Navigating the labyrinthine narrative of "Mr. Robot" often risks getting bogged down in its intricate web or getting carried away by whimsical tangents. Sam Esmail has admirably distilled the saga to its core elements while preserving its grand narrative sweep, yet the series occasionally succumbs to the pitfall of unraveling into absurd or nonsensical revelations. Just recently, Esmail unveiled another plot twist, purportedly meticulously woven into the show's fabric since its inception, involving a possible secret twin. Put simply, it is a rare occurrence when the series halts to recount a grounded tale that isn't tethered to fantastical convolutions that often strain credibility.
Fortunately, "Forbidden," penned by Courtney Looney, presents a straightforward premise and a mesmerizing guest performance, revealing multifaceted dimensions of our protagonist's bug-eyed persona. In essence, Elliot is tasked with infiltrating the abode of Olivia Cortez (played by Dominik García-Lorido, the daughter of Andy García), the Deus Group's sole U.S. account manager at Cyprus National Bank, to gain access to the Group's financial records. Elliot and Mr. Robot slip into her apartment effortlessly, only to realize they require a security fob she personally carries to access the files. They track her down at a bar where she has been stood up by a date. Elliot instantly contemplates exploiting her Oxycontin addiction and custody agreement as leverage for their needs. However, Mr. Robot suggests an alternative approach: engaging in an actual conversation with Olivia instead of carelessly destroying another soul.
This scenario marks a refreshing deviation from the usual Elliot-Mr. Robot dynamics, where the latter incessantly urges the former into perilous, destructive paths. Now, it's Elliot, embodying a chilling self-destructive streak, who yearns to pave his way to Whiterose, while Mr. Robot strives to apply the brakes. When Elliot confronts Olivia, he attempts to intimidate her into staying put at the bar, but his efforts mostly come across as clumsy. In contrast, when Mr. Robot enters with smooth talk and gentle smiles, enhanced by Christian Slater's innate charm, she agrees to stay for another drink, compelling Elliot to engage with a kind stranger, albeit for the sake of theft.
In the cringe-worthy first date scenario, Malek and García-Lorido excel, displaying an uncommon candor about their personal demons while striving to uphold a semblance of decorum. Their conversation is punctuated by humorous exchanges, such as when Elliot casually reveals he's been morphine-free for nine months, minus a heroin relapse two days prior, or the priceless look of bewilderment on Elliot's face when Olivia offers condolences for his mother's passing. Their romance unfolds in a quintessential rom-com manner; he dashes after her while awaiting a cab, their clothes hastily discarded amidst passionate kisses upon reaching their home, culminating in Elliot subtly pilfering the security fob while she slumbers.
However, an unexpected twist ensues: Elliot and Olivia engage in an open dialogue about their respective mental health struggles. Olivia confesses how she succumbed to opioids following her mother's murder, which strained her relationship with her father. She keeps a razor blade in an empty Oxycontin bottle as a grim reminder that if she despises herself enough to relapse, she might as well end her life. Elliot, too, shares his battles with suicidal thoughts and self-loathing. The script, at times, leans towards bluntness and occasional clichés ("You know you can't scare me," Elliot declares to Olivia with heart-wrenching sincerity), yet the actors' performances imbue it with a needed delicacy. Malek and García-Lorido embody two damaged souls embarking on the second chapter of lives they never foresaw for themselves. For a fleeting, honest instant, illuminated by a streak of light in the bathroom, they find solace and completion.
The remainder of the episode presents a more mixed tapestry. "Forbidden" kicks off with a 15-minute origin tale of Whiterose, set in 1982, where, disguised as a young Director Zhang (portrayed by Ross Kurt Le), she brokers a deal between IBM and the Chinese government, accompanied by Zhang's translator and lover (Eugene Shaw). That night, Zhang comes out as transgender to him, and though he accepts it, their love is fated with doom. On the day of his forced wedding, orchestrated by his father, Zhang informs him of his acceptance of the position as Minister of State Security, effectively crushing their dreams of relocating to the United States, where they could live openly. "I promise I'll find a way to make this world better, for us," Zhangpleads, as their future disintegrates.
At this juncture, the grim spectacle of suicide looms inevitably on the horizon, rendering the moment when Zhang's lover, wielding a cheese knife, slits his throat to the sound of Zhang's horrified screams, almost matter-of-fact. It's not merely that "Mr. Robot" indulges in a toxic gay-suicide archetype; the storyline, despite being handled with sensitivity, is cluttered with hackneyed forbidden-love tropes. Even more distressing is the fact that Zhang's lover remains unnamed throughout, reducing his demise to a mere narrative tool rather than a poignant character moment. Although his suicide isn't exploited to bolster a heterosexual character's arc, it fails to offer much improvement either.
In contemporary times, Whiterose decides to succumb to Price's demands, instructing Wang Shu to arrange a Deus Group meeting for Christmas Day, at which Tyrell Wellick will be anointed as the successor. Unbeknownst to him, Tyrell later barges into Elliot's apartment to share the glad tidings, unaware that a Dark Army van has been tailing Elliot since his departure from Olivia's abode. Eyes are everywhere, belonging perhaps to Whiterose, the Dark Army, or Vera, who has returned to town with designs on drawing Elliot into his drug-trafficking web. As Mr. Robot posits, allowing people in doesn't inherently cause pain, but when surrounded by too many, distinguishing the good from the bad becomes an arduous task.
