The White Lotus Season 3 Finale: A Haunting Fizzle Beneath the Waves
I could walk across the sands of my imagination and uncover a thousand words to describe the Season 3 finale of The White Lotus. Words scattered like seashells—or maybe bullet casings—across the dunes. They rise like mist from crashing waves, like seeds falling from a suicide tree.
All the warning signs I pointed out last week? They've not only come true—they’ve bloomed into full-blown narrative weeds. Spoilers ahead.
In Episode 8, “Amor Fati,” all the threads are technically tied off, though not with any grace. If the title means “love your fate,” then we’re being asked to embrace the bitter end of this meandering journey. But instead of feeling enriched or moved, I was left cold. There was little surprise, even less satisfaction. The only storyline with any emotional resonance left me genuinely sad—but not in the cathartic, brilliant way a tragedy should. It just left me empty. And the rest? Meandering, soulless slogs that limped toward an underwhelming conclusion.
By the time the curtains fell, I felt nothing for most of these characters. Nothing at all.
Maybe the Buddhist monk’s quote at the start of the episode was a warning: Don’t expect resolution. That’s life. And yes—that’s life. But this is television. And I am, frankly, far from pleased.
Let’s start with the gut punch: Rick (Walton Goggins) and Chelsea (Aimee Lou Wood) are the bodies at the end of this long, grim journey. And I do mean grim—not in the playful, dark-comedy way that defined the first two seasons, but in a genuinely bleak, joyless way. The White Lotus once had a pulse, a chaotic energy that made even its darkest moments sparkle with irony or absurdity. That energy is gone, replaced with a sourness that never lets up.
The first shots are fired from a gun introduced only in this episode—a sly subversion of Chekhov’s Gun. I’ve been tracking the firearms all season, so it almost felt like a wink when it turned out to be Jim Holinger’s (Scott Glenn). Minutes after meeting him, he’s dead—shot by Rick, whose fragile, hard-won peace is shattered by a revelation: his mother was a liar, his father no saint. That tiny sliver of calm Rick had finally found is blown to bits, and so is Holinger.
It’s a heavy, brutal moment—but also a rushed one. A tragic climax that might have landed harder if it hadn’t felt so hastily constructed.
Shocking absolutely no one who’s been paying attention, Rick finds out mere moments later that Jim was his father all along. I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise.
More surprising—tragically so—is the accidental shooting of Chelsea. She stumbles into Rick just moments after he’s taken Jim’s gun, and in a cruel twist of timing, becomes collateral damage in a moment charged with grief and confusion. She doesn’t listen when he begs her to leave. And so, just like that, she’s gone.
And here’s the kicker: this might have all been avoided. If Amrita (Shalini Peiris) had spoken to Rick—just taken a breath and connected with him—maybe he would’ve walked away from all of this. Maybe they’d have boarded a ferry and disappeared into some version of a happy ending. Even Zion (Nicholas Duvernay), the reluctant monk, didn’t want his meditation hour. He would’ve gladly given it up if it meant avoiding this blood-soaked climax.
But no one talks. No one stops. And so, everyone breaks.
In the end, the only couple I’d been rooting for all season—Rick and Chelsea—dies. And what could have been a gut-wrenching, tragic finale to a powerful arc instead lands with a hollow thud. It left me cold.
Not because the idea of Rick taking vengeance on the man he thought killed his father isn’t compelling—it is. In fact, it’s the only storyline this season that actually went anywhere. But even that ends in a tired cliché. A dramatic reveal that feels like it was pulled from the bottom of the trope barrel. You could almost hear Jim, with his dying breath, gasp: “Rick... I am your father... aagghh…”
What should have hit like a punch to the chest lands more like a shrug. It’s the final disappointment in a season that constantly flirted with greatness, only to settle, over and over again, for something far less.
The Russians? They get away with it. No consequences. Gaitok (Tayme Thapthimthong) never turns in Valentin (Arnas Fedaravicius), because, apparently, he's suddenly overcome with concern about hurting people. Valentin pleads his case—if they’re sent back to Russia, they’ll be executed. Touching, maybe. But then he shoots an unarmed man in the back. A man who, for all Gaitok knew, might have still been alive. A man carrying an unconscious, innocent woman in his arms.
But hey, Gaitok still gets the promotion. And the girl. And he drives Sritala (Lek Patravadi) to the funeral with a big smile. So I guess... some characters get a happy ending?
Meanwhile, the Gossip Girls finally stop gossiping long enough to have a heartfelt dinner conversation. Laurie (Carrie Coon) breaks down, reflects on her empty life, and delivers a vague epiphany: she doesn’t need God, or religion—just time. Or something like that. The takeaway? When your career is stalled, your marriage is over, and your teenager won’t talk to you, maybe clinging to old friends is the only raft you’ve got left.
That could’ve worked. That story might’ve mattered—if it had been given space to develop. But like nearly every subplot this season, it just drifted. Circling the same emotional drain without ever making a splash. Honestly, you could cut Laurie, the Russians, Gaitok, Mook (Lalisa Manobal)—cut all of them—and lose almost nothing of value. Maybe a couple hours of screen time. Maybe a tighter, more focused story.
But that’s not the story we got.
And then there are the Ratliffs.
Timothy (Jason Isaacs) almost poisons his entire family. Almost—a word that defines this season. He nearly poisons Saxon (Patrick Schwarzenegger), his eldest son, after a confession that’s as hollow as it is heartbreaking: Saxon is nothing without his career, a career forged in the image of his father. He’s trapped in a legacy, and the pressure is breaking him.
He nearly poisons his wife, Victoria (Parker Posey), because she admits her identity is tethered to wealth. Without it, she’s no one. And he nearly poisons his daughter, Piper (Sarah Catherine Hook), because she realizes she can’t stomach a life of minimalism and mindfulness. The Buddhist retreat isn’t for her—she’d rather have foie gras and luxury linens. Her mother’s words echo: It would be rude not to enjoy the life we have. We owe it to the poor to enjoy it on their behalf.
Throw out your ideals, sweetheart—they’re inconvenient.
And so Piper does. Just like that.
Maybe that’s the moral: convictions are luxuries we shed to survive. Or worse, they’re the things that get us killed.
Still, all that opulence is poised to burn. The empire is crumbling—Timothy knows it—but we never get to see it fall. There’s no collapse, only implication. On the boat, the cell phones are returned. Notifications pile up. Reality trickles back in. Timothy gazes out at the ocean, smiling into the distance, while the waves carry them toward the end of something.
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