Euphoria
S.00, E.02 – “Fuck Anyone Who’s Not a Sea Blob” (2021)
A lot of complaints can be lobbied at Euphoria. The idea that because it’s a miserable show that ends constantly on downbeats could suggest that Sam Levinson doesn’t like his characters. There’s some truth in him challenging what it means for them to exist as they are, but the one thing that’s become clear is that he secretly loves them. Maybe he doesn’t love equally (then again, who likes Chris?), but as these two specials suggest, he’s at least willing to step back and listen to what they have to say. He’s genuinely trying to find something more truthful amid the glossy texture that has surrounded the series.
For most people, Rue’s special was considered a high point for the series. This was because of its ability to tear away from artifice and find a genuine conversation. It was a chance for him to explore what it meant to be sober while giving Ali a fantastic depth that he had been lacking on the show. There’s been a need to expand the universe, to pull it away from the hallways of East Highland and show that, as the title suggested, trouble didn’t last always. Things would get better. It just doesn’t look that way because being a teenager means that the world is inexperienced, that sometimes you don’t know any better than what’s going on in your direct friend group.
One of the smartest moves that Levinson did with his time away was giving characters a chance to speak for themselves. In the case of “Fuck Anyone Who’s Not a Sea Blob,” he meant it literally. Jules actress Hunter Schafer penned the episode by herself and gave the character a chance to do damage control. At the end of the season, there were plenty willing to write her off as the villain, an unsympathetic fool who was leaving Rue to die. Much like how Ali poked holes in Jules being the culprit, Schafer finds something greater in the argument. It’s a chance for her to notice her own history with addicts, where her mother was recovering in rehab and doing her best to atone for a past that included dumping her in a psych ward in a failed attempt to pray the gay away. This isn’t a chance to mock Jules for her failures, but to find a better understanding for, as her therapist asks, “Why did you run away?”
The way that Levinson shoots the episode is also immediately different. Whereas Rue’s story is more of a straightforward conversation that wouldn’t be out of place in a local stage production, Jules has a more fantastical version of herself. Even if she’s also just sitting on a couch spilling her guts, there is a world beyond that office. We get a glimpse into her mind, mixing flashbacks with fantasies that paint a picture of a woman struggling to feel like she belongs. It starts simple enough: with a deflection. Having a sequence set to Lorde’s “Liability” (one of the show’s greatest moments) reflect her past onto her eye, there is a sense that so much more is going on. Even if she responds to this question with “Can we not talk about that?” the audience knows that this is about to be complicated, going to depths that will be overwhelming, eventually ending on a fantasy of Rue passed out on a bathroom floor – a callback to the opening of Rue’s special, albeit with a more harrowing subtext.
What makes the story much more impressive is that this is a chance to see Jules as a fully formed human. While she has been prominent in the past, this is a chance to understand who she is, uncovering the amount of trauma and stress she had undergone throughout the season. It’s the first chance to really understand her on an insular level as she asks “I think I want to go off my hormones.” There is a mental imbalance inside of her, a feeling that “femininity conquered me” as she worries that she’s not enough. Everyone has judged her, looked for flaws. Nothing she does is enough. It’s a suggestion that she can escape her problems by removing the trans identity altogether.
Levinson does a great job of shooting this sequence, managing to focus on Jules for the lengthier monologues, allowing Schafer to emote with eye twitches and twinges in a smile while questions come at her. The discomfort is slowly being removed, finding the core of something greater. This starts not unlike Portrait of Jason (1967) where there’s a defensive layer, a way to distract from the thesis. Why did she run away? For anyone watching the series with an empathetic heart, it’s already clear. However, the immediate conversations of being judged and feeling lesser are all topics that likely informed her view. She still has Nate and Cal to worry about, the idea that her reputation can be easily dismantled if he has another bad day – even if she’s not involved.
Because one thing is clear. While she loves Rue, Jules also has a thing for shyguy118, a.k.a. Tyler, a.k.a. Nate. There are layers to the online relationship. As Jules realizes that she’s attracted to the letdown, she still has these brilliant moments where she’s being whisked away by studly men, participating in sensuous behavior. Everything feels like an erotic thrill. And yet, the more that the audience understands about Euphoria, the more that this basic act can reflect the ways that Jules is herself disconnected from reality. It’s the vulnerability and feeling free from a world that judges her while entering into a partnership that will use compromising pictures against her. Deep down there is Nate, waiting to sabotage her. Even then, as she declares “Tyler, why are there no photos of us?” it’s a reminder of how Nate used Tyler as a cipher for his crimes. Even the falsity of this fantasy is lacking honesty. Poor Jules in her already fragile, dissociative state, is being lied to on a whole new level.
The episode escalates into a fraught second half that manages to incorporate clever callbacks inside of horrific sequences. Those who remember her dance sequence from episode seven will be familiar with how Levinson edits together her nightmare of watching Rue entering a bathroom with pills to her being held down by a man, enjoying a passion that is tearing her away. She’s unable to get up, to save her. Even when the episode ends on a more subdued callback to the New York fantasy, there’s the reality that Jules feels metaphorically closed off from Rue, unable to open the door and save her. It’s clear that so much has been wearing her down, and the choice to end that on a cliffhanger is a great teaser, if just because this episode could never seek to reach proper closure.
Of course, it still manages to work as cathartic as the conversation takes more of a freeform approach. At a certain point early on, the symbolism of interior and exterior sets become apparent. When asked about Rue, the camera pans around for the first time. It has been mostly dark up to this point, but Levinson chooses to allow a flicker of the sun to shine onto Jules' face as she smiles, fantasizing about Rue saying a hushed “Hi.” Together they are protected. They balance each other out. Still, that sunlight reflects a world outside of these interior walls, and they hold so much promise for a better world to explore.
It’s most evident in Jules’ speech about visiting her grandmother who lives by the ocean. It’s the most clairvoyant she has ever been, using an operatic backing track to make for a meditative quality. It’s here that she pushes aside the talk of going off her hormones and feeling judged by her peers. It’s here she admits that being trans is for her, that she wants to be strong like the ocean. There’s so much elation in her tone as she accepts this moment. She is out in the open, able to be free of criticism. Given how many scenes that follow come in claustrophobic environments, rarely existing outside of a room with a door being shut, it’s clear that every moment is compartmentalized, weighing on her.
Every decision in the episode feels more methodical than usual. It feels like we’re finally getting a glimpse into how Jules sees her world. It’s one that feels wilder in her fantasy, even ending with a soundtrack cue from The Double Life of Veronique (1991) to reflect her duality. She wants to escape the struggles of being trans, of living in a world where she feels pressured by men and women to be something she’s not. The soundtrack reflects this imbalance, finding tracks that echo male and female voices harmonizing or featuring Billie Eilish declaring in the multilingual track “Can you let it go?” These images are beautiful, held like photographs in her mind of how she envisions a better future and how it clashes with her dark intrusive thoughts.
In roughly an hour, Jules is given the sympathetic treatment that she deserves. Those who have written her off may find some sympathy growing, realizing that Levinson doesn’t personally see her as evil. Like everyone else, their life story is complicated. The smile emerging from the end of the therapy session reflects some growth and clarity, suggesting that her insecurities are natural, that she’s capable of breaking through these conflicts and finding a greater truth. Still, the question ultimately becomes if Rue is actually the tragic figure, self-destructive in nature. Jules comes across more as motherly after this one, finding her wanting to help Rue stay sober, but maybe because it’s just instinctive to her own familial dynamic.
If anything can be taken away from this special, it’s that it envisions what season two could be if there’s a more collaborative effort. There’s no doubt that Levinson probably worked with everyone on small aspects of character, but having Schafer there to provide her own voice is a revelation. It creates one of the best episodes of the series and shows how flexible the show as a whole can truly be. Who’s to say that there isn’t another laidback episode in the future? Maybe it would benefit the pacing to just slow down and have characters talk things out for an hour, capturing every troubled teen plotline that Levinson wants to discuss. If nothing else, Schafer’s authenticity elevates the script into something more emotionally rich and creatively satisfying. Hopefully, she’ll be back in the writer’s room soon enough.
As a closer, the question I have is about the scrapped plans for a third special. Of course, it’s probably a side effect of the pandemic being an uncertain beast, but Levinson had announced he was contemplating making a third one. Who would it focus on? Would it have been some reunion, or would it have been an attempt to add depth to Nate’s character? Jacob Elordi is great enough to pull that off, but it does feel like it would’ve been another curious glimpse into this world that would reward character moments. There’s so much to this world that could’ve been explored, and I guess we’ll never know. Maybe whatever that was ended up turning into Malcolm & Marie (2021) which, to be completely honest, is more evidence that limited resources make Levinson a more interesting filmmaker.
It’s crazy to think that it’s been three years since Euphoria first started airing. The world, in one very obvious way, has changed. The idea of despair is more commonplace than it was even in 2019. The question is how the series will break the season two slump and bring forth a drama with even more potential. I want to believe that the years away has allowed the show to find its voice in new and inventive ways. Given the conversation that it’s already being filmed in a different aesthetic, one can hope that it’s going to be full of surprises as well as brilliant character moments. All that’s left is to tune in on Sundays and find out.
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