Help Gary!
An urgent plea to “White Lotus” creator Mike White: Keep my name out of your psychosexual obsessions!
Spoiler alert: This piece reveals some of what happened in Episode 7, which aired Sunday March 30.
Dear Mike White,
Like every other sentient being in America, I’m a huge fan of White Lotus. I love the exquisite nastiness with which you portray that trio of female “friends,” who if they were any cattier would be prowling around on all fours with half-dead mice hanging out of their mouths. I love Saxon, your latest and possibly greatest Bro Asshole ™, a consummate dick who shrivels into a marginally less nauseating state only after his kid brother Lochlan gives him an Ecstasy-assisted hand job. I love the fact that when our villain’s hot brunette concubine, I mean girlfriend, greets Saxon with the words, “I hear you’re a douche,” it’s a pickup line. I love the fact that the beautiful young Thai woman Mook, whose radiant innocence melted hearts all across America, has suddenly revealed herself to be at least as ambitious, perhaps even Trumpian, as the MAGA member of the backstabbing trio—who at this moment is actually looking like the best of that misogyny-inducing collection. I love curvy little Chipmunk Girl, aka Chelsea, who exists in some exasperatingly sexy Twilight Zone between New Age wisdom and New Age inanity. I love Parker Posey’s addled character Victoria so much that I am considering taking her medications.
In fact, I love White Lotus so much that I can even accept the fact that you had the sinister Greg, hiding out in Thailand after hiring a team of creepy do-you-know-these-gays to whack his wife, change his name to…of course…Gary.
Evil Gary.
As a Gary—i.e., someone who has had a large pink Post-It Note inscribed “Kick Me” stuck to his figurative derriere for his entire life—I’m used to it.
For the unfortunate truth is that Gary, not to put too fine a point on it, is the lamest name of our era, and perhaps of all time.
That’s a large claim, but a brief survey of various prominent Garys of the 20th and 21st century will justify it.
What is the name of SpongeBob Squarepants’s pet snail, who speaks only in a meow?
Gary.
What is the first name of the leader of the awful pop band whose 1965 hit “This Diamond Ring” was so overdubbed that it sounds like it was recorded in an echo chamber on Mars?
Gary. (Worse still, Gary’s band was called “Gary Lewis and the Playboys.”)
What is the first name of the hapless Colorado politician who was photographed with an attractive young woman who was not his wife sitting on his lap?
Gary.
What is the first name of the Green River Killer, who was convicted of 49 separate murders—making him the second-most prolific serial killer in U.S. history?
Gary.
The list could go on and on—except that after its heyday (in the 1950s, naturally) it became so clear that the name “Gary” was a total loser that it pretty much disappeared from the what-to-name-your-baby-boy books.
Until you, Mr. White, decided in your omnipotent wisdom to use it for your creepiest character.
This I was prepared to forgive. But when you dragged my namesake into your 500,000-acre psychosexual funny farm, you crossed the line.
Let me be clear. I have no beef with you pushing the boundaries of sexual discourse further than they have ever been pushed on TV. A brotherly hand job? Fine. An expat who gets so deep into having sex with Thai women that he ends up becoming one himself? No problem. A guy who gets off on reenacting the primal scene? Sure.
I’m an open-minded man. Go ahead and Roto-Rooter the clogged ids of your characters to your heart’s content. All I ask is that you don’t name the most yucky, backed-up ones “Gary.” Is that an unreasonable request?
Apparently it is. For in the last episode, you dragged my already debased name to new lows. Let’s get on the elevator, going down. First floor: Chloe tells Saxon that as a small child Gary used to get off on watching his parents having sex. Basement floor: when he got older, Gary began having paranoid/hot fantasies about his best friend having sex with his girlfriend. Sub-basement floor: Gary asks Chloe to screw Saxon so that Gary can creep up, “discover” them, and jump on Chloe himself.
This isn’t just a garden-variety fetish—it’s a creepily Oedipal one. As Chloe helpfully explains to Saxon, “It would be like he’s winning his mother back from his father.” Paging Dr. Freud!
The scene ends when Chloe asks Saxon if he’d be up for “helping Gary.” Saxon flees in horror.
Saxon’s reaction was no doubt shared by millions of viewers, for whom the name “Gary” is now forever synonymous not just with a sinister murderer but a pervert with a cuckold kink who wants to have sex with his mother.
“The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.” Since the manifold indignities visited upon me by Mr. White, these lines, which open Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Cast of Amontillado,” have been echoing incessantly in my head.
However, I am a forgiving man. And walling Mr. White up for all eternity in the dankest vault of an Italian palazzo (which in any case I do not currently possess) might be an overreaction even to his terrible misdeeds. Moreover, it is quite possible that Gary will not survive the final episode, which would put an end to the problem. And finally, Mr. White probably has several more good seasons of White Lotus left in him, and it would be a shame to lose those just to mete out justice, however deserved.
So Mike—if I may—don’t worry. I promise not to do anything untoward.
But if future episodes feature any creepy characters named Gary, I highly advise you to stay away from Amontillado.
Thanks all! Jann, I shoulda worked in Gary, Indiana! especially because I think that's where Robert Preston in "The Music Man" claimed to have gotten his bogus diploma. Zoe, yeah, Garys do have a bad track record, although someone reminded me of two good ones--poet Gary Snyder and master vibist Gary Burton. But they didn't fit my dumb shtick so they were left out. Candy, the fact you never dated a Gary says it all--your subconscious knew something. Belle, no plans to do more history cruises, but you never know. Phil, I'll take your word for it about "My Heart's Symphony" by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, although for some reason I have some doubts. I was permanently traumatized by having to "free dance" in sixth grade to "This Diamond Ring" as a newcomer making his first and last visit to Darts, a formal cotillion-like dance class held in some swanky home near the Claremont Hotel. I can never hear Gary Lewis's music again without that PTSD-inducing evening coming back...
Also, let me commiserate a bit. I too have been haunted by the name "Gary"!
Occasionally but more than enough times, over many years, it has happened that other people to whom I've been previously introduced have forgotten my name. They try mightily to dredge it up and EVERY time their best guess, whether hopeful or desperate, is, "Gary?" It's never Michael, or David, or even Guy. Only Gary.
It happened enough that eventually, I came to think, I must LOOK like a Gary more than like a Greg. Whatever that means. Or do I somehow convey a certain Gary VIBE rather than a recognizable Greg vibe, whatever those may be?
With my "Gerritsen" surname, of course, the most likely explanation was that people in whose memories I had become only faintly or fuzzily familiar were somehow dimly recalling the first syllable of my surname (gerr, guerre, gare) and conflating it with my given name that starts with the same letter. Hence, guerre-ee.
However, mistaking me as Gary instead of Greg ALSO occurred on those few occasions when the other person had previously met me *without* ever hearing my surname. That was a mystery.
Unlike you, I did not disdain the name Gary--if anything, I liked it quite well. I've had numerous friends named Gary. A couple of my heroes in this lifetime are Garry Trudeau (Doonesbury) and Gary Hart (he would've made the *best* President). And who doesn't love Gary "Far Side" Larson? And don't forget pop psychologist Gary "5 Love Languages" Chapman. (Actually, he's good to forget.) But Gary simply wasn't MY name.
When I make reservations for travel or restaurants, I use my full passport name, Gregory. There's less room for error, and I kinda like it. But 3 syllables seems like too much to ask of other people in ordinary life, doesn't it? Whatev, thanks for listening.
GREG