thing that I had been peddling
suddenly became very desirable,”
he says. But his investment in in-
clusion isn’t cynical: it’s rooted
in his own pain, this desire to be-
come the head of his own make-
shift family. “I’m being the father
who says, ‘You’re enough,’ which no one ever said
to me,” he says. “I’ll spend hours in negotiations to
get actors—especially women and minorities—more
money than they’ve ever had.” Case in point: his col-
laborator Janet Mock, who wrote, produced and di-
rected episodes of Pose, recently signed a multimil-
lion-dollar deal with Netflix, making her the first trans
woman with an overall pact at a major media com-
pany. “He puts a lot of wind beneath the wings of the
people he believes in,” says Paulson. “I don’t think
anyone ever did that for Ryan.”
By bolstering his colleagues, Murphy also
benefits—he’s built a community of colleagues who
are fiercely loyal to him. Yet he’s still driven by his
need to belong and to be valued by the Establishment.
“My whole life has been in search of that brass ring,
and now somebody actually thinks I’m worthy as op-
posed to being an aberration?” he says. “People are
astounded that I still want that. But everyone wants
to be seen. Everyone wants to be loved.”
A few dAys lAter, at a photo shoot in Culver City,
Murphy stands before shelves lined with two dozen
hats a stylist has pulled: wide-brimmed chapeaus in
rose and silver, lilac and camel. He ends up not wear-
ing any of them.
But glamorous excess still
reigns, both in his life and on
The Politician, his first show for
Netflix, which might be the Ryan
Murphiest show Ryan Murphy
has ever made. You want shock-
ing violence, Machiavellian
teens, withering one-liners, Gwyneth Paltrow hav-
ing an affair with a horse trainer played by Martina
Navratilova, musical numbers, Munchausen syn-
drome by proxy, and Jessica Lange in gold lamé?
That might sound like a lot. But it’s also calibrated
for a mass audience—because Murphy’s sensibility
has become the sensibility of the mainstream.
“His work is a reflection of his own interests and
sensibilities, but it’s broader than that,” says Cindy
Holland, who runs original programming at Netflix.
“He’s absorbing influences in pop culture to create
these unique collages that appeal to many different
groups.” Critics have rallied behind some of his proj-
ects while dinging others, but he challenges the narra-
tive that certain shows, like his Emmy- sweeping opus
The People v. O.J. Simpson, are more restrained on
purpose. “That show is outrageous!” he says. “John
Travolta’s eyebrows are outrageous! There was a
whole makeover episode! I never change.”
If he is too much, it has proved to be an asset—too
much is exactly what people want. “Call me camp,”
Murphy says. “Call me crazy. Call me wild. Call me
extreme. Call me erratic. The one thing you can’t say
is that I don’t try.” He thinks about it for a second and
smiles wickedly. “Actually, I don’t care what you call
me,” he says. “As long as you call me.” ‘EVERY ONE
WANTS TO
BE SEEN.
EVERYONE
WANTS TO
BE LOVED.’
^
Paltrow returns to acting
with a juicy role in Murphy’s
The Politician, as the mom
of a scheming teen (Platt)