The mere mention of Hawaii ignites a sensual spark within me—visions of fiery sunsets, embracing warm sands, and passionate nights beneath the stars. Perhaps it's the cinematic allure of Hollywood, where tales of forbidden love on the Pacific shores have captivated hearts since Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster's iconic surfside embrace in From Here to Eternity, to the thrilling romances of Blue Crush and beyond. Do Ann Marie's dreams of mastering the perfect barrel ride intertwine with a chance encounter with an NFL hottie, before he soars back home? Will Lancaster's heroics rescue Kerr from the shackles of her unhappy union, before she sets sail for the mainland? Even Gigdet's love triangle unraveled amidst the lush Waikiki shores, a testament to the eternal allure of love in paradise.
In the realm of "Mysterious Monkeys," their morning intimacy seems mutually fulfilling, albeit tinged with a sense of routine. Rachel, half-dressed and sans the customary post-coital embrace, rushes off to the breakfast buffet's impending closure at 10. Thus, I was as taken aback as Rachel's polo-shirted spouse when she confessed dissatisfaction with the prominence of sex in their union. "I can't wait to make love in Tahiti" might not be the most poetic whisper of affection, but does three days of wedded bliss necessitate such fervor? Rachel seeks conflict, desperately searching for flaws to justify her doubts, though the reasons are abundant: his disregard for her career, his dependency on his mother, and his slow pace at finishing even the simplest tasks. Yet, her critique sets Shane on a mission to prove he's more than just a black card and a bulging erection.
At least the Pattons' passion finds solace in vacation's embrace. The Mossbachers, however, seem worlds apart. The mood is dampened by their daughter's sarcasm, their son's tech-fueled escapades and porn addiction, Nicole's workaholic tendencies, and Mark's existential quagmire. When Rachel inquires about the Mossbachers' secret to maintaining their spark, Mark's candidness is jarring, surpassing even Shane's libidinous nature. Initially, Mark yearned for Nicole incessantly; now, he likens sex to a daunting challenge on Fear Factor, where I once witnessed a contestant gulp down the juice from a cow's eyeball. But radical honesty has become Mark's mantra, unfazed even when his teenage son eavesdrops.
For Mark, honesty marks the divergence from his father's legacy, a man whose tragic death from AIDS now haunts him. Steve Zahn, refusing to fade into his character's skin, awakens groggy, leaving Nicole to bear the brunt of explaining their loss to their children. The girls, as expected, are unforgiving, misinterpreting Mark's reaction as homophobia when in truth, he mourns the loss of an imagined childhood innocence, coupled with his own latent prejudices. Olivia, with a mischievous glint in her eye, offers a twisted theory: "Maybe he was too embarrassed to ask Grandma for a dildo?" Her words, though perhaps intended as a twisted form of solace, reveal her smug satisfaction with her perceived worldly wisdom, mistaking it for the ultimate truth. Mark drowns his sorrows in Bloody Marys, preparing for the first day of scuba school amidst the swirling emotions.
Enter the tale of Quinn, a hapless soul cast adrift by his sister's harsh edict, forced to spend the night under the ethereal embrace of the starlit canopy. It was a fleeting enchantment, until the relentless tide stole away his technological treasures, leaving him adrift in a world devoid of phones and Switches. His mother's attempts at salvation, ordering replacements that couldn't breach the island's boundaries in time, fell short. But in Maui, the heart of modernity beats strong, a mere Uber ride to Target's doorstep—a credit card could be his salvation.
Yet, deviceless and unshielded, Quinn finds himself at the mercy of his father's unbridled truths, or rather, Mark's skewed interpretation of them. The transformation is astounding; from a perceived 'flawed offspring of a legend' to one who now wields his father's secrets as a shield against his own inadequacies. "He concealed the monkey, and it twisted my fate," he muses, twisting facts to suit his narrative.
Mark, bent on absolution for Quinn, embarks on a crusade of honesty, a veritable sexual-talk marathon with any willing ear. Meanwhile, Nicole, over a familial feast, whispers wisdom to her daughter: with age, dignity trumps carnal desires—a profound counterpoint to Mark's reckless candor. But Mark's ears are deaf to such pearls, drowned out by the chatter of the bar, where he inadvertently courts Armond, a man perilously close to oblivion after indulging in a liquor-soaked odyssey.
Armond, his defenses shattered by Paula's lost treasure trove, stumbles into a sordid spiral. Belinda finds him slumbering in his car, a testament to his waning self-control. His infatuation with Dillon, a youthful staffer whose aesthetic screams rebellion, knows no bounds. And just as the Pineapple Suite's tumult seemed to have settled, Armond's recklessness rears its ugly head once more, booking the Pattons onto a sunset cruise, unwittingly colliding with Tanya's solemn ritual to scatter her mother's ashes.
In the pantheon of this week's performances, Murray Bartlett's portrayal of an Adderall-fueled, schadenfreude-soaked character stands tall. Yet, the true MVP is Jennifer Coolidge, who transforms Tanya from fragile to fractured, a glass of champagne her catalyst. Tanya, a richer, more nuanced version of Coolidge's iconic characters, is a washed-up soul, a mix of childishness and weariness, her sorrow grounded in a haunting backstory.
Her relationship with her "cruel" mother, a oppressive legacy that even death cannot sever, haunts her dreams. In them, she wades through the sea, casting ashes into a windswept horizon, only to be pelted by their return. Her grief is hysterical, a maelstrom of emotions. "I wish I had a man here," she sighs, eyeing Rachel and Shane over dinner, a longing that echoes through the void.
Belinda, compelled to abandon her duties, joins Tanya, and together, they form an unlikely duo. Belinda, an empath to the core, finds Tanya's distress flourishes in the presence of witnesses. In a poignant metaphor, Tanya struggles to open the urn, symbolizing her inability to let go. On the boat, her sorrow erupts in tears and screams, the ashes unscattered, destined to remain a burden.
As the vessel returns to The White Lotus, the Pattons cling to each other, shell-shocked. Belinda, in a tender gesture, sings to Tanya, scratching her head like a mother soothing a troubled child, a poignant reminder that some wounds never truly heal.
Predictably, Shane's grasp on perspective regarding his own life evaporates quicker than the words "land ho" can escape one's lips. He's seething at Armond, venting to Rachel with a stony facade, "People have been hunting me down all my life. I'm merely playing the cards fate dealt me. And, hey, it's a damn good hand—not my fault, though." Rachel, sensing the need for an escape, swiftly initiates a seduction that screams, "Please, just stop talking."
Meanwhile, Mark stumbles drunkenly into his home, babbling like a chattering monkey and pounding his bare chest, a spectacle so bizarre and pitiful that I fleetingly wished Nicole would find amusement in it, merely to spare us the mortification. Her detached response, "You're taking this really hard," hints at a disillusionment that might blossom into disgust if she ever paused from her emails and furniture rearranging to contemplate her marriage.
The only pair basking in the glow of enviable intimacy within the confines of 'The White Lotus' are Paula and the anonymous waiter, a sight that stirs jealousy within Olivia. As "Mysterious Monkey" unfolds, Olivia awakens to find her friend's absence from their bed, only to encounter Paula's instinct to deceive and her own to conceal her awareness of the lie. The following night, Olivia shadows Paula into the night, confirming what she already knew, yet the question lingers: Is Olivia's envy rooted in Paula or the waiter who shares her bed? What binds these friends beyond their shared disdain and a mutual love for Political Science 201?
And so, it's time for another literary sojourn within the show. Paula has progressed from Freud's musings to Frantz Fanon's treatise on colonialism, a topic aptly brought up during dinner in last week's episode, resonating deeply in the stolen Kingdom of Hawai'i. Olivia, on the other hand, has swapped Nietzsche for Camille Paglia's 'Sexual Personae,' a text shrouded in ambiguity and anti-feminist undertones, certain to irk her even more than her mother's criticisms. What message is Mike White weaving through their vacation reading list? That a liberal arts education is merely a performance? That it fosters cynicism? Or is Shane, who dismisses their endeavors as mere pretense, onto something—is intellectual history simply the latest fashion?
Shane's simultaneous act of splashing young women with pool water while subtly undermining them stands as my personal, cringe-worthy moment of the week, forcing Rachel to flee in a mix of horror, embarrassment, and perhaps even jealousy. For her part, Rachel finally cracks open Elena Ferrante's 'My Brilliant Friend,' a fitting choice for a vacation read that ultimately proves too dark for her to complete, mirroring the revelation that life's complexities often exceed our initial expectations. And Shane, ever the confident navigator of his own impulses, continues to flip through Malcolm Gladwell's 'Blink,' seemingly oblivious to the depths of human nature he fails to grasp.
We've already reached the midpoint of "The White Lotus," and my initial hunch that the death teased in the pilot was a sinister murder is beginning to waver. The narrative seems to be steering clear of any overtly murderous undertones. Yet, the haunting Polynesian melody of Juan Cristobal Tapia de Veer's theme song, which initially felt almost mocking at the series' inception, has grown increasingly ominous with each passing week. It now evokes a deeper, more unsettling aura.
Each character, in their own way, appears to be unraveling, yet in a manner that somehow diminishes their intimidating facade. Tanya, for instance, is hardly capable of committing a murder; she struggles even to open a simple box. Mark, on the other hand, would likely seek Nicole's consent before embarking on such a deed. Yet, surely, this tale cannot culminate in a mere tragic selfie death on a rugged hike, can it?
The first three episodes meticulously crafted and unveiled these flawed sojourners, their individual chaos spilling forth merely by their presence. Now, the stage is set for things to spiral wildly out of control, promising a captivating crescendo that will leave us on the edge of our seats.
