“When you love someone hard, when they do something to you, it hurts way harder.”
That’s the difference between a good reality TV franchise and a middling one. When the stakes are low, it doesn’t matter how cutting the jab. The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City isn’t just enticing because of its costumed fights in gorgeous scenery, it’s special because when these ladies fight, we believe them—especially when family gets involved.
So it’s only fitting that Lisa Barlow’s lawsuit luncheon ends in the most surprising fashion possible: a beautiful kumbaya. Of course, that comes after some more stabs in each direction, Lisa claiming Angie only owns one-and-a-half of the seven Lunatic Fringe salons, while Angie hits back, “You do french fries, I do franchise.”
She’s certainly had that one in her head for a few months, and it probably could’ve stayed there. But the reason Angie K. is endearing isn’t because she’s the alpha, despite her center snowflake status. It’s because she’s still Angie “K.” despite the other Angie’s disappearance, and her little barbs are as desperate as they are funny.
As Heather brings the group together, reminding every lady “you don’t need to go low, you don’t need to go lower,” Lisa raises a glass to her bride tribe: “To friends that love hard and hurt hard,” reminding the ladies once again that she grew up differently. That’s why she defends herself so abrasively.
With that, the ladies lay down their armor and decide to be perfectly nice, well-behaved women for the rest of time. In search of penance, Lisa devotes herself to charity, welcoming a lowly peasant to the Vida lounge. That pleb? Bronwyn Newport.
The two may have spent the first three episodes rooting for each other’s demise, but they’ve come to a new understanding. Why, exactly, that is may depend on how sincerely you believe in their friendship. I believe in it about as much as I believe anything else Bronwyn does.
The sincerity comes not from a desire to be friends, but a desire to be equals. Bronwyn wants to be a Salt Lake City big dog, and there’s no better way to do that than go for the jugular. You squabble with Whitney to land on the C-list. Lisa is the OG of the SLC. Everyone else is just a copy (even Amy, Utah’s premier socialite).
Is there anything wrong with the C-list? Not necessarily, but the crux of the group’s newest rift lies in that. Even as Bronwyn and Lisa reach a better place, the relationship between Angie and Lisa continues to devolve. And it all lies in Angie calling Fresh Wolf—the men’s grooming line Lisa started with her infant sons—a “C-line” brand more suited for Walmart than Lunatic Fringe.
You can insult the ladies all you want, but you go for the kids, and you’ll end up on a hit list. That’s true no matter the city, and it really lies at the core of what these shows are: an anthropological study of womanhood, whether as a wife, mother, or friend. The through-line of tonight’s episode ties back to motherhood, each woman dealing with their strife in a classic way.
Lisa responds to the dig about as you’d expect, by sending an assistant we’ve never seen before to pick up the Fresh Wolf products from Angie’s salon, while Venmoing the Greek goddess $600. The footage of this is absolutely hilarious, Angie narrating the story while giving Heather some type of botched hairdo. Seriously, what hairstyle involves putting curlers in the middle of one’s head and nowhere else? Bring back Tenesha, the tenacious hairstylist who knows all.
Thus, the war of the former besties rages on. Rather than take the high road, Angie trots on down to Meredith to persuade Lisa’s new-old bestie to turn on her. There’s something so enticing about Meredith’s appearances. Even though she’s a full-fledged Housewife, he just has the energy of a “special guest star” whose each and every scene can’t be taken for granted. It’s almost like she should be long-gone by now, but here she is, sitting across from Angie at some coffee shop.
Here, Angie tells Meredith that, when the two were on the outs, Lisa eagerly egged it on, offering Angie some tidbits about the skeletons in Meredith’s extended closet. We all know how Meredith reacts when family gets involved—it might be the only time her voice ever goes up an octave. Whether Angie can appeal to a Greek-sceptical Meredith’s motherly instinct remains to be seen, but it’s a fitting line of attack in this week’s absolute mother-off.
Even in the personal scenes, motherhood rears its ugly head, even when it’s just a ghost. It’s been a while since Mary’s storyline revolved around her church and the fact she married her step-grandfather, but after a two-year hiatus, she’s reopening the church… and Pandora’s box. It’s certainly unclear why the church was closed to begin with, and Mary skirts right past that. She’d rather sit for a pre-meditated chat with her cousin, “Big Joe,” to discuss her mother’s recent death.
Mary is mostly played for comedic relief, despite her harrowing backstory, which we get more of this week, and it’s emotional. It’s easy to argue Mary is a victim of some sort of religious trauma, and she’s not alone. That’s the true over-arching theme of RHOSLC, once encapsulated by a recently exiled Heather Gay. Now, the ex-Mormon trauma comes in a new form: a bob.
Over at Bronwyn’s full house of horrors, the bob takes shape in all styles: a Mormon mother resentful of her daughter’s atypical path, a young mom devoted to avoiding the sins of the past, and the daughter who simply wanted to match her mom’s chic ’do. It’s Gilmore Girls for the new age. It’s unsurprising, then, that the most compelling character comes in the morally duplicitous grandmother, Marge aka “Muzzy.”
There are certain names that just evoke WASP-y horrors, the Bunnies and Bitsies of the world, and Muzzy might be the most chilling of all. Bronwyn’s character has come entirely into focus in the presence of her mother, who has agreed to film with the caveat she’ll twist the knife—just as Emily Gilmore agreed to pay for Rory’s school, so long as Lorelai and Rory joined them for dinner every Friday night.
The second Muzzy goes off script, a panic hits Bronwyn, her bob bouncing up and down while she mumbles “let’s be really careful…” with immediate regret. The aspirational Bronwyn has always fallen flat, as that’s never been the ethos of the Real Housewives. This is a franchise of desperation, both quiet and shouted from the rooftops.
Where Bronwyn hides it all behind a blunt bob, a head nod, and a giggle, Britani Bateman can’t stop spreading her business to anyone who will listen. Maybe that’s why they trigger each other. Still a friend-of, we only get little snippets of the wonderful world of Britani, and they’re simultaneously sugar-sweet and torturous.
In a sea of Wild Roses and orchids, Britani and Whitney meet for a heart-to-heart. It’s here that Britani talks of her strained relationship with her daughter, who still doesn’t accept the C-list Osmond with whom Britani’s been scootering around.
“I think that she just wants to see me being consistent with not choosing a man over her, but it’s super hard,” Britani shares.
“Britani, literally, it’s your daughter,” Whitney replies, trying to knock some sense into Britani’s Kerastase-coated head, while citing her own mother’s failings.
Will Britani ever put her daughter first? Will Bronwyn ever escape her mother’s claws? Will Lisa ever sell a single one of her sons’ products? The world may never know.
Everywhere you look, the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City are facing their demons, they’re facing uncertainty, and they’re doing it flawlessly.
