Netflix is releasing a delicious new documentary series, America’s Lovers, about the 2023 Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Essays. Why should I, who have never reviewed anything other than a book, be the one to review it? For starters, a sick day gave me the opportunity to swallow it all in one seven-hour period. The show has scratched just about every itch I have: As a former cheerleader who spent much of this year in physical therapy treating a chronic back injury, I find that watching people executing movements with a precision that I can no longer even approach to be deeply satisfying. I also like documentaries that examine American culture without saying that’s what they’re doing – even better if they don’t seem to be doing it. know That’s what he does. America’s Favorites is a series about the cult of femininity, of which I consider myself, depending on the day, as a subject or a survivor. Plus, growing up in rural California in the 1990s at the height of the NFL monoculture, I had a babysitter from San Antonio named Lisa who drove a Ford Bronco with the Cowboys logo on the side, and I had two chihuahuas at home named Troy and Emmitt. I had to watch this series.
It all starts with Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders director Kelli McGonagill Finglass and choreographer Judy Trammell (themselves former DCCs, as the team members are called) selecting video auditions of young women wiggling around. The contestants have clearly spent their lives not only dancing but performing as soloists, which is a skill in its own right. Finglass and Trammell’s favorites possess superior beauty and technique (the price of entry), but also an otherworldly quality that makes people want to watch them. And I did.
Throughout the process, the newbies and veteran contestants (any of whom could be cut) form close bonds at lightning speed. Even those who have only known each other for a few weeks consider each other best friends. They cry when their best friends are cut from the team. The most uttered phrase on the show has to be “I love you so much!”, often appearing in scenes of smeared mascara and hugs.
Similar moments probably happened among the girls I cheered with in high school, but many of us had been taking dance classes together since we wore tiny tutus. I became skeptical of such displays of emotion during my brief and embarrassing stint in a college sorority. I was struggling with freshman year loneliness so my mom pushed me to rush. But when I found myself at the center of groups of screaming women declaring their love for each other while throwing themselves into meaningless activities, I felt more alone than ever. My sorority, like the Cowboys cheerleaders, had only a handful of women of color — just enough to avoid any accusations of you know what — and we mostly kept to ourselves. I got out of there as quickly as I could.
Football games, when they start on the show, are a unique experience. Being a cheerleader at a football game is exhilarating, not because you’re the center of attention—you’re not, everyone’s watching the game—but because you’re in a place where everyone has come together for a purpose and you have a role to play. Cheerleaders say they feel the same way when they put on their uniforms as they do when they put on a cape and become superheroes. Oddly enough, I feel the same way now when I’m covering the news. We’re still all here for a particular project, except now it’s reporting on the state of American democracy. The outcome is uncertain, but I have a job to do; it gives me a direction to follow—a direction that now feels much more important.
Just before that, I had watched another documentary: Manufacturing Consentwith Noam Chomsky, who had been in the news. He talks about sports as a way to control the masses, and group activities such as sororities and cheer squads as a way to engender servility. America’s Lovers seems to completely reinforce his theories. The characters in the series are happy, soothed by the strict hierarchy of their world. They hate to disappoint, but when they do, their path back into their coaches’ good graces is clear: do better and you will be absolved. The satisfaction it provides is so deep that the team’s alumni, some as old as 70, return to the stadium to perform together every year. They take performing very seriously, and many cheerleaders say on the show that their years on the team were the best of their lives.
On the other hand, the life of a grumpy atheist and skeptic, which Chomsky advocates and to which I am more naturally inclined, is a bit disappointing. As I got older, I came to understand that birthdays are worth celebrating, that it’s okay to take a day off from your mission, that it’s okay to be grateful — as the women on the show keep reminding you – is not necessarily naive. And I’m much happier for it. So who’s right, Chomsky?
All this happiness is the result of hard work. Those who make the team do so because they learn to tolerate pain, to put off surgery, to survive on four or five hours of sleep so they can take on additional jobs that supplement their marginal income.
And because they are women, they have to be perfect when doing all this work. They must be wind-up positivity dolls. At one point in the show, a binder would contain the answers to the question “What is a DCC?” » opens. I had to press “Pause” to read and reread a page, which sums it up like this:
WHAT AM I … ?
I am a small thing with big meaning * I help everyone * I open doors, I open hearts, I eliminate prejudice – I create friendship and goodwill * I inspire respect and trust * Everyone loves me * I don’t bother anyone * I break no law * I cost nothing * Many have praised me, none has condemned me * I please everyone * I am useful every moment of the day
“I don’t cost anything” — this phrase touched my heart. Cheerleaders are expected to keep smiling while standards are imposed on them that are impossible to meet. They’re told their kicks aren’t high enough (which sometimes seems like a euphemism for the fact that Coach Finglass just doesn’t like them), and then said they look like they’re doing too much. exertion and need to relax, then they look like they have little energy, then they need to eat more to fuel their body, then they are not lean enough . No more makeup. Too much makeup. Too blonde. Not blonde enough. The most scathing criticism should be met with a smile and a “Yes, ma’am.”
My favorite character was Reece Allman. She was by far the best dancer, incredibly attractive, whether encouraging others or during the Latin ballroom dance she performed for her tryout. (After his tryout, a judge called a break in the competition so he could fan himself.) In interviews in her room, she said that her dancing skills were a gift from God and that she wanted them use to bring him glory. She said she didn’t want people to see her at all when she was on stage, she wanted them to see Jesus. But when she’s on stage, you can’t look away. And we can’t – or at least I couldn’t – see Jesus.
Reece also explained that she was engaged to the first guy she talked to, a real sweetheart who got a job at a pressure washer dealership selling parts in Dallas so they could live together. He said Reece, apparently one of the most confident dancers in the world, visibly shook with fear the first time he held her. This story clearly showed that they had not yet consummated their love. How could someone who had never slept with anyone exude so much sexuality? This contradiction is typical of Cowboys cheerleaders.
According to critics, this is the worst series from Greg Whiteley, the creator of Acclamation And Last chance U— because he is too lenient with his characters. Daniel Feinburg wrote in The Hollywood Reporter that it was “frustrating to be caught up in the myth surrounding its subjects” and that it felt “more like a well-crafted advertisement than a revealing documentary.”
Feinburg is right, but what makes the show interesting is how easily we see what’s behind the surface. In the final episode, Sophy Laufer accuses a cameraman of touching her buttocks while she’s dancing. The police intervene but decide there’s not enough evidence to charge the man. But the scenes are revealing, because Coach Finglass’s reaction—raised eyebrows and surprise that the cheerleader would press charges—suggests that she might not have been so supportive of Laufer if the cameras hadn’t been rolling. (She also describes the incident differently than the filmmakers, saying that the police determined that no assault had occurred.)
Laufer is the youngest on the team, only 19 years old. She was interviewed right after this happened, wearing a lot of makeup, which made her look even more childish. But in this moment, she becomes a woman, not by her appearance but by forgetting the rules (I like everyone) and report the incident so that something similar, or even worse, doesn’t happen to anyone else. She goes it alone and the other girls have no choice but to support her. “We are so proud of you,” they say in a pile of hugs.