If you emerged from "The Punishment Room" feeling drained by its erratic narrative, I can only assure you that the journey ahead is truly rewarding. This fourth installment of season two encapsulates the essence of why The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel reigns supreme as an Emmy champion. So, brace yourself and continue binge-watching this captivating series.
The third episode often serves as a bridge in any series, where the momentum feels subdued, and it's challenging to gauge if the subplots merit in-depth scrutiny. Having previewed episodes four and five, I'm left guessing which storylines in "The Punishment Room" have seamlessly unfolded behind the scenes and which remain suspended, awaiting their climactic reveal.
This is precisely why, as I emphasized in my season premiere recap, the true allure of Maisel lies in its visual grandeur and the impeccable execution by its ensemble cast. The highlights of "The Punishment Room" are moments like Midge, the exiled makeup counter maven, gracefully gliding across the store, attending to three distinct B. Altman customers with impeccable precision, only to dash off to her next stand-up performance. Or Abe's students, marching in lockstep behind him as he delivers a lecture on his beloved mathematicians, even the artful way they slip on their coats is a sight to behold.
So, the paramount question arises: Is Susie truly out of harm's way? After spending the majority of the episode at the Gaslight and then swapping apartments with a boisterous Italian immigrant family, she's unexpectedly approached by the affable Harry Drake (David Paymer) and invited to lunch. Her cryptic explanation to Midge simply boils down to, "That's showbiz!" I'm equally bewildered, just like Midge. Also, did she ever capture the record store nerds, and will she reap the profits from their "Mrs. X at the Gaslight" bootleg?
Another burning question: What's next for Joel, who has stumbled upon a room in his father's garment-district factory, dubbing it "my place"? A side note on Joel: Michael Zegen's portrayal continues to be stellar, yet he seems entrenched in the least captivating subplots this season. Nonetheless, I appreciate the camaraderie he and Midge have developed, which, though not indicating a reconciliation, underscores that a separated couple doesn't necessarily equate to estrangement.
However, the question that truly gripped me in "The Punishment Room" revolves around Rose and Abe. Thanks to Marin Hinkle and Tony Shalhoub's increasingly stellar performances, they are slowly emerging as the heart and soul of Maisel: Where does Rose truly stand on feminism?
It strikes me that even she harbors a touch of doubt. As we leap forward roughly three months to the spring of 1959 (grateful nods to the Easter signs in B. Altman), it's a joy to behold the blooming of Rose and Abe's relationship; they dine together regularly at Columbia, and Rose thrives in her art classes, content as a clam. But within "The Punishment Room" lies a captivating tale, filled with intrigue, where Rose, perhaps unwittingly—or deliberately?—nudges her fellow female art students towards a more lucrative career path over a casual cup of tea.
Rose, a wealthy Upper West Side housewife taking art classes for the sheer joy of it, realizes the hypocrisy in Columbia's exploitation of female master's degree candidates, "taking their money and not giving them anything in return." (The girls' options are confined to teaching or becoming artists, yet Columbia employs no female art teachers, and Rose has tales aplenty of failed women artists.) She employs the age-old argument of "it's where the men are!" to promote the business school, and soon, Columbia's art department stands on the brink of closure due to its dwindling student numbers.
As Rose's auditing privileges hang in the balance (it's not just Carrie Ann in the punishment room!), Abe steps into his feminist shoes, refusing to let his boss evict his wife from school. He argues that Rose has a valid point about the bleak prospects for female art students. Is Abe truly a feminist? Perhaps not, but as he confesses to his boss, Simon, he'll do whatever it takes to keep Rose happy and enrolled—ensuring she doesn't return to Paris. Amidst Rose and Abe's obliviousness to their daughter's burgeoning independence, they may have unwittingly sparked a feminist revolution on Columbia's campus.
And now, we turn to Midge, who finds herself in various punishment rooms this episode. Even her "promotion" from the switchboard to the coat check ("You're the most presentable of the basement girls," her supervisor, Mrs. O'Toole, quips) leads her to be confined in a closet. We witness Midge's toil in the non-midtown comedy clubs, yet she hasn't revealed this to her parents. And on the subject of revelation: the harsh lesson Midge learns this episode? How to read the room. Rule Number One: Avoid blue humor at your friend's Catholic wedding. After charming Father O'Brien and securing Mary, her B. Altman pal, a reception in the prestigious Window Room (as opposed to the aptly named, cheaper Punishment Room) at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow, Midge makes a flippant joke about not "shtupping" the priest, only to accidentally reveal Mary's pregnancy.
By the episode's end, a dejected Midge is relegated to another punishment room (back at the switchboard; you shouldn't have left the booth, girl!), and she's lost Mary, her B. Altman colleague, as a friend. But this is The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, where Midge's setbacks are fleeting, lasting only until the next episode is queued up. See you in episode four.
