The worst episode by far, with weak story points and so many loopholes.
The only good bits were with the children, and a look into Jonathan's character.
I absolutely hate Nancy's and Lucas' characters. They're annoying, and Lucas' is just plain negative and obnoxious.
I adore Dustin, Joyce, Hopper, Will, and Eleven.
[SPOILERS]
What infuriates me the most is when the good guys are the ones caught or killed.
He was kind and sweet, yet naive and "too nice" to be "smart enough" to not get killed, apparently. I HATED that scene. I cried.
Barb. Another sweet character I've fallen for, but a sensible and cautious one. Also, someone not like the others. I wish it were Nancy instead, as she brings nothing to the show except her so-called "Ms. Perfect-ness", which is just "being dumb". But, of course, "plot".
I love Hopper, but this episode was idiotic. How they didn't catch him while he was out cutting the fence, I was smh. Then, inside, when he locked himself in, eyeroll. The weirdest thing would be the researchers finally getting ahold of him but not killing him. Of course, they would kill Benny but not Hopper, who had seen literally everything.
Yes. Stupid Nancy went inside the tree. Alone. Without telling Jonathan. Then she shone her flashlight on the monster instead of switching it off. At least she's in the other dimension so, hopefully, the monster eats her. Lol.
Jonathan is definitely a character with lots of potential to grow.
Why didn't Hopper ransack Joyce's place for bugs? That was lazy.
Lucas deserved to be hit on the head. Mean and vicious. My dear Eleven. I hope she's safe somewhere.
[/SPOILERS]
I'm autistic. Attack on Titan has been my hyperfixation more often than any other piece of media in my life. I started watching a little late, entering in when the first part of the final season was out. But Attack on Titan is one of the most masterful, well-plotted, intricate pieces of fiction that I've ever seen. Analyzing it's mysteries and story, it's characters and world, it's message and symbolism. Nothing even comes close to Attack on Titan for me in that regard.
I unfortunately have been spoiled on many parts of the ending, because manga readers are the most insufferable people ever. But even still, it is an excellent conclusion, and I think it's so interesting how it decides to leave it's ending open to interpretation. It reflects how the entire series has been a series of questions and mysteries, so leaving with some questions left unanswered allows for discussion to be continued long after Eren's story is over.
I will forever love Attack on Titan, and the absolute joy it gave me for years, and it will be sad to see this legendary series go. But all good things must come to an end, and I think this ending is satisfying enough for something so special.
It's difficult to build tension and stakes in a prequel to some degree, and the problem is magnified the closer you are to the familiar part of the timeline. If you already know who lives and who dies, who has to reach a certain point of the larger narrative unscathed, it can deflate some of the excitement and intrigue of a particular storyline.
On the other hand, it can also heighten the tension in an episode, by spotlighting the mystery between the known beginning and the known ending. As Better Call Saul sets up Nacho calling a hit on Tuco, we know that Tuco lives; we know that Mike lives, and thanks to the opening scene, we know that Mike gets ridiculously roughed up, presumably in the attempt. It all raises the question of how we get from A-to-B. Does the hit go wrong? Does Mike beg off from Nacho and get a beating for his troubles? In true Breaking Bad fashion does some unexpecting intervening factor come into play that throws the whole situation out of whack? We don't know, but we want to know, and that's just part of the masterful job that BCS does in using its prequel status as a benefit and not a drawback when it comes to holding the audience's attention and interest.
It also does so by firmly establishing its characters' motivations without making them feel obvious or blatant. The closest "Gloves Off" comes is Nacho explaining why he's trying to take out Tuco. It takes a little prodding from Mike, but Nacho explains why he would want to be rid of the notably mercurial Tuco in a satisfying way that coheres with what he already know about him. Tuco is unpredictable. Beyond what we've seen in Breaking Bad, he has to be talked down multiple times in the desert with Saul, and it's perfectly plausible that he would be even more temperamental when using, which lines up with what we know of him from his run-ins with Walter White. Temperamental is bad for business, and it makes sense that somebody who seems cool, collected, and perceptive like Nacho would want that unpredictable element taken out of his calculus and his livelihood.
And then there's Mike, who is increasingly feels like the most down-to-earth incarnation of Batman there's ever been (and please, someone cast Jonathan Bank in a The Dark Knight Returns adaptation while there's still time). At some point, Mike Ehrmentraut's moral code, and his supreme ability to assess a situation and find the best option could hit the implausibility button a little too hard. But for now, it's a joy to see him listening to Nacho's (fairly well-reasoned) plan for Tuco and then poking holes in it before coming up with a better one, and eventually, an even better (if both more and less costly) one after that. There's a world-weary certainty to Mike, a sense that he's seen this all before and he knows the angles before anyone else does.
That's why the moral element to his storyline is vital and captivating. Taking a life is rarely something that's treated lightly in the Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul universe. One of the most interesting aspects of Walter White's descent in Breaking Bad is the way that his killing escalated, from self-defense with Krazy-8 (who cameos here), to his failure to act to save Jane, to his more active vehicular activities to save Jesse, until making deals with neo-nazis and calling hits of his own.
But we know Mike's motivated not to do that, not to reach that point, and also that he will eventually. He doesn't have the "Mr. Chips-to-Scarface" transition that Walt does--we've already seen that he's killed the dirty cops who took out Matty--but there's a different between that and doing random hits for a big payday from various drug dealers, something the audience knows he eventually makes his peace with.
I bring up the Batman comparison with Mike because despite the difference in tone of their source material, they fit surprisingly well together. Both are gruff, both are uber-capable, and both, at this point at least, have a code against killing. There have been a lot of different interpretations of The Bat's reasons for this, but one of the most persistent is the idea that if he crossed that line, he wouldn't able to stop himself from killing every two-bit punk who crossed him, that it would be the easy solution to too many problems that required a more measured response.
But one of the interesting things about "Gloves Off" is that it comes close to positing the opposite for Mike. When Mike's going over his rifle options with the arms dealer we first met in Breaking Bad, he comes upon an old bolt-action rifle and makes clear that (in addition to his expert knowledge of rifles) that he's used one and is more than familiar with them. The scene intimates that Mike fought in Vietnam, that he he's seen the horrors of war, and likely bitten off more than his fair share of it. It's not a far leap to think that Mike killed people in war, that he was probably damn good at it, and that despite the avenging impulses that spurred him to take out Matt's killers, he has no taste for it.
When Nacho pays Mike and asks him why he would give up twice the payoff for a tenth of the effort, we already know the answer. Mike has a code. But he isn't Batman; he's already crossed that line and seen and felt what it does to a person, and that reminder, a symbol of that time, is enough to make him earn his money the hard way to avoid having to dip his toe into those waters once again. The sequence where Mike provokes Tuco, with his corny payphone accent and road rage argument is fun and it's clever and it's brutal. But it's the cumulative result of all Mike's seen and done, of who he is, and it makes those bruises we see him packing frozen vegetables onto more meaningful and important, both to the series and to the character.
It would be too much and too far to call Jimmy's story an afterthought in "Gloves Off", but his is clearly the B-story of the episode, despite the pretty significant fireworks between Jimmy and his bosses, his girlfriend, and his brother. The chickens have come home to roost from what we witnessed in "Amarillo". Jimmy is on incredibly thin ice with his employers, and also with Kim, who's been shunted down to the basement as punishment for his sins.
These scenes tease out a great deal of the core of Jimmy's character as well. One of the things I love about Chuck McGill as a character is that he is often wrongheaded or petty or unduly harsh, but there's a germ of truth to most of the things he says, even if he bends that truth to suit his needs. Chuck's not wrong when he tells his brother that he always seem to think that the ends justify the means, that if Jimmy can get the right result, what does it matter how he gets there? It's a striking moment when Clifford Main disabuses Jimmy of the notion that the partners' anger is about the money spent, or that the success of Jimmy's plan mitigates what upset them in any way.
Instead, it's the fact that he circumvented them, that he knew (despite his protestations to the contrary) how they were likely to feel about it, and rather than confronting them directly and trying to argue his case, he went with the mentality that it's easier to get forgiveness than permission. That mentality blew up in his face here, and not only did the blowback threaten the promising position he's lucky to have here, but it hurt someone he loves. Jimmy cannot help breaking the rules, and his golden tongue has almost always offered him a way out of any real consequences. Here, that doesn't fly, and his bad behavior takes down Kim with him.
"Gloves Off" ties together the three big factors we know motivate Jimmy: his inability to color within the lines; his desire to be with and do right by Kim; and his jumbled up resentment, love, and desire for approval from his brother. The scene where Jimmy and Chuck confront one another, like most scenes between them, is dynamite in how it teases out more of Chuck's perspective and personality, and leans into the tremendous, complicated dynamic between the two brothers.
Is it too much to suggest that Chuck might be playing sick, or at least embellishing how bad he feels once Jimmy arrives? He seems surprised that Jimmy is still there in the morning, and it's hard to say whether Chuck is above using such tactics to avoid uncomfortable confrontations he could undoubtedly see coming. Better Call Saul has yet to dig into what specifically led Chuck down the path of his electrical sensitivity, but it would not surprise me to see it as a reaction to, and a way of avoiding, stress or trauma or something unpleasant in his life.
That's the crux of the confrontation between Jimmy and Chuck. Chuck still sees Jimmy as a shyster, as someone who bends the rules, who gooses the system, in order to get what he wants, regardless of what the risks are or whether other people have done it the hard way. And Jimmy confronts Chuck with his hypocrisy, that Chuck can't outright say that he wants Jimmy out of the legal practice and that he'd leverage Kim to put pressure on Jimmy to that effect because that would be extortion and that would be against the rules. But even if he can't say it out loud, or admit, even to himself, that that's what he's doing, Chuck has his less than savory ways of getting the result he wants too. He uses Hamlin as his proxy and hatchetman; he subtly undercuts his brother and puts the screws to him and the woman his brother cares for, all under the guise of keeping things proper. And yet, he sees himself as quite above the fray.
There's more than a bit of Jimmy in Chuck. There's a sense that Chuck too knows what levers to pull, what buttons to push, to make things happen, but while Jimmy, to some degree or another, owns what he is and not only acknowledges its utility but can't escape it, Chuck is in denial, and convinced that he is a saint simply trying to keep order with an agent of discord who's threatening to topple the applecart and make a mockery of all he holds dear. And in between them, Kim is willing to fall on the sword, even when she'll be hurt by the result, because it's the right thing to do, and despite her extracurricular activities helping Jimmy con Ken Wins, the right thing comes far more naturally to her than to Jimmy, or even the petty Chuck.
Even though they never interact, "Gloves Off" draws a contrast between Mike and Chuck here. Mike knows what his goal is, sees what it would cost to his soul in order to get it, and without seeking praise or understanding, suffers more to get something less, but to keep something greater. Chuck, on the other hand, won't do the dirty work. He won't demote Kim himself; he won't be direct with his brother, because he can't suffer the minor indignities even as he's trying to bring about what he sees as the greater good. Mike acts with honor even when he's on the wrong side of the line; Chuck can't let himself be the bad guy even when he thinks he's in the right, and Jimmy is stuck in the middle, trying to figure out his place in a world where he's punished if he breaks the rules, but worries that he can't succeed without doing so.
Jonathan Banks is ridiculous good. He does so much with so little; plays the stoic, taciturn old hand so well, that it's tempting to think of that as the sum total of what he is. In both Breaking Bad and Community, he plays a perpetually grumpy, vaguely prideful, uber-competent ruffian, and does so with such skill, that it's easy to go back to that well again and again.
But then in an episode like "Five-O", he hits a note of vulnerability. He sits in the dark, and the tears well in his eyes as he talks to his daughter-in-law about how he "broke his boy." Mike Ehrmentraut is not made of stone. He is a simple man in many ways, who is remarkable for how unremarkable he is at times. But there is a beating heart beneath his steely exterior, one that grieves for his lost son, that blames himself for allowing it to happen, and who throws himself at the mercy of his son's wife out of a sense of guilt and fairness for having taken the man she loves away from her.
That scene is so damn quiet. There's no music to subtly or not-so-subtly massage our emotions one direction or another. There's little of the cinematic flourishes that made Breaking Bad and its successor stand out in a sea of often bland direction on television. There's just close ups of a wounded animal spilling his guts over his greatest regret, and a similar shot of his daughter-in-law, who carries a similar look of hurt but also one of understanding. It's one of the most powerful, tragic scenes in this young series, but also in its more celebrated predecessor, that deepens an already enthralling character and shows that Mike is far more than just grump and handguns.
At the same time, as good as that final scene is, it shouldn't overshadow how well the episode that precedes it is constructed. Apart from the story of Walter White, apart from the story of Jimmy McGill, "Five-O" is a wonderful little short story that works almost entirely separated from the narratives of the protagonists that Mr. Ehrmantraut finds himself associated with.
It is both a mystery and a character piece, offering details both about what led Mike to where he is when we meet him at the parking booth in the beginning of Better Call Saul, but also examining who he is and the baggage he carries with him when we first meet him in Albuquerque.
The episode begins by, not in so many words, asking a number of questions. How did Mike get shot? Was he speaking on the phone with Matty the night before he died? What brought him to Albuquerque in this state? Why won't he tell his daughter-in-law? What did they talk about? Who killed Matty? Who killed his partners on the force.
Then, one by one, the episode cuts back and forth between the present and the future, answering these questions and presenting new ones as it goes. At one point, I believed that Mike had killed his own son for some reason. Or that he at least knew what was going to happen, but didn't stop it.
Instead, the episode doesn't leave the audience guessing for long. Even as it tosses out breadcrumbs, and lets silences linger that make more of an impact than any dialogue, it eventually shows you what happened before it tells you the rest of the story.
The sequence where Mike takes out his son's murderers is masterful. The subtle touches show who Mike is and what he's about. He's capable and smart, as seen in the way he anticipates the dirty cops taking his weapon and breaks into their cop car to plant another one. Despite his anger, he's nervous about his plan, as seen in the way his hand shakes as he makes sure to let his targets know that he's having a few as he holds his glass of whiskey. And he's wily, playing into their expectation that he's drunk, leading them to take him somewhere that an execution can take place without too much notice or trouble.
Then his demeanor changes, and he does what he feels he needs to, and we get everything we need to know except the last piece of the puzzle -- how Matty got mixed up in this in the first place. And that leads us to that final scene, with Mike at the most open and honest and wounded as we've ever seen him.
And we learn things about one of this franchise's greatest characters that were unknown before "Five-O." We know that he's a drunk, who managed to crawl his way out of a bottle. We know that he was a dirty cop, or at least one dirty enough not to raise any suspicion because That's Just How Things Are. And he is a man who carries on with a tremendous sense of shame for the man he was and what it led to. He views himself as someone unworthy of his son's admiration, as someone whose failure to live up to the sterling image his son had of him led to his son's death. Mike is not a sentimental man, not one to wear his emotions on his sleeves, but "Five-O" makes it clear that he carries that weight with him wherever he goes.
While Saul appears for an important segment here, this episode is not about him. He's a supporting character in Mike's story. And yet in the midst of all this great standalone storytelling and character development of Mike, the folks behind Better Call Saul still take time out to lay the groundwork for why a pair of individuals like Jimmy McGill and Mike Ehrmantraut would find each other useful and build a relationship, if not necessarily a friendship together.
To that point, "Five-O" is a great episode of Better Call Saul, that deepens our understanding of one of the series's major players. But even apart from that, it's just a wonderful, heartbreaking, self-contained story about a man who went along to get along, with booze and kickbacks and thirty years of the usual business along the way, and woke up when he failed the person in his life who mattered the most to him. It's easy to love Mike Ehrmantraut, the old badass with a code; but it's even better to love Mike Ehrmantraut, the grieving father ready to live with whatever consequences are to come for killing his son's murderers, who still struggles with the thought that he corrupted something pure and beautiful, and feels responsible for taking away his granddaughter's daddy, his daughter-in-law's husband, because he was not as good of a man as he might have been.
Brace yourselves, dear viewers, for this episode will undoubtedly spark heated debates among fans. Some will love it, while others will loathe it—much like the game itself.
The Last of Us ends with a masterful coup de grâce, cementing this adaptation's place in the pantheon of prestige television.
It is sombre and dark yet replete with emotions that run deep. Joel, at long last, becomes a man of action. Whether his actions are morally defensible, however, is a subject of endless debate.
Staying true to the game, this episode does not falter in its execution, boasting a master-stroke opening that sets the stage for a gripping narrative to unfold. The strategic use of a flashback adds layers of complexity to already richly-wrought characters, serving as a catalyst for some of the most poignant dialogue between Joel and Ellie to date—dialogue sure to leave the audience teary-eyed.
The action is far from glorified, leaving viewers in a state of visceral shock and awe. The last couple of episodes have served to do some fantastic work for Joel, and this episode is the proverbial cherry on top, truly a beautiful and profound culmination of his character arc. Indeed, the show is a thing of beauty, but beauty that is shrouded in darkness.
Were a flaw to be ascribed, it would be that of brevity. At a mere 40 minutes, the finale feels curtailed. The absence of the Cordyceps is understandable, given the laser-focused narrative, though it marks a deviation from the source material.
By turns harrowing and humane, towering and intimate, this finale buries its hooks deeply in the viewer, capping off a brilliant maiden season. Love it or loathe it, impassioned discourse will assuredly abound in the wake of this uncompromising conclusion to the first chapter of The Last of Us.
01x09 - Look for the Light: 8.5/10 (Great)
The acting, directing, and production design of this show continue to be amazing. Unfortunately, at times, including for this entire episode, the writing falls back on tired zombie apocalypse tropes to drive its story forward. Flashbacks are all well and good; they help flesh out characters and can provide nice diversions from the main storyline. But Joel's predicament in Episode 6's cliffhanger needs no diversions, and there are no surprises offered in Episode 7. (Well, maybe except for Ellie's apparent queerness, which is a definite plus, though it doesn't do much to inform, flesh out, or provide insight into anything else that we've seen so far.) From the time that the show's trailer premiered we knew that the scenes in The Mall would be coming. And anyone who has ever watched more than one episode of The Walking Dead fully expected that the person Ellie shared those happy scenes with would be a close friend, and that they would die in a heartbreaking manner. What I didn't expect - especially after the triumph of storytelling that was Episode 3 - was that the writers would spend 50+ minutes telling this tale, and/or that there would be no surprise twist. It could have been done in 10. Fleshing out Ellie's pre-Joel story could have been spread out across multiple episodes. Instead, this week's installment felt like wasted time. Even worse than time, it wasted magnificent performances from Bella Ramsey and Storm Reid on an hour of TV that I kept wanting to fast forward through.
[7.4/10] Gosh that was long. I don’t think that any episode of television, even an epic season finale for one of television’s marquee shows, needs to be two and a half hours long. Sure, many movies are that long. But movies have the structure and pacing for it, with rising and falling action, act structures, and other foundational elements that make 150 minutes not feel that long. “The Piggyback is basically” fifteen minutes of prelude, followed by two hours of a third act climax, followed by fifteen minutes of an epilogue. It’s just too much.
But there’s good moments here! Eddie’s death is meaningful. Him playing Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” to lure the bats with Dustin is cheesy as hell, but just as awesome. His choice to stand and face the horror rather than run away from it as he did with Chrissy is inspiring and earnest. And there is irony and tragedy in his demise. He was the town pariah and scapegoat, but secretly one of its biggest heroes. The world will never know how he gave his life to save a town that hated him, but Dustin knows, and his uncle knows too. It’s sad, but comes with a certain poignancy.
The same goes for Max’s heartfelt admission that she spent so much time feeling guilt over Billy’s death that she wished something would happen to her, something that would make her disappear. It’s one of the most honest renditions of survivor’s guilt I’ve seen on television, and Sadie Sink owns the scene. The loss of someone who hurt you, but who was also hurt, is a complicated thing, and for all season 4’s missteps and questionable story choices, it gets Max’s vulnerability and strength in the shadow of unspeakable thoughts just right.
As tired as I am of “power of love” stories, I did like that it’s Mike finally saying the L-word that gives Eleven the strength to do her thing. It completes Mike’s arc, with him worrying that he’s not good enough to be with a superhero and that admitting his feelings would make it hurt more. But him deciding that’s baloney and affirming his love for Eleven in every form makes for a beautiful little monologue. The finale lays things on a little thick with visions of everyone’s plans failing and good folks suffering, but the idea that love spurs us to “fight” is a simple but effective tonic to that idea.
There’s a number of lesser but still good moments in the lead-up to this. Argyle finding a kindred spirit in a Nevada pizza shop is a fun win for him. Jonathan validating his brother and wanting to support him no matter whom he loves is a wholesome moment. The Russian prison guard convincing Yuri to once again be a “great man” and help save the motherland by saving “the Americans” is the best thing to come out of that storyline.
But again, there’s just too much going on, and a lot of it seems superfluous. It’s admirable that the Duffer Brothers want to give everyone in the cast something to do. But most everything outside of the Eleven/Max/Vecna confrontation seems like perfunctory piece-moving rather than a vital part of the action.
Lucas closes off the jock jerk/satanic panic storyline, but randomly finds the strength of will to avoid being strangled out of nowhere. Erica likewise beats up a bully twice her size almost at random. Steve, Robyn, and Nancy burn up Vecna in the Upside Down, but it doesn’t even kill him, so it feels like they just mildly inconvenience him. Eddie and Dustin fighting bats includes some cool sequences, and keeps Vecna’s minions from attacking the others, but is a sidestory at best. And once again, Hopper, Joyce, and Murray fighting the demogorgons and demodogs in Russia is the most tangential, tenuously-connected part of this whole season.
Jumping around to all of these storylines is just plain exhausting. While I wouldn’t call any of it filler (okay, maybe the business at the Russian prison), a lot of it feels much less urgent and essential than what’s going on in the main event.
The main event is good though. Max retreating to her happy place, and it being the finale of season 2, is a nice surprise. Eleven finding out how to “piggyback” and fight Vecna via Max’s mind is a cool trick and thrilling moment. And Eleven turning the tide and defeating One, however temporarily, is rousing.
But things quickly devolve into tired exposition and monologuing, where Henry explains how he’s going to shatter the borders between his world and ours, and how it was Eleven, not Dr. Brenner who made him. We already got a giant infodump at the end of episode 7, which was already kind of a stretch. This one is probably necessary, but listening to One simply announce his backstory with some of the usual visuals doesn’t add much intrigue or excitement to the proceedings.
Plus, the episode makes a big deal about how our heroes lose for the first time, but...it seems like they shouldn’t have? Sure, Henry succeeds, and there’s a giant Upside Down-fueled “earthquake” that devastates Hawkins. That’s unfortunate, and I’m glad there’s some kind of cost to all this interdimensional adventuring.
But Eleven found her inner strength and obliterated the guy in the mind realm! Robyn, Steve, and Nancy burned the hell out of him in the Upside Down and blasted him with a shotgun out the window! I’m not saying plausibility is the key in a show where the supernatural is the rule of the day. Yet, nothing in this feels like a loss. It feels like, by all rights, they should have been able to finish the job here and now with Vecna, and the only reason they didn’t is because there’s another season of Stranger Things that needs a villain, and the Duffer Brothers don’t want to have to come up with another one. It would have been better if Vecna had enjoyed more of an outright win than something that seems like a complete loss that turns out to be mere table-setting for season 5.
That said, we do get some great work with Max. It is harrowing watching the life leave her body as she cries out about how scared she is in all of this. It’s a nice contrast to where she’s reminded of what she has to live for with her friends and doesn’t want to disappear. Caleb McLaughlin does an extraordinary job as Lucas reacting to Max’s apparent death with his own cries of pain. And we’ve added to Eleven’s messianic nature by having her effectively revive Max, creating the second of two “miracles” in the episode, even if poor Max remains in a coma.
The epilogue is nice enough. There’s the bevy of tearful reunions you’d expect, with Eleven and Hopper being the best of them, naturally. I’m glad that the show didn’t just jump from climax to cliffhanger. It’s nice that we get some of the denouement and emotional aftermath of all these grand events. But considering how many concurrent storylines and characters they’ve been juggling to this point, even that soon feels overextended.
Regardless, Robyn forming a friendship that has the potential to lead to more with her crush is a really nice scene, and it’s good to see her get the win. Nancy and Jonathan’s deal continues to be confusing and pointless. Lucas reading a Stephen King book to a comatose Max is a creditable homage to one of the show’s clear inspirations. And seeing the town of Hawkins wonder why they’re cursed and forced to suffer like this, with the aftermath of Vecna’s handiwork coming to the fore, helps add a sense of place and scope to the scheme this season.
Overall though, this season finale bites of way more than it could chew. Why this couldn’t have been broken up into three episodes, or even just been built into a better act structure, is beyond me. There’s a lot of good material here. Some of it’s even great. But it’s presented in a way that makes it really hard to get your hands around.
Still, I like some of the big swings the show’s taken in season 4. Vecna introduces a retroactive backstory and mastermind for all that’s happened which is kind of hard to swallow. But having a villain with a face and a personality and a motive escalates this struggle into something broader and more meaningful as a reflection of Eleven’s own struggles. The show’s done good work with a number of the key relationships in the series, and introduced some solid new characters while reintroducing old ones. (I’m glad we got more Owens this year.)
But at the end of the day, this also feels like half a story, despite the ridiculously bloated runtimes for every episode. This is as much a prelude to season 4 as it is its own distinctive thing. Maybe that’s to be expected in the streaming era, but while there’s high points and quality elements at play, the season’s never more than the sum of its part.
Still, a friend described Stranger Things as a show that’s still exciting and worthy of investing in even when it’s missing half of its shots, and I think this finale is a good representation of that idea. Not everything works, and the time required prompts a certain exhaustion factor. But this feels epic and grand and satisfying enough as a temporary resolution to the season’s events. There’s a lot more ground to cover, but also enough to tug the heartstrings and make you cheer, which is still worth appreciating.
It seems people just give out laud to something once it reaches a pique or a culmination of established storytelling. Revenge of the Sith was not a good film, it just had monumentally important scenes and was the culmination of the Vader story. This was a good episode of Breaking Bad, but I'm not sure I see anything fundamentally different about it than any other episode in which something decisively "final" happens, and it felt almost the same to me as the preceding episode. To me, the last episode with Sarah, and the subsequent episodes with her father (John De Lancie) were much more impactful, and rang more true. I also felt for everyone in those moments. But this episode? It just made me feel like a psychopath. Walt and Jessie were the only ones I even cared about in this episode.
The show has never wavered in its depiction of Hank as an A1 piece of establishment shit. He's a degenerate jackbooter with negative self awareness and the maturity of a six year old, and, though they never show it, his job is terrorizing people and enabling the existence of drug cartels. Did anyone else watching actually care that he was going to get it? To me Breaking Bad's writers have done a great job with making a boorish and non-sympathetic character just palatably sympathetic enough through five seasons to not be hard to watch his character. He was an integral part of the story and ensemble, but I never once cared about him.
That's where the disconnect came for me, right at the beginning of this episode (really, the end of the last). Walter was understandably impossibly conflicted with the situation he was in and not wanting to call down on his brother in law. But I didn't fucking care. I just wanted to see the shit hit the proverbial fan. Yet this episode stole that from us. It cuts straight to the aftermath and Walt being conflicted with the situation and fumbling with the results of his machinations after once again playing the devil but finding himself unprepared and caught unaware with the unexpected outcome. That was in character. It's something we've seen play out time and time again, as it seems to be one of the main ruminations of the plot: How desperation and necessity mold people into certain shapes, and how some people take to the shape more naturally, (Mike, Gustavo) whereas Walt throws himself and Jessie into a world where they're both massively out of their depth, and they're both like plastic figures that are partially but incompletely heated and bent, but snap back toward something resembling their natural shape (Walt), floundering in what they were trying, or, in Jessie's case, breaking in half under the stress.
After this, though? I have no idea what the showrunners' internal perspective or motivation was, but here's where it turned into the blackest of dark comedies to me. I was rolling with how aghast everyone was and how fucking stupid Walt's family became. She pulls a knife?! And then when Walt wrestles it away junior goes full retard and calls the cops saying the opposite of what just happened, like a small child calling for the teachers. I always liked junior, but here he had nothing but my contempt. I don't know it was forced and unrealistic, or just my disgust at how people can act like irrational, frightened animals, but I was laughing when Walt yelled at them, and pretty much the entire phone conversation. Yes, I get the extremely heavy drama with Walt playing the part of the evil, dominating drug kingpin spouse so he would take all of the blame and heat onto himself and off of Skyler, while falling apart from how everything turned out, but it was just so ridiculously tragic that the drama changed states from drama to comedy like a catalytic reaction.
I can't say whether or not that was intentional, but I still find it kind of silly that people call this one of the BeSt tHinGs eVaR FiLmeD when there are several better episodes of BB. Yeah, it's partially subjective. Yeah, you're also probably very easily manipulated and don't know the difference in a good script and a self-serious one. This episode could have used some heavy cinematic scoring for the climactic scenes. The dryness of the dramatic action is my only real criticism of this show overall.
Oh jeez, the series was great but they really should have toned it down a bit with the cringy fairytale ending.
By the end eeeverybody has to take their turn and declare their unconditional adoration for the Mary-Sue of the series:
- Townes (despite years of no contact and overall lack of relevancy at this point in the story?)
- the grizzled russian chess veteran (despite playing her only once?)
- Billy (despite him rightfully telling her to fuck off previously)
- Beltik (despite her previously refusing his help and him being some random Kentucky store manager and a washed up ex-regional champion way over his head at this point)
- the twins, for some reason - what are they even doing in Billy's basement offering advice in a game way above their level? (do they even know any of the other people in that room? Who invited them? Why does the US chess champion have to rely on phoned in advice from some random friends while playing for the world title in the first place?)
- Borgov (who is inexplicably happy for her despite the fact that his loss is a huge upset not just for him, but the entire cold-war era soviet bloc)
- throw in some random old men on the street in Moscow beacuse why not
By the end I was surprised her adoptive father didn't chip in and call her in Russia to admit teary eyed that he was wrong and Beth is "the greatest person that ever lived" or something.
Trivias
+The first cut of this episode lasted 45 minutes.
+When Michael calls for a grief counseling circle in the conference room, Pam describes the movie "Million Dollar Baby," Ryan describes +"The Lion King," and Kevin describes "Weekend at Bernie's."
+In this episode, the Stamford office discusses the order for "Fairfield County Schools." However, Connecticut schools are not run by counties but rather by individual town and regional districts, meaning Fairfield County wouldn't be the ones placing a paper order.
+Dwight says his grandfather was reburied in an old oil drum. This must be the same grandfather whose tux he inherited.
+This episode was filmed after the fifth episode, "Initiation".
*Goofs*
Continuity
First, they talk about Ed Truck like he still worked at Dunder-Mifflin, Michael says he's retired when he appears in The Office: The Carpet nine months earlier. In that episode Michael goes on about how he hates Ed Truck, so it's either a continuity error or the writers expect us to remember that episode and assume Michael is overly grief-stricken over his death to get attention from his coworkers. The way it's portrayed Michael's grief really comes off as a continuity error and he seems to really care deeply for Ed Truck.
Plot holes
In the episode, Karen wants a bag of Herr's Salt and Vinegar chips, but there aren't any in the vending machine. However, when she walks by the vending machine you can see the chips in slot B1.
Spoilers
During the bird funeral, the cast wore coats despite the hot summer weather.
Trivias
In the final shot, the actor playing the sensei who judges Michael and Dwight's fight can be seen breaking character and struggling to hide laughter.
When everyone gets off the elevator after the fight, Rainn Wilson struggles not to smile after running into the door.
When Dwight calls his sensei, Ira, He gets cut off before saying "Arigato Goazai Mashta" which is an incorrect pronouncation. The correct form for what he is meaning to say is "Arigatou gozaimashita" which is a thanks to something that has been done to you. For instance you could say it to a teacher after a lesson. Along with "Sempai" which should be "Senpai" and Michael falsely identifying a Kanji as "California Roll" are just a few of the moments satirizing Dwight and Michaels "fighting knowledge".
Ryan has a different phone in this episode (a flip phone) than he did in the episode, "The Fire," in which he has a Palm Treo 650 smartphone.
Spoilers
When Michael gives his reasons for beating up Dwight, he says that Dwight lied about going to a dentist appointment. In the season 3 episode, the coup, Dwight uses the excuse of a dentist appointment to go meet Jan in order to take Michael's job. ¡
[8.1/10] This feels like an episode of a different show, and I actually like that. It’s almost a mini-movie, a unique standalone adventure for Eleven. While normally I enjoy the more fragmented, intertwined storylines of Stranger Things, there’s something cool and different about the show telling us one story for the hour rather than pieces of four or five stories put together.
It also takes us to a new location for the first time in the series (barring the cold open to the season). We get to see a 1980s, neon colorful punk version of underground Chicago. Suddenly, Eleven finds herself within a crime ring, joining up with the “outcasts”, running from cops, and gaining rebellious revenge on those who’ve hurt her.
But she also finds solace. The not so subtle throughline of “The Lost Sister” is that Eleven is looking for “home.” She became frustrated, as teenagers do, with rules and a sense of being cooped up and not allowed to follow her own wants and wishes. So first she looks for home in the form of her mother, only to find, through her Aunt’s call to authorities, that it’s not necessarily a safe space for her.
So instead she goes off searching for her “sister” -- another gifted cold she saw in her mother’s flashbacks who can commiserate with her and knows what she experienced in a way no one else does. There’s such a dose of moving warmth when Kali and Eleven show one another their brandings and then embrace, made family by their shared experiences. It’s a sort of familial connection that she’s been yearning for, an alternative to the life she’s been made to lead thus far.
And it’s a big difference! Kali’s got a very different philosophy than everyone else Eleven’s met so far. She is, more or less, the Magneto in the X-Men-like story, and also kind of Emperor Palpatine? As to the former influence, Kali believes in vengeance against the workers from Hawkins Lab who hurt them, and believes that regular people will always view folks like her and Eleven as “monsters.” As to the latter one, she tells Eleven to channel her anger in order to increase the strength of her powers, prompting flashbacks to romantic rivals and the blow-out argument with Hopper.
The combined lessons prompt Eleven to join in Kali’s revenge quest and use her powers to find Ray, one of the workers who doled out abuse, and reveal that, when tapping into the “right” emotions, Eleven has the power to move a bus. It’s a bit of rebellion and acting out, and to its credit, the creative team of Stranger Things make it look really cool.
Granted, some of Kali’s gang look pretty goofy, even for the 1980s. But between Eleven’s punk rock makeover, the rock and roll soundtrack, and the slick but gritty heist-like sequence of their storming Ray’s apartment, you get the sense of why Eleven would think this is the living end. It fits as an outsized version of the standard “good kid falls in with a bad crowd” narrative, which works to its benefit.
But then something changes. When it comes time to punish Ray for his transgressions, Eleven spots the picture of him with his daughters and can’t go through with it. More than that, she stops Kali from taking him out either, knowing the pain of losing one’s parent and not wanting to inflict it on any other innocents. It’s a reminder that for however much Eleven is frustrated with Hawkins and has lashed out at the people who’ve hurt her, she has a conscience. And no matter how much she wants to belong with her new sister and these new cool kids, she also has a soul that she can’t just set aside. Eleven’s a good kid, and this is a great way to dramatize that.
And yet, part of her hesitation stems from some unresolved daddy issues, something that Kali exploits. Kali uses her glamour powers to create the image of “Papa”, asking why Eleven never tried to look for him, never tried to confirm that he’s gone. It’s a powerful scene, of Kali pointing out how Eleven’s hurt might fester, of her twisting the emotional knife, out of an understandable extremism born of lived experience. At the same time though, it focuses Eleven on what she really wants.
She wants home. And when she stops and reflects on what that means, she sees Mike caring for her, Dustin calling her a friend, and Hopper looking after her like she was his own daughter. Sometimes you need to leave the situation you’re from in order to be able to see it clearly. Leaving Hawkins, seeing the alternatives and broader scopes and threats denied her, Eleven appreciates what she has and the people who truly do care for her. Stranger Things isn’t shy in its messaging, but it’s moving nonetheless.
It’s cool to get this sort of flight of fancy, one that breaks from the show’s usual M.O. to give us a different kind of Eleven adventure. It not only delivers a series of cool sequences in a different setting, but delivers a strong character story for Eleven, that reaffirms who she is and how much the good people in her life really mean to her.
I wanted to write this in earlier comments: Does anyone think of Black Mesa while the Hawkins Lab scenes (the current time, not Eleven's flashbacks)? specially when they send in the one dude in the Upside-Down. That could've been Gordon Freeman.
Anyway, as a i expected the protagonists are shifting now in the offensive. But i cringed on Hopper's plan. What was his exit strategy? I know, he is more an intuition type, but that was seriously dumb. Another thing that felt out of place was the scene at the vigil with Mr. Clarke. Firstly it was an unusual amount of explanation for Stranger Things, secondly this punch-a-pencil-through-paper-explanation was very cliché. And not 80s cliché, i looked it up. It was first used in Event Horizon in 1997 (or has Mr. Clarke the ability to watch movies from the future, which would be awesome btw.), then recently in Interstellar.
I really enjoyed the duo Nancy-Jonathan. Nancy finally left her 80s-trope-shell and showed some soul. The confrontation developed both characters much further.
Speaking of Duos: Joyce was in combination with Lonnie also very good. She used her maniac energy, that she had built up in the last episodes in converted it into an emancipatory act.
One final thought, that i also wanted to write in earlier comments: I think they showed the monster too early. We saw already the head and parts of the body in episode 3 or so. I would've wished they wanted until the end of this episode to show anything of the monster directly. So the picture analysis in the dark room and everything else connected to finding the monster would have had so much more impact.
As i expected the wow-effect wore a bit of in the second episode. But still i enjoyed it a lot. After they set up their general nostalgia-flair and their very well written and acted characters, this episode showed us, what i think is the key element that makes and hopefully will make this series so lovable. It is a dichotomy of the protagonists between being an 80s cliché and a human being with a soul (although i am not sure that all protagonists are human beings...). There are some scenes in this episode that really stung right in my heart, for example at the beginning, when Eleven lies there and starts crying. It felt so true. I remembered all the times as a kid when i was sleeping somewhere besides my own bed and felt homesick. So well play by Millie Bobby Brown! And also when Chief Hopper says how in the city he only dealt with strangers and now it was his friend. Those scenes are maybe easy to write, but not easy to act without it feeling acted but real.
Furthermore the story is really interesting. I have absolutely no idea how it will unfold and that happens rarely these days. There are so many possibilities and Stranger Things makes not the mistake to explain anything. It's show, don't tell how i wished i would see more in the mystery and sci-fi genre.
I gave the episode 8 points because i want to keep some reserve for episodes that really overwhelmed me.
Well... what an ending.
The Talk scene was nearly perfect and also hurt me in all the right ways. Could have being even more mean-spirited if Mappa left in the meanest jabs at Armin - "You weren't soft like this before. Your judgment always led us to an answer... But now, all you can say is, "let's talk"... You're absolutely useless." and Mikasa - "What I'm saying is that the REAL Mikasa disappeared in that mountain cabin, at 9-years old. Leaving only you behind, ever faithful <..> slave:
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0112-021.png
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0112-025.png
Thank god Mappa cut the host talk, through. It was confusing as hell and naturally fans blow it out of proportions even more. It was a mess. I didn't know one could make the scene where Mikasa holds Armin down even more heartbreaking than it was in the manga, but they managed it somehow.
Levi vs Zeke part alot 3
The good. Well, the good parts were great actually. Voice acting, it was as emotional as the Talk, I enjoyed some creative shots of the fight, hell even funny parts from the manga were left in hooray!
The bad. Good god who the hell choose this song?! No, a song with lyrics in general and it was playing so loud... ugh. Music didn't add anything to the moment. WIT did amazing job animating Levi's fight scenes and Mappa is no match in that regard. Some shots that looked creative tried to hide lack of powerful moments, but ultimately heavy burden was put on the voice actors to carry the scene (but they did a great job anyway). Also feels like Levi had more expression during all of it in the manga. Regardless, it was the first fight in season 4 that didn't meet my personal expectations which is kinda worrisome for the part 2 of Season 4... well, we will see I guess.
Btw, the "censorship steam" is back baby! WIT couldn't be more proud looking at the scene of Zeke's injuries ;)
https://64.media.tumblr.com/3878ebbce9edae43086b41970bb28a59/8ef9c787a82d5ce8-96/s640x960/ce935da92612a7dfe58884698c71fcbc93472322.jpg
Not yet shown ending
Who knows. If they switched back to a different storyline after the fight like it happened in the manga overall impression of the episode would dip, imho. BUT if they didn't and ended it where I think they would... oh boy, I think a lot of flaws could be forgotten just for this bold move.
As a giant sidenote.
It does feels like Ackerman's lore is retconned somewhat in anime.
I assumed that the previously cutted info would be used in The Talk scene by Eren. But not only nothing was added to it, some info from the Talk scene was cut short on the lore, too.
It started back in season 3 with unimportant hints getting cut. Like Zeke calling Levi a monster:
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0083-014.png
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0083-015.png
Before the attack on Marley we had Zeke explaining why they should be extra careful with the future attack on Paradise island. And he mentions Ackerman clan as byproduct of titan science:
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0093-019.png
Which also sort of explains why Porco specifically called Levi "Ackerman" in that moment.
In The Talk we get even more detailed and over explained to be honest description of their power:
"A bloodline that could partly manifest the strength of a titan while in human form."
https://official-complete-2.eorzea.us/manga/Shingeki-No-Kyojin/0112-022.png
End of my essay)
Pros
+Fight scenes were pretty intense and not as hammy as they have been in other episodes with The Others and Wights
+Melisandre returning was good
+Dragon fighting was great and properly brutal
+The Night's King's assassination was pretty great, I liked how they led us on twice with Dany trying to kill him with dragonfire and Jon trying to duel him fairly and both failing before Arya got him
+Theon's redemption was godly and I can already tell people are going to be overlooking it in favor of other scenes unfortunately
+Beric Dondarrion getting brutally stabbed in the hallway was pure cinema, great cinematography
+Brienne and Jaime's unbeatable tag team fighting was great
+Acting was noticeably solid this episode, even actors I don't exactly like did well here, the writing being more competent than most episodes definitely helped
Neutral
* the Dothraki getting all hyped only to do literally fucking nothing was actually hilarious
*Lyanna Mormont bit was the only really cheesy part but it was kind of fun
*Arya chase bit was a lot longer than it needed to be
*Sam just lying down on a pile of bodies doing nothing for the last half of the battle was kind of hilarious too
*Crypt parts broke up the action a bit and served their purpose but also didn't bring that much to the table
Cons
-There were a number of scenes that tried to create tension by prolonging whatever action was happening (like the absurdly long wait at the start, or when Melisandre set the fire to the moat, etc.) and I don't feel like most of it was necessary or added anything but time to the scene
-Not enough important people died for a show that made it's name for not giving plot armor to main characters, there were a few too many scenes where one should've died and was saved at the last second by another character that had no business being at that part of the battlefield (I'm looking at you Jorah! fucking teleporting outside of the castle to save Dany. I'm onto your sorcery)
-Too Dark, hahaha I know dumb complaint but it was noticeably annoying at points
-Didn't really explain why Bran just decided to control the ravens for a bit (I'm also secretly disappointed he didn't steal the Night's King's dragon)
-No giant ice spiders
-Tactics made no sense as usual but magic zombie fighting wouldn't anyway so that's not completely unforgivable.
yeah I know I put a lot of critical points here but the critical parts were all minor to me and the good parts wayyyyy outweigh them. It was a great episode, it sets up an interesting ending to the series. Never thought Cersei would actually be the big baddie at the very end when they could have the Night's King but I'm not against it either. Can't wait to see Jaime stab her and pull out a flaming sword :smirk:. also the Cleganebowl/Trial of the Seven/whatever shit they set up for the final encounter will be wonderful
I read all of the books in the series before the show premiered. After a couple of episodes, I was done with the show. The thought of repeating all of that horror and misery, only on the screen instead of the page, didn't seem worth it, production values be damned. Some months later, I happened to walk into a room where someone was watching one of the last episodes of the first season. It was a scene where Tywin Lannister sermonises to Jaime while butchering an animal. It was a scene not taken directly from the books, but made whole cloth for the TV show. I was mesmerised, and suddenly, all on board again.
To me, the appeal of Game of Thrones has never been in the way it brings the books alive, but in how it diverges. It's been in the way it's emphasised, through performance, the humanity of its characters (both for ill and good), thus giving me something I never got from Martin's writing. Where some have lamented the direction the show has taken since it started outpacing the source material, I've actually grown fonder of it. The farther away it's gotten from the cutting of those adaptational apron strings, the more I feel like it's grown into its own thing.
So, while I don't doubt that the remaining episodes of this final season will break my heart in lots of ways – and George R.R. Martin will find several more when he gets around to telling the "real" version of the same story – I thoroughly appreciate that Game of Thrones is the kind of the show that knows the importance of showing people coming together, huddling for warmth in the face of impending doom. I could still feel the claw in my gut, of the horror to come, but I'm glad that's not all the show is about.
"I fought. I lost. Now I rest...You'll be fighting their battles forever." Stories both eschew and crave finality. A good journey has a beginning, a middle, and an end, but when we're truly invested in it, we don't want the ride to stop. We crave the spills, chills, and surprises. So heroes come back from the dead, siblings thought long lost reappear, and like the white walkers headed toward the gate, the story marches on.
Thorne's last words are one of the few little quotations that echo through the episode. Throne dies with his head held high, a man who knew what he was and what he did, and lays out his actions in firm but understandable terms. I never particularly cared for Throne--he always seemed to hate Jon almost irrationally--but in his bravery against the Wildling attack on Castle Black and his honest defense of his principles, he showed himself to be a man who made a choice and accepted his fate. He takes comfort in the certainty of that.
Jon is thrown into the most uncertain waters from the getgo. He arises from the dead, knowing that it shouldn't be, feeling the scars where the knives entered his body and knowing that something unnatural has happened. He has been drafted into this war, at some points making conscious actions because of what he believes in, but at others simply swept along by the current of what was required of him. Thorne tried to do what he thought was right and is hanged for it. Jon did the same and yet gets to return from the land of the dead, left to wonder if it's all worth it, if he can stand fighting these same battles over and over again, if he can suffer the betrayal, the knives piercing his flesh that seem to come in one form or another whatever he tries to do.
When he swings a blade of his own, slicing the rope keeping his betrayers in place on the makeshift gallows, it's a visual echo of deserter from Castle Black that Ned Stark executed in the beginning of the show. That opening scene, about the responsibilities of being a leader and accepting the uglier parts of the job, and of "honor" has come back in several forms over the course of the show. From Rob executing Lord Carstark, to Theon's botched execution during his reign of terror, to Jon himself having to execute a former member of the King's Guard. It's the burden of command.
But this time, Jon has to look into the eyes of a child. He has to cut that rope and see the very sort of innocent he was trying to save, resenting him to his very last breath. This is his reward for all his service and commitment. This is his reward for making the tough decisions. This is his reward for effectively giving his life in order to save thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of lives. It's ugly and harsh and compounded by a hatred from people like Ollly who will never understand, no matter how many warm embraces from his brothers he may receive.
It's particularly harsh because, as Varys puts it, children are innocent. The Spider works his magic on a sympathizer for the sons of the harpy, and he's a presence of Machiavellian perfection. The arch manner in which he probes his resistant witness, his iron fist in the velvet glove that gets him the information he wants, is another boon from one of the show's most entertaining characters. But the futility of it all comes through in what he learns as well.
The lands that Dany liberated, the ones that made her the "breaker of chains," have not only returned to slavery, but have been funding the sons of the harpy and setting the whole of Slaver's Bay against her. Preceded, though it may be, by a hilarious seen where Tyrion tries to make conversation with his much more subdued companions, it's a dispiriting revelation. Dany too tried to do the right thing, to live by her principles and make herself worthy of being called a queen, but parts of the old system are as resilient as they are malignant, and it's exhausting to have to constantly fight to keep whatever meager gains you've managed to make.
And Dany herself is once more reduce to something less than she ought to be. She's accomplished a great deal, and yet she is just the latest victim of this cycle. She stands surrounded by women who, as the one who speaks for them all explained, once imagined that their great Khals would rule the world with their distaff counterparts at their sides. Instead, they are each left to play out the string as something lesser and compartmentalized, with Dany potentially being punished for having dared to do anything but submit. Maybe when she speaks to the council that decides her fate, she will convince them to free her, or at least to let her help them lead a horde of Dothraki to Slaver's Bay as an antidote to the Sons of the Harpy. But one could easily forgive her for, like her raven-haired counterpart at the wall, growing tired of this neverending battle, that seems to leave you back where you started no matter what you've tried to do.
They're not the only ones who end up back where they started. In a surprise reveal, we see Osha and Rickon back in Winterfell for the first time since they departed from Bran & Co. While I fear that their reappearance will be another excuse to give Ramsay a new pair of torture toys for a while, there's a similar theme running through the preceding exchange between him and the rebel bannerman who delivers the youngest Stark. He refuses to swear oaths or kneel or pledge fealty. He's seen what oaths are worth: the Boltons turning on the Starks, Ramsay turning on his father, the Carstarks joining Ramsay even though their share blood with Ned's brood. What good is an oath, whether it be a bannerman's to Ramsay or Jon Snow's to the watch, if people break them so easily. Maybe they're just a way to keep people in line, to keep them from looking out for themselves or upsettng the usual order, and those lines can only be crossed so often before people begin to wonder if they were illusory in the first place.
The High Sparrow figures out how to keep Tommen in line, another innocent child tainted by the movements of the larger forces at work, through his mother, who is facing challenges of her own with the small council. The soft machinations of the High Sparrow, seeming to constantly yield and yet simply redirecting forces like anger to his own ends, allow him to use Tommen's connections to his family to help keep him cowed. Arya is kept in line by trying to break those very connections, but trying to teach her to sever her ties with her siblings, with the names on her list, with the relationships that kept her a part of her old life. As I've said before, the montage that shows her developing her skills as an assassin is a bit too Karate Kid for my tastes, but by drinking the bowl full of poison, Arya follows her brother in accepting a dividing line between an old life and a new one and changing her manner and methods accordingly.
But those sorts of connections are the one warm thing for Jon as he returns to the living. The joking embrace of Toramund, the similar ribbing welcome of Edd, make it feel as though there was at least something for Jon to come back to. And then there's the one connection that's absent -- Sam, who is bringing Gilly and Sam Jr. back to where he started, a likely unwelcome homecoming he undertakes for the good of the people he loves and who, as Gilly conveys by calling him the father of her child, love him back. He set off on this journey to help Jon and to protect his loved ones from the rapists and criminals at Castle Black, and though his pleasant moments are punctuated by unhappy (if amusing) bouts of nausea, he knows what he has to do, and is buoyed by the affection of those he feels that familial connection to.
The same familial connection drives a young Ned Stark in the show's flashback to the Tower of Joy seen through Bran's eyes. He intends to rescue his sister, but the methods used fail to live up to the man Bran imagined his father to be. This too, is a broken oath, of sorts. Bran has heard this story a thousand times -- he knows how it's supposed to end. But instead, even honorable Ned, covers up the fact that his bannerman, Mera's father, stabbed the opposing swordsman in the back to win the day. Again, honor is shown to be a fairytale in Westeros, one where the show's only paragon of virtue this side of Brienne will invent lies in service of a more important truth. We don't get to see all the details of that truth just yet, but Bran, and the audience, are learning that there's more to the story.
And there's more to Jon's story as well. After seasons that left Jon concerned with the affairs of The Wall, whether at Castle Black or in the Wildlings' territory, he is headed elsewhere. But he remains stung by the futility of his actions, that he cannot try to serve the greater good, cannot try to live up to his father's honor, cannot even die without being pulled back into what he was trying to move on from.
Only Alliser Thorne could make it sound like a failing to have the temerity to come back from the dead, but he's right. Jon will continue the struggle; he will continue to suffer losses, and he may never have the chance to rest. He has fought these battles, many other people's battles, for so long. Who can blame him for seeing someone like Olly kicking in mid-air and deciding that he's had enough? Once, Jon pledged, like all of the Brothers, that his watch would "not end until my death." Well, he died, and now his watch has ended, and the closest thing to a traditional hero left on Game of Thrones has earned the right to go fight his own battle, to go fail again, or perhaps not even fight at all.
The episode was defintely emotional as the show draws to a close and we know that these are the last days of Arthur. Good that he finally appreciates Merlin for his courage, better late than never, even though in the next line he accuses him of cowardice of leaving him just now before the battle. But Merlin is only taking the Paths of the Dead (I could not resist from a Tolkien reference, which is particularly pervasive in an episode about the battle between good and evil). It is hard not to think about how happy Gimli son of Gloin would have been in the Crystal Cave. There are Tolkien references everywhere, even in the clothing of Morgana's army which resembles the dress code of the orcs and Easterlings. Before the main attack, an outpost falls to the enemy just like Osgiliath next to Minas Tirith in LotR.
Mordred is a sort of Grima Wormtongue to Morgana's Saruman, especially as he does have his doubts about joining her at the beginning of the episode when Morgana tries out the magic-eating slug on one of her followers (a bit like Grima crying when he sees the enormous army Saruman sends against Rohan). Though on the whole, Mordred seems to enjoy working together with Morgana, particularly as he is the one to get the magic sword forged in dragon's fire. He is definitely her right-hand man and the most important person in her army. They look really impressive when they make magic together. It may be that Morgana has something akin to a genuine affection for Mordred, though it may be that she uses him as a very effective tool which would be thrown away when he outlives his usefulness.
We got two pep talks: Balinor to Merlin making him believe in himself and his magic, and Arthur to his knights at Camlann. Sorry Arthur but as pep talks before a battle go, nothing beats Aragorn's speech at the Black Gate. Arthur is trying hard to say the speech and motivate his people, but it is clear that he is afraid of the outcome of the battle. Good that he has Gwen with him to console him and strengthen his spirit and self-confidence, as Gwen also has her own pep talk to Arthur before they go to bed. I really hope that Gwen would be with child as it would allow her to continue the Pendragon dynasty and strengthen her claim to the throne which would be tenuous as she was raised to royalty by the marriage to Arthur. If Morgana survives the battle, her claim to Camelot may be stronger than that of Guinevere, unless Gwen carries Arthur's child. It will give her right to rule that would not be easily undermined.
The scene with Morgana imprisoning Merlin in the cave is a callback to the story of Merlin from Arthurian legends, in which he is defeated in this way by Nimue, after she learns everything she wanted of his magic and has enough of his amorous advances. In the legends Merlin never leaves the cave and probably dies there, and the whole story happens long time before Camlann, but the time of which Merlin has already been dead for quite some time, so he can have no influence on the battle whatsoever. In the show, Merlin survives to the very end, as he is both the main protagonist and the point-of-view character.
