This Is Us Season 4, Episode 6
“The Club”
Posted by Shannon
Wheeew. It’s been a minute since an episode went straight through me, and to be honest it hadn’t happened yet this season. I guess we were overdue. It’s no wonder, either, since this hour is filled with some of our most emotionally vulnerable characters wrestling with insecurity and discontent. They’re acting out, pulling inward, and trying to make the best of situations that just won’t let go of their triggers. The two most substantive examinations in “The Club” span decades; Jack wrestles with the guilt and shame he feels around his socioeconomic status as compared to Rebecca’s family, clinging to a bitterness that later comes out at his son; and Randall takes what could be the same trajectory but evolves to hold a stronger footing. Plus there’s Kate and Toby finally looking each other in the eye about Toby’s new lifestyle and Kevin and Cassidy languishing in loneliness, ultimately throwing the AA recommendations against relationships in the first year of sobriety out the window. So yeah – there’s a lot here. Let’s get into it.
Jack and Rebecca
In the weeks and months following the LA road trip, Jack and Rebecca have gone full young couple in love – right down to Jack trying to avoid any additional contact with her parents after their tenuous introduction back at the country club. At the end of the day, Jack will do anything Rebecca asks; whether it’s dropping her off for brunch with her mom or taking her father Dave up on a golf invitation Jack desperately wanted to avoid. The minute Rebecca pushed back with “I think it’s really sweet that my dad wants to get to know you more” the table was set.
This whole thing is complicated and layered, but it’s important to note a few specific things going in. First, Rebecca is blissfully unaware of the judgement Dave holds against Jack. She knows her family can be complicated, but she’s so laser focused on her challenging relationship with her mom that she’s not able to zoom out and see the real threat for Jack coming from a very different direction. Secondly, while Jack has opened up about his family life to a degree with Rebecca, his relationship to poverty in relation to her upper middle class upbringing has gone unspoken. He hasn’t opened up that part of his experience to her. It’s not a surprise; Jack is proud and quiet and doesn’t want to do anything that might challenge her perception of him. Plus Rebecca has a real naivete about her at this time in her life. The idea that Jack would have to buy a whole other outfit to golf in just wouldn’t cross her mind. Nor would the idea that Jack would be extremely uncomfortable with Dave picking up the tab. The reality that, while her father has been nothing but supportive to her, he might harbor a very specific list of requirements for a serious suitor has not crossed her mind. By all visible accounts, Rebecca has lived the kind of life that does not involve any of those concerns, and she’s idealistic enough to assume that any barrier to entry would be easily resolved by the strength of their love and connection.
I don’t say any of that as a slight – just as a fact. It’s a fact, too, that Jack has a chip on his shoulder that so many of us who come from low income households know all too well. He’s trying so hard to prove that he’s not ashamed of who he is and where he comes from that he pulls firmly in the opposite direction and digs in his heels. He hears the bristling in Dave’s friend’s voices when they learn that he works in a gas station. He knows that the offer of “an informational” at the office of one of those well to do men will result in a more stable, traditional source of income. And he knows that the only reason he’s being offered that is his status as Rebecca’s boyfriend – not through the strength of his mind or reliability of his work. The entire golf trip reeks of upper middle class privilege, and it’s awful, and Jack can only get through it by keeping his head down and drinking far, far too many gin and tonics.
Dave has done everything in his power during this golf trip to look like a good guy. He’s bought Jack appropriate clothes, he’s provided and repeated an interview opportunity, he covers for Jack later in the garden by making light of just how drunk Jack got. And he’s taken every opportunity to twist at Jack’s insecurities; rolling his eyes at his friends when Jack declines the interview offer, outlining in painful detail just what kind of fancy wedding reception he’s dreamed up for his daughter at this very club, and taunting Jack with the implication that he always knew Jack would be a brute when he finally snaps. Both men refused to give an inch: Jack can’t let his guard down and risk an offer of goodwill for fear of ulterior motives (and, especially given that last point, who can blame him) while Dave scorns the idea that Jack might not want the opportunities his stature would provide.
There’s no easy end to any of this. The two men are preparing for an impact, and it’s going to be ugly. But as we wait to learn precisely how that plays out, one thing’s for sure: the resentment Jack holds against the trappings of rich, white America in general and golf clubs in specific take root and won’t let go.
Randall
It would seem that the very same discomfort in golf clubs has been passed down from Jack to Randall. Which presents a real problem, since politicians at every level and of every heritage make all their moves on the green. (Is that what you call golf courses? Did I do that right? Let’s pretend I did and also that I knew it from the start.) Randall is coming up against the very barrier I called out last week: by refusing to make nice with his colleagues, they all see him as a wet blanket, and worse — someone they don’t know or trust. Politics live and die by relationships, and his are in real danger. So while it was all well and good for Randall to try to break into a conversation with the intention of only talking business, it’s a much better idea for him to read the room and offer up a social engagement through one of his connections at a fancy golf course nearby.
Randall takes them up on the offer of a game with only a smidge more excitement than his father did decades earlier. After clarifying that not only is golf “not really my bag,” he’s only ever played a single game, Randall generally makes a mess of his entire outing. He endangers passersby, hits the ball into the water, and clamors into the wrong cart. It seems like he’s at least doing Jack one better by trying to connect with his fellow councilmen, but the same kind of discomfort and anxiety radiates off his every move.
Randall’s at least partially more comfortable than his father was and it helps that his colleagues are also much less awful on the whole. Councilman Wilkins especially starts to take pity on Randall’s abysmal game, offering up pointers and congratulating his improved shots. The whole thing results in a much more comfortable meal than the one Jack suffered through. Randall is so much more at ease socially than Jack has ever been, regardless of the environment. Jack was antsy around anyone other than Miguel and his immediate family; Randall has social anxiety too, but he wouldn’t have been elected if he wasn’t able to connect with all sorts of folks on a deeper level. By asking his fellow councilmen how they found the game, he connects to their heritages, to their childhoods – and makes their job together much more palatable. All of a sudden, Councilman Wilkins is ready to talk shop.
The link Randall has with golf is a great deal more complicated than it seems. It’s leaps and bounds more complicated than the one his father had, though their physical reactions seem much the same. Randall’s first and only game of golf came about after Jack felt his status in his son’s life was threatened by none other than Mr. Lawrence, the lone black teacher in Randall’s school who also happened to give him a write up for wearing sneakers out of code.
As a bookish black man, the interest Mr. Lawrence takes in Randall is as vital as it is beautiful. These are the kinds of teachers that change lives: the ones who offer an extra course of study before or after class when they know a kid needs to be connected to a certain type of writing, or a specific point of view. (In this case, it’s Baldwin’s Notes of a Native Son.) Mr. Lawrence is coming through for his student in a substantive, impactful, intentional way. But it also comes with their own handshakes, their own points of reference, their own conversations – and once Jack sees that bond, and feels the void of its specificity in his own relationship with Randall, he tenses up. Jack’s immediate reaction is to try to involve himself in one of Randall’s new interests, which is how they end up on the golf course Jack never warmed to. Randall tries so hard to connect to his dad in this moment. He’s always been a teenager who’s willing to be emotionally honest, but this is some next level shit; Randall has recently joined the debate team as their first and only black kid, and while he tells himself that it “won’t be as hard for me as Jackie Robinson or Mohammad Ali,” he’s freaked out. And Jack completely misses the point. He does what so many well intentioned but uninformed white people do: assumes he can relate to Randall’s daily life, without even beginning to listen to what his son is really telling him.
Jack really thinks he’s helping by drawing a comparison to Randall’s life. He really thinks that saying he doesn’t see color is supposed to be a positive. He really thinks that the threat to his relationship with his son comes from Mr. Lawrence identifying spaces in culture for Randall to connect with – not the fact that he’s bullheaded in his responses to his Randall, or that he assumes a level of identification with his son’s daily life that is, frankly, far above his head. These are all the reasons I was so relieved back in the earlier seasons when Jack started taking young Randall to the predominantly black dojo; but it turns out, that didn’t stick either. And later on at home, when Jack asks Rebecca if “we were threatened by the dojo,” it’s clear he’s asking the question about himself – and that the answer might well have been yes. Jack and Rebecca could hide behind a long drive and fizzling excitement levels all they want – the fact remains that they started taking Randall to the dojo for a very specific reason, and showing up a few times before allowing it to fall by the wayside did every single one of them a real disservice.
Jack tries to make it right by speaking to Mr. Lawrence again the next day, but even that is wrought. Rather than opening the doors to Mr. Lawrence as Randall’s mentor, he starts by insisting that they get a “simple heads up” if Randall is asking complicated questions. It’s an exhausting aspect of a halfway decent save. But at least, back at the golf course with his son, Jack did one better. He promises to “listen better and lecture less,” and proves that his bitterness towards all those rich golfers didn’t fester without also providing the core of a real lesson. “Don’t get caught on the outside looking in,” he insists, refusing to let Randall ever be caught unprepared should the occasion arise for some big important conversation to take place, as so many of them seem to, on a golf course.
Randall may have only ever played one game, but he’s an expert. He played each and every one of those councilmen for the fool. Like Jack said, sometimes you play the game by winning – and sometimes you play it down. Randall was in control every single moment he was on that course, and he did his dad proud.
Kevin
For a man who just bought a whole ass fancy trailer and insisted he wanted to settle down, Kevin is, without warning, itching to get out of Pennsylvania. There’s no real character motivation here as far as I can see, excepting the fact that Kevin has often been a bit of a wanderer and that he’s not exactly the type to enjoy solitude. Internet stalking Zoe probably isn’t helping. Still, Kevin has promised to stay put at least until Nicky’s hearing, which means these two are basically stuck together. Kevin’s a sociable dude, and quiet reading time with his uncle can only last so long before he starts to get itchy. There just aren’t enough meetings to keep him busy, which leads him to the gym to work out his anxieties.
Kevin can’t sit still, literally or metaphorically. So while he knows in his mind that AA discourages relationships in the first year (“and drinking”), he’s bored and a little lonely and more than a little annoyed at Zoe’s instagram feed. The run in with Cassidy only exacerbates how antsy he is, especially once they start talking about the reason he and Zoe broke up.
It was only a matter of time until Kevin ended up out on a marginally terrible first date at a bar in this tiny town, and while this girl never really stood a chance, I did love her speaking to the shared destiny that feels so tangible in small towns. I don’t love Kevin seeming to think that anyone who also wants kids is, at the very least, someone he has a connection with now that he’s so certain about his own life plans. But none of that really matters anyway, because when they get back to Kevin’s trailer, they find Cassidy, fresh off a fight with Ryan, assuming Kevin would be there alone.
I know I said, mere weeks ago, that I felt certain that Cassidy would be endgame for Kevin and that I wished they slowed down on this whole thing. But now that the two have jumped into bed together, I’m doubting my own instincts. Cassidy and Kevin have such an easy rapport, and he sees things in her she refuses to see herself. In a lot of ways, they bring out the best in each other, and they share so many of the same wounds. But it’s SO clear that Cassidy doesn’t think she deserves a relationship (“I wouldn’t want to be with someone as screwed up as me”), which both makes me love the fact that she acted on a real moment of vulnerability with Kevin and worried that the whole thing will blow up. Especially because of the subtle vibe of regret they both seem to feel when they hide this new development from Nicky. I just have an overwhelming desire for both of these characters to be happy, fulfilled, and loved – and now I’m worried about how this is all going to play out.
Kate and Toby
Remember those crazy kids from season one, back when Toby was a nightmare person and also they couldn’t stop having sex everywhere at all times? It feels like AGES ago for me as a viewer, much less for these two new parents falling into the whole “there’s a baby so we aren’t having sex anymore” trope. While this storyline prompt isn’t revolutionary on its own, the way the show is able to capture it was yet another example of the benefit of a flexible timeline. I was half joking at the top of this paragraph, but I also really had forgotten just how dynamic their physical relationship had been – and how reliably so. Over the last season or so, Kate and Toby have been working their way through infertility and a newborn with developmental differences. Time crept on; habits changed slowly. And all of a sudden Kate gets a supercut going directly from “promise me we’ll always be hot for each other” to “not even if you paid me in gold.”
It’s a dramatic shift, not unlike the one Toby has slowly but surely been completing himself. As the sleep deprived couple goes through the motions of a Goodwill run, Toby’s physical changes become a little too tangible to avoid. Especially when he’s ready to toss an old, now ill fitting pair of pants that Kate insists were his favorite. Toby doesn’t fight her then; not really. But he does underline the fact that their general snippiness with each other might have something to do with the fact that they haven’t had sex in months. Nine months and 23 days, to be exact. And what did Rebecca and Miguel move across the country for, exactly, if not to rescue these two in their moment of need? (“For the sake of our sex life, call your mother.”)
The thing is, high pressure sex doens’t tend to go well in the best of circumstances. Low-to-no sleep, a vulnerable sense of self and sky-high emotional stakes are quite the opposite of the best of circumstances. Of COURSE Toby wasn’t in a place for this, regardless of what he wanted mentally. Mere hours ago, his wife had insisted that he keep pants which are, at this point in his life, dramatically too big for him. Given the tenuous state of their physical relationship, and the fact that they don’t seem to have discussed his changing physique with any depth (I know, I know, newborn) he cannot shake the feeling that Kate either doesn’t believe in him OR is harboring a secret desire for him to fail. It’s harsh shit, and none of it is a stretch given Kate’s reactions to him over these last weeks and months.
Kate knows it too. She knows this grand gesture is on her, and she tries REAL hard to make her familial line proud. If she’d just checked the pants she was cutting up before she took scissors to them…. But be that as it may. Toby takes her act of destruction in the spirit in which it was meant, and with a few minutes to spare before Rebecca, Miguel and the baby get back, they can hop to – and into their own bed.
Colors of the Painting
- Kate looked gorgeous through that whole hotel scene but ESPECIALLY in that color combo of the yellow and rust robe. Yas, girl.
- If Kevin does jump ship after Nicky’s hearing, I’ll miss the hell out of their dynamic. I mean come on:
- “Safeword?” “Mom and Miguel.” “Weird but I like it.”
- Something about the observation “this is the latest you’ve ever been early” just nailed Randall’s whole identity.
- YES BITCH, GET IT.
- Between comfort viewing of Turner Classic Movies and the line “the rest of it, the emotional stuff, I cast aside with contempt!,” Toby was really in top form this week.
- “Here is to fathers, to Tiger, and to Lester’s foul mouthed Aunt Lizzie.”
What did you think of “The Club”? Let us know in the comments.
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