I am incredibly grateful to Game of Thrones for this adventure I have found myself sucked into for some years now. I am grateful for all the emotions it brought me since day one, bitter and sweet alike. I am grateful for all the laughs, all the tears, all the jokes and gags, every single bit of it, I really am grateful and appreciative of it all. It's been just... wonderful.
That said, I am feeling robbed and betrayed right about now. This ending is arguably one of the worst series finales in the history of television and trust me I realize how bold of a statement that is. The terrible violations the characters have suffered this season, the lack of proper resolution to many of the plots and narratives developed over seasons worth of buildup, the seeking of shock value at the expense of quality writing... that and much much more solidified this as an absolute disappointment of a finale, as opposed to the marvel wrap it could've given this cultural phenomenon.
This episode does have its positives, as always the score, acting and cinematography are perfectly performed but I just do not think it's nearly enough to compensate for how lackluster the writing has been, as much as I wish they did. Oh well, sad as it may be, I'll just hold on to the good stuff and hope that GRRM's book, once finished, will tackle the ending in a more coherent, more respectful and more meaningful way. It's been real y'all...
P.S: I'll leave this here lest some people jump me again. This comment is a representation of my own personal opinion, I am entitled to one just as all of you are. If you enjoyed this season and felt this finale delivered what you were looking for then more power to you mate, but that doesn't nullify my opinion nor does it make yours any valid. If you want to discuss or challenge my views, I'd be more than happy to engage you on that basis but if all you have to offer are petty remarks then please keep them to yourself.
Contains major spoilers !!!!!
Huge and utterly dissapointing. After TFA I said this movie would make or break the story. For me it broke.
Where to begin? Let´s start with my biggest problem.
After that rebel cruisers bridge was hit and Leia was thrown into space we saw her drifting in the cold empty vacuum of space. This was a powerful scene and I had tears welling up in my eyes thinking that would be a great ending for the character dying how she always lived. Fighting. I did not realise, or care, that it would have been a huge coincidence had they written this scene at that point not knowing Carrie would pass away. But as I said powerful scene. And then she opens her eyes and floated back into the ship still beeing alive. At that point I was seriously considering leaving the cinema. It´s scifi but, please, without as much as a hint of an explanation that is just awful writing. It is Disney all over it. Anyway I stayed and watched the rest but in general I was done with the movie.
There are tons of other things I didn´t like.
way to much unnessesary and stupid humor. Most of the time it does not fit and just destroys scenes. Holding for General Hux - that might have been OK once but two or three times it just becomes goofy. And there is more of this througout the movie.
the writing was all over the place. So much things going on that do little to nothing for the general plot and just add playtime. Like that whole thing with the codebreaker, going to the casino. Just sugarcoating CGI.
and speaking of playtime - way too long. About five times towards the end I thought it was over. It could have ended when the reached the rebel base- no let´s add another battle. When they realised they where trapped. With Luke going out to face Kylo. At some point I would have been OK with the movie ending with the First Order defeating the rebels, everyone dying, and the franchise done with. But of course that is not happening and the movie ends.....no, just show us a kid with a broom looking at the stars and indicate he could be the hero of a future movie.
in many ways the continuation of storylines is not satisfiying. They introduce Snoke in the first movie without an explanation who he is, where he comes from and how he got there. Would have been OK, could have done later. So now he´s dead without so much as a fight and there are questions left to be answered.
what about Rey ? Are we really to believe her parents were some drunk and drifting scavengers that sold her for money like Ren said ? That would be very stupid because how in the universe could she master the Force in ways even the best Jedis or Sith couldn´t without as much as years of training. Another void in the storytelling.
too many, shall I call them, homage scenes ? A lot of times I felt I had already seen this movie. The scene in the throne room f.e. Snoke = Emperor, Rey = Luke, Ben = Vader, the destruction of the rebel fleet playing in the background and the Ben killing Snoke is like Vader killing the Emperor. I know that was said about TFA as well but I feel it´s much worse here. The Battle of Hoth reviseted would be another thing where they re-did some scenes to a T. All that was left was tow cables.
Those are just some examples of the things I disliked and maybe there could be satisfactory explanation later. There is a lot more but it would take too much time to write it down. But I doubt I will go to the cinema for the next one.
To be fair there where some positives in this movie.
I liked the scenes with Rey and Luke althought they did not really lead anywhere. But some nice insights into Lukes story after ROTJ.
The conversations between Kylo and Rey where very interesting and I thought there was really potential to steer the story to something new and exciting. Not happening.
So overall I was not satisfied. I really like TFA, it built some expectations that where all crushed with this. As far as I am concerned I am done with this new story. I am not not very eager to find out what else the canibalise and how they try to write themselves out of this. There is nothing left.
This is my view of the movie. If you liked it I´m happy for you.
May the Force be with us. Always.
And here I thought the last episode was terrific. This was a near-flawless ribbon on the top of so many different arcs. And it's only the season's midway point.
Cotyar goes down a hero by destroying an infected Agatha King (taking "that asshole" Nguyen with him), Errinwright gets double-teamed by Sorrento and Anna and finally locked away, Mao is captured by Jim and forcibly knelt before Avasarala, Prax finally finds his daughter Mei, safe and sound, and Bobbie confronts a hybrid and finally gets over her PTSD of being defeated by one on Ganymede. Even Jim and Naomi made up and got back together after a risky tip of their hand to Fred Johnson paid off. And then a fucking jellyfish swam out of Venus' atmosphere... It's almost too much to process right away.
So much got packed into this hour yet it all flowed perfectly from one plot line to the other, interweaving where it made sense, and pushing the whole narrative forward in a believable way. This is how you make hard scifi.
The SyFy Channel is positively stupid for giving up on this exceptional piece of television. They really should be forced to change their network's name on account of it deliberately creating confusion for viewers.
[8.6/10] One hell of a premiere and one hell of a surprise. It delivered what I want from a show like Rick and Morty -- crazy, imaginative, absolutely insane sci-fi experimentation and adventure, with dark introspective emotional and character material to support it. The bits of the sci-fi weirdness, from Inception-like brain journeys to transferred consciousness to battles between disparate forces in space were colorful and mind-bending the whole way through.
But what I really loved about this episode was how it asked (and maybe answered) the question I was left asking at the end of the last episode -- what motivates Rick Sanchez? Is he a hero, as Summer thinks, a demon or crazy god like Morty thinks, or somebody whose motivations are just so opaque and arbitrary that he more or less defies that sort of characterization? The episode seems to give a troubling answer, one that pulls away from the way Rick was softened over the course of S2, but it spends most of the episode teasing you in either direction, making you think he's a hero or on an opportunist or an amoral crackpot or just a complicated guy.
I'm not sure I'm any more clarified on what he wants or what kind of guy he is than I was before (and Morty clearly still has its issues), but I love the way the show leans into that complexity, even amid the crazy science fiction wonderment and disaster taking place all around.
On the whole, this was one thrill of a surprise premiere that sets the stage for the rest of the season, changes enough of the status quo to make things meaningful, and delivers another exploration of what makes Rick tick, and how that affects his grandchildren, without giving any easy answers.
Here we are. Season 1 finale. It's a good thing that we already know we're getting season 2, 'cause that cliffhanger was brutal.
I'll be honest, Legion took me completely by surprise. Before it premiered, I was pretty sure I would like it - I mean, it's not like I'm hard to please when it comes to TV shows. Give me some well-written characters and relationships, some fight scenes, a few explosions, a superpower or two and I'm on board. Legion has all of that, but with a twist. I came in expecting a cool origin story kind of thing, and I came out riding a motherfucking neon-colored LSD train of insanity that blew my mind in a thousand different ways. And I loved it. It wasn't just different, it was unlike anything I'd seen before. And I can totally understand why some people didn't like it. But to me, it was everything I never knew I wanted. The acting is great, the special effects are top-notch, the music is awesome and the "gotta do it for the aesthetic" attitude resulted in some truly spectacular visuals. Overall, I'm very satisfied and I'm looking forward to seeing where the writers will take the show in the future.
Maybe I just haven't been perceptive enough or maybe they did a terrible job of marketing but I was under the impression that this was the final movie in the series. I based this idea off the fact that the final book is called "Allegiant" and they didn't put "part 1" or anything in the movie's name. I walked out of this movie feeling completely underwhelmed. The movie ended with zero closure and it answered no questions the viewer may have. The entire movie seemed like an awful setup movie for a movie that I didn't know existed. It took several google searches for me to even find that there is a movie following this one. Overall I thought it was a pretty weak attempt at the book series. Even when I try to keep this review based on the movie as it's own separate entity I can't say it was a very enjoyable. There were a couple neat little things like the small drones but other than that the special effects sucked and the movie was boring. I hope the next film can recover for me a bit of the (granted, little) respect I had for this series. I don't usually walk into these movies expecting much, I just go to be entertained and try not to over analyze but I really didn't enjoy this movie.
[9.1/10] If the first Spider-Man movie was about responsibility, the second is about sacrifice. In Peter Parker’s origin story, he is sloughing off the guilt of the time his willingness to look the other way cost him his uncle. Peter decides to be a hero to honor his fallen father figure, to live-up to the ideals he stood for, and make sure no one else has to suffer the same sort of loss.
In this coming-of-age follow-up, Peter suffers for that choice. There’s a sense in which he’s done his duty, made amends for his mistake, and deserves the right to live his own life again. He gives up being Spider-Man, and rather than chastising him for the choice, you sympathize with him. He is giving everything he can: to his job(s), to his studies, to his friends, to his heroics, and to the city, and seems to get only resentment and disappointment in return. He is stretched too thin, kept from too much of what’s good in this life, and it’s still not enough.
Peter is a twenty-year-old kid with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and we feel for him when his knees start to buckle.
And yet, he goes on. The choice Peter made to become Spider-Man in the first movie mattered because he paid a price for doing the right thing. The choice he makes to become the hero again in Spider-Man 2 matters because he pays a price again: giving up the thing he wants most in this world -- Mary Jane.
Look, the romance element of Spider-Man 2 isn’t much better than the one in the last movie. M.J. is still kind of terrible. She is in a serious relationship with, and eventually engaged to, another man, who is by all accounts decent and dependable for her. And yet from the moment she appears on-screen, she is practically inviting Peter to steal her away.
We’re supposed to excuse it because they’re the canonical One True Pairing, and it’s True Love, and all of that other cinematic lubricant that’s supposed to help you glide over the pain the main characters’ choices will inflict on the tertiary characters. But it’s another romance founded on M.J. being romantically involved with another man, de facto cheating on him with Peter, while the audience is supposed to cheer for them both.
Despite that, it’s the rare situation in which I’m willing to excuse it, not because the chemistry is so stellar or the romantic connection somehow justifies it, but because Mary Jane is more important for what she represents than what she does in this movie. She represents the romantic life and loving partnership Peter believes he can never have. And she also represents the people who care for Peter, but feel constantly let down by him, for reasons they can’t understand and which Peter can’t reveal.
Therein lies the tragedy in the first half of the film that makes you glad when Peter takes off the mask. Being Spider-Man is ruining his life. And director Sam Raimi and screenwriter Alvin Sargent find clear, clever, sometimes heartbreaking ways to dramatize that.
Peter loses his job as a pizza deliveryman after failing in his last chance delivery, despite going above and beyond for it, because he was late due to stopping to save some children. His college professor criticizes him for falling behind, without knowing it’s due to his nighttime extracurricular activities. His editor will only pay for the photos he can use to slander the young man’s alter ego. And Peter needs that money not just to pay his rent, but to help the dear aunt who’s about to be kicked out of her home for falling behind herself.
It’s a parade of horribles, and ones that don’t happen by chance, but rather by a young adult trying to do too much for too many and falling down on the job (sometimes literally). The twist of the nice comes near the midpoint of the movie, when his two best friends effectively reject him in sequence.
One is Mary Jane, who expects Peter at her big Broadway show, only to find that he’s a no-show. She upbraids him for the way he claims to be such a good friend, someone she can depend on, but who’s never there in the big moments of her life when she needs him. And the other is Harry Osborn, who bitterly berates Peter for stealing M.J., stealing his father’s love, and refusing to give up the identity of the man who killed his dad.
Here’s the thing, both of these rebukes are harsh, but justifiable! M.J. has a point. Peter isn’t around when she needs him. Harry has one too. From his perspective, Peter is choosing his father’s murderer over their friendship. And the thing is, the one fact that would change everything, the one detail that would explain his absences and his furtive demeanor, is the one thing he can’t tell them, for fear it would put them at risk.
The theme of the first half of Spider-Man 2 is Peter trying to do the right thing, coming up short time and again, and only hearing about his failures: from his bosses, from the papers, and from his loved ones. Over and over, he hears that he’s lazy, that he’s undependable, that he’s not applying himself, when the truth is that he’s giving his all to too many worthy causes, none of which he can rightly give up. He suffers for his art, and it’s what makes us care when chooses to continue with it.
One of the people who calls him lazy is Otto Octavius, a scientist working in the employ of Harry Osborn as the young mogul tries to live up to his father’s legacy. And yet, Dr. Octavius finds a kindred spirit in Peter, laying the groundwork for the importance of both love as reason to go and using your intellect for good. The film’s script smartly puts hero and villain in causal, mentor-like settings together before they inevitably clash on the field of battle.
Of course, this being a superhero film, Octavius’ grand science experiment goes terribly wrong, turning him into a deranged supervillain with four mechanical limbs, and foiling Harry’s attempts to be a successful businessman. The resulting baddie -- the famed Doctor Octopus -- is a triumph of direction, effects work, and performance.
Raimi’s skills as a horror film virtuoso and set piece-crafter extraordinaire really show off in Otto’s big scenes. The sweep of a miniature black hole when the doctor’s experiment goes wrong is kinetic and tragic. The sequence where his tentacles wake up and start to attack the doctors and assistants treating him is a dose of terror on par with anything in Raimi’s straight horror films. Doc Ock and Spidey’s stand-off at the bank is rife with tension and unique combat. And the pièce de résistance, the battle between hero and villain aboard a New York City subway, is filled with impressive choice after impressive choice, simultaneously feeling larger than life in terms of its threats, but surprisingly grounded in how much punishment Peter takes and how inventive he has to be to stay a step ahead of his antagonist.
Likewise, while the computer generated effects aren’t as seamless as they would be for similar films down the line, Otto’s tentacles are a thing of beauty. They’re a character in and of themselves, seeming to have moods, the ability to threaten, or simply act as dextrous appendages of the man who possesses them. Through a combination of puppetry and CGi wizardry, they feel like a part of Doctor Octopus, not simply an attachment to him.
Much of the credit, though, belongs to Alfred Molina, who absolutely kills it in the role. His bad guy has to communicate more shades than did Willem Dafoe’s. He’s believable as the friendly genius with high expectations of his erstwhile pupil. He’s heartbreaking as the romantic man who loses his wife in the throes of his own hubris. He is frighteningly plausible as the deranged figure who hears voices from his mechanical extensions, telling him to do bad things and justifying his past mistakes. He is appropriately menacing when he must cajole or wound or otherwise intimidate those around him to get what he wants. And he is riddled with pathos when he sacrifices himself to stop his misdeeds from hurting anymore people. Molina has to find all these sides of Otto, and he makes it look effortless.
Hell, even Tobey Maguire fares pretty well in this one! After his disappointing drab-fest in the 2002 predecessor, his Peter Parker feels much more like a well-rounded human being in this one. Freed from having to seem like he’s a teenager, with the tics and affectations he adopted in a futile attempt to make it plausible, Maguire comes off much more real in moments comic, joyful, and painful. He especially shines in the open-wound scene where he confesses his role in what happened to Uncle Ben to his Aunt May. It’s a showpiece scene, but Maguire nicely underplays it, thereby giving it more weight.
It comes at a pivotal point in the film, where Peter has genuinely given up his life as a hero. He seemed to get a nudge in that direction by the fact that his powers keep failing. I love the choice to ascribe the physical to the mental, conveying Peter’s growing dissatisfaction and self-doubt through his abilities diminishing as his psychological well-being deteriorates. It’s a deft way to make the internal mirror the external, and adds another justifiable reason why he would tell his uncle, literally and spiritually, that he just can’t do this anymore.
Frankly, I wish his “retirement” lasted longer. This is a superhero movie, and there’s probably not much audience interest in watching a powerless young man just be a human being for forty-five minutes. But Spider-Man 2 does give us enough of Peter being able to succeed in his normie life when he doesn’t have an eight-legged albatross hanging around his neck. He can get attaboys in class, make it to eight o’clock curtains on time, and even justify making a bid for M.J.’s love when he no longer has to fear the risks it would put her under.
Of course, that too comes at a cost. Beyond it being too little too late (almost), the city needs him. Crime rises without Spider-Man. Peter has to swallow his feelings (and a hotdog) when he sees someone crying out for help and turns his back, making it “not my problem” once more. Even J. Jonah Jameson (with J.K. Simmons returning as the film’s comic highlight) admits that this “menace” was a force for good in New York City, absence having (briefly) made the heart grow fonder.
And yet, it’s none of these things that spurs Spidey back into action. It is, appropriately enough, Aunt May who gets to give him the rousing lesson which gives him what he needs to know: that the world needs heroes, if only to inspire the next generation and set a laudable example for them, and that sometimes, doing what’s right means giving up your deepest held dreams.
Those are tough lessons, tougher than a lot of genre films go for. Being a paragon of virtue isn't easy, especially when it seems like it costs you esteem in the eyes of those closest to you. Hearing one of those people, however, tell you how much you matter as a symbol, as a role model, as a source of inspiration, helps ease the pain of knowing the path you choose, the one that would make the people who raised you proud, will also be a rocky one.
And having to give up your dreams in the name of the greater good is an even tougher pill to swallow. It not only helps give Peter the motivation to return to his rooftop heroics, but also helps him get through to Doctor Octopus. Building this groundbreaking energy source was Otto’s dream, and the thing that cost him the love of his own life. But hearing Peter’s secondhand wisdom helps cut through the fog of his robotic brainwashing (that and about ten thousand volts) and convinces him to stop his attempt to recreate the experiment and go down with the ship to save the lives of the innocent.
Before he does though, Doc Ock kidnaps Mary Jane in a bid to lure Spider-Man, something that, ironically, also helps Peter regain his drive to web-sling. The need to protect those you love reignites him, giving him the purpose and knowledge of what he wants that helps him overcome the mental limitations that have been creating just as potent physical limits.
But the ensuing skirmish exposes him to both of his best friends. Only, rather than fixing the problem, it only affirms how much Peter has to give up to do what’s right. When Harry unmasks Spider-Man, having bargained for his bête noire with Doc Ock in exchange for the catalyst for the mad scientist’s experiment, Peter says something startling in response. “There are bigger things happening here than me and you.”
It’s not quite, “the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” but the sentiment is as palpable. Peter cares about his friends. We know how much the schisms between them hurt him. But he’s setting aside his own hurt in the name of staunching any more of it for others, especially M.J. There are grander things afoot than his own suffering, and that’s what makes him noble, regardless of whether he’s better or worse at it than Rick Blaine.
And even when he rescues Mary Jane, when she discovers who she is in the process, it doesn’t change his thinking. Knowing the secret merely allows him to tell her why they can’t be together, why he couldn’t bear to expose her to these sorts of threats on a daily basis. The moment of recognition creates an understanding between them, justifying his behavior in a way he had to sweep under the rug before. But it doesn’t alter his thinking, or his willingness to give up the thing he wants most in the world to vindicate the values of his aunt and uncle, no matter what hardships it brings down upon him.
Only for once, the universe rewards him for it. So much of the early portions of Spider-Man 2 practically rubs the audience’s nose in the fact that Peter Parker can’t catch a break. His landlord hears him come in when he’s trying to evade a rent payment he can’t make. Every drink and hors d'oeuvre at a fancy party is out of his reach. His bike gets run over on his way to the theater. So many of the big things go wrong for Peter, but so do the little things. It’s enough to make him believe he’s cursed, he’s karmically snake-bitten, that the world is stacked against him.
Until it gives him the thing he was ready to give up, the thing he eschewed in the name of being the man worthy of the people he looks up to and the people who look up to him. He sees the gratitude and inspiration in the people who rescue him on the subway car after he rescues them. But he also sees Mary Jane standing in the doorway, ready to start something together.
It’s something they can start with each knowing the perils potentially at play. It’s Mary Jane insisting that she’s an equal partner who can decide whether what they have is worth the risk. It’s Peter doing good, suffering so much for it, and having someone there ready to save him for once, spiritually if not literally.
I still don’t love the romance between Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson. But I love the catharsis of Peter trying so hard for so long, being willing to sacrifice everything in the name of doing the most good with the gifts he’s been giving, and finally enjoying the satisfaction of what really matters to him coming through in the end. Peter earns that here, and his journey marks Spider-Man 2 as one of the finest superhero films to grace the silver screen. With great power comes great responsibility. But with great sacrifice and great suffering, there can also still come great fulfilment.
I understand that the point of the movie is about 'letting go of hatred and sadness which was caused by a great injustice' and it's a good message.
But doing so in a religious setting, where God is literally in front of you and can answer your questions, without addressing the question of why did God allow the injustice to occur in the first place, is impossible.
It's Ok, to 'let go' in a religious setting, where God is there but doesn't answer you directly. So you assume he has a plan or that he has some reason. Or even without it, just your faith helped you through it. But here, Mac asks God point blank "Why did you let it happen?" and there is no answer. Some mambo jumbo and evasive talk about "I'm always with you" but no actual reason, logical or otherwise.
Again, I get that the point of the movie is not to explain why God allows bad things to happen, but in this case, you can't divorce the two.
It's like a person breaks into your house, rapes, and murders your wife in front of you, and then consoles you on the virtues of 'letting go and moving forward'.
I would say it's Christain propaganda, but it seems that hardcore Christians think it's heresy to depict God as a woman.
Weirdest finale ever. Were the writers high this season?
I liked that the show brought back the rest of the family like Jenny and Eric for quick cameos. That Blair and everyone seemed happy but come on. William got Lily? Nice message. Bad guy gets the girl. Not romantic at all.
Lily had no character development at all in the series since she was the same manipulative person. Jack was forgiven so easily after being a total a-hole to his nephew for so many years?
I wish the writers would have done to following for season 6:
After his marriage Rufus meets a pretty/cute woman and strikes up a flirtation with her. 5 yrs later, he’s married to her. Not much screen time needed.
I wish Lily lost her fortune due to Khama for years of manipulations. She is alone for awhile and gets a real job, makes real friends, and meets someone new and good then her finances get fixed. 5 yrs later she’s married to him and thus has one of her longest marriages.
I wish Eric had much more of a storyline but I get the actor was on another show...
Nate’s plot the last couple years was flimsy. First off, they referred to him as going to school while working at the Spectator. Riiight. No, for Nate he should have lost the job as a result for not paying attention to it since he paid more attention to women. He should have finished school having met some new friends and then partner up with one of them for a news magazine or something that becomes a success.
Blair, I really like how she worked with her mom in the end. I wish there was a little more of that. She was still a bully this season which was a reversal of her character growth in season 5. The writers messed up. They should have shown her as more compassionate to people like Nelly.
Serena...sigh. Flaky Serena. I actually like that Dan wrote the bad version of her. I would have liked her to do soul searching because of it instead of running away. Read more, get some tough jobs where she struggles a bit. Makes friends with people who have little money and you know, grows as a person. After season 5 her character needed that. I grew to hate her character and while I love Dan for everything up to the final season, I had zero reaction about their wedding and it was because I didn’t like Serena anymore.
Chuck. Ugh!!! Seriously he’s done some horrible things and then he keeps pushing Blair away. WHY are we supposed to root for him? He’s a jerk and aside from the occasional good one liner he’s not worth rooting for.
The Chuck and Blair relationship is passionate but unhealthy.
As for Gossip Girl, if it were me, I’d have made it someone in the background. Someone barely in season1 then occasionally shown at the school and the city. That minion Hazel or even Mrs Waldorf (mother of master manipulator Blair) would have worked. She could have sent GG blasts to test her daughter and to punish her. Maybe it was her dark side?
Dan as GG would have worked except the scenes that made it look like he was shocked and upset at the GG blasts when he was alone. Who was he putting that show on for? No it didn’t fit. Now if he hadn’t had those scenes and didn’t attack his friends in the blasts (unless it was for their own good) then I’d buy it.
Yeah I wasn’t impressed with the final season at all.
I did however like the little details like the newspaper article with Lola Rhodes starring in the movie based on Ivey’s book. Nice little touch.
Overall good series but terrible ending. Weird final season that felt like it was a grab for ratings. Writers/producers seemed to care only about making people gasp instead of staying in character and trying to better the story.
[9.3/10] A few years ago, for some strange reason, I decided to watch every Spider-Man animated series from the 1990s. The different shows had different takes on the wall-crawler, plopping him into very distinct settings and scenarios. But I realized there were two main things about Peter Parker that united the various versions of the character across years and franchises: (1.) he chooses to do good, even when it’s difficult, because it’s the right thing to do, and (2.) he suffers for his art.
Spider-Man: No Way Home strives to encompass a lot. It is the culmination of the Jon Watts/Tom Holland version of Peter Parker and the journey through his high school years that began in Homecoming. It has to service broader MCU connections to Doctor Strange and Captain America. It finds grace notes and meaningful moments for M.J., Ned, Happy, Flash, Aunt May, and a host of other characters who’ve been major parts of the series. And if that weren’t enough, it brings back five villains, two heroes, one conspiratorial agitator, and scads of loose threads from the five movies that preceded this Peter’s arrival.
And yet, what makes it work, what gives No Way Home a clarity and a balance other mondo Spider-Man movies missed, is the way it’s built around those twin ideas, those dual core facets of the character. Despite the multiversal stakes, Spider-Man strives to live up to the values instilled in him by the people he loves, even when it’s the absolute hardest thing to do so. And endures tremendous losses, makes grand personal sacrifices, in the name of looking out for everyone but himself. It’s what bolsters this Spider-Man, and all Spider-Men, and elevates this film into one of Spidey’s very best.
It helps that what starts these multiversal problems is something smaller and personal. So much of the MCU’s Spider-Man is about this overwhelmed, undermanned kid standing in the face of grandiose events. Spider-Man trips the time-space continuum not from battling interdimensional beings or from going up against titans with reality-warping powers. Instead, he’s upset that being associated with him kept his best friends from getting into college, that they were taken in and interrogated by law enforcement, that it blew up his aunt’s life. His exposure poisoned the well for everyone around him, and he effectively asks for a wish to undo it, not for himself, but for those he cares about.
It’s a strong setup. No Way Home takes seriously the unmasking from the last movie, and the impact it would have on Peter’s life and those of friends. It puts this comparatively charmed version of Spider-Man into the familiar guises of his counterparts. He is broke. He is embattled. He is concerned he’s a burden and a threat to those he loves. He no longer has Iron Man, or S.H.I.E.L.D., or the other tech resources to fall back on. Half the world believes in him, but the other half, spurred by J. Jonah Jameson, thinks he’s the traditional “menace.” Exposure has ruined his life and forced him to grapple with the sort of problems so many other Spider-Men (Spiders-Man? Spider-Mans? Homines Aranearum?) have faced over the years.
So he goes to Doctor Strange for help. The dynamic between Peter and Stephen/Sir is a low-key strength of the film. It completes Sony’s presumably bargained-for requirement that at least one major MCU star have a substantial supporting role in each Web-Head film. (See also: Robert Downey Jr., Samuel L. Jackson, Martin Starr.) It provides a reasonable in-universe excuse for a non-magical, mostly street level hero to play around with parallel dimensions. And it builds on the shared experiences Spidey and Strange had in Infinity War. There’s antagonism between them, but also a budding mutual appreciation which pays off in unexpected ways.
When Doctor Strange tries to help Peter, though, things go awry. Peter asks that the world forget he’s Spider-Man, only he keeps trying to add exceptions for the people he wants to stay in the know. The complications disrupt the magicks involved, and while Strange is able to contain the botched spell, it manages to accidentally draw in Spidey’s foes from other corners of the multiverse, a tantalizing setup for fans who’ve been watching the wall-crawler in action since 2002.
That’s right! Dr. Octopus, The Green Goblin, The Lizard, Sandman, and Electro all pop into the MCU after the events of the original Sam Raimi trilogy and Marc Webb’s Amazing Spider-Man duology. It is an absolute treat for fans who’ve followed the Web-Head’s cinematic trials and travails over the years. None of the performers has lost a step (and many manage to improve on their original outings). And watching them interact with each other, not to mention a different hero than “their” Peter, has all the crossover glee that comic book stories can deliver. Peter, for his part, is tasked by Strange with rounding them up so they can be returned to their proper universes.
Their interactions are hilarious. The baddies poke fun at one another and the eccentricities of their different stories and universes. At one point the film turns them into the world’s wildest sitcom, with four supervillains and a host of their helpers playing temporary roommates in a bachelor pad. As in all of the Watts films, the banter here is consistently on point. And even as the film loses a bit of its momentum in its “Four Men and a Spidey” section, watching Peter go back and forth with this collection of villains, while they spark off one another, is still a consistent treat.
There’s a catch though. Peter soon discovers that each of these baddies was pulled from their timelines right before they were about to perish, so sending them back is a death sentence. Dr. Strange is unmoved, but Aunt May pushes her nephew and surrogate son to give them the help they need. When push comes to shove, Peter can’t sit idly by and send these men to their dooms, even if it means another cool psychedelic, fractal-based fight with “Stephen” to get the time and space to try to heal them.
I love that twist so much. The only thing cooler than Spider-Man fighting a multi-dimensional version of the Sinister SIx is Spider-Man trying to save each of these villains who came to bad ends in each of the films that spawned it. It’s true to the spirit of the character, understanding his responsibility not just to protect the city or stop evil, but to try to show compassion and decency to those who need it. It’s a wonderful affirmation of the values that have undergirded Spider-Man from the beginning, with a challenge that cannot be encompassed by a simple smash-fest, but requires more altruistic motives, unique strategies, and psychological challenges for Peter.
It’s just as wonderful that the push toward kindness, the warning against “not my responsibility” thinking from Peter, comes from his Aunt May. Peter tries so hard to help these people, even though there’s an easy way out, because of her encouragement. And it comes at the cost of her life.
The most brutal gut punch in the film comes when the avuncular, seemingly reformed Norman Osborn turns out to have been plotting and scheming the whole time. At the moment of truth, he reveals his true intentions, powers up, and goes on the attack. It’s a hell of a turn, sold by Willem Dafoe’s convincing performance as a penitent Norman to that point. Even though the ensuing super-fight between him and Spider-Man is a fairly generic building-buster, the threat to Aunt May, and her eventual death at the Goblin’s hands, gives it a greater force.
In that, the sharpest choice in all of No Way Home turns out to be making Aunt May into Uncle Ben. The MCU spider-flicks have conspicuously avoided Peter’s overplayed origin story to this point. No scenes of spider bites. No uncle’s dying words. Nothing more than initials on a suitcase to suggest that traditional part of the character’s mythos is even a factor in this universe.
In one fell swoop, No Way Home fills in that gap with flying colors. We know Marissa Tomei’s Aunt May. We’ve watched her guide and care for Peter through two films. So when she’s the one who urges him to do good even when you’re inclined to look the other way, when she’s the one who tells him that with great power comes responsibility, when she’s the one who dies because of her nephew’s choices, it has more meaning and wounding force than any other cinematic depiction of Peter losing his mentor and inspiration. A smart, almost clockwork choice, brings this Spider-Man in line with his predecessors in devastating fashion.
It also speaks to the smart construction of No Way Home’s script, penned by Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers. Spider-Man reaches his lowest point, as all heroes seemingly must at the two-thirds mark of their movies. He’s tried his best, to help his friends, to save the bad guys, to put everything on the line for the greater good. And he not only failed but lost the most important person in the world to him in the process.
So who can lift from this funk, who can give him the wisdom and insight to go on? Two other Spider-Men, of course! McKenna and Sommers smartly make most of No Way Home a story that belongs to the MCU’s Peter. Sure, we get the dimension-crossing villains in play, and references to past adventures, but they’re all this Peter’s responsibility and cross to bear for most of the runtime. Only when he needs them most do the Web-Heads played by Andrew Garfield and Tobey Maguire show up.
And they are utterly fantastic! The script smartly introduces them apart from our Peter, giving the audiences a chance to reorient themselves to the characters and have a few laughs. There’s such cheer-worthy moments when each arrives, and such hilarious interactions when M.J. and Ned try to figure out what’s happening and each Spider-Man tries to prove they are who they say they are, to Peter’s friends.
But when push comes to shove, they find this universe’s Spidey lost and ready to give up on the roof of his school. His friends give him comfort, but his alternate universe counterparts give him perspective. Tobey and Andrew (you’ll have to forgive the naming convention in the spirit of clarity) speak of their losses, of Uncle Ben and Gwen Stacey. They tell Tom how those deaths led them down the wrong path, to things they ended up regretting, and how they want better for him. It’s the sort of comfort only a fellow Spider-Man could provide, with resonant words that speak to truths that stretch across their experiences and lift each of them up out of darkness.
Herein lies No Way Home’s arguably greatest achievement. It would be so easy to do less than this. It would be so easy to have Maguire and Garfield simply swing in for a cameo, or just jump into the fray for the usual “save the world” reasons, and expect audiences to cheer based on recognition alone. But this film not only builds on the stories and character growth these figures have already experienced, but uses their histories to inspire, caution, and comfort the latest Spider-Man in his darkest hour.
It works! The pep-talk gives MCU Spidey the motivation he needs to keep trying. He, his friends, and his new arachnid allies all work together to cure the remaining villains, and it is absolutely delightful. The multi-Peter team-up provides something I didn’t know I needed. At one point, Garfield’s character says he always wanted brothers, and it’s the perfect way to describe the dynamic between the different Spider-Men. There’s a sweetness, an easy familiarity, a source of mutual support among that simply snaps into place. A Spider-Verse team-up could thrive on novelty alone, but these three Peter Parkers make sense together in a way I wasn’t expecting, but ends up being the most endearing part of the film.
It’s also the most hilarious. The rapport among the various Spidies is outstanding on its own, leading to a host of great lines. But the film also pokes fun at the differences and eccentricities of the different movies cross-pollinating. Holland and Garfield marvel at Maguire’s organic web-shooters. Ned blanches when he finds out the fate of another Peter’s best friend. A call to “Peter Parker” elicits three simultaneous responses. There’s even some delightful meta-gags, like when Garfield laments feeling like a lesser Spider-Man only to be reassured that he’s amazing, or Maguire once again complaining about his wall-crawling back pain. There’s all sorts of little touches and great jokes that play on the unique scenario of continuities colliding and popular commentary on this uber-series of films.
Of course, it can’t all be fun and games. The group has to collaborate to lure in, battle, and ultimately cure the quartet of remaining baddies, each of whom gets a moment in the sun. The Statue of Liberty (remodeled to include Captain America’s shield) makes for a good home base of the climactic final set piece. And the ensuing multiball battle among Spider-Men and super villains finds a way to give the MCU Peter an edge and a reason to lead despite his comparative youth -- unlike the other Spideys, he knows how to work as part of a team.
The ensuing battle is fun, if occasionally confounding given the number of similarly-dressed heroes and a blur of villains smattered across indistinct scaffolding. It mainly works thanks to the continually entertaining dynamic of the different Peter Parkers working together, and the villains receiving their grace notes. The CGI lizard is still an ugly design, but this Dr. Connors gets to make a personal history-backed point about trying to fix people, and have a moment of recognition with his Peter. Sandman doesn’t have much in the way of a character arc, but still gets to swirl and impress with particle effects more than a decade since his last outing.
Electro comes out the best for his transition from one film series to another, as this universe’s “different energy” magically makes him into a much better (and better-looking) character, something the script wryly comments on. Sporting a modern, but more traditional design, Jamie Foxx finally gets to have real fun in the role, as basically an entirely new character. And he’s stopped by none other than Doc Ock, the only villain MCU Spidey managed to fix earlier, in a wonderful mini-twist. Alfred Molina, who fared the best of any of his counterparts in his original movie, continues to soar in the role here. And his arriving to help save the day is an excellent, minor tribute to the idea that not all of Peter’s good deeds go unpunished; some of them come back to him right when he needs them.
It speaks to how this movie gets both the big and the little things right here. So many of its choices not only delight you, they feel right. The energy-focused Electro is drawn to one of Iron Man’s arc reactors. Dr. Octavius grasps it and declares, “the power of the sun, in the palm of your hand,” the thing he was hoping to achieve in Spider-Man 2. He and Maguire’s wall-crawler share a moment of recognition, where Otto’s touched to see how this “dear boy” is all grown up. Ned discovers that his grandmother is right, he is, in fact, magic. M.J. goes from the eternal pessimist, preferring to expect disappointment rather than be blindsided by it, to reassuring her friends that they’ll go forth and kick ass here. There’s something worthwhile for anyone and everyone here.
There’s even brilliant visual echoes to prior movies. Garfield’s Spider-Man, who nearly steals the show both comedically and dramatically, manages to save this universe’s M.J. in the exact way he couldn’t save his universe’s Gwen. It’s an emotional payoff to a seven year old movie that still lands like gangbusters. It’s emblematic of No Way Home’s remarkable ability to not only invoke past events and characters from the Raimi and Webb films, but to pay them off, round them out, and in some cases even fix them. It extends Peter’s desire to save all of these lost souls and see the best in them to a meta level, evincing a similar wish in the heart of Watts and his collaborators with regards to the films that paved their way.
The ultimate challenge, though, comes in the form of the Green Goblin, the original Spider-Man villain, and the one who’s taken the most from Holland’s Peter Parker. The fight here is not a physical one, even as Spidey and Gobby do go toe-to-toe once more with our hero coming out on top. It’s a personal one, as the MCU Spider-Man must decide whether to exact vengeance upon this dastard who killed his surrogate mother, or to relent and try to fix him too.
It must be said that Dafoe gives a tour de force performance here, rivaling Molina himself and Michael Keaton among Spidey’s cinematic antagonists. He’s entirely plausible as an apologetic Norman desperate to be reformed, warming to this Peter as another surrogate son. And he’s an equal and opposite terror as the Green Goblin, menacing and insidious in ways that go beyond frightening, instead cutting to the bone. He growls at Holland’s Spider-Man that the altruism his aunt preached and which Peter himself has taken up, is a weakness, a pathology. He blames Peter for May’s death, arguing that it was Peter’s compassion, his willingness to try to help rather than just solve the problem by the simplest means necessary, that led to his aunt’s demise. These words carry extra sting in the shadow of Peter’s lingering sense of guilt for how his “controversies” have ruined the lives of those close to him.
As a lego figure in the film’s aftermath hints, Osborn is basically demanding that Peter turn to the dark side. And like the other fresh-faced heroes before him, he stays strong in the light. Only he’s not alone. The other Spideys figure into the finish in ways that are meaningful without stealing the spotlight. Maguire’s Spider-Man holds back a vengeful Peter from stabbing his foe with the Goblin’s glider, a weapon whose deepest cuts he knows all too well, and Garfield’s wall-crawler delivers him the cure. Despite everything, despite his justified anger and the ease with which he could give into it, Peter instead decides to save and forgive even his aunt’s killer, a man who can then only sit and wonder “What have I done?”
I can think of no greater tribute to the spirit of Spider-Man and the character’s legacy across a multi-media empire. The choice to save someone when you have every reason not to, when you’d rather vindicate the values of your lost mentor rather than merely avenge them, is a triumph of the character’s abounding heart and compassionate ethos. Peter chooses to do good, when his powers make it physically easy, but his life makes it emotionally impossible. That, more than anything, is Spider-Man.
Only he’s not done. The ongoing wrinkles of Doctor Strange’s original spell are tearing reality apart, and the only way to stop it is a counter-spell with a tremendous cost: everyone must forget Peter Parker entirely. His best friend, his young love, his allies from across the universe, will no longer know him. And he suggests it, chooses it, because he’ll willingly lose everything to save everyone.
I’m always hesitant about uber-magic as the solution to problems, but there’s an emotional logic here that lets this tack succeed. What matters here isn’t Strange’s spell, which runs into all sorts of logical problems if you start to try to untangle what it means in practice. What matters is Peter’s willingness to give up his life, the friendships that have sustained him, the resources that have helped him, in the name of the greater good.
There’s something profoundly heartening-yet-melancholy in that. In a small way, the Goblin wins, convincing Peter that he is, in fact, a source of hardship to those close to him. Even when he walks into the donut shop where M.J. works, a speech in hand to try to find his way back into her good graces despite the erasure of their shared history, he relents when he sees how happy she and Ned are. He is, like so many Spider-Men before him, unwilling to make even people he cares deeply about a part of his life if it means disrupting their joy and putting them at risk. There as well rests the heart of what Spider-Man is about: great sacrifice, immense suffering, enduring karmic unfairness, in the name of doing the most good.
With that, No Way Home is one of those miraculous films that takes on so much and yet somehow achieves everything it sets out to do. It tells a compelling story of the MCU Spidey losing everything and still striving to uphold his Aunt’s values. It takes on the chief criticisms of this version of the character, bringing him more in line with traditional depictions. It honors eight films’ and three continuities' worth of stories and characters, integrating them into a seamless whole. It pays off and even fixes dangling threads and broken character arcs from prior movies, providing rousing, cathartic endings for familiar heroes and villains alike. And despite feeling like the culmination of so much, it forges a new origin story for Spider-Man, one that clears the board for more adventures while still offering a heartening conclusion to the ones of old.
In the end, Peter chooses mercy over vengeance. He chooses tremendous self-sacrifice over personal gain. He finds strength in his closest friends and likeminded counterparts. He saves those even his would-be teacher thinks unsalvageable. He gives up everything, loses everything, and despite it all, chooses to start again and help people, to carry on the spirit of the lost parent who molded him into the extraordinary person he became. If that’s not Spider-Man, I don’t know what is.
I liked the initial idea but it didn't lead anywhere interesting. There was somewhat of a message /rant feel to it, which was fine.
It wasn't that funny a movie, but at least it was consistent and had some decent moments. The character development was run of the mill and I was fine with that. The plots were poor when you consider that this movie could have explored a future society or its own premise a lot more. It just stuck to the idea that everyone was an idiot. No variation at all.
For a movie that laughs at idiots I thought it would have been a lot smarter. Social satire? You could fit the social satire message of Idiocracy in half a tweet. You could satire the movie itself. A movie for the YouTube educated. A movie for a new type of idiot. Informed and with initial good intentions but soon to develop a stubborn competitive superiority for point scoring and the pride in calling others stupid. Egocracy. Less extreme, it's a movie for people to watch and recognise that they're not alone in believing that most people are idiots.
Obviously there is truth in the movie, but the way its expressed and presented doesn't make a good movie.
Greater than the sum of its parts.
I don't think I've ever rated a show higher than I rated each individual season, but this show take all its disparate, less-than-perfect pieces and makes one of the best artistic expressions of human experience I've ever seen. Touching on philosophy from all angles,[I'm going to spoiler tag this section, because it talks about the philosophical ideas of the ending, but won't contain overt plot spoilers.] and settling on lessons everyone should learn about compassion towards your fellow man (even the Brents of the world, even if you know they cant be allowed to treat people the way they do, they are still people and still capable of good), on the knowledge that oblivion and mortality give meaning to life, and shows both in story and in practice, that it's better to know when it's time for something to end.
Honestly, I truly hope that this series has an effect on people. It touches on so many topics with grace, and while it does so with a bit too much of that tongue-in-cheek political correctness, its biggest lessons are right on the money.
The final season constantly busts out tearjerkers, and I am so glad the creators realized that good things must end. So many shows, even my favourite ones, have had mediocre endings and didn't know where to go with themselves, but culminating everything in one big hour long special epilogue was a perfect ending.
I hope this series is the Doug Forcett of our universe.
I came here to write a review on how great the season ended. I was, however, sadly made aware that this was the series finale as well. I started watching the show since it release three years ago. Over the three seasons you've seen the two main characters (Mickey and Gus) change. Sometimes for the best, others for the worst.
With the way this season felt, the creators had no indication that this would be their last; this is shown through the few character plots that were left open-ended. However, despite this - i feel we were able to see something of a ending. What we learned over our time with Mickey and Gus is that LOVE isn't easy. There is no cupid that shoots an arrow, that results in everything becoming great from there on out. Ney! The opposite. LOVE brings ups and downs. But! Most importantly, LOVE for Mickey and Gus brought out a better versions of themselves. Especially Mickey - and this season, we got a glimpse into Gus changing.
This series has brought me to tears a handful of times. Not many shows can do that. There has to be a connection, something that the viewer can relate to that allows for them open up emotionally. I'm saddened that the series is done, but i'm glad to have known it for as it was, when it was. Thanks!
[9.5/10] At some point, I am going to stop being surprised by Rick and Morty’s brilliance and just expect it, but the show is still at that point where I suspect it’ll be good every week, but it still manages to blow me away each new turn it takes.
I take “The Ricklantis Mixup” to be Season 3’s answer to the improv episodes from the prior two seasons -- a change of pace that allows Dan Harmon and Justin Roiland to play around in their amazing sandbox of a universe for a bit without feeling the need to develop or advance their main character. In that, they give us an episode that doesn’t have Rick or Morty or any of the other main characters, and yet has all the Ricks and Morties, in glorious, The Wire-esque splendor.
And The Wire really has to be the touchstone for an episode like this. Where else are you going to find something that addresses the challenges of cops and criminals, the rise of an charismatic and unexpected leader, the frustrations of blue collar working who feels like the system is holding him down, and the difficulties of four schoolchildren to make their way in that world. Hell, throw in a Hamsterdam, and you have all five seasons of that superlative show, filtered through Harman and Roiland’s dueling deranged perspectives and deposited into one twenty-two minute chunk. That’s an amazing achievement, the sort of praise I feel like I’m throwing out all too often for this show, but it keeps earning it.
The episode can roughly be broken up into those four stories, but what makes the episode more than just the sum of its parts (and what earns its Wire comparisons) is how interconnected those stories are, both literally, since they’re connected by the Citadel are all affected by the ecosystem that’s developed after our Rick destroyed the place, but also thematically, in the way each protagonist of each story looks at a bad situation and wants change, and gets it, but gets something unsatisfying or unpleasant or worse than they bargained for out of the process, with plenty of dead bodies floating among the garbage and blasted out the airlock.
That’s clearest for Candidate Morty, trying to win the presidency of The Citadel on behalf of The Morty Party. There’s something aspirational, almost West Wing-esque about Candidate Morty, as he gives soaring, Obama-esque speeches about dissolving the lines of division between Ricks and Morties and make The Citadel something better for all. That makes it seem particularly terrible when his former campaign manager, another Morty, tries to assassinate him. The move turns out to be all for naught since Candidate Morty survives and becomes President, in something that seems like a chance to turn around this mixed up place.
Instead, it’s revealed that Candidate Morty is the evil, eye patch-wearing Morty we met back in Season 1. It’s the perfect, knife-turning twist for the episode -- a reveal that the Carcetti-esque beacon of hope for a city in turmoil is a guy running on unifying rhetoric to pursue his own Carcetti-esque ambitions (well, maybe a touch more intergalactically evil than Carcetti’s). All of that hope, all of the communal joining together and believing that things can change just puts a tyrant into power, and holy hell is that one of the darkest things an already dark show has put forward.
Then there’s Factory Worker Rick, who seems older and more haried even by Rick standards, gazing out of subway cars, seeing wealthier and cooler Ricks succeed ahead of him, and sighing. He works at a factory that makes wafers out of the satisfaction an old fashioned “Simple Rick” enjoys when reliving the experience of spending time with his daughter (a subtly revealing bit in and of itself).
Things hit the fan when he goes postal, killing his boss and co-workers, and getting into a hostage standoff with the police. There too, the show capture a certain backbreaking ennui to this place, that even (and maybe especially) a locale populated by geniuses leads to this sort of dissatisfaction, disaffection, and anomie. And this story has just as cynical an ending, with Factory Worker Rick believing he’s won, only for the Wonka-esque Rick who runs the factory to capture him and use that feeling of freedom and satisfaction to fuel his new deluxe wafers. I mean, my god, if that is not the peak of devastating, existential irony on this show, I don’t know what is.
There’s also Rookie Cop Rick, who’s paired with Grizzled Cop Morty. More than the other stories, this one feels like it’s riffing on a sea of tropes ripped right out of the Training Day playbook. There’s plenty of political and social commentary baked in through how even Grizzled Cop Morty looks down on his fellow Morties as “animals” or how Rookie Cop Rick tries to give himself up to his brethren for the difficult choices he’s made and gets let off the hook. But it has less impact since it feels like more of those tropes played straight (or at least, as straight as can be possible given the insane circumstances) than something truly new and subversive.
Still, this is the part of the episode where the show gains strength from the crazy details of the world it’s constructed at The Citadel. The entire concept of a wild Morty club where Morty’s dress up in costumes, dance for one another, and use bad math, or of a series of news anchors from the same hierarchy of subuniverses, each of whom has it worst than the next, or just the concept of Morties who’ve been turned into lizards and Ricks adopting rural affections is bizarre and hilarious and head-scratching in the best ways.
That comes through in the episode’s final story, which sees a quartet of young Morties, soon to be assigned to a new quartet of Ricks, go out in search of a fabled “wish portal” that could change their lives. The sorriest among them is Cool Morty, who has an experimental drama chip that allows him to make things “sad and a little boring,” and who’s been through Rick after Rick. Here too, there is that sense of existential dread, of things never changing, the permeates the proceedings. Cool Morty’s suicide is unexpected and lives up to the sadness his experimental chip portends, but it’s made worse that the supposed change his dive into this sci-fi wishing well effected is the hollow one President Morty offered.
That’s the rub of this one. Even in this fantastical world of brilliant scientists and their boy sidekicks, there is a kaleidoscope of pain and false promises that stretch through everything. All the geniuses, all the good-natured moppets in the world can’t change that when thrown together into their own dysfunctional society. That Rick and Morty has the chutzpah to explore that society for an episode, and to deliver that message, just speaks to the boldness and off-kilter storytelling we’ve come to expect, and to make it all as funny as it is quietly devastating, is a near-miracle. Rick and Morty keeps delivering them on a regular basis.
[9.1/10] Very good episode. The opening story about copyright infringement of Eminem's "Lose Yourself" in New Zealand was the amusing sort of absurd, international minutia that the show does well. The follow up story on the Trumpcare bill was pretty much what you'd expect, with some fair handling of Congressman admitting they hadn't read the bill only to rake them over the coals for not knowing major details. There's a lot of the same jokes others have made at this point, but turning his call to contact your representatives into a callback to the Eminem "you've only got one shot" story was a nice touch. And the "Now This" segment with scenes of the newly engaged Morning Joe news anchors having tiffs with one another was a funny bit of editing as well.
And the main story, a sadly-needed encore about net neutrality, was well done as well. It's another case of Oliver giving good context to an issue and finding ways to cut through bureaucratic difficulties to get to the point. Word is the comments have already come in fast and furious, so hopefully they'll do some good. The way the segment talks about how we got to this point, and explains the current FCC chair's knowledge of it, was well done, with enough comic asides from the likes of Tay Zonday and Pizza Rat to keep things lively.
Overall, an episode that well well-produced, informative, and funny.
So there it is, the worst thing HIMYM had ever done, or would ever do. "The Robin" was once my breaking point on this show, the point where I stopped harboring any illusions that it might one day return to being the show and I had known and loved and accepted that, instead, it had metamorphasized into a pale imitation of its former self. HIMYM had previously had bad episode, bad characters, and bad storylines, but none of them was so fundamental to the mythos of the series, so bafflingly wrong-headed, and so essential to the show's past and its future, as "The Final Page."
But before we explore the horror, let's take just a minute to chat about the things that are okay, even good about the episode. The comedy subplot about Marshall and Lily having their first day off since Marvin was born gets pretty broad, between their minute-by-minute list of activities, to their cartoonish lullaby, to their immediate separation anxiety, but it's pretty standard HIMYM Season 8 comedy, with a few cute moments, and that's enough to give it a pass.
What's more, Ted's speech to Robin about the virtues of making an ass of yourself is a lovely little scene, that manages to delve into Ted's fairly unrealistic view of what loves means, and yet draws it back to something sweet -- that even his wildest misfires have helped him to find a great friend. I've never really bought into the show's thesis, first presented in Season 7, that what was holding Ted back from finding The One was that he needed to get over Robin. But accepting that premise, his words are heartfelt and the gesture of taking Robin to the WWN building is meaningful.
With that out of the way, let's talk about the event that manages to wreck one of the show's foundational relationships, botch its romantic-arc storytelling over at least the last season and a half, practically ruin two of the show's main characters, and infect nearly everything that came after it: The Robin.
The result is simple -- essentially everything from Barney's profession of love to Robin in "Splitsville" has been part of a play, a scheme on Barney's part prime Robin for his proposal. The drunken kiss, the dating Patrice, the whole kit and kaboodle, were one grand effort at manipulating Robin into loving him.
Let's address the first problem with this whole plan -- it's tremendously implausible. The problem with a lot of works, be they dramatic or comedic, aping the Tyler Durden-esque twist that reshapes everything you've seen previously, is that too often they require all too much convenience in order for these sorts of byzantine plots to work. Too much of "The Robin" requires people to react in just the right way, at just the right time, on just the right schedule, or the whole thing falls apart.
Now HIMYM has always been a show that runs more on emotional logic than on real logic. To some degree, you accept the level of willing suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoy this show, or you pretty much have to give up on the whole thing from the beginning (or chalk it up to Future Ted as an unreliable narrator). I'm generally okay with that idea, and the other contrivances that are necessary for the grand gestures that are the stock and trade of HIMYM to work. But this one stretches the reality of the show too far. Maybe it's just that there's too many moving parts; maybe it's that the plan stacks implausibility on top of implausibility until the whole bit is too unwieldy to pass even the most generous of B.S. detectors, or maybe it's that I don't like what this routine is in service of and that colors my willingness to accept it or not. Whatever the reason, "The Robin" feels like a bridge too far in terms of the coincidences necessary for Barney's ploy to work, and while that's far from this episode's greatest problem, it does sincerely damage the effectiveness of the twist.
So let's get into the greatest problem, which is really two fold: that Barney would do something like this and that Robin would accept it.
The first part is arguably, devastatingly in-character for Barney. There have been several episodes to rehabilitate Barney as not just some sort of Lothario on the prowl, but as an actual human being with real feelings and a desire to love and to be loved. The results have been mixed, and all too often the show falls back into the idea that Barney is basically a sex-minded wizard, conjuring spells on unsuspecting dames at the bar with little moral compunction.
So then it's not crazy that Barney would offer this bizarro version of something Ted might do. Barney too goes in for the big gesture, for making an ass of himself, but he does it in the most deranged, cruel manner imaginable, that plays into the worst qualities of the character. Manipulating someone that you claim to love, knowingly putting them through the pain and humiliation and instability that Robin has been suffering from over the past few episodes, doesn't amount to a grand profession of love; it amounts to the revelation that Barney doesn't really understand what love is.
Because what's striking about "The Robin," and what is supposed to ease the audience into accepting all of these horrible things, is that Barney has no malice in any of this. Barney isn't trying to hurt Robin; he's not trying to trick her into loving him; he's not trying to be an amoral monster about something as sacrosanct as two people pledging the rest of their lives to one another. He just doesn't understand. "The Robin" unintentionally reveals that the Barney's arc from, at a minimum, the end of Season 2, where he slowly develops from a sexual predator into a mature human being, is a failure. It leads to a person who believes he loves another person, and maybe, in his own way, he does, but through his twisted methods, shows he has no concept of what love really is.
Love is not torturing someone so as to catch them off guard with your proposal. (I'm also looking at you, Friends.) Love is not intentionally driving someone "nuts." Love is not toying with people's emotions. Love is not spying on your friends. Love is not pretending to date the object of your heart's desire's worst enemy just to get to them. Love is not an elaborate game where if you lie and cheat and steal enough along the way, you get a human trophy at the end.
These are not the acts of someone who truly cares for another human being. These are the acts of a sociopath. This is the best Barney can do. This is him playacting as a romantic. This is him trying to replicate the rhythms of the Mosbies of the world while having no facility, maybe even no idea, about what truly loving another person means.
And this is the point where Barney crosses the moral event horizon. It is telling that the show's creators patterned Barney's "long con" after a similarly elaborate plot from Breaking Bad's Walter White (occasional HIMYM guest star Bryan Cranston). That moment in Breaking Bad is arguably the point where Walter White goes from being a man with good intentions and bad impulses to being the monster he would become. "The Robin" presents a turning point for Barney as well. This is where he goes from being a character who does some pretty terrible things that you can write off as an exaggerated, nigh-satirical take on "pickup artist," buoyed by the character's accumulated vulnerabilities and affections, to becoming someone who would enact this horrifying, violating scheme and view it as a sincere expression of love.
Maybe it is. Maybe this is the closest Barney can come to expressing the emotions that he believes amount to love. But if so, that's terrible, and speaks volumes about the fissures in the foundation of a relationship HIMYM doesn't just wants us to be on board with, but which has been, and will be, at the core of the series' final three seasons.
But perhaps even more insulting is the idea that Robin accepts it. Robin herself has deteriorated a bit as a character since the beginning, becoming more and more exaggerated herself as the late season dearth of places to take the show's characters became more pronounced. And yet there is little in her history that suggests the cynical, pragmatic, independent woman we have seen over seven-plus years, would not only excuse Barney's deplorable behavior, but accept it as a sign that the two of them should be together.
Robin herself offers the most convincing and powerful rebuke of Barney's inherently messed-up gesture. "Seriously, Barney?" she asks. "Even you, even someone as certifiably insane as you must realize that this is too far. You lied to me, manipulated me for weeks. Do you really think I could ever kiss you after that? Do you really think I could ever trust you after that? This this is proof of why we don't work, why we'll never work. So thank you. You've set me free because how could I be with a man who thinks that this trick, this enormous lie could ever make me want to date him again?"
That should really have been it. Robin should have walked away, resolved never to talk to or let Barney into her life ever again, and recognize him as someone who could not trusted to be honest, to be open, to be a mature human being in an adult relationship. Instead, she realizes that this is all, in fact, leading to a proposal, and convinces her to have a complete change of heart about the whole thing.
And it makes absolutely no sense.
How that sense of betrayal becomes instant acceptance of the offer to marry this cretin is beyond me. The most charitable interpretation is that Robin appreciates this as Barney being all-in as only he can be. But that doesn't erase the horrible things he did to her to get there, or offer any indication that he couldn't or wouldn't twist noble ends into terrible acts once more. The less charitable interpretation is that Robin has been left so off-balance and messed up by Barney's machinations that she's in a bad enough place mentally to be willing to accept this sort of thing. The even less charitable interpretation is that no reasonable human being would ever look at what Barney did as a genuine sign of love, or at least as a sign that someone can be trusted to be a committed, loving partner in life, and the show just fiats Robin's emotional acceptance to get us to an end point it not only hasn't earned, but which is the antithetical result to all that we've seen thus far.
Or maybe there's another explanation.
The version of Robin Scherbatsky we've seen over the last handful of episodes has not been good or decent or likable. She is pointlessly horrible to Patrice. She selfishly tries to sabotage what she thinks is Barney's relationship with Patrice. And she only returns to wanting Barney after his declaration that she cannot have him. This too, is not the foundation of a real, committed relationship, or the kind of person with the maturity to be in one. Robin has always been much more of an adult than Barney, and even within the heightened reality of the show, felt like more of a real person. But the version of her we've seen in the lead up to "The Final Page," presents a discomforting possibility.
Maybe these two people deserve each other. Maybe they both have such a fucked up view of what it is to want and care for and love someone that they are made to visit these types of violations of trust and of conscience upon one another again and again, in a spate of co-dependence rather than legitimate connection. Though Barney's missteps are much greater in magnitude here, both he and Robin act terribly in the lead to this mid-season finale. They mislead, don't consider the genuine happiness or well-being of the other (not to mention innocent bystanders), and above all act with wanton disregard for anyone's interests but their own. Perhaps that level of myopia leaves them unexpectedly well-matched, even if not portends a thoroughly unhealthy relationship to follow.
But that's not what How I Met Your Mother seems to want its audience to take from "The Final Page." It wants us to take this all as the act of genuine devotion rather than of hopeless narcissism, as a moment filled with true love than a reveal of psychopathology, as two people who belong together beautifully and finally joining as one than as an implausible acceptance premised on falsehood and manipulations.
This, more than any prior missteps, more than any previous faults in the characters or the plot, more than even the justifiably polarizing finale, is the moment that broke the show, that proved it had truly and fully lost whatever tenuous grasp it had on its understanding of its characters, their stories, or how love and romance work. It's the point at which we were asked to accept the product of a depraved act of betrayal and manipulation as an enviable celebration of true feeling.
There was no turning back from "The Robin." No retcons could save it, and no amount of attempted rehabilitation could rescue the show in its wake. It is the point at which How I Met Your Mother ceased to be a series that had always had a certain rom-com view of romance but which grounded it in genuine human emotion and moments of real feeling, and instead became one simply playing out the string to its unsatisfying endgame, increasingly fixated on relationships that hadn't and didn't work, and which were founded on so much betrayal -- of character, of love, of common sense -- that it could no longer have even the force that came from the years of good will and myth the series had crafted for so long. "The Final Page" is, without question, the worst thing the show ever did, and true to HIMYM's non-linear bent, its ripples are felt in both the past and the future of the show.
9.7/10. It's funny, if you asked me halfway through this episode, I wouldn't have guessed that I'd rate it this highly. Barney and Ted's scheme is a little gross, and most of the episode is just them screwing around in the bar. Plus, the Marshall, Robin, and Lily story was cute enough, but pretty standard stuff.
And then, the cartoony misadventures (especially Ted and Barney's psychic conversation) at the bar turn out to be a hell of a lot of fun, with great comedic beats and a bit well-observed insight into the way random ridiculous thoughts crash and burn when confronted with the reality of the situation. And Marshall and Lily's story has an unexpectedly deep emotional depth, with not only Robin's defense of the idea that there's more than one way to be in love, Marshall's explanation that the corny gestures are what work for him and Lily and help make them the couple they are, and the heartwarming marching band finale that seals the deal. As an added bonus, the reveal that the storm took place over three days is a nice misdirect that takes advantage of the grammar of television to good effect, and even Lily's search with Ranjit brought the laughs! Truly a superlative episode of How I Met Your Mother, which is all the more notable for the fact that it's a fairly standard episode of the show where nothing major or life-changing happens.
9.25/10. Contrasting Robin contemplating saying "I love you" for the first time with her sister contemplating having sex for the first time was a clever way to address both issue and play them off of one another. The parallels are cute without feeling forced, which is a difficult balancing act. It's moments like these where there's a real sweetness and, dare I say, wisdom to Ted that balances out his more grating qualities, and makes you understand what the foundation of he and Robin's relationship is. It's a neat trick to have the two stories dovetail the way they do, and I forget how deft the show could be in the threading the emotional needle of its stories like this.
Plus, Marshall and Lily arguing about whether Scooter playing in the shallow end counted was the perfect comedy side dish, featuring the gang's usual colorful metaphors and a chance to add some more levity the proceedings, not that the uniformly funny flashbacks to everyone's first time didn't serve that function as well. A charming episode of the show that used the structure of its various stories to move each of them along, both in terms of plot and character development.
What can you say? It's the "Let's Go To The Mall" episode. It combines a legitimate relationship story with Ted and Robin (where Ted is a little insufferable and Robin is a little unreasonable), with the goofy weirdness of the Slap Bet, and culminates in one of the strangest, funniest, and most memorable bits in the series's history. Ted & Robin's story gets a little too exaggerated at times. Ted is kind of a jerk for telling the secret and should have been far more honest and direct with Robin. But then Robin does get on a big high horse about Ted asking if she's married (a less than crazy assurance to seek, even if she didn't want to explain the mall situation) and then lying to him about it. But even if the resolution's a little too tidy, there's a sweetness to it and it can enjoy the halo effect of the ensuing pop song.
The Slap Bet, on the other hand, is pure delight, from Barney's overconfidence, to Marshall's weepiness after getting slapped, to Lily's megalomania but concomitant sense of honor as the Slap Bet Commissioner. I had forgotten how much the episode leans into the idea that Robin's secret is a past career in adult films, but the entire slap bet subplot is one of those trademark, genuine-feeling games among friends that helped HIMYM stand out from the crowd among hangout sitcoms, and it would be the gift that kept on giving.
