Coinciding with the debut of Orange Is the New Black’s second season, the New York Civil Liberties Union has launched a campaign spotlighting what the organization calls “inhumane conditions” at Riverhead Correctional Facility, where the Netflix show is filmed. “Raw sewage bubbles from the floor, toilets explode, rodents and roaches infest the kitchens, black mold covers the walls, and drinking and bathing water runs brown and smells of sewage,” a rep says in the press release.
Horrible stuff, if true, But there’s a smidge of solace to be taken in Orange Is the New Black being used to draw attention to real-world prison problems. The first season of Jenji Kohan’s show about women behind bars earned wild acclaim and the biggest audience Netflix has yet seen for an original series, but a number of critics pointed out that its success had unsavory implications. Some said that while the show’s diversity should be praised, its stereotypes shouldn't be. Others pointed out that it sexed up the memoir it’s based off of, while neutering the book’s message about the injustice of the prison system.
Those critiques aren’t all wrong, at least from what I remember of gobbling up the first season last year. But I’m nevertheless sitting here feeling mostly guilt-free for having binged the first six episodes of the second season—and ready to dive into the next seven.
The fact is, the show is ridiculously fun, and given the subject matter, that's a radical virtue. Using the privileged white Piper as a “Trojan horse” into a world rarely depicted on TV, and pumping up the personalities of a supporting cast that’s by a huge factor more diverse that any rival show, Kohan has grabbed a lot of peoples’ attention. At the very least, that means prisoners, usually forgotten by pop culture, are now front of mind. At the very most—well, let’s see what Season 2 does. From what I can tell so far, it’s like the first one but more in almost every way: more fun, more crass, more ridiculous, and also, yes, more conscientious.
Below, I’ve jotted down quick reviews of each the first six episodes. I’ll be updating as I get through the rest of the season in the week to come (the plan is to take this slower than my last three-day House of Cards marathon). So, spoilers ahead, in chronological order—don’t read further than you’ve watched.
Episode 1: “Thirsty Bird”
So much for the ensemble. This was a gutsy move--returning with an hour where the various Gif-making secondary characters who’d turned your show into a cult success were nowhere to be found.
But I think it worked. Focusing in tightly on Piper, and then disorienting her with a plane flight and a new penitentiary, gave the audience a taste of the maddening effects of solitary confinement—while lengthen the tension from last season’s cliffhanger over Pennsatucky’s fate. Taylor Schilling’s lip-trembling fright as she moved from one mysterious, ferrying vessel to another felt genuine, even if I didn’t share it: It seemed a lot more likely that she’d be headed to freedom than to life in supermax without a trial, and the twist was that she was headed to neither. Everyone elses’ indifference to her panic made for a hilarious and moving juxtaposition. In prison as often in life, indifference is the default—whether it’s because people are too busy bantering about their romantic conquests (i.e. piggish guards who no longer say “bitch”) or fighting their own inner battles (the woman scared of flying). Schilling might submit for her Emmy reel that plane-seat breakdown over the memory of clobbering Doggett; I’ll more likely remember her neighbor’s blasé reaction.
The trappings of the new prison may be different from Litchfield—less freedom, more men, altogether scarier to Piper—but the show seemed to be saying that the experience is fundamentally the same. You still have your zany band of characters, many of whom are damaged, sorting into cliques. You still have your cabin-feverish rituals—roach training rather than chicken-spotting, this time. And you still have Piper’s identity separating her from the pack, both through the reactions of others—take the assassin-not-rapist who singles her out on the plane—and through Piper’s own behavior. She tries to play it cool with the roach gang at first, but also can’t help but hold herself apart.
That exceptionalism, we’ve seen before, gets her into trouble. Larry’s dad makes a pretty inarguable case for why she shouldn’t lie on the stands, but Piper’s so in her head, so obsessed with some abstract notions of rightness and loyalty despite learning time and again that she has to fend for herself and not trust Alex, that she convinces herself that the correct thing to do is perjure herself. This backfires in every way: morally, legally, and personally. She’s furious when she finds out Alex went back on her word at the last minute, but Alex was correct earlier in the episode when she diagnosed how inconsistent Piper’s worldview is: “Jesus, it is so hard to keep up with what is black and white for you.”
I expect this detour to Chicago will be over soon—though perhaps not for a few episodes, which might explain the news that Laura Prepon is only appearing a couple times this season—and we’ll be back with our friends at Lichtfield. I’m surprised how little I missed them this hour; Kohan delivered that old blend of humor and banality and potty jokes with all-new inmates. Regina Spektor might have to revise her lyrics—everything really isn’t all that different the second time around.
Best banter: “He’s a hitman? I thought he was a rapist. I’m so relieved!”
Episode 2: “Looks Blue, Tastes Red”
Ahh, repentance via an hour of fan service. No complaints here, really, other than the vague fear that the faithful formula—all the fun old friends comfortably bantering and undercutting, a hijinks-enabling jailhouse premise (the mock interview, complete with fashion show), a quip montage, a perfectly tear-jerking backstory—will get old eventually. Right?
Danielle Brooks may be the most delightful actress in the ensemble, so it was wonderful to see Taystee’s back-story fleshed out. “I’m a product of the system, I don’t know right from wrong,” she says at one point, but it’s obviously a joke: Even as a kid, she had a code, trying to avoid the drug trade for as long as possible. The only part of her that’s a product of the system is her prison jumpsuit. She really had no choice but to join the drug trade, which is depicted not as a foreboding criminal enterprise but rather as a source of warmth, comfort, family, and education for its practitioners.
If there’s anyone who’s compromised morally, it’s Vee, the mother figure who shows up as an inmate at the end. (A reveal that’s only a little less powerful for the show having done something similar last season). She coaxed a sweethearted little girl into a dangerous life of crime; typically, even the most complicated TV antiheroes try not to pass their habits onto their kids. But as we see, her adoption of Taystee is, in Vee’s eyes, an altruistic act—the only way to achieve money and respect in their world, she says, is through the hustle. Whether she’s right or wrong, it’s a point of view that deserves airing given that the vast majority of people filling America’s prisons today are there on drug-related charges.
The notion of alternately corrupting and shepherding the young and innocent shows up in a few other ways during the episode. There’s the matronly fight over Daya’s bowel movements (that’s two for two episodes where excrement makes up a substantial subplot; I hope this pattern doesn’t hold). There’s Polly, flashing her boobs in what’s obviously some narrative preparation for Larry to make a pass at her, talking about how she and her husband will inevitably screw up their kid. And there’s Maria in the visiting area, wondering how long it’ll be before her newborn daughter can start forming memories. She hopes she can be back in the kid’s life before then.
The message seems to be that the world will mess you up no matter what. But peoples’ essential essence—in Taystee’s case, the traits she lists onstage (positivity and good memory), plus a wicked sense of humor—remain. So don’t judge Vee too harshly. Yet.
Best banter: Black Cindy bringing some Naderism to Lichtfield when talking about Philip Morris: “Nah they aint so bad. The people can decide for themselves if they wanna smoke. The real evil is them companies killing us without our consent. Monanto. Rio Tinto. Big Pharma. BP. Halliburton. I’ve been reading there’s some dark shit goin’ down. Not that those motherfuckers are ever gonna hire us! The real criminals? They don’t bother with small timers.”
Episode 3: “Hugs Can Be Deceiving”
The give-fans-what-they-want OITNB comeback tour continues: an episode for Crazy Eyes! A+ to the casting department for finding an adorable kid version of Uzo Aduba. And A+ to Uzo Aduba for continuing to play Suzanne Warren as a kooky but self-aware, broken but hopeful, utterly unique soul. Her character’s backstory answered a lot of questions about her, but raised a few more. Like, it’s still unclear if Crazy Eyes is indeed crazy, or just eccentric. Her breakdown on stage at graduation seems more or less to be purposeful rebellion; her one on stage at the Christmas recital is the echo of that trauma; her punching of Piper as if she’s Suzanne’s mom is, well, sorta psychotic.
Her storyline worked well enough, though, as a reintroduction of one of the show’s main themes: tribalism, and more specifically, race. Suzanne would have been treated differently as a kid, probably, if she was white or her family was black. But being black doesn’t mean she fits in with the other black girls at Litchfield—she’s too weird. But she’s weird in part because of her childhood.
The Caucasians have their issues too. Pensatucky’s new mouth alienates her from her meth-head friends (who air a question we all wondered last season: “Why’re you talking like one of those puppets with a hand up its butt?”). Brooke Soso gets invited to join the whites despite being part Asian (anyone else getting hipster grifter vibes from her, and not just because of ethnicity?). And Piper is trying to redefine herself as a lone wolf—a fact that only will worsen her “specialness” complex, which multiple characters pointed out.
But while race can be a tenuous bond, it’s still a significant one in a place like Lichtfield. Vee represents the elder leader that the black girls have been missing. In that final scene, we see white matriarch Red watch her new/old rival regain power, and then Latina matriarch Gloria find cause for a new grudge when she tastes those stale cigarettes. Coming up: a race war?
Best banter: The black girls’ celebrity guessing game, featuring Taystee and Poussey’s telepathic bond. “Crazy dude who believes in aliens?” “Tom Cruise!”
Episode 4: “A Whole Other Hole”
After Girls, Bridesmaids, and Sarah Silverman’s cultural reign, the idea that women can be just as raunchy as men probably shouldn’t come across as radical. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a work of entertainment drive at that idea as fearlessly—and filthily—as this episode just did.
It’s not just that the show is inverting the tropes of male-dominated comedy. It’s that it’s really smartly making them distinct. When Big Boo and Nicky strike up their own version of a frat-comedy sexual conquest competition, you quickly realize how much untilled territory there is in the realm of lesbian-lust trash talk—“I’m like a bean-flicking Mother Teresa,” goes one choice line. The extended “pee-hole” investigation might be a comment on how female anatomy remains too mysterious and taboo in the public imagination, but it’s definitely an awesome chance to reinforce just how unambiguous Sophia Burset’s sex is. And when Vee warns Taystee against going “gay for the stay,” it’s a reminder that homophobia exists in part to build power hierarchies—and that female friendships can be policed just as closely as male ones.
One gripe: The show has kept its tendency to go for the predictable punchline or plot development. I could have, for example, outlined how that chemo scene would go as soon as I saw the kid playing Fruit Ninja on his phone.
On the other hand, the Lorna stuff genuinely surprised me, and not just because it seems impossible an inmate would be left alone with van keys for three hours. It’s long been clear that Morello’s been trumping up her relationship with Christopher, but to have her turn out to be a disturbed, delusional, violent stalker—without really any sort of extenuating circumstance like the other inmates have for their crimes—is cruel to the character but possibly a courageous move on the show’s part. Not every quirkily entertaining person behind bars should be revealed as fundamentally pure and innocent.
After all, almost none of the characters outside bars are. Larry and Poppy’s flirtation at the bagel shop is executed well as TV but is just hard to watch because you’re meant to hate these two characters, especially Larry. That baby is judging them, and so are we.
Best banter: I already mentioned Nicky and Big Boo’s interactions, so instead I’ll go with Big Boo talking to Piper after she failed to pimp out Soso. “You know, she’s right, Chapman,” Boo says between laughs. “You’re a horrible person!”
Episode 5: “Low Self Esteem City”
“All problems are boring till they’re your own,” Red tells Chapman, but luckily Orange Is the New Black is proving her wrong. This episode was a discursive as they come, peaking into the lives of characters I’d forgotten have lives (Healy?!), and making them at the very least engaging. The density of jokes and ideas seems to be only rising; if I keep pausing to write down the good lines and interesting developments, I’ll never finish this thing.
The main arc of the season so far hasn’t really been about Piper but rather about the tensions between cliques in the prison, a fact that allows the show to connect with social issues more clearly. At the episode’s start, the Latinas’ showers flood with brown gunk—eerily reminiscent of the New York Civil Liberties Union’s description of the real women’s prison they film at. This sets off a chain of maneuverings, feints, and power grabs, none of which I will compare to Game of Thrones. Instead, I’ll note how the characters see themselves in a battle that’s bigger than Lichtfield. It’s funny to see both the Latinas and blacks invoke race—“They’re fucking with us this way cuz they knows our people’s predisposition for hypertension!” “It’s like they’re getting special privileges, and we’re black people!” But it also feels important when Janae mentions how African-Americans are incarcerated for longer. If one person Googles “stop and frisk” because of this show, it’ll have done a mitzvah.
Meanwhile, the whites are whiling away the days with their carnal competition (add “I am the sexual Steve Jobs” to the Nicky-quip hall of fame) while enforcing class divides within their own ranks. “What’re you playing?” Pensatucky asks the non-hillbilly gals. The answer: “A game as old as time: exclusion.”
Gloria’s backstory probably won’t placate anyone bothered by the way this show can indulge in trope-y, seen-it-before characterizations. But she’s a character who’s always seemed sturdy yet sad—and now we know why. While I suppose we’re meant to pump our fists at the abusive husband burned alive, it might be worth wondering, given all the “Catholic Plus” mysticism we’ve seen, whether the image of someone perishing in captivity should be considered an omen.
Best Banter: Vee: “Those girls need to learn some manners.” Suzanne: “I know what you’re saying. Fork on the left, knife on the right. Little fork… on the outer left.”
Episode 6: “You Also Have a Pizza”
Sure, go ahead and gag at the inmate confessionals on the meaning of love. But save some annoyance for the fact that it’s the odious “Hey There Delilah” that sets a wistful tone for the first Poussay flashback.
Sorry for the grouchiness. The Valentines’ spiels were actually funny, and any cloying quotient they had was nicely undercut when we learned that Chapman was using the fluff interviews as a front for investigations of the prison’s financial irregularities.
At this point, the show has presented few to no depictions of real, lasting, meaningful romantic love. As Piper reflects, her two relationships—one with someone sexy and screwed up, the other with someone sweet and loser-ish—have mostly evaporated, with Piper dissing Larry as “the moon.” Other than that, what do we have? Daya and Bennett, a relationship that has always struck me as stilted and morally icky, and that now has led to a contraband/blackmail scheme. Larry finally making that pass at Polly, at (thankfully) an inopportune time. The specter of Pornstache, mercifully still unseen this season, writing a letter to Daya. Poussey, pining futily for Tasty. And that old lady wandering about, looking for Jack who’ll never come
The real examples of love, as the show is eager to point out, are sisterly or maternal. Red’s son welds his way through a manhole into camp, even as his mom chides him for mistreating his girlfriend. Flaca and Maritza kiss and then realize just how important and platonic their affection really is. And in closing montage, Healy and Pensatucky reignite their friendship—the one that almost got Piper killed last season.
Best banter: The Latinas win the what-is-love competition, easily:
Flaca: It’s like getting into a bath but the water is like warm, chocolate pudding. And The Smiths are playing, “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out.” There’s mood lighting all over, and there’s like five dudes massaging you.
Maritza: And you have a pizza.
Flaca: She’s right. You also have a pizza.