‘Palm Royale’ is a Gorgeously Sunny Tale of the Haves and Have Nots

Seeing Kristen Wiig hoist herself over a high wall in the first few moments of the first episode of Apple TV+’s Palm Royale tells you everything you need to know about her character, Maxine Simmons. Not only does Maxine possess the grace of a former beauty queen, but she has the gumption of the runner-up who knows how much it stings to come in second or to be told that she isn’t a winner. Supported by a game, limber cast, Palm Royale is a cheeky, gorgeous tale of ambition and identity led by a never-better Wiig.

The women who lounge at the pool or have lunch at the Palm Royale are worth the worship. Allison Janney’s Evelyn is looking to take over a more prominent spot in the inner circle. Leslie Bibb’s Dinah is having an affair with her tennis coach and worried about being ditched by her second husband. Julia Duffy’s Mary always has a cocktail in hand, and Claudia Ferri’s Raquel is married to a dangerous man. Maxine has admired these women from afar (and read about them every day in the Palm Beach’s Shiny Sheet rag) so devoutly that she, herself, thinks that she can fit right in. The catch, as Maxine says in her opening monologue, is…everybody else.

Because of her beauty pageant training, Maxine is skilled at thinking on her feet, a trait found in a lot of Wiig’s characters. Here, though, Wiig’s elasticity is bouncier than ever before, juggling bounced checks and friendships just in time to be foiled again and again. She brings a poise to her flailing, sunny disposition with her charmed, Southern drawl (I could hear her say creme de cacao over and over again). A lot of actors would make Maxine insufferably desperate, but in Wiig’s deft hands we begin to root for her, because if she can do it, maybe there is hope for the rest of us?

Maxine soon learns that it doesn’t matter how many drink orders she gets right or how many benefits she weasels herself into, the members of the Palm Royale will never see her as one of them. But that hardly means she will give up, a quality that the women soon begin–reluctantly or not–to admire. Set in 1969, immense change hangs in the air or swirls on the wind–it will come whether the citizens of Palm Beach are ready for it or not. All throughout this first season, we see the news playing in the background or a television delivers some groundwork. It’s a subtle thread weaved through by creator Abe Sylvia. It doesn’t simply ground us in the time period as it is a clever reminder that this country club might have more Maxines storming its doors in the months and years to come.

If one might be tempted to criticize a lack of clarity in tone (we debated whether it was actually a comedy or drama on this week’s podcast) they should remember what Sylvia and his directors (including Tate Taylor) do with such a huge ensemble. This is a soap opera that never sacrifices the grandeur of story to make the characters too broad and it’s never shy to lean into absurdity. It’s glamorous but grounded, especially in the back half of episodes, and after Maxine establishes herself in the inner circle, the plot cleverly pivots to how a woman who simply wants to belong and have everyone present their best selves. Sylvia knows how to deliver the camp but also when to pull back to let the story matter.

The women of the inner circle deliver exactly what you want from them. Janney can cut you down with a withering look or bitchy retort so effectively that Logan Roy would cower, and Bibb gets to devour a character consumed by other people’s perception of her. I couldn’t help but wonder if this is who Brooke McQueen grew up to be. Palm Royale‘s secret weapon, though, is none other than the legendary Carol Burnett as the queen of Palm Beach, Norma. Even though her character is in a coma for the first few episodes, she tears through these scenes and she is a foreboding presence even when she has fewer lines than her costars. She is never a gimmick but a promise of how good the balance between drama and comedy hinges on a deeply understood performance. And no one else looks better in a turban. Ricky Martin plays a character, perhaps, closer to his identity than we imagine. His Robert is devoted to Norma’s legacy but so struggles with his own place in the world. There is a thoughtful scene later in the season where Maxine suggests that he doesn’t want to symbolize a movement that will speak to many audiences who remember a time when they could only wish to live more openly.

Costume designer Alix Friedberg’s work will make you drool. An Emmy winner for her work on Big Little Lies, Friedberg’s explosions of color and texture will literally leave your mouth watering. There are capes. There are caftans. There are so many hats that you could make a ladder to the sun and back. This is truly aspirational costume design. The production design, by Jon Carlos, is lush and meaningful. Everything, from Norma’s bedroom to the bungalow where Robert prepares cocktails to every party of the season, reeks of old money in the best way possible. I lived in South Florida for three years and absolutely hated it, but if I could spend time in the world created by Carlos with people dressed by Friedberg, I’d buy a plane ticket back.

Palm Royale it witty, colorful, nimble, and decadent. Do you know where you belong? Remember to ask yourself one thing the next time you find yourself questioning your own worth: What would Maxine do?

Palm Royale debuts on Apple TV+ on March 20. It releases episode weekly.