The house | The foaming (and uplifting) power of the soap opera

Of course, we enjoy hunting down the crazy people in Reasonable doubtwe curse the crazies in The weapons and we would like to disembowel the incestuous mother (Micheline Lanctôt) in With beating heart.

For several seasons, Quebec drama series have been steeped in the gloomy and filthy in shades of menacing gray and frightening brown. No scoop here: I am the first to relax in front of a marathon of “true crime” docuseries where roommates poison themselves with bacteria purchased on the underground web and where two brothers murder their parents with shotguns.

It would be really hypocritical of me to protest against the proliferation of violent and terrifying series that, strangely, sometimes have calming effects on their fans. If so many people were murdered by the psychopath Jeffrey Dahmer in Milwaukee or by the Night Stalker in Los Angeles, the risks of these sordid events happening again in our country are close to zero, right? In short, we reassure ourselves as best we can (and we lock our doors).

But there comes a time when this massive accumulation of human dramas pulverizes our morale and our brain demands something light, frivolous and colorful. This is why a bunch of candy shows and soap operas climb the charts of digital platforms.

The second part of the fourth season ofEmily in Pariss (I loooove it!) is still galloping on Netflix with a Christmas episode, the sixth, even more syrupy than a Hallmark TV movie.

This sweet dip in the snowy mountains of Megève, where the protagonists don ridiculous winter clothes that are ridiculously too warm for the actual temperature, 100% fulfills its mission of escapism and reducing the worries of modern life.

In episodes 9 and 10, our favorite monolingual fashionista—that’s Emily—sneaks into Rome for a festival of Italian pop music, gorgeous views of the Eternal City, and Aperol spritzes on terraces. It’s both superficial and delicious.

The latest trendy way to escape from your daily routine is to look sumptuous. soap French The house Apple TV+. The platform is offering the first two one-hour episodes, while the third will be released on Friday. The remaining seven will follow at a rate of one installment per week.

Crossover between the shenanigans of Succession and the carelessness ofEmily in Paris, The house takes place in the Parisian fashion industry, where a twisted, ultra-rich family kills each other for control of a luxury company similar to Hermès or Chanel.

Yes, it is hyper melodramatic. Think of the spirit of White nightbut with a budget. Yes, it’s cheesy and intense. But it works, The house. And it’s instantly appealing, like free designer laundry in front of a pack of influencers.

At the heart of this glossy soap opera is Vincent Ledu (Lambert Wilson), the Yves Saint Laurent-style designer behind the independent house Ledu, which is immersed in haute couture, perfumes and ready-to-wear.

At a cocktail party to celebrate his Legion of Honor, the couturier Vincent Ledu, from the old guard, loses his temper, while he thinks he is alone with his accomplice and muse Perle Foster (Amira Casar). About a Korean client whom he considers vulgar and unnecessarily demanding, Vincent Ledu will call his family “a mafia of dog-eating rednecks”.

Someone captures the racist tirade with an iPhone and this viral video will cause the downfall of Vincent Ledu, to the great delight of his rival Diane Rovel (Carole Bouquet), the most powerful woman in the industry. Like: Liliane Bettencourt, long-time largest shareholder of the L’Oréal group.

Obviously, the succession at the head of the Ledu house will unroll a ribbon of scheming and meanness to obtain the coveted position. The ambitious and libidinous nephew Robinson Ledu (Antoine Reinartz, the prosecutor in Anatomy of a fall) will he convince the council of his talents? Will the Ledu family dare to hire talented up-and-coming designer Paloma Castel (Zita Henrot) to dust off its cheesy century-old image?

This character of Paloma Castel, an “eco-warrior” of ethical fashion, brings together all the clichés associated with the young activist generation, who are worried about their carbon footprint and who advocate more responsible consumption. She quickly gets on our nerves, Paloma, a ridiculous caricature of a wacky woke.

As if this soap funny did not assume its absurdity and that it hoped to varnish itself with a social conscience, which it does not need.

Fortunately, the juicy story of The house and his acidic replies keep us glued to the small screen. “Without me, you’d be a saleswoman at Sephora,” spits the fallen designer Vincent Ledu at his accomplice, whom he has pulled out of the gutter to deposit on the catwalks.

In the same vein of bitchery, a member of the Ledu family will complain to a security employee: “Could you avoid polyester? It gives me a migraine.”

The houseco-directed by Quebecer Daniel Grou, known as Podz (About Antoine, Lupine), looks like a classy perfume. The top note is light, the middle note is scandalous, while the base note is opulent.

And its scents last just long enough, without stinging our noses or hitting our hearts.