I Thought You Were Good White Lotus…But You’re Not Good. You’re Just Another Lying Ol’ Dirty Birdy.

The Sad, Sad News That There'll Be A Season Two.

I’m sad. A little angry too. Frustrated. I should be happy. I should be amped. Tonight is the final episode of The White Lotus.

It was only a couple of weeks ago – and midway through the show’s run that I gushed about this wonderful TV spectacle. Its treacle-deep satire so awkward and brilliant and, er, relevant…

But guess what? It’s not actually the final episode at all. The show has been picked up for a second season.

They told us this only the other day, like telling a team before the big game that if they don’t win it’s actually okay because they’ll get another shot.

I didn’t like this news at all.

I feel lied to. Betrayed.

One of the big selling points of White Lotus – as I understood it – was the appeal of it being a limited series.

“Limited Series” is the new shiny re-brand for the term mini-series. Remember in the 80s when we’d watch the big-event TV: Lonesome Dove, V, I Know My First Name Is Steven…

You weren’t there week after week after week…

You were there for three weeks. Or six. Or a number in-between. And that was that.

The limited series suggests a new hallmark of quality. And artistry. It tells you that the writer/director/show-runner (in this case it’s all one person, the brilliant Mike White) was an artist. Not a money/famewhore. They were in it for the statement they were making – with the art. Not the bank statement that would change significantly once the shoe-sellers and jeans-wearers and – now pay-TV subscribers – got fully on board to do the type of standing ovation that is measured by dollar bills being thrown in the air.

I don’t want more of The White Lotus.

I want six episodes. I want it wrapped up. I want it to end on a weird note, if anything. I don’t want a new cast of guests – nor to follow what these ghastly fuckups get up to next. I don’t want the name living on to be watered down. I don’t want a water-colour version of it next year. I don’t want a watercooler conversation that runs thusly: Oh yeah, season two was okay…but then they really lost it. But season one was the best…

Of course season one was the fucking best.

It was only meant to be one season!

I’m feeling very Annie Wilkes right now. And I’ve been told recently that I’m only allowed one Stephen King reference a day.

So, I’ll leave that right there.

My mother-in-law says, “Well, just don’t watch the second season”. Which only means that though she thinks she knows me quite well now, she doesn’t know me at all. Of course I’ll watch the second season! I must. That’s what the machine wants. And it’s not what I want. But I am powerless to the machine. And I don’t like being reminded of that. I like to think that my superior taste of jumping on early and watching – and talking up – the show was rewarded by it slipping away on just one “limited” series. There to watch and maybe rewatch. To be discovered, recommended, talked up, revered.

But now season two will of course be followed by season three. And then season four will be the really difficult one to crawl through. And in four years’ time someone will start a conversation with the line, “Oh yeah, season one is actually the best, but seasons two and three aren’t bad…”

Of course season one was the best. There was only meant to be one.

I feel lied to.

The “Final” episode of The White Lotus, briefly the best show on TV, screens tonight, NZ time, on NEON.