It is a measure of just how good the first series of The White Lotus was – the writing, the blending of murder mystery and sharp satire, the performances, the direction, the gorgeous photography even under lockdown conditions – that although people do vividly remember the turd being curled out into a guest’s suitcase by a man driven to the edge of tolerance, they remember it as only part of a flawlessly executed whole.
Now the show’s creator, Mike White, is back with another carefully curated batch of overprivileged guests at his mercy. This time they are being cared for by the staff – and sex workers – at the White Lotus hotel in Sicily instead of Hawaii, and White’s beady moral eye is on sexual rather than racial politics. The writing is as dense and layered as ever, the plotting is immaculate and the viewers’ sympathies – or loathings – are never allowed to rest in one place for too long. The characters may be there to unwind, but White is not one to let his audience relax.
