Set aside the last few minutes of the finale for a moment. That last little reveal changes the shape of the episode, and the series, in significant and meaningful ways that make it easy to let it overshadow the rest of the episode. But stop and think about everything that happens here before the scene where he finally meets The Mother.
Because it is, at best, a mixed bag, long before we see the blue french horn again.
I understand the urge to give the audience some idea of what happens to the gang between 2014 and 2030. The problem is that covering a decade and a half in one big episode makes every story feel rushed and underdeveloped. One of the great things about HIMYM is how it used the past and the future to inform the present. Jumping back and forth between a prior conversation and a current one could be the crux of a joke, as could Future Ted's knowing commentary on some boneheaded mistake or unexpected development that was coming down the pipe. But those time jumps weren't just fodder for comedy, as the show did a great job of creating dramatic irony and emotional stakes by showing what lie ahead or the path that led us here. But by compressing fifteen years worth of life developments into an hour, nothing has time to really breathe or feel like it has the temporal scope the show is shooting for.
After all, there's a great story to be told about the gang drifting apart over the years. Another one of the series's best features is the way it combines the exaggerated goofiness of its comedic sensibilities with real, relatable aspects of being in your twenties and thirties. Well, one of the things that hits you once you start to move past that stage of your life is the way that friends, even good friends, can slowly drift apart, not through neglect or anger or hurt feelings, but just because you're suddenly at different places in your life. That's an idea worth exploring.
The problem is that the rush of years in "Last Forever" makes this process feel like something sudden instead of gradual. Sure, we see the chyron at the bottom of the screen showing that we've jumped ahead a year or two, and there's a boatload of semi-clunky expositional dialogue in the episode to let the viewer know where everyone is in their lives and what they're up to, but when all those developments take place over the course of just a few minutes and just a few scenes, it can't help but seem very fast.
One of the best choices HIMYM's creators made in the final season was to parcel out little scenes of the gang's future throughout, giving us a glimpse of what the future held without trying to pack it all into one big episode like this. Sprinkling those flashforwards in did a nice job at making the group's future feel as well-populated as its present and its past. Obviously there were limitations on how much they could do this in prior episodes given the reveals in store for Barney and Robin and Ted, but the method the show chose to relay the gang's future almost inevitably leaves it feeling too quick, too underdeveloped, and too unsatisfying, even apart from the directions the individual stories go.
Those plot developments, however, are another albatross around the finale's neck. The first and most obvious problem comes from Barney and Robin's divorce. Again, there's a legitimate story to be told of two people who care deeply for one another, but don't work as a couple, but it's a difficult story to tell in five minutes, especially when you've spent huge chunks the past season and a half trying to convince the audience that they make sense together. As someone who's been a Barney and Robin skeptic from the beginning, it's entirely plausible to me that the two of them could mean well and have real feelings for one another, but still end up divorced due to some basic incompatibilities. But the reason for their split feels thin here.
There's nothing we know about Barney that suggests globetrotting would be something he's so against. And while there's hints of bigger issues between the two of them, like not getting to see one another or not being on the same page about their respective plans and projects, we never really get to see these problems develop. We're just told about them, and expected to accept that as enough to break them up one episode removed their wedding. Is that result plausible enough based on what we know about Barney and Robin? Sure, but it's just presented to us, rather than developed before our eyes, and since we don't see their path from pledging to spend the rest of their lives together to getting divorced, that end point feels like it happens by fiat rather than something the show earned.
Barney's reversion afterward is just as unsatisfying. Again, there's a believable story about Barney having worked so hard to become a better person, in part to woo Robin, and reverting to his old tricks as a retreat and defense mechanism when his marriage falls apart. But because of the rapidity with which the finale goes from Point A to Point B, it doesn't feel like the natural result of a difficult event; it feels like throwing nine years of character development down the drain in less than a minute. There's a disparity between how much time the show spent building Barney up as more than just an cartoonish hound dog and how much time it spends showing him reverting to his old persona. That cannot help but feel jarring.
What kills me is that I love where they take Barney in "Last Forever." There's something beautiful about the idea that what really changes him isn't some conquest or accomplishment or even a great romance; it's becoming a father. For Barney, "The One" isn't a woman he'll meet some day; it's his daughter, and Neil Patrick Harris delivers a tremendous performance in the scene where he repeats his Ted-like plea, this time to his baby girl. It's a wonderful scene, but the path the episode takes to get there still comes off as a shortcut that has to ignore seasons of character development in order to make it work.
The finale isn't all bad though. While the story of the gang drifting apart is too quick, the scene where they all reunite for Ted's wedding is legitimately touching and full of the good will and warm feelings that the show's been able to generate during its run. Ted and Tracy (I can use her name now!) continue to be adorable together, and the twist that romantic Ted made it five years and two kids into his relationship before he actually married The Mother is a small but effective way to show how much the substance of finding The One was more important to him than the formality of it (even if he was planning on a European castle). It's one of those lived-in details that speaks to his character.
Beyond that, the actual meeting of The Mother is very well done, and it really had to be. Sure, there's a few meetcute cliches involved, but the easy rapport between Ted and Tracy soars once again and nearly saves the entire finale. After all, this was the moment the "Last Forever" had to nail, and it did. Ted and Tracy's conversation weaves in enough of the yellow umbrella mythos for everything to click, and Joshua Radnor and Cristin Miloti both sell the subtle realization that this is something special. For an episode that had to make good on the promise of its title, that meeting went about as well as any fan of the show might have hoped for.
And if the series had ended there, everyone might have gone home happy. Sure, the other problems with the rushed and shortcut-filled finale might have rankled a bit (particularly the way it undoes the wedding we'd just witnessed), but making that moment feel as big and as meaningful as it needed to after all that build up is no small feat, and that alone would have bought Bays & Thomas a hell of a lot of slack.
Frankly, the series could have still gotten away with Tracy dying shortly thereafter, another controversial choice in the finale. There's something tragic but beautiful about the audience watching Ted seek out the woman of his dreams for nine years and then realizing that he only gets to be with her for the same amount of time, while still cherishing and being thankful for the time the two of them had, for that connection and love that was wonderful and worth it no matter how all too brief it may have been. There's a touching theme about the fragility of things in that story, but also about the joy that comes from finding the person you love, that stays with you even after they're gone. It's sad, but it's sweet, in the best HIMYM way.
And then there's Robin.
The decision to pair up Ted and Robin in the last moments of the finale is as tone-deaf and tin-eared an ending as you're likely to find in a major television program, and the reasons abound. The most obvious is that the show devoted so much time to the idea of Ted getting over Robin, and had any number of episodes (the most recent being the execrable "Sunrise") where Ted seemed to have achieved that, to have moved on in his life. Folks like me may try to handwave it, and the show can call back to the premiere of Season 7 where Ted and Robin can declare that all you need for love is chemistry and timing, but at base, Ted and Robin getting together feels like it contradicts so much about the two characters' relationship with one another over the years. So much of the final third of the show involved going over the same beats between Ted and Robin over and over again, of having each move past the other, and coming back to them in the final, despite how iconic that blue french horn has become for the show, just feels like another poorly-established cheat or retcon that isn't in sync with where the show went since that finale was crafted in Season 2.
What's worse is that that ending transforms the story Ted's been telling from a heartwarming if irreverent yarn about the path that led to him meeting the love of his life, to a smokescreen to gain his kids' approval for dating an old flame after their mother's death. Look, to some degree you have to accept the conceit of the show for what it is and not take it too seriously. In real life, no two kids would sit through such a long story, and no father should tell his children about all the women he slept with before he met their mom. But taken in broad strokes, How I Met Your Mother is a story about how all the events in Ted's life, big and small, good and bad, planned or unexpected, went into making him the person who was ready to find Tracy and capable of being with her.
Future Ted himself put it best in "Right Place, Right Time." He tells his kids "There's a lot of little reasons why the big things in our lives happen." He explains that what seemed like chaos was bringing him inexorably toward the best person and the best thing to ever happen to him, that there were "all these little parts of the machine constantly working, making sure that you end up exactly where you're supposed to be, exactly when you're supposed to be there." And he tells them at the time, he didn't know "where all those little things were leading [him] and how grateful [he]'d be to get there."
That, to my mind, is the theme to take from this great, if tainted show. Sure, it's unrealistic that anyone would go on that many tangents in telling the story of their great romance, but the point is that each of these moments, each of these people, were crucial in who he was and who he became when he met Tracy, and that they were as important as that fateful meeting was. Yes, it's a long story, and it has many many detours, but it's the story of all the twists and turns and bumps in the road that brought Ted into the arms of his soulmate, and that smooths over the rougher edges of the show's premise.
Instead, the twist that it's all supposed to be about Ted having the hots for Robin turns that lovely story into a long-winded attempts by a middle-aged man to convince his kids that he should date their aunt That seems much more crass. There's still meaning to be wrung from it, meaning that finds parallels with Tracy and her dead boyfriend Max and the idea that you can have more than one meaningful relationship in your life. But it doesn't add up with what the show had really done to that point. The past nine seasons were no more about Robin than they were about Barney or Marshall or Lily. They no more feel like a way to suggest that Aunt Robin's good dating material than they do that Ted should spend more time with Uncle Barney. As great as that blue french horn was the first time, it had meaning because it represented something we knew was going to end, but which still had beauty and value despite that. This last time we see it, it's represents the opposite, that something beautiful has ended, and the value it had is cast aside in favor of a relationship the series spent years disclaiming. That is deeply, deeply unsatisfying.
Take away those final few scenes, concocted in a different era of the series, and you have a flawed but still potent finale, that delivers on the show's biggest promise and gives the gang one last "big moment" together. But add them back in, and you have an ending to the series that not only runs counter to so much of what the show developed over the course of its run, its final season in particular, but which, moreover, cheapens the story the audience had been invested in for the past nine years. It's almost impressive how a couple of truly terrible moments can do such retroactive damage to such a longrunning show , but here we are, with a sour taste in our mouth from such an ill-conceived finish.
Future Ted was right, a little moment can have a big impacts, and the one at the end of the series is a doozy in that regard. But maybe, just maybe, when we tell our own stories about How I Met Your Mother, we can do what Ted should have done many times -- just leave that part out. There's something wonderful to be gleaned from the ending to this fun, optimistic, heartfelt, and occasionally very rocky series, but it requires us to do what we always do when looking back on things: focus on the good stuff, make our peace with the bad stuff, and remember it at its best.
Melfi makes her choices. She has every motivation to sic Tony Soprano on her rapist, to break the social compact, to give into the urges that make her want revenge, want justice, want to end the threat of the man who violated her. But she chooses not to do it. She breaks down, seems to come close to giving in, and hold firm. It's powerful, powerful stuff.
I hated this episode when I saw it as a teenager. I wanted nothing more than to see that miserable raping piece of shit torn to bits by Tony and his crew. The scene where he attacks Melfi is horrifying. It's shot in such a way that pulls no punches. It's not sensationalized; it's not dramatized; it's just chilling and real. And it stirred my teenage self all the more to want to see Tony deliver equal brutality to the scumbag who did it.
But I understand now in a way that I didn't then why it meant so much for Melfi to stand firm. Melfi has admitted the thrill she gets from being tangentially involved in Tony's world. She comes close to breaking off her professional relationship with Tony because she feels she's getting in too deep. And right when she's about to step away, the world gives her a push, almost an invitation, to give in and let her hands get dirty in the seedy business Tony Soprano operates in. But she doesn't. At the brink, to be dramatic about it, she saves her soul. She decides that her anger and her pain and her fear are not worth more than her integrity and her moral beliefs. It's a hell of an episode and a hell of a showcase for Lorraine Bracco.
The other stuff that goes on in the episode is kind of interesting, but pales in comparison. We get another chapter of Tony as the angel of Jackie Jr.'s shoulder, and Ralphie emerges as the devil on the other side. Janice's moments are an odd bit of comic relief in a heavy episode. And Johnny Sack's move to New Jersey is clearly setting something up. But this is Melfi's hour. Even her interactions with her ex-husband, who, it should be noted, repeatedly denies her agency until she basically forces him to let her take charge, are some of her strongest work in the series so far. If I'm honest with myself, the inessential parts of the episode probably ought to keep this episode from being a 10/10, but Melfi's story alone elevates it to something greater.
(And as an aside, Melfi's psychiatrist continues to be useless.)
[9.5/10] Despite the initial greatness of the dog revolution episode, only the second episode of the series, I might argue that this is where Rick and Morty became Rick and Morty. It’s all here – an escalating yet insane science fiction problem, Rick being self-centered and holding himself blameless, a great deal of weird but hilarious comedy, a dimension-hopping-related solution, a fun Jerry-focused subplot, and a gut punch, mind-wrinkling ending.
Two things stand out in particular rewatching this episode. First, the way in which Rick is constantly screwing things up and yet accepts none of the blame for it. He places this all on Morty, and pins every bad development on him, despite his grandson’s protestations. He is endlessly confident, even braggadocios, about how he’s brilliant and can fix it and brushes off any concern or censure for when his attempts go awry. And when things get really bad, his solution is to just ditch the universe and find another one.
It’s not a coincidence that this all takes place in an episode where Beth disregards her dad because “he left [her] mother.” Having seen two full episodes of Rick’s antics, I’m not sure there’s a better encapsulation of who he is than this episode, or at least the problems and self-enabling that can make him a pretty miserable person to have to deal with. When things start to get bad, he puts that on anyone but him, and even gets mean about it (calling Morty a creep, which, isn’t entirely unfair), and when things get really bad, he just finds an escape hatch and tries to wipe it all away. Everything is weightless to Rick, everything is just an inconvenience that he need not worry about, and if you make him worry long enough, he’ll just bail.
The second is Morty. Obviously the ending landed pretty hard the first time, but it’s even more impactful knowing what happens next, about Morty’s troubles coping with what he’s seen, of coming to terms with the wealth of alternate universes and other versions of himself out there, of his growing resentments for his grandfather and the way Rick treats him. Morty isn’t always great, but you feel for him trying to get through to Rick and make him accept some blame for how poorly things are going, only to be rebuffed and told that his grandfather is perfect and any bump in the road is Morty’s falt.
And still, that ending. “The Bridge” is a great choice for a melancholy, existence-questioning bit of wordless reflection. What I love about this episode is that it doesn’t really resolve anything. Normally, that’d be a drawback, but here it feels real. Rick doesn’t change or learn a lesson, he just offers a reset and doesn’t think twice about it. Morty doesn’t take it in stride, but walks around in shock that the people he knew and loved are gone in some other slice of reality and he is back living among their identical, indistinguishable doubles. Rick and Morty is often better with design than animation or character expression, but the wide-eyed look on Morty’s face so perfectly conveys the shock and discomfort of what just happened to him. It’s one of the show’s all time best sequence and a sign that this was going to be something deeper than just a series of funny, madcap, sci-fi adventures.
Those adventures are still great, and the escalating cronenberg problems were fun. (Jerry turning into a Mad Max style badass led to some great stuff as well). But this is the episode that revealed how philosophical, moral, and twisted the show was willing to get.
[8.7/10] It's a stellar season premiere. I really enjoyed three themes in particular that flitted throughout the episode.
The first is the notion of homecoming. Arya beckons all the Freys to return to their family home in order to slaughter them. Jon returns the family homes to the survivng members of the northern families who betrayed him, and last but certainly not least, Dany returns to the place where she was born. There is a sacredness in return, in where a person is from, that GoT recognizes and plays around with.
The second is the notion of guilt, something that comes through in Arya's conversation with the run-of-the-mill soldiers she meets in the Riverlands. One of them speaks of hoping his wife had a baby girl, because girls take care of their fathers while boys go off to die in another man's war. There's a look on Arya's face, one that seems to reveal a lament that she'll never get to take care of her father, and that her victims may just as easily be lowborn who no more wanted to fight and die than Arya wanted to see her family killed.
There's a parallel with The Hound's portion of the episode there too, where he sees the corpses of the farmer and child he mugged back in Season 4, and can't help but feel guilt at the actions that if not caused, then at least contributed to their demise. This is a different Sandor Clegane, one who buries the people he did wrong, who believes in things, and even if he doesn't know the right words, gives them a eulogy that serves as an apology.
The third is the idea of perspective. Most of the players in the episode are concerned with who will sit on the Iron Throne. Jon is wrapped up in fighting the Night King. And Arya's on her rooaring rampage of revenge. But when Sam is caught up in the same struggle, the Archmaester (Jim Broadbent!) cautions perspective, that this too shall pass, and that there are certain things worth preserving, certain projects worth pursuing, apart from the worldly concerns that consume most men.
It's a rich episode, full of colorful scenes and potent themes. Exciting to have GoT back!
[8.4/10] Another quality episode in this short season, which is always welcome. I liked the apparent theme of people seeing one another in an unvarnished fashion, recognizing them for who they are, for good and for ill. Lady Tyrell recognizes that Dany is a dragon, not a sheep (or a shark, for my fellow Futurama fans. Nymeria recognizes Arya as something familiar, but also very different than what she was the last time they were together. Sam sees Jorah as more than just a plague sufferer, but as the son of a man who saved his life. Missandei sees Grey Worm for the good man she loves, regardless of the abuses, physical and mental that he's suffered. And Theon is not so lucky, when Euron and the carnage around him reminds him that part of him is still Reek, and that part cannot be so easily escaped.
I also liked the political business in the episode. It's nice that the show had Dany confront Lord Varys about his hand in her assisination attempt and his shifting loyalties, but his response -- that he truest loyalty lies with the common people, because that's where he came from, and her retort -- that she values his advice but would rather he tell her if he thinks she's stepping out of line than plot behind her back -- works really well too. By the same token, the dichotomy of "listen to your advisors and strategize to gain loyalty" or "go your own way, come in dragons blazing, and just take over" presented to Dany is an interesting one. Last but not least, Cersei appealing to her countrymen's xenophobic impulses to gin up support is an interesting tack.
Overall, it was a well-done episode of the show, that ended with some good fireworks (both figurative and nigh-literal) and had a good sense of character exploration amid the plotting and storytelling that is setting all our heroes and villains on a collision course.
What a tragic story Davey Sacatino's is. And in a way, Tony's story is tragic here too. Hell, so is Meadow's and Davey's son Eric's. Davey's a guy who clearly has a problem, and while Tony's right -- he makes his own choices and they're dumb ones and he has no one to blame but himself, but Tony lets him pursue those urges. Even though Tony wants to keep Davey's iron out of the fire, even though he tries to dissuade him, once the die is cast, he reluctantly does his job. And he realizes how it affects his daughter just a little, even if it angers him.
And he's right when he yells at her. Not to yell, but the point that he makes. Everything Meadow has comes from her father's business. It may not be as unmediated or clear as her friend's car, but everything she has is tainted in the same way. It's no fault of hers, but she seems hurt by the realization in the same way that Eric is frustrated by it. Tony seems frustrated by it too. A lot of the first season seemed to deal with Tony having to harmonize his family life and his work life, and against his almost best efforts, here they are colliding again.
When Tony is reflecting with his crew that he remembers his dad and Uncle Junior running the game when they were kids, there's a sense that it was supposed to be something more than this. This is supposed to be an achievement for Tony, and instead it just causes another headache and makes him have to do something he didn't want to do. Like the Happy Wanderer, Tony should be carefree now that he's at the top of the game. But the Executive Game is a microcasm - it's the trophy he wanted, but it doesn't make him happy.
My thoughts about the story lines:
I feel so bad for Sierra. That poor girl really needs to cut ties with Lip and Charlie at this point. But I'm surprised in a good way that Lip actually wants to rethink everything. I'm one of the people who actually liked to see Lip and Sierra together, but I think Lip made the right decision.
And right after that I had to roll my eyes at the "I am Ian Gallagher" scene. Especially Ian's smug smile just annoyed me. I really hope this story won't drag through all of the next season.
I was really proud of Liam that he gave Frank the wrong code. I always feel kind of bad that no one protects Liam and makes sure he doesn't get involved with Frank, but I'm glad to see the little guy knows what's right.
Glad Fiona got things done with the homeless family, but I'm still confused by this story line. People said she didn't call the police because Gallaghers don't snitch, but she was nearly getting sued for multiple million dollars and she already had a lawyer, so that just seems weird. She also had witnesses that could confirm it's her dog, the family never signed a lease or anything, the whole building belongs to her etc. I really don't know how the law regarding that works in America, but I always thought she had the upper hand here. Besides that I really hope she'll get rid of that douche Ford in the next season. What an obnoxious and arrogant guy.
And the ending made me happy - Carl on his way back to military school. THANK GOD. I was so worried he would drop out. The scenes with Kassidi had so much energy, but I was upset she dragged him down like this.
Overall this season felt slower. I did enjoy it, but it felt different, like the writers had no idea what to do with the characters. I'm also really, really sad to hear that Svetlana will leave the show. Her marriage actually felt like the beginning of a new story line. She's one of my favorites and I'll miss her character on this show.
[9.5/10] Back into top form! Louis C.K.’s Dave was and is such a great part of this show. He has just the right combination of stilted awkwardness that makes him entirely believable as a big square, but also this inherent, innocent sweetness that also makes him a big teddy bear. Lesser shows than Parks and Rec would draw this out as some sort of love triangle, but the situation between he, Leslie, and Ben just turns into one great font of comedy.
I also love how it dovetails so perfectly with Ben’s pre-established fear of cops. Again, I love how P&R zigs where other shows would zag. Rather than be intimidated by Dave, Ben bonds with him then stands up to him. Rather than be tempted by her old beau, Leslie gently but immediately shuts down Dave’s advances and responds the way a mature woman would. And it never ceases to be funny!
Dave’s cringe-y attempts to navigate this social situation and woo Leslie are as adorable as they are misguided. Ben’s patient but insistent resistance (and the continuing gags about his uncomfortableness around cops, especially his “just tell me what you want me to do!” line) is superb. And Leslie is in top form with her reactions to everything. Just well-written scene after well-written scene that never devolves into sitcom tropes.
The B-story is another all-time great one too. I can’t tell you how many times Mrs. Bloom and I will break into the cheesy tones of “Catch Your Dreams.” There’s so many laughs at the recording studio. April being put on the case to distract from all the Duke Silver merch leads to some excellent stuff (I particularly enjoy the smashed coffee cup). Chris giving a terrible rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” was hilarious. And the bewildered reactions of Mouserat are worth a chuckle too.
On top of that, there’s heart to the story. Ron’s little arc is pretty typical for him, but it still works to see the guy who is so reserved and private offering a hidden away piece of himself to help his erstwhile young ward. There are so many great lines, but Ron saying “I never thought I’d say this, son, but you may be overthinking is” is a truly fantastic one.
And even Andy, who is at his most outsized here (with his terrific “awful” to “funny” word salad), but also his sad and sweetest. I love the idea that he’s especially driven here because he knows he’s not the smartest guy in the world, and so he thinks this is the only or at least most effective way to contribute to Leslie’s campaign. It adds character to an otherwise silly story, and helps the episode as a whole.
The only part of the episode that I didn’t quite love was, you guessed it, the Ann and Tom story. Ann’s love life has just never been as interesting an avenue of storytelling as Parks and Rec thinks it is, and it’s in no way improved by Tom not only pestering and hectoring and creeping on her throughout the episode, but it actually working. I generally like Tom as an ingredient in P&R’s character stew, but more than anyone else on the show, he has the capacity to get grating and annoying. Some of that was assuredly intentional here, but it doesn’t make him or this story any more pleasant in this episode.
Still, it’s a small part of what is otherwise an outstanding episode of Parks and Recreation. The Leslie-Ben-Dave triumvirate are a great combination of comedy and smart writing, and the songwriting portion of the episode is more purely comedic, but has a nice character focus as well. One of my favorite bits from the campaign arc.
[9.1/10] I use a lot of hyperbole when writing about this show, but the sequence where Leslie & Co. try to make it across the ice and get Leslie on stage is one of, if not the, funniest bits of physical comedy in the entire series, and maybe any series.
It’s just such a perfect disaster: the gang awkwardly shuffling on the ice, the dog peeing on Ron, Andy taking a spill, the red carpet not going far enough, the miniature stage, Leslie’s attempts to get on the stage, Leslie’s attempts to give a speech, Leslie’s attempts to wave and try to talk on ice at the same time, Pistol Pete’s miserable attempt at a dunk, and god help us, the constant repetition of the “get on your feet” song. It’s just a wonderful cornucopia of things going wrong and it’s a perfectly edited sequence.
It represents the ramshackle ways Leslie’s campaign is getting started as they try to make it on their own. The amateurish quality of it is brilliant, as is the way it both shows how big of an underdog Leslie really is and the need for her to bring Ben and his know-how onto the team.
Speaking of which, his attempts to dive into his hobbies are hilarious. There’s something great about him committing to the calzone idea or stop-motion animation (which is such a perfectly Ben Wyatt interest), and then realizing how little he’s actually accomplished. Chris recognizing that Ben’s depressed, even when Ben didn’t is a nice touch that shows their friendship, and it’s the push Ben needs to get back to doing something beyond indulging his hobbies.
There’s lots of great laughs, particularly with the team of Ron, Andy, April, and Tom getting pulled over by the cops. It’s such a great ensemble, and I’d forgotten that this was there they added Champion to the mix. (Ann’s line about him being terrible at digging was superb.)
Overall, one of the all-time funniest scenes in the show and some solid advancement for both the characters and the campaign arc make this one excellent.
[9.7/10] I’m not sure you’ll find an episode where everyone in the whole cast is used as well as they are here. You have Leslie in another minor I Love Lucy-type situation, where she gets drunk but then has to do a make-or-break interview unexpectedly. What I like about this story is that Buddy Wood is the kind of antagonist who absolutely pushes Leslie’s buttons more than Joan or Bobby or Jennifer – the kind who condescends to her and talks about Pawnee as a backwards, hopeless place. That just runs counter to everything she believes, and offends her on principle. Sean Hayes does a great job making Buddy a smug, repugnant snob, and you can see why he would bother Leslie so much.
But I also like the poetry of how she wins without even realizing it. Somebody like Leslie pays attention to the little guy; she cares about this town and fights for the people in it. And that means that, as with the police chief helping out with the Harvest Festival without compunction for her, when she’s in a jam, the citizens of Pawnee have her back. Buddy’s luggage with the embarrassing tape getting “lost” is a great resolution to the story.
You also get a great mini-arc for Ben, who is clearly wound up a bit too tight, and after that victory, gets a chance to kick back and have fun. Ann and Tom are even downright bearable and even a little fun here! Tom counting the hours that they’ve gone without breaking up is a nice running gag, as is reaction when he thinks he almost blew it. The pair have a chummy vibe together that almost makes you believe they would date for a little while, even if it’s still a stretch that it would continue this long. Still, the countdown thing says the show knows that, and wrings some humor out of it.
The other story centers on Andy passing his Women’s Studies course, and celebrating at a dinner with April, Ron, his professor, and Chris. First and foremost, Andy is just in top hilarious form here. Between the way he tries to casually talk about Susan B. Anthony being born in Adams, Massachusetts, tells his dinnermates that he’s “very proud of me and so are all of you” and tells Ron that “someone” told him to face his problems like an adult, only for him to then realize it was Ron(!), there are so many great Andy moments that could carry this B-story on its own.
But I also really like the meat of the story, which centers on April trying to setup sad sack but sensitive Chris with Andy’s women’s studies professor, continuing the arc of her empathy for him, only for the professor to instead choose laconic carnivore Ron instead. It’s a nice swerve, with good character beats for everyone.
The best part is the ending though. I love that they remembered about Ron’s Tiger Woods shirt as a minor detail. But more importantly, I do like that Ron has to hear his words back from Andy, and despite his reluctance to get involved in awkward personal stuff, he acts like an adult and tells Chris straight up. And there’s nothing more consistently amusing on this show than Ron being hugged!
There’s even a great little Donna and Jerry story! Jerry’s trance-like state when packing letters because this sort of work “makes sense to me” is so weird but so fun, as is Donna’s fascination with it. Jim O’Heir does a great job of selling Jerry’s hypnotic devotion to his task, and Retta conveys how much intrigue this holds for Donna well.
Overall, there is nothing so major that happens in this episode, or any big heartwarming moments, but it’s an episode where every character on the show is being used and used well. That is impressive in and of itself, and brings all sorts of laughs and great character moments in the process.
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.
Edie Falco is a brilliant actress. The number of different shades of trapped and despondent and resolute and conflicted and forceful and beleaguered she is able to muster is nothing short of amazing. This is a great showcase for her and for her character. The scene with the new psychiatrist in particular, whom I loved as the only shrink on the show thus far who's seemed willing to deliver some straight talk here, was great, and it serves as a stellar "second opinion" to Melfi.
I also liked Carmella's frustrations bubbling up and erupting at Tony. She's clearly struggling with guilt that she tried to compartmentalized and is having kicked back in her face more and more. With her affection for A.J. and efforts to secure the donation to Meadow's school, there's a certain Cersei Lannister "at least I love my children" quality there; if she's going to be a part of all this evil, she's at least going to use it to support and protect the two people in her life that she loves the most. She struggles when faced with the moral choice of who she is and what she enables, and Falco sells it beautifully.
The bit with Junior's cancer treatment were interesting in a "ooh, we're back to some mob stuff" sort of way, but it didn't seem to amount to much. Chris and Paulie's tiff seemed like as much of a one-off bit, but it was at least a little more interesting to bounce these two characters off of each other in a meaningful way. Tony dealing with the ghost of Big Pussy, whether in the form of a Big Mouth Billy Bass (hilarious, though the actual flashback to the dream was unnecessary) or his widow is a nice reminder that it still haunts Tony. This would probably be an 8.5/10 if I could pull it off just because the non-Carmella stuff was competent but not super compelling, but the Carmella stuff makes it great.
[9.3/10] Rewtching this episode, it stands out to me how great it was that Parks and Rec got Katherine Hahn and Paul Rudd as ringers this season. Hahn is still so great as Jennifer Barkley, with that right sort of bemused mercenary, not at all attached tone that cuts the right contrast with Leslie and Ben’s complete and total commitment to this race. I also enjoy her sort of resignation at Bobby being Bobby, where she’s maneuvered him into smooth sailing and he keeps finding creative ways to take on water. Her look of disgust after he brings Leslie up on stage alone is amazing.
Rudd is absolutely stellar as well. It would be so easy to take a character with no brains, an absolute sense of entitlement, and a massive amount of privilege and have them be utterly unlikable. Instead, Parks and Rudd turn him into such an endearing, albeit misguided little dolt. Though he is ill-equipped to understand anything that’s happening, the notion that he just wanted to impress his dad makes him relatable, and Rudd plays him with such a guilelessness that you can’t help but kind of go “aww” at the guy even as he steals (and butchers) Leslie’s story or misconstrues the point of it being that both his and her parents are dicks.
That’s also why I really like Leslie’s mini-character arc in this episode. For most of the episode, her goal is to do whatever political maneuvers are necessary to keep her momentum in the polls up, even after she inadvertently called Bobby Newport’s dad a jerk right after he died. Ann is the voice of reason, telling her to just apologize, but Leslie and Ben continually try to have their cake and eat it too, making the perfunctory act of contrition but trying to spin it to their advantage.
That, of course, leads to them being outflanked by the “faster, smarter” Barkley, and backfire in hilarious fashion. Leslie’s attempts at an “official response” are hilarious, from her quote of “bummer,” to her immediate realization that that’s the wrong thing to say, to the dancers and t-shirt gunners emerging at the absolutely perfect, inappropriate time. And the Knope campaign bus backing into Nick Newport’s portrait is so cringey but so hilarious, especially Leslie’s sheepish hello and asking of whether she’s late afterward.
But when she sets aside politics and just talks to Bobby, with the empathy and sincerity that are her trademark, it pays off. Their heart-to-heart has sweetness that stems from Leslie being legitimately comforting and from Bobby basically just being an overgrown ten year old. It has weight both from their interactions but also from the fact that Leslie is basically sacrificing her political ambitions to be a good person, and that has resonance. The resolution, where Bobby essentially endorses Leslie -- thereby wiping away her public fopa -- is a karmic repayment for Leslie being a human being instead of a candidate. It speaks to the optimistic ethos of this show, which says that hard work and kindness will ultimately be rewarded. I’d be lying if I said that my cynical disposition leads me to agree, but it’s a pleasant thing to see nonetheless.
The B-story, with Tom, Donna, and Ron going to confront a man who’s reneging on his agreement to provide Team Knope van rentals so they can ferry seniors to the polls has sort of the reverse point, oddly enough. Ron exemplifies his best when he emphasizes the importance of sticking to your principles but acknowledging that sometimes you’re just dealing with an “asshole” and have to do what you have to do.
There’s a couple of great character moments here. Ron’s willingness to pay the $10,000 (in private, of course) is a nice way to show how committed he is to Leslie and her campaign. By the same token, Donna’s willingness to sacrifice her precious car to strongarm the (nicely performed) jerkass car rental guy is a nice bit from her as well. Tom is Tom, but he works well enough in the story even if he doesn’t get any moments as cool as either of those.
The C-stories are pretty delightful too. I had forgotten how long this season lingers on Chris trying to outpace his depression spurred by lack of romantic success. The way it’s resolved, with Barkley making advances on him which he finds flattering, is pretty silly, but it’s played well, and the scene where April tries to cheer him up is a great beat for that character who’s grown and been developed a lot this season.
But the master of the slight but entertaining C-stories is Andy solving the case of who threw a pie at Jerry. I’m going to run out of ways to describe Chris Pratt’s greatness on this show, but like Rudd’s Newport, he just commits so hard to being a well-meaning but undeniably dim-witted fellow that you can’t help but root for him even in his most insane endeavors.
There’s maybe five minutes of time devoted to his pie-investigation, but they’re all pretty damn funny. His puzzling over the ol’ corkboard diagram, which in this instance just has one string between a picture of Leslie and a picture of a pie, is such a great quickhit parody of conspiracy thrillers. The scene where he slowly recreates the pie-throwing with Jerry is just so absurd as to be brilliant. And I absolutely love the reveal that it’s Sewage Joe trying to get revenge on Ben for firing him which is a culprit and a motivation that is as ridiculous as the man investigating it, and even has a nice continuity nod to boot. The icing on the cake is that even after he actually manages to solve the mystery, Andy can’t stop it from happening again!
Overall, this is one of those Parks and Rec episodes where everyone has something to do, and between the meaty but hilarious A-story, and the collection of pure comedy and great character moments in all the other stories, you get something truly tremendous.
Probably closer to a 9.5, but I really liked this episode. The chain of gossip that ran through the episode, as reflected in both the script and the direction, were stupendous. Watching the various games of telephone progress made for interesting watching and moved a number of the pieces on the board closer together. Whether it was Tony/Ralphie, Meadow/Jackie Jr., or even Carmella/Rosalee, there was an awful lot of great symmetry in how things played out.
There we also a lot of great individual scenes, from Tony's half-flustered/half-suave interactions with the mercedes saleswoman, to the "pack of schmucks" pan past the character in Gigi's crew, to the well-observed advice session between Tony and Uncle Junior. Even Johnny Sack, who's been lurking at the edges of the season for a while now, had a nice little coming out party.
The "He" in "He Is Risen" is Ralphie, (or, I shudder to think given his hectoring of Meadow, Jackie Jr.), but the story of how it happens is an interesting, and the episode did a great job of exploring the fallout from prior events. James Gandolfini is always stellar, but the actor who plays Ralphie has brought so much to the table, and every scene with him and Tony in this episodes were wonderfully revealing of both characters, how they want to be seen, and where they stand with each other. Truly superb.
Probably closer to a 7.5. I enjoyed this episode, but it vacillated between feeling like an episode of Star Trek and feeling like Disney's Pocahontas. I appreciated the Jedi and their crew running into a non-humanoid, non-english speaking, intelligent species who inhabited the planet. The idea of Obi Wan understanding the importance of using diplomacy while Anakin was initially more rash was done with a light touch that highlighted what we know about both characters without hammering the point home too hard.
The Tals themselves were pretty neat, and felt like they were given a legitimate role in the story, even if they did veer into some unfortunate "noble savage" territory at times. But what I appreciated about the episode is that most of the time, that wasn't the show's M.O. for the Tals. They were just another group of people with their own goals and customs. The Evil Chairman going full Radcliffe was lame and not at all subtle, but I appreciated the idea that it was the Senator's call to make and the Jedi couldn't do it for her. The diplomacy and negotiation felt very much of a piece with TNG.
That said, there was still a solid dose of action here as well. The battles between the Tals and the Clone Troopers were very well done, and I continue to appreciate that the series doesn't shy away from showing that there is a loss of life involved in all this fighting, even making that, more or less, the point of this episode. Having Obi Wan deliver that message explicitly at the end of the episode was too heavy-handed, but still, this was a good outing from the show.
[8.4/10] It’s a surprisingly difficult thing to learn when you’re young that just because someone is attractive and nice to you doesn’t mean that you make sense as a couple. TV and movies tended to depict people falling in love mostly because they’re pretty and make goo-goo eyes at one another. That doesn’t really prepare you for the real world where compatibility is infinitely more complicated than just a nice smile and basic kindness.
It’s a lesson Sam learns firsthand with Lindsay, and it’s a nice way that Freaks and Geeks breaks the mold for how young romances work on television. Everything on the surface is right with Cindy from Sam’s perspective: she’s pretty, she’s popular, and she thinks he’s nice. But he discovers that they don’t like the same things; they don’t have much to talk about when he’s not just a sounding board for her romantic troubles, and that they’re just not on the same page. The show dramatizes that with politics Sam could care less about and family heirlooms that Cindy doesn’t appreciate, and hickeys that the pair are at complete odds about.
And yet the episode, thankfully, doesn’t really make either of them the bad guy. Admittedly, the show exaggerates Cindy’s rougher edges here, casting her as someone who thinks the poor are lazy and who’s materialistic, and generally more shrewish than we’ve seen in the past. (Though really, that’s not so implausible given how generic an aspirational crush she’s been up until this point.)
But for the most part, the show just paints them as two people who don’t work, and as hard as it is for the two of them to face that, Sam has the courage to break up with her despite him dating out of his social league, and Cindy admits that she’s not having any fun either. It’s a sign of maturity, and a sign that Freaks and Geeks wasn’t content to follow the usual high school drama tropes, like it seemed to be indulging a little in the prior episode.
But the flipside to that, as the show signifies in the scene between Sam and Ken, is that while Sam’s maturity comes from realizing that while he likes the idea of Cindy as a girlfriend, he doesn’t like the reality, Ken’s maturity comes from realizing that he likes Amy for who she is, and that he shouldn’t let his idea of who she is get in the way of that.
I have to say, I really admire Freaks and Geeks for doing a storyline about someone who’s intersex. It’s not something I’ve ever seen before, especially not on a network television show, and the episode addresses it honestly.
Again, the show continues its march of showing us that secondary characters have some depth and added dimension to them. The fact that we not only get a Ken story, but one that shows some growth for him as a person beyond him just being a one-liner machine is really good. And by the same token, the episode takes Amy’s struggles, and Ken’s insensitivity to them, seriously.
That’s not to say that the show doesn’t manage to wring some humor out of it. Thankfully, the joke is always on Ken, with him freaking out that he might be gay in a characteristically immature way before having his conversation with Sam where he realizes what an insensitive jerk he’s being about this whole thing. I love the shot where he goes through the band procession, finds Amy, and offers his mea culpa. It’s really heartening from a character standpoint, and again, encouraging that the show addresses an issue like this in such a positive manner.
The last story in the episode has to do with activism, in an episode where there’s an undercurrent of politics throughout. I like the bits with Mr. Rosso feeling like the spirit of rebellion he fought for has died, and seeing it sparked once more in Lindsay. It’s mostly quiet and mostly humorous (see also: Ben Stiller’s cameo as an unhappy Secret Service agent), but it’s still a tight little story about Lindsay fighting for something in her own small way (and getting some humorous reactions out of her parents in the process.
Overall, another outstanding episode of the show that hits some important ideas about what it really means to care about someone, and what really matters on that front.
Quite the rebound from a pair of dud episodes! I like the way all the disparate storylines in the episode eventually tied together. The Bagpipe euphemism worked in the vein of "eating sandwiches" as a goofy way to describe something not especially appropriate for kid ears, and the twist that when Ted went to complain, they were old people and he couldn't stop them because "good for them" was a fun little wrinkle to the story. But the main bit about Marshall foolishly taking Barney's advice and trying to tell Lily that he shouldn't have to wash his dishes worked like gangbusters. There was something adorable about Marshall mangling Barney's pitch so badly, (plus Barney's 50's housewife imagine spot was hilarious in its absurd awfulness) and the idea -that such fights spiral out into fights about anything and everything was well-observed.
I also enjoyed that the "Bagpipes" were Ted's inspiration for finding Barney's downstairs neighbor (a fun if weird performer) to discover that Barney and Robin's lovey-doveyness was a cover for how they'd been fighting all the time. And that dovetailing into Marshall and Lily's realization that their dish problem was incredibly small by comparison was perfect. As a Robin-Barney skeptic, I appreciate the show leaning into the fact that they're emotionally unprepared for this (though the two of them saying the whole act was because they were tired of hearing that was a nice touch) and their blatantly ignoring Marshall and Lily's advice about setting aside your ego and not worrying about winning was a perfect indication as to why they don't really work at an elemental level. Plus, I'd be remiss if I didn't note that there were a lot of laughs here, from Marshall's speech about being the perfect boyfriend, to Robin and Barney's fight resolution strategy, to the last little tag to bring the bagpipes back. All-in-all, a very nice episode.
6.5/10. This one is a pretty big miss 90% of the way through, but ties things together well at the end with Robin & Barney. Much of the episode lands with a thud, from the strangeness/awkwardness of everyone complementing the (flat-chested) Robin on her boobs, to the entire old boyfriend routine. There's the seed of a good idea with the whole "revertigo" idea, but it's clumsily executed here to where you're mostly just embarrassed for Robin, and the bit with Lily and her friend Michelle is pretty cringe-worthy even as the episode attempts to covers its tracks for the cringeyness of it. Hell, even the actual Sandcastles in the Sand video isn't anywhere near as fun or clever a parody as the original Let's Go to the Mall, with the cameos feeling forced and even the commentary on it from Robin & Barney feeling more contrived.
But it hits that one emotional note with Robin and Barney perfectly. I've never been a big fan of the two of them together, but I have to admit that the scene with them at the bar, where Barney tells Robin how awesome she is at least lays the groundwork for it in a heartwarming way. Cobie Smulders often does that drama side of the show better than the comedy, and she pulls it off extraordinarily well here, and NPH is in top form, showing an empathetic side of Barney who is still recognizably the cartoonish bro we've come to know. It's a sweet moment, and the one thing that raises this episode up from the doldrums.
