My unwavering belief stands firm: no television episode should ever exceed the golden fifty-two-minute mark. Crossing that threshold inevitably leads us into a realm of unnecessary bloat and indulgence. Alas, "Everything Is Bellmore" unfortunately succumbs to this pitfall. While the episode harbors fleeting moments of brilliance, viewers are unfortunately tethered to a monotonous maze, navigating through a maze of repetitive Maisel clan members, particularly those with the names Joel, Moishe, or Shirley.
Here's why I refrained from awarding this episode a mere two stars: Firstly, Luke Kirby's captivating portrayal of Lenny Bruce finally made its triumphant entrance (the episode's title being a subtle nod to his hometown, Bellmore, Long Island). I confess, I let out an exuberant "Oh, thank G-d!" at my laptop screen during the thrilling third act. Secondly, this episode shines brilliantly as a dramatic showcase for Alex Borstein's Susie, as she grapples with the sudden and devastating loss of her long-time foil, Jackie. Brian Tarantina, the talented actor who brought the brash Gaslight host (and Bootsy in Gilmore Girls) to life, passed away in November 2019, just before the third season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel premiered. Due to COVID-related delays, the series couldn't properly honor the actor until now.
As I foresaw last week, Midge has embarked on a new chapter in her life: She's now the emcee at the Wolford, a strip club that she and Susie briefly visited at the end of episode two. This place is a veritable disaster, from the chaotic setlist to the hapless stripper who suffers a painful hook to the face. Apart from Midge's witty quip about sucking a rabbi's ankle (which was actually a mosquito bite), I felt like the Wolford's manager, weary and longing for the night to end.
Back at her apartment, Susie receives an unexpected visit from Nancy, Jackie's sister, who delivers the devastating news of Jackie's passing due to a stroke. Susie, grief-stricken, immediately seeks solace in Midge. Without hesitation, Midge abandons her daily duties as a Tupperware salesperson to comfort her agent. Despite my dissatisfaction with the episode's length, it was refreshing to see Midge offer unwavering support to Susie in her time of grief. She takes the initiative to arrange the funeral, offers Susie a place to stay in her Upper West Side apartment, ensures she's well-fed, and even offers Rose's sleeping pills (though Susie has already taken them). We also witness a heartwarming scene where Rose, meeting clients in the Plaza Hotel's tea room, must "babysit" a grieving Susie, who regresses to a childlike state, doodling with crayons and devouring a giant bowl of cream.
There's a subplot that I sincerely wish I could overlook, but it serves as the catalyst that propels this episode to its climax. (Hey, at least we have Tony Shalhoub strutting about in his cape, adding a dash of flair, right?) In a blatant attempt to recapture the glory of the second season's Catskills arc, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel once again brings in the exceptional Steiner tummler Buzz Goldberg, now a Broadway sensation. Buzz's lavish musical "They Came, They Danced" is set to premiere on Broadway, with everyone from Catskills showing their support and chanting the old Steiner chant. Alright, I'll admit, it's not terrible? But Buzz's performance is disastrous, and now Abe must pen a review for The Village Voice. He loathes the thought of crushing the dreams of this poor theater kid he's known for ten years, but as the show must go on, so must the criticism. Gabe, every journalist's dream editor, encourages Abe to follow his own advice: speak with his voice and address the issues of today's theater landscape.
The mournful day of Jackie's funeral dawns, and Susie, having traversed the initial stages of grief, attempts to deliver a heartfelt tribute. However, the challenge lies in the sparse audience consisting solely of herself, Midge, Nancy, Chester, and the officiating priest. Desperate, Susie clutches Jackie's portrait and commandeers the bustling service next door. Through tears of anger and remorse, she chastises herself for never truly appreciating Jackie's presence. In the aftermath of his death, she discovers his military service, bravery medals, wartime sweetheart, regular church attendance, dance championships, and his kind, unassuming nature of fixing things and making delicious stew. The realization that not only did Jackie consider her a close friend but also that no one bothered to honor him shatters her. Fearing a similar fate at her own funeral, Susie lashes out against society's indifference towards those like Jackie who struggle to "get ahead."
The beauty of this scene lies in Susie's acknowledgment of the importance of human connections, a stark contrast to her previous antisocial tendencies. However, wouldn't it have been more gratifying if, amidst her mention of those who "receive favors without effort," Midge had a moment of clarity, recognizing her own privileges? Perhaps that's just a wishful thought.
What lifts my spirits after Susie's heartbreaking tribute is the appearance of Mrs. Maisel's comedic guardian angel, Lenny Bruce. The pride of Bellmore swaggers through the Wolford Theater, not as a performer but as Lenny Bruce himself. Midge claims she doesn't want her idol to distract her as she perfects her act, but her eyes betray a different sentiment—a longing gaze that screams, "Take me now, Lenny." Even the mundane anecdotes from Mr. Schneider sound tantalizing in his hands.
True to his promise, Lenny remains for Midge's show, imparting a masterclass in stage focus. Sitting front and center, he throws crumpled paper and other debris at his protégée, encouraging the audience to join in. Midge remains unperturbed, delivering a stellar performance. A flirtatious exchange ensues, with Midge returning Lenny's appreciation with a crumpled paper ball, and then our fleeting fantasy fades as quickly as it began. Lenny disappears into the ether of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, leaving us to eagerly await his next cameo.
The Village Voice publishes a scathing review of Buzz's show, and in the absence of social media, Abe Weissman learns he's been blacklisted from a bar mitzvah. This synagogue scene, like much of this episode, lingers for an excruciatingly long time. It's infuriating because Abe's ostracism from the Upper West Side Jewish community isn't even the worst consequence of the article.
Later that evening, Abe receives a call from his friend and electric-bass aficionado, Asher Friedman. Asher is enraged by the review, particularly by Abe's casual mention of their decades-old anarchist activities—acts that piqued the FBI's interest, such as setting fire to a federal building. Or, as Zelda's message suggests, the attention of "Mr. Fibbi."
I don't mean to sound callous; I don't wish for Abe's imprisonment. However, does this development indicate that The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel has already lost sight of its season-four goal? Three episodes in, and there's still no sign of Midge and Susie taking strides towards revolutionizing the comedy business.
