'I Love LA' is 'It' girl Rachel Sennott's self-indulgent fantasy about Gen Z, influencers

Why is 'I Love LA' criticized as self-indulgent?

How does 'I Love LA' compare to 'Entourage' and 'Girls'?

What roles did Sennott and A'zion play previously?

Move over manchildren, there are some women who would like to take your immature crown.

The early 2000s saw a run of successful movie and TV comedies about men who didn't want to grow up. Think Judd Apatow flicks with Steve Carell and Seth Rogen, or sitcoms starring Charlie Sheen. The humor (if one was amused by it) was in their dopey antics, their refusal to conform to the standards of adulthood ... plus, lots of fart jokes.

But with HBO's new comedy "I Love LA"(Sundays, 10:30 ET/PT, ★½ out of four), we are now entering the era of the woman child. Instead of getting ill-advised chest waxing, they're catfighting in TikTok videos, whining on the phone to their parents and stealing expensive purses. Created and starring Rachel Sennott, ofinternet "It Girl" fame and films like "Saturday Night" and "Shiva Baby," the series is a masturbatory (literally and figuratively) prestige TV fantasy of the chronically online.

And while there is value in peeking in at a world of influencers, Hollywood hedonism and the cares of Generation Z, "LA" does not add any critical lens or takeaways. Sennott and her costars speak with an irritatingly fake affect, are shallower than a puddle in the desert and prize selfishness, indolence and artifice. The dull stories the show crafts around them add no insight or substance.

Set in, as the title might suggest, Los Angeles, "LA" immerses itself in the world not of A-list Hollywood glam but of new media fame and influencer culture, where a simple Instagram Story can net the right someone $30,000, but a takedown video from a fellow influencer can spell disaster and lost brand deals. Unless you are part of this world (online or in person), it will be a language entirely foreign to you. That's OK as a general concept; not all art has to be universal in its specific setting. But any successful work of art or entertainment should feel genuine and relatable in its emotional scope, even if the circumstances are completely alien.

"LA" can't find authentic feeling anywhere in its eight-episode first season because it is so bogged down by its cool girl aesthetic and party-all-night vibes. Our protagonist Maia (Sennott) is an aspiring talent manager in the City of Angels, who helped her close friend Tallulah (Odessa A'zion) to internet fame but was soon left by the wayside as Tallulah's star rose. Stuck as an assistant on her 27th birthday, Maia's ready to try for bigger and better things when Tallulah shows up in her life again, broke and looking for help from her former bestie.

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"LA" follows Maia as she chases Tallulah and attempts to control the damage of the star's antics. Maia has help from her friends Charlie (Jordan Firstman), a pop star stylist and Alani (True Whitaker), an aimless movie biz nepo baby. Plus there's Maia's teacher boyfriend Dylan tagging along, played by "Hunger Games" star Josh Hutcherson, 33, looking distinctly like an old fuddy duddy and out of place with these kids, in spite of being only three years Sennott's senior. Maia's friends are all as insipid and tedious as she is. Dylan is the only halfway tolerable character, but he also lacks much in the way of personality other than loving Maia and sometimes reading nerdy history books.

It's not just that the characters in "LA" are unlikable; plenty of good stories are told about terrible people. HBO's 2000s and 2010s comedies "Entourage" and "Girls," perhaps the most analogous to "LA," were popular yet divisive precisely because of their oft-irksome protagonists. But they had interesting stories to tell, sharp writing and a distinct point of view. "LA" can't decide if it's satire or sincere, whether we should hate its cast or love them in spite of their many, many flaws. There are moments of clarity amid the haze of cocaine, booze, and TikTok videos when it seems like maybe there's a greater point than highlighting the shallowness of Gen Z. But any moments of nuance slip away as quickly as you might scroll past an uninspiring Instagram reel.

It's clear that Sennott and A'zion in particular are talented up-and-coming actresses, but they can't elevate the material about rich kids with money to burn but no empathy or common sense. It's all a bit rich to take in, especially amidst headlines about impoverished Americans potentially losing food assistance.

Sennott and her ilk may love LA, but it's hard to imagine the city, or anyone else, might love them back.