Also: Nate seems headed to a dark place, and Keeley and Roy explore whether there can be too much of a good thing.
Season 2, Episode 7, ‘Headspace’
At last: A clear vision of the trajectory of this season — hinted at last week — has come into focus. It’s not about wins and losses. We still have no idea of AFC Richmond’s chances of rejoining the Premier League. We don’t even know their next opponent in the FA Cup, following last week’s shocking upset of Tottenham Hotspur.
What we do know is a little bit more about Ted and the journey he appears to be on this season. But I’ll come back to that. Let’s instead start at the beginning of the episode.
To Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe,” the show posits the downside of a perfect relationship: Your jobs, interests and romantic ideals overlap so utterly that you are around each other every single minute. At least, that’s how things feel for Keeley. As self-evidently wonderful as Roy is, living with Angry Yoda 24/7 does sound a bit exhausting.
And then, another subplot, more concerning still: Nate is obsessed with social media declaring him a hero after the win over Tottenham. But his father is still utterly dismissive. While yelling at other parts of the newspaper — “Let me know if they ever talk back,” says Nate’s mother — he ignores the back-page story about his suddenly famous, soccer-coach son.
“They say humility is not thinking less of yourself,” he lectures Nate. “It’s about thinking about yourself less.”
Maybe throw in a “Well done, son” somewhere? Or an “I’m proud of you”? Between Jamie and Nate (with Sam presented as a counterexample), Season 2 of “Ted Lasso” is turning into an exploration of poor fathering.
And that’s all before the title sequence. We’ve already had a mouthful of plot, and we haven’t even tasted Ted’s crucial, perhaps season-defining, story line. Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night.
After the titles, we find Ted back in Sharon’s office, where he’d collapsed on the sofa last week. He seems much better than the curled-up fetal mess he was then, but only on the surface.
The manic activity Ted has displayed in the last couple of episodes is again on full display, as he fiddles around about where to sit and anxiously messes around with Sharon’s vintage water-drinking bird. (Who would have guessed that the “Doctor! Floor! Ceiling! Trash can!” scene of two episodes ago would have been one of the most revealing moments of the season?)
After Ted springs a quick trio of references to “Mad Men,” the “New Yorker” and “The Sopranos,” Sharon offers her most significant line of the season to date:
“Don’t worry, Ted.”
Like many, I’d initially imagined that Sharon would be a new foil for Ted, the old ones — Rebecca, Jamie, et cetera — having been so completely won over. But no. She is not here, like the others, to be helped by Ted. She is here to help Ted. And he clearly needs help.
This will be the first of three visits Ted takes to Sharon this episode, and two out of three will end with him storming out angrily in distinctly non-Ted Lasso (maybe more Led Tasso?) fashion. The irony, clearly deliberate, is that Ted’s profound suspicion of psychotherapy is driven in large part by the fact that it is the professionalized version of what he does himself as a nonprofessional: get inside someone’s head as a paid quasi-friend and try to “fix” them. (Sharon makes this point herself fairly elegantly.)
By the end of the episode, we still have little idea of precisely what is eating at Ted beyond his recent divorce. But Sharon’s role in the season — she is played, again, by the wonderful Sarah Niles — is much clearer. Stay tuned.
That said, this is still a nascent story line. Let’s go back, for now, to our two big, pre-title-sequence subplots.
Nate’s state of mind, which has been headed down a dark path for most of the season, has taken a still darker turn. His abuse of Colin, both on the pitch and off — you may recall he called him a “dolt” last episode — is accelerating, with him ultimately comparing Colin to a painter whose work hangs in a Holiday Inn. (Genuine question: Are Holiday Inns a significant presence in the U.K.? Or is this one of those moments when the series’s American roots show?)
One of the things I’ve appreciated about this arc so far is that it understands that a deterioration like Nate’s isn’t linear. It takes place in fits and starts, sparked — in both directions — by specific occurrences. This episode, Nate has two clear moments of contrition, of maybe resetting himself in a good way for him and others alike. The first is when Coach Beard calls him out and a visibly stricken Nate asks, “Did you tell Ted?” (Beard subsequently disapparating is a nice touch, but one I hope won’t become a shtick.)
The second is when Nate apologizes to Colin in front of the whole team. I love that while the rest of the team is using unprintable nouns to describe Nate’s behavior, Dani Rojas interjects — quite accurately — that he is a “wounded butterfly.”
But Nate’s moments of self-correction don’t quite take root in his fragile psyche. All it requires is one nasty social-media comment to set him off, as he threatens to make the young kit manager Will’s life a “[expletive] misery” for coming up with his gag “Wonder Kid” jersey.
It’s not clear precisely where this is all going. But I think it’s fair to say that it will get worse before it gets better.
The episode’s other major plotline — Keeley’s need for just an ounce of “Me Time” away from Roy — is a new one, and one that seems to have been quickly resolved. (I should note that, having worked at the same organization with my wife not once but three times, I am supremely familiar with this dilemma. It may in fact be the closest I ever come to being Roy Kent.)
I’m not sure there’s much more that needs to be said about this one, except that Roy’s effort at self-correction is vastly more successful than Nate’s. If anyone associated with “Ted Lasso” wants to pay me to market the “‘Roy Is Sorry for Not Understanding Keeley’ playlist,” well, you know where to find me. I promise it will be a chart-topper.
So, Keeley and Roy are probably fine. Nate is getting worse. The Rebecca-Sam flirtation remains, for now, unresolved. And Ted’s manic-depressive turn requires further exploration. But don’t worry, Coach Lasso: We got you, babe.
(Lots of) Odds and Ends
Perhaps the biggest surprise of the episode was what didn’t happen. Last week concluded with the Big Reveal that Rebecca and Sam are romantic Bantr buddies — but that fact remains unrevealed to either of them. The episode reminded us that it was aware of this conundrum with its awkwardly-bumping-into-one-another scene, but that was it.
How great is it that Keeley and Roy each describe the other at one point as “the cat’s pajamas”?
Jan Maas’s role on the show has come into clearer focus, too. As a Dutchman, he has become the show’s inveterate truth-teller. When he sides with Jamie against Roy on the question of whether Jamie should crowd a teammate on the pitch — “He’s right, actually” — even Roy has no recourse but a frustrated obscenity.
Ted’s reference to the Jerky Boys and the post-caller-ID decline of crank calling hit me particularly hard, as I devoted considerable energy to that vocation as a young teen. If you lived in Connecticut in the 1980s and received a call from “Fran the Funky Man at WDOD Waterbury” asking you to sing three lines of a Rolling Stones song in exchange for concert tickets — well, I apologize.
Sharon’s line about needing to be Ted’s “tormentor” in order to be his “mentor” was a good one, but the subsequent exchange — Ted: “I like that”; Sharon: “I knew you would” — was priceless.
Are Higgins and his wife becoming one of the great televisual romances of the 21st century? I say yes. The “have you seen her dressed in blue” moment in the bravura, five-minute “She’s a Rainbow” sequence from Episode 5 may be the highest point of an overall series high point.
It was great to see Trent Crimm, who after his breakthrough role in Episode 3 of the first season (a.k.a. “the “Trent Crimm episode”) has become a kind of mascot for the show. But do more with him than having him seek a dumb, random quote from Ted. His screen time is precious!
I’m not certain how Roy feels, but if people tried to cover up talking about me by jazz scatting whenever I entered the room, I think I’d be OK with that.
As a premier Roy Kent fan from the start — I actually own a Kent jersey; I don’t get Nate’s issue with novelty gear — the idea that he is a fan of “The Da Vinci Code” is almost too terrible to bear. That said, his commentary, “You can’t put it down because the chapters are so short” is pretty spot on.
After a slow week last time, we’re back in the game on pop-culture references, including (in addition to those already mentioned): Vladimir Putin, “Sex and the City,” Glenn Close, “Citizen Kane,” “Ratatouille, and “Twelfth Night” (Mae’s “If music be the food of love….”). Please remind me of others I missed in comments.
Last week, folks pointed out that I should have cited Esther Perel and Brené Brown, and also offered two deep, deep cuts: The David-and-Goliath reference to “Steve Wiebe vs. Billy Mitchell” cited two past world champions of “Donkey Kong” (that was evidently a thing), and Ted’s voice mail greeting, “You gotta leave your name, leave your number…,” was a riff on an old “comic” answering-machine tape called Crazy Calls. (Hard as it is to believe, that was a thing, too.) Another reader pointed out that the Rebecca-Sam relationship parallels — in names at least — the romantic will-they-or-won’t they of Kirstie-Alley-era “Cheers.” I would say that’s a coincidence, but Jason Sudeikis is George Wendt’s nephew …
Source: Television - nytimes.com
