As The White Lotus commenced filming at Maui's deserted Four Seasons Resort during the fall of 2020's pandemic lull, it inadvertently captured a latent tension simmering between visitors and locals. Today, Maui finds itself amidst a tourism frenzy that's straining its infrastructure to its limits. The scenic Hana Highway has transformed into a standstill, prompting the island's mayor to beseech airlines for a temporary flight moratorium. Akin to The Handmaid's Tale debuting during Donald Trump's tumultuous first hundred days, The White Lotus seems eerily prophetic. This week's episode unfolds with beach boys heaving loungers onto scorching sands, waiters gaping as Shane Patton heaps a gluttonous buffet, and affluent resort dwellers entangling themselves in the lives of the staff, oblivious to the aftermath they'll leave behind. Their consequences are as fleeting as twilight's hues.
Shane now confronts a dual battlefront. He remains entrenched in the Pineapple Suite, leveraging his mother's travel agent to harass the hotel manager. Meanwhile, his new bride has plummeted into an existential abyss, or perhaps succumbed to a particularly virulent strain of post-wedding melancholy. Having neglected her career for months to orchestrate their nuptials, Rachel is offered a humbling, low-paying magazine assignment, one she yearns to undertake amidst their honeymoon. Shane's assertion that disrupting their vacation is "rude" is not entirely misguided, but his every word, dripping from his punchable visage, reeks of disdain, particularly his offer of communal funds to dissuade her from accepting the job. "You must've pondered it," he insinuates, alluding to how his vast wealth could liberate Rachel from the shackles of mundane employment. And she must have, right? Her arrival, adorned with a Goyard tote, speaks volumes.
For Rachel, it's a matter of vocation, yet it transcends mere work. A wedding is fleeting, a day's spectacle, but nurturing the contours of a marriage is a lifelong endeavor, ideally spanning beyond the sunset clause of her prenuptial agreement. Her career anxieties mirror a deeper dilemma: How does one retain one's identity within a relationship that promises a new life? Money concerns have plagued Rachel daily, a familiar angst ingrained in her self-perception and worldview, making the worry itself preferable to the actual wealth. Seeking counsel, she turns to Nicole Mossbacher, whose high-flying career she admires. Nicole, armed with a Louis Vuitton Neverfull by the pool, surely holds the key.
Let's marvel at Connie Britton's mastery in portraying Nicole. Her delivery of a single line resonates on multiple planes, as she imparts, "Your independence is your power." Rachel, like the audience, swallows this cliché whole. But what does Nicole truly mean? And what alternative could she offer? When she discovers Rachel penned a borderline uncomplimentary article about her, Nicole's sunny facade remains unshaken, even as she dissects Rachel with subtle insults. That same unwavering smile greets her husband's clumsy toast and Tanya's overzealous compliments, echoing across the hotel restaurant. Nicole's imperviousness is her armor, her strength.
Olivia stands as the sole individual capable of piercing through the tension, her favorite pastime after a lengthy, tropical day being to subtly needle her mother, Nicole. Their dining table discussions hardly qualify as conversations; they resemble a string of fleeting squabbles punctuated by awkward silences, which swiftly pave the way for the next bout of disagreement. When Nicole innocently mentions Rachel's admiration for her work at a prestigious search engine, Olivia retaliates, lamenting the company's role in fraying the social fabric. The generational rift, spanning the X and Z cohorts, is marked by contemporary controversies, yet the underlying fracture resonates with the familiar schism between most individuals and their parents. In Olivia's insensitivity, I glimpse the echo of my youthful millennial self; in Nicole's lack of curiosity, I recognize the traits of my boomer mother.
Olivia's character softens slightly when she's alone with Paula, though their scenes steal the comedic spotlight in this week's episode. As they stumble upon a makeshift pharmacy within their carry-ons and embark on a whimsical ASMR session, one can't help but feel like a fly on the wall as Mike White meticulously dissects the narratives he's recently absorbed about youth culture. His fascination with the lives of women their age mirrors Nicole's superficial curiosity; she senses the whiff of marijuana in their room yet gladly brushes it off when Paula jests about their sacrifices to Hecate, content to move on from the matter. "Witchcraft" is merely another buzzword on The White Lotus's 2021 bingo card.
The episode, aptly titled "New Day," finds its most immediate relevance in Mark Mossbacher's life. Freed from the specter of cancer, he suddenly sees his chances of a premature resort exit dwindling. This respite ignites a reflective mood within him, a determination to seize the day and leave his mark in the sand. He insists on spending quality time with his son, Quinn, who typically navigates the treacherous waters of his dysfunctional family by immersing himself in Nintendo games. However, Mark's true intentions aren't to forge a deeper bond with his son; he seeks to relive his own childhood, casting himself as the adored patriarch. He fails to inquire about Quinn's gaming preferences, instead enrolling them both in scuba diving lessons. Quinn gamely agrees to this "bros before dives" adventure, but the undercurrents hint at a potential mishap lurking beneath the surface. Could this be Quinn's fateful day?
For Tanya, too, it's a dawn of a different sort. The craniosacral therapy session with Belinda has rejuvenated her, transforming her initial mission to scatter her mother's ashes into an unplanned wellness retreat. She clings to Belinda, eventually extending an audacious dinner invitation that sours swiftly when Belinda politely declines. Tanya's refusal to accept the no borders on entitlement, her brinkmanship revealing a profound lack of self-awareness. She threatens to invoke the hotel manager's intervention to force a seafood extravaganza for two, the scene dripping with layers of ugliness. Tanya, the perpetual customer, believes the customer is always right, even when it comes to claiming someone else's time and space.
Yet, the dinner unfolds into a harrowing spectacle. As Belinda endeavors to justify her vocation of soothing the troubled souls of "rich white people," who she believes are the very ones "polluting the global psyche," Tanya, with a veneer of benevolence, offers to assist her in launching her own venture. Little do we know of Belinda's discernment, leaving us to ponder why she fails to discern the insincerity lacing Tanya's proposal or the fleeting glimpses of unreliability beneath her facade. At this juncture, it seems more plausible that Belinda's exit from The White Lotus will be in a grim manner rather than triumphantly as the proprietor of a namesake spa.
In stark contrast, the confrontation between Shane and Armond resembles a clash of titans, albeit with a subtle imbalance. Shane, blessed with privilege, faces an unwavering Armond, who stands as a barrier between him and the solitary closed door he's ever encountered. However, beneath the surface, Armond's resolve hangs precariously, his sobriety fraying after a jolting realization of his own empathy's absence—so consumed by maintaining paradise's rhythm that he overlooked Lani's labor pains. "What if I'm no longer capable of this charade?" he muses, his words echoing the depths of his doubt.
For Shane, the Pineapple Suite is a battlefield, but for Armond, the White Lotus's steward, it's merely another skirmish in an endless cycle. Tomorrow brings another wealthy patron with demands that defy reason, and the days that follow will be no different. Lei, luau, rinse, repeat. Amidst this, Armond succumbs to temptation, popping pills salvaged from a lost stash of narcotics, the remnants of a K-hole escapade on the shore. His fate hangs in the balance, teetering on the precipice of peril.
As the dawn of a new day dawns, marked by the liberation of office routines, Rachel elects to decline the assignment, salvaging her honeymoon yet potentially dooming her marriage to a slow death by resentment. Yet, Shane, somehow, emerges unscathed, his luck holding fast. The clique of snobbish women evict Quinn from their sanctuary, leaving him to slumber on the sandy shores, lulled by the distant song of a lobtailing whale. Belinda, meanwhile, floats on a tide of hope, albeit a facade that threatens to shatter, while Armond is merely numbed by his indulgence.
And then, Mark's carefree reverie shatters abruptly when he discovers the tragic truth: his father, a towering figure who succumbed to cancer when Quinn was his age, had actually perished from AIDS, contracted during a clandestine homosexual affair. This revelation sends him crashing back to reality, shattering the illusion of a carefree existence.
