Inside the storage unit, epithets fly thick and fast. Delilah dubs her confinement a "human aquarium," while Joe silently brands his captive as "a jaded gossip columnist entangled with a cop in an illicit affair." Joe is obsessed with people proving their loyalty in captivity, a setting where choices are as scarce as breathable air. When Fincher calls to inquire about Delilah and extends an invitation for a genuine date, she feigns contentment. I can only hope she has subtly conveyed, perhaps through the quiver in her voice, the dire straits she finds herself in.
Joe informs her that her freedom awaits her the next day, and so does his – bound for Mexico with a one-way ticket, facilitated by the exit-L.A.-anonymous kit generously provided by the real Will. Delilah, however, is shackled to her seat with time-release handcuffs, destined to unlock in precisely 16 hours. Joe opts against incorporating any margin for error, fueled by his penchant for melodrama and disarray. He even leaves the door ajar and her phone within arm's reach on a nearby chair. His assumption of her safety alarms me, given Joe's woefully inaccurate predictions concerning the wellbeing of the women in his life.
Love vents her stress, not over the departure of the smoldering Hemsworth (a loss I, too, lament), but due to her longing for Will, or Joe, or whatever moniker he chooses to adopt. She doesn't even flinch at the myriad revelations of his deceit, from his concealed identity to his past with Amy/Candace and his evasiveness regarding Beck. She harbors affection for this pathological liar! Her friends, whose advice has swung between insightful and disastrous, argue for granting Will a second chance. The collective sanity seems to have deserted them all. Didn't anyone think to run a background check on him after his secrets came to light? What's the point of having a private investigator if not to scrutinize him under such circumstances?
Joe pens Love a cringe-worthy farewell letter, which awkwardly concludes with a line akin to "I'll always wolf you." I nearly fainted from secondhand embarrassment, unable to bear witness to its exact wording.As he prepares to deposit it in her locker, Forty arrives, bearing news that Kathryn Bigelow's assistant is eager to read their script. Joe allocates him half an hour of his precious time. Forty agrees, though his enthusiasm strikes me as forced. Promptly, two men in suits assault both screenwriters and abduct them. Forty claims his gambling addiction as the culprit, but upon landing in a lavish hotel room, Joe discovers the truth: Forty orchestrated this charade to seize their belongings – including Joe's phone and passport – and hold them at gunpoint until they produce a draft. I had thought Franzen's hot-glue-plugged internet jack was an excessively drastic procrastination deterrent; how wrong I was.
The quintessence of this entire ordeal unfolds when Forty exhorts Joe to "cease resisting the flow," emphasizing a technique battle-tested and approved: "I've heard Toni Morrison employs a similar approach." Sensing Joe's ignorance, Forty elucidates that Toni is "this remarkable African American author" behind numerous acclaimed novels. Joe's response hints at disbelief—surely, Toni Morrison wasn't kidnapped by Dimitri to pen her masterpieces. Forty clarifies hastily, "Oh, I merely meant she composed them in a hotel setting."
Also nesting within these confines is Ellie, the writers' assistant, whose movements are unrestrained, free to wander as she desires. Perhaps her presence alone is the beacon illuminating Forty's path to survival.
Another highlight of this enforced sequestration is the writers of 'You' addressing—dare I say, validly (admittedly biased, but surely you concur?)—criticisms levelled at season one. This occurs through Forty and Joe's dissection of their initial draft of Beck's narrative. Ellie's assessment, spot on: "It's formulaic, and the feminine perspective is glaringly absent." Forty defends passionately, "Beck was authentic! She even pleasured herself with a pillow multiple times!" Ellie urges a fresh start, prompting Joe to teeter on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Forty, sensing escape is imperative, exits through a window (!), landing cushioned by refuse in a dumpster.
Joe, in hot pursuit, catches up with Forty at a bar. Let me assure you, the moment Forty handed Joe a suspiciously pre-poured seltzer, my notes jotted, "Oh no, what has Forty laced that with?" The revelation: LSD, an astonishing four times the standard dosage. Amidst Joe's swift descent into oblivion, one crucial detail slips his mind—Forty continues messaging Candace. He laments, "All I yearn for is a decent woman who will cherish me eternally," to which I muse, 'You've already met her; she's your sister.' Subsequently, Forty embarks on a repulsive proposition, offering a newlywed couple $10,000 cash for the bride to kiss him. Initiating a marriage with a hint of coerced prostitution? The rationale behind this detour escapes me, save for illustrating Forty's depths of depravity. Joe concludes that Forty poses a danger.
Here are Forty's three pearls of wisdom for embarking on an LSD journey: "(1) Vehicles are tangible realities, (2) When venturing into the unknown, begin with solid ground beneath your feet, (3) Should tears flow uncontrollably, seek solace in a sip of Moon Juice."
In other news from the Quinn family saga, Dottie orchestrates a dinner outing with Love, aiming to remind her philandering husband, through awkward selfies with their daughter, of the joys and warmth of their family. Love, however, is exasperated by her mother's deceit. Her fury knows no bounds as the au pair, who deserved prison time, was merely fobbed off with a ritual cleansing. A heated exchange ensues, culminating in Love storming out in a display of healthy boundary-setting. Bravo, Love!
Joe's LSD experience commences at an inopportune moment—as he bumps into Love in the hotel hallway. I confess, drug-induced hallucinations in narratives often strike me as redundant dream sequences, offering predictable insights into characters that could be conveyed more organically within the show's reality. And I could certainly do without the reappearance of a sexily weird mother teasing her grown son. Joe finds himself sobbing uncontrollably and seeks refuge with Anavrin for Moon Juice, escaping with the safety password 'mamaroo,' albeit with no clear recollection of the duration or content of his trip.
My heart aches for Delilah! Joe is haunted by visions of blood on his hands, though they momentarily dissipate. A FaceTime call with Love leads them to impulse-decide on running away together, an unprecedented act of rebellion for both. They invite Forty along, thinking it might just work out—wishful thinking at its finest!
Back in their room, Joe discovers Forty has unraveled the enigma of the script, mirroring Joe's real-life mystery. Beck perished in a crime of passion, not at the hands of Dr. Nicky, but her ex-boyfriend's. Joe, grasping a shard of broken glass, feels compelled to slash Forty's throat. But Forty confesses, revealing his own dark secret: He, too, lost control in rage—killing the au dating pair after she began someone her own age, leaving Forty heartbroken. His parents have been covering up the crime all along! At last, "You" embraces its crazy essence wholeheartedly, and I, for one, embrace this deranged direction with relish. Be the lunacy you seek in your Netflix queue!
Joe praises Forty's narrative twist, and they nestle into each other's embrace, bathed in mutual affection. All seems perfect—until Joe glimpses Delilah, lifeless, in a pool of her own blood within a human aquarium.
