'WeCrashed' skirts schadenfreude to elevate this critic's consciousness
Just wanted to get some German in the header
âHave you been watchingâŠ?â is the absolute worst way to start a sentence, and I donât care if itâs with your best friend or some rando you just met at a (digital) party. There is simply too much television to watch, the world is too big and happening too fast, and a reminder of any of this mostly makes us want to relocate to a small Croatian farm, completely off the grid, and finally just reconnect with our bodies, you know?
âŠAnyway, hereâs a TV recommendation for you!
WeCrushing on WeCrash
Did something just happen? Because you better believe thereâs currently a limited series dramatically recreating that something somewhere across the stream-o-verse! You know what Iâm talking about:
âSuper Pumpedâ
âThe Dropoutâ
âWeCrashedâ
âInventing Annaâ
Maybe youâve seen a few of these. Maybe youâve seen all of them, you weirdo! The âwhyâ behind this absolute GLUT of fictionalized true-life miniseries is easy enough to suss out: thereâs built-in story familiarity, a definitive ending, and theyâre cheaper to produce than probably a single episode of âStranger Thingsâ. Weâre only going to get thirteen more when one or several of these projects cleans up at the 2022 Emmys.
Many of these shows are about scammers â the rise and fall of some 21st century Henry Hill swindling a 21st century River City (usually New York or San Francisco). Anna Delvey. Travis Kalanick. Elizabeth Holmes. Theyâre magnetic, larger-than-life, and we get to enjoy their rise (theyâre living embodiments of some kind of warped American Dream!) and fall (I never would have defrauded the public, let alone investors, that way) all from the comfort of our Wayfair couches.
On paper, âWeCrashedâ hits those same beats, charting the rise and (well-cushioned) fall of WeWork founder Adam Neumann and his wife Rebekah Neumann, whose collective ambition turned the company into one of the most amazing success stories of the 21st century before absolutely cratering under their myopia and questionable long-term business sense.
The marketing engine behind all these shows, whether stated or not, is a little thing called schadenfreude. We love watching ridiculous, even villainous characters get their comeuppance. We love when someone gets too big for their britches and those britches fight back. We just love being right.
And Iâm right there with you! I love schadenfreude. I think it should be one of the new Emotions in âInside Out 2â, and be voiced by Christoph Waltz.
âŠBut itâs also sometimes a lazy crutch, especially for stories weâve already read or heard (many of these shows are based on podcasts) and already put in their emotional place, so to speak. Of course Elizabeth Holmes is a sociopath. Of course Anna Delvey preyed on our twin obsessions with wealth and status to hide in plain sight. We on our couches have the benefit of time â hell, historical record â to look at these stories the ârightâ way, with that perfect level of Sorkin-y âwell, we know better, donât we?â smugness. Dunking on the past is the absolute easiest thing in the world, next to posting your âI Votedâ sticker!
âWeCrashedâ works because itâs ultimately not that interested in why WeWork failed, or what this says about 2010âs era tech hubris, or whether Jared Leto can pull off an Israeli accent (sound off in the comments!)⊠it just wants to know how two straight-up wackos can learn to listen to each other and maybe, just maybe, implode an entire company with the strength of their relationship.
Itâs a love story! And the main reason it works â that Iâm rooting for these two to bilk investors and achieve their dubious, frankly incoherent vision of âglobal consciousnessâ â is Jared Leto and Anne Hathaway. Do the Oscars mean anything? Maybe not. But thereâs a reason these two have them, and you can see it in Letoâs spell-casting eyes (even dulled by brown contacts) and hear it in Hathawayâs Brad Garrett x East Hampton x GOOP vocal intonations. Everything these two do here is mesmerizing and turns what easily could have been two walking cartoon characters into people you not only understand, you empathize with. You see what Rebekah saw in Adam, what Adam saw in Rebekah; the ways they each needed the other to do the beautiful/terrible things theyâd do.
You know how I know these are great performances? In its very first episode, âWeCrashedâ plays Katy Perryâs anthem âRoarâ, an undeniably great pop song but also shorthand for 2010s-era white feminism (see: Hillary playing it on the 2016 campaign trail). The Neumanns are heading into battle! The future of the company is at stake! The song plays in their apartment, in the Escalade driving them through Manhattan, and finally from the WeWork HQ speakers (an assistant called ahead) as they stride in like New Age Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine to CLAIM WHATâS THEIRS.
âRoarâ pops up regularly throughout the series1, each time shaded more and more by what we learn about Adam and Rebekah. It feels less triumphant each time! Maybe even ironic, or sad. By the time everything implodes in the finale, the song has literally been replaced by an orchestral version:
I guess what Iâm trying to say is âWeCrashedâ, a show I wasnât even that interested in to start, manages to take a Katy Perry needle-drop and make it feel like fucking Beethoven by the last episode. Did you know that every human emotion could be wrung out of a vague girlboss anthem? Itâs honestly the best pop song glow-up since Tony Soprano put âDonât Stop Believinââ on the jukebox in Holstenâs.
Long story short2: thereâs a human center to âWeCrashedâ, digging past the cartoon headlines to find something loving, or at least empathetic in the Neumanns. I just⊠believed them, or believed that THEY believed, so when it all comes crashing down for them â as it did, and as it should have â I donât feel like gloating; I feel like pulling these two nutso lovebirds into a big, consciousness-expanding hug and howling at the moon. Thatâs good TV!
Adam Neumann really did love the song
I genuinely thought this would be a âquick oneâ