notbang:

So I’ve been meaning to write this meta for awhile, but I was holding out because I had an inkling we were headed for another interior design shift this season, either in the form of Heather or Rebecca herself moving out and, lo and behold, here we are! It’s Rebecca’s mural meta time!

When Dr Phil appears in 1×07 “because [Rebecca’s] depressed mind invited [him] in”, one of the first things he comments on is the state of her apartment, asking her if she’s ever considered “hanging a little art”. Later in the episode, buzzed on the pill she took off Dr Akopian’s bathroom floor, she does exactly that, and we get our first glimpse of mural number one—the sunset. In its initial iteration, Rebecca’s in the midst of a manic phase and it’s only partway put up, still peeling down the wall. But we get the picture; it’s a nice choice for her otherwise currently spartan apartment—it’s bright, it’s colourful, it’s tropical, it’s fun—and after all, she moved to West Covina to be two hours from near the beach. What’s always interested me in particular, though, is the way in which it sort of harkens back to this:

It’s no great revelation that when it comes to Rebecca’s obsession with Josh Chan, all roads lead back to summer camp. Our very first introduction to Rebecca Bunch as audience members is, as we soon come to learn, apparently the last time she was truly happy (thanks, weirdly specific butter commercial!)—up on stage, singing chorus in an amateur production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, the set for which is comprised simply of some painted backdrops featuring palm trees dotted along a beach. So it makes a strange kind of sense that Rebecca—whom in the midst of a nervous breakdown fixates on a childhood infatuation as a link back to this moment of true happiness—upon being confronted with an apartment about as empty as how she’s feeling inside and being called upon to fill it, would subconsciously seek inspiration from the exact same source. The shift to sunset, though, gives it a distinctly romantic skew—in much the same way Rebecca is so often desperate to use romance to fill her void.

Rebecca’s romantic aspirations with Greg and Josh crash and burn quite literally in 2×04 when she inadvertently sets her house on fire disposing of their things, and it is from the ashes of her failed relationships that our first change in scenery arises. Rebecca’s got a new house, a new housemate, and she’s accessorising them with a brand new mural!

Mural number two isn’t hugely different from its predecessor—it’s mostly just a change in lighting. It’s bright, it’s sunny, it’s summer, it’s the light of a new day. It’s also a lot more visually similar to that scenic art from South Pacific. 

Summer comes with the connotations of heat, repression, stagnation, and youth, and season 2-3 Rebecca’s got all of ‘em in spades.

Though distinctly more slanted towards sexual fantasy than romantic in the case of We Should Definitely Not Have Sex Right Now and its callback in 3×10, with the help of a little mood lighting both murals provide a fitting backdrop to Rebecca’s musical state of mind. And the contrast between the two works here, too:

In 2×01, Rebecca’s scrambling to get a lockdown on her romantic standing with Josh. Despite being intent on pursuing her feelings for Greg in the season one finale, crushed expectations and a newly single Josh quickly have her redirecting her eyes back to her original prize. Josh is being somewhat understandably withholding after the revelation that she did, indeed, move to West Covina for him, but Rebecca is quick to reframe and refocus that particular roadblock to their relationship—what’s keeping them apart is what’s left unresolved with Greg, and it’s a test of their self control, it’s sexy, and it deserves a sultry, saxophone-fuelled number. The closing shot of the song is Rebecca’s similarly palm-tree emblazoned beach towel, beckoning Welcome to West Covina, framed above her bedhead, leading into her romantic victory for the episode—finally succeeding in having Josh sleep beside her for the night.

3×10 Rebecca, on the other hand, isn’t interested in romance, but revenge. Equally hung-up and hotheaded, she and Nathaniel are channeling their passion into loathing, which inevitably manifests itself as sexual heat. Just as the mural is different, though, so too is Rebecca’s response; pumped full of hormones as she prepares to donate an egg, she and Nathaniel definitely should not have sex right now and, almost impressively, they don’t. When they do eventually give in weeks later, it’s after an open, honest conversation, free of facade—but with that same Welcome to West Covina beach towel hanging in the background. She’s still navigating her narrative, and now that Rebecca’s romantic misadventures have relocated to the workplace, it’s only fitting that in some way, the palm trees have followed her there, too.

If the mural is just another way in which Rebecca is inadvertently clinging to her ever-elusive illusion of happiness, how appropriate that in organising her wedding to the metaphorical man of her dreams, it’s quite literally the surface on which she hinges the plans for all these dreams supposedly come true. So enmeshed in her vision of happily ever after is the palm-lined beach, it seems, that it’s even the location she chooses for Josh and her to exchange their vows.

There’s also arguably a distinct vacation vibe here, and it’s an undeniable precedent within the show that when Rebecca wants to run away from her problems, she has a tendency to take to travel. Cross country move to West Covina aside, she flees to New York on not one but two occasions, is ready to ride off into the sunset with Nathaniel to Rome and is offered a similar escape route by him in 4×01. Whilst holidaying in Hawaii after recently being released from jail isn’t as immediately problematic as the previous examples, it only gives more weight to the progress Rebecca has made when this time, she turns him down.

Season four has been thematically framed as being about renewal and rebirth, but if we’re talking about the weather, it’s not spring that follows summer. And if summer is representative of youth, it’s time to do some growing up—which brings us to our most recent reinvention of Rebecca’s humble abode.

The progression here is a dramatic one, and it’s incredibly apropos; what’s shifted isn’t merely the light, this time, but both season and setting, and much like Rebecca, we’ve ended up in a completely different place to where we started out. Rebecca remarks at the start of 4×07 that’s she’s “ready to see some fall foliage”, and autumn is indeed the season of change. It represents balance, maturity and letting go (as well as a prelude to an end, which is also depressingly befitting, but we’ll ignore that part for now!).

While on a personal level I couldn’t help but cringe at the idea of making such a drastic change to someone’s decor without consulting them first, from a narrative standpoint, I appreciate the direct involvement of Josh Chan in this transformation. It kind of makes sense that the personification of Rebecca’s fantasy, now removed from ideal, plays a part in clearing out its remnants. There’s also something nice to be said for the fact that unlike mural number one, half-plastered in a panic by Rebecca, manic and alone, mural number three comes to her in the form of a thoughtful gift from a friend (she has friends, she definitely has friends!).

It’s poetic that this new sense of maturity extends to the person responsible for the mural, too—Josh, arguably one of the characters most obviously trapped in a state of arrested development, made significant strides in 4×07 when he finally put an end to his cohabitation with Hector’s mom (who is, as we know, coincidentally, an autumn). 

Just as nicely as it applies to the broader sweep of Rebecca’s life right now, it’s also the perfect backdrop to the shift in the dynamic we start to see between Rebecca and Josh. Rebecca has changed, and as a result, similarly have her perceptions. It’s not about Josh, and it never was, but season four Rebecca is in now in a place where Josh can comfortably exist as an entity outside of an escape mechanism (Ahab can’t you see, Josh is no longer a metaphor!).

Josh Chan is irrelevant to Rebecca’s sense of self and her happiness, but that’s not the same as being irrelevant to her life. And now that she knows more about who she is and what she wants, there’s something so exciting and delightfully hopeful in that she gets to delve into the messiness of what that really means, and for her other relationships, too. Whether that’s through friendship, romance, or otherwise doesn’t really matter—it’s the promise that she’s secure enough in herself now that we can feel confident in her capacity to try.