Longevity is a hard game within the fickle entertainment landscape. We have seen this in action over the past few months. Two of the biggest pop stars, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga, have released music. But whereas the former was on top in the late 2010s while the latter dropped off, the reverse seems to be happening. Gaga has gained momentum with three singles outselling and out-streaming Perryās new album in its entirety. And that was before Gagaās album came out. Part of this resilience in Gaga is versatility and evolution, changing and expressing different facets of herself. To paraphrase Mother Monster, move or die. The same seems to be happening to Mike Whiteās series The White Lotus.
Coming into the third go-around, most fans know the score. A small cadre of wealthy tourists arrive by boat to a luxury resort. Typical chaos ensues, usually precipitated by their own folly, finally punctuated with the demise of one. In the past two seasons, White has been able to script some well-rounded wary travelers for us to boo or root for. The appeal of watching characters lounge around a pool begs certain questions. Like, will I fit into my bathing suit this year? And, when is summer finally coming? If this latest season has any indication, it is going to be a cruel one. Mike Whiteās confused treatise on wealth and consumption finds us wondering: what is the point? I am going to spare you all the minute details, so for those interested can go in somewhat blind. Social media, however, has rendered that prospect moot as best. Out of the entire cast, Parker Posey seemed to be the only one who knew her assignment. With the loss of Jennifer Coolidgeās Tanya, she has the innate ability to shoot out memes like a Gatling gun with rapid fire precision. Leading up to the finale, I was desperately clinging for her to drop another āPiper, noā on us just to lighten the mood.
Jason Issacs as her husband, a sack of potatoes in a Duke t-shirt downing anxiety meds, became a wet blanket. His looming presence became metaphor for the season as a whole. Where is the tension, Mr. White? No need to get into the reasons behind his actions, the show barely concerns us with a burden of drama. The focus meanders from this well-off family to a trio of Real Housewife rejects hauling backhanded compliments and catty asides while one of them is out of the room. All this seems like a waste of their talents when you read the list: Michelle Monaghan, Leslie Bibb and Carrie Coon. Their exploits feel more like middle-aged Spring Breakers than profound meditation on fear of getting old.
One main caricature in Whiteās arsenal has been the charismatic jerk. Jake Lacy and Theo James managed to take what was on the page in the first two seasons and propel us through. Here we get two for the price of none. I posit that Walton Gogginsās Rick still falls in this camp. A raging narcissist who uses his trauma as a shield from moving on and having a more complete life; his own worst enemy. And as for Saxon, he is too much of a blank slate to project even misconceptions on. It doesnāt help that Patrick Schwarzenegger doesnāt bring anything to the table, besides clout. When he does cry, they are not even alligator tears; more like rain dripping down stone. And what is usually a two-hander between the guests and the staff, the latter feel hollow devices for the deus ex machina. Belinda, from season one, shows up just to remind us of dangling plot threads.
Walking through the series, it became apparent who was going to die from first introductions. But once the curtain fell, anticlimax set in. In his concluding comments on Max, White expressed working in deeper themes about the culture of Thailand and his own philosophy. But his sophomoric approach seems more college student backpacking abroad. Mike White thinks he has created Greek tragedy. What he is really making is standard prime time soap opera.
