The Best Moments (and Performances) From ‘The White Lotus’ Season 3
Another season of The White Lotus, like a holiday fling, has come, gone and left us a little burnt. Even if the third outing received distinctly mixed reviews, it is still superior television, filled with great writing, good acting, and very nice swimming pools. And one of the enduring delights of Mike White’s prestige series is that he leaves us wanting more.
Yes, we want to know who dies and who makes it back home. But what makes the show worth watching are the lingering mysteries: can you survive a week without a phone? Should you ever go on holiday with your family? Do people really pack protein shakes on a week-long holiday? Below, Esquire editors share their favourite moments from this season finale.
Daddy issues
I was happy when a few of this season’s early highlights — the men-on-the-verge-of-a-breakdown performances by Walton Goggins and Jason Isaacs — came into their own during the season finale, even if the journey between points A to B was occasionally taxing. Goggins, whom you may remember from Fallout, spent the season on a classic quest: avenging his father. But after tracking down and attacked the man whom he believes is the killer, Jim Hollinger (Scott Glenn), Rick finds something close to acceptance and leaves him alive. Say what you will about The White Lotus (and God knows, I have) but Mike White sure knows how to tap into some unnerving concepts. Like incest the hotel buffet breakfast, which is where Goggins comes face-to-face with Hollinger once again. A final confrontation leads to a shoot-em-up later, which results in the death of Hollinger, Rick, and Rick’s girlfriend Chelsea (brilliantly played by Aimee Lou Wood). Sad! Even worse: before he dies, Rick learns that Hollinger was actually his dad. Did this come out of nowhere? A little, but it sure did tie up nicely with another of the finale's better-realised moments...
Which takes place on the other side of the resort, where soon-to-be penniless Timothy Ratliff (Isaacs) indulges in a Jonestown moment by imbuing some final-night piña coladas with poisonous fruit and making his family drink them. Obviously, he has a change of heart — a running theme with this character! — and it is poor Lochlan (Sam Nivola) who almost checks out after blending the drink with a protein shake the next day. As Timothy held the stirring Lochlan in his arms, and Rick dies after murdering his dad, you begin to understand: they fuck you up, your mum and dad, but they also foot your room service bill.
Henry Wong
Patrick Schwarzenegger’s redemption arc
In a recent interview with the Sunday Times, Patrick Schwarzenegger — son of you-know-who — addressed the elephant in the room. “I know there are people who’ll say I only got this role because of who my dad is,” he said. “They’re not seeing that I’ve had 10 years of acting classes, put on school plays every week, worked on my characters for hours on end, or the hundreds of rejected auditions I’ve been for”. It’s the kind of defensive reaction that we’ve grown accustomed to over the past few years, ever since New York Magazine reported on the “Nepo-Baby Boom”. The truth, of course, is very simple: being Arnold Schwarzenegger’s son obviously helped to set Patrick up for a career in Hollywood, but that fact that not diminish the level of talent he may or may not have.
And honestly, I think he was pitch perfect as The White Lotus’s resident finance bro, Saxon Ratliff. Fans of the show hated this quintessential douchebag from the beginning. On X, you couldn’t move for people hoping that he would perish, preferably well before the final episode. But there was always a deep sadness to the character, even in his most boastful moments, and that’s a credit to Schwarzenegger’s performance. Around the midway point of the season, Chelsea says that Saxon has “no soul”, and you believe her. As the indignities of season three pile upon him, he only becomes more convincing — and by the end of the holiday, his aimless arc is probably one of the most authentic of the bunch. Mike White is a fan of recurring characters. My prediction? He’ll be back.
Nick Pope
Carrie Coon takes the prize
The storyline around the holidaying gal pals — Jaclyn (Michelle Monaghan), Kate (Leslie Bibb) and Laurie (Carrie Coon) — has, I think, been unfairly flattened into a conversation around what is trendily called “toxic friendships”. While I cannot claim that bitching and competitiveness are ideal components of a friendship group, they are surely inevitable (and perhaps, in some cases, quite helpful). White’s smart move in the season finale was to resist any easy definition for this dynamic. It’s Laurie, quite clearly having the worst time on this trip, who finds the deepest meaning.
As she tells her pals at dinner: “When I’m with you guys, it’s just so, like… like, transparent what my choices were, and my mistakes. I have no belief system. And I… Well, I mean I’ve had a lot of them, but… I mean, work was my religion for forever, but I definitely lost my belief there. And then I tried love, and that was just a painful religion, just made everything worse. And then, even for me, just, like, being a mother, that didn’t save me either. But I had this epiphany today. I don’t need religion or God to give my life meaning because time gives it meaning.
“We started this life together. I mean, we’re going through it apart, but we’re still together, and I look at you guys and it feels meaningful. And I can’t explain it, but even when we’re just sitting around the pool talking about whatever inane shit, it still feels very fucking deep. I’m glad you have a beautiful face. And I’m glad that you have a beautiful life. And I’m just happy to be at the table. I love you.”
Even if you might not find the emotional pay-off convincing — it does feel a little 0 to 60 — it is hard to deny the effect of the monologue. Like a holiday tan, it feels both fleeting and life-affirming.
HW
Belinda’s $5-million-payday
Belinda is meant to be the moral heart of the show — in fact, actor Natasha Rothwell told Esquire earlier this month: “I feel like Belinda is the conduit for most of the audience. They see themselves in her the most.” It’s true; we’ve been with Belinda along the whole journey; crestfallen for her when Tanya McQuoid ditched her and dashed her plans to be an investor in her women's wellness centre in series one; joyous when we heard she'd be making a return in series three; terrified for her when she comes face to face with Greg, Tanya's contract-killer widow.
So when Greg offers her $100k blood money to leave and never mention Tanya's name again, we expect her to do the right thing and turn him in to authorities. Instead, she goes back with a little help from her MBA son Zion, who gets Greg up to $5 million that is then swiftly pinged into her bank account. An overriding theme in Mike White's show is that extreme wealth corrupts and distorts everything and everyone around it. Nobody is immune, as Belinda’s story has aptly proven. Everyone has their price that they'll sell up their beliefs for, and hers is $5 million (a figure, incidentally, that Conor Roy in Succession says: "You can't do anything with. Five's a nightmare. Can't retire. Not worth it to work. Oh, yes, five will drive you un poco loco, my fine feathered friend.")
And it's a final full circle moment – and a taster of the new wealth system she now finds herself in – that Belinda ends up in the exact same situation with her holiday romance, Pornchai, who asked to set up a spa with her, as she was with Tanya in season one. However, this time, she's the one with the money; she's the one dashing someone's dreams, even using the same sorry-not-sorry language: “Circumstances have changed and I just can't commit to anything right now”. Off she sails into the sunset on her yacht. But do we hate her for it? No, not really. Partly because Greg would have probably had her killed if she refused. But partly, as White so deftly observes about humanity, with the lure of adding a few extra zeros to our bank account, there’s every chance that we might all pull the same stunt. So, what’s your price?
Laura Martin
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