My partner recently introduced me to Survivor, and, without sounding too hyperbolic, it has completely changed my life. Last year, I knew next to nothing about Jeff Probst and hidden immunity idols—now, I’m grinding Survivor tape with the single-minded obsessiveness of a Michael Mann protagonist. Survivor isn’t just compulsively watchable; it’s reality television’s most fascinating social experiment, pitting a bunch of strangers together to live off the land and conquer physical and mental challenges for the chance to win a million bucks. The nitty-gritty of literally surviving the elements is the initial draw, but the more you watch the show, what really matters is the ever-shifting dynamics between the players—how people reveal their truest selves when everything (often literally) comes to a boil.
Mike White, creator of The White Lotus, knows all about Survivor, having finished as runner-up in 2018, and that ordeal has clearly rubbed off on his own series. (That White lost his season of Survivor to a man currently supporting transphobic legislation in Kentucky makes the whole thing even more crushing.) Conceived with the production limitations of the COVID pandemic in mind, The White Lotus essentially swaps a deserted island for the luxuries of Ponderosa. But whether it’s the wilderness or a five-star resort, White believes these are experiences where societal norms give way to more primal instincts the longer we’re away from home. In Survivor, showing your true colors can lead to someone getting voted off by the other members of their tribe. The White Lotus does things a little differently: Amid myriad conflicts between guests and staff, every season throws in death(s) on the hotel grounds.
The title of the show’s Season 3 finale, “Amor Fati,” refers to a Latin phrase that means “love of fate.” The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche interpreted this as a need to embrace all that life throws at us, both good and bad. “Only great pain is the ultimate liberator of the spirit,” Nietzsche wrote in The Gay Science. By that logic, Season 3 was the ultimate liberator, upping the ante when it comes to the show’s body count: two guests, two bodyguards, and one of the hotel’s co-owners. (We almost got a sixth, but thankfully young Lochlan survived his pong-pong smoothie.)
Gratuitous? Perhaps. But The White Lotus has been getting deeper—and messier—in exploring the human condition with each season. If Season 1 focused on money and Season 2 focused on sex, Season 3 has been about identity. Characters—hotel guests and workers alike—have been caught between what they desire, their sense of self-perception, and a yearning to belong. (These themes align with the Buddhist doctrine of “anatta,” or no-self, wherein our sense of identity is constantly evolving, and clinging to a fixed self only causes suffering.) There’s Gaitok the security guard, conflicted between impressing Mook, who wants him to level up to a bodyguard, and sticking to his pacifist values. There’s Belinda, who must choose between bringing Greg/Gary to justice for probably/definitely trying to kill Tanya, or being paid handsomely for her silence. There’s Piper, who can’t seem to figure out whether she wants to be a practicing Buddhist because it aligns with her belief system, or because she’s trying to stick it to her parents. There’s Tim, who can’t decide whether he should tell his family that they’re about to lose everything due to his financial crimes, or if it’s better for them to shuffle off this mortal coil.
In some of these cases, the characters’ suffering is directly caused by their own wealth and privilege—for others, the pain comes from trying to attain more for themselves. (Even if, in the case of Gaitok, it’s just about getting a promotion.) And as is often the case with The White Lotus, all that inner turmoil spills violently onto the hotel grounds. After coming face-to-face with the man he believed killed his father, Rick returns to Koh Samui in the finale and reunites with Chelsea. (Side note: Why are you still relaxing at the hotel OF THE MAN YOU PULLED A GUN ON?) Rick seems to have finally found some sense of closure; his Resting Grumpy Face has even relaxed a little.
Of course, the good times can’t last. Rick is once again confronted by the man he contemplated shooting, Jim Hollinger, who calls Rick’s mother a whore and implies that his father wasn’t the saint she painted him to be. Unfortunately, Rick can’t quiet his inner demons this time around: After trying and failing to schedule an emergency wellness session, he takes the gun from Jim’s jacket and shoots him point-blank in the chest. (In a cruel twist of fate, Rick discovers after the fact that Jim was his real father.) From there, Rick takes out Jim’s two bodyguards and Chelsea is killed in the crossfire. Chelsea did say bad luck comes in threes: She survived a robbery and a cobra bite earlier in the season, but here, sadly, her fate is sealed. As for Rick, he’s shot to death while carrying Chelsea’s body—courtesy of Gaitok going against his non-violent nature. A tough beat all around, where even Gaitok’s nominally heroic actions end up compromising his morals.
As for Belinda, she cooks up a scheme with her son, Zion, that leads to Greg/Gary paying much more for her silence—instead of $100,000, she walks away with $5 million. Her big payday, however, comes at the expense of Pornchai, whose dream of opening a spa with Belinda goes up in flames. While Belinda gets her happy ending, it shouldn’t be lost on anyone that she does to Pornchai what Tanya once did to her. (Wealth corrupted her in record time.) Piper, meanwhile, comes to terms with her own privilege, complaining about the quality of food and lack of air-conditioning at the meditation center. Try as she might to seem better than her family, Piper is just as enmeshed in their life of luxury. In any case, the Ratliff clan will have to learn how to live without their wealth the hard way: At the last minute, Tim chickens out of poisoning his family with piña coladas laced with the toxic pong-pong fruit. “Things are about to change, but we’ll get through it as a family,” Tim tells them. (Victoria said it herself, though: She’s not built to live poor. Good luck with that.)
It’s not all bad in the finale, though. After being at each other’s throats—subtly and otherwise—throughout the season, Jaclyn, Kate, and Laurie reconcile their complicated, decades-long friendship. In a monologue that’s sure to be on Carrie Coon’s Emmy reel, Laurie opens up about embracing different belief systems—devoting herself to love, work, and being a mother—but that nothing is as important as the experience of life itself. “I don’t need religion or God to give my life meaning,” she says, “because time gives it meaning.” (Christopher Nolan approves.) Within all this suffering, it’s nice to see at least one character achieve nirvana.
To bring it back to amor fati, Nietzsche explored this alongside the concept of eternal recurrence: The notion that everything in the universe is perpetually recurring—everything that has happened will happen again. It’s a pretty potent idea when it comes to the Mike White TV Universe. Just as enough people have signed up to live in the wilderness to air 48 seasons (and counting) of Survivor, we’re due for another stay at The White Lotus. Whenever Season 4 rolls around, I expect more of the same: wealthy, miserable guests learning the hard way that money doesn’t buy happiness. The cycle repeats itself. Maybe it’s hell. Maybe it’s a chance for some enlightened few to transcend their station. Either way, at least you can get piña colada ingredients sent to the room.
