‘I Love LA’ Review: Rachel Sennott’s Wild, Cringe-Filled Tour of Influencer Hell

Before he became famous for writing family-friendly songs for Pixar movies, Randy Newman was best known for his sharp, ironic lyrics. One of his biggest hits from that pre–Buzz Lightyear era was “I Love L.A.,” the song whose title Rachel Sennott borrows for this new series she created and stars in. One might assume—given the tone she sets and her particular sensibility—that, following Newman’s lead, the show would offer a similarly sardonic look at California’s vacuous culture, one that has only worsened in the forty years since that song was written, before the internet, social media, and influencers existed. But in its first eight episodes, that irony takes a back seat, and it’s fair to say that the characters in I Love LA really do love living in Los Angeles, even while knowing just how hollow it can be.

It’s a risky balancing act. Sennott is fully aware that the world her characters inhabit borders on nothingness—full of influencers, influencer agents, nepo babies, and millionaire entrepreneurs—but her fascination with it keeps pulling her back in. Maia, the protagonist she plays herself, comes from New York and has a conflicted relationship with Los Angeles’ very different social and urban architecture. She seems comfortable staying somewhat on the sidelines, living with her schoolteacher boyfriend (Josh Hutcherson) and keeping a relatively low profile. But when Tallulah (Odessa A’Zion), a former friend turned social media star, returns to town and asks Maia to become her manager, she accepts—and soon gets swept up in the whirlwind of celebrity culture and everything that comes with it.

That same ambiguity runs through all eight episodes of this funny, biting, and at times exasperating comedy, which dives headfirst into its contradictions. Maia/Sennott seems to take more pleasure in the superficial world she’s depicting than in criticizing it. We know—and she knows—that her character’s journey is bound to crash head-on into a wall sooner or later, but for now she’s clearly enjoying the ride. In that sense, I Love LA leans more toward fascination than critique.

Sennott—who isn’t Jewish, though she looks the part and the show often jokes about it—first broke out through viral clips and indie films like Shiva Baby. This personal project feels like her attempt to create a generational and autobiographical comedy in the vein of Girls by Lena Dunham, a creator with whom she shares several traits—especially the noisy, performative way both approach their characters’ contradictions. Maia can be funny, charming, and quick-witted, but once she gets pulled into “the industry” (which here doesn’t even mean Hollywood proper, but twenty-somethings chasing shampoo brand deals and cookie ads), she forgets everything else and dives in headfirst, embracing—at least at first, without guilt—her most self-centered and, let’s face it, shallow side.

Tallulah, on the other hand, seems born for that world, though she ends up following an almost opposite trajectory. She starts off as a stereotypical “dumb girl” who just wants to be the center of the world (her outfits are nothing if not attention-grabbing), chasing TikTok clout, designer clothes, trendy restaurant reservations, and a carefully crafted hipster image. But when that starts to fall apart—which becomes one of the season’s key plot points—her fame-built illusion begins to crumble. The main quartet is rounded out by True Whitaker as Alani, the daughter of a famous Hollywood producer (she’s the real-life daughter of actor-director Forest Whitaker), who holds a job at her father’s company that she barely pays attention to; and Charlie (Jordan Firstman), the archetypal gay best friend whose personal problems gradually become more compelling than those of the protagonist.

There are cameos by real celebrities (including a very funny Elijah Wood appearance) and several streamers and influencers, endless references to brands and trendy L.A. spots (mostly in Silver Lake and Echo Park), and plenty of cringe-worthy moments that will either amuse or annoy depending on one’s tolerance for secondhand embarrassment. I Love LA feels like a promising start for a series still figuring out its best tone and rhythm. It’s clearly sharper, edgier, and cooler than its neighbor Nobody Wants This—which unfolds in similar settings but with a very different crowd—but for now it seems too enamored with the superficial world it portrays to fully lean into sarcasm or real critique. Judging by how the season evolves, that sharper edge may come later—and that expectation alone makes you want to keep watching.