The 'Pose' pilot is a master class in making people care about its characters

Ryan Murphy's 'Pose' is more than just a show about ballroom — it's a flood of feelings.
Image: Fx

Pilots are tricky. Showrunners have settings to explain, conflict to create, and a careful balance to strike between creating a self-contained story that feels satisfying — and leaving a narrative door open for an entire season of television. There are pilots that achieve this, but few do so while introducing an entire cast of characters that the audience genuinely cares about by the end of the episode. Ryan Murphy’s Pose, which premiered on June 3, is a master class in crafting a pilot that takes watchers from “who are these people?” to “I love all of my beautiful sons and daughters and will protect them until my death” in 78 minutes flat. 

It’s especially impressive that Pose’s characters are so lovable by the end of the pilot, because there are a whole lot of them introduced. At the forefront is Blanca, an empathetic and protective woman who is trying to forge a new family in the ballroom scene after her old house mother Electra takes her for granted. Blanca’s "children" include Damon, a dancer who's kicked out of his parent’s house brutally after coming out as gay, and Angel, a sex worker who leaves Electra’s House to follow Blanca and who longs for the kind of romance the world seems to reserve for cis women. Then there's Electra herself, an imperious queen of the ballroom whose Shakespearean verbal takedowns are delivered with devastating regality, as well as Pray Tell, the costume-designing, shade-dealing king who acts as the ballroom emcee and surrogate father to the fatherless. They are all joys to watch.

Pose ricochets between the visual highs of ballroom competitions and the realistic lows of New York City in the late '80s, as experienced by members of the LGBTQ community. And it generates an investment in its characters all the while. A thrilling opening sequence involving snappy dialogue, a costume heist, and the show’s first ballroom competition is quickly followed by a scene in which a main character receives an HIV diagnosis and equates it with a death sentence, setting a precedent for the emotional whiplash that reflects and defines each character’s situation in the pilot. 

Angel is first portrayed as radiantly beautiful in a princessy gown, which contrasts with later scenes that reveal she’s convinced that she, a trans woman, will never find love in the form of her own “prince.” Similarly, Damon’s dancing leads to being beaten and expelled from his father’s house, but by the end of the episode — not to spoil too much — it ends up being the source of his greatest happiness.

Pose doesn't paint the circumstances of LGBTQ characters as innately tragic.  

Pose doesn't paint the circumstances of LGBTQ characters as innately tragic. Rather, the show offsets the social lows brought on by an oppressive culture with moments of real joy. Without knowing about the HIV diagnosis, or Angel’s desires, or Damon’s abusive situation, the program's conceit of “find a family that accepts you” wouldn’t resonate with the same impact. Far from fetishizing the unpleasantness of the characters' experiences, Pose focuses on the communities and relationships that make it possible for the crew to band together and love one another as the world expresses its often violent distaste for their lives. 

A second thing that makes Pose’s characters immediately likable? Their distinct and memorable dialogue styles. Electra’s queenly intonation is completely arresting — the fact that her haughtiness is part of what protects her as a passing black trans woman is emphasized when she tears Blanca down for not passing as well. Every Electra line is a performance within a performance, half for Electra’s benefit and half for the in-show audience of her house children and the world at large. 

Pray Tell has a similar element of performance in his dialogue — he’s first introduced as the fast-talking, ever-critical lord of the ballroom, but that's subverted when he helps dress Damon for the ball and reveals his far less glamorous day job. He emcees, we learn, because the ballroom is the one place where his verbal talents grant him status. 

The way each character speaks and moves is indicative of their level of comfort and safety in the world, and the physical performances from the phenomenal cast fill in truths left unspoken. 

That all of this character development is in the pilot is pretty remarkable. If the rest of Pose lives up to its first episode and continues to show the House of Evangelista living, growing, and loving, there’s no reason it shouldn’t generate the kind of passion for its cast and characters that ensemble shows like This Is Us and The Fosters have achieved. Audiences should and will love Angel, Blanca, Damon, and all the rest. It’s about time characters like these were celebrated for the human scope of their lives. 

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