Rothwell: "The White Lotus"

I don't have a neat and tidy essay on "White Lotus," but here are a few thoughts (with spoilers); we watched the finale last night.

*I was nowhere near to predicting the ending. A model I kept using was "Beatriz at Dinner"; the obtuse, powerful man remains obtuse, and the oppressed person ends up dead. This is *also* what happens in "Lotus" (but not even in the same universe as the events I half-imagined).

One thing Mike White does really well is: building and building on the antagonism between two characters, so that a violent rupture begins to seem inevitable. This is how "Beatriz" worked--and it turns out to be how "Lotus" works, as well.

*Jake Lacy talks about how the show centers on transactions; the show repeatedly highlights how money can taint a relationship.

It's fascinating to see Belinda change as she begins to envision the business in her future; you see a hint of calculation behind her eyes, and she offers a business card with her cell number to the Daddario character. Time passes; Jennifer Coolidge breaks Belinda's heart. Then, having no understanding of what has occurred with Belinda, Daddario seeks advice. And Belinda has her first fully-honest line in a long, long while: "You want my advice? I'm all out."

(I also love that phrase, "I'm all out," as if bits of advice were a couple of Junior Mints from a box. If Daddario doesn't realize that she is involved in a transaction, Belinda certainly *does* have that understanding.)

*It's rare to find people in TV Land who write perfect pilots, and then continue to deliver, and deliver, and then "stick the landing." "Breaking Bad" was inconsistent. "Big Little Lies" lost steam. "Mad Men" wore out its welcome. With "Enlightened," Mike White wrote an unusual, close-to-flawless series. He has done this again with "White Lotus."

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog