…”Sequences like this are so moodily elegant, evoking the fragility of perception, that they elevate the show’s more familiar musings, especially Elliott’s perseverations on the brainwashed basics who surround him. Yes, identity is an illusion created by advertisers; happiness is for analog folks who take Lexapro and watch “NCIS,” who favor “the thick grimy film of Facebook friend requests and Vine stars.” (“Isn’t that where it’s comfortable—in the sameness?” Elliott asks his therapist.) We’re not supposed to accept Elliott’s Andy Rooney hot takes at face value (for one thing, he’s still hallucinating his father as Mr. Robot), but his reflections are too often borne out by the show’s cartoon vision of the world: in the land of the one per cent, soulless rich bitches get off to knife play, sad P.R. flacks mutter along to motivational tapes, and dumb gigolos switch from the news to “Vanderpump Rules.” “
I Want You
The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it’s not that way
I wasn’t born to lose you . . .
I want you, I want you . . .