‘Atlanta’ Season 2, Show 7 Recap: Drake Has Kept the Building Atlanta

Season 2, Show 7, ‘Champagne Papi’
It’s safe to turn out from under the ranges; previous week’s boogeyman has been vanquished. (Although ghost of Teddy Perkins will continue to haunt us all.)

We’re back in more familiar territory — the Atlanta party scene. Having a newly liberated Vehicle as our vehicle, we get a behind-the-scenes look at those A-list bashes that appear glamorous, but only once snapped from the right perspectives.

Truck and her friends, Tami, Candy and Nadine, are prepping for the best girls’ night out, a New Year’s Eve party managed by the “Champagne Papi” himself, Drake. They’re dressed up in the requisite bodycon dresses, repairing their encounters and completing their followers on every information.

After Insta-stalking Earn — that has clearly shifted to other women (or at least his posts could have us believe as much) — Vehicle is determined to get on with her life as well. First, she must up her communal stock by revamping her “weak” Instagram feed, which is all pictures of her little girl, Lotte, and poultry. A photography of her and Drake would be the best boost.

Before they head out into the evening, they increase their shot eyeglasses in a toast. “To partying with my women!” shouts Candy, the bubbly friend who’s best referred to as “extra.”

Of course, Candy is the first ever to ditch the squad. The girls had passed the necessary tests to get admittance to the exclusive party. They navigated the sketchy car parking lot meet-up spot, delivered the trick code number and managed to get past an exacting security officer. After they stepped their bootie-covered legs onto the mansion’s marble floors and munched their mood-enhancing edible gummies, Candy figured it was every girl for herself.

The director Amy Seimetz jam-packed the field with rap video clich?s. Women bop in bikinis and frolic before an oversized fireplace — there’s a good slo-mo shot of a woman riding a mechanical bull.

Tami sizes up her area and, exasperated, dubs it a “THOT-a-thon.” She sets her sights on Devyon Johnson, a (fictitious) dark-colored actor who went to the party with a white girl on his arm. “I simply need to speak some sense into him,” she says, storming off.

Then there’s Nadine. The drug-laced gummy chocolate has hit her the wrong manner and she’s freaking out. She becomes that sloppy friend who requires babysitting throughout the night.

Van is unbothered by her friends’ issues. She’s firmly wound and has too much to confirm (mainly, to Earn). “I’m just looking to get this picture with Drake,” she says. “I have to strategize.”

She’s dragged from her mission by poor, bewildered Nadine, who called the authorities to survey, “I want your help. I’m at this big party at Drake’s house and I’m dying.”

In her efforts to quiet her agitated friend, Van goes looking for a bottle of normal water and bumps into Brandon, who pledges access to both an shop for her useless cellphone and a private bathroom for her ailing friend. All she’s to do is follow him down a spiral staircase.

Here’s the next time tonite that Truck put good judgment on keep. The first was adding her trust in a lecherous shuttle bus driver who teased, “Y’all fairly! I’m gonna take y’all house with me. Just kiddin’.” Now, she’s blindly following a stranger and into the basement. She can have equally as easily stumbled into a horrific mansion massacre of her own.

Since it was, she got blessed when the man ended up being harmless. He was yet another of the party’s many cling-ons. “Drake’s nutritionist is my cousin,” he talks about.

She escapes his pestering and rejoins her efforts to track down Drake. While she doesn’t find the rapper, she discovers what appears to be his living quarters. A Muzak version of “Passionfruit” plays over head as she roams through his gilded bathroom and well-appointed walk-in. She grins just like a kid in a chocolate shop as she tries on his bomber coat, sniffing it to get a whiff of his scent.

Outdoors, Nadine is having one hell of a vacation. And who easier to be her guide than Darius? He just happens to be at this get together, too. And just why not? Stranger things could (and also have) occurred. The odd couple is relaxing poolside, getting metaphysical. Darius brings up Bostrom’s Simulation Argument, positing that everything around them is artificial. It’s both a big-picture observation and a critique of the posturing — public media-fueled and in any other case — of the partygoers around them.

“Is she real?” Nadine asks of the bikini-clad girl inexplicably swaying in the pool exclusively.

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