There’s an obvious reason why the sixth episode of Netflix’s seven-part documentary America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders It’s titled “9 to 5.” Set in the fall of 2023, it features Dolly Parton performing her hit song at the halftime show of the Cowboys’ Thanksgiving game, dressed in full cheerleader regalia. But there is also some subtext in the title. The theme song to Parton’s cult comedy of the same name, in which three humiliated working women kidnap their sexist and sadistic boss, “9 to 5” includes lyrics like: “Barely making ends meet, it’s all taking and no giving / They just use their lie and never give him credit. / It’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it.
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At this point in the series, directed and produced by prolific Netflix sports documentary filmmaker Greg Whiteley, that lament has a deep resonance. America’s sweethearts is a show about women’s work and its dubious rewards. As Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the TeamThe long-running CMT reality series that ended in 2022 follows director and DCC alumna Kelli Finglass as she whittles down hundreds of talented dancers to an elite team of 36. But in a welcome departure from its punchy predecessor, The empathetic and observant but uneven doc keeps the cameras trained on the cheerleaders throughout football season, capturing their personal lives, the sacrifices they make, and the grueling, precarious, and often thankless labor of love that has kept them working since well before nine until well after five.
Whiteley makes sports documentaries that, despite their many inspiring moments, meditate on the vast distance between the American dream of meritocracy and an American reality marked by inequality, fruitless effort, and wasted talent. Of community college athletes from Last chance U It is Rejoice to gladiators covered in bruises Fighters‘ wrestling in Ohio Valley Wrestling, his subjects tend to be underdogs. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders seem, at first, like a match for Whiteley; after all, they are the most iconic fans in the world. But they are also women in an organization created to celebrate male athletes and satisfy macho fans, which means their lives are far from as glamorous as they may seem.
America’s sweetheartsThe biggest contribution is to contextualize the public profile of the DCC. Whiteley spends a lot of time documenting the cheerleaders’ prowess and precision as athletes – the synchronization, the endurance, the painful jumps that the team could never consider abandoning because the fans love them so much. Even if you had no prior interest in the sport, a thorough presentation of your “Thunderstruck” signature routine It’s a wonder to behold. However, it is evident throughout the series that DCC’s perfection is a product of the obsessive perfectionism imposed on women by Finglass, choreographer Judy Trammell, and their colleagues.
For many aspiring cheerleaders, this means being as meticulous about their appearance and charm as they are about their dancing. Women are criticized for being too short, “too skinny,” insufficiently toned, or lacking expert-level makeup skills. “Is this bronzer or structural?” Kelli wonders about a spot on the forehead of a rookie in training camp who is soon cut from the team. There is a lot of concern about how the DCC’s famously unforgiving uniform of cropped vest, waist-high top, star-spangled hot pants and knee-high cowboy boots might be for the female form. But no one seems to be asking why it should be women who should change their bodies to fit into that uniform, and not the other way around.
A feminist-minded viewer could get tied up trying to untangle the show’s—and the crew’s—gender politics, and Whiteley deserves credit for doing justice to that complexity. Everyone on the team proves to be consummate athletes, possessing remarkable skill, strength and discipline. The line between physical fitness, a basic job requirement, and aesthetics can be thin. And contrary to what one might expect of beautiful women competing for a nation’s male gaze, the hopefuls seem extraordinarily kind and supportive of one another. However, there is not much institutional support for cheerleaders whose mental health or eating problems are exacerbated by the stressful atmosphere of training camp. Victoria, a vulnerable second-generation DCC veteran whose evident desire for Kelli and her teammates’ approval may be exactly what drives them away, has an especially frustrating arc.
You may protest that all professional sports make harmful demands on the athletes who play them; Excellence has a price. Although Whiteley’s editorial hand is light, America’s sweethearts seems to anticipate this type of resistance to the representation of professional cheerleading as exclusively punitive work. Men can ruin their bodies playing football or be shunned by the NBA because they’re not over seven feet tall. But no one expects them to fulfill every fan’s fantasy, as sweet surrogate granddaughters for the nursing home residents we see DCC visit, role models for the girls who idolize them, eye candy for guys across all demographics. (Isn’t that “America’s sweethearts,” which is also the team’s nickname, just a curious way of saying “America’s sweethearts”?)
This attention can become frightening. On “9 to 5,” Kelcey, a five-year veteran and the team’s most respected leader, recounts the time a stalker put an AirTag in her car so she could track his movements. Later, a photographer gropes Sophy while she is on the field during the game. She reacts exactly as she should, reporting him to the authorities through tears. Somehow, though, police rarely seem to find enough evidence to arrest cheerleader attackers.
You would think the Cowboys would at least compensate these performers at a level commensurate with their skills, responsibilities and visibility. Whiteley discovers that this is not the case. Although the NFL’s highest-paid players earn more than US$50 million per year, 2022 DCC alumna Kat compares her salary to that of “a full-time Chick-fil-A employee.” Previous generations earned even less – $15 or $35 a game for a role they considered honorary. Asked about the pay issue, Charlotte Jones, the Cowboys’ chief brand officer and daughter of owner Jerry Jones, rambles condescendingly: “There’s a lot of cynicism about NFL cheerleader pay — as it should be. They don’t get paid much. But the truth is, they don’t come here for the money. They come here for something that’s actually bigger than this for them. They have a passion for dancing. There are not many opportunities in the dance field to perform at an elite level. It’s about being part of something bigger than themselves. It is a brotherhood that they manage to form, of relationships that they maintain for the rest of their lives. They have the chance to feel valued, special and making a difference. When women come here, they find their passion and their purpose.”
Low pay, long hours (at one point we are told that the cheerleaders work 21 days straight during a performance-packed holiday season), greater vulnerability to sexual violence, the expectation that purpose and camaraderie should outweigh the the fact that they are woefully undervalued? If you’re familiar with the occupational hazards of women’s work, it all starts to sound quite familiar. A portrait emerges of NFL cheerleading as the ultimate pink-collar vocation, with many of the same drawbacks as nursing or teaching. (It’s no surprise to learn that many of the women on the team support themselves with day jobs in healthcare.) America’s sweethearts he does not blame his subjects for accepting such inadequate treatment; gently guides us to question why women who love and excel in female-dominated careers are expected to sacrifice endlessly for them.
Whiteley’s subtlety can work brilliantly, as in his portrayal of Finglass (who executive produced, along with Charlotte Jones, Forming the team but not America’s sweethearts), who seems like a sensible, if never entirely cold, woman, circumscribed by her own exacting standards. But there are times when her approach is not as effective. Some early cuts suggest that DCC’s preferred dance styles and beauty standards put women of color at a disadvantage, though the show doesn’t spend much time getting to know the team’s handful of nonwhite cheerleaders. The series’ scattershot finale brings the football season to a close, but doesn’t provide much thematic closure. An episode framed by a megachurch preacher’s insistence that “God loves Dallas” highlights the Christian faith of many of the squad members, but the connection between cheerleaders and Jesus remains an unfinished thought.
By far the superior of the two series, America’s sweethearts makes an effective coda and a much-needed corrective to the context-free glamor of Forming the team. Burdened with family legacies, great ambitions and uncertainty about their post-CHD future, the young women highlighted seem to be more than just photogenic bodies. At best, they are athletes working at the top of their sport; at worst, they are victims of a job market, a form of entertainment and a society in which misogyny is so deeply rooted that it is often imposed by the women it oppresses. As Dolly once said about a very different kind of daily routine: What a way to make a living!
This story originally appeared on Time.com read the full story
