’s just to hate on some rotten bitch’s Instagram feed.

Full season projected for review. Premieres November 2 on HBO.