Miley Cyrus Flounders in Black Mirror’s Self-Parodying “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too”

Cynicism and Black Mirror have a tendency to go hand in hand. Most of the anthology series’ episodes are anchored by their bitterness (on some level) toward modern culture, be they pithy takedowns of social media, political discourse or popular entertainment. A healthy starting level of disgust toward the subject matter in any episode is an expected launching pad, but what do you do when a story never bothers to give you any central figure with whom you can empathize? Well, you end up with the perplexing, seemingly miscalculated fifth season episode “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too.”

Right from the get-go of that title, we’re already on shaky footing. The name of the episode implies the existence of three central characters, but in reality it rarely feels that way¬-it should have simply been titled “Rachel and Ashley.” It’s the story of shy, nebbish high school Rachel (Angourie Rice) and her infatuation with colorfully sanitized and equally vacuous pop princess Ashley (Miley Cyrus), whose fairytale life of fame turns out to be (surprise!) spiritually hollow-a turn of events so inherently expected within the mold of Black Mirror that it would have been far more surprising if Ashley wasn’t surrounded by soulless corporate monsters. Oh, and Jack (Madison Davenport) is there too, even if her role rarely amounts to more than a sounding board for Rachel’s insecurities.

Let’s talk about the mere presence of Miley Cyrus for a moment, portraying a pop star within the context of this Black Mirror episode. Her Ashley O is presented as some sort of natural songwriting genius, who is unsurprisingly corralled and controlled-both subtly and overtly-by her label and management team, headed up by a domineering and power-hungry aunt (Susan Pourfar) who takes credit for Ashley’s fame. These people are presented as comically and almost cartoonishly evil from the very start, with one producer suggesting “If she’s feeling undercreative I have some mild hallucinogens we can put her on.” Ashley is already meant to be popping what are referred to at one point as “illegal meds,” which is a disappointing way (to say the least) in characterizing the prescription drug or opioid abuse of so many real-life modern media stars, made perfectly “legal” by the privilege of fame. If Charlie Brooker thinks the real-life Miley Cyrus (or her handlers) couldn’t get a prescription for whatever she wanted tomorrow, working entirely within the boundaries of our double legal standard for celebrities, then maybe this show is less cynical and more deluded than I thought.

With that said, there certainly is plenty of cynicism present in expecting the audience to accept Cyrus as the tortured genius in the first place, somehow willfully forgetting the actress-singer’s origin as the product of a Disney marketing machine. One gets the feeling, watching “Rachel, Jack and Ashley Too” that the entire concept for Ashley’s character could have come straight from Cyrus’ own marketing team, in a meta-attempt to prove that Miley Cryus The Performer is a being of depth and nuance. We can report that despite those best efforts, most of the time she sounds like whatever one would call the female equivalent of a “bro.” Of all the qualities she projects, “hidden depths” is the last you’d cite.