Aug 20, 2020
Looking Recap: Three-Ways And Hot Cheetos! Who Could Ask For Anything More?
Things are moving fast for our gays on “Looking.” Patrick (Jonathan Groff), Agustin (Frankie J. Alvarez) and Dom (Murray Bartlett) are all hurtling forward in their lives in this week’s episode.
They’re taking leaps before they look into the more grownup side of adulthood and facing the consequences of their decisions, for better and worse, with all the ageism, classism, racism, homophobia and culture clash you can handle in a 30-minute HBO dramedy.
Patrick preps his starting-to-get-serious beau Richie (Raúl Castillo) to meet his friends at Dom’s 40th birthday picnic in the park. As Richie starts asking questions about the who’s who, we find out that Dom entered into the group because he once hooked up with Patrick.
Oh, that conveniently got left out, Richie remarks. No, no, it’s not like that, as we know. But Richie’s apprehension is already peeking its little head.
“Frankly, I think I’m too old for him now,” Patrick says, and we know this is actually true because he’s 29. And then Patrick sticks his foot in his mouth calling Richie his boyfriend, to which Richie pokes fun, as boyfriends do.
But Richie’s in. And he gives Patrick a copy of his necklace he had mentioned before, which is something you give someone for good luck. It’s special to him, so therefore Patrick is special, too. Awwwwww. We are already picking out thrift store curtains for them.
We get to see Dom again, hanging out with his silver fox and his upper crust, opera-lovin’ friends who purr when they talk, who happen to be potential restaurant financiers. Dom gives his peri-peri chicken pitch, but they seem a bit underwhelmed.
That unenthusiastic response piles onto what he’s already stressed and morose about: his upcoming digit changes. Dom is fervently holding onto to his last few hours as a 39-year-old in Pacific Standard Time, to which Lynn (Scott Bakula) gives a hearty, slow, forced 50-something laugh.
“Grindr emails you a death certificate,” Dom says exasperated at the thought of being middle-aged and cruising for old wrinkly cock. Lynn puts him in his place, telling him that for his 40th he and his friends ate mushrooms on a canoe floating down the Russian River.
“Maybe you’re self-issuing your death certificate a little early,” Lynn says. “Have fun sulking in the park.”
Meanwhile, Agustin busies himself ripping photos of CJ (T.J. Linnard), his rent-boy subject, fucking anonymous dudes off the wall in true self-hating artist mode. His significant other Frank (O.T. Fagbenle), who we are starting to truly love and question why the hell he bothers with Agustin, consoles to no avail.
As the two stop by the mini mart to pick up supplies for the festivities, Agustin waxes poetic explaining his sudden light-hearted attitude toward life and art. “CJ does what he wants when he wants, and he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself,” he tells Frank.
And, yes, the Agustin we knew minutes before is gone and instead he plans to live the same way as that free-spirited trollop. Yes, we should all look to prostitutes for nuggets of wisdom. That’s getting your money’s worth.
Really, we think Agustin has been doing this all along, but who are we? And then he says something shitty to Frank about being the black guy who brings hot Chee-tos to the party.
“Cheetos are fucking delicious,” Frank deadpans back. “Fact.” He doesn’t mind explaining himself one little cheesy bit. We heart Frank, did me mention that?
Doris (Lauren Weedman) is her faghaggy self, as usual. “Did he impregnate you?” she asks as the Dom explains how he and Lynn can make it work. The restaurant, that is. To which he says, we are gay men and we can be friends without fucking, which we think is the main premise of the show, right? Showing straight America that gay men do other stuff besides stick dicks in asses.
And Doris, because she’s Doris, has the perfect comeback. Yes, God forbid that you, Dom, might have sexual relations with someone who is not half his age and could actually care about him. Preach, sister.
Dom politely explains that it’s not good to have relations with people you work with, to which Doris points out is total bullshit coming from the guy who has banged an endless barrage of bus boys with whom he has been gainfully employed. “This is different,” Dom says.
Richie and Patrick arrive at the park and the first person they meet is shitty Agustin. Patrick’s work friend Owen’s (Andrew Law) girlfriend immediately gets to the point. “So this is your boyfriend?” emphasis on the word boyfriend, which Agustin immediately zeroes in on.
“Well, let’s raise a Capri Sun to that,” Agustin says, because he’s a bitch. Then he says something catty about the necklace Patrick is wearing, getting in his passive-aggressive digs at Richie who he has known for all of five minutes. There is also a little Latin American elitism there, too, with Agustin getting his a Cuban vs. Mexican dig in.
Then they all deliberate about whether Patrick’s voice is totally gay, you know like those gays the straights make fun of, which is totally OK I guess when gays make fun of? And then the mincing begins in jest, just as his bossman Kevin (Russell Tovey) arrives with his boyfriend Jon (Joseph Williamson). Jon, it turns out, is the new sports medicine guy for the San Francisco Giants and is moving to town full-time, squashing Patrick’s little crush.
And then Patrick steps into it, as he always does, sort of showing his embarrassment at Richie’s job cutting hair. But he is saved from nibbling on his big toe because is piñata and hooker time! CJ shows up, and it’s not awkward at all, except it totally is.
“You want some Cheetos?” Frank offers because he’s lovely.
“I fucking love Cheetos,” CJ answers dead seriously.
And then flowers are delivered for Dom—at the park. Sophisticated.
And guess what? Agustin gets even shittier. And Richie is there to hear it. “You’re slumming, and it isn’t cute,” he tells Patrick as Richie rounds the light pole. Richie confronts him, as he should, and they part still not friends.
Yet, they party on, get stoned, the straights make out, and Dom gets picked up on by a young dude with massive muscles. He’s been terrified that the moment he turned 40 he wouldn’t get any play, yet when he does, he doesn’t seem all that excited about it. Hmmmm. Is he perhaps thinking about a mature fella as more than money, we mean a friend, for the first time?
Richie is badass, have we mentioned that? He calls out Patrick on his shit, asking if he’s embarrassed by him and puts him on the spot for not having his back when Agustin was being a jerk.
Instead of eating crow filet, Patrick ups the ante, asking Richie to go with him to his sister’s wedding. “After how today went? Now you want to throw me at your family? I don’t think so.” But then they start making out, and we assume he’s probably picking out his suit in his head already with Patrick’s tongue down his throat. Even badasses make bad decisions when it comes to sex and love, just like everyone else.
Apres-sex, we see Patrick staring naked in the mirror, probably questioning whether he is moving too fast and what his motivations really are with his new boyfriend, but of course he’s totally going to keep on doing it anyway.
Back at the Oakland love shack, Agustin, Frank and CJ go for a cinematic three-way. Agustin, who is always so quick to judge others yet just goes with the flow when it’s his thang, films Frank and CJ going for it. The last shot we see him is when he’s slowly putting the camera down with a sad face. Who’s slumming now? Just because you call it art doesn’t make it good for the soul. Consequences.
A little punch drunk, Dom shows up at Lynn’s door to thank him for the flowers. They get stoned and watch cartoons, and then Lynn drops the bomb. The fancy men turned down the idea for Dom’s restaurant, but Lynn wants to go it alone and have a pop-up restaurant for one night, on his tab.
Dom misinterprets this as a come-hither move and goes in for the kiss, to which Lynn squashes his ego. Turns out, Lynn actually doesn’t like mixing business with pleasure, y’know, like Dom. Feeling 40 and Foxy yet, Dom?