In my recap of the previous episode, I voiced a yearning to delve deeper into the intricacies of Felix's hesitance to profess his love to Jess. Despite being an open book in virtually every other facet of their relationship, Felix has never shied away from imparting honest truths to Jess or from making his feelings of affection evident. He is kind to her, attentive to her emotions and needs, and delights not just in appeasing but in embracing her quirks. There's a hint of Nice Guy Syndrome in his demeanor, as we've previously deliberated, all of which portrays a man who ought to be well-versed in expressing his love. So, what could be holding him back?
As so often is the case, the answer lies entangled with his upbringing. Returning from a suburban family visit, Felix reluctantly agrees to unveil the reason behind his somber mood, but he cautions Jess that once these words are spoken, they cannot be unsaid. In essence, exposing this concealed aspect of himself—the part he buries to maintain a serene surface—will effectively shatter the illusion they've constructed. So long as Felix remains the affable, baggage-free nice guy, Jess is free to interpret him as she wishes; he can become, like Wendy, an abstraction, a person who solely exists to cater to her emotional requirements. This might align with some of Jess's emotional states, offering a soothing balm following the wounds inflicted by Zev's cruelty. Being a phantom devoid of past burdens suits some of Felix's moods as well, affording him the chance to disengage from the persistent, thorny grip of his history.
The peril inherent in being vulnerable in love is this: We unearth our buried facets, hoping our beloveds will still wish to proceed. This is the juncture where Felix has consistently stumbled; for a substantial period, as Auggie reveals, he has been unable to dismantle this fantasy. Such struggles, we learn in "Terms of Resentment," are passed down through generations: Felix's parents, too, are captive to their fantasies. However, their inability to let go stems from longing for a life they once led, before a significant portion of their fortune was lost, forcing Felix's father, Simon, to borrow £1,000 from his own son.
We had already received a subtle indication that something was amiss within Felix's family when, amidst a scuffle with Jonno in his posh Notting Hill townhouse, we discovered that Felix had been compelled to depart his boarding school due to his father's financial ruin. As the narrative of "Terms of Resentment" unfolds, Jess eagerly volunteers to accompany Felix on his family visit, nursing a secret longing to catch a glimpse of their once magnificent abode, the very mansion that had drawn her to England. Felix, however, gently dissuades her, citing the inopportune timing and the etiquette of being invited rather than self-inviting oneself to meet one's boyfriend's family. This exchange underscores Felix's reluctance, at least partly, stemming from the fact that his parents had long vacated those hallowed halls.
En route to the suburbs, Felix exchanges his sleek BMW for a clunker, pocketing the £1,000 difference. Upon arrival, he endures a 40-minute wait for his mother, Aiko, to fetch him from the station. Ironically, she could garner a small sum by selling her Rolls-Royce, yet it's patent that Aiko clings tenaciously to any remnant of her former glory. Inside the car, Felix presents Aiko with a photo of Jessica and Astrid, whose wellbeing she frets over. Aiko's humor is erratic and tinged with sadness—she pilots the Rolls with reckless abandon, chain-smokes out the window, and insists that Felix's father, Simon, will somehow "rescue them from this plight," referring to their squandered fortune. Felix tries to reason with her, suggesting they could embrace their new lives if they accepted the futility of recouping their lost wealth; after all, it has been a decade and a half since they inhabited their old mansion.
Undeterred, Aiko remains convinced that Simon will eventually repurchase their former home. On their way from the station, she stops by the estate. Jess was spot on: The place exudes an aura akin to Pemberley. Aiko reveals to Felix that she visits daily, noting that the current occupants often leave the doors unlocked. She encourages Felix to step inside while she indulges in a joint. Initially hesitant, he eventually succumbs to the temptation. The house stands empty—apparently, its new owners are absent too. As Felix wanders through the rooms, he is transported back in time, his childhood memories echoing in each corner he traverses.
Both of Felix's parents were artists; his mother, a painter, and his father, a piano player, although one about whom we remain ignorant of his professional endeavors or how he amassed a fortune despite hailing from a humble Hungarian immigrant family where the patriarch toileted as a milkman to make ends meet. They were frequently either absent from the family scene or enigmatic in their demeanor. They maintained a detached distance from one another, as well as from their children. Felix's father grumbled about his mother "running away with Leland Fellows," while his mother, immersed in her bath, informed him she was in her own realm, since Simon had shut himself away in his.
Felix recalls being scolded for his academic shortcomings, his sister's tender affection towards him, and being left unattended with a fever, accompanied only by a nanny who compelled him to declare his love for her, as she was the one responsible for nourishing, clothing, and nurturing him. His youthful self seemed perplexed by the tapestry of his life. Their house resembled an amusement park, a realm brimming with awe and marvels, yet devoid of the loving guidance to navigate through it. At least, devoid of the kind of love that could mentor and shield; in adulthood, Aiko still affectionately dubbed Felix her "favorite playmate."
During a roast dinner at their now much smaller abode—which Aiko quaintly termed a "bungalow"—Simon persisted in asserting that they would soon "escape this place." Aiko vowed she would rather perish than continue residing there, while Felix's sister, Alaia, a decade his senior, exhibited arrested development. She clung to the butterfly clips that adorned her hair in the '90s well into her 40s, albeit planning to relocate into her friend's "boiler room" once she secured employment. The Remens' family dynamics were as quirky as the Salmons', albeit their woundedness seemed less a consequence of mitigating circumstances than a reluctance to confront reality as it was. Felix alone seemed capable of acknowledging it: they were no longer wealthy and likely never would be again. His acceptance of this reality estranged him from the rest of his family, a fact that drove him to distraction.
After dinner, outdoors, Felix handed his father the £1,000 he had managed to procure from selling his car. Simon revealed his plan to utilize half for bills and the other half to initiate a "payment plan" to repurchase their old house, a revelation that underscored his delusions. Simon recounted to Felix a dream in which he recalled his own father's advice: "Don't be enslaved by fortune." This adage implied that each individual is allotted a certain measure of luck, and once exhausted, it is futile to "hunt for it." He had resigned himself to the notion that, inevitably, children must assume the mantle of their parents. "We spent what we had on you," he shrugged. "Now it's your turn."
This defeated demeanor incenses Felix to such an extent that, upon departing the house, he reclaimed his money. Returning to Jess, who had spent her day immersed in BBC documentaries and grappling with what her grandmother euphemistically termed "honeymoon cystitis," a manifestation of "overworked plumbing," alluding to her vaginal discomfort, Felix initially refrains from revealing what transpired during his visit that plunged him into sorrow. Yet, Jess, in her characteristically nurturing yet persistent manner, coerces him into confiding in her. He unburdens himself about his parents' absence and the molestation perpetuated by their entrusted nanny, whom he vividly remembers demanding his affection. It becomes apparent that Felix's difficulty in uttering "I love you" stems from this abominable past: she coerced him into expressing it. Felix further shares about Aiko's incessant suicidal threats, Alaia's arrested development, and his father's infuriating self-denial. He discloses that as a child, he was never tucked in bed. Moved by this revelation, Jess tenderly tucks him in, wrapping him up like a burrito. She croons to him the Bob Dylan tune her father once serenaded her with, her affection in this intimate moment so pure, so unselfish, that it shatters one of his formidable defenses. Tears streaming down his face, he finally confesses his love for her. It's one of those quintessential rom-com moments, akin to realizing one's feelings for Allie in "The Notebook," where despite one's resistance to sappiness or cynical outlook on romance, the heart cannot but succumb. I was moved to tears.
I often harbor resentment towards what I perceive as contemporary TV's overreliance on flashbacks. As a consequence of the trauma-plot overkill, it seems as though TV is perpetually excusing its characters, steering our comprehension of them towards their past experiences rather than their present-day responses to unfolding events. Recall that poignant episode of "Girls" where Jessa and Hannah visit Jessa's father in upstate New York? It adeptly illustrated how Jessa's familial dysfunction influenced her present state, without resorting to flashbacks of her childhood to paint a retrospective picture. "Terms of Resentment" is akin to that episode, tailored to Netflix's more instructional, exposition-laden style. In "Too Much," Dunham employs flashbacks liberally; they succeed because they enrich rather than dictate behavior. To care about Jess's overcoming Zev, we need to comprehend her past; however, given the narrative's focus on Jess and Felix and Dunham's limited ten episodes, she must both depict their past and elucidate how it shapes Jess's decisions concerning Felix. The same applies to Felix's family and their downfall. Here, the flashback is almost a necessity, rather than a substitute for character development. Employed thus, it's more novelistic than cinematic; when executed well, I find its abundance tolerable.
