The White Lotus has been teasing the notion that it harbors a deeper message, and this week, Mike White finally seems to bring that plane in for a (somewhat bumpy) landing. The affluent, white hotel patrons, their smiles tinged with scars, are each offered a stage to reveal their true colors. One after another, they stumble upon the same revelation: themselves.
Yet, at its core, The White Lotus is more intrigued by the shortcomings of its privileged protagonists than delving into the intricacies of those who serve them. For every fleeting glimpse into Belinda's psyche, we're subjected to an excruciating five-minute spat between Rachel and Shane, leaving us to ponder whether Rachel possesses the fortitude to walk away. Despite the show's flippant portrayal of its upper-crust ensemble, they are its very fabric. Whether this serves as a commentary on society's realities or merely a surface-level observation remains an open question. In Armond's case, his harrowing relapse is treated with the same glibness as the Mossbachers' dysfunctional dinner parties, hinting at the latter.
But amidst the wee hours of the morning, Paula's unique upstairs/downstairs connection transcends mere intimacy. Kai, the series' inaugural native Hawaiian character, harbors a tangled history with the White Lotus, built upon the lo'i where his family once toiled. His brothers battle eviction, while Kai finds himself straddling two visions for contemporary Hawai'i: one where tourists reign supreme, and another rooted in sustainable farming, echoing a pre-annexation era. Paula's declaration that Kai is "so real" elicits both a cringe and curiosity from me. How would she classify the rest? Fake? For Olivia, her tenuous friend-foe, she opts for "tricky." Sharing Kai's existence with Liv is impossible, as Liv, the hotel developer in their dynamic, has a history of usurping what's Paula's. Yet, their continued friendship and Paula's assent to this trip speak volumes about her own complexities.
On the morning of "Recentering," chaos reigns supreme in the Mossbacher suite. Mark awakens nursing the aftermath of yesterday's excesses, only to find Nicole's sympathy in short supply. "Are you going to participate today?" she queries, using "participate" as a euphemism for "feign happiness as a family." But societal norms have eroded beyond the point of pretense, even Nicole herself indulging in sarcasm.
Quinn, now a permanent fixture lounging on the sandy shores, gazes out at the shimmering azure sea as locals paddle their outrigger canoe in harmony, mirroring the forced camaraderie his father strives for in vain. Suddenly, the memory of that scuba diving class confined to a kiddie pool strikes him as a poignant metaphor. When Mark's confession of purchasing Nicole's $75,000 bracelets amidst betrayal fails to forge a genuine bond between father and son, Quinn finds solace in the embrace of the ocean, seeking companionship with the watermen. Real connections, it seems, blossom organically amidst the vastness of reality. (Aside: I found myself oddly proud of Nicole's estranged, wealthy, white son for daring to introduce himself, revealing that he's not a misanthrope but merely disillusioned with those in his orbit.)
In stark contrast, the Pattons present a picture of relative normalcy today. Shane sports his Cornell cap over breakfast, an idyllic scene that defies articulation. (Imagine Andy Bernard, enthralled by 'The White Lotus' on his Roku, bouncing gleefully off the couch in solidarity.) Rachel yearns to discuss her professional endeavors, yet her thoughts have shifted from journalism to exploring a nonprofit path, devoid of a specific cause or rationale. It feels like a search for a gentler landing, her lack of media ambition unexplained but perhaps indicative of a newfound desire for equilibrium. Shane offers unwavering support, albeit with a silent prayer that the topic might diverge from her career musings. He has his own battles to wage.
Ah, Armond! He arrives looking and feeling the worse for wear, having failed to return home the previous night. Belinda, with a single, compassionate gaze, pries the truth from him. Just as Armond seems poised to restore the girls' depleted stash of narcotics, Shane storms in, irked by the previous episode's disastrous sunset cruise. Fed up, he demands to confront the authority figures. In the chaos that ensues, Armond surreptitiously returns Paula's bag, minus its illicit contents—a move both absurd and cunning. What could they possibly say? 'Excuse me, but our ketamine appears to be missing?'
Armie has one final ace up his sleeve to divert Shane's attention from escalating the situation: Molly Shannon, as Kitty, Shane's inappropriately meddling mother. A staple in Mike White's universe, Shannon bursts onto the scene as the OG Mrs. Patton, observing the new Mrs. Patton's understandable shock at finding her mother-in-law intruding on her honeymoon with amusement. "Poor dear, she's as pale as a ghost," Kitty quips, her focus on Shane's minor ear infection and wedding reminisces betraying her tendency to steal the spotlight. The melody of Shane and Rachel's relationship may have been monotonous, but now, anticipation for the upcoming family dinner scene surges within me, promising a symphony of unexpected twists and turns.
By this juncture in the season's narrative arc, the episodes have settled into a comforting rhythm: the dawn's gentle embrace, a breakfast quarrel with the Ps, Armond's aimless ping-pong between his guests, Tanya's daily dilemma that somehow fails to intertwine seamlessly with the rest, culminating in a frenetic, Christopher Nolan-inspired dinner hour, a whirlwind of quick cuts leading to a climax that's both mundane and exhilarating. This circadian pattern is a formula, indeed, but one that works beautifully. And tonight's dinner promises to be exceptional, its menu laden with a disastrous first date, a maître d' teetering on the brink of inebriation, and Quinn's shocking revelation about Mom's bling-laden wrist. For those seeking a touch of the exotic, there's even a hula performance in store.
Tanya, strangely unfazed after scattering her mother's ashes with half-hearted abandon, renews her pledge to fund Belinda's wellness center. However, her encounter with a bald, deep-sea fisherman, so inebriated he can't find his hotel room in broad daylight, abruptly cancels their business dinner. Tanya, mistaking Greg for a liberal soul vacationing with BLM allies, finds herself disillusioned when he reveals himself to be a cop who views BLM as the Bureau of Land Management. Attracted by what she thought was his conviction, she finds solace in his arms despite his lack of it, mirroring the emptiness and unpredictability of the love-starved mother she once described. It seems Tanya leaves a trail of disposable Belindas wherever she goes.
Elsewhere, over cocktails yet to arrive, Shane impulsively proposes Rachel's new career path to Kitty, whose concept of philanthropy revolves around donating weekends at her Aspen retreat to charity auctions. (She never visits in February, so it's a win-win.) "It's a fantastic way to give back," Kitty enthuses, nodding in approval. But when Rachel clarifies her desire for a job, Mrs. Patton struggles to comprehend. Nonprofits, she insists, crave money—lots and lots of it. And Rachel and Shane, well, they embody the very essence of wealth. Mrs. Patton offers a chilling glimpse into Rachel's potential future, but at least she's transparent about her assets.
Once upon a time, Rachel aspired to be more like Nicole, cherishing the mantra, "Your independence is your power." I wonder how she'd react if she knew her once-esteemed mentor had declared allegiance to the forgotten white man—and, of course, Hillary. But tonight, it's Mark's turn under Liv's political microscope. "For years, I played the good guy," he sighs nostalgically, proposing they shift the spotlight to Paula. Only, he doesn't mean it. When pressed, he struggles to conjure even a single question he'd pose to her. "When has Paula ever asked me a question?" he retorts, setting a new record for the shortest-lived attempt at decentralization.
I'm unsure whether it's the aftermath of Kai's narrative or the intimacy forged through prolonged interactions, but Paula's interactions with the Mossbachers have taken on a sharp, confrontational edge. "What principles do you uphold?" she challenges Mark, who falls silent, a response in itself, heavy with meaning. Nicole, in a disheartening observation, muses that perhaps no one's convictions are genuinely pure; even those who rail against capitalism secretly aspire to ascend the hierarchical ladder. Olivia, too, remains mumble-mouthed, yet later, under the guise of Paula's absence, she approaches Kai with a whisper of admiration: "Your name is so cool." Amidst her backdrop of extreme privilege, Olivia seeks different kinds of power to grasp.
Enter Quinn, a semblance of a prophet, voicing what feels like the show's philosophical undercurrent: "What consequence does it bear if our thoughts are right or wrong? We all engage in the same flawed endeavors." His exasperation mirrors ours.
At this juncture, where Shane and Rachel typically find solace in each other's compatibility, Shane's mind is elsewhere. He discovers Armond's deceitful phone number and rushes to confront him, the timing ill-fated. For Armond has just offered the topknoted waiter a choice of shifts and a generous dose of K for a naked escapade. When Shane storms into the office, he's confronted with a scene of naked debauchery, illuminated by the lurid orange glow of tiki torches, evoking a sinister Apocalypse Now ambiance. His gleeful determination to ruin the hotel manager surpasses even his craving for the Pineapple Suite; this, it seems, is Shane Patton's magnum opus.
For amidst all the futile complaining and convoluted politics, it's the wealthy, white characters who are the true architects of chaos on The White Lotus. Olivia, lying beside Paula, declares, "I'm your friend," her words tinged with deceit or the madness of uncertainty. Is she any less duplicitous than Tanya, who would never entertain a business venture with Belinda? (I'd swallow a bikini if proven wrong.) Yet, Shane knows precisely what he's doing: decimating a stranger's life over a series of petty grievances. Now, I comprehend why Mike White teased the episode's opening corpse with such calculated precision. It's to savor Shane Patton's maniacal joy, fully aware that no matter the aftermath, he can simply board a plane and fly away, unscathed.
