As more characters help expand the universe, it’s as if the pacing issues are gone and have now evolved into something richer: a study of how people rebuild after the masks crack. It’s this aspect that helps the sharper humor hit harder while grounding the emotional stakes. Never missing a beat on its comedy and heart, Palm Royale is proof that when the claws come out, so does the show’s best self.

As long as you focus on the journey, rather than the destination, you’ll be just as eager as Maxine to keep exploring.

So yes, this season of “Palm Royale” does a better job at splashing the pool of feminist thought. But really, the show has found its purpose: it’s just fun.

Season 2 rebounds and embraces its kitschy self and is all the better for it. Burnett finally gets her chance to shine (and speak — first season she was mum).

Mitzi is a cardboard cutout of a backstabbing cheater. Still, these shortcomings aren’t dire enough to dim Palm Royale’s frothy appeal, which is all the more delightful this time because the writers know that the show’s sheer ridiculousness is exactly what makes it sing.

We still appreciate Wiig’s performance as Maxine, as well as the performances of Janney, Duffy and more. But Palm Royale is so in love with its own sense of late-’60s, early-’70s kitsch and piling on characters and plotlines, that those performances often get lost under a blizzard of words.

Unfortunately, its sophomore season squanders its A-list comedic cast—which also features the likes of Allison Janney and Leslie Bibb—once again, managing to somehow be both overstuffed and painfully overlong.