You’re watching the first episode of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Donald Glover’s character, John Smith, arrives at his assigned New York City brownstone. Smith heads down some steps, then opens a door and cuts on the lights inside. There’s a basement-level pool. Wait! I know that pool, you think to yourself. That is if you’re a fan of the TV show Mr. Robot. Or, before that, the crime drama with a hint of comedy, White Collar. Beyoncé’s video for “Halo” was also filmed there. It’s 214 Lafayette, a 1909-built former power station turned bespoke five-floor-two-unit SoHo townhome.
Mr. Robot features the pool as part of E Corp’s General Counsel, Susan Jacobs’s smart home. Under Darlene’s leadership, Elliot’s fsociety assumes control of it as their ad hoc headquarters. In White Collar, Alex Hunter invites Neal Caffrey for a swim while they discuss business. In both shows, there’s an appeal of exclusivity to the pool as a lavish amenity of Manhattan living. But for Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the pool scene isn’t about spectacular opulence. Director Hiro Murai uses it to highlight the gravity of millennial existential angst.
Millennials are ambitious, often blurring ethical boundaries to achieve success. In Netflix’s Inventing Anna, Anna Delvey squats at Billy McFarland’s apartment. Yes, the faux heiress that “Tricked New York’s Party People.” And the infamous Fyre Festival guy. But this was earlier during his Magnises days when the pad also served as its office. 214 Lafayette’s upper levels are where filming for the scenes took place.
There’s a real-life Great Gatsby effect and allure to this SoHo townhouse. For millennials, the appearance of prodigal spending fosters our bonding and social advancement. It is how we communicate, not through the wealth itself but through indicators of it. You show it—on social media—not outright tell it. We use it as an icebreaker or virtue signaling. Glover, his team of writers, and director Hiro Murai are masters of the bittersweet irony in this. Think of the FX’s series Atlanta, the dialogue and visuals of Glover and Murai’s episodes. “The Streisand Effect,” “Value,” “BAN,” or “The Club,” for example. One thing I’ve noticed with many critics of Mr. & Mrs. Smith is that such exploration went over their heads.
Most reviews missed Glover, Murai and co.’s brand of cerebral artistic expression. Mr. & Mrs. Smith’s reception feels very much like Atlanta’s did. You know, before the Emmy Awards and “D1 glazing.” They are masters of surreality, satire, and dark humor. It wasn’t until critics discovered its mechanics through obscure online communities like KTT2, for instance. (back then, Kaynetothe.) Places that understood and often lauded Glover way before mainstream media ever did. His core Childish Gambino and Community fanbase. Fans who appreciated his second studio album, Because the Internet, and its single “V. 3005.” Murai directed the music video for it. They never changed their style of storytelling. It is almost, if not tailored for this audience—eclectic as much as they are diverse. It’s one of slow burn that’s unafraid to be. Mainstream media’s flagrant obliviousness of Mr. & Mrs. Smith’s pool symbolism is almost criminal. It conveys so much, for me, at least.
Glover, Murai and co. create voyeuristic art out of the laws of social forces themselves at play. Your reaction to it says more about you than their ubiquitous mastery and awareness. It’s a vibe. In Mr. & Mrs. Smith, they pack so much in the short opening leading up to the pool. Alexander Skarsgård’s and Eiza Gonzalez Reyna’s “John and Jane” are willing to die over peace at a dusty shack. It’s in the middle of nowhere. But they’re more mature, and it is where they’ve found it after a life of espionage, wealth, and travel.
Then it cuts to Glover and Maya Erksine, the newest and younger John and Jane recruits. If you’re a millennial, you know the anxieties and angst of their job interview. Whether spies or otherwise. But what would millennials look like in an updated version of the 2005 Mr. & Mrs Smith? With laws of social forces themselves at play, that is.
Glover and Erksine’s characters give away intimate details of their lives including hopes and fears—to a machine. “[H]alf-Japanese, half-Scottish white,” Jane responds when asked about her ethnicity. Jane stammers, justifying modest yet only class outcomes of millennial middle adulthood. Glover, Murai and co. work best here, the ubiquitous mastery and awareness.
Being organized and well-prepared, some might call it type A. But Jane thinks of it as efficiency, she says. She holds a master’s degree but only has $14,000 in her bank account. “Uh, African American?” John stammers. He stumbles and self-corrects through every coping embellishment and assertion. It includes his ethnic identity, height, and military service record. “I wouldn’t call it dishonorable, no, but th-they can call it whatever they need to,” he rationalizes. “I-I think I have $366 and, like, some change. But I’m not desperate.”
It’s hilarious because the brutal honesty hits home for many real-life millennials. The secretive espionage agency interviews through a machine. A box with a camera and a computer screen displaying prompts and questions. And a place to deposit DNA through keratinized cells—nail clippings. A machine reminiscent of yet another convicted millennial fraudster, Elizabeth Holmes. You know, her sample processing unit. The scene is almost like a meta-confessional for millennial middle adulthood. It is where viewers should pay attention the most. This desperation helps them land the job. Underneath their casual demeanor, like many of us, it seeths. Glover, Murai and co. are very in tune with the commoner’s touch surrounding this topic.
Thus, the pool scene. The newlywed spies experience the fulfillment and appearance of showy wealth indicators. The pool’s appearance is no more than a few seconds. They’ve achieved the American dream inside the photogenic Instagramable home. Even though it is a Russian KGB-style facade, having the pool is the ultimate status symbol for New Yorkers.
But in a twist of irony, they struggle to connect despite these endless amenities. Moments later, a series of awkward, visceral exchanges underscore this. Like John pretending to use an app for plant care but taking a pic of Jane, longing to know more about her. This stage in life is about balancing self-fulfillment and caring for others. Seeing the characters unaware of entering this very real phase of life makes them relatable. It is impressive writing, acting, and directing.
Early critics are missing out on this poignant social critique, message, and storytelling. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s of the Roaring 1920s, the Jazz Age, and the post-Spanish Flu pandemic. We see our characters in the 2020s, a century later, in a meta “post-Bandemic.” Defining a new use for this iconic New York City filming location—other than spectacular opulence.
