Ryan Murphy’s latest anthology series attempts to transform celebrity romance into compelling television.
The result? A glossy, watchable production that struggles to justify its own existence.
Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette wants viewers to believe it’s excavating profound truths about fame, legacy, and love under impossible circumstances.
Instead, it delivers what one critic aptly describes as “a People magazine feature in TV form”—entertaining yet ultimately hollow.
When Star Power Isn’t Enough
The series opens with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, portrayed by Naomi Watts, delivering a warning to daughter Caroline.
Not everyone’s past should be revisited.
That meta-commentary hangs over the entire production like an uncomfortable truth Murphy can’t escape. Based on Elizabeth Beller’s book Once Upon a Time, the show chronicles John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette’s courtship, marriage, and tragic 1999 airplane accident that also claimed Carolyn’s sister Lauren.
The central performances shine despite material that doesn’t match their commitment. Matt Bomer as John and Meg Bellamy as Carolyn bring genuine three-dimensional humanity to roles that could easily have devolved into tabloid caricatures.
Chemistry Versus Substance
Writer Connor Hines crafts characters with legitimate depth. John emerges as simultaneously magnetic and rudderless—a “wayward man-child shackled by his past and in search of who he is,” struggling with bar exam failures while navigating an on-again, off-again relationship with Daryl Hannah.
Carolyn, meanwhile, registers as “tough, independent, and driven,” keenly aware of what linking herself to America’s most famous bachelor would cost her professionally and personally.
Their 1992 meeting—facilitated by Carolyn’s boss Calvin Klein—crackles with authentic chemistry. That works. What doesn’t work is almost everything surrounding them.
The Jackie Problem
Watts’ portrayal of Jackie O becomes an unintentional distraction. Described as “Kennedy kabuki,” her “thickly accented, speechifying turn” never finds solid ground. She delivers endless monologues about family legacy, responsibility, and Kennedy mythology that feel like history lectures rather than human conversations.
The character “never stops yammering on” about what it means to be a Kennedy in a media-saturated world. Grace Gummer’s Caroline fares no better, reduced to “a cold, unfeeling scold” by scripts that flatten her into a one-note foil.
Alessandro Nivola’s Calvin Klein registers as “blandly imperious,” while Dree Hemingway’s Daryl Hannah comes across as “a needy, whiny, selfish nuisance.” These aren’t characters—they’re plot devices with famous names attached.
Style Over Substance
Murphy productions rarely embrace subtlety, and Love Story follows that template religiously. Approximately half the budget appears dedicated to licensing ’90s chart-toppers, creating a soundtrack-heavy atmosphere that substitutes nostalgia for narrative momentum.
The show even finds time for “catty digs” at era luminaries, including outright slamming Mark Wahlberg as a homophobe in early episodes.
Most problematically, the series “loves to tell rather than show.” Conversations between John and Carolyn devolve into repetitive arguments about fame, obligations, and ancestral pressures—themes hammered home “to diminishing returns.”
A Romance That Feels Like A Nightmare
The series leans slightly toward Carolyn’s perspective, attempting to “sympathetically set the record straight” regarding accusations about drug abuse, her desire for children, and marital loyalty. That narrative choice makes sense—her life gets completely upended by this relationship.
Yet despite being titled Love Story, their romance registers as “not the stuff of storybook dreams but of nightmares.” Consider what they face:
- Relentless paparazzi surveillance
- Round-the-clock New York Post coverage
- The crushing weight of Kennedy “Camelot” mythology
- Enormous personal sacrifices, especially for Carolyn
Their struggle to define individual and shared identities becomes “unbearably arduous.” The primary takeaway? Stardom is overrated.
That conclusion feels simultaneously obvious and clichéd—and the series can’t figure out how to invigorate it.
Missing The Mark On Importance
Perhaps the fundamental issue is that John and Carolyn, despite constant framing as “de facto American royalty,” never actually feel as important as the show insists they are. Strip away John’s famous surname, and they’re simply “mildly interesting celebrities.”
The stakes remain frustratingly low throughout. Unless viewers fully invest in the couple’s emotional turmoil—difficult given the “inherently skimpy material”—the series offers little urgency or momentum.
John and Carolyn appear to have been “nice people forced to deal with a very difficult (if not outright impossible) reality.” That’s sympathetic but insufficient foundation for compelling television. Their story was “cut horribly short, before any resolutions to their problems could be found,” and attempts to make that truncated narrative feel “grand and whole” come across as “clunky and unpersuasive.”
The Verdict On Murphy’s Latest
Love Story positions itself above tabloid culture while simultaneously embracing “their peek-behind-the-curtain spirit.” It decries media intrusion while imagining private moments for entertainment value. That contradiction never gets resolved.
What emerges is television that’s “exceedingly watchable despite being slight, repetitive, and often campy”—an apt description for much of Murphy’s recent output. Compared to The Crown, it’s “an even shallower version,” trading historical gravitas for celebrity gossip elevated by prestige production values.
The series features “impressive lead performances incapable of enhancing inherently skimpy material.” No amount of commitment from talented actors can compensate for narrative that lacks sufficient “meat on these bones.”
Ultimately, Murphy’s anthology delivers exactly what its critics suggest: glossy entertainment that substitutes surface appeal for meaningful exploration. Viewers seeking deeper understanding of John and Carolyn’s relationship will find repeated emotional confrontations—”complete with shouting, tears, and the occasional bit of make-up sex”—but little revelation.
Perhaps Jackie’s opening warning deserved more consideration. Some pasts genuinely shouldn’t be revisited—at least not without compelling reason beyond name recognition and nostalgic soundtrack cues.