‘Drops of God’ Season 2 is a Full Pour, Will Emmy Notice?

When the first season of Apple TV’s Drops of God came to a close, I thought, “Perfect. Stop right there. Let this be a limited series.” For those still not in the know (and I fear their number is bountiful), Drops of God is loosely based on an acclaimed Manga series, about half-siblings whose father pits them against one another after his death in a wine-based contest to inherit his fortune. 

Camille (the luminous Fleur Geffrier) grew up with her abusive father, who made her hate wine so much (despite her natural, qualitative instincts for vino) that she vomits at just a sip. Her illegitimate half-brother from Japan, Issei (an outstanding Tomohisa Yamashita), knew his father as a teacher, but never as a dad. Season one covers the draconian contest between Camille and Issei, and their budding sister/brother affection for one another. The final episode combined pathos and exaltation in a manner so well-earned that I all but cheered during its closing moments. With that in mind, when I heard there would be a second season, I was hopeful, but also questioning the necessity. 

But, much like Apple TV’s extraordinary Pachinko, Drops of God’s season two proved that if perfection can’t be beaten, it can be built upon. In season two, we find Camille (the contest winner) building her own high-tech, environmentally sustainable wine empire with her partner in wine and love, Thomas (the ridiculously handsome Tom Woznicza). Whereas Issei is haunted not only by his loss (however altruistic his sister may have been in victory), but also by the long, loveless relationship between him and his mother. Born from an affair between his and Camille’s shared father and Issei’s mother, the son has lived his life feeling unwanted by both his biological parents. While his stepfather has honorably and kindly been an anchor for Issei, the absence of maternal affection has left him incomplete. 

The first season of Drops of God dealt mostly with Camille’s psychological struggles with her estranged father. She was the erratic one, whereas Issei served as a calm ballast. Season two sees their roles, at least partially, reversed. Camille has found love, security, and purpose. Issei takes up free-diving, plunging to perilous depths, to deal with the hole inside of him. But why? The answer to that mystery is revealed in heartbreaking fashion as we discover just how far his mother nearly went to rid herself of the shame of bearing a bastard. 

Camille and Issei’s father may be six feet under, but his presence is felt not just psychologically, but in a tangible manner as well. From the grave, the father has forwarded another challenge to the daughter and the son. His attorney presents a bottle of wine to the two of them. But not just any bottle of wine. This vintage has no obvious origin, but its flavors are extraordinary. Their mission, if they choose to accept, is to find the maker of this wine and keep it alive. 

Reluctant at first, the siblings join forces to track down this “nectar of the gods” through a multi-country search. The result of their efforts plays out much differently than one might expect. For two people with deep-seated family issues, to be thrust into the mire of another family’s animus is perhaps too reflective of their own pain. It also puts them at odds with each other. Issei believes in leaving well enough alone. Camille believes a wine this grand must be saved at all costs. 

The drama of this most remarkable vintage’s outcome is enjoyable on its own. But what makes Drops of God special is what happens between this recently discovered brother and sister, and how their relationship evolves as they take opposing positions. Camille will risk everything that matters to her. Her home. Her business. The love of her life to sustain this rare wine. Issei’s journey is more personal. Who am I? Why was I so unloved by the one who gave me life? Why do I fear the dark?

In a way, Drops of God is like The Bear or the wonderful Jon Favreau film, Chef. In those two food-based productions, you can almost smell and taste the meal being served. The same is true of Drops of God and wine. Your snoot begs for a sniff. Your tongue begs for taste. You can’t help but want that touch of the sensory divine. The thing is, you could get that experience from a well-made reality show about wine. Or, certainly, a documentary. What sets Drops of God, The Bear, and Chef apart are the humans that populate these tales of the culinary and the cask. 

In this most remarkable show, the depth of feeling each episode extracts from you on behalf of Camille and Issei is the true delight. Without their profoundly fractured storylines, Drops of God would just be a show about tasting wine, which it is, but it is so much more than that. 

Earlier, I mentioned Pachinko. Aside from being Apple TV series, the two shows share some other salient commonalities. Both are told in three languages. Pachinko in Korean, Japanese, and English. Drops of God in French, Japanese, and English. I wonder if for some, the switching between languages, the burden of reading subtitles feels like homework. If so, that’s a shame because both programs are culturally astute, beautifully delivered, and all-involving. 

The Emmys have barely given Pachinko the time of day. Despite the extraordinary writing, acting, directing, and production, Pachinko has only been recognized by the Academy for main title design, cinematography, and production design. Drops of God hasn’t been recognized by Emmy voters at all. In an era when prestige television is on the wane due to too many streaming options and the catering to restless attention spans, Pachinko and Drops of God are the real thing. 

Pachinko isn’t Emmy eligible this year, but Drops of God is. I conclude this write-up with only the faintest of hopes that the Academy will prove me wrong. That they will recognize Drops of God in the many deserving categories it could and should be nominated in. But if they do, if they should surprise me, they would be honoring a series that, against all rational odds, delivered the fullest of pours.