Mystery versus suspense: What HBO’s White Lotus can teach us about how genres work...
While also helping define our own personal preferences for story, theme, structure and pacing, which can help when we sit down to write our novels
Among my writer and editor friends, there are two kinds of people: those who roll their eyes when the subject of genre comes up because genre distinctions can lock writers into boxes, and those who admit to being puzzled by what the differences actually mean and find the issue worth discussing.
I am in the second, smaller category. I’m not concerned about labels from a “where to shelve this” marketing and promotion perspective. I’m interested in how genre expectations actually shape story. When I’m working out a plot and structure, deciding which way I should lean doesn’t restrict me unproductively—it actually gives me new ideas. (I’ve made this sound like a paradox but in truth, restrictions often facilitate creativity.)
Admittedly, I also think it’s cool that a whale shark isn’t a whale at all, but rather an enormous slow-moving and peaceful shark that filter feeds. (See how it is like a whale?) If I had any questions about what a whale shark is and isn’t, including what they eat, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable swimming with the behemoths on a trip to the Philippines some years back, because let me tell you—I am terrified of sharks.
Which brings me to HBO’s White Lotus, another charismatic behemoth up for Emmy Awards again in early July. What the heck is it?
Online descriptions run the gamut, calling this series—which finished its second season in December and is slated to return for a third season—a black comedy, social satire, or comedy drama.
It can also be called a mystery, because in both seasons one (set in Hawaii) and two (set in Sicily), a body is found or washes up, and the rest of the season builds to a revelation of the identity of the victim, which will help us understand—but only at the 11th hour—who might have committed the murder. When that puzzle piece clicks into place, we as patient viewers will already know the why, having watched nearly every character in the show do something reprehensible or fatally foolish.
As many critics noted, the first season was more about class conflict and white privilege, with cringeworthy scenes involving entitled guests abusing the hospitality of locals and hotel employees. The second season is focused on sexual indiscretions; among the plotlines are that of son Albie, plus his duplicitous father and lecherous grandfather, all of whom get tangled up with two enterprising sex workers named Lucia and Mia.
In another plotline, the one I’ll be focusing on, a haughty and oblivious heiress named Tanya, played by Jennifer Coolidge, is befriended by a group of gay men who make her feel like a diva. Tanya’s assistant Portia, played by Haley Lu Richardson, goes along for the ride and ends up having a fling with a superficially charming guy named Jack who is hiding some secrets.
Any of these people could find themselves on either side of a murderous conflict. What’s so wonderful about the show is that even if you forget about the dead body question, each episode enacts more basic conflicts, character weaknesses, and social issues that frankly, matter more in our everyday lives: infidelity, power hunger, oblivious racism, casual cruelty. The actual murder is a bit of a side issue. What really makes us squirm in White Lotus are the relationships.
In fact, the relationships themselves are mysterious. As Daphne, who has reconciled herself to the whims of her chronically unfaithful jerk-of-a-husband Cameron, says to Ethan, who believes his wife has had an affair, “You spend every second with somebody, and there’s still this part that’s a mystery. … It’s kind of sexy.”
But let’s get back to the high-stakes murder and genre question.
In season one, the wonderful, puffy-lipped character Tanya was played mostly for laughs. In season two, she finds herself in more nuanced emotional territory. After Greg, her new husband, departs the vacation abruptly following some emergency calls from home, she makes friends with a group of fun-loving gay men who welcome her as their new diva, bringing her to a palazzo that one of the men is struggling to keep up. In a poignant scene, the men take her to see the opera Madame Butterfly; we watch Tanya, tearing up, mouth the words “thank you.”
Tanya is no longer just a butt of jokes—unless she is, and these men are playing her.
At this point, for the first time in many White Lotus episodes, I feel a deep sense of “Oh no!” Certainly, I’ve watched other characters head slowly toward emotional cliffs, with dangerous rocks below. But this time, I feel a deeper dread and less inevitability. Maybe it’s because creator Mike White has nailed a character’s deepest flaw and need, and then almost given it to her before threatening to whisk it away. Maybe, too, the development unfolding, in comparison to other White Lotus plotlines, feels less like a one-time vacation mistake—a quick, bad decision attributable to drugs or drinks, or a confession or fling that might be easily forgotten.
Mike White, by this point in season two, has taken one of the least “likable” characters from season one and made us like her—or more importantly, understand her, which is all that really matters, and why the whole “like/don’t like” issue in fiction is a canard. It’s a great “character-first” lesson for any suspense writer. First, we have to understand and care deeply about a character; only then will we feel our mirror neurons fire up when that character ends up in trouble.
My own assumptions at this juncture are that Quentin and “the gays” (as Tanya keeps calling them, offensively and obliviously) are going to humiliate or con her. Following on the show’s previous theme, I assume the thing at stake, aside from her sense of self, is money. Already, that’s a suspenseful situation. But then, with the rest of the subplots beginning to wrap up, the show takes a turn.
SPOILER AHEAD. If you must exit, leave us a comment!
OK, let’s keep going!
The set-up seems to be suggesting “the gays” simply want Tanya to invest in restoring that palazzo of Quentin’s—and boy, she could have been convinced! They all could have been happy, even if the situation required long-term mild duplicity—an exchange of continuing “You look fabulous!” compliments for Tanya’s cash, which is in ready supply. In season one, she promised but failed (cringe) to give it to a deserving Black woman would-be entrepreneur named Belinda1, so why not spend it here, in Sicily?
But something more is at stake.
Here, in the final episode, I suggest, White Lotus goes from mystery to true Hitchcockian suspense.
There are many ways to distinguish the two genres. For example, mystery appeals more to the intellect—the reader/watcher stays busy piecing together the clues. Suspense appeals to the emotions—the reader may be so enthralled that she forgets about clues and is simply on the edge of her seat, worrying about the character and what will happen next.
But it’s equally helpful to think about information and where the reader/watcher sits in relation to the characters. In mystery, the reader/watcher is often well behind the characters, including the person who committed the crime, but often others as well, from allies to a know-it-all inspector who is waiting for the final scene to lay out everything that happened, Hercule Poirot-style.
In suspense, on the other hand, the reader/watcher is often ahead of the characters. But how far ahead, and when is this pattern subverted?
For some but not all of season two, we had the sense that Tanya might be a “mark” for the gay men. We also had a slowly developing sense that Portia, her assistant, was making a bad decision to run around with playboy Jack instead of dating nice guy Albie back at the hotel.
If we had known all this for sure, the episodes might have dragged. I kept telling Portia from the beginning—out loud, and yes I can be an annoying TV-watching companion—that she should pick Albie, not Jack. (I also kept telling her how confounding I found some of her outfits but did she listen? Never.)
At one point, Portia made an insightful comment about her propensity for throwing away winning lottery tickets, so I knew she and I were on the same page. But then she and Jack had some innocent fun and I questioned my desire for her to pick the nice boy. Why should every vacation fling turn into something serious? Sometimes, you just need to hang out and eat arrancini.
Likewise, I thought the gay men and Tanya might actually turn out to be a healthy, mutually gratifying social match. It was possible. Doesn’t everyone need a buxom diva with great hair at their parties?
Then Jack starts drinking too much. He’s pushy. He sprawls across the whole mattress. And then…Portia’s phone disappears.
For me, this was the most credibly suspenseful turn. Get away from that dude, Portia! We know, as she does not, that Jack is involved in some funny business with his “uncle.” Even aside from that, he seems controlling and mercurial. Just leave. Forget the phone. Slip away!
In the Tanya subplot, we get on the yacht back to the hotel with Tanya and her hosts, and Tanya spots a photo of a cowboy who looks suspiciously like the man she recently married in season one. (Some critics have pointed out the unlikeliness of this plot point but I was having too much fun watching actress Jennifer’s Coolidge incredible face as she struggled to put two and two together, and still ended up with three. What the hell is going on?)
Portia can’t seem to get away from Jack. Tanya can’t get off the boat, and now the male sex worker who was hired to sleep with her is also onboard, ready for round two, but carrying a black bag. What’s in that bag? Did you really think that this young male escort was hot for you? Tanya, get out of there!
Let me pause this analysis to say that the show didn’t lack action and peril in the other subplots. Previously, Ethan became suspicious that his wife Harper slept with his college friend, nasty Cameron. Suspicions partially confirmed, he stalks down to the beach and into the ocean, where he and Cameron get into an “I’ll drown you first” testosterone-fueled tussle that’s a neat match for our knowledge that at least one person will drown in this show. In many ways, it’s too neat a match. (Clever you, Mike White.)
But again, let’s look at genre. From the time we know Ethan wants to drown Cameron to the time another tourist intervenes, separating them, is a matter of seconds. In Hitchcockian terms, we had only just become aware of the time bomb under the table, and then the bomb exploded. (Without killing anyone.) The result is plenty of action, a little excitement, a suspenseful moment, but not great suspense.
But back to the analysis of Tanya and Portia, which we left hanging. Because leaving things hanging is what this legit-suspense subplot does exceedingly well.
So, what does happen?
SPOILER ALERT TWO.
Jack lets Portia out of the car, tossing her phone at her, and tells her to get to the airport, velocemente. There’s no question she got off lucky. He was either merely going to keep her away from Tanya, our character in deepest peril, or he or one of his pals was going to murder Portia, who unfortunately, knows a little too much.
Tanya doesn’t get off so easily. Back on the yacht, her suspicions are confirmed. In a phenomenal, three-minute-long scene, Tanya runs to a bedroom with the male escort’s bag, which is revealed to be full of duct tape, rope, and a gun. The ringleader knocks repeatedly on the door. In between inarticulate gasps, she keeps answering, “In a minute!” to which he comically replies, “This isn’t a bathroom. … Should we have a little talk?”
Meanwhile, she’s got that gun pointed at the door—until the door opens. Tanya fires. The camera stays on her face and the gun as it fires, again and again. Mike White’s decision to keep our attention on her emotions, not the people she is mowing down, is brilliant. After all, who do we care about most? And how better to capture the surreality of the moment and put us inside the head of a character who probably can’t even see or process what she’s doing?
Finally, we see the carnage. Quentin and his friends lay dying. Her worst fears are confirmed: Mr. “I’ll take you to the opera” was actually in cahoots with Greg, Tanya’s husband. Tanya’s prenup stipulated that Greg wouldn’t get her money in case of a divorce, but death—yes.
Tanya almost gets away with killing her would-be murderers, but as she tries to jump from the yacht into a tender, she hits her head and drowns. Story over. (Evidently, Jennifer Coolidge wanted a different ending, but too bad!)
If you’ve stayed with me this long, you probably watched and enjoyed White Lotus. If you’re a reader and especially if you’re a writer, you might think about which subplot and genre aspect engaged and entertained you the most, which you’re still thinking about, and which you’ve forgotten entirely.
There are so many good storylines and performances I didn’t comment on, as well as relationship questions that appeal to both the intellect and the emotions. Why do people pick the mates they do? Can a relationship survive serial infidelity? Will boorish male behavior never end, even if each generation wants to believe they are better than their fathers?
Examining which subplots and moments played out best for you, personally, is a great way to know your fiction tastes and to set yourself some challenges. Do you want to write a story in which the characters know more than the reader? Do you want to experiment with maximum suspense instead, allowing the reader to stay ahead of the characters at least some of the time, and how do you earn that? Can you juggle multiple storylines, satisfying the reader with each one, even if they aren’t all leading to the main climax? Can you make us care about seemingly unlikable people? Can you pack insightful cultural commentary within a swift-moving genre plot? Can you do all of this and also please us with a fabulous setting?
(Okay, those are some high expectations. GAME ON!)
I can’t wait for White Lotus season three, in which—it has been hinted—we might just get to see some of our favorite characters return, via prequel scenes.
But good thing it won’t be available for a while. Because I have to turn off the TV and get back to my latest suspense manuscript: unlikable characters, bad decisions, ticking time bombs and all.
I love the idea that suspense is about emotion and mystery is about intellect. Gah! I will think about that for a long time.
Wow, thank you for this incredible breakdown! This has me thinking about suspense vs mystery in a totally new way.