The Act

For a certain kind of viewer, this show is riveting. It capitalizes on the dread of the disobedient daughter, attempting to grow under an umbrella of disapproval. But the strongest element of the show is not the act—not the performance of illness—but the violent relationship between the two leads, when they have dropped all their pretenses and affectations.

Given that so much in Dee Dee and Gypsy’s relationship is unsaid, both actors powerfully communicate the subtext of their dynamic. The imagery The Act employs to build tension isn’t remotely subtle (red paint dripping down a wall, Dee Dee restraining her daughter with ribbons whose blue satin matches her Cinderella dress), but it works, thanks mostly to the sharpness of the performances.

The virtues of The Act are often distinct from the details of its dramatic arc. It’s more a ready-made parable of toxic parenthood or a mass-cultural case study than a thriller. ... Arquette’s Dee Dee combines vigilant motherhood, complicated victimhood, and complete monstrosity. The character will be remembered as an icon of our era of grift, alongside the antiheroes of “Fyre Fraud,” “The Inventor: Out for Blood in Silicon Valley,” and “The Apprentice.”

Even with some lags in pacing, each time I thought the story was running out of juice, it found a different gear and a different genre, all anchored by King and Arquette.

The Act rarely feels sensational—focused more on character than controversy—and Arquette and King are balanced by a very talented ensemble that includes Chloe Sevigny, Annasophia Robb, Dean Norris, and Calum Worthy.

The Act takes its time to reveal the depth and extent of the lies Dee Dee told, how Gypsy’s frustration with her mother would eventually escalate, and what may have been motivating both of them. The Act understands that the why in this tale, to the extent that we can know it, is as important as the what.

Arquette’s vivid performance in particular leans deliciously far into the show’s general lack of insight or commentary about the crime it depicts. ... Generally, The Act nails what it’s going for--a grotty, nasty, poisonous fable whose punch comes from the fact that some version of it really happened but that would be compelling regardless.

The gratification of The Act is in the telling. And the show, spread out over 10 leisurely hours that greatly expand on Lifetime’s condensed treatment of the story in the recent TV movie Love You To Death, only gets more compelling with every new reveal.

The Act sags a bit near the middle of five episodes made available for review--perhaps fewer episodes would have made for a tighter run--but Ms. Arquette’s nuanced performance remains top-notch, and Ms. King proves a talented newcomer with a bright acting future.

The riveting and increasingly twisted scenario plays like What Ever Happened to Baby Gypsy? [18-31 Mar 2019, p.13]

The Act never seizes an opportunity to make us understand why Dee Dee manufactured this system of toxic codependency missing out on an "Aha!" moment that might've made The Act magical. But for plain old Mommy horror fun, The Act does its job nicely

Arquette and King turn in tour de force performances as the mother/ daughter pair in a hellish co-dependent relationship. ... Still, the series takes eight episodes (two premiere today, with one each week to follow) to tell a story that would have been better as a shorter mini-series or a made-for-TV movie.

The combination of subject and sequencing creates an eerie atmosphere, but pushing a bit further stylistically could have made this a campy treat instead of something caught between sincere storytelling and the bizarre true story. Still, after five of the eight total episodes, The Act is a satisfying exploration of one girl’s desperate bid for independence.

Arquette gives a human center to Dee Dee’s manipulations – a frantic and unnecessary EpiPen injection for a non-existent sugar allergy becomes, for example, both an act and a desperate act of love. Gypsy’s teary-eyed disappointment and shame are visceral. But still, the show makes clear that while it’s based on actual events, some of it is dramatized, and that knowledge feels suspect.

There are twists and turns to the central relationship and the reason it comes to a violent end, but the story starts to feel repetitive quickly, and the lead performances (and nimble direction by Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre, Adam Arkin and others) can only mask that for so long.