We are our memories. Our experiences shape us, mold us, make us, even the experiences we’d rather forget. Maybe especially those experiences.
But what if those memories were simply … gone? What if technology could wipe them clean, leaving a blank space in our brains to write a happier story? Wouldn’t we then be happier people? Better? More productive? Perhaps even … more lethal?
That was the general, if secret, theory behind the Homecoming project. It posed as a clinic of sorts—a facility that could help people who’d served in the military seamlessly enter civilian life. But (as chronicled in Season 1 of this Amazon Prime drama) its real purpose was far more controversial. The soldiers—most of whom suffered from some form of PTSD—were given doses of mysterious, amnestic drug to forget their trauma. Once that trauma was forgotten, the theory went, these soldiers, sailors and marines would return to the field, ready for active duty once again.
The secret’s out now in Season 2—at least for the audience. Most of those impacted are not-so-blissfully unaware.
Take Jacqueline, the woman at the center of Season 2. The season begins with her waking up in a boat in the middle of a lake. She has no memory of how she got there or even who she is. The only clue Jackie has about her past is the ID in her wallet, the Airborne tattoo on her arm and the track marks in her veins.
But Jackie soon discovers her past is far more complicated than she imagined. In fact, she might not be “Jackie” at all. And much to her surprise, she’s apparently in a relationship with a woman named Audrey who helps lead Geist—the company that manufactures that mysterious red drug that makes people … forget. Could it be that the show’s amnesic hero is also its secret big-bad villain? And that the secret is so big that even she’s not in on it?
But all is not well even for people who didn’t wake up in a boat, either. Leonard Geist is none too pleased with the direction his company is headed; the whole Homecoming initiative wasn’t his idea, and he won’t be party to wiping people’s minds (without their consent, of course). Meanwhile, Audrey is determined to partner with the government and sideline Leonard permanently. But to handle all the anxiety these power plays entail, she uses the drug herself—rubbing just a wee bit on her wrist to calm herself down.
Critics praised the first season of Homecoming, which starred Julia Roberts as a well-meaning (if unaware) Homecoming counselor and Stephan James as Walter, her increasingly forgetful patient. The Atlantic called it “frequently breathtaking.”
James is back, but Roberts is gone now, while Janelle Monáe anchors Season 2. Most of the cast and much of the plot is new. And the show’s reception has been, shall we say, mixed.
But if a lot has changed about Homecoming, the problems have not.
The biggest issue in this TV-MA show is really the language. F-words are explosively frequent, offsetting the show’s slow-burn mystery. The same-sex relationship, while not particularly graphic (at least early on), could be a deal-killer for many a would-be Christian viewer. Violence isn’t an unrelenting issue, but it does rise up and make its presence known in unsettling ways. But really, the whole show is meant to be unsettling. Not only do the characters here wade through an uncomfortable mire, but the audience stumbles through it as well. Homecoming may be a slow burn, but it’s the sort of fuse that can hit a keg of powder any moment.
Jackie is on the trail of someone who appears to be named Alex Eastern. She goes to Alex’s house and finds Audrey, a bigwig with the Geist corporation, milling about inside. Jackie follows Audrey to Geist headquarters and attempts to confront Audrey. Instead, Audrey kisses her and calls her Alex.
The two seem to be in a long-term relationship (explaining why Audrey was in Alex’s house), and Jackie finds a picture of herself pinned up in Audrey’s office.
Someone is Tasered and left to writhe around on the floor. We hear about 17 f-words during the episode, most of them uttered in a profane, incoherent speech given by Leonard Geist at what appears to be a company celebration.
Jackie wakes up on a boat with no memory of who she is or how she got there. A kindly deputy takes her to the hospital, but when she and a doctor discover needle marks on her arm—tracks that, at the very least, could cause her to be held for three days—Jackie takes off with the help of another patient. If she’s going to figure out who she is, Jackie’s going to have to do it herself.
The patient who helps Jackie, a guy named Buddy, sees the track marks on her arm and speculates that it could be signs of heroin use. Jaqueline says she doesn’t think she’s an intravenous drug user, but both the doctors and Buddy seem unconvinced. “I mostly stick with doobs and brews,” Buddy confesses, “but I could party back in the day.” (He specifically mentions abuse of Percocet.) Together, Jackie and Buddy trace her steps back to a bar/restaurant called Skins, (which sounds as if it used to be a fleshy, Hooters-like establishment, but now aims for a more family crowd). There, the manager tells Jackie that she was there last night with a man—a man she believes is named Alex Eastern—and they spent the evening drinking beer and boilermakers.
There’s a reference to a man being manually stimulated by another man in a restaurant restroom. Someone’s hit on the head with a hammer. Two people use subterfuge to get into a hotel room, then one steals money from there.
The f-word is used more than 30 times, and the s-word another six. We also hear five uses of “a–” and another five abuses of Jesus’ name.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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