Eli Gemstone stands as the paragon of righteousness within his family's realm, almost as if by sheer necessity—not merely due to his more discreet sins compared to his relatives, but because his soul yearns genuinely for redemption. The sophomore season of "The Righteous Gemstones" kicks off with an apparent misleading narrative, casting a nostalgic glance back to Memphis in 1968. There, a fresh-faced wrestler by the moniker of the Maniac Kid, adorned in a Lone Ranger costume, viciously tosses an Indian in full regalia over the wrestling ropes. Soon afterward, he consents to become a formidable enforcer for his shady patron, brutally breaking the thumb of a deadbeat debtor who refuses to pay his dues. That wrestler, the Maniac Kid, is none other than a younger Eli Gemstone, harboring a sinister streak within him.
Nowadays, Eli presides over the Gemstone empire, which has expanded to encompass a state-of-the-art premium streaming service. He still bears the conflicting traits of his youth—a showman and a child of God, the Maniac Kid and the offspring of a humble Christian family. These irreconcilable contradictions have only been exacerbated in his current avatar, the grotesque evangelical money-making machine. It buys him the semblance of righteousness (and political favors), yet it fails to truly redeem him. And much like Logan Roy in "Succession," which increasingly resembles a companion piece to this show, Eli's vile, avaricious, and dim-witted offspring mirror his moral deficiencies and serve as a poignant omen for the fate awaiting his empire. Little wonder that both Logan and Eli cling desperately to their respective thrones.
As if Eli weren't acutely cognizant of his spiritual plight, he receives an unwelcome visitor from his past: Junior, portrayed by Eric Roberts, an actor whose sinister oily demeanor dates back to his role in Bob Fosse's 1983 film "Star 80," where he played the husband and murderer of Playboy playmate Dorothy Stratten. Nearly four decades hence, Roberts still excels in embodying dark roles with an eerie ease, as if he finds comfort in his villainy. Throughout the episode titled "I Speak in the Tongues of Men and Angels," Junior never feels out of place in Eli's presence, despite the evident disparity in their wealth and influence. He claims to be there for a friendly trip down memory lane with Eli—and Eli indulges this fiction by treating him to a steak dinner at Sticky Stephen's. However, Junior's true intention is to rekindle his acquaintance with the Maniac Kid within Eli. Once that Eli Gemstone re-emerges, all bets are off.
After the Gemstones successfully quelled last season's threats with barely a scratch to their reputation—a stark reminder of the series' recurrent theme about our relentless penchant for forgiving wealthy deceivers—the family's outlook seems somewhat brighter. Judy, now shining brightly on stage, belts out tunes and dances her heart out before a capacity crowd at the Gemstone Salvation Center, proving that she doesn't need Baby Billy to fulfill her showbiz aspirations. Jesse, having earned back the trust of his wife Amber after shooting Baby Billy in the buttocks for his deceit, infidelity, and drug abuse, finds himself casting hopeful glances towards a fresh entrepreneurial endeavor with her. Meanwhile, Kelvin has assembled a muscle-bound team dubbed Kelvin's God Squad, reminiscent of the muscular workers inside the gay steel mill featured in a John Waters-inspired episode of The Simpsons.
However, a fresh wave of troubles looms on the horizon. Jesse and Amber encounter the Lissons, a young Christian power couple—Lyle (Eric André) and Lindy (Jessica Lowe)—who mesmerize their Texas congregation with a sexed-up rock show akin to Quiet Riot for the spiritually pure. As the firstborn offspring of a lackluster boomer generation, the Gemstones and the Lissons forge an immediate bond. It doesn't take much convincing for these Deep South snake-oil salesmen to lure Jesse and Amber into partnering on a Christian beachside timeshare in Florida. They eagerly agree without even glimpsing the property, and Eli disapproves without scrutinizing the figures.
Eli has valid reasons to oppose the deal, from Jesse's sleazy idiocy to the Lissons' obvious hustler traits, which might lure gullible individuals into investing in a timeshare on federally protected beachfront property. Yet, he didn't need to fly to Florida and inspect the proposed resort to arrive at these conclusions. He wanted to embarrass Jesse in front of the Lissons for prematurely aspiring to inherit the Gemstone empire before the patriarch even pondered retirement. He bides his time, waiting for the perfect moment to utter, "Stop showing off in front of your friends, Jesse," before strolling off the beach. Such is the Maniac Kid's way of breaking thumbs nowadays.
The other threat to the Gemstones this season emerges more subtly than the Lissons. When a newspaper publishes a story about a televangelist named Makewon Butterfield, citing evidence of him filming his wife in a compromising position with another woman in a dance-club bathroom, it marks the end of the Butterfields on Eli's streaming platform. However, most of the brain trust arrives at a different conclusion, one echoed by numerous elites who have witnessed their peers exposed for misconduct: Butterfield isn't to blame for ruining his life; the journalist who investigated him is. Once the parishioners' money flows into the collection plate, following the money begins to sound like a big-city, anti-Christian agenda in motion. The journalist, portrayed by Jason Schwartzman, isn't finished yet.
