Each episode of "Too Much" playfully titles itself after a romantic film, be it a comedy or otherwise; episode three, in particular, pays homage to Richard Linklater's "Before Sunrise," the opening chapter of a trilogy that chronicles the life-altering encounter between Jesse and Celine on a train. For those who recall, the essence of their tale in those films revolves almost entirely around conversation. The plot of "Before Sunrise" is deceptively straightforward: when their train halts in Vienna, Jesse persuades Celine to disembark with him and spend the night wandering the city's streets before he must board a morning flight back to the United States.
The brilliance of "Before Sunrise" lies in its dedication of ninety minutes to a process that, in the typical romantic comedy, is condensed into a swift montage. Imagine: after their chance meeting, the couple is suddenly shown post-coital in bed, strolling through a market, or dining in a kitchen. Think of Tom and Summer browsing for records, Annie and Alvy preparing lobster, or Rachel Samstat and Mark sharing a giant bowl of spaghetti in bed. In movies adhering to the romantic comedy archetype (meeting, falling in love, breaking up, reuniting), the montage serves to expedite the getting-to-know-you phase, thus allowing the drama of the breakup to unfold and tugging at our heartstrings.
While "Ignore Sunrise" doesn't quite meet Vulture's criteria for a bottle episode — due to some additional setups and scenes that undoubtedly inflated the production budget — it does offer us thirty minutes of nearly uninterrupted chemistry between Felix and Jess. With each successive episode, I find myself increasingly captivated by Will Sharpe's performance; he merges seamlessly into his character, an aspect that Stalter struggles to match. Indeed, Jess possesses self-awareness, whereas Felix exudes self-confidence. Sharpe proves to be a generous scene partner, affording Stalter ample opportunity to shine. However, there's a meticulousness to her acting that thrives in certain scenarios — such as when Jessica films the type of front-facing camera videos that made Stalter famous during the pandemic — yet hinders others, particularly when Felix and Jess embark on their marathon kitchen conversation. Despite this, Sharpe's charm is so enchanting that, as time progresses, Stalter grows more comfortable in her role; by the time the clock struck past 1 a.m., I was utterly absorbed in their blossoming romance.
The bottle-episode guide elucidates how, owing to the inherent constraints of this format, episodes often devise scenarios that confine all characters within a confined space, necessitating a compelling rationale: a door slams shut, deadlines loom, bomb threats arise, or anticipation builds around an impending event. In this particular scenario, Jess finds herself tasked with attending an 8:30 a.m. meeting after receiving a stern dressing-down from Jonno (portrayed by Richard E. Grant), who refers to it as a "bollocking." Jonno catches her surfing the web for Felix Remen and reminiscing through vintage music videos of his various bands, reminding her that he hired her for her reputation of "getting the job done," albeit she has yet to solidify her credentials. The esteemed fictional director slated to helm the Christmas commercial will commence preparations in a matter of weeks, and Jonno demands that Jessica shifts her focus accordingly. Thus, through Josie—who appears embarrassed yet concurs with his assessments—he assigns her a checklist of ten behaviors to avoid, "some rooted in cultural norms, others personal pet peeves."
While Jess toils away at work, Felix rehearses with his band and briefly visits an employment agency, where he seeks employment while justifying his unemployment. He finds himself ensnared in a quandary familiar to many an artistic soul: his music hasn't generated income yet, but to ever earn from it, he must compose, a task he fears would suffer if he spent all his time on job searches or alternative employment. Later, in Jess's kitchen as she wraps up her work, their contrasting worldviews unfurl, a blend of cultural and personal perspectives. Jess has resigned herself to the fact that adult life entails doing what one doesn't want to do (like being a producer instead of a director and staying up late to tweak lighting budgets), whereas Felix remains steadfast in his belief that adult life revolves around finding means to do solely what one loves (for him, crafting music).
Narratively, Jess ponders to Wendy whether she possesses the ability to live in the present moment or if, like her, her thoughts constantly stray. Jess informs Felix they cannot stay up late due to her morning commitment; however, they never retire, their nocturnal rhythm dictated by a ticking clock. We check in at 10, then 11, followed by 1 a.m., 2:30, 4, and finally, beyond 5 a.m., with the alarm blaring at 6:45. At each of these hourly markers, Jess and Felix indulge in intimacy, interspersed with conversation and camaraderie. Initially, Jess struggles to be present: just shy of midnight, Felix cues up his beloved film, Paddington. He weeps throughout, but Jess finds her attention wandering; she scrolls through Wendy's Instagram stories instead, unable to concentrate on the plight of the beloved bear.
Eventually, Felix playfully wrests the phone from Jess's grasp, feigning disappointment that she had been engrossed in her screen throughout the entire movie rather than sharing in the emotional journey, tears flowing in unison. Past the witching hour, in the solitude of the bathroom, Jess can't resist one last peek at Wendy's social media feed. There, she stumbles upon a video of Wendy inquisitively wondering aloud if Zev would still cherish her if she were a worm. The clip triggers a nostalgic ripple, revisiting the moment Jess posed the very same question to Zev, only to be brushed aside. This reverie segues into a whimsical fantasy where she and Wendy are best friends, indulging in a slumber party filled with giggles and tender moments—until reality snaps her back, catching sight of Felix smoking a cigarette on the fire escape. Their subsequent sexual encounter is followed by an evening of binge-watching, setting the stage for a heartfelt conversation.
Their discourse spans a myriad of topics, from Jess's confession that 'Dateline,' more so than 'Paddington,' brings her solace by reminding her of the world's miseries surpassing her own, to Felix's playful yet perceptive comparison of her to the beloved bear character. It's at this juncture that the Nice Guy Syndrome jars me from my reverie. Felix confides in Jess, hinting at an inexplicable urge to nurture her, asserting that he doesn't extend such solicitousness to everyone. A skeptical corner of my mind whispers back, 'Oh, Felix, that's precisely your modus operandi!' His euphemism of finding 'something' in her that evokes a protective instinct is merely a velvet glove over the insult of labeling her as 'messy,' a comment that once elicited a righteous tirade from Jess.
Admittedly, Jess does embody helplessness, and Lena Dunham's signature style shines through in this episode, highlighting her protagonist's flaws with unflinching honesty. Her obsession with Wendy mirrors a deeper narcissism, her overt vulnerability a thin veneer that often feels more like a performance than a genuine emotion. "Ignore Sunrise" truly soars when both Jess and Felix's facades crack, revealing glimpses of their pasts. Felix initiates the vulnerable sharing when Jess, curious, asks if he's ever experienced the college slang "gold-pantsed"—a term for an instant of disgust during a hookup. His anecdote leads them into a poignant discussion about his sobriety and the transformation it required, revealing that Felix has been clean for three years.
Jessica's domineering mother's phone call prompts Felix to inquire about her family. With a heartfelt tone, Jess unfolds the tale of her late father, portrayed by Kit Harington, who battled a brutal form of Parkinson's disease that eventually confined him to a state of near immobility. Yet, her childhood memories with him are tinged with a poignant tenderness, painting a vivid picture of his meticulous craftsmanship, delicate nature, and his heroic interventions that saved her from less-than-stellar sleepovers. These flashbacks, interwoven with her narrative, evoke an emotional resonance in those fortunate enough to have a father's love and to love him in return, inspiring a yearning to reach out to their own dads.
At its core, this is what romantic comedies are all about: at their finest, they serve as poignant reminders of the love that enriches our lives; at the very least, they ignite a spark of hope that such love will one day find us. And yes, they make us sentimental – a sentiment I embrace, as does Lena Dunham, praise be.
As dawn approaches, casting a 5 a.m. glow, Jess teeters on the brink of reverting to her old ways. Felix, having shared intimate moments with her countless times in the span of five hours, struggles to reach climax, prompting an initial flicker of self-doubt in Jess. But the shallowness of her fleeting concern – rooted in appearance and performance – pales in comparison to the profound connection they've forged throughout the night.
At Felix's prompting, Jess bestows upon him heartfelt compliments, and as they reconnect in bed, they replicate a tender ritual shared by Zev and her – kissing to the rhythm of an entire song. Felix drifts off before the melody concludes, while Jess, eyes mirroring the introspective glow Felix once noted in a past lover's golden-pants morning, rises as the alarm looms. She consumes her cold noodles, standing before the fridge with its door ajar, her expression a complex blend of emotions.
Despite any ominous undertones lurking beneath the surface, I exhale a sigh of relief upon witnessing her upright stance. Though I reveled in their impromptu Before Sunrise-esque evening, I couldn't shake the fear that she might miss her crucial meeting.
