Watching McGregor spew this exquisite venom like a deranged rattlesnake is entertaining enough, and he gets great support from the rest of the cast—particularly the amazing Krysta Rodriguez (Smash), who captures the manic energy of early Halston advocate Liza Minnelli as if she were born into it. But most of the credit has to producer Murphy, who has an unparalleled ability to carve compelling narratives out of tangled, throbbing messes of characters and subplots.

One can’t help wondering whether a mini series about his relationship with Liza Minnelli (who refused to talk ill of her friend in the 2019 documentary and clearly loved him as much – or more – than any of her husbands) would have been a far more moving and emotional TV drama than this fun but forgettable Halston turns out to be.

The show is trashy fun, but it could have been so much more. White and Murphy could have gone deeper into Halston’s psyche, but all we get are a couple of brief flashbacks to his unhappy childhood.

High on glamour and low on insight, we're treated to eyefuls of elegance, McGregor's prosaic impression of Halston's silken fussiness and enough powder to make Donatella Versace dream of skiing. But whatever poetry made Halston who he is remains left undiscovered and unspoken.

It’s nowhere near as unique or compelling as it should be. But at least Murphy is starting to ask himself the right questions.

Over five episodes, the series is littered with incidents that seem like they could be focal events if only Halston had focus, or structuring devices if only the show had structure.

After five episodes, nothing in the series shimmers. Any attempt to rehabilitate or revive the mononymous fashion artist’s name via the passionless dramatic info dump about Halton’s highs and (frankly) mostly lows is left in tatters.