[9.8/10] Susie nails it. When Midge tells her she’s considering doing something reckless with the four minutes remaining on The Gordon Ford show, Susie tells her number one client to go for it. She tells her that she got into this thing by taking a stage nobody invited her to and saying things she wasn’t allowed to say. Why should today be different? Why shouldn’t the same boldness and hilarious honesty carry the day now?
And oh my lord does it.
“Four Minutes” is, like so many series finale, full of call backs and bookends. In the finale of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s first season, Midge and Joel are on the verge of getting back together. What stops the reunion is Joel hearing an underground “party record” of Midge’s confessional rant from the night he left her. He couldn't stand her spreading their private lives to strangers, and perhaps more damningly, he couldn't stand her being better at comedy than him.
Now, when he hears that Midge is going to be on The Gordon Ford Show, he is overjoyed for her, not jealous. And more to the point, without being asked, he tells her to talk about anything, about him, about the kids, about any part of the life he helped fracture, if only so that his sins can be further made fodder for something good and worthwhile. I’ve ragged on Joel a lot, but there may be no bigger sign of his growth and maturity than that.
Some echoes are not so happy. In the first episode, Midge hears Lenny’s rant about the meat grinder of stand-up and asks him in response if he loves it nonetheless. He gives her a shrug of resignation, a wry sort of acceptance that love it or hate it, this is the path he’s on. Here, Susie gives Lenny a plea when his life is disintegrating. She gives him an offer for help he sorely needs. Folks aware of the real life story know that Lenny is not far away from his untimely end. But when asked one final time, not in so many words, if he’ll accept the assistance it would take to pull out of this tailspin, all he offers is the same resigned shrug. It’s an underplayed but brutal affirmation that he’s as stuck on that path now as he was then.
Some lead to moments of honesty and vulnerability. The desperate phone call that pulled Midge away from work was having to bail Susie out of jail. It’s a meaningful reversal of the series’ beginning where it was Susie who got Midge out of the slammer. What led Susie there is continued raw feelings over Hedy, and having to dredge up that painful part of her life in order to get Midge the ticket to being in front of the camera she needs.
In the wake of that concession, which Midge now understands the gravity of, Susie (and Alex Borstein) gives arguably her best monologue in the entire series (give or take her eulogy for Nicky). When she talks about her relationship with Hedy, the plans they made that she let herself believe in, the love that they shared in a time and a place it wasn’t accepted or embraced, the heartbreak of seeing the woman she cared for pulled away from her, it is the most raw we’ve ever seen her. Her heartfelt confessional to her closest friend not only gives Borstein a time to shine as an actor, not only helps Midge understand what her manager did for her, but underscores the extra pain folks like Susie had to endure at a time where there were even more hurdles to finding love and acceptance that folks struggle with under the best of circumstances.
But the sacrifice is worth it because it works. Midge gets an invitation to appear on The Gordon Ford Show. The invitation is a bitter one. Gordon Ford resents Midge and Susie going around him to make this happen. But by god, it’s happening. And it leads to all sorts of great comedy and better grace notes for the cast of characters who made Mrs. Maisel feel so lively and hilarious for five seasons.
Dinah pulls off one last miracle, getting Midge the dress of her dreams for free for a mere mention of Bergdorf’s. (A far cry from when Midge had to struggle with a domineering boss to keep her job at a competing department store.) Zelda calls Rose to let her know about the show in secret, so as not to let Yanucz know she’s entangled with the Weissmans again. Archie and Imogene make it to the big show and take credit for dumping on ol’ Penny Pan from a cocktail party. Mrs. Moskowitz cuts through the elder Maisels’ monkeyshines and gets to the bottom of their grand plans.
Those grand plans are to, well, retire and spend the rest of their lives together. The epiphany arrives in an appropriately silly way, with a couple of choice falls in the shower and a sopping fur coat leading to some honest conversation. But in a season that started with the prospect of their divorce, there’s something adorable and endearing about Moishe retiring and giving up his business, the thing that represents the outward success he so cherishes, to revel in the inward success of a marriage to the woman he loves.
For a finale that is, quite understandably, full of sap, “Four Minutes” doesn’t skimp on the comedy. Susie and Dinah debating how to get a bucket across two buildings using a trained squirrel is a big laugh. Midge ranting to her fellow writers about deserving a few hours off without an array of pestering phone calls, only to find out it wasn’t them, is a very funny moment. And Abe and Rose frantically trying to explain to a series of unsympathetic cabbies during a shift change (relatable!) that through money, math tutoring, wedding rings, or magic whistles, they need to get to Rockefeller Center, is another one of the show’s great comic set pieces, with expert cinematography to match.
And yet, theirs might be the most touching moments in the finale. Rose’s schism from her husband and daughter in the first season stemmed from the sense that they were lying to her, that they were keeping the important things from her, that she wasn’t taken seriously. So when she has to find out Midge’s big news second-hand, Rose declares she’s not going thanks to this affront. It is merely the latest insult, the latest case of her being kept out of the loop by her “pathological liar” of a child.
Except, hilariously, Midge has enlisted everyone she knows, from Joel, to Shirley, to Zelda, to her fellow writers, to try to get the news to Rose. Wouldn’t you know it? Mrs. Weissman inadvertently left the darn phone off the hook. Nonetheless, she is touched that Midge went to such lengths to reach her, and it shows her how much her daughter does value and care about her.
Abe’s moment is much simpler. Midge tells him the news, and he’s confused about Midge’s references and colloquialisms and other things he just doesn’t understand. But what he does understand is that this is an achievement. He stops his all-important goings-on to tell her so and, even when the appearance isn’t going as planned, tells her how incredible what she’s accomplished is. It is a heartwarming follow-up to his hollowing epiphany of what he’d done wrong from the prior episode. And it is a tacit acknowledgment that, even if his daughter’s life doesn’t fit what he’d wanted or expected from her, it is no less extraordinary for it.
His pride carries extra resonance because Midge’s vaunted appearance isn’t going well. Gordon’s begrudging admittance of her to a spot on the show is not to perform her act; it’s to be interviewed as a writer. She is a “human interest” story. He will technically fulfill his wife’s request to have her on. But he also demeans her in the process, treating her like a sideshow and a curiosity rather than a comic.
She’s permitted to perform. She isn’t permitted to sit on the couch where the “real” guests go. He all but denies Midge her name, introducing only as “a Gordon Ford show writer”, and “our resident lady writer” before briefly providing only her first name, in contrast to the male writers who get their surnames as part of their introductions. And when she has the temerity to be funny during this neutered little segment? He throws to commercial because he can't stand her and Susie getting one over on him.
It is a brilliant exercise in frustration. Midge’s last stretch to glory in this finale is not a primrose path of triumph. It is another instance in which she must scratch and claw to get what she ought to have earned through talent and hard work alone. It is another example of her being punished for not doing things “the right way”, when that way contains every roadblock for people like her. It is one more time when succeeding at this means being bold and daring and a little dangerous, taking what you deserve because otherwise no one will give it to you.
That is the biggest bookend and parallel between The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s final bow and its opening salvo. Susie calls out that same fire that led Midge to the Gaslight to vent her frustrations on stage in the first place. Once again, Midge goes where she supposedly doesn’t belong, speaks when it’s not her turn to speak, because whether it’s liquid courage or simply the courage of her convictions, by god, she’s meant for this.
In one of those impossible, brilliant, writerly monologues, she tells it all again. She talks about being Jewish. She talks about being the child of two demanding parents. She talks about being left by her husband. She talks about being a mother. She talks about wanting fame and recognition for what she does. She talks about the challenges she’s faced as a woman, a comic, and someone who’s tried from day one to reconcile her life on stage with her life off of it.
At base, she talks about her life. With tremendous choices in lighting and direction, the show sells the enormity of this moment, the way this is the tipping point of her climb to fortune and fame, but also an intimate confessional, the truth behind her art that makes the comedy funnier and the confessions more piercing.
As I wrote in the series’ beginning, Seinfeld was not meant to be “a show about nothing.” It was intended to be a show about how comedians found material for their act. And in the same way, this moment in Mrs. Maisel is about the same thing. The performance that puts her on the map is not a riff on random nonsense or “put that on your plate”-style phoniness. It is about how, from her initial wedding toast, Midge has used her life as fodder to stand-up in front of the crowd and connect with her audience.
In a way, Midge’s whole life has led to this moment. She uses the events of the series, her challenges from being single again, the unique struggles of being a comedienne, her relationship with her kids and her relationship with her parents and her relationship with the ex-husband whose selfish deeds started this whole wild journey, to make up the set that becomes her crowning achievement. The trials and travails of the last three years and five seasons amounted to this: a set that kills, a truth that resonates, and a person less revealed than transformed, who’s come out of her original betrayal stronger and willing to seize what’s waiting on the other side of that window.
It’s beautiful and stirring and a magnificent capstone to all Midge was achieved. If there’s an element of wish fulfillment to it all, it’s that she’s so hilarious that even grumpy Gordon can't help but break down and admit he should have had her up there a long time ago. He does fire her, so she doesn’t get off scot-free. But in a parallel to Joan Rivers’ big break with Johnny Carson, she’s invited to the couch, a recognition of her talent and the fact that, whether he wanted her there or not, she was going to be a big star. It’s enough for Gordon to give her the benediction of announcing her name, a title drop for the series that could hardly come in a more satisfying way.
But other people knew before Gordon did. One of them was Lenny Bruce. Whether or not he’s there for her great success, he saw the star that she would become. It is downright lovely that the thought we leave Lenny with is not his sad passing, but rather the image of someone who had utter faith and confidence in Midge, with a fortune cookie fortune, spun into honest flattery, that gives her a boost via their sweet inside joke when she needs it most.
But the first person who knew was Susie. Season 5 teased discord between manager and client throughout. Our flash forwards suggested enmity between them that couldn't be resolved. And for all the talk of fame here as the ultimate goal, our semi-shocking glimpse of Midge in 2005 suggests a lonely life. Her parents have presumably passed on. Her kids clearly have mixed feelings with her. Joel is but a loving picture on a desk. All that's left, seemingly, is for Midge to wander through an opulent but empty living space, albeit one in a familiar part of town, that suggests she may be as isolated and aloof as Sophie Lennon became amid her success.
Except she isn’t. She retreats to her room, connects with a blissfully retired, tropically-residing Susie, and the two uproariously funny old vets crack each other up over Jeopardy and reincarnation across a continent. In the end, when the work together has ended, what’s left is their true friendship. And more importantly, Midge has what she was looking for the last time Susie was in a beachside locale -- someone who makes her laugh.
When Midge lost one partnership with Joel, she accidentally discovered another with Susie. And while the former fueled her, and eventually worked its way to being a worthy part of her life, it’s the latter that drove her, comforted, and sustained her.
What a lovely note to go out on for this series, which nailed the landing in a way few television shows do. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s final set is a glorious one, which pays due tribute to these rich characters, this colorful little ecosystem, and the journey that led them here. A small-time bar boss comes to manage the stars, a jilted housewife comes to be the groundbreaking entertainer she was always meant to become, and two people uncover a friendship that nourishes them even when the work fades away. To Amy Sherman-Palladino, to the talented creative team that brought this series to life over the past six years, to Midge and Susie -- thank you and goodnight.
