Joe narrates through a haunting voice-over, revealing that Love—not the ubiquitous emotion that binds us all, but the woman he wed, cruelly dispatched, and subsequently framed for his heinous act before bolting from California to the shores of Europe—left him scorched and hollowed out. He exhausted every conceivable remedy, didn't he? When one ponders it deeply, Joe was left with no viable alternatives but to amputate two of his smallest toes, bake them into a savory chicken pot pie, incinerate his abode with his deceased spouse still inside, entrust his infant to a neighbor's care indefinitely, and abscond to the alluring streets of Paris. Paris, the city that promises to dissolve all woes! Just inquire of Emily for proof!
Behold, the one thing his heart craves above all else, more than it has ever yearned for anyone, is not his disappointing pseudo-daughter Henry (farewell forever), nor Love (rest in peace), nor Beck (likewise, rest in peace): It is Marienne, the librarian, how amusing. The woman Joe firmly believes awaits him in Paris… despite Love's revelation to Marienne that Joe, and not some random street thug, was the one who terminated her abusive ex, Ryan.
Our slightly inconsiderate 51-minute premiere unveils Joe not in the enchanting streets of Paris but rather in the misty alleys of London, where—enter the melodic strains of the "Oxford Comma"—he assumes the guise of "Professor Jonathan Moore." The professor sports a beard, donning a tweed jacket over his vest, and deviates from the established curriculum with such flair that a young female student cannot help but marvel at how she woefully underestimated him. (Granted, but then again, he assigned Edgar Allan Poe? Hardly a departure from the racist, deceased, Caucasian male curriculum.) This student's paramount role here is to introduce Joe to a tome penned by Rhys Montrose, a figure whom a significant segment of Londoners hopes will don the mantle of mayor.
Joe believes he has discovered his kindred spirits amongst the Brits, "the most literary folk on earth," and a befitting abode in South Kensington, where he resides in a dazzlingly charming flat adorned with a functioning fireplace and walls adorned with books. ("Williamsburg could never aspire to this," muses the ever-eternal Dan Humphrey.) Socially, however, he is already burdened with a colleague and neighbor he finds utterly odious: Malcolm Harding. Malcolm, the beneficiary of generations of familial wealth, is a dilettante-cum-"academic" with a girlfriend (or perhaps merely a consistent lover?) named Kate Galvin (Charlotte Ritchie), a nepo baby (an art gallerist and the daughter of a model) who, as women inevitably do in Joe's realm, indulges in self-pleasure by her open window.
But alas, Joe craves more. He yearns for a companion worthy of his unwavering focus, blabbering incessantly about his emptiness. Throughout the episode, flashbacks reveal Joe's journey to London, a city far removed from Marienne's presence. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Joe traced Marienne's artwork from Paris to an exhibition in London, where he finally cornered her. Imagine his shock when she greeted him with anything but delight! To exonerate himself in her eyes – to prove he was no murderer, merely a romantic hero caught in extraordinary circumstances – Joe granted her freedom not once, but twice. More on that remarkable escape later.
In contemporary London, Joe overhears Kate lambasting Malcolm for his narcissistic tendencies, her voice tinged with disdain. She storms out of his office, and Joe, ever the shadow, follows her to her car. For in this narrative, Joe's stalking somehow benefits his prey (until the fatal conclusion), for who but Joe can shield a woman from the even more nefarious men lurking in the shadows? Sure enough, Kate is ambushed and violently mugged. Only Joe's timely heroics spare her from further harm. Her frosty response? She hated the stolen watch anyway. Joe, awkwardly, begs her not to involve the police, a plea that would surely raise eyebrows if Kate were more disposed to suspicion. But then again, her plate is already full.
Back at their flat, Malcolm drops by to thank the man he affectionately dubs "John-Boy" for rescuing Kate. (Remember: in this world, women are seen as possessions, and Joe's bravery on Kate's behalf is something Malcolm feels entitled to acknowledge.) Malcolm rambles on about his "royal-adjacent" family, who apparently "built this country." His views are predictably elitist, musing about the apparent lack of work ethic among the masses, dismissing them as mere "peasants." Joe finds this revolting but finds himself unable to decline an invitation to Sundry House, this realm's equivalent of Soho House, owned by Adam Pratt, a friend of Malcolm's. Joe doesn't even bother changing out of his sweater for this supposedly joyous occasion he hopes never to revisit.
Let's acquaint ourselves with the colorful cast, shall we? Enter Lady Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth, a fiery socialite who, according to Joe, "exudes a genuine sweetness and kindness" (picture Serena van der Woodsen, but British, transposed verbatim with a British twist). Then there's Blessing Bosede, a Nigerian princess whose tech-savvy endeavors strike Joe as suspiciously pyramid-scheme-like. Simon Soo, an art dealer who shuns new acquaintances, and his sister Sophie, who traded Harvard Law for the supposedly more remunerative, less mentally demanding life of a "jet-setting influencer" (though one wonders why she bothers with sponsored content when her billionaire father could fund her indefinitely). We also have Roald Walker Burton, whose "alarming knife collection" is, well, alarming. Gemma Graham-Greene, a cancel-culture enthusiast who indulges in absinthe and spews venomous hate speech, rounds out the ensemble. Last but not least, there's Adam, sporting an abominable early-2000s boy-band hairdo and an asshole personality to match, uttering gems like, "Loving the whole off-the-rack vibe," and "What's your crypto?" He's dating Phoebe, reviving the toxic dynamic reminiscent of Beck and her dreadful beau from season one—remember Benji, the first victim in the hidden aquarium? A recycling of plotlines… hardly promising. It's worth mentioning that Malcolm and Sophie harbor mutual disdain, while Kate's presence casts a dissatisfied gloom over Joe.
Amusingly, Joe spends much of his internal dialogue lambasting the wealthy and entitled, yet his travels from New York to Los Angeles, Madre Linda, and now London invariably land him among their ranks. Perhaps Joe should admit his type! The only soul Joe truly connects with is Rhys, the author-turned-mayoral candidate. Joe, having read Rhys's book, is genuinely impressed by his humble beginnings—a single mother, a rough upbringing, followed by a Princess Diaries-esque revelation that he's the son of a duke. Rhys instantly recognizes Joe as "a fellow man with a difficult childhood." They forge a bond over their shared history and its enduring impact on their uneasy relationship with affluence.
Joe spends most of the evening nursing drinks in a corner, as the girls pepper him with probing questions—Gemma remarks, "Did you kill someone? I can always tell," while pressuring him into shots of absinthe. Joe attempts to relay his woes to Malcolm in a nutshell, but Malcolm promptly morphs the conversation into a misogynistic tirade that Joe, a serial stalker, killer, and destroyer of women's lives, finds abhorrent (Malcolm dubs Marienne a "whore"). Joe drowns his sorrows further and somehow awakens in his flat, wrapped in Adam's rainbow-hued Muppet-like fur coat, shoes still firmly on his feet.
Just as Joe grapples with deciphering proper conduct and devising a strategy to permanently rid himself of Malcolm's persistent attention, he stumbles upon an unsettling sight: Malcolm's lifeless body sprawled across his kitchen table, a knife embedded in his chest, and oddly enough, his pinkie finger missing—a stark emblem of chaos unleashed! Joe's immediate, albeit comically misplaced, self-recrimination is almost amusing. He muses, "Ah, typical Joe, committing a murder in a boozy stupor to safeguard the honor of a woman who probably wishes we'd never crossed paths!"
Meanwhile, the police engage Kate in conversation, presumably about the mugging, though Joe remains uncertain of the exact details. In a moment of desperate ingenuity, Joe wraps Malcolm's corpse in a rug and conceals it in the compact trunk of a car loaned to him by his classics professor for emergencies—a scenario far removed from the professor's intentions.
Joe, a man whose fortune seems inexplicably intertwined with the universe's whims, swiftly locates a sawmill. Fortune smiles upon him once more as the operator steps out for the latter half of a soccer match at the pub, granting Joesole possession of the premises and ample time to rid himself of Malcolm's remains. A prolonged, almost lurid glimpse of the deceased's adorned penis—perhaps intended as a cheap Prince Albert/royal jest?—is followed by an utterly revolting scene: Joe sawing and chopping the body into manageable pieces, which he subsequently discards at various dumpsites along the Thames.
This sequence leads us to the revelation that Joe is, in fact, Jonathan. Shortly after bidding farewell to Marienne, Joe's own stalker, Elliot—a hitman employed by Ray Quinn, Love's father—corners him. However, Elliot is weary of his assassin's life and yearns for a fresh start, much like Joe. In exchange for a portion of the funds Joe extracted from Love's clandestine account—funds Joe emptied, as Elliot cunningly phrases it, "the day she baked you into a pie"—Elliot offers Joe a pristine new identity, enabling him to escape into the sunset. He promises to inform Mr. Quinn of Joe's demise, leaving Joe only with the tasks of laying low, compensating Elliot (the mechanics of which remain unclear), and eliminating the sole witness to his survival: Marienne. But secretly, Joe steadfastly refuses this order. Instead, he swiftly plucks Marienne's locket from her neck and texts Elliot a photo of the necklace, posing it as proof of her demise. Personally, if I were in Elliot's shoes, I'd demand far more conclusive evidence than a mere piece of jewelry. Nevertheless, desperate for a peaceful future, Elliot appears satisfied with this paltry confirmation.
Joe heads back to Sundry House to return Adam's jacket, only to encounter Rhys at the bar, fresh from his morning TV appearance in Berlin. Rhys, unaware of the depth of Joe's hangover-induced anxiety, offers him some easygoing advice: "Don't be too hard on yourself if you've made a mistake or two." Joe sees this as an opportunity for a fresh start, blissfully unaware of the ubiquitous phrase, "wherever you go, there you are," which Rhys seemingly embodies. Joe repeats Rhys's words back to him, only to discover that a particularly poignant passage in Rhys's memoir is more of a polished, slightly embellished recounting of events. This revelation doesn't bother Joe, who is more concerned with Rhys's belief in redemption. Rhys responds optimistically, stating that redemption is possible, "but only if you confront it all, regardless of the consequences." Joe seems hesitant about this, but Rhys still gets an 'A' for effort.
On campus, Kate is overtly hostile towards Joe, suspicious of his intentions in infiltrating her exclusive social circle. She doesn't mind if Joe thinks she's a bitch; in fact, she prefers it. However, amidst her hostility, she assures Joe that she didn't rat him out to the police and that his presence is requested at a dinner she's hosting for Simon. ("Phoebe insisted I invite you," she adds cryptically.)
Joe arrives at the party underdressed, as usual, seemingly trying to make a statement. He receives a message on "Evanesce," a high-security messaging app where texts disappear upon reading. The anonymous sender greets Joe in his typical manner: "Hello, you." They then take credit for killing Malcolm and express astonishment at Joe's willingness to dispose of the body—a fact Joe hadn't even had to research! Now, Joe must track down the real killer, and who knows, perhaps eliminate them? Or something like that.
I find this show much more entertaining when Joe has something to flee from, rather than just someone to stalk. I'm intrigued to see where this plot twist will take us. Although it's still too early to speculate which douchebag from the den is most likely to commit murder, I'm curious to hear any early predictions in the comments.
