If one were to venture a guess about the biblical origins of the Gemstone family in the realm of religious entrepreneurship, the most intuitive narrative trajectory might suggest a treacherous descent, a tale of generational decay where the Gemstones, sated by the abundance of collection plates, gradually lost their moral bearings. One could easily conjure an image of a figure like Abel Grieves, a minister from Civil War-era Virginia, who kicks off this unexpectedly inspired premiere episode with a sermon extolling the Lord's alleged support for the Confederate cause, only to later sift through the money extorted from war widows with a smug grin. ("Not a penny too small," he assures them with a cunning smile.) Asserting that God favors states' rights is a time-honored form of religious hypocrisy, where the Gospel's flexibility conforms to whatever hateful political drivel happens to be in vogue.
However, Danny McBride, who co-wrote and directed this episode, reverses the Gemstone narrative: they are not the righteous corrupted but the corrupt who stumbled into righteousness. In a guest role that has been masterfully concealed in the run-up to the premiere, Bradley Cooper undergoes a heel turn as Elijah Gemstone, a degenerate hustler who sees right through Abel Grieves' lucrative racket before shooting him in the forehead. Though Elijah's intention is merely to seize the money and flee, fate offers him the chance to become his own version of Abel Grieves, a prospect that promises him continued prosperity if he can conceal his true identity and dodge Union bullets that zip by his ear. Given the Gemstones' lengthy history of weathering scandals and other existential threats to their ministry, it's hardly surprising that Elijah appears shrouded in an invisible cloak of invincibility, much like Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now.
After dispatching Grieves, Elijah is drafted by the Confederate unit to serve as their chaplain, a gig that seems less optional and more mandatory, albeit one that comes with a handsome monthly stipend of $50 and free meals, an arrangement too good for him to pass up as he faux-prays and preaches his way through Sunday services. One of the episode's funniest aspects is Elijah's profound laziness as a grifter; he's reluctant to invest much effort into convincing others of his ministerial bona fides. When tasked with ministering to the war-wounded for the first time, a dying soldier beseeches him to pray for his soul. Elijah responds in quintessential Danny McBride fashion: "I already did. Yeah, it's taken care of. I've been praying the whole time, silently in my mind." Pressured to say something aloud, Elijah frantically searches for the right words, only for the soldier to pass away before he can utter a syllable. This becomes his go-to strategy: if someone's on their deathbed, try to run out the clock.
No song could better encapsulate the emotionally tumultuous and spectacularly vulgar denouement of this episode than Pet Shop Boys' "It's a Sin," a synth-pop classic from 1987. The track simultaneously serves the disco-era grotesquery of the Aimee-Leigh Give-A-Thon within the Gemstone megachurch and underscores Eli Gemstone's late-life desire to sow his wild oats. Although Pet Shop Boys singer Neil Tennant had not yet come out publicly in 1987, "It's a Sin" resonates with the shame-based repression of his Catholic-school upbringing: "For everything I long to do / No matter when or where or who / Has one thing in common, too." And then comes the chorus, singing out...
It's amusing to contemplate any form of repression as a concern within the Gemstone clan, a family that, on most days, freely engages in the vices (and vulgarities) they preach against on Sundays. However, when pondering the notion of their father, Eli, entering into a relationship with another woman, Jesse, Kelvin, and Judy are as repelled as they were in their schoolboy years. "Can you even fathom Daddy meeting someone new?" Kelvin exclaims, his voice dripping with disgust. "Yucky ducks, indeed!"
Even though ample evidence suggests their dad has been indulging in drinking sprees and carousing aboard a boat in the Florida Keys, the mere thought of Eli pairing up with anyone besides their deceased mother is so inconceivable that they swallow his bizarre excuse about using a bra to catch fish. "All your manly juices are gone," Judy quipped, "because Mama's got them stored in a jar up in heaven."
Eli is, indeed, wasting away in Margaritaville, embodying the South Florida stereotype of a divorced or widowed silver-haired man wandering around marinas. Though it may seem challenging to describe a show as bluntly comedic as The Righteous Gemstones as nuanced, Eli's handling of his one-night stand the following morning stands out. For starters, it wasn't truly a one-night stand; the two had been seeing each other long enough for his lover to crave more from their relationship. This suggests that Eli needed several dates to justify the sin most men in his shoes would commit after a single night of heavy drinking at the cantina. He's even a gentleman enough to end it with her gently, frying up a couple of sunny-side-up eggs to bid her farewell in the morning. Admitting he doesn't like her is a torturous ordeal for him. (Kudos to John Goodman for stretching his jaw with the line, "We 69'd for 40 minutes straight!")
The Gemstone offspring notice the obvious signs that their father has turned into a sea-faring layabout—his long hair, the quarter-filled tequila bottle, and the boat's general unkempt bachelor ambiance. Yet, they can't fathom what Eli is going through, nor understand him as a man still capable of love and sex. They just need him to return for the telethon honoring their mom, as the church needs every possible revenue stream to stay afloat without him. The fact that they're even organizing this grandiose telethon around their deceased mother underscores that the Gemstone enterprise still heavily relies on its past, as Eli's unholy trio of underachieving offspring struggles to maintain the congregation on their own.
Not that they're not trying, of course. Kelvin and Keefe are thrilled with the early success of Prism, an endeavor to broaden Kelvin's hip youth pastor schtick into a more inclusive Christian community. Keefe urges Kelvin to make their relationship more public and even hints at marriage, but Kelvin prefers a delicate dance where everyone is probably aware of their relationship without them being upfront about it. He compares their partnership to Siegfried and Roy, where audiences knew "they were licking each other's wieners" but wouldn't stick around for the white tigers if they made it explicit.
On Jesse's side of the spectrum, he and his family are actively promoting high-tech worship booths, aptly named Prayer Pods, catering to those seeking a sanctuary amidst malls or airports to immerse themselves in Gemstone sermons, hymns, and even episodes of Bible Bonkers during moments of spiritual yearning—perhaps while awaiting the completion of their spouses' shopping sprees. These pods resemble a futuristic fusion of an airport service kiosk and the teleportation contraption from the film "The Fly," yet currently, they bear an uncanny resemblance to a confinement chamber meant to encapsulate Jesse's son's gaseous emissions. The prominent credit card swiper invites users to partake in 15 minutes of spiritual solace for a steep fee of $15, and later in the episode, the Gemstones' mercenary brazenness is further underscored when a telethon operator audaciously requests a donor's routing number.
Eli's return to the church for this spectacle, prodded mainly by his adult children's taunts labeling him a "pussy," lends an air of authenticity to this unabashed affair. It also welcomes a visitor in the form of Lori Milsap, Aimee's best friend, portrayed by Megan Mullally—an actress whose boldness in comedies such as "Party Down" and "Parks and Recreation" seamlessly blends into this narrative. Having earlier dismissed their father's libido, the children remain oblivious to the growing connection between Eli and Lori, while Eli still retains the charm to pursue it. This is one of the episode's highlights: Eli possesses a gentle charisma that his children lack, a quality that serves him well both on and off stage. (Lori, hearing Eli's smooth, lacquered voice utter, "Time surely has been kind to you," seems to melt at the knees.)
The episode concludes with the haunting melody of the Pet Shop Boys playing, juxtaposing two transcendent moments: Eli and Lori's first tender kiss and Jesse Gemstone soaring to the rafters aboard his jetpack. Amidst these scenes, one is left pondering: who is the true sinner here?
