I’ve been demurring on this one, partly because of real life shit (well, mostly that to be honest) but also because this episode isn’t all that good. It’s an episode entirely centering around Antony Starr’s characters, and I sure hope they paid him double, cos the range he needed for it was tremendous. But, unfortunately, one of those characters (Van) just isn’t all that interesting yet, and the other (Jethro) is ill-served by one of the dumbest and most unfortunate sideplots the show has yet had. So, without further ado, we’ll get this one out of the way, and I’ll try and keep it short. 

We open with a dual appearance from the two most irritating characters in the show: Tracy and Suzy Hong, their differences now thoroughly mended and united in enjoying themselves by tormenting Van.

Yeah, it’s as insufferable as it looks. An incensed Van finally snaps and threatens to quit; Mr. Hong overhears, but Van finally manages to stand up for himself and it pays off: Mr. Hong makes him manager of one of his local little stores, which seems to sell mostly cheap novelty junk. I’m not entirely sure why he does this, honestly, but it’s a mildly important character moment for Van, so okay, I guess?

Meanwhile, in the West household, things are getting a little crazy.

Cheryl and Kacey are promoting their new underwear business with a sorta quasi-striptease party, hosted by and for middle-aged women. It’s one of the aspects of the episode I like best, not because the women are sexy but more because they really aren’t; they’re a bunch of trashy fortysomething women, reminding the world that it isn’t just model-type people who like having sex, or who know how to have fun with it. Kacey makes this explicit with a little barb at the morbidly fascinated Pascalle, telling her they didn’t offer to use her as a model because they wanted to use “real women”, which is a nice reminder that toxic standards of femininity cut cruelly in both directions. So, yeah, good segment - made all the better by the horror of the younger girls who’ve been dragged along.

Van returns, utterly nonplussed at the scene before him, and they all retreat to the bedroom. Antony Starr’s comic acting here is great, actually - he follows the others to the room and finds them using his drugs with an indignant and confused response of “well... don’t!”, and it makes me laugh every time. Draska expresses some clear interest in him, which he once again ignores, as usual. The next scene is where the plot properly begins.

The gist of it is this: the Hongs’ local store has their goods transported from warehouse to shelf by Draska’s clan, the Doslics. Van discovers that there’s a discrepancy between the number of trading cards he was meant to be shipped and the number he actually received; he goes and politely asks the Doslics about it, and they do not take that well.

   I come from good people - HONEST people! Made strong by our troubles!

Naturally, they think he’s accusing them of thievery. Naturally, this makes Van pretty sure they really are committing thievery, and a raging Mr. Hong agrees. The two proceed to keep escalating tensions, and the rest of the Wests get caught in the crossfire; mama Doslic gets into a fight with Cheryl in a supermarket car park, Pascalle finds her old tyre-modelling photos all defaced with violent graffiti, and it’s all mildly funny but also kinda dull. Eventually, it turns out that Van’s mate Munter has been stealing the cards from the warehouse all along, using the keys Van gave him for safekeeping. This is not the last time Van will find himself victimized by the consequences of his own actions.

I’m blasting through *a lot* of this plot here really quickly, and that’s cos it just isn’t very interesting for the most part. It’s trying to be a farce, mostly, and it sometimes succeeds; Van’s initial confrontation with the Doslics is really quite funny, and his steadily increasing panic as the situation just goes more and more wrong isn’t bad either. But it’s all a bit too by-the-numbers and predictable, and in the end none of the stakes feel real; we all know that in an episode like this, the Hongs and the Doslics were never really gonna properly come to blows, and they don’t. Van confesses a lot of stuff to Draska in a couple of secret meetings, and while he’s initially paranoid about her loyalty, she proves herself by finding a way to fix the issue; she places all the blame for the break-ins on Eric (who was selling the stolen cards anyway, after buying them from Munter) and the two families come together to absolutely motherfucking whoop the guy’s ass, leaving him looking rather worse for wear. 

      ...next thing I know I’m getting the shit kicked out of me by half the West                                                   Auckland United Nations!

If I have a favorite moment in this plot, it’s probably near the beginning, when the elder Doslic is first bringing in what he believes to be the full shipment of cards. He’s ranting and raving, the whole time he does it, about how much he just damn well hates the “chinks” and their terrible language skills, not to mention their driving - all while speaking in a heavy Croatian accent himself and also, oh yeah, taking their money. This show really does get quite a lot of comedy out of the idea that solidarity between marginalized groups really just doesn’t exist.

The rest of it, though? I mean, it does contain a couple of important moments, I guess. Van, after initially lying to protect Munter and only making everything worse, is genuinely willing to offer himself up, blame himself entirely, and essentially sacrifice himself in order to save everyone’s hides, and only doesn’t end up doing it because Draska fixes it all before he has to. That’s a nice reminder that Van, at his core, really is a genuinely good person, and that his internal conflict as a character all comes from the tension between that and the toxic masculinity he’s had indoctrinated deep within him by his father and the culture he’s grown up in. Cheryl demonstrates where her loyalties lie and takes Van’s side without a second’s hesitation after mama Doslic shows up with complaints; for all her problems with Van, she really does love him unconditionally. But there’s also too much stuff that doesn’t come off, like Van’s boring interactions with a mildly delinquent kid who likes the trading cards, or Tracy’s ever-one-dimensional mistreatment of Van. 

Still, at least it’s better than Jethro’s plot.

Remember how Tracy knows now about Jethro’s little rape-by-deception thing a few episodes ago? Well, she still doesn’t seem to be thinking of it as rape, but she is trying to get him to apologize for it nonetheless. Jethro, meanwhile, wants to root her again, and he knows he can’t do that without apologizing. So Jethro’s plot this episode is several scenes in a row of him miserably failing to pull off a convincing apology, and... that’s it, really. Hugh’s back, being annoying as usual (though it’s intentional enough that it doesn’t bother me too much), and Loretta briefly shows up to mock him for how bad he is at apologizing (talk about the pot calling the kettle black!), but for the most part this is all really redundant and dull. The only interesting part comes in Loretta’s video shack, where Jethro straight up lies to Caroline’s face, right in front of Loretta, in order to make himself some free time to go and keep trying it with Tracy. Loretta, of course, is too sociopathic to feel sorry for her, and we all knew a couple of episodes ago that Jethro wasn’t gonna be able to maintain it with her as a regular relationship, but the beginnings of heartbreak on Caroline’s face as she begins to get an inkling, in her subconscious, of what’s going on is genuinely sad.

But the ending of this plot? It’s awful, and in a really unfortunate way. In the end, see, it turns out Tracy never really wanted an apology; she likes Jethro, doesn’t really care about the fact that he deceived her in such an intimate way, and wants it with him again. She decides he’s ready when... he just refuses to apologize one time, admitting he isn’t sorry because (and this is possibly the worst line of dialogue in the whole show, so brace yourselves): “why would I be, when it was the best fuck I’ve ever had?” 

Eugh.

Well, now I see why I didn’t remember what happened in this episode. The answer, it turns out, is nothing much. This isn’t technically a filler episode - a couple of important new characters are introduced, and a plot thread is introduced at the end that will continue through just about the whole rest of the show - but the actual events of the episode are mostly inconsequential. Accordingly, I won’t spend too much time on ‘em here.

The first plot concerns Cheryl, who has now taken up a job at an insurance company. Nobody except her is especially happy with this - insurance companies, we’re informed, are “the scum of the Earth” - but Cheryl seems to like it. 

Things, alas, are not as they seem. The branch Cheryl works for turns out to be running a neat little scam, the girls there all approving each others’ bogus insurance claims; the boss lady, Penny, has been overseeing it thus far, but is looking to move on and wants Cheryl to be her replacement. She only hired her, it turns out, because of who she was, and Cheryl is quietly exasperated; no matter how she tries, she can’t seem to outrun her past. Penny also suggests that another reason she hired her was because she thinks of her as a kindred spirit in having been victimized by a terrible man; Cheryl’s not overly enthused with that suggestion either.

After a little deliberation, she turns down the offer. Penny didn’t expect that, and now fears that she’s told Cheryl enough to make her a threat; she tries to ship her off to a different branch in a place called “Pakuranga” (apparently way off elsewhere in Auckland). Cheryl, feeling betrayed, indulges in a bit of the old family tradition and steals her car, pawning it off to pay some maintenance bills; Penny fires her, and that, one might think, would be the end of it. But Penny, in a fit of pique, calls the cops on Cheryl over a stolen item she spotted in their house one time, and after an incredibly bored visit from Judd and Hickey (who have much better things to be doing), she pays Penny another visit, telling her in no uncertain terms to leave her the fuck alone before she has her friends rob the pants off her and everyone else in the office. Penny backs down.

“For your information, I’m nobody’s victim,” she tells her. Hmm. No comment.

The other main plot concerns Pascalle, and there’s barely anything there. She gets a call from the modeling agency she got registered at before she left the strip club, and they’re considering her for a charity shoot about animals. While in the waiting room, she bumps into a girl named Chantel Lazenby, a fellow model with the agency who also used to be a schoolmate. She used to be very fat, apparently, but she certainly isn’t anymore, and Van is of the belief that she’s “a dyke” (mostly because she rejected his advances once). What follows is an extremely low-stakes rivalry between the two as they both attempt to get the modelling job, mostly involving Pascalle and Chantel having a couple of glorified drinking contests and a few silly lesbian jokes. Eventually, Chantel is successful, and Pascalle is left in the dust, bitterly assuring herself that “Chantel was fat once, and you can’t escape genetics.”

That’s really it, as far as plots go. Doesn’t sound like enough to fill up an episode, does it? Well, it really isn’t - and it doesn’t. The rest of the episode is filled, mostly, with little things; interactions between various characters that have little plot significance but are fun to watch anyway. They’re the meat of this episode, and they make it a lot more likable than such an inconsequential episode really has any right to be.

For a start, Loretta - perhaps thanks to the success of her atrocity last episode - is in the very best mood we’ve ever seen her in the show so far; she’s bubbly and perky, grinning constantly, cracking jokes at everyone’s expense at the speed of light while making herself a constant nuisance for Cheryl, and, as much as I kinda hate to admit it considering what a monster she’s proven herself to be, she is absolutely delightful. We also learn that she’s one of those film nerds who considers Showgirls to be an underrated masterpiece, although she might just be teasing Van there.

There’s a running joke involving a big wooden cuckoo clock that Van (at Loretta’s behest) bought Cheryl for her birthday; it’s an ugly old thing, and it turns out to be stolen (not surprising, since Van bought it from Eric), and Cheryl hates it, which of course means Loretta completely loves it, repeatedly putting it back up on the wall every time Cheryl takes it down. “It’s a battle of wills,” she says, and it’s both hilarious and kind of oddly adorable. Also, lest we forget, Loretta having the idea to get Cheryl a present in the first place is significant - there’s a heart in there after all, it turns out, even if it behaves very strangely sometimes.

We also learn that she used to be great at Irish dancing, which will eventually be important (though not for a very long time). Elsewhere, we find Ted dealing with the fallout from last episode in his own way: poker, at the Wests’ dining table. He’s joined, over the course of the episode, by Munter (which is significant, since that makes this the first time he’s done anything plot-wise that isn’t related to Van), Eric (who’s still upset over Cheryl leaving the crime business), a new character called Falani (a very large, very crooked Samoan mechanic who will become a major supporting character eventually, and who also fixes Cheryl’s car this episode), and eventually Rochelle (who you may remember from episode four). It’s pretty high-stakes for them - they’re all playing for money - but it’s very low-stakes for the viewer, and it is also, possibly, the best part of the entire episode. 

Nothing much happens because nothing much needs to. It’s oddly relaxing to watch, actually; just a bunch of nice, simple jokes about an odd cast of various bogans playing poker against each other, subtly revealing things about themselves in the process. Falani goes on lengthy monologues about his skill at making love to his wife, but proves markedly less skilled at the patient, analytical art of the game; Munter is remarkably laid-back, enjoying softly making fun of Falani’s bad luck perhaps more than the game itself; Eric is perpetually grumpy, except when he disappears into the West bathroom and decides, for some reason, to try on some of Pascalle’s moisturizer (possibly thinking it’s Cheryl’s), which is hilarious; Rochelle is arrogant and remarkably skilled. But none of them are as good as Ted, who cleans them all out with aplomb, rarely speaking or changing his facial expression. “I feel much better now,” he says to Cheryl at one point; Cheryl isn’t so enthused with all these bums lazing around her house, but she can see his point.

Ted, at one point, has a one-on-one chat with Cheryl, noting with neither praise nor condemnation how the Wests “have never been much good at what you might call actual jobs”. We’ll see how that statement ages. Wolf turns up just long enough to justify Grant Bowler’s paycheck, his scene pretty much pointless except for how funny it is; he baked her a birthday cake, apparently, but when a car failure prevented her from arriving at the prison to pick it up “it got eaten”, and now he doesn’t want to talk about it, moping like a teenage boy behind the prison desk. 

There’s two sides to this show, basically, and this episode is the lighter one. It’s all very low-stakes and very whimsical, and if that means nothing much of consequence happens, well, that’s okay. We get to see the three West children who still live at home laughing and having fun with each other, their lives all mostly tranquil for once, giving us something of a control group for when things start to go wrong. We see the West household in a moment of peace, nothing particularly awful happening to it, nothing calamitous getting in the way of the atmosphere. It’s nice. I like it.

There’s one more thing. In this episode, we’re introduced to Kacey, an old friend of Cheryl’s with “shit taste in blokes” (her words) and a passion for designing undergarments. She talks, at first, of starting up a business, and eventually, having lost her latest job, Cheryl agrees to join her in her venture. The results from this pairing will last a very long time indeed, and Kacey will end up becoming an extremely significant character. That’s all yet to come, though.

Y’know, I never really appreciated how good some of these episode titles were until this second run-through. Foul deeds in-deed. This episode is really something else, and I’m going to enjoy running through it, but before I do I just gotta quickly clarify one thing.

I mentioned, in the first post, that Loretta had a penchant for blackmail and also that she’d found a way to skip school most of the time. Well, I forgot to mention that those two were one and the same. Jethro’s current girlfriend, Caroline (who I misidentified before as the headmistress - she’s actually only deputy principal) has been fucking him since he was fifteen, and Loretta has pictures. She’s using that to blackmail her into letting her skip just about every day at school. I mention it now because it’s about to become very important.

I’m gonna have to do this episode in much the same way as I did episode four. It’s not nearly as dizzyingly densely-written as that one, but it nonetheless eschews the usual separate-plots format to focus on one fairly distinct throughline. There are, I suppose, technically two plots, but they have pretty much total overlap and are both driven almost entirely by the same character: Loretta West.

She gets this episode all to herself, pretty much, though Ted and Jethro naturally play very important roles. This is our deepest look into her psyche yet, and it happens - not coincidentally - to be another of my favorite ever episodes of the show.

We open with all the Wests, except Jethro, in the kitchen. Ted’s about to go off to play bowls with Margaret, and Loretta’s not any happier than she was last episode. Ted mentions that Margaret is on the local committee for the sport, which will be important. Margaret shows up, and cajoles Ted into admitting that the two of them are planning to move away together, which leaves Cheryl pretty much overjoyed. Loretta, though, looks as if Ted just tore out her heart and shattered it upon the ground. 

The two of them leave, and Cheryl reminds the rest of them that Jethro’s bar admittance ceremony is coming up (Van’s not enthused about having to go). Loretta, though, doesn’t give a fuck; she follows Cheryl into her room and immediately sets about trying to convince her to stop Ted from leaving. 

It doesn’t take one of Loretta’s intellect to work out that Cheryl is just happy she won’t have to look after Ted anymore, and she doesn’t bother trying to deny it. So Loretta turns to her next tactic: she immediately, and without a moment’s hesitation, outs Margaret as transgender to Cheryl, and in the most primally transphobic way she can conjure. “You know she’s a man, right?”, she seethes, making various horrible gestures as she explains it all to Cheryl. And Cheryl is certainly shocked, but it’s the neutral, just-plain-amazed kinda shock, free from any judgement and remarkably lacking in any real prejudice. She has no idea which pronouns to use, but ultimately just doesn’t really care. “Look, Margaret is a very nice woman who used to be a very nice man,” she says, very satisfyingly, and the disgusted Loretta is forced to her last resort: revealing that Margaret is a wanted criminal on the run from the law. But she must have known, on some level, that a woman as seasoned in the criminal world as Cheryl wouldn’t care about that either, and it all ends up with Loretta storming angrily out of the room as Cheryl continues to vocally give no shits about any of it.

Meanwhile, Jethro is preparing for his barring ceremony in the most appropriate way he can imagine.

Loretta’s still present, though, living rent-free in Caroline’s head, constantly grating between her and Jethro as the sandpapery wall that prevents them from living as a regular, out couple. Caroline fantasizes, mildly, about just straight-up killing her; Jethro doesn’t seem to object. 

Loretta’s conduct the next day doesn’t help any. A teacher called Smail (poor guy) reminds her that she’s gotta do a speech about her favorite family member soon, a concept that bores her enough that she goes right to Caroline and demands that she call the man off. Caroline points out, really quite reasonably, that she literally can’t do this, which doesn’t faze Loretta one bit. She makes her ultimatum clear: Smail leaves her alone, or she reveals to the world that Caroline fucked a student.

Let’s pause and review for a second. Loretta, less than seven minutes into this episode, has just done two things that are both kind of awful in different ways. Firstly, she outed a trans woman without a moment’s second thought in order to try and serve her own ends, and this becomes more awful when you remember that she fully understands - indeed, is maybe the only member of the cast who does - how much prejudice they face. Indeed, that exact knowledge is what drove her to do it; she was trying to manipulate the prejudice she assumed she’d find in her own mother in order to achieve her own ends. The second is more complicated; threatening to destroy the life of a statutory rapist isn’t really all that objectionable in itself, one might think, and Caroline surely does not deserve much of our sympathy. But Loretta doesn’t give a toss about the morality here, of course. She just views it as a nice, efficient way to realize her aggressive laziness, and we can rest assured that Caroline’s own moral failings are no more important to Loretta than those of any fly she might swat.

We cut to Ted and Margaret enjoying their bowls tournament, all the while surreptitiously taking photos of the place. It is revealed, in a conversation between them, that they’ve gone back to their old ways; the two of them are constructing a meticulous plan to rob the club blind, and they seem to be having great fun doing it. Again, I want to stress this: there is never any suggestion of anything untoward in Ted and Margaret’s relationship, and there’s no evidence of dishonesty, manipulation or anything else. The two really do love each other, and it’s honestly very wholesome. I mean, aside from the whole conspiracy to rob a bunch of their fellow old folks, I guess.

Cut to Ted back in the house, talking to Loretta. She doesn’t want him to go, and she says so. What follows is a conversation that quickly goes down the drain. 

It starts out innocently enough; Loretta reminds us all, in case we’ve forgotten, that she’s a teenage girl, and tells Ted that he’s “the only one in this fucked-up family who actually understands me”. But when the various garden-variety guilt trips and whatnot fail to move him, Loretta goes for the jugular: she mentions Rita. Well, I say “mentions”, but it’s really more like she wields her name as a bludgeon, suddenly abandoning all her sweet softness and just straight up wailing on Ted’s weakest point, implying that he’s selfish and the moral equivalent of an adulterer for finding someone new. Ted’s furious, and not a little upset; you can tell it got to him, and it may indeed have accomplished Loretta’s goal of giving him second thoughts. This wasn’t as calculated as Loretta’s usual cruelty, though; you can tell it came from a place of genuine hurt. She really is upset about the thought of her favorite family member leaving, and the truth is that this sort of reaction to the prospect of (perceived) abandonment isn’t actually too out of the ordinary for teenagers. Does that mean we should let it slide? Not really, but this time, I do understand. Anyway, Jethro and Caroline show up before Ted can respond, and they have a private conversation with Loretta in her room.

Jethro tries to convince Loretta to “just do what the nice teacher says”, for once. Loretta is unmoved. She’s generously come up with a solution for her Smail woes, too: she’s gonna accuse him of sexual assault, and Caroline’s gonna get him fired. Even Jethro is a little shocked at the newfound depths of the moral void present in the teenage girl sitting before him, and it’s true that it really is an absolutely awful thing to contemplate, let alone propose as a genuine plan. Blackmailing a teacher who really did commit sexual assault is one thing, but annihilating the life and career of a perfectly innocent one by falsely accusing him of that same thing (except, arguably, worse) just to avoid having to do one fucking speech is something entirely different. It also serves the nicely revealing function of letting us know for certain what we had already guessed: that Loretta doesn’t give a flying shit about the fact that what Caroline did was actually wrong. To her, it’s just another weapon she can use.

Meanwhile, Judd is trying as hard as he can to think of a reason to write a letter recommending that Jethro be denied entry to the bar. We cut, ominously, to Ted and Margaret planning their job. Ted is still thinking about Loretta’s words, and starts getting sentimental; “I swore there’d never be another woman,” he says, and Margaret says something about getting out of that on a technicality which I’m pretty sure no actual trans person would ever actually say, and which does make me wince a little. Ted mentions that Loretta loved Rita, which isn’t the last time that’ll come up.

Jethro is trying to console a very upset Caroline, who is just about at breaking point. Loretta, in her youthful inexperience, has dared to push it too far; Caroline is so distraught by the whole affair that she’s actually pretty much willing to commit career suicide and just let her send the photos, feeling that death (so to speak) would be a better fate than the abominable constant torture of living at the beck and call of a lazy, smug fifteen-year-old girl. So Jethro comes to Loretta in the middle of the night (prompting a very strange quip about incest from her) and leaves her an ultimatum: either she uses the photos now, or the blackmail stops. Loretta tries, in vain, to convince him otherwise, reminding him of the consequences, but he turns it round on her, asking if she’s considered how, exactly, Cheryl will react when she finds out what Loretta’s been doing. Loretta turns it back round against him, threatening to reveal his Maori fraud (and as far as I can tell, she’s the first white person in the show to pronounce the word “Maori” like the Maori do); Jethro simply points out that this would just straight-up break Cheryl’s heart, and has to trust that there’s at least something other than pure void in the girl’s soul that’ll restrain her. He leaves her with that, presumably nervous as anything. After all, he's Loretta’s family, and he knows perhaps even better than Caroline just how low she can go. So this is a tremendously big gamble for him to take.

Cut to the video hut next day. Loretta’s on the verge of tears in the office she commandeered from the real owner, and she’s particularly snappy with Kurt, even by her standards. “Why can’t I just live the way I say? Me getting what I want, is that too much to ask?” It’s not my favorite dialogue in the show - it’s a bit too on-the-nose, honestly - but it’s not exactly out of character. It turns out Loretta doesn’t have the photos; she had stashed them in Ted’s unit, and when it burned down, they went with it. She’s been bluffing ever since, and up until now, it had worked. But she’d done that thing young geniuses like her so often do: she’d overestimated her own intelligence, overplayed her hand. If she hadn’t been so lazy this once, she might’ve been able to keep the charade going until the end, but now everything’s fallen apart and she’s managed to sweep her own legs out from underneath her. She’s going to have to start going to school now. She thinks that’s tragic. And in a way it is. What’s that classic friendlyshark review on Letterboxd? “TRAGIC DRAMA. SHARK DESTROYED BY OWN HUBRIS. MASTERFUL.”

Things don’t get any better for her anytime soon. Margaret shows up when Loretta’s on her way into school, and she’s correctly divined that Loretta is trying to prevent Ted from leaving. She’s not having that at all; she tells her to stay out of the two of their business or she’ll, and I quote here, “rip your fucking tongue out”. And she does it all with a big smile on her face!  She also tells Loretta that she’s the spitting image of Rita, which is - again - not the last time we’ll hear that.

What’s shaping up here is a remarkably unusual kind of plot for TV shows outside of the sitcom realm. Loretta sure is the protagonist here, and her challenges, goals, and cast of villains is now all laid out before us. But “villains” here feels weird, because there’s nothing villainous about what Margaret is doing. She’s just protecting a relationship she cares deeply about from ruination at the hands of a selfish, frighteningly intelligent young girl, and there’s still no suggestion that her love for Ted isn’t genuine. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s becoming clear now: this is a plot with a villain protagonist, and Margaret is playing with something dangerous here.

We cut to Van, delicately polishing his toenails before scrambling to hide all the gear when Jethro comes in. He mostly ignores him and makes his way to Loretta’s room, looking for the photos. Loretta tells him she isn’t gonna use them because she “can’t do it to mum”, but Jethro knows her better than that; I don’t think he really expected that gambit he pulled to actually work, and he’s suspicious now that it did. Loretta tries hard not to spill the beans, but Jethro works it out anyway, and leaves gleefully secure in the knowledge that the photos are long gone. 

                                                           Kia kaha!

This pisses her right off. And sheer rage is what seems to motivate her next move: flagrantly ignoring the old West no-snitching code and putting together an anonymous report about who Margaret really is, posting it to the police. We don’t see the effects of that right away, though - we cut, instead, to Jethro telling the overwhelmingly relieved Caroline that the photos don’t exist anymore. She’s giddily excited at the prospect of her and Jethro becoming a regular couple. Jethro... well, he’s not as excited. You can see the enormity of it washing over him all at once, actually; it hits him, as Caroline is exploding with excitement before him, that he’s actually going to have to be seen out in public with her, and that now their relationship will involve more than just sex. Instantly, in that moment, you can tell this thing is doomed. But he invites her to his barring ceremony anyway.

It’s later, and Loretta and Ted are playing chess. It’s not clear who’s winning. Loretta eventually gives up anyway and tells Ted she’s going to give her speech about him. It’s a tender little scene, actually; Antonia Prebble really brings her A-game to this episode, capturing a very wide range of emotions in young Loretta, and it’s clear she really does love and care about her grandfather very dearly. 

He reappears the next morning, as Cheryl is making clear she will attend Loretta’s speech and drag Pascalle along with her (Van declares he isn’t going, and nobody seems to have any objection). Ted expresses an interest in it, too, in his usual feigned-dementia way. The good vibes are interrupted, though, by the demons Loretta herself conjured up earlier; Judd and Hickey turn up talking about “Mark”, making it clear that they’re onto Margaret, even if they don’t actually know where she lives or even really who she is (apparently she’s been savvy enough to keep her real name off any records). Judd not-so-subtly implies that he might use this as a reason to get Jethro denied admission to the bar. 

Now Cheryl cares.

She still doesn’t care enough to stop any of their plans, but she does make it clear, as non-maliciously as possible, that Margaret isn’t welcome in the West house anymore. Ted and Margaret, later, have some discussion about whether to continue with the job at all; Ted wants to call it off, but Margaret insists that they continue. The one concession she makes is that they move the job forward and do it tonight. Ted is conflicted, since that means missing Loretta’s speech, but ultimately his love for Margaret wins out.

The Wests, minus only Ted and Van, show up at the school, reminiscing about bygone days. Jethro reveals to the family that he’s dating Caroline, which seems to have Pascalle equal parts disgusted and amused. Cheryl is a bit nonplussed, too, but they’re all interrupted by Loretta, anxious and nervous that Ted hasn’t showed up yet. That’s because Ted is, at that very moment, getting ready to break into the club. He won’t be showing, and poor Loretta is waiting in vain, standing next to the man she would have completely destroyed without a second’s hesitation to get out of doing this very speech.

Loretta has to give her speech anyway, and the stage doesn’t suit her. But she finds her stride anyway, with the help of a jab at lawyers (Jethro very much included). What follows is a nicely efficient mix of character exploration, setting exposition, and plot development.

Loretta’s speech is, as promised, about Ted (”Theodore Francis West”), and she doesn’t pull any punches. The audience is shocked when she proudly mentions that he was once known as “the finest safe-cracker of his generation”, but this only seems to spur her on; offending the polite society with which she feels no connection is clearly instinctively pleasurable to her. We learn a bit about Ted’s early life; he married and had children young, he had a code of ethics he followed almost without fail, he was superstitious, and he was meticulous. This, then, is the origin of the West family profession, and Loretta seems to find it as romantic as anybody else might. But as she speaks - specifically, as she mentions that Ted’s targets always used to include sports clubs - she reaches a sudden, overwhelming moment of epiphany, and we know well what it is, because the whole thing has been intercut with scenes of Ted and Margaret expertly breaking into and robbing the bowls club.

She really is the smartest West. She’s also inherited both her mother’s drive and her father’s clarity of vision; the moment she finishes her speech, she fucks right off, failing to convince Jethro to lend her his car (she “drives like a maniac”, apparently, which isn’t surprising considering she’s fifteen) and thus instead just stealing and hotwiring a random unlocked one she finds in the parking lot. She drives off, coincidentally passing Judd and Hickey (surveiling Margaret’s house, I think, and very much not enjoying each other’s company) while, back at the school, Cheryl fails to get used to the fact that Jethro is dating his old teacher, and Jethro’s blood runs cold when he hears mention of a car stolen from just outside. 

She drives quite well, actually, and Judd and Hickey don’t recognise her. Cut to Ted and Margaret, jubilant with excitement at the success of their job. Ted opts to walk home, leaving the money with Margaret, who promises to pick him up tomorrow morning. But as she drives off, she encounters Loretta, and the two have a confrontation in the dark.

Loretta makes it clear: Margaret is to leave, and she’s not to take Ted with her. Margaret, of course, doesn’t see why she should - she loves Ted, after all, and what could be more important than that?

What Loretta says next is important.

“Do you love him enough to go back inside?” she asks. And that’s a threat that confused me at first, because what she’s threatening is basically to snitch, and hasn’t she already done that? But it’s different now, of course, because Loretta knows more. She’s at the scene of the crime; she’s a credible witness who can place her there and identify her car. Her prior act of snitching was limited, being entirely anonymous and based only off a decades-old cold case about a prison runaway; this time, she has real dirt, and the police will be far more motivated to pursue this one. And there’s another implication here, one that makes it all so much more horrible: if she tells the police about this, she’ll be putting Ted in the line of fire too. Is that what Loretta’s implying here? Does she really realise that’s what she’s doing? The dialogue leaves it open to interpretation, which may be intentional. Personally, though? I think she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s forcing Margaret into a horrible choice: either risk the both of them getting caught and, one way or the other, separated, or just leave now and leave them both separated but, at least, still free. Either way, they won’t be together.

Loretta justifies this to herself as concern for Ted, who, she tells Margaret, is just too old for this sort of thing. Maybe she’s right - I dunno, he still seemed pretty spry when he broke into that safe. But are those really her reasons? Somehow, I’m skeptical. And that doesn’t jive very well with the veiled threat to put him in danger of prison, does it?

Cut to the West home. Loretta’s home already when the others all get back. She says she walked home; Cheryl believes her. Jethro knows better. He’s furious, since Loretta’s little stunt put him in danger; if she’d gotten caught, that might’ve endangered his admittance to the bar. Loretta’s response is as quintessentially teenage-girl as it gets. “I had my reasons, okay? And you wouldn’t understand.”

Next morning, Cheryl hears news of the break-in on the radio. Loretta lies as expertly as ever and reassures her that Ted wouldn’t be capable of such a thing. Ted pops his head out of his room, asking if the phone had gone for him; Loretta says the phone didn’t go. And that is such a quietly, horribly tragic moment - Ted facing up to the horrible beginnings of building, dreadful feelings of betrayal and abandonment; it being mistaken, by anyone present, for just his regular demented-old-man rambling, taken seriously by nobody; Loretta playing along with it, cold and sharp as ice, knowing the enormity of what she’s hiding from him and seeing what it’s doing to him and still displaying absolutely no response to it - that it rips me up inside a little bit every time I see it.

Cheryl doesn’t want him coming to Jethro’s barring ceremony; Loretta offers to stay and look after him. And if, at this point, you feel a sudden cresting wave of appalled, horrified disgust at that little thing, sitting there innocent and contented as a lamb as she awaits the full detonation of that abominable time-bomb of trauma and grief she just planted for her own grandfather, ready to be there with first-aid when it goes - well, that’s only natural.

We cut now to the only part of this episode that really doesn’t concern Loretta at all: Jethro’s barring ceremony. In its own way, that’s kind of horrible in itself, after all, but really Judd had it right earlier in the episode: “have you ever met a lawyer that wasn’t a ratbag?” Jethro’s general scummery ain’t exactly out of the ordinary for his profession, and one expects that he’ll fit right in. The ceremony itself is as big a moment for Cheryl as it is for Jethro, but alas, it isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

The afterparty contains a couple of pretty great jokes - the head of Jethro’s law firm hesitantly trying to tread the line between admitting and not admitting that he’s seen Pascalle stripping; him also mistaking Van for Jethro and being absolutely baffled by his behavior - but one plot-important thing does take place: Tracy Hong shows up, for unimportant reasons, and promptly and immediately realises that the man she had sex with that one time was definitely Jethro and not Van. That will be important, though not perhaps in the way I’d like.

Judd and Hickey call off their surveillance, though not before Hickey creeps out Judd some more. Elsewhere, Caroline tells Jethro she loves him before they sleep; Jethro doesn’t say it back, and he dreams about Tracy. Uh oh. 

And then we’re back in the West household, populated only by Ted and Loretta. 

And this one hurts.

This show doesn’t pull any punches, and Frank Whitten (R.I.P) throws into it with all his might. Ted is in two. He’s ripped apart, torn up, absolutely shattered, utterly distraught with a truly awful concoction of grief, confusion, betrayal and pain. It was never in any doubt, and it’s even less in doubt now: Ted loved Margaret. He loved her deeply and truly. And right now, he is in overwhelming agony.

And then there’s Loretta.

A lot of people will talk about fictional characters they hate. Not hate in the sense of critiquing the quality of their writing, but hate in the sense that they just loathe them. Dolores Umbridge and Joffrey Baratheon are the most common names mentioned. But let me tell you that in this moment, when I’m watching this brief, minute-long scene, I have never hated either of them with even a cinder’s worth of the hate that I feel for Loretta in this moment. She’s sitting there, tender and soft, gently caressing Ted with needles concealed within cushions. “She’s not coming, Grandpa;” “Maybe she didn’t really love you.” She leans in close to him and whispers: “but I’m still here.” She looks the desolation and annihilation she has wrought square in his trembling, tear-stained eyes, reaches into his shattered soul, and reconstructs it with threads that all lead back to her. She weaponizes the agony she conjured in him to root him even firmer to the spot, building the moss-encrusted walls of grief that were erected with Rita’s death even higher up round him, constructing a fortress of pain in which the only exit leads to her.

She didn’t do this because “he’s old”, or any other altruistic concern. She did it because she loves her grandpa. She loved him so much, in fact, that she didn’t want him to ever leave her side; he is, as she said in her speech, her oldest and best friend. And she has precious few friends, as we know. She has little to cling to in this world. So when she faces the prospect of losing one of those rocks, she moves heaven and Earth to keep it locked firmly where it is. 

“Sometimes you’re so like your grandmother,” says Ted. “So I’ve been told,” says Loretta, hugging him, satisfied that she achieved her goal. She’s not losing Ted. She’s had to shatter him into a million pieces and make him live through the worst pain imaginable once again, but that’s okay with her. If anything, it’s strengthened his bond with her. Things have turned out better than she could possibly have imagined.

I hate Loretta West. I hate her with every fiber of my being. She is, truly and deeply and utterly to her core, a monster. All her excuses, all her alienation, all her teenage rage - all of that just makes it worse. She’s a complex, three-dimensional human being, one of the best-written characters I have ever encountered, laden with layers and depth and commentary on levels I’ve never seen before. And she is, far and away, the blackest, most evil, most hateful and horrible soul I have ever seen on television. Sure, she hasn’t got a body count like Joffrey or Hannibal, but that’s just setting and context, and by that metric the worst monster in television history is some Cylon from BSG. This is a show set in the suburbs in a well-developed country, and it’s not about murderers or wars. It’s about a little suburban family of screw-ups and misfits, and at their core, sitting at the dinner table alongside them every night, is a child whose heart is as black as obsidian, whose capacity for evil is deep as a black hole. And the thing she does in this episode is evil, make no mistake. It’s so evil it’s honestly kind of nauseating. It gets worse the more you think about it, fractally awful, a kaleidescope of blackness.

And she’ll do it again.

Fuck the Hongs.

Yeah yeah, I know. I’ve said this before. And when I said that the worst was over, I meant it. But the fact that this episode’s Hong stuff is not the worst stuff we’ve ever seen from them doesn’t mean it’s any good. Suzy Hong’s consistent one-dimensionality was irritating from the moment we first met her, and it remains irritating now. Even the hamminess of the acting is, by this point, beginning to wear a bit thin.

Van’s plot in this episode is a whole lotta fuckin’ irritating nothing, which is infuriating, because there’s actually potential here for more. Having gotten Suzy pregnant with a boy, a couple of theoretically interesting threads are kicked off: firstly, Van finds himself a prisoner of his masculine indoctrination, convinced that he needs to try, in some way, to be the father to the baby that will eventually result; secondly, Tracy Hong, daughter of the elder Hong, finds herself a prisoner of the patriarchal culture to which the Hong family holds, knowing that the son gestating in Suzy’s belly has just leapfrogged her in importance. But Tracy gets about one line on this subject before it all devolves back into dumb sex jokes and cattiness, and Van just ends up bleating “but what about me?” to either Suzy or Tracy just about every time he’s on screen with either of them. Tracy and Suzy end up making up - remarkably easily, actually - and Van drops the issue in favor of another sex joke. Blech.

The one good moment in his plot comes courtesy of Wolf, who is consistently fucking hilarious this episode. Emphasis on “fucking” - he’s really horny up in there, opening the first scene after the cold open by telling a clearly very awkward Cheryl about how much he wants her, and this horndom hasn’t faded by the time a panicked Van visits him in prison, flailingly trying to ask his dad for advice on what to do after getting a girl pregnant without actually admitting that he’s gotten a girl pregnant. Wolf has his suspicions about that (obviously), but he’s a bit too horny to follow through on them; he just ends up lovingly, pornographically telling Van about the night he got Cheryl pregnant with him and Jethro, and his face is truly a fucking sight to see. 

As usual this season, Van’s plot only serves to drag down what is otherwise a solid episode, although this one is a little too transitional for me to really love it all the way. It is, however, an important milestone in one real regard: it’s our first introduction to Ted West as an actual character, rather than a fountain of endless age jokes. It also retroactively makes his behavior in the former episodes more interesting, because it suggests that there was more to it than met the eye.

After a particularly unfortunate incident involving a yoga trainer at the community center, Ted is left in Loretta’s care for an afternoon, and she takes him to the video hut so she can look after him while continuing to rake in that sweet pirate cash. But a woman catches his eye and he vanishes. It turns out that this woman is an old friend of his, and the exact manner of that friendship is one of the most interesting early moves this show made.

Firstly, Ted’s supposed dementia immediately vanishes when he meets this woman, which suggests that he’s been using his old age as an excuse to, first of all, essentially pull pranks on his family (hilarious) and, secondly, to molest women (not so hilarious). But as it turns out, there’s more to it than even that. Ted’s old friend Margaret is, so he reveals, actually a trans woman who used to go by Mark. 

Now, I’m pretty sure the actress is a cis woman, which is unfortunate, but the writing here is actually pretty interesting. Ted has no concept of the idea of “transgender” - he’s never even heard the term before - but the idea of prejudice doesn’t even occur to him; Loretta has to painstakingly explain to him that trans people face a lot of discrimination, and he seems quite taken aback. He accepts Margaret without even the slightest hint of any doubts or judgement, and it turns out there’s something deeper behind that, too. Margaret, before transitioning, was Ted’s cellmate, and it doesn’t take long for Ted to admit that the two had a romantic relationship therein. It’s a fascinating subversion of the usual prison-gay-sex jokes, actually, because while Ted does make the usual excuses - “You’ve got to understand that I was away from Rita for a long stretch” - he also seems really genuine in his love, and the transition of the person he loved in prison does not seem to have dimmed his love whatsoever. 

And that, in turn, brings us to the ever-complex Loretta.

Loretta is, at first, totally okay with her grandpa’s new choice of friend: “she’s an okay chick, for a bloke,” she says, and while that’s, erm, inartful to say the least, she is at least the only character who demonstrates any knowledge of what transgenderism really is and what it means to be trans. She understands that gender identity is distinct from sexuality, understands the prejudice they face, and is the only one to use the phrase “the transgender community”. 

And that all makes her behavior this episode all the more troubling, because the moment she gets any hint of the notion that there might be something deeper than just friendship going on here, she is nauseated. She gets paranoid about it at first, largely due to some insufferably homophobic mockery from Kurt at the video hut, and when Ted confirms her fears and tells her he’s been deeply in love with Margaret ever since she went by Mark, she’s just outright horrified. She might be the smartest West, but she's at least as instinctively, latently homophobic as Van, and knowing what she knows about Ted actually drives her to a state that can really only be described as homophobic panic.

She panics so hard, in fact, that she actually goes and visits Wolf in prison just to make sure he’s not secretly doing gay stuff on the side too. That’s hilarious, too - Wolf’s still horny as a dog in heat, which only enhances Loretta’s panic until she finally, and with overwhelming relief, learns that he doesn’t have a cellmate - but it’s a classic case of humor at the expense of a terrible person, which Loretta, once again, is proving herself to be here. 

It’s important to understand the exact nature of Loretta’s homophobia, though. Unlike Van’s bro-jokes about his brother looking “gay”, it’s obviously not rooted in any sort of machismo, and there’s definitely no shred of anything religious motivating her here (as will be made especially clear much later in the show). Of all people, Kurt is actually the one who has her number here: at the end of the episode, he notes that Loretta is fundamentally just a giant prude who really hates anything to do with sex in general, and the more non-normative it is, the more she hates it. She is, in other words, the exact kind of nerd I knew plenty of (and displayed shades of myself) when I was her age, and the exact kind who ended up morphing so readily into neo-nazis who today rant online about “degeneracy”. The fact that she doesn’t fit in with her hypersexual age cohort drives her to bitterly hate sex by proxy, which in turn has the effect of recreating the hyper-prudish religious type of mentality without having to involve religion at all. I’ve met so many people like this it’s insane, and it’s amazing that Loretta is, as far as I can recall, really the only proper depiction of that personality type I’ve found on TV. She’s a classic case of a nerd whose alienation from society drives her to instinctive bigotry that only hurts those even more marginalized, and it hurts to watch because it’s so real.

This plot is only beginning for now, so nothing of this actually concludes this episode. The same can’t be said for Pascalle’s plot, which is a continuation of what happened last episode. Judd’s sidekick really did love what he saw at the club that night, and that, of course, turns into something utterly unhealthy.The first sign that something is amiss is Pascalle getting a bunch of anonymous flowers, together with a message to meet a mystery someone in a park; when the mystery someone is revealed to be the sidekick (who goes, tragically, by the name Glen Hickey), it all takes a turn for the worse. Hickey ends up stalking Pascalle, endlessly trying to convince her that he’s a “nice guy” while doing things like appearing at random while she’s hanging up washing, getting dragged out of the strip club for getting too close to her, and masturbating to her modelling posters in the car while sitting opposite the West house. (Did I mention that Pascalle finally got her first modelling gig? She did! It ain’t much - just advertising for tyres - but yeah, you go, girl!)

This, alas, cannot end well. Pascalle can’t go to Cheryl for help, because Cheryl still doesn’t know she strips. She can go to Van - who doesn’t know either, but is too stupid to ask questions - but doing so is a big mistake; Van’s attempt at revenge is so hamfistedly stupid that it ends up alerting Cheryl to the whole thing, which creates a bit of a sticky situation for a whole bunch of people.

For a start, it really brings out the fucking asshole in Judd, who goes full Boys Club mode in defense of Hickey. When Cheryl has Jethro file an official complaint against him, Judd begs with her not to “ruin the career of a young cop” over “a rush of blood to the head”; Cheryl is, quite correctly, aghast, but he gets the upper hand when he finally reveals to her that Pascalle has started stripping. And just like that, we run up against the limits of Cheryl’s feminism; she goes from insisting that “how Pascalle dresses got nothing to fucking do with it” to being really rather furious with Pascalle, partly for lying (fair enough) and partly for nearly getting Van arrested (also fair enough) but also partly just because she is morally opposed to stripping in general, and seems to feel that Pascalle has brought shame upon the family. She’s so opposed, in fact, that she pressures Pascalle into leaving the club, and while Pascalle’s experience with being stalked has definitely put a bit of a puncture in her enjoyment of the job it still feels a little sad. She also drops the complaint against Hickey, although only after she’s received official assurances that he’s gonna get counseling and stay away from Pascalle in the future. 

It’s disappointing, but in terms of Pascalle’s wellbeing, it might end up being for the best. This little plot was a fascinating exploration into the complexities of women’s sexual liberation; on the one hand, Pascalle loved it and seemed to feel fulfilled doing it, but on the other hand one man just couldn’t keep it in his pants and ended up making her feel very unsafe. And then, of course, she was the one blamed for it, and she effectively had to take the punishment. Hardly the first time, eh?

What else is there? Well, Van’s mate Munter has been an increasing presence in these last couple of episodes, although he hasn’t done anything that’s actually affected the plot. He’s just been tagging along, usually getting high with Van, displaying that Maori accent. Jethro appears briefly, and for all his smugness and assholishness he does manage to reveal to Van just how much damage his overly insecure definition of his own masculinity is doing to him; he did, indeed, do “tongue stuff” with Tracy when he had sex with her, and he also “listened”, both of which are concepts Van finds almost impossible to imagine, which in turn means he knows he’ll never be able to satisfy Tracy if they ever do hook up again (which he eventually tries anyway, ‘cos he’s an idiot). Jethro’s a scumbag in many ways, but his embrace of metrosexuality - the idea that maybe, just maybe, the feelings of the woman might matter, both during sex and afterwards - stands in stark contrast to Van, who seems basically sexually skilled but nonetheless views his conquests as a matter of bragging rights and little else.

This is, obviously, a bit of a step down from the last one. That doesn’t mean all that much in itself - the last episode was one of my favorite TV episodes of all time - but this one, regrettably, does contain a lot more Hong family shit, and that’s always depressing. Still, it’s not a wash, and there’s plenty of interesting stuff to be found here.

For one thing, this is the first Outrageous Fortune episode that doesn’t mostly center Cheryl. She is - aside from a brief stint delivering papers in the cold open - between jobs right now, and she’s not taking it well. 

The episode thus centers around the West children, who all must find their own ways of helping to alleviate her distress. For Jethro, of course, it’s easy: he drops off his clothes for her to iron at the house as an excuse to be able to pay her for something. The others, alas, have to get more creative - and they’re more than a little bitter about it.

As usual, Loretta’s willingness to do a Good Deed seems to be only skin deep; she’s the one who initially brings up the idea of helping Cheryl, but she doesn’t go about it in the healthiest ways. For a start, she tries to convince Van to give her money so that she can give it to Cheryl (”I don’t have any to give her”, she says, which seems improbable, really, considering her history). This almost works, but even Van can see through that, and he instead just up and gives Cheryl the money himself. But by that point, Loretta’s had another idea, and it’s turned into something far bigger than helping out her poor old mum.

A glimpse of a pirated kung fu movie Van got from Mr. Hong sets the gears working in Loretta’s mind, and soon she’s up to no good, albeit in a harmless way. Her scheme is as simple as it is illegal: she’s gonna buy pre-released DVDs from the Hongs, make copies of them, and sell them to the customer base of the Video Shack for a profit. It’s definitely the most wholesome kind of criminality any of the Wests have got involved in so far - she correctly identifies herself as “fighting the good fight” against the corporations, not that that’s really her main motivation - but Cheryl nonetheless wouldn’t approve, and neither does Kurt, whom she still treats like a dumb lackey. 

It’s the singleminded intensity with which she pursues her goal that makes it interesting. Loretta, see, doesn’t just buy a few DVDs from the Hongs; she sets up a whole distribution deal, and then uses some of that money she apparently didn’t have to buy a proper copying equipment. She does that all without telling Kurt until she’s already done it, of course, and mocks him as a “pussy” when he complains. It’s not news that Loretta’s friendship with Kurt is softly abusive, but her sudden hunger for money is new. For the moment, it’s also very successful - she has no problems blackmailing the store’s owner into giving her management of the place, and she ends her plot by giving us the title card shot that’ll persist throughout the first two seasons.

Van, having already helped Cheryl with her cash flow problems, spends most of the episode dealing with issues of his own. For the most part, I wish he didn’t, although I will grant that there are a couple of moments I truly cherish. The little laser-gun noises Van makes while shearing the hedge are hilarious, and the whole physical comedy situation in the car - getting stuck under Suzy after she somehow throws her back out during sex, accidentally deactivating the handbrake during the struggle to get out, Suzy’s terror as the car begins to roll towards the lake with her, immobilized, in the back - is perhaps the only really, truly brilliantly funny moment to ever come out of the Hong family.

The rest of the plot is less interesting, although it does have its moments. Van does display his first sign of resistance to his father’s will when he meets him in prison this time - perhaps taking his brother’s advice from last episode - but in the end he still acquiesces, and as a result we get our first introduction to the manic, lovably drug-addicted pyromaniac Sparky, an old friend and associate of Wolf’s who is, apparently, in dear need of some company. 

He’s funny, and Van’s awkward nervousness around him is funnier. But his part in the plot is a little boring; he’s really just there to create a logistical conflict for Van, catching him between his commitment to his father and his job with the Hongs, thus forcing him to rope in Jethro to imitate him on an errand. Sparky, as it happens, was hired by the Video Shack’s owner to burn it down for the insurance money, and provides something of a miniboss fight for Loretta, who’s copying pirated DVDs in it at the time; Jethro, meanwhile, successfully completes the Hongs’ task and is rewarded for it with sex by Tracy (the daughter, in case I’ve forgotten to mention her name by now), who is under the impression that she’s fucking Van and is thus, I’m pretty sure, a victim of rape-by-deception. It’s another of the many plot threads surrounding the Hongs that has aged poorly, especially since it’s played entirely for laughs.

It eventually turns out that Suzy is newly pregnant with a child that may well be Van’s, which is, if nothing else, at least maybe the first sign we’ve had of any actual reason for her to have been having so much baffling sex with Van. But that, too, is used in a kinda predictable way - the other Hong girl is mad at him (she doesn’t like Suzy, for no good reason), the father remains clueless, and Suzy remains utterly one-dimensional. If we learn anything new from this, it’s that Jethro has no problem whatsoever with deceiving women into sex, which isn’t exactly the most surprising thing we could ever have learned about him. God, it’s all so unbecoming of a show like this. 

Pascalle’s plot in this episode, on the other hand, is very good, and a perfect snapshot of this show’s moral complexity at its best. She’s getting a little dissatisfied with being a waitress in a strip club full of drunk and handsy old men, so the club’s owner, Robbie, offers her an escape route. You can probably guess what that route is.

He doesn’t seem like a bad guy, this Robbie; he’s genuinely kind with Pascalle, rather than Nice Guy kind like the photographer from a couple of episodes ago, and he’s not especially pushy. But it’s impossible to ignore that he has a self-interested reason to be offering her this carrot; Pascalle is gorgeous, and every new beautiful stripper in his club is more potential money in his pocket. She’s also still very young, and the spectacle of an adult man gently trying to ease a teenager into becoming a stripper is always cause for caution. Still, at least his method of getting what he wants is genuine-sounding positive reinforcement (”I really think you’ve got what it takes!”) rather than anything less wholesome, and the girl he leaves her with for training doesn’t seem to bear him any ill will. 

She’s an interesting minor character in her own right, though she doesn’t do much after this episode (that I recall, anyway). She’s doesn’t love her job, but she doesn’t hate it either; after all, it’s paying her way through college, and it’s not like it’s any more shameful than any other job. Pascalle, for her part, learns quickly, and is soon ready to make her own debut. 

As it happens, Judd and his youthful sidekick are in the audience at the time; Pascalle gets cold feet, but she can’t back out now. So the other girl, reassuring her that this sort of shit has happened to everyone, advises her to just pretend she’s where she most wants to be instead. The result is one of the show’s best sequences so far, and one of the only moments with memorable directing. 

Pascalle goes onstage and disappears into herself; she is, as far as she is concerned, on a beach in some nameless paradise, being photographed by someone who sounds like their first language is Spanish while she poses for some big magazine or something, looking the absolute happiest she has in the whole show while the audience jeers and cheers and - in one particularly galling case - laughs hysterically.

Judd’s sidekick (whose name I can’t recall off the top of my head) is particularly into it, and that’ll come back to bite later. But Pascalle doesn’t notice, and she’s made so much money that she doesn’t care. It gives the audience something of a quandary; on the one hand, it feels a lot like she’s being exploited, but on the other hand she seemed to genuinely really enjoy the experience. That’s an old feminist debate made manifest in a single character’s plot arc here, and it’s very nicely done. No answers are given, though - we have to make up our own minds on the moral questions, at least for now.

This isn’t quite a bottle episode - it does feature a couple of new characters, and there are a couple of moments on new sets - but in a lot of ways it does feel like one. It’s weirdly plotless, for one thing; aside from the cold open, the entire thing takes place over a period of about, at most, five hours, and as a result it’s very slow paced. That allows for a deeper exploration of more characters than usual, and the result is one of the most complex, affecting, and engaging episodes the show ever did.

The “plot”, or rather plot substitute, is a funeral and its immediate aftermath. In the cold open, we meet this guy: 

That’s Billy Grady West, and we don’t know him long. He dies a sad death by misadventure while fleeing a cop, making the mistake of hiding in a dustbin on the day the binmen come round. Over the course of the episode, we learn that he was Eric’s son, but also that he was really a West, to the point where he’d changed his name to reflect his feelings. Now, one could argue that we maybe should have been introduced to him in an earlier episode - it’s a bit weird that we’ve passed without mention of this guy so far, after all - but I don’t mind; he’s really more a plot device than a character, and that’s as it should be. The most important thing about him is that his death gives the writers an excuse to take Wolf out of prison for a day, thus setting off a chain of events that teaches us a bit more about just about every character.

It’s gonna be difficult to split this up into individual character-plot analysis like I usually do, so this is gonna be a little bit more like a traditional recap. So much of import is happening in just about every second of this episode that I’d feel worried about missing something if I didn’t. So, once we’re past the cold open and the opening credits, we jump right into the action with the Wests.

Right away, we learn several things. First, that Van - judging by the wall he punches - was very fond of Billy; secondly, that Loretta is, judging by her facial expression, a little bothered by still being what Pascalle calls “the oldest virgin in West Auckland”; and thirdly, that neither Cheryl nor Jethro are particularly looking forward to Wolf’s impending appearance at Billy’s service, even though he’ll be under guard. Eric appears, and it’s unclear whether his reticence to attend his son’s service is inability to face up to grief or just a lack of it. Then we’re at the service.

Jethro’s giving a speech over Billy’s grave, and you can tell instantly that he didn’t like him; he’s awkwardly stumbling over euphemisms about his skills and talents, treating him like an embarrassing fuckup whose funeral he is attending only out of obligation. But Wolf shows up in the middle of it, and their brief interaction is fraught with significance. 

He embraces Pascalle and Eric (as Cheryl looks on in disgust), but steps up to Jethro as if he barely knows him, standing there with an abrasive “thanks, mate” and staring him down with the full force of fatherly authority until he moves, clearly seething with long-brewed resentment that surely grows a little more potent right in that moment, as he’s forced once more to put a lid on it and bottle it up, making way for the indomitable force of his father’s self-assured machismo. Wolf, for his part, then delivers a wonderfully engaging, emotionally resonant speech (mostly about a digger Billy once commandeered) that captures the audience’s hearts, driving Jethro even more round the bend. “Only he could turn a bloody tragedy into the big day out,” he seethes to Cheryl, who isn’t any happier with the situation. Her mood isn’t improved by their lawyer, Corky, demanding money up-front for the appeal. They leave him in the dust.

Back at the house now, and Jethro’s rage has subsumed into a piercingly smug contempt. He mocks Billy to Van’s face while preparing meat on the “barbie”, and he doesn’t mince words: “A p-head screwup. If he hadn’t gone now, he would have gone next week, next year...” Van doesn’t like that at all, and that seems to give Jethro all the motivation he needs to keep pushing, seemingly itching to start a fight. Their brewing confrontation is interrupted by Cheryl, but it’s clear there’s something going on here that goes far deeper than Jethro’s dislike for Billy. Indeed, it’s pretty clear that this isn’t about Van, either, who did nothing whatsoever to provoke Jethro’s barrage of needles. This is a resentment that goes all the way to the top.

Wolf’s prison guard allows him a visit to the house, too, and Cheryl still isn’t pleased to see him. Loretta is, though, and he’s not the only one she’s pleased to see.

Wolf politely introduces her to Paul, his young, attractive prison guard. Loretta, well... look at that face. The “oldest virgin in West Auckland”, indeed, but far from an unfeeling robot. 

Cheryl burns her hand on a tray of sausage rolls, and runs to the bathroom for cold water; Wolf follows her, and they have brief, very confused, and very passionate sex. Loretta, meanwhile, does her best to hit on Paul, and it’s absolutely hilarious in the way that only awkward, antisocial nerd attempts at hitting on people can be. Her attempt is a nervous, motormouthed pile of obscure film references and weirdly sexual insults, the sort of thing that’s usually presented the other way around, gender-wise; it’s really quite rare to see the traditional gender roles get swapped like this, and it’s all the funnier for it. Poor Paul has no idea what to do, and it’s clear his torment isn’t gonna end anytime soon; Loretta asks him if he likes movies, and what’s anyone supposed to say to that?

Jethro, unable to piss in the toilet Van’s moping in, accidentally interrupts his parents; this unceremoniously ends their tryst, and things are immediately back to normal. Wolf, once more, demonstrates himself unable to understand what, exactly, it is that is making Cheryl so angry about the Allen situation; Cheryl, by now, has little to no interest in enlightening him. So she leaves, telling him to “fuck off back to prison”, leaving Wolf fuming in the bathroom. He sees Paul and Loretta going back to the latter’s room (for a “movie”), and it’s instantly apparent that he knows exactly what’s happening. Still, he lets it pass without comment, or at least without explicit comment; something tells me Paul might’ve been able to read between the lines when he said “I’m not going anywhere.”

Loretta continues to be her awkward self; “I’m gonna be a film director,” she proclaims while showing Paul her collection, and she keeps insulting him. He’s not bothered, but he thinks it’s funny, and he tells her so; “You don’t hold back, do you?” Loretta is suddenly very awkward indeed; “Do you think that’s... not attractive?”

In prior episodes, we’ve caught sight of the vindictive and manipulative sides of Loretta; here, we get an extremely important, timely reminder that she’s a fifteen year old girl, and that it’s absolutely essential to take that fact into account when evaluating her actions. She asks him, hesitantly and nervously, if he wants to have sex with her; he (rather shockingly) agrees, and that terrifies her. But after a moment’s frozen, deer-in-headlights terror, she gets up and closes the door anyway.

Down in the garden, Wolf has, once again, stolen Jethro’s thunder; he’s manning the barbie now, and asks Jethro if he wants a sausage. “No thanks,” says Jethro bitterly, skulking back into the house as Wolf tries to call in enough favors to convince Corky to represent him pro bono. It’s unclear whether it’s working, and Van overhears enough of it to get a little nervous. As Paul kisses Loretta - giving her what looks like a huge overload of very strong, conflicting emotions - Jethro and Cheryl commiserate in the kitchen, only for Jethro to seem to get a little mad at her for not being mad enough at Wolf. Ted wanders in, confused as usual, mentioning his late wife Rita as Pascalle consoles Eric, who seems unusually interested in the details of his late son’s sex life.

It’s not clear whether Pascalle “rooted” him before or after he changed his last name to West, not that I suppose that matters; it wasn’t like he was a blood relative, after all. Eric suggests that it was “one of the highlights, I think, of his whole life”, displaying a truly remarkable ability to perv on women in literally any conceivable circumstance; cut, hilariously, to to Loretta and Paul, lounging in bed, their facial expressions telling the whole story.

Paul, to his credit, seems upset that Loretta didn’t enjoy it, and immediately tries to make amends by, as the Jamaicans say, going bowcat. Meanwhile, Wolf and Van have a heart-to-heart in the garden; Van, it transpires, blames himself for what happened to Billy, mentioning that he didn’t join him on his criminal scheme this time because he knew Cheryl wouldn’t approve. Wolf isn’t having that. “You are a good man, with a lot on his plate,” he insists, and then something equal parts fascinating and horrible escapes his mouth: “Trying to listen to your mother and do the right thing by the family!”

It’s one short sentence that says volumes about his mentality. On the one hand, he truly does deeply, profoundly love and care about Van, and is genuinely speaking from deep within his heart as he does his best to try and comfort him. But it reveals a lot about what, exactly, is in that heart. He does, it seems, believe that a son should pay attention to the words of his mother, but the way he phrases it suggests that he really only believes this out of a sense of traditional moral obligation; he doesn’t really believe, or even countenance for a second, the notion that Cheryl could maybe have a point, the idea that her opinion is of equal value to his. Instead, he frames her decisions as a tragedy, the rock opposite the hard place that is “do[ing] the right thing by the family”, an obstacle that Van will have to overcome if he is to live up to the duties Wolf wants of him with the family. It’s advice delivered with pure intention from a deeply impure heart, and it may, alas, be just about the worst advice Van could get right now.

Elsewhere, Pascalle and Eric have been joined by Draska Doslic, a girl from a nearby Croatian family who initially appeared in episode two, but who was inconsequential enough there that I forgot to mention her. She’s Pascalle’s on-again, off-again friend, and it turns out both she and another mutual friend also, in fact, “rooted” the late Billy, much to Eric’s shock. They admit it was a “pity root”, motivated by Billy’s sad life and broken home; Eric immediately starts droning on about his sadness and guilt, about as transparent as a man can humanly get. It’s hilarious, but it’s also kinda sad in itself, y’know? Billy was raised - in theory, anyway - by a perverted, drunken criminal in an environment almost entirely filled with drunks and criminals; of course he was gonna turn out a fuckup. That cycle isn’t gonna be broken anytime soon, not if these surroundings are anything to go by.

Draska immediately perks up when Van walks in; Van barely notices, fresh off his conversation with Wolf, and accordingly starts a fight with Cheryl, drunkenly accusing her of betraying him while throwing some highly smashable stuff around. See what I meant about bad advice? Wolf has yet to learn that Van takes everything in the most simplistic, literal possible terms, and doesn’t have any sort of capacity for subtlety. If you tell him that what Cheryl’s doing is the opposite of “the right thing by the family”, how d’you expect him to react? The boy just about worships his father; the fact that he’s making him choose between him and Cheryl is cruel for both of them. 

Loretta, as it turned out, did not like Paul going bowcat, and is particularly grossed out when she learns of the blood that accompanied the loss of her virginity. The whole thing seems to have made her very uncomfortable, and Paul isn’t really reading the signs very well. He’s clearly enjoying himself a lot more than she is, so he has much more motivation to keep going than she does. She’s so not enjoying it, in fact, that she’s genuinely astonished to learn that he’s willing to go again. Still, she doesn’t kick him out.

Elsewhere, Cheryl’s friend Rochelle shows up. She’ll be pretty important eventually, although that’ll take a while. She showers enthusiastic affection upon both Wolf and Eric, the latter of whom is particularly pleased. Pascalle comes out, and Wolf gives her genuine and heartfelt encouragement to pursue her modelling career; it’s a lovely thing to do, especially given Cheryl’s constant haranguing of her for it, no matter how understandable. Wolf is in such a good mood, in fact, that he starts dancing with Cheryl, who can’t keep a big grin off her face. That’s Wolf’s thing, see: he’s very charismatic indeed, and his love for his family is so genuine as to be difficult to deny. One can almost see the twenty years of beautiful memories replaying in Cheryl’s head as they dance, erasing these horrible last few months and taking her back to paradise. It’s a rare portrait of the deep love that once existed between them that we mostly missed out on in this show. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking at once, a snapshot of a rosier past and an alternate present where everything is much happier. But, alas, it’s - how did Lorde say it? - just a supercut.

Loretta and Paul are just talking now. For a moment, it seems that Loretta has regained her confidence; she messes with him, briefly making up and retracting a story about parental abuse just to see the look on his face, and complains about how much she disliked Billy even when he was a small child. But Paul sees through it, and gently pokes her; “so you do have feelings”, he says, and her reaction is really quite fascinating. Immediately, her confidence goes away; she bundles herself up, wrapping her legs up in her arms, frowns and tremulously denies it. “Nah,” she says, “not many, if any.” 

That is an important moment; it may, in character terms, be the most important moment in the episode. Loretta is a child who doesn’t fit in; she’s not like her sexy, popular sister, or her jocky, popular brother, and she feels alienated from just about everyone else in her age group. And she is, we know, a person with great capacity for doing terrible things, whose reputation on that front precedes her. And she takes refuge in that latter trait, throwing it up as her shield against a world that rejects and cruelly mocks her, throwing that cruelty back in its face in the form of searing witticisms and cruel schemes. But it’s not that she can’t feel; if anything, her feelings are very strong indeed, and at her core is a tender, fragile girl whose soul is all fractured from the neverending ache of loneliness. Maybe her actions in episode two really were jealousy; maybe that kinda abusive, controlling friendship she has with Kurt really is all she has, thus motivating her to do anything to protect the totality of her hold over him. Without him, she’d be alone with the feelings she wishes she didn’t have, having to confront her own normality.

Van, down in the garden, is not enjoying the sight of his parents dancing nearly as much as everyone else. “Your parents are so cool,” says Draska, but Van’s mind is clearly on the fragility of it all, and so off he goes, grabbing his balaclava.

He encounters Jethro on the way out, doing a very bad job of lying to him about what he’s gonna do. Jethro follows him, encountering and mostly ignoring Allen (from the last episode) on the way out. Allen walks with great purpose through the house, finds Eric, and punches him, thinking he was the one who snitched on him last episode. Wolf gently takes him aside and calmly explains to him that he was the one who snitched on him, and what follows is a fascinating demonstration of the dynamics of macho honor.

They don’t fight, that’s for sure; they converse like equals who respect one another, even though the topic of their conversation is Allen’s admitted attempts to pull Wolf’s wife. “Jesus Christ, Allen, you didn’t give me a choice!” says Wolf, and it’s fascinating that he doesn’t once suggest to Allen that maybe he might have been in the wrong to try and sleep with a married woman. Rather, he seems to view this as natural and expected, and frames his own actions as a necessary evil to protect the one he loves. He doesn’t give Cheryl any agency in this, either; she’s just the object being fought over, and Wolf seems to believe that Allen “spending every day with [her], giving her money” would have been enough to break her loyalty. But he doesn’t even think of breaking off his friendship with Allen; instead, he apologizes for what he had to do and promises to make it up to him. This episode is the last we ever see of Allen - I presume he went to prison shortly after this - but I’ve no doubt Wolf would have kept his promise if able. It’s a fascinating thing, that macho honor system, and a resilient one - but it’s not a good one. 

We get a timeskip; it’s nighttime now, and Van is trying to rob a closed gas station in order to get money for Wolf’s appeal. Jethro has followed him, and gently reminds him that lawyers generally charge a little more than gas stations tend to keep within their premises. Van goes off to rob somewhere else, leaving Jethro sighing. Meanwhile, Eric is making the most of the sympathy he’s getting from Rochelle while Wolf and Cheryl talk. 

Wolf lays out an ultimatum. If Cheryl still loves him, he’ll go back to prison and faithfully serve the remainder of his time, for the sake of the children; if she doesn’t, he’ll make his escape right now. Cheryl says “when you’re here, it’s like you never left”; Wolf smiles and takes that as an expression of love, but Cheryl’s face afterwards indicates that it was far more complicated a statement than that. 

Maybe Cheryl does love him, but she’s also very much aware of what impact Wolf escaping would have on her kids and their lives. With that to look up to, what would become of her experiment? What would happen to her kids’ lives? And on the other hand, does she really want things to go back to how they were before Wolf left? Sure, it feels good, but where does it all lead?

Pascalle and Draska share a confession. “I didn’t really wanna root Billy”, says Draska; “Me neither,” affirms Pascalle. Draska did it to make Van jealous, and while we never find out why Pascalle did it, one presumes she had her reasons. Considered in context with Loretta’s escapades this episode, and this episode presents a fascinating critique of the way society pressures women into having sex for all sorts of reasons except them actually wanting to have sex, thus ultimately satisfying only the men at their expense. Pascalle and Draska finish up by, as The Onion once said, validating the living shit out of each other while Wolf shoos Cheryl away so he can talk about “plans” with Allen. Cheryl steps away and looks over the party, clearly having something of a moment of clarity as a psychedelic guitar solo plays from the stereo in the background. Wolf loves her enough to tell her that he does; he doesn’t love her enough to trust her with any real knowledge about the things he does. 

Elsewhere, Van is breaking into a drugstore, on the same idea as before. Jethro follows him, again pointing out that this makes little sense. They’re interrupted by a kid who seems to be sleeping there, who chases them out with threats to call the cops.

                                            White trash bastards!

Van twists some stuff round to blame Jethro for Wolf’s predicament, still following the lines Wolf himself laid out for him in their conversation earlier: that this is all because of Cheryl and her crackpot scheme to go straight, and that Jethro is aiding and abetting her by being a “mummy’s boy”. Jethro objects a little too strenuously to this characterization, and essentially flips it back on him, accusing him of wanting to be Wolf. He’s probably more right; Cheryl doesn’t realise how different Jethro is from her, but neither Van nor Wolf realise Van isn’t cut out to be Wolf 2.0. Only Jethro realises that. He cautions Van against following this path, lest he end up a “dead loser like Billy”; they fight (kinda) and Jethro, being the less drunk of the two, wins. Jethro leaves; Van turns round and sees a digger.

Jethro returns home, and he and Wolf have their first real conversation of the entire show. It might be the most hostile interaction between any two characters so far, too, and that includes that one scene in episode two where a woman was beating her nephew. There’s mutually flowing resentment here, both tied to things bigger than the men themselves. Wolf has some sort of class resentment tied up in the way his son has decided to live his life; “Mister I work in town, I wear a suit”, he mocks, bemoaning all the potential wasted when they decided to send him to the “uni-var-sity” instead of drawing him into the family business. Jethro isn’t as explicit about the reasons for his resentment, but he doesn’t need to be; it’s clear as day, and has been from the moment Wolf stepped up to him at the service. Jethro has a complex about his father, feeling at once intimidated and abandoned by him, clearly craving the love and affection he shows the other kids while idolizing his macho self-assuredness and self-control, and channeling his resentment at his lack of that into a general hatred of Wolf, the things Wolf does, and people who remind him of Wolf. He certainly didn’t have Van’s best interests in mind when he told him to be his own man and stop imitating his father; no, he was just bitter, aiming squarely where it would hurt, fighting a substitute for Wolf because he knew that was the closest he could get to beating him. “Oh, thank god Mum doesn’t buy your shit,” he snarls, but it’s clear from his actions in the previous episode that Cheryl is just an ally of convenience to him, herself not realising that she and Jethro are united only in their shared distaste for Wolf and not in any of the reasons.

Loretta and Paul are at it again; Loretta seems to be enjoying it, but quickly reveals (much to Paul’s chagrin) that it was just an act. She’s gotten bored enough now that she’s back to her usual ways, getting most of her pleasure from messing with him; when she finally tells him she’s fifteen, his shock gives her the first real smile of the night. Not that this excuses him, natch - he really should have known, and I think on some level probably did, but that didn’t stop him. He’s entirely in the wrong here, both legally and otherwise - but there’s no denying the joy she takes in making him panic. Which is the story of her life, really, so far as we’re able to tell from these four episodes - she doesn’t have a lot of joy in her life, but she takes what she can get in making other people suffer.

Wolf and Cheryl have their final conversation of the night. They share jokes and laugh at their friends, like any happily married couple. But their differences are still there, and irreconcilable. “There are no prizes for suffering, love,” says Wolf. “Nobody thanks you for it.” It’s a great, great quote, applicable to many situations and, in itself, entirely correct - but hot on its heels comes a quote arguably even more important: “I’m not gonna change, love.”

Cheryl knows he’s right, of course. But Wolf has to go before the conversation can finish. He says his goodbyes, and after he’s gone Loretta allows herself a moment of gloating to Pascalle; “You’re still a slut, but I’m no longer a virgin,” she says, before proclaiming that she’s never gonna do it again. And who can blame her? As far as I can tell, that was awful. Bad sex isn’t depicted too often on television, or if it is it’s usually the butt of very immature comedies. Here, it’s treated maturely and seriously, as an important character moment and a rare possibly-realistic depiction of the embarrassing awkwardness of teenage girldom. Hats off to the writers for this one.

Paul lets the ever-well-behaved Wolf sit in the front seat of the prison van on the way back, secure in his knowledge that he’s not gonna try and escape. Or at least that’s what he thinks before a giant digger, piloted by an ecstatically drunk Van, blocks the road ahead. Van gets out, caterwauling about an escape attempt; Paul reaches for his radio to call for backup, but Wolf assures him that he’ll handle it.

He tells Van much the same thing he’s been telling him already: “Go home and look after your mother for me, okay?” For once, it might be good advice. He gets back in the prison van; it drives off, leaving Van confused and dejected in the middle of the road. 

So, remember what I said about how Jethro’s lie about being part-Maori gets dropped pretty quickly? Well, it does, but not before we have to sigh and sit through an episode about it. It’s a silly idea from two directions - firstly, Jethro is very clearly white as snow, and secondly there’s no way the law firm at which he clerks would have been that lazy with their background checks - but it does, at least, provide us with a plot that gives the writers a chance to more firmly establish Jethro’s personality, and give us a few more clues into what makes him tick.

Cheryl loves Jethro because he’s a shining example to the rest of the family, proof that it’s possible for a West to go straight and live a life not defined by crime and dysfunction. And he is, accordingly, first seen in this episode working on some sort of legal problem, apparently on behalf of a Maori group who are in a dispute with a corporation (the details are left vague, probably for the better). But he soon falls into a dispute with cocky, intensely irritating fellow law clerk Hugh, who is somehow the only one who’s figured out that Jethro isn’t really Maori and figures he can use it to blackmail him. Jethro’s reaction to this is interesting, and troubling.

Hugh steals a piece of evidence Jethro found, hoping to claim credit for it himself and trusting that he has enough material on Jethro to prevent him from doing anything about it. I don’t think he ever had anything to worry about on that front, though - Jethro seems serious in his moral opposition to snitching (”family thing”, he says) and immediately opts to resolve the issue through dirty means. He gets Hugh drunk while Van and Munter raid his home, taking both the evidence he stole and a good deal more besides; Hugh ends up drunkenly revealing that he’s gay, which Jethro then immediately proceeds to use to turn the tables and blackmail him, trusting that the legal profession is still institutionally homophobic enough that it’ll be enough to keep him off his back.

Now, one might say that fair’s fair, and that Hugh was only reaping what he sowed here. I’m not gonna dispute that, exactly - it’s certainly difficult to feel any sympathy for the asshole, and the fact that he’s just performing heterosexuality doesn’t excuse the creepy way he behaves around women. But one can’t help but imagine that there were probably a whole bunch of ways Jethro could have handled this situation without resorting immediately to the traditional West route, and that depriving Hugh of so much expensive property for the simple crime of trying to take credit for some of Jethro’s work might actually be a teensy bit of an over-escalation. And then there’s the important matter of the qualitative difference between the two blackmails: Hugh is blackmailing Jethro over a lie he’s telling to cynically advance his own career at the expense of members of a disadvantaged minority, while Jethro is blackmailing Hugh over actually being a disadvantaged minority. 

So I don’t buy that this is a justified response. It is, rather, the first real set of evidence we have that Jethro’s apple really didn’t fall very far from the tree after all. He recruits Van into his scheme with full knowledge that Cheryl wouldn’t approve if she knew, fully understanding her mission and choosing to ignore it; he tries to convince his female PA to take Hugh home with her as part of the distraction, not yet knowing that he isn’t heterosexual and not at all caring that he gives her the creeps; and not once does he ever display any guilt for pretending to be Maori in order to receive what Hugh calls “brownie points”, not even when he’s clumsily speaking te reo to their faces. “You are one of them Wests, aren’t you?” says a shocked Hugh at the end; indeed he is, even if Cheryl is blind to it.

Speaking of Cheryl, she is once again the focus of the other main plot here, and it concerns similar themes. She leaves her supermarket job - voluntarily this time - and takes up work with a man called Allen, the husband of her cancer-stricken friend and himself an old friend of Wolf’s. But his motives turn out to be mighty impure, and the result is another mess.

It’s not the most interesting plot the show ever did - it’s a little predictable, honestly - but it does give us more insight into Cheryl’s own personality, and gives us more of a handle on one of her most important flaws. Early in the episode, at a party for the aforementioned friend, a drunk Eric doesn’t take no for an answer and has to be forced off Cheryl by Allen; an attempted sexual assault like that should be an instant friendship-ender, but the moment Eric’s gone Cheryl brushes it off, blaming it on the drink and absolving the man himself. Later, when Allen himself finally gets too horny and starts getting incredibly - and aggressively - inappropriate at work, Cheryl treats it probably far more frivolously than she should, and even after the police (unrelatedly) show up, she continues to insist that he’s a decent man. It’s a permissiveness she must have learned in the course of her marriage with Wolf, and it serves her ill.

It’s ironic, considering how hyper-sensitive she is to the danger of anything similar happening to Pascalle. She finds out that she works as a waitress in a strip club - a truth she presses out of Loretta, who seems remarkably uninterested in exerting any particular effort to maintain the lie - and warns her of the likely ulterior motives of her new boss; Pascalle rejects the counsel (loudly), citing Cheryl’s decision to work for “creepy uncle Allen”, and she does turn out to have something of a point. On the one hand, one totally feels for Cheryl’s concern for Pascalle, considering the latter’s naivete and vulnerability; on the other hand, one totally understands Pascalle, who knows that her mother doesn’t really like or properly respect the direction in which she’s taking her life anyway and is most probably correct to see some moralistic hypocrisy in her motives. Eventually Cheryl does accept Pascalle’s decisions, if only reluctantly, and the two mend the bridge; this is well-timed, because shortly thereafter Cheryl finds several of her other bridges afire.

This, see, is where Wolf comes into it. His part in this episode doesn’t tell us much we couldn’t already at least guess about him, but it is, at least, good to see it properly laid out that he is one of those men who gets incredibly paranoid in his possessiveness about his wife, and that, in turn, suggests things about him that haven’t yet been revealed. 

He’s a real bastard this episode, truly in unapologetic antagonist mode. He correctly guesses what, exactly, it is that Allen wants, even as Cheryl denies it, but he can’t bring himself to trust her to actually deal with it herself; instead, he immediately starts to undermine her, first by contradicting her about Pascalle (expressing approval of her new job, which Cheryl correctly notes would be unthinkable if he’d heard about it first) and then by breaking his own no-snitching code and getting Allen busted for various illegal side-activities, shutting down his entire business and depriving Cheryl of her income. After all his bleating about their children’s futures last episode, it’s instructive to see his priorities laid out: he might, indeed, value those futures, but he values his own possession of his wife’s purity more, and he’s willing to do anything necessary to protect it, no matter how much harm it causes. Of course, the fact that a man who assumes his woman would cheat on him at first opportunity is most probably projecting his own personal history goes unmentioned by any of the characters in the episode, but it’s hanging in the background nonetheless, especially considering what he knows about his friend Allen. ”Can’t keep his dick in his pants”, indeed - judge a man by the company he keeps.

This finally wears Cheryl down to breaking point, and her usual tolerance for Wolf’s malfeasance dries up. Her confrontation with him at the end, dressed expensively, is brilliant; Wolf’s first thought is not of her, but of him, and you can tell by the way his first reaction upon seeing her is to immediately and dangerously look round at all his fellow inmates to make sure they aren’t checking her out before accusatorily asking her why she’s dressed to invite their potential stares. Cheryl says she doesn’t wanna see him for a while; Wolf does his best to look like he’s just accepting it, but you can tell it gets to him. And yet for all his sadness, he still doesn’t seem particularly introspective; his self-confidence is too great to be truly pierced by any one thing, even this. 

We’re past the immediate introductions now, and it’s time to get into the nitty gritty. We get a little deeper into the psyches of some of the characters here, and what we see ain’t necessarily always pretty. And some of it, alas, isn’t even good. Van West’s entire presence in this episode is nothing more than a series of incredibly dumb sex jokes, taking up an excruciatingly large amount of the episode’s runtime while revealing almost nothing about him that we didn’t already know (except, perhaps, that he “fuck[s] like a stallion”). 

Things are bad enough before Suzy Hong, the one white member of the Hong family and somehow the most one-dimensional of the lot, shows up. She starts to have regular sex with Van for what appears to be absolutely no reason whatsoever except to let the writers set up another possibly-racist joke, this time about testicles and wontons. The actress appears to be having great fun with the role, which helps, but it’s not enough. Every joke is predictable to the point of hackery, and the conflicts it sets up are lazy and not at all compelling. One gets the impression these scenes were thrown in to help the show live up to the “-edy” part of its “dramedy” tag, more out of a sense of wearied obligation than any real creative impulse. 

It only serves to distract from the rest of the episode, which is far smarter. Jethro is mostly absent, and for now Ted’s role remains minor, but out other four main characters all get important moments. Aside from Van’s silliness, the two plot thrusts here are driven by Cheryl and Pascalle, and they are both presented with challenges of very real significance.

Cheryl, some time between the last episode and this one, took up work as what Americans call a cashier and what Kiwis seem to call a “checkout chick”. Predictably, things go wrong: she gets all up in the manager’s face about his sexual harassment of one of the other girls, so he frames her for stealing and gets her fired. This sets off the first real moment of uncertainty in the Wests’ new lifestyle, and gives Cheryl her first real test. She’s used to being looked down on and despised by the good, law-abiding suburbanites of Auckland, and she can handle being accused of a crime she didn’t commit, but when the power shuts off in the West home and her daughters - particularly the ever-eloquent Loretta - start showing anger tinged with fear... well that breaks through, and she struggles to hold it together.

Not helping matters is Wolf, getting very authoritatively angry from his prison cell as he lectures Cheryl on the futures she’s ruining. That’s a line that cuts deep, considering what she heard from Loretta and Pascalle, and it’s a testament to Robyn Malcolm’s acting skills that you can really see the doubts drilling away at her mind. Her love for her children is no joke, and Wolf knows that, which is why he aims for that target right away. And yet this isn’t all naked self-interest; Wolf, too, cares about them, and his infuriating laser-focused exploitation of Cheryl’s weaknesses is, to him, clearly just a pragmatic way to try and overcome what he clearly sees as the raw and ruinous emotional whims of a woman too strong-willed to know what’s best for her. It’s so hateful to watch because it’s exactly the sort of completely confident, resolutely amoral masculinity-masquerading-as-rationality that one can find in so many of the worst, most influential and powerful men around the world, and it sucks at Cheryl like a black hole from opposite her seat at the prison visit desk, pulling inexorably at her defenses. But she pulls through; “I don’t need your help,” she says, and she ends up solving the problem on her own with a bit of ingenuity and a few good connections. 

Pascalle, meanwhile, has other problems to deal with. They’re not entirely far removed from Cheryl’s actually; like her, she has to deal with a creepy sex pest, and her problems similarly stem from a crippling lack of money. That’s one of the things I like most about this show, by the way; there aren’t enough solid, empathetic depictions of life as a working class person without enough money, which makes this show valuable. Pascalle’s deepest desire is nothing more than to utterly live up to the expectations the male world has set for women; she just wants perfect skin, a perfect figure, and some gosh-darned beautiful modelling photos, but the grease from her blue-collar job keeps giving her zits, she’s worried the poverty-grub they’re eating will make her fat and she doesn’t have the cash to pay her pervert photographer for the photos. Poverty and dreams don’t mix well at the best of times; they make especially poor bedfellows when the dreams in question concern conforming to the impossible standards this world sets for women. 

And this leads us to the most fascinating participant in this episode’s plots: little Loretta, whose characterization in this episode is as complex as ever. 

At first, there’s nothing amiss: Loretta is just being a good, loving younger sister when she gives - no, sorry, loans - Pascalle some of the money she’s somehow saved up, doing a simple Good Deed to help her get her photos.One doesn’t detect any real ulterior motives here, even though she does insist that Pascalle will eventually be paying her back “with interest”. The problems start when this doesn’t work, and Pascalle instead seeks the aid of Loretta’s video store coworker and “best friend”, Kurt, who offers to use his new digital camera to take some new photos. From the look on Loretta’s face, you’d think she’d just tried to sleep with her own father.

There’s something going on here, and I think it’s deeper than it appears. Loretta bleats that the camera Kurt’s gonna use was paid for with her money, and that she bought it so they could use it for entirely cinematic purposes. But why does that matter? It’s a digital camera, so it’s not like the photos are gonna be irreversibly taking up space. But Loretta is incensed, and she doesn’t cool off. She’s smart enough to quickly figure out that Kurt is really only doing it because he wants a blowjob, but her opposition isn’t framed in any sort of moralistic feminism or concern for the wellbeing of Pascalle (”a common or garden-variety slut”). Nor is it any sort of romantic competition thing - Loretta displays no signs whatsoever of having any sort of crush on Kurt, and if anything seems to have a fair bit of contempt for him, describing him as a “friend” but treating him more like a bumbling sidekick or lackey, the Netley to her Gull. She manipulates him into deleting the photos he takes, forcing him to choose between his "one and only true friend” (ouch) and his promise to Pascalle, framing the matter so expertly that Kurt doesn’t even realise that there’s no actual reason these two things should even be in conflict. Of course he caves, and Pascalle’s dreams are dashed against Loretta’s smug lies (”the computer crashed, and we couldn’t retrieve a thing”). 

All her former concern for her sister is gone; she offers no money this time, and all of a sudden seems to find her suffering actually rather pleasurable. I’ve spent a while thinking about what really causes this sudden switch, and the more I think about it, the darker are the things it suggests. It indicates that her original motive for helping Pascalle wasn’t pure at all; she was doing it for herself, so that she would get the rush of doing a Good Deed and the power of having another person in her debt. The moment Pascalle was in a position where she might owe somebody else, Loretta used all her might to shut it down. 

And things don’t get any better from there. With that avenue of help closed to her, Pascalle has to resort to desperate measures; she knows the photographer wants what bogan kiwis call a “root” (what we English call a “shag”) before he gives her the photos, and so she goes out to find him. Loretta sees what’s happening, but she doesn’t care; Kurt has to convince her to go out and try to “rescue” her, and she does so only half-heartedly. Granted, Kurt’s white-knight motivations aren’t exactly pure, but Loretta makes no real effort whatsoever; she shows up to bang on the door a bit, makes no effort to hide her boredom with the endeavor, and gently mocks Kurt for caring at all. Then she leaves, and that’s that. No guilt over the fact that her deception forced Pascalle into the position of having to allow herself to be exploited, and certainly no concern for her emotional or, indeed, even physical wellbeing (Loretta is smart enough that she almost certainly knows how dangerous this sort of situation can be). She doesn’t give a flying fuck. She can’t benefit from the situation anymore, so why would she? The matter no longer concerns her, and so out she bows.

Fortunately, this plot arc gives Pascalle another opportunity to remind us that she isn’t quite as stupid as everyone thinks she is. The man tries to date rape her, but she pulls the old switcheroo and turns the tables; soon she has him tied to a bed, holding a terrifying stapler and demanding her photos. She doesn’t get them, but only ‘cos the man threw them away, having used her for the blowjob and then strung her along for possible sex, consensual or otherwise. That’s Pascalle’s problem; situationally smart, and good at manipulating men’s perpetual underestimation of her against them, but still ultimately too naive to get what she wants. The problem looks like it’s gonna be sticking around, too; at the end of the episode, a man comes in and proclaims that he’s “discovered her before anyone else”, giving her his card. The fact that the card indicates that he manages a club, rather than a modelling agency, doesn’t seem to bother her; she’s too close to her dreams now to see the forest for the trees. 

Things, we suspect, will have to get worse before they get better. Pascalle’s got a lot to learn, and she’s gonna have to do most of it the hard way.

The first time I watched this show, it was more as an exercise in trying to learn New Zealand slang for a writing project than anything else. It didn’t really prove useful - the characters I was researching for were upper-middle class kiwis, as opposed to the bogans depicted here - but nonetheless, the first time I watched the first episode I was too focused on my project to pay too much attention to the actual quality. Only upon rewatching did I realise that this show was great right from the get-go.

The show, for those who don’t know, centers on what is sometimes called a “crime family”. But this isn’t a Corleone or Gambino style family; this is more like what you could call a blue-collar crime family, with the main breadwinner just happening to earn most of his income through crime (in this case, mostly burglaries). They aren’t a particularly violent menace, but they are nonetheless a perpetual thorn in the side of the police, from whom they get constant and generally perfectly justified visits.

It has flaws, yes. They’re especially apparent during the first season, and they never completely go away. But it’s the cast of characters that makes this show tick, and for the most part, they’re all compelling right from the get-go. It’s a fascinating bunch of introductions - let’s take ‘em one by one. 

We have Cheryl West, introduced initially as your typical mama bear. She’s fiercely protective of her children, even as she remains very firm with them; she’s less firm with her husband, Wolfgang West, the only person in the whole episode she allows to lie to her face without challenge. (”Do you know where Van was last night?”, she asks; “no,” says an unconvincing Wolf, but she lets it pass without further comment). She claims that she loves all her children equally, and I believe her, but she’s particularly kind with Jethro West, the only one of her children who’s done everything with his life that she wanted him to. He’s on his way to being a big-shot lawyer at this stage in the show, and he seems nice; the first glimpse we get of any darkness below the surface is the revelation that he made up some Maori heritage to get hired. (Spoiler alert: this plot point gets quietly dropped pretty quickly, since, y’know, it doesn’t make any sense. One of them early flaws I mentioned.)

Cheryl is less kind to Jethro’s identical twin Van West, but that’s really only because he deserves it. Van is quickly established as The Stupid West, and accordingly provides most of the episode’s laughs, but it’s a little deeper than that; he is, specifically, the Stupid Man West, his stupidity really being almost entirely rooted in his crude, half-formed machismo and his desire to prove himself to his father. It’s clearly unhealthy - Van, and his good friend Munter (who will become more important later in the show), are clearly lacking the mental chops required for a life of crime, and Van especially is an absolutely horrible liar, which is maybe the worst possible trait a career criminal could ever have. Wolf, for his part, is very fond of him; he’s less fond of Jethro, with whom he shares only curt words (by familial standards, anyway) when he’s awaiting his court date. 

Then there’s Pascalle West, whom I’ve heard described as a “vacuous trollop” by certain online folks. I guess that isn’t entirely unfair, but it’s important to clarify what exactly is meant by that. In absolute terms, she is certainly smarter than Van, and she’s much more strong-willed and, in her own way, independent-minded. But she’s deeply naive, and her blustering confidence combines poorly with her total lack of any life experience. Her dream is to be a model, and she thinks she can use her sexuality to help her get there, Jenna Maroney style; the problem, as she discovers twice in this episode alone, is that this doesn’t really work. The handjob she gives to her photographer brings his price down only a little, and her attempt at charming the men at Work & Income leads only to them degrading her further. She’s trying to navigate a man’s world using the tools men have given her, and she’s only slowly learning that these tools were plague blankets, a false gift designed to keep her down.

And then, of course, we have my favorite of the bunch, and very possibly my favorite character in television history: Loretta West. It doesn’t take long to introduce the traits that most define her, and that will mostly continue to do so: she is intelligent, lazy, pretentious, nerdy, witty, and cruel. The cruelty is at a fairly basic baby stage at this point - mostly limited to probably-joking familial jabs and the occasional spot of ruthless blackmail - but it doesn’t take us long to discover that she’s found a way to secretly skip school for the past several months in order to focus on writing a movie script, that she views just about everyone else in the world as her intellectual inferior, and that she just loves to deliver witticisms.

                                     House of suffering and torment...

The others, at this stage, are mostly minor characters. Ted West will become more important very quickly, but for now he’s just the butt of a few softly ageist jokes; Loretta figures out that he probably burned his house down on purpose because he was lonely, and she seems to get on with him more than anyone else in the family does, but that’s the only real hint of depth we get here. Wayne Judd is firmly in antagonist mode here, serving us some lovely smug snake goodness as the righteous cop perpetually tormenting our family of lovable criminals. Eric Grady is a decidedly unlovable perverted cheapskate with a faintly sickening crush on Cheryl; he’s good because every laugh is at his expense, and so he shall remain. 

The episode does a great job of introducing all the main characters, but the central plot is really only driven by Cheryl, Wolf, and, alas, Van. Wolf, at this stage of the show, is very difficult not to despise; he loves his wife, but clearly doesn’t respect her nearly as much as he believes he does, and his utterly self-certain male chauvinism passes well beyond insufferable and ends up actively loathsome. Getting sentenced, early in the episode, to four years in prison for burglary does nothing to dent his absolute certainty in the correctness of his decision-making. A prison visit from Van ends with the latter trying, in perhaps the most foolishly and (fortunately) harmlessly incompetent way possible, to get involved in some sort of drug trade; when Cheryl presses him, he repeats what Wolf told him: that “with Dad inside, somebody’s got to make the decisions around here”. Cheryl’s long-suffering exasperation with unearned male arrogance is palpable.

But Cheryl is used to it. If anything, she’s too used to it, and her frosty confrontation with Wolf in a prison visit of her own is still far more charitable than he deserves. It does, however, lead to the most important early development in the show: Wolf’s hideously gentle insistence that she “doesn’t have the balls” for the sort of criminal work he expects from Van leads her to decide that the family is going to abandon the criminal lifestyle and embrace the straight & narrow. It’s a nice ideal, but it’s gonna turn out easier said than done. There’s far too many personality defects in among this cast of characters for anything to come easy.