Season 2 of the documentary series “America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders,” on Netflix, is a bit less rah-rah than Season 1 — still full of tears, high kicks and sisterhood but also more attuned to the pain of it all, the sorrow and struggle of cobbling together one’s self-worth.
One of this season’s leads is Jada, a five-year veteran of the team and among its best dancers and most thoughtful leaders. She lays out the season’s theme at the beginning: “Everyone’s going to say, ‘Well, they’re just cheerleaders,’” she says. “Well, we’re really good cheerleaders.”
Her grin begins to spread. “Show us that you appreciate us,” she adds.
Are the members of the team appreciated? Not with money, they’re not, and part of this season’s most invigorating arc is the cheerleaders’ quest for better pay. Season 1 brought additional fame and adulation to the team, and it also drew attention to the exploitation of the enterprise. As Kylie, another team veteran, explains: “The world was kind of telling us, ‘Girls, fight for more.’ And we’re like, ‘OK!’”
As the women practice the grueling signature routine, we hear the opening strains of the AC/DC song “Thunderstruck,” over and over. But the true refrain of the season is the fretting about being in one’s own head. It’s the catchall term for all distress and self-recrimination, the explanation for any lack of confidence or lapse in perfection. Yes, performers can overthink things, especially in prolonged auditions, and rumination and anxiety are enemies to the wide smiles and sexy winks the Dallas cheerleaders’ routines require. The job is to make it look easy.
But there’s an interesting tension. Your head is where the good ideas are, too — ideas like: “Hey, a lot of people are making a lot of money off my work; why doesn’t any of that go to me?” Or: “Even people who I believe have my best interests at heart can disappoint and hurt me.”
Maybe it’s OK to think about those things, necessary even. Maybe your inner voice has something important to say. Maybe the path forward is not ignoring your ideas but indulging them. Maybe the people telling you to avoid your thoughts are the people who benefit most from your submission. We see the discomfort leak out primarily in the women’s anxious hands — so many tasteful shell-pink manicures on flittering fingers that gather into shaky fists.
The first chunk of the season follows the audition process, a triumph of talent and diligence and also a referendum on mothering. Dayton, whose mother, Shelley, is a Dallas alum and employee, is back to audition again after not making the team several years earlier. Kelli and Judy, the exacting and revered bosses, agonize over whether to cut her yet again. Everyone cries. Dayton, Shelley, Kelli and Judy see their shared past through strikingly different lenses, with hurt feelings and conflicting priorities shading their version of events. It’s a juicy conflict, and also a profound one.
The theme coursing through the director Greg Whiteley’s work here, as in his previous shows — including “Last Chance U,” “Cheer” and “Wrestlers” — is that demanding sports teams recreate families and all the troubles that come with them. Everyone needs parental approval, and if you don’t get it, you’ll try to fill that void with different kinds of support. That can make a team an incredibly healing environment — or an incredibly damaging one.
Margaret Lyons is a television critic at The Times, and writes the TV parts of the Watching newsletter.
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