One also cannot help but compare Empire’s pilot to two showbiz-set series that were strong right out of the gate, yet failed to keep the quality up: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and Smash. Those short-lived dramas eased the audience into the aspects related to their respective cultural area (sketch comedy, Broadway musical) in subtle but creative ways. Their premieres positioned the audience with just a few of the major characters – both the stars in the spotlight and the creators behind the scenes – and made us understand their goals and desires. From there, the shows built on the contained cultural universes introduced in the first 45 minutes and pushed the characters into greater conflict.
In comparison, Empire takes this one step further. By the halfway point of the episode, we know what the principal characters want and what their obstacles are, yet still have another 20 minutes or so to redefine how each of them stand. The show moves too quickly out of the gate, propelling the story forward but only giving us a slight taste of how the characters react to the thickening plot. The pacing is far too brisk: once Daniels begins to settle the audience into a scene, we cut into a flashback or shift to a new moment entirely. There is a lot of hustle in the pilot, but too little flow.
Furthermore, instead of giving us a feel for how the Empire hip-hop behemoth runs or has shaped the music industry, these aspects are afterthoughts. Daniels tries to use Lucius’s speech to the board in the pilot’s early moments to draw attention to his past and some of the periphery conflicts the company will face during the season. However, the speech is rushed through and barely resonates. Within half a minute, we hear Lucius talk about how music saved his life, how the Internet has destroyed the music business and how he aspires to help disenfranchised children. None of this is linked together coherently, therefore keeping his motivations as a business head too brief and vague to remember.
Empire is also limited by its network home, muting moments of profanity in the hip-hop songs so that they become watered down, radio-edit versions. For a series entrenched in the world of a popular musical genre, it fails to resonate in an aural dimension. Regardless, there are two affecting music moments in the premiere. The first comes in the opening scene, when Lucius gives a specific vocal tip to a recording artist and guides her to a pitch-perfect take.
The second triumph is during Jamal’s live performance. The scene jumps between the young crooner singing a potential hit single about family pain with the flashbacks from his youth that directly influenced the lyrics. (“I just want you to look at me,” he begs into the microphone, as sepia-toned flashbacks to the time Lucius threw him in a garbage bin play onscreen.) It is one of the only honest moments in a glitzy pilot undone by manic pacing and silly dialogue. Unfortunately for Daniels, setting a series in an industry that favors flash over substance also dilutes his drama to replicate that formula, one where showing off wealth is preferred to sharing scars.