While scrolling through Tumblr, I kept seeing gifs of a new Netflix series.
When commenters noted it was a remake of a Brazilian show, it immediately piqued my interest—I wondered, briefly, if I had ever stumbled across it while channel-surfing in my grandmother’s living room in Santana. It was advertised as a kids’ show, glossy and glittery and produced by High School Musical legend Kenny Ortega. Intrigued, I pulled up Netflix and pressed play.
Reader, I am in love.
In a time where despair has steadily seeped through many of our lives, our worlds grayed by the bleak realities of COVID-19, the rise of political fascism, and the drumbeats of mounting environmental disaster, everything is just…traumatic. Unexpectedly, watching Julie and the Phantoms felt like an emotional reset button. It was honest and uplifting and witty and fun. It reminded me how invigorating and buoyant art can be—and it reminded me that fighting for better is not a fool’s errand.
In an interview, master filmmaker Guillermo Del Toro celebrated the hard-edged superpower of optimism:
“Optimism is radical. It is the hard choice, the brave choice. And it is, it seems to me, most needed now, in the face of despair—just as a car is most useful when you have a distance to close. Otherwise it is a large, unmovable object parked in the garage. These days, the safest way for someone to appear intelligent is being skeptical by default. We seem sophisticated when we say ‘we don’t believe’ and disingenuous when we say ‘we do.’ History and fable have both proven that nothing is ever entirely lost. David can take Goliath. A beach in Normandy can turn the tide of war. Bravery can topple the powerful. These facts are often seen as exceptional, but they are not. Every day, we all become the balance of our choices—choices between love and fear, belief or despair. No hope is ever too small.”
As Julie and the Phantoms similarly demonstrates, we all need hope—we just have to really fight for it sometimes.
After the recent death of her mother, Julie Molina (Madison Reyes) battles a deep, unshakable grief. She and her mother both shared a passion for music—and without her by Julie’s side, she no longer finds herself able to sing, write, or play the piano. Every melody is simply a stark reminder of what Julie has lost. That all changes, of course, when she rummages through her mother’s belongings and decides to listen to an old CD. Suddenly, three teenage boys collapse into her studio: the deceased bandmates of the nineties rock band Sunset Curve.
From the beginning, I appreciated the ways in which the show approached grief. Julie is not immediately “cured” by Luke (Charles Gillespie), Alex (Owen Joyner), and Reggie (Jeremy Shada), nor does she quickly forget that her mother is gone. Rather, the boys’ enthusiasm and support reminds her of her own love for music.
The first time Julie touches the piano again, she plays by herself as the early morning sun rises, singing about “waking up” and trying again. It is a beautifully-shot moment, warm sunlight pouring in from the windows, while the camera captures the reactions of her father and her brother, both of them smiling, eyes slightly wet, as they listen to a voice they thought they would never hear again. Julie is, first and foremost, her own person, a young woman trying to pull herself from a despair that she thought she would never escape. When she sings again, we see how strong she is. It shines on her family’s faces, wells of pride and, also, relief—because their Julie has returned home.
And it must be said: Madison Reyes’ voice is supersonic—she’s an astonishing singer whose vocal cords will knock you off your feet. In an interview prior to shooting the show, Reyes said, “Growing up, it was very rare that I saw a Hispanic girl that looked like me. My role models were Caucasian, so if I got the role, I get to be the role model for that little girl who’s also in my position.” In many Zoom interviews, Madison speaks in front of a Puerto Rican flag, a proud Boricua. And that is why representation is important. It shows young women that their dreams matter, that their dreams are worth striving for, that their dreams are possible.
Moreover, I was incredibly excited to see a Latinx family at the center of Julie and the Phantoms. Her father, Ray (Carlos Ponce), does not fall prey to the regressive (and boring) “absentminded dad” trope. He’s a loving, supportive father who listens to Julie, even when she makes mistakes, and consistently tries to see things from her point of view. When he realizes that he interrupted an important conversation between Julie and a studio head, he offers to film her next performance so that more people can discover her music online. Julie’s Tía Victoria (Alison Araya), while occasionally overbearing, repeatedly checks up on the family to make sure they’re doing okay after her sister’s death. When Julie’s brother, Carlos (Sonny Bustamante), discovers the ghost band, he eventually realizes how important they are to his sister and keeps it a secret. A deep respect, punctuated by silly jokes and eye-rolls, binds the Molina family together.
And, thank God, Julie and her best friend Flynn (Jadah Marie) are played by real teenagers who dress like real teenagers. Both girls wear trendy outfits, brightly colored, but they’re clothes for high schoolers—not runway models or Gossip Girl characters. Critically, they’re not sexualized in any way. I didn’t realize how soul-cleansing it was to see Julie and Flynn allowed to be children until I spotted gifs of Riverdale’s Veronica and Betty on Instagram. I still die inside whenever I think about Betty, a 16-year-old character, strip-teasing in lingerie in front of a crowd of grown men (and her mom…throws up for eternity).
Girls are increasingly sexualized at younger and younger ages, pressured to perpetually look “Instagram ready” with Glossier make-up and mature clothing usually worn by adult women. I do not blame these young girls, who must wade through a pressure cooker version of adolescence that I, luckily, did not have to deal with when I was their age. But I do believe that the casting of women in their mid-to-late twenties as fifteen-year-olds, along with their subsequent objectification on teen shows, has contributed to the normalization of viewing young girls through a wildly distorted, exploitative lens. All of this to say, Julie and Flynn are treated with love and respect on the show.
As a group, the Sunset Curve boys, Luke, Alex, and Reggie, are human labradoodles.
Refreshingly, the boys completely reject toxic masculinity. They openly show affection, holding hands onstage, singing inches apart via a shared microphone, hugging and jumping for joy. They’re readily emotional, crying when they’re happy and crying when they’re sad. After a rehearsal with Julie, Flynn informs the boys that they’ve joined Julie’s band—not the other way around. Luke, the leader of Sunset Curve, simply smiles, pleased. There’s no contrived power struggle, no scoffs, no egos. They all respect Julie and recognize her immense talent. It’s obvious that they consider it an honor to join “Julie and the Phantoms.” While watching the show, I kept thinking about how wonderful it was that children had this type of entertainment—a thoughtful, funny series that tackled real-life difficulties with nuance and care.
One of the boys, Alex, has a significant love interest on the show. The series does not treat Alex’s sexuality with kid gloves, nor does it draw unnecessary fanfare. It is made clear that he came out to Luke and Reggie a long time ago—and, aside from his parents’ negative reaction, there’s no extended handwringing about his identity. When Alex runs into Willie, a ghost on a skateboard, it’s a funny meet-cute, one where they swap jokes and Alex shares his anxieties about, you know, being a ghost. Their burgeoning romance is what catalyzes many of the other plotlines on the show, including the introduction of the villainous Caleb. Due to their relationship, we slowly learn more and more about the intricacies of the ghost world—and how powerful Luke, Alex, and Reggie truly are, even though they don’t know it at first.
Of course, another highlight of the show is the song “Unsaid Emily.” Like Julie, the boys have experienced their own devastating losses. They died, too young, too suddenly, unable to say goodbye to their families or make something of themselves in the music industry. Again, the show acknowledges the significance of this grief, specifically drawing out the heartbreak Luke experienced, unable to reconcile with his parents. In this moment, Julie steps up and offers support. She knows what it means to lose family. Here, she helps Luke reach a bittersweet closure with his parents. Again and again, the show emphasizes that love is not a weakness, but something made of iron, unyielding. It is the bedrock upon which Julie and her himbos grow as musicians and as friends.
And that’s another thing—the jokes legitimately caught me off guard. I laughed out loud a few times, which is rare for me. Owen Joyner’s comedic timing as Alex is spot-on and his deadpan reactions to his bandmates consistently made me smile. Every time he judgmentally said “okay” to Reggie made my heart grow three sizes bigger. And I think every millennial would wear a t-shirt with the anguished phrase, “I’ve been crying for twenty-five years?!”
Without practice, having faith, keeping love in your heart, and maintaining hope can seem silly, childish, even “unrealistic.” This is why shows like Julie and the Phantoms are so incredibly important. They demonstrate that faith, love, and optimism are necessary things, critical things, not the first items you toss in the trash in times of despair. Compassion doesn’t drag you down—it is the first thing that lightens the burden on your shoulders.
Julie and the Phantoms reminds us to tap into that joy. It points out those subtle moments of happiness that we sometimes forget to notice—a best friend’s affectionate sarcasm, a father’s goofy handshake, a late-night conversation with new people you slowly come to love. It takes practice, all of it, but it is worth it.
Fingers crossed for a Season 2, y’all. This is a Netflix show that truly deserves it.