Oh, the wretched sight of quarreling couples! But no, not Midge and Benjamin. We all recognize that the heart and soul of 'The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel' lies in the unbreakable bond between Midge and Susie. So, when a rift emerges between these two, it's indeed a matter worthy of grave concern.
As the curtains draw on the second season finale, our comic soulmates are locked in a bitter standoff. Both are adamant about how to tackle their persistent 'Sophie Lennon' dilemma (which, surprisingly, remains a persistent thorn). When they uncover that the one-trick comedienne sabotaged Midge's televised telethon appearance (dubbing her "the national spokes-asshole for arthritis," Susie fumes), Midge chooses the path of grace, while Susie unleashes a ferocious verbal assault.
It's a rage-fueled tirade, vicious yet revealing a depth of affection for Midge that surpasses even her parents' love. Jane Lynch's Sophie remains as placid as Alex Borstein's Susie is enraged. But the cracks in Sophie's seemingly impregnable throne are becoming increasingly evident, and I doubt her arrogant snicker will sustain her much longer.
Susie has now forged an alliance with Nicky, Sophie's security guard (and one of the henchmen hired to eliminate her), and one of Midge's telethon compatriots, the African-American crooner Shy Baldwin (LeRoy McClain), has harsh words for Sophie and her faux-authenticity: "Your race can have her," he tells Midge, the two bonding in the ladies' room ("the mirrors are bigger," he explains with a wry smile).
I'm not faulting Susie's approach, as she speaks truths to power that we mere mortals only dare dream of uttering. Yet, I can comprehend why Midge is dismayed by Susie's refusal to let bygones be bygones. Midge, as we witness, transforms the sour lemon Sophie throws at her into a delectable lemonade with her midnight-hour slot. She has the audience in stitches, phones ringing off the hook, and even hypnotizes viewers to "vote for Kennedy" (how sweet! She's dabbling in politics!) — and, in a miraculous turn, even elicits a half-smile from her father. (Indeed, Abe and Rose are tuned in, along with the neighbors across the street). Midge's triumphant career moment, in spite of Sophie's meddling, will leave a far more enduring impact on her rival's ego than Susie's screaming match ever could. Take that, Sophie.
It's intriguing, however, that the "Vote for Kennedy, Vote for Kennedy" storyline revolves around the art of apologizing. Sophie asserts that if Midge had simply apologized for badmouthing her onstage, all their issues would've dissipated in a blink. Yet, Susie stands firm, refusing to coerce her client into apologizing for what will ultimately catapult her to stardom.
Sophie Lennon aside, what about Abe? Does this imply that Midge will eventually have to apologize for potentially shattering her father's livelihood? In this episode, we witness the imminent grave consequences of Midge's utilization of her family as comedic fodder. Through Noah's intervention (see, Abe? Perhaps having a CIA son isn't such a liability after all), Abe discovers that he's under the government's scrutiny for his "activism" during his twenties. The word "communist" is not explicitly stated, but it's not far-fetched to surmise that this subplot is headed in that direction.
So, how did Abe Weissman land on the government's radar? One only needs to inquire his comedienne daughter, who delivered a few jokes in Washington D.C., poking fun at her father's work at Bell Labs. And that's not all. Abe's Bell Labs project has floundered, and after repeatedly alienating his students and colleagues at Columbia with his incessant barrage of insults, he's being urged to take a sabbatical. Or, as his boss, Simon, bluntly puts it, "We're all damn sick of you."
Couldn't the timing be any more perfect for Abe to confront his daughter about how her pursuit of a career might have irreparably damaged his? Right when all of New York is tuning in to watch her on their tiny black-and-white screens.
