Jesse, Judy, and Kelvin Gemstone find themselves locked in a perpetual battle of wits and wills, their Sundays marred by brunches brimming with squabbles. They tear into each other's romantic partners with relentless venom, deriving a peculiar joy—a schadenfreude as radiant as a baby Jesus bathed in divine light—from their siblings' misfortunes. Each harbors dreams of leading the Gemstone dynasty once their patriarch is gone, and thus, they chart their individual courses, praying that their siblings' paths lead to ruinous ends.
Yet, when Eli Gemstone issues a directive to his family, instructing them to steer clear of the journalist probing into the Gemstone empire and to defer all inquiries to the church's legal eagles, the Gemstone offspring stand as a united front—a rare moment of solidarity. Daddy's plan is lunacy, and it falls to them to rescue their family from his bewildering pudence. The question lingers: how? Do they assemble a mob and assault him at his Airbnb, echoing the tactics of Junior and the Maniac Kid in the wild days of late '60s Memphis? Or do they let Judy work her siren's charm, as she suggests, "jacking him off just a little bit" ("Daddy, I can whet his appetite.")? Their lack of a concrete plan underscores 'The Righteous Gemstones' as a satirical critique of American power. It's not merely that Eli's strategy strikes them as feeble—a passive embrace of destiny rather than an active bid to snuff out the threat. It's that the notion of strategy itself is anathema to the Gemstone offspring. They've spent their lives charging ahead blindly, crashing into every obstacle—or valet stand—unpunished by the universe. Why alter course now?
However, these worm-infested apples seem to share the same rotten core as their father. After the latest episode reconnects Eli with Junior, his sinister chum from their wrestling/thumb-breaking heyday, something in Eli shifts too. We've never beheld this facet of Eli Gemstone, and his uncharacteristic demeanor initially seemed a scripting error, particularly in the sobering daylight following their parking lot encounter. Among the Gemstones, Eli has been the most outwardly serene, a steadfast custodian of corruption who raises his voice solely to keep his offspring in line. When he first crosses paths with Thaniel, a snootily flamboyant Manhattanite (not "Nathaniel," you hayseeds!), he embodies soft power, confidently dismissing the threat that felled the Butterfields, even as Thaniel mentions targeting Eli's late spouse. "Good luck with your little expose," he tells Thaniel, projecting an aura of confidence that nothing can harm him.
But Eli isn't quite himself today. Perhaps he's fallen off the Godly wagon. Earlier that morning, Judy and BJ arrive to find him slumbering off a hangover on his couch, while Junior strolls out of his bedroom with an unbuttoned robe and a morning woody. Judy misconstrues Eli and Junior's relationship—or maybe just misunderstands the mechanics of any gay liaison. ("Y'all are roughhousing here like grizzly bears pulling off donkey punches, tussling, and getting each other excited.") But the true strangeness she misses is Eli's evident ease with Junior, laughing at his crass jokes and reverting to his Maniac Kid persona from the days when he fused pro wrestling with religion.
We remain in the dark concerning the intricate specifics of the events that unfolded at Thaniel’s Airbnb, save for the accounts relayed by the Gemstones siblings, whose clumsy attempts at secrecy resemble a Three Stooges skit. One corpse, beyond recognition due to the inferno, lies charred, while another is haphazardly suspended high in the canopy of a tree. Thaniel himself is found sprawled in a gory pool of blood, a bullet hole piercing his skull. As the trio frantically attempts an escapade, amidst a comical fiasco involving a malfunctioning onboard computer and doors flailing wildly, another shadowy figure approaches Judy’s Tesla, flashlight beam slicing through the night.
Eli and Martin’s involvement in this chaotic tableau is undeniable; Eli arrives at his abode clad in blood-streaked trousers, with his young charges attempting to scrub away incriminating evidence in a fountain. This grim sequence appears poised to propel the season’s narrative, akin to last season’s attempted blackmail, heralding a myriad of unforeseen twists—a stark contrast to the season premiere’s lighthearted introduction and swift demise of a celebrity actor. (Enter the Police Squad’s special guest stars, perhaps?) Though the gap between attempted blackmail and a probable triple homicide is vast, to the Gemstones, who view sin as a mere obstacle to self-absolution, such distinctions may blur. Notably, Eli finds himself at the nexus of this macabre drama, accompanied by his offspring, with Junior’s influence likely a contributing factor. Had the Maniac Kid remained but a distant memory, perhaps he would have adhered to his own counsel regarding the journalist’s handling.
Elsewhere, Jesse and Amber endeavor to advance the Lissons’ Christian timeshare scheme, lent a veneer of legitimacy by Joe Jonas, despite the notable absence of his sibling. (“All admiration for the Jo Bros, but solo ventures have their charm.”) Both the Gemstones and the Lissons possess a unique talent for intertwining the holy with the profane: Jesse and Amber transform their colossal couples therapy session into an exuberant promotion for their project (a romantic retreat at a 15% discount—a lifeline for fractured unions!), while the Lissons organize a lavish barbecue on their ranch, billing it as a fundraiser. Yet, Jesse and Amber lack the $10 million “initial investment” required, offering an intriguing glimpse into how the Gemstone progeny are treated like minors, complete with allowances.
Credit where credit is due; the younger siblings possess a keen insight into impending doom. When Joe Jonas speaks of striking out on his own, Jesse unburdens himself of the scurrilous remarks hurled at him by his siblings regarding this investment. Terms like “fucking moron,” “the dumbest money pit,” and comparisons to a rip-off or pyramid scheme echo their skepticism. Clearly, the Lissons have identified their marks with uncanny precision.
