Not Even a Magnetic Sam Rockwell Can Save This Week’s 'The White Lotus'

Sam Rockwell, a longtime favorite of this site, showed up in this week’s episode of The White Lotus, which easily boasts the best cast of the three-season anthology, thanks in large part to Carrie Coon, Walton Goggins, and indie queen Parker Posey. If I were assembling a dream cast, it would look an awful lot like this season.

And while I am drawn in by the performances, I’m starting to sink into the same disillusionment that others have felt this season — ironic, considering how frenzied and chaotic this week’s episode was. Yet beneath all the noise, I can’t shake the sense of emotional emptiness.

Take Rick’s (Goggins) scene with Frank (Rockwell) this week. Goggins and Rockwell feel like actors who probably orbit the same circles and radiate similar vibes. It’s a dream pairing, and Rockwell is so electrifying here that it’s hard not to be pulled into his hedonistic pilgrimage toward Buddhism: Rich guy in search of meaning travels to Thailand and attempts to fuck his way to enlightenment. He sleeps with thousands of women. Then with “ladyboys.” Then he becomes a ladyboy and lets men like himself fuck him. Six or seven at a time. It’s quite the spiritual journey, but in the end, it’s just an elaborate excuse to hand Rick a gun (and set up a likely encounter later). There’s nothing much to it beyond the fact that Rockwell was probably hanging out in Thailand with his wife, Leslie Bibb, and happened to be available for a scene. And if you have Sam Rockwell, you make that scene count. And it does count. But it’s also completely, utterly meaningless, and we learn nothing new about Rick, who just nods and “uh-huhs” his way through the scene.

Then there’s the trio of women — Kate, Laurie, and Jaclyn — trying to dance and drink their way through their own pettiness and insecurity because the usual tools provided by Thailand — yoga, meditation, Mai Tais on the beach — have left them even more unhappy with their lives. The alcohol, the banal conversations, and the SHIA LABEOUF toast provide just enough momentum to carry them to tomorrow morning’s hangover, but only Kate, the Republican hausfrau, sees the night for what it really is: self-sabotage.

Kate has the wherewithal to end the night before things get out of hand, but Jaclyn — whose marriage is on the rocks — plans a surreptitious hookup with Val, potentially sabotaging both her marriage and her friendship with Laurie, who is single and had an eye on the butler. Because mean girls gonna mean-girl, even in their 40s. It’s easy to see why the trio of friends have drifted apart over the years. There’s not enough yoga in Thailand to douse their toxicity.

At least Belinda has gained the confidence to go after what she wants: to sleep with Pornchai, taking advantage of otherwise dire circumstances. She’s worried about Greg, who is wanted for questioning in the murder of his wife, and while Fabian dismisses her concerns out of deference to some bullshit hospitality code, Belinda convinces Pornchai to stay with her. In her bed. And she adorably offers consent in advance, after Pornchai rids her room of that dastardly lizard, which feels like a bad omen.

Elsewhere, the Ratliffs. Oh, the Ratliffs. At least Piper has a good head on her shoulders and finally confesses the real reason she brought the family to Thailand: she wants to work in a meditation retreat for a year because she’s Buddhist. She can’t be Buddhist. “You’re not Chinese!” was one of Victoria’s many bon mots this episode. Victoria is distraught over Piper’s decision, while Tim is just distraught, period. He’s so distraught that he nearly uses the gun he stole from Gaitok to kill himself, but he’s interrupted by Victoria. JUST TELL YOUR WIFE, TIM. The guy would rather die than suffer the disappointment of his wife who — for all we know — may be completely understanding. (She will not be understanding.)

Finally, the Ratliff Bros. spend the evening on drugs with Chelsea and Chloe, and that goes about how one might expect. While Chelsea is reluctant to sleep with either of the brothers because she is loyal to Rick, even if he’s a prick, Chloe is all too willing, even if Greg kills her (which she jokingly even hints at). One thing leads to another, Chloe and Chelsea kiss, and then screw it: Lochlan gives his brother, Saxon, a peck on the lips, and when that’s not satisfying enough for the girls, he gives him a real kiss.

Where do you even go with that? Thailand may help some of its tourists find bliss, but it cannot cure a man of his incestuous impulses nor another brother of his raging douchebaggery. Tomorrow morning’s hungover regrets — for nearly everyone except the enlightened Frank — are going to be existential.