Palm Royale returns to Apple TV tonight and wastes no time diving back into the pastel chaos of 1969 Palm Beach, where wealth, deceit, and desperation shimmer under the Florida sun.
The new season opens with Maxine Dellacorte, once the manic dreamer of high society, now institutionalised after her spectacular breakdown at the end of last season. Strapped to a stretcher but still picturing martinis and country-club galas, she’s the perfect image of someone who has lost everything but her delusions. From that moment, the show makes it clear that this chapter isn’t about belonging; it’s about clawing back power. Kristen Wiig leans into Maxine’s instability with razor-sharp control, turning her from a ditzy social climber into a cunning survivor. She’s still funny, but there’s steel behind the smile, and every scene feels like she’s performing a new version of herself just to stay relevant.
Around her, the Palm Royale world expands and implodes all at once. Allison Janney’s Evelyn Rollins, once smug in her dominance, now faces the hollowness that comes with winning a game no one truly respects. Her sparring with Maxine evolves into something far more compelling than simple rivalry: They need each other, and that uneasy alliance fuels much of the show’s tension. Laura Dern’s Linda Shaw continues her journey from social awareness to political rebellion, trading her pearls for protest signs, though critics note she’s criminally underused this season. Carol Burnett remains the show’s sly MVP as Norma Dellacorte, or rather “Agnes,” whose real identity finally comes to light. Burnett’s performance is a balancing act of elegance and manipulation, and she glides through scenes like a woman who knows she built the very rules everyone else pretends to follow.
Meanwhile, Mitzi, played by Kaia Gerber, becomes a surprisingly potent force. Her pregnancy and her affair with Douglas Simmons (Josh Lucas) might have been scandal enough, but Mitzi turns it into leverage, playing a quieter, more strategic social game. Ricky Martin’s Robert Diaz, recovering from last season’s gunshot, continues to anchor the story with warmth, though the writing doesn’t always give him enough to do. Throughout, the tone teeters between dark satire and outright absurdity, and that also gives Palm Royale its strange allure.
The production remains as dazzling as ever. Every frame feels lacquered in sunlight and artifice: Candy-colored couture, mirrored pool decks, and interiors so pristine they’re practically sterile. It’s a world built to hide its rot, and the show delights in peeling back the glossy layers to reveal the mess beneath. There are moments that push absurdity to the edge—dream sequences, surreal cameos, even musical flourishes. Somehow it all feels consistent with the show’s thesis that reality, for these people, is whatever you can convince others to believe.
Season 2 tightens the pacing and adds urgency compared to the debut. The narrative weaves through scandal, reinvention, and a surprising amount of emotional clarity. Beneath the wigs and winks, it’s a story about women trying to survive within systems that were designed to keep them ornamental. Maxine’s relentless pursuit of acceptance becomes something darker and more tragic: A fight for identity in a world that rewards illusion.
Wiig gives her most layered television performance to date, Janney and Burnett are glorious scene-stealers, and the entire ensemble moves through this candy-coated fever dream with precision and flair. The show understands that glamour is just another kind of madness, and that the people who chase it are often the most human of all.
By the end of the season, Palm Royale proves that it’s not a story about fitting in but about surviving the performance. It’s funny, cruel, beautiful, and strange, a shimmering satire that invites you to sip, stare, and stay just long enough to feel the hangover.
Season 2 of Palm Royale airs Wednesdays on AppleTV.
