Curb Your Enthusiasm
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After ajam-packed premiere,Curbsettles into Atlantas slower, more Southern pace.
(Cue Alan Ruck gazing into the abyss of a pointillist painting inFerris Buellers Day Off.)
But in Larry we must trust.
In the final season of any show, every episode has to pull its weight.
Larry is still Larry in Atlanta, but theres a different complexion to this episode.
What the fuck is that?
(That with some truffle oil and sea salt.
Lines like these always affirm my trust in Larry.
The man has taste.
Larry gets out of jail with the help of a lawyer sent by Jeff.
The lawyer is the spitting image of Mocha Joe, Larrys arch-nemesis from seasons seven and ten.
After Mocha Joe, Esq.
With his unintentional act of resistance, hes become a liberal darling overnight.
(What did Jesus say?
I was thirsty, and you gave me water.)
Even Bruce Springsteen calls him Larry Involvement David.
Thus begins an odyssey to replace it because Susie is not eating that security deposit.
So Larry decides to paint a white jockey with Jeffs hair dye.
Sure enough, it starts melting off his face in the heat likeRudy Giuliani.
The 2020 reference might feel somewhat dated if not for Trumps imminent revival.
The specter of Trump haunts us all, including Larry.
The best parts ofCurbare arguably the quippy observations between plot points.
Its the kind of random observational humor Larry David does best.
(The beans!)
And so, in a very Trumpian move, he fires him.
But will karma do its thing and prove the Mocha Joe-attorney relationship to be more than a coincidence?
Could Mocha Joe return for vengeance on Latte Larry?
I can only speculate that Guerras reprisal means scones may be on the horizon.
Thats until the Black jockey is discovered in his car.
It speaks to the duality of public versus private persona, Larry as Creator and Larry as subject.
Will the real Larry hey stand up?
In his final act, Larry is teetering between the two poles of an ever-divided nation.
And, like any American story, this one can only be settled in court.
Leonisms
Look, this whole Black lawn jockey shit is bullshit anyway.
You know, it should be something more respectable.
Like a fucking Black lawn doctor with a stethoscope around his fucking neck.
To an LD-fanboy passerby: And youre the guy wearing a sweater tied around his motherfuckin neck.
While shopping for Susie: What do you buy a person who already has bullshit like this bullshit?
Not an -ism, just a fit: Cow-print jacket with olive-green sleeves.
