Thirty years prior, the enchanting Hollywood ingenue Lily Auburn was ensnared in the directorial bow of Arthur Liptin, a genius of special effects making his inaugural foray into creature cinema. Arthur, a taskmaster of sorts, was prone to belittling his charges, and his film, "Dragonfish," suffered from burgeoning budgets and lagging timelines. When Lily, his charming muse, voiced her apprehensions about the perilous underwater sequence, he casually dismissed her fears, assuring her that hours spent submerged in a Perspex tank, devoid of oxygen and safety supervision, were merely part of the gig, dear. Should she perceive herself in danger, she was instructed to press an emergency button, which would ignite a crimson beacon for all to witness — provided she genuinely needed it and wasn't too daunted to endure yet another arduous take amidst an endless shot list.
Yet, we shall forever remain in the dark regarding whether Lily pressed that fateful button. Arthur's business confederate, Laura, stealthily removed the bulb from the antiquated alarm system, driven by her relentless desire to conclude the scene and reclaim control of their film. Further delays were unacceptable. While "Poker Face" seems to cast the blame for Lily's tragic drowning on Laura's callous disregard for human life, it could equally be argued that Arthur's relentless pushiness, which instilled such a terror of losing her starring role in Lily that she downplayed her safety concerns, was equally culpable. Laura's silence regarding her tampering with the light led Arthur to shoulder the blame, forever altering the course of his life and ultimately contributing to his own demise.
Following Lily's heart-wrenching drowning, Arthur, portrayed with a raspy voice by Nick Nolte in contemporary times, retreated from the world of filmmaking. He resigned from Light and Motion (LAM), the special-effects firm he co-founded with his college cronies, Laura (the unparalleled Cherry Jones) and Max (Tim Russ), the latter of whom remains a enigmatic figure. The mystery that ignites "The Orpheus Syndrome" revolves around Max's untimely death at Laura's hands, though it isn't until Arthur's suspicious demise, also orchestrated by Laura, that our protagonist Charlie Cale becomes entangled in the saga.
"The Orpheus Syndrome" is both the moniker of the episode and the film Arthur has painstakingly crafted, recounting the harrowing events of that fateful day on set. Drawing inspiration from Greek mythology, you might faintly recall from your Advanced Placement Literature studies, Orpheus embarked on a quest to rescue his beloved wife, Eurydice, from the underworld with his melancholic melodies. His song successfully lobbied the gods to restore her to him, but these capricious deities imposed (unnecessary) stipulations on the rescue. Orpheus was mandated to remain ever-facing his wife, never, under any circumstances, glancing back. Yet, he succumbed to temptation, turning to witness his beloved being reclaimed by Hades. The moral of that tale might seem somewhat ambiguous, but essentially underscores the importance of adhering meticulously to divine directives. In contrast, the lesson imparted by this episode of "Poker Face" is more straightforward: looking back can prove fatal.
It is also an intrinsic part of human nature to witness such developments. Despite Arthur's retreat from LAM, the dynamic duo of Max and Laura steered it into the realm of computer effects. On the eve of the company's 40th anniversary, Max personally undertakes the monumental task of digitizing and archiving every film treasure troved in the studio's vault. As he nostalgically peruses through these vintage reels, he rediscovers the 'Dragonfish' dailies, including an intriguing clip of Laura unscrewing a bulb. Threatening to expose this revelation publicly, which in my humble opinion, paints him as an unfeeling husband. In retaliation, Laura serves Max a cup of poisoned tea, a drastic measure perhaps, in response to Max's breach of his vow to cherish and protect her till their last breath, though I refrain from passing judgment on their marital affairs.
Ultimately, unable to await the toxins' sinister work, Max plunges to his death from the cliffside mansion, a mid-century abode shared with Laura. Subsequently, Laura informs Arthur that their old friends were in the throes of a divorce—a detail that may or may not be a cunning maneuver to convince Arthur of Max's genuine suicidal intent.
This brings us to Charlie, our spirited protagonist, who has recently embarked on an unofficial, lowly-paid position as Arthur's assistant. She hides in his workshop when Laura appears, beseeching Arthur, who though retired from the SFX industry, not his craftsmanship, to craft a macabre maquette of her recently deceased, almost-ex. Laura cloaks her eerie request in a guilt trip, knowing Arthur will be deeply affected: seeking absolution from one already deceased.
In truth, Laura merely requires an unmarred version of her husband's face to bypass LAM's robust two-factor authentication and erase the digital evidence of her misdeeds. This harebrained scheme somehow succeeds, a testament perhaps to Arthur's unparalleled ability to breathe life into his creations. Yet, the daunting chore of recreating his old friend's visage sends Arthur spiraling into the perilous depths of the past. He even reaches out to an old colleague at LAM, Raul (Luis Guzmán, a delight as always), to watch the 'Dragonfish' dailies and confront the demons that have haunted him for so long.
Arthur stumbles upon the same raw footage that had previously been discovered by Max, but instead of menacing Laura, he extends a hand to rescue her from her predicament. Unbeknownst to him, Laura has already purged the digital evidence; nevertheless, Arthur dramatically tosses the original film reel into the flames. Yet, in his noble quest to bury Laura's misdeeds, Arthur unwittingly consumes an entire cup of her deadly tea, pushing the SFX maven perilously close to serial-killer infamy. At this juncture, the otherwise robust episode of "Poker Face" begins to show signs of wear.
Upon closer examination of the reel, Laura realizes with a shock that Arthur hadn't actually destroyed the incriminating film. He had cleverly spliced out the damning segments first, but the question lingers: What was his ultimate plan for revenge? Regrettably, we are left in the dark about this. Charlie, sensing the gravity of the situation, dials 911, but it's too late for Arthur; the poisoned tea has already taken its toll. Knowing she should flee before Benjamin Bratt's investigation draws nearer, Laura hesitates due to Charlie's soft spot for people—especially Arthur, whom she has grown fond of. Over her journey, Charlie has opened up to Arthur about Natalie's demise and the guilt that gnaws at her, making her reluctant to prioritize her own safety. Instead, she pursues her sole lead with relentless determination.
Arthur, a recluse by nature, had left behind a clue: cinders from Laura's driveway embedded in his car tires. Charlie, seizing the opportunity, confronts Laura in a typical "Poker Face" showdown—a battery of probing, personal questions aimed at someone ostensibly grieving. Charlie, once indifferent to lies, now finds them intolerable, her tolerance waning with each encounter. Laura, in a moment of sincerity, informs Charlie that Arthur had forgiven himself for Lily's drowning before his untimely death. However, her subsequent ramblings resemble the monologue of a supervillain in their grandiosity. She denies responsibility for Max's death, a claim Charlie has no reason to question. She protests her innocence in Arthur's murder, though no one has accused her. The dialogue, here, falls flat, as their conversation seems contrived and unconvincing.
Fortunately, the episode regains its footing in time for a climactic conclusion. Charlie aligns with Raul, LAM's newest disgruntled ex-employee whom Laura dismissed for snooping around Arthur's workshop. Laura, seizing Arthur's belongings ostensibly for a tribute at LAM's 40th-anniversary party, actually seeks the incriminating footage.
So, here we finally are, at the much-anticipated gala—an opulent yet somewhat tacky affair reminiscent of the brawls Ryan Atwood once found himself in. Charlie, cleverly disguised in one of Arthur's vintage props, sneaks in stealthily, only to stumble upon the elusive Dragonfish footage dangling from a statue of Medusa, destined for the tribute display. This discovery feels more like a stroke of serendipity than a heartfelt testament to the bond Charlie and Arthur had forged. Perhaps it amused Arthur in a symbolic sense to conceal the tape amidst Medusa's snaking tresses. Yet, I yearned for Charlie to make this connection through something deeply personal.
Laura, sharp-eyed as ever, catches Charlie and ejects her from the event, but Raul, still wielding his employee key card, smoothly readmits her. As Laura addresses the gathered throng, Charlie and Raul hastily play the tape, rendering her speech almost redundant. Laura, already unraveling, envisions Arthur's ghostly presence among the attendees, stumbling over her words and unnecessarily invoking Lily Auburn's name on what should have been a radiant night in her career's spotlight. The Arthur memorial, brimming with the artist's macabre creations, has morphed into a psyche-warping, eerie funhouse in her mind.
Just as Max did at the episode's inception, Laura pushes herself over the precipice of another house they built together. (A prolonged, dark plunge into oblivion is emerging as a recurring Poker Face motif—Adrien Brody first took the plunge in "Dead Man's Hand," followed by Brandon Micheal Hall in "The Night Shift," and then Jameela Jamil, with Ellen Barkin possibly joining their ranks in "Exit Stage Death.") Charlie's entrance at the party, clad in a (Trojan) horse costume, seems tacky compared to the psychological torture masterfully evoked in "The Orpheus Syndrome," co-written and directed by Natasha Lyonne. Previous episodes have sidelined Charlie, but here, her role feels almost superfluous. Long before Laura's lies twisted her face, she had already defied the episode's ultimate directive: She glanced back at the lifelong mess she had created, haunting her every step.
