Joe, lost in nostalgia, dives into "The Perks of Being a Wallflower," a choice as inevitable as the sunrise. The compassionate nurse Fiona, with eyes brimming with empathy, offers Joe a bite from her humble sandwich in the cozy confines of the Queen’s Gambit Tranquilizer Den—a sanctuary for souls yearning to escape the weakness and abandonment that plague them. Yet, despite her haven, Fiona is ensnared in her own sorrow, her wrists bearing the telltale scars of a brutal man's cruelty, a detail not lost on the perceptive young Joe. By episode's close, Joe, still a child, will boldly confront this grown woman, asserting that he alone perceives her plight and urging her to abandon her unworthy, abusive partner. Noble sentiment, perhaps, but easier said than done, dear Joe!
These nostalgic flashbacks cut deeper than Don Draper's haunting memories of the Little Whorehouse on the Prairie, setting a grim precedent. I can't speak for others, but the portrayal of domestic violence in this series troubles me profoundly. The prevalence of abused women, trapped in their toxic relationships or only escaping through Joe—himself an abuser—is disturbing. In this episode, we witness Marienne's ex-husband (brilliantly portrayed by Scott Michael Foster of "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend" fame) abusing her and manipulating legal systems to deprive her of full custody of their daughter. Enter Joe, the lone savior. This echoes Season One's Claudia, whose stairwell-dwelling son's abusive boyfriend met his demise at Joe's hands. Consider also the litany of despicable males from Season One: the lecherous book agent, the perverted professor who preyed on Beck, and Beck's abusive uncle. Then, there's Season Two's Hendy saga, "resolved" not by Delilah's courage but by Joe's lethal intervention. And let's not overlook the original narrative: Joe's mother, "rescued" by Joe's bullet, either aimed at his abusive father or one of her many abusers—memory fuzzes the details. (And let's remember Natalie, trapped in a marriage where surveillance was a daily ordeal, poised to flee through Joe before meeting an untimely end.)
For a show striving to be melodramatic, wild, and ridiculous in its dark charm, the abundance of abused women is jarring. Surely, the series intends to dissect and expose the twisted trope of men saving women? Yet, in "You," most women find their "salvation"—however flawed—through Joe's deadly interventions, rather than through the support of other women in their lives. Those who attempt to rescue—Candace, Delilah, Peach—meet tragic fates before they can succeed. What are your thoughts? How does this narrative resonate with you?
For the time being, let's retreat into the sanctity of a haven: the library. Joe has come to the conclusion that Marienne, who embraces imperfections and whimsical notions, possesses a profound depth. Oh dear. Driven by an inexplicable urge, he breaks into her abode, not merely to inhale the scent of her pillows but, more crucially, to uncover the reason behind this compulsion. He takes refuge beneath her bed upon her return, watching her undress with a voyeuristic fascination ("Alright, you're definitely toying with me now," he muses to an unseen woman who remains oblivious to his presence). His reverie is interrupted by a text from Love, to whom Joe feels compelled to prove his unwavering devotion, for reasons unknown even to him.
Back at their residence, Love ignores Theo's texts, her gaze fixed upon that timeless narrative crutch: a pregnancy test. Surely, the plot will not take such a turn; the series wouldn't burden her character with twins, as infants tend to complicate narratives and television often shies away from portraying a pregnant protagonist engaged in such contentious activities. Yet, before the inevitable misdirection, the audience endures an entire episode dedicated to Love's speculation regarding the father of the hypothetical child.
Amidst her confusion, Love turns to Forty, messaging him from the safety of her nightstand, where his phone rests. Personally, I would never entrust such incriminating details to a text, especially with a husband as controlling and stalkerish as Joe. Furthermore, her next-door neighbor, a tech surveillance tycoon whose wife she literally dispatched, looms as an omnipresent threat.
Love's obligations pull her to Glamma Dottie's vineyard for its grand opening weekend, a summit celebrating goddess-like entrepreneurship. Prior to her departure, Lorde's "Supercut" blares from outdoors, prompting me to jot down: "If that teenager is indeed holding a Bluetooth speaker aloft outside her window, I shall intervene personally." Lo and behold, that is precisely the scenario unfolding. Such antics are unheard of! The sole redeeming aspect is Theo's reasoning: he assumed she'd appreciate it, referencing the "rom-coms of her generation." Love retorts, insistent upon her youth. Theo confides in Love, claiming she's the only one he can confide in. I, on the other hand, recommend: Theo, seek professional help!
Theo insists on knowing whether Love thinks of him when she shares intimate moments with Joe, asserting, "Because yours is the only face I envision." Amidst their sexual encounter, Joe and Love each indulge in their individual obsessions, prompting me once again to ponder why they don't embrace an open marriage. If they can negotiate the disposal of bodies and conceal homicides, surely navigating polyamory would be a walk in the park for them!
Meanwhile, Matthew has retained an investigator to delve into his wife's murder, despite the legal counsel from his company—at last, someone is consulting with an attorney—advising against it. The situation has already turned into a PR nightmare, and this move could exacerbate it. Yet, Matthew, driven by obsession, has a point.
Love arrives at Casa Gaia Vineyard, accompanied by Henry. I admire her casual elegance at home, donning breezy white tops and vibrant hues. However, when forced to interact with her parents, she opts for an all-black ensemble. (Recall her similar sartorial strategy during the "wellkend" last season?) Glamma sports a velvet mustard-colored blazer that I absolutely adore. She exudes Moira Rose's essence as she extols her wines and the "Women Optimizing Motherhood and Business summit," affectionately known as "WOMB." Glamma is indeed a master of her domain. She sees through Love's "mini-detox" façade and bluntly asks, "Is it Joe's baby or that neighbor kid's in there?"
The WOMB summit unfolds as expected. Love decides to call bullshit during a reading from "The Secret of Joy," puncturing the hollow aphorisms with smug assurance. The speaker cleverly turns the tables on her, asking if Love enjoys "sabotaging her own happiness." Love storms out but is hilariously welcomed back by Glamma and Sherry, who want her to participate in an IGTV interview. In a live internet broadcast, Glamma outs Love's pregnancy. Love freaks out, but Glamma stands her ground, lambasting Love for her troubled marriage and branding her an "ungrateful little bitch."
Glamma's hints at nefarious dealings from her past intrigue me ("You have no IDEA what I had to do to give you the world"). Following the confrontation, Love gets her period. Well, it's time for some wine to soothe the soul!
Evidently, in the realm of "You," virtually any substance or ailment serves as a catalyst for hallucinations, as evidenced by Love's intoxicating delusion where she envisions her deceased brother sitting across from her in a bubble bath. It strikes me that television shows ought to recruit adult siblings, particularly those of the opposite sex, as screenwriters. If I were immersed in a bubble bath and unexpectedly opened my eyes to behold my brother seated opposite, I assure you, my response would not involve flinging my nude form across the tub in an embrace. Hallucination Forty informs Love that Theo "bears a striking resemblance to me" and insists that Joe cannot be her soulmate; rather, Forty himself holds that distinction. Why does this series consistently teeter on the brink of portraying Love and Forty as gothic horror incestuous siblings akin to those in "Flowers in the Attic," yet never fully commits? The show thrives when it embraces its疯狂极致, yet this halfway madness merely feels unsettling.
In Love's absence, Joe delves into Marienne's office and unearths a lawsuit accusing her of child endangerment. Convincing himself that he wants no part of "your planet replete with red flags," Joe resolves to move on from Marienne. This resolution lasts a mere twenty minutes, however, as he shelves books downstairs and overhears shouting upstairs. Ryan, the news anchor from channel three whom we encountered earlier this season, turns out to be Marienne's ex, shouting that she has no rights because she's a "fucking junkie." Now that Marienne has resumed her damsel-in-distress role, Joe's affection for her is rekindled.
Honestly, Joe's recent awakening to his mommy issues is somewhat belated. Has this not been obvious all along? Joe believes this obvious revelation has liberated him. Yet, that night, a crisis strikes the library: the sprinkler system malfunctions, flooding the place, and amidst the chaos of salvaging books, Joe and Marienne confide in each other that they were both foster kids who were never hugged but instead found solace in tenderly caressing every book they read. The symbolism is so overt that I jot down in my notes: "Is Marienne perhaps out-Joe-ing Joe? Is she feigning affection to lure him into her trap so she can eliminate him?" But likely not.
Marienne and Ryan both struggled with addiction when their daughter Juliet was born; Ryan cleaned up first and gained full custody. Joe, having received this concise update on Marienne's complex past, fully comprehends. Joe insists that someone halt Ryan's manipulation of the justice system, and he intends to be that someone! Thankfully, Marienne is consulting a lawyer instead. The sprinklers malfunction again, and they kiss passionately in the artificial rain, resembling two teenagers in a Taylor Swift music video. It feels like a dream until Joe realizes with dread: "Oh shit, Love is going to kill you."
Love's intoxicated revelry left her with a cruel hangover, and an unexpected guest awaited her at dawn: Theo, to whom she had sent impulsive texts the previous night. Prior to Theo's arrival, she encountered Sherry, who declared soulmates to be "mere myths" and posited that enduring love necessitates repeated choices in favor of one's partner. Truthfully, Sherry's words were profound wisdom; for that, she deserved gratitude! Theo's presence, however, heralded news: his father was scrutinizing everyone in the vicinity, including the Quinn-Goldbergs.
Under the unforgiving glare of daylight, Joe attempted to resign from his position at the library, but Marienne would hear none of it. They vowed never to intentionally harm each other's children. Joe silently pledged to himself to find a way to keep Marienne safe and shield her from Love's potential malice.
Back at their shared abode, Love recounted to Joe about Matthew's private investigator and proposed a handy plan: exploiting Theo's infatuation with her. "I could pretend he stood a chance," she said, her conviction lacking conviction itself. Yet, Joe, blinded by his own self-serving interests, failed to discern the true nature of Love's scheme and eagerly embraced her idea. What an odd couple they made, indeed.
