I am acutely aware that Your show isn't exactly aiming for gold in the Realism Olympics. That being said, I find it exceedingly improbable that Joe would ever deign to watch When Harry Met Sally…, much less admit to having committed one of its memorable lines to memory. Nevertheless, here he is, quoting Nora Ephron's maxim on the improbability of platonic friendship between men and women: The sex inevitably gets in the way. In Joe's case, I'd argue that the reason men and women can't be friends is because Joe, with his Ahab-like intensity for the opposite sex, happens to be a serial killer. But that's merely my perspective!
Joe and Love's interactions are undeniably flirtatious and far from platonic — she crafts sexually suggestive pastries for him, which he devours with orgasmic delight. Yet, Joe believes he's "protecting" Love by forcing us all to endure this absurd charade, knowing full well that it will culminate in their sexual encounter. It takes the entire episode to reach this predictable conclusion, and I regret to inform you that much of the subsequent hour revolves around a plot I find difficult to become enthused about: Henderson's alleged preying on underage girls and Joe's role as Ellie's savior from this scumbag. I'm not particularly fond of using Me Too stories as a plot device, as if this seismic, profoundly meaningful, and ongoing social movement is merely a fleeting trend. Is Your, an intentionally exaggerated show, truly the best medium for a narrative as fraught and nuanced as this? Share your thoughts with me in the comments.
Joe decides he needs to win over Forty to get closer to Love, despite ostensibly trying not to get closer to her. I sometimes ponder whether the writers of such shows have siblings or have ever encountered adult siblings in real life. Grown siblings don't utter phrases like, "What are your intentions with my sister?" Adults don't require permission from other adults to engage in whatever they desire with other consenting adults! Siblings who are overly involved in each other's romantic and sexual lives are exceptionally bizarre. (That being said, I appreciate that Love and Forty refer to being honest with each other as "twinsparency.")
Forty's story is this: He made a Sundance hit seven years ago, an eternity in showbiz terms, called The Third Twin (Did the third twin perish? Please tell me there's more to this character's backstory than what we've seen so far!). Subsequently, he struggled with substance abuse and is now attempting sobriety, albeit with difficulty. Formerly a friend of Henderson's, Forty has fallen out of favor, reportedly due to some humiliating behavior he doesn't remember — and I can't help but wonder, was Forty at the Delilah party or some similar gathering? To regain acceptance, he plans to "scout talent" at an improv show, with Joe tagging along. To bond with Forty, Joe fibs, claiming he's also "in recovery" from an addiction he chooses not to specify.
The improv performance by the group monikered "Trigger Warning" (ouch, indeed) concludes with an unexpected twist featuring none other than Henderson. Joe inquiries of Forty whether Hendy is a "stand-up guy." Good Lord, a chap like Forty could never fathom that someone like Hendy is a scurrilous scoundrel, and even if a seed of doubt lingered in his mind, he'd never utter a word against him! It's the outright apathy displayed by individuals akin to Forty that emboldens sexual predators across the globe.
Forty finds himself barred from the afterparty, whereas Ellie, the enigmatic sprite of the balcony, manages to slip in. Understandably wary, she fears Joe might be trailing her; soon, we uncover Joe's despicable act of installing spyware on the new phone he gifted her. He insists he was merely at the show. "For what purpose?" she retorts. "You're hardly amusing." I admire her spirit.
Ellie brushes aside Delilah's cautions about Hendy, dismissing them as Delilah's blanket accusation that everyone is a pervert. Their discourse escalates into a shouting match, and later, Delilah storms over to Joe's place to give him a piece of her mind too. It's worth mentioning that even in her distress, Delilah's hair looks impeccable. Her scheme is to emulate Ronan Farrow's investigative prowess, albeit quicker and tailored to her personal vendetta. Wait, what? Does this lass possess even a semblance of understanding about Ronan Farrow? He has spoken openly about how his sister's ordeal inspired his investigations, albeit indirectly. Someone, please, send her a copy of "Catch and Kill" so she might comprehend why such inquiries don't materialize overnight.
Following a spat at work—her friends advised Love against appearing desperate, and Joe had grown accustomed to his secret stash at work—Joe decides to atone with a grand romantic gesture. Love, correctly interpreting it as such, leans in for another kiss. To her astonishment, Joe clarifies, "I never intended for this grand gesture to be romantic! Where did you get that notion?" Love, rightly so, queries if Joe is a sociopath before storming off in fury.
In the narrow alleyway, the melody of retching emerges from a balcony, sounding eerily like a sprite released from the grip of an unwelcome potion at a revelry with Hendy earlier that night. How is she, in such a state, managing coherent conversation? Nevertheless, Joe, the self-appointed white knight, is convinced he possesses the prowess of seasoned investigative journalists, despite having no formal training. I marvel at these amateurs who fancy that Me Too narratives unravel of their own accord. Will, who is making lemonade from the lemons life has handed him — engaging in a makeshift game of hangman with ketchup on the transparent confines of their makeshift prison — mentions that hacking a celebrity would require a laptop with internet access, as Joe eagerly requests. This notion falls flat.
Joe tracks down Henderson's abode and realizes, quite belatedly, the formidable height of its walls. An invitation is paramount to gaining entry, prompting Joe to ingratiate himself with the fringes of Hendy's close-knit circle. Plunging back into the improv scene, possibly due to the writers' penchant for whimsical team names (Wolf Jizz! Priceless.), Joe manages to procure the entry code to Hendy's mansion: DICKS, naturally. Instead of sneaking into the house party unnoticed, Joe bumps into Forty, who leverages their newfound camaraderie to tag along, hoping to pitch an intangible idea.
Forty encounters Tina (Lindsay from "You're the Worst," hello there!), who, to his face, dismisses his pitch as the ramblings of a talentless slacker. "I love you," she adds, encapsulating her candid perfection. Forty, now inebriated, is bailed out by Henderson, who, posing exhaustion, wraps up the party prematurely to spare his old friend embarrassment. Joe is astounded that Hendy, whom he deemed a villain, would extend such kindness to another man, thereby blurring the lines between good and evil in Joe's mind. Is it conceivable that men who prey on women can be benevolent towards other men? And could this paradox be part of the reason they escape the consequences of their actions? Such revelations are bound to shatter Joe's fragile perceptions.
Joe escorts Forty back to their apartment, where Love awaits. In a comedic fit, Forty laments, "Must I reside in such a hovel to be a legitimate artist? Where, pray tell, are we?" Love, compelled by Forty's temporary residence, feigns cordiality towards Joe. She continues to overlook Joe's questionable revelations about himself and his past, proceeding to engage in intercourse with him while her twin slumbers on the adjacent couch. Their lovemaking is discreet, to say the least; so hush-hush that Love silences Joe with a tie, preventing him from making noise, without prior consent. This lack of communication regarding consent raises serious concerns. Joe is taken aback, but I am worried that not a single soul in this series grasps the fundamentals of consent.
Drawing from the information Joe subtly extracted from Hendy's computer during the festive gathering, Will DECLARES Hendy’s innocence, stating confidently that all perpetrators of sexual assault maintain a folder aptly named “rape diaries” on their desktops, meticulously chronicling their heinous acts. Joe, nonchalantly dismissing the notion, remarks, “Hey, I did my part!” as if echoing the tenacity of investigative journalist Ronan Farrow.
Ellie, still mortified, apologizes to Joe for “vomiting in such unwelcome proximity,” and then presents him with a copy of 'The Big Sleep.' Typical Los Angeles teenagers, indeed. Joe, in return, vows to gift her a hardcover book sometime soon. “I’m already over it,” she shoots back, her boredom evident.
Joe later gleans from Forty that Henderson harbors a “secret toy room” within his residence, concealed behind cleverly disguised speakeasy doors. Describing this overtly thematic alcove, Forty remarks, “It’s a whimsically sinister dungeon, if you can fathom collecting children’s trinkets while harboring a dark, masochistic streak in the bedroom.” He emphasizes further, “Picture yourself indulging in childhood nostalgia, yet harboring a subversive penchant for sadism beneath the sheets.” Just what dark secrets could possibly lurk within those confines?
