9.5/10. What a way to start the season! I liked the general themes that this episode dabbled in. BoJack's struggle between doing something "challenging" but be unappreciated and quickly forgotten or something that would help him be remembered, but which feels like a lie since it's not really him, provides the episode with a strong thematic backbone. That gives color to BoJack strains to get through all these mindless interviews, to talk the talk that will get him an award that will validate him, but at the same time, he wants to defend his crappy TGIF sitcom that feels like more of a reflection of his soul (if for no other reason than because his soul is kind of crass, and because it was something he did with his best friend who saw the best in him), and it's also why he can't enjoy the ride because he's still questioning himself after what happened in New Mexico. That is, frankly, what I felt was missing from this show at times in prior seasons, something that powerfully explored BoJack's psyche while giving into the complexity of it and not just going for one-to-one, "bad experience A caused poor life result B" storytelling
And despite all that heavy, complicated thematic and psychological stuff, it was a damn hilarious episode! The conference call in particular was a great way of bouncing everyone off of one another and showing off the show's comic sensibilities. Todd getting lost, Midnight Cowboy-style in a hotel was slight but so so funny. And the other comic elements of the episode from Mr. Peanutbutter hijacking his accountant away from his son to come up with terrible, Todd-like ideas for shows, to Princess Carolyn managing the agency while multitasking, to the sendups of award season banter, were all superb. Overall, this episode hit the right mix of introducing the conflicts and emotional stakes of the new season, checking in with all of the characters, and making some hilarious jokes in the process. This episode definitely bodes well for season 3.
8.6/10. I really enjoyed all the moving parts in this one, and it ended up moving like clockwork. I especially appreciated the bookends of the episode, which ever so briefly turned the foils (Rabbitowitz and Vanessa Gecko) into the protagonists. I'm a sucker for those kind of perspective-flipping gags, and having the bad guys fix marriages, reveal that one of our heroes were lying, and land their client a big role to save their agency, and have them treat it like a victory for justice and right (which...maybe it is?) was a nice twist.
But I particularly enjoyed the back and forth as BoJack juggled projects, from the blockbuster Pegasus project that would up his profile as a movie star, to the Jellybean Girl project with Kelsey that would allow him to do challenging work, to "Eathan Around* (a nice riff on Fuller House) which would allow him to help out something approaching a friend. It's a nice way to dramatize the different paths in front of BoJack, not to mention his inability to handle these things on his own or with any grace or dignity, and that makes it all the more interesting and devastating when it all goes up in flames.
I also enjoyed the B-Story of Mr. PB and Dianne visiting Mr. PB's brother on Labrador Island. Weird Al is always a get, and the "twisted spleen" as terminal illness conceit was really interesting, especially with Dianne picking up the hints and Mr. PB not wanting to have to face something difficult. They've also been setting up a lot in terms of Dianne with respect to children this season, and I wonder if it leads to her and Mr. PB having to adopt his nephews and Dianne not being okay with that.
Overall, a tightly-written, tightly-paced episode that had laughs and creativity out the wazoo.
[7.4/10] So here’s the big problem. BoJack is a show that revels in building things up just to tear them down. Sure, it has people making slow but steady progress, Todd in particular, but it’s also a show that relishes in gut punches. That makes you (or at least me) brace for them, and gives them less impact. Things were going too well for Princess Carolyn -- that means things had to predictably fall apart, and the parade of horribles that happen to her just starts to feel inevitable and almost indulgent in how things pile up.
It also doesn’t help that the shocking twist of the conceit is basically a repeat of something How I Met Your Mother pulled not that long ago. I still really enjoy the frame story, which has plenty of great riffs on “the future” and storytelling machinery that brings the comedy in an otherwise harrowing plot. And Amy Sedaris delivers her last lines about “what I do when I’m feeling down” so well. But again, the way this all felt telegraphed weakens the force of what could otherwise be a knife-twisting moment.
Still, Princess Carolyn losing her biggest client, her baby, her boyfriend, and even the sense of place and history that came from the necklace her mother gave her is genuinely harrowing. Her reasons for pushing Ralph away feel simultaneously a bit unfair but also understandable. It’s a scene that feels very real, even if it starts with a wild array of dentist clowns.
Overall, it’s a creative episode, but one whose misery seems too preordained to land as well as it needs to.
[8.7/10] I loved the structure of this one. The way it fit the BoJack/Hollyhock story, the Governor’s race, the Princess Carolyn plot, and Todd’s dentist clowns into one intersecting timescape was absolutely wonderful, giving everything a sense of flow while also allowing the show to develop some momentum from jumping between stories.
For one thing, I really enjoyed the way the show used the “one week later/one week earlier” bit to drive home how fickle the electorate is. The hoopla over Woodchuck’s new hands, the origin of those hands, and Biel’s anti-avocado position driving the fortunes of the election and the media’s coverage of it is great satire of the 2016 election that nevertheless works well as broader satire of political races and news coverage generally. It also drops more nice hints at bumps in the road between Diane and Mr. PB, with Biel’s “magic eye” story providing a metaphor for why Diane might want to stick it out while waiting for something magical to click between the two of them.
Todd’s story was mainly just for laughs, but they were great laughs. His interactions with the representative of the Better Business Bureau had the dependable comedy from a square interacting with a goofball, and his group’s escapades to put on a show and get Princess Carolyn in position were zany fun.
Princess Carolyn’s story was good stuff too. I like the idea that she’s despondent and slipping after all that’s happened to her, but that the serendipity of receiving a script titled “Philbert” strikes a chord and gives her a reason to get out of bed and try to produce it. Her interactions with Turtletaub are a hoot as always, and I’m interested by the moral ambiguity of her forging BoJack’s signature to make it happen.
But the peak of the episode comes in its bookends, which center on BoJack’s relationship with Hollyhock. I’d naturally assumed that Hollyhock had passed out from starving herself due to BoJack’s blob comment, but it’s a good fake out. The show earns it’s angst from BoJack who reveals how much he knows and cares about his daughter in his efforts to see her in the hospital. His interactions with her eight dads strike the right balance of comedy and tragedy, and you really feel for BoJack in how he’s losing something that enriched his life and which he was on the road to being deserving of for once.
And man, the reveal that his mom was secretly dosing Hollyhock’s coffee with amphetamines is a doozy. It wraps up BoJack’s parental issues in both directions nicely, and makes for an absolute dagger when he bundles her up and gets ready to drop her off at the worst nursing home he can find. It’s the cherry on top of all his past resentments, and that’s what makes her recognizing him at the very end such a splash of cold water. Right when he’s at his emotional low point, she finally figures out who he is and he has to confront his anger and his desire to be seen by her at the same time. It’s a hell of a note to go out on.
Overall, it’s an episode with a creative interlacing of stories, each of which hit, and in the case of the last one, packs a wallop. Superb stuff.
[9.8/10] It seems like every season, there’s one episode of BoJack Horseman that just floors me, and this may be the best of them all. More than BoJack’s dream sequence in S1, more than his unforgivable act at the end of S2, more than the even the harrowing end for Sarah Lynn in S3, “Time’s Arrow” is a creative, tightly-written, absolutely devastating episode of television that is the crown jewel of Season 4 and possibly the series.
The inventiveness of the structure alone sets the episode apart. It feels of a piece with the likes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for finding outside the box ways to communicate the idea of dementia and the brain purging and combining and reconstructing dreams and memories into one barely-comprehensible stew. The way that the episode jumps back and forth through time is a superb way to convey the way this story is jumbled up and hard to keep a foothold on for Beatrice.
And that doesn’t even take into account the other amazing visual ways the show communicates the difficulty and incoherence or what Beatrice is experiencing. The way random people lack features or have scratched out faces, the way her mother is depicted only in silhouette with the outline of that scar, the way the images stop and start or blur together at emotional moments all serve to enhance and deepen the experience.
What’s even more impressive is how “Time’s Arrow” tells a story that begins in Beatrice’s youth and ends in the present day, without ever feeling rushed or full of shortcuts. Every event matters, each is a piece of the whole, from a childhood run-in with scarlet fever to her coming out party to an argument about the maid, that convincingly accounts for how the joyful, smart young girl we meet in the Sugarman home turns into the bitter husk of a woman BoJack is putting in a home. It’s an origin story for Beatrice, and a convincing one, but also one of the parental trauma that has filtered its way down from BoJack’s grandparents all the way down to poor Hollyhock.
And my god, the psychological depth of this one! I rag on the show a decent amount for writing its pop psychology on the screen, but holy cow, the layers and layers of dysfunction and reaction and cause and effect here are just staggering. The impact of Beatrice’s father’s cajoling and her mother’s lobotomy on her development as a woman in a society that tried to force her into a role she didn’t want or necessarily fit is striking in where its tendrils reach throughout her development. The idea of rebelling against that, and the way BoJack’s dad fits into that part of her life is incredible. And the story of growing resentment over the years from a couple who once loved each other, or at least imagined they did and then found the reality different than the fantasy is striking and sad.
But that all pales in comparison in how it all of these events come together to explain Beatrice’s fraught, to say the least, relationship to motherhood and children. The climax of the episode, which intersperses scenes of the purging that happens when Beatrice contracts scarlet fever as a child, her giving birth to BoJack, and her helping her husband’s mistress give birth all add up to this complex, harrowing view of what being a mom, what having a child, amounts to in Beatrice’s eyes.
The baby doll that burns in the fire in her childhood room is an end of innocence, a gripping image that ties into Beatrice’s mother’s grief over Crackerjack’s demise and whether and how it’s acceptable to react to such a trauma. The birth of BoJack, for Beatrice, stands as the event that ruined her life. BoJack is forced to absorb the resentments that stem from Beatrice’s pregnancy being the thing that effectively (and societally) forced her to marry BoJack’s father, sending her into a loveless marriage and a life she doesn’t want all because of one night of rebellion she now bitterly regrets. For her, BoJack is an emblem of the life she never got to lead, and he unfairly suffers her abuses because of it, just like Beatrice suffered her own parents’ abuses.
Then there’s the jaw-dropping revelation that Hollyhock is not BoJack’s daughter, but rather, his sister. As telegraphed as Princess Carolyn’s life falling apart felt, this one caught me completely off-guard and it’s a startling, but powerful revelation that fits everything we know so well and yet completely changes the game. It provides the third prong of this pitchfork, the one where Beatrice is forced to help Henrietta, the woman who slept with her husband, avoid the mistake that she herself made, and in the process, tear a baby away from a mother who desperately wants to hold it. It is the culmination of so many inherited and passed down traumas and abuses, the kindness and cruelty unleashed on so many the same way it was unleashed on her, painted in a harrowing phantasmagoria of events through Beatrice’s life.
And yet, in the end, even though BoJack doesn’t know or understand these things, he cannot simply condemn his mother to suffer even if he’s understandably incapable of making peace with her. Such a horrifying series of images and events ends with an act of kindness. BoJack doesn’t understand the cycle of abuse that his mom is as much a part of as he is, but he has enough decency, enough kindness in him to leave Beatrice wrapped in a happy memory.
Like she asked his father to do, like she asked her six-year-old son to do, BoJack tells her a story. It’s a story of a warm, familiar place, of a loving family, of the simple pleasures of home and youth that began to evaporate the moment her brother didn’t return from the war. It’s BoJack’s strongest, possibly final, gift to his mother, to save her from the hellscape of her own mind and return her to that place of peace and tranquility.
More than ever, we understand the forces that conspired to make BoJack the damaged person he is today. It’s just the latest psychological casualty in a war that’s been unwittingly waged by different people across decades. But for such a difficult episode to watch and confront, it ends on a note of hope, that even with all that’s happened, BoJack has the spark of that young, happy girl who sat in her room and read stories, and gives his mother a small piece of kindness to carry with her. There stands BoJack, an individual often failing but at least trying to be better, and out there is Hollyhock, a sweet young woman, who represent the idea that maybe, just as this cycle was built up bit-by-bit, so too may it be dismantled, until that underlying sweetness is all that’s left.
[7.7/10] I’ll say this for The Good Place. I like that they’re basically running through all the love triangle permutations now rather than dragging them out unnecessarily. I’ll admit, I don’t exactly buy the possibility of Fake Eleanor and Chidi together, or Fake Eleanor being in love with Chidi, but I do buy it as a spur of the moment feeling that, with some reflection, she realizes isn’t real. (I’m less sold on the idea that Tahani and Chidi aren’t soulmates, because that seems like a better possibility.)
Still, I’ll say this for that part of the story -- it leads to the best thing in the episode, namely Fake Eleanor and Tahani hanging out together. The two characters have a fun dynamic, and watching them check out a BBC sitcom or put in hair extensions or snark at Jason and Janet’s wedding is a treat.
Heck, I even liked the Jason and Janet shtick. There’s something about someone who’s a complete dolt “falling in love” with someone who’s barely sentient but nevertheless nice to him that is weird but oddly sweet. The pair’s vows, entrance music, and little dance together are all absolutely charming even if it’s a semi-bizarre bit.
The only part of the episode that didn’t really work for me is Chidi’s indecision. I like the approach, showing Chidi’s paralyzed by choice, but it’s done in such a cartoony, over the top way that it’s hard to be too invested in his growth over the course of the episode. That said, his best friend knowing him well enough to do a “fake wedding day” test, and Chidi literally being killed by his indecision is a decent bit.
Overall, lots of laughs and good energy to this one, particularly the funny and endearing Tahani/Fake Eleanor portions and the strange Jason/Janet stuff.
[6.4/10] The Good Place is getting a little too simplistic and didactic for my tastes here. The premise of the A-story is a good one -- Michael is an immortal being and so has never had to really consider morality because he’s never truly had to face the concept of death. So when he is facing the real prospect of “retirement,” at Chidi’s urging, he has a breakdown. That leads to some great comic acting from Ted Danson as his face practically melts with anguish and he curls up into a ball on Eleanor’s lap. It’s a heady thing to play for comic notes, but it works.
Buy then the show gets really broad and obvious about it. Having Michael shift from “existential crisis” to “mid-life crisis” is a clever enough twist, but the episode goes really cheesy with the humor, and it doesn’t land. At the same time, the flashbacks with Eleanor learning about death from her crappy mom have some decent laughs in them, but their message is too blunt. Eleanor considers how damaging ignoring your bad feelings about death is given the source, and then delivers an aesop to Michael about it. It’s too neat and too easy.
The B-story is solid, until the end. I like the idea that Tahani knows she’s intended to be “tortured” by having her great party be upstaged by one the demons are throwing, but that the realization that she still can’t beat them in party planning nevertheless bothers her. It’s an interesting opportunity for Tahani to have some self-reflection, and Jason offering her some comfort and support in his typically dim-witted way is sweet.
But man, having them sleep together feels like such a standard sitcom move. Not every instance of someone being nice to a member of the opposite sex needs to lead to romance. And it comes off like the show needing something for Tahani and Jason to do while bigger plot stuff is going on in the rest of the show. I’m not a fan of that choice, to state the obvious, though maybe I’m just salty because I was oddly compelled by last season’s Jason/Janet pairing.
Overall, one of the more standard-to-cornball episodes of the show thus far.
[8.3/10] The Good Place is definitely playing to those in its audience with philosophy backgrounds. The titular trolley problem isn’t exactly a deep cut in moral philosophy, but seeing it not only dramatized literally, but remixed and rematched with our thought problem twists and series callbacks was wonderful. That alone would make this outing an enjoyable one -- seeing the normally abstract, removed sort of moral quandaries philosophers use to illustrate points made real in Road Runner-style splendor.
But as the show does when it’s firing on all cylinders, it doesn’t just use this idea for the humor and mayhem -- it uses it to make a point about the characters’ relationships and the broader narrative of the series. “The Trolley Problem” is more concerned about the connection between Michael and Chidi, and the wedges between them that may make it hard for them to find common ground.
I absolutely love the reveal that Michael was falling back into old habits and torturing Chidi. The question at play here is a compelling one -- can this moral instruction really change Michael, or is he stuck in his view of humanity and the actions that reflect that view. The episode muddles the conflict between Chidi and Michael a bit, but also takes it seriously, having Chidi reject Michael’s (hilarious) bribes and demand a sincere expression of contrition in order to repair their relationship and be able to move forward. It’s a deft balancing act between the creativity allowed by the world’s expansive sandbox, the silliness that defines the show’s humor, and the sincere character work that anchors it all.
The B-story, with Tahani and Jason getting psychotherapy from Janet, is nice enough, but not quite on the same level. It attempts to wring some emotional heft from Tahani being embarrassed to be seen cavorting romantically with Jason, but it falls into some clichés and Jason’s idiocy-as-profundity routine easily. On the other hand, the development that Janet is exceeding her programming and weird things are happening is an intriguing and amusing one, and her chipper roboticism has stealthily made her a dark horse for my favorite character on the show.
Overall, a great episode that has humor, inventiveness, and good character material in the A-story, and a couple of interesting Janet-related developments in the B-story.
[8.4/10] A real winner. I am a sucker for bottle episodes, particularly ones that use the opportunity to dig into character and really allow for some creative writing and performances. Despite a few flashbacks and some CGI trickery, this is a mostly-contained half hour that lets the strengths of the performers and the writers’ room shine through.
There’s two great arcs here. The first centers on Janet herself, and the realization that her malfunctions are due to her sublimated feelings for Jason emerging every time she claims to be happy about something involving him and Tahani. It’s not much of a revelation given what we saw last week, but it’s still realized nicely.
The process of Michael troubleshooting Janet leads to all sorts of creative sequences showing off the show’s high concept chops. But I also enjoy the idea that (a.) Janet isn’t even aware of why she has these feelings about Jason and has to come to terms with them in her own, A.I. sort of way, and (b.) that she’s willing to die, again in her own detached way, if it means protecting Jason.
It’s a great showcase for D’Arcy Carden, who plays up Janet’s traditional chipper dialtone demeanor, while also finding room for subtle bits of emotion that show the ways she’s becoming a little more human.
It’s also a great showcase for Ted Danson. Michael comes to terms with the fact (mostly through flashback) that despite everything, he views Janet as a friend. She helped him solve his biggest problems and has been there for him, whether from affection or programmed duty, from the beginning, and he can’t bear to let her go. It’s a nice bit of parallelism in Michael becoming just a little more human as well.
“Janet and Michael” is the type of episode that could provide challenging in the wrong hands, but on The Good Place, it gives the audience a heap of creative comedy and character development without being able to rely on traditional TV storytelling beats or changes in scenery. Kudos to all.
(Plus hey, it's Dennis Feinstein as Janet's new manufactured boyfriend!)
I totally lost it when I saw Michael doing Ted Danson's Cheers routine! Such a lovely (and obvious) Easter egg.
I felt this episode dragged things a little bit, it most certainly shifted the tone of the series, putting comedy in the back seat and letting moral consequences of actions lead the way. Like this episode's plot, the episode itself felt a bit experimental. I am not at all happy with the results, but it's still a good episode, nonetheless, despite it being my least favourite of the season. After last week's superb episode, this one seemed like a filler for season 3 to kick in. Or maybe I just miss the whole gang together. Regardless, the ending surely was interesting enough to keep us wanting to know where they're taking us, now. They're all alive, no more "Good Place" or "Bad Place" for a while, so has this now become a regular sitcom with ethical elements thrown into it? Ah! I'm certain that will not be the case, because this show knows how to sweep the rug from under our feet every time we're standing firmly on it. Yeah, I'm probably not good with metaphors. Anyway, I can barely wait to get reunited with these poor afterlife test subjects for season 3!
6.8/10. This is a really difficult one to grade, because the first few minutes are great, and the last few minutes are great, but everything in the middle is to forgettable-to-bad. We've done the "Robin isn't girly" beats before, and there was nothing particularly new or interesting about it here, let alone anything that justified turning it into a crisis. And while it's nice to see that the show didn't entirely forget Robin's sister, Lily being so upset by it didn't make sense. At the same time, we've pretty much already squeezed all the juice out of The Wedding Bride that we were going to, and the meta-humor of it didn't really keep up in this rehash. It's a lot of broad jokes without any real grounding in character or sharply-honed humor to keep things flowing.
But there's something to the idea that the wedding isn't just a big day for Barney and Robin, but that due to major upcoming life changes, it's something like a last great hurrah for the whole group. And that ties nicely into the best part of the episode -- the frame story of Ted and The Mother in 2024, realizing that they've already told each other all their best stories, which features both Radnor and Miloti doing tremendous work selling the two of them as having the rhythms of an "old married couple" and a certain melancholy wistfulness that pervades their interactions. There's some major hints dropped here, but I like the themes explored here, both that The Mother is worried that Ted is going to live in his stories and needs to be able to go on in his life (a lesson The Mother herself learned) and that those stories, even the dumb ones, can be a welcome respite from the harshness of certain truths. Throw in an unexpected appearance from Robin's mother to tie up that story (and hey fellow Simpsons fans, it's Tracey Ulman!), and you have an opening sequence and a closing sequence that knock my socks off, but a whole lot of junk in the middle. A peculiar episode on that account, to say the least.
[7.7/10] It seems like every season, BoJack does an issue episode, where more than telling a story to advance the plot really, the show focuses more on a specific cultural issue and filters it through its characters. Ideas of when men who’ve been exposed for bad acts in public can/should make their comebacks, and notions of male feminism seem particularly in BoJack’s wheelhouse, so the exploration of those things largely works here.
My issue is that the show gets a little over the top and didactic with it. BoJack tends to be much better on subtlety when it comes to its characters’ emotional lives than its messages, but there’s still some solid laughs and commentary to be had here. The back and forth with ersatz Mel Gibson and BoJack making the rounds to do apology tours, collect plaudits for good but easy opinions, and lob various bombs at one another is an entertaining spine for the episode. I particularly enjoyed BoJack obliviously reveling in the attention and praise, which feels both like a good jab and true to his character.
The episode is strongest, though, when it’s channeling all of this through Diane. While Diane can often be one of the show’s more blatant mouthpieces in these issue episodes, it also does a good job of digging into her frustrations of having her ideas stifled when espoused by her but lauded when championed by others. There’s also a lot of interesting ways in which her words are twisted or used by others on both sides of the argument. And the fact that she gets hired to help out on Philbert to make the show less sexist, only to realize that she’s a prop is another of the show’s well done “everything isn’t magically solved at the end of the half hour” resolutions to a complicated topic.
With all that heavy stuff, I appreciate that we get a comic relief B-plot where Mr. PB and Todd team up to try to help Mr. PB seem tough. The two of them trying to concoct scenarios for Mr. PB to show how serious and scary he can be, while continually running into people finding him genial and affable in escalating ways is a great continuing gag. Plus, that pairing is always gold.
But what I find most interesting about “BoJack the Feminist” is how it plays the same idea for laughs (and biting social commentary) that it eventually plays for the seriousness of it. There’s a loonyness to how the Mel Gibson expy continually does terrible things and makes his way back to the spotlight, and a lot of satire about how easy it is for men to pretend they’ve changed and get chance after chance after chance without ever showing any real growth or understanding, with a not-so-subtle suggestion that we, as a society, shouldn’t be nearly so willing to accept or forgive such transgressions.
And yet, in the very same episode, it shows BoJack rising through his performative feminism and reaching a genuine epiphany -- that like Diane said, he is helping to normalize a certain view and treatment of women through his work, even if it doesn't glamorize it. And better yet, he takes concrete steps to try to correct for it, acknowledging Diane’s contributions to that realization and inviting her onto the show to try to fix it.
But then, Diane is confronted with Ana Spanakopita’s tape of BoJack’s confession about what happened with Penny. You have the sudden realization that yeah, however much we’re invested in BoJack and want to see him get better and improve his life, he’s done some pretty terrible shit. That cuts both ways -- both to broaden the audience’s perspective and make us think twice about how much forgiveness and success we ought to want for BoJack, but also making us think twice about how to treat public figures who do genuinely have demons they’re running from and have made concerted efforts to change.
For however blunt “BoJack the Feminist” seems for much of its runtime, it acknowledges the complexities of the issue it’s tackling in startling, personal fashion in its final frame, in a way that speaks to both story and character, which makes it noteworthy even among the series’ similar episodes.
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.
[7.0/10] This is another kind of weird episode that I don’t really know what to do with, since it’s a lot of scattered bits that are all sort of built around, but not really connected, the one big conversation that anchors the episode.
But the bits are largely enjoyable! I liked, though didn’t love, the whole “being there” shtick where Henry Fondle is made the CEO of whattimeisit.com. The cold open reveal of Character Actress Margo Martindale was an absolute treat. The continued prestige drama satire of Flip’s speeches and description of his show was fun. I didn’t really like PC having to unravel the copyright dispute with the joke popsicle guys, but it was inoffensive.
And I really liked the continuing subtle growth of Mr. Peanutbutter! He is slowly but surely growing up, and you can see it in how he’s trying to be a good actor, and a little hurt that Pickles wasn’t into his show. The idea that he’s outgrowing someone for once is an interesting one, and I appreciate the development of one of the show’s most plain comic relief characters, even if it seems to be headed for a reunion with Diane that I’m lukewarm on.
But it really all comes down to BoJack and Diane. Their confrontation is well done, if a little over the top, and does a solid job at exploring what seems to be the main theme of this season -- whether someone can or should be able to be okay with and move past the bad things they’ve done. For her part, Diane feels like an enabler, and the reception to Philbert acts as a wake up call when she’s worried about people, BoJack in particular, seeing the vulnerability she introduces as something that excuses an “open wound” of a character doing awful things.
There’s a lot of meta-ness there, as BoJack Horseman grapples with whether it’s done too much to excuse its own protagonist. But it also doubles down on that at the same time, having BoJack admit how much pain he’s experienced, how much pain he’s tried to run from, and how being told that he could be okay is a balm, something that helps him to be better.
But that only works if he wants to keep improving. Diane is right. BoJack is still a mess, even before he downs his pill bottles and mixes it with booze (and tramples on Gina’s long-awaited chance to be in the spotlight). It’s good that he’s come this far, but also not enough, and doesn't excuse the bad things he’s done in the past.
That’s the push and pull of this season. We see BoJack making some legitimate progress, doing nice things for people, even if it’s in a very BoJack sort of way. But he’s also still the author of some pain and misery. How much he should be permitted to get past that an earn our sympathies, and how much he deserves the guilt that haunts him is a very tough question to answer, one that “Head in the Clouds” doesn't try to answer, just confront.
So BoJack and Diane have it out, both are hurt and vulnerable in the aftermath since each’s emptional well-being is, regrettably, at least somewhat tied to the other, and they both do stupid things. BoJack mixes pain medication and alcohol and jumps into things with his would be girlfriend for comfort and relief, and Diane invites her ex-husband is. Neither choice seems poised for good to come out it, especially heading into the penultimate episode of the season, where the most harrowing and heavy crap tends to rain down in this series.
But hey, time to get ready for the fun once more, I suppose. Go go sad horse show!
Sometimes it's hard to remember that our real lives are distinct and separate from our online lives. Take it from some guy who enjoys his "likes" and hits from writing reviews more than he'd sometimes care to admit, it's all too easy to become consumed in our online presence to the point that we forget about our lives away from screens, away from the things that give us meaning and insight and the inspiration to post anything to social media.
Which is why I think I'm okay with the tack "Skank Hunt" takes. (Now that's not sentence I ever expected to write.) Look, online bullying driving people to suicide is a legitimate issue, and even if it's not widespread, making it the source of fun admittedly makes me a little uneasy. And yet, I think it's in service of that point, that kids and adults alike treat their online personas as their entire being, and that we as a culture and a society overinflate the importance of the digital part of our lives. The grave, faux-solemnity with which South Park treats the idea of someone quitting Twitter is not, in my estimation, an attempt to make fun of people driven to suicide (though it's certainly meant to be envelope pushing as the show always is), but rather an attempt to make fun of how big a deal we make over something as slight as social media in the first place, to where quitting Twitter or Facebook or god help us, Trakt, can be treated as such a cataclysmic event.
This is as good a time to mention that one of the ways South Park achieves this is in "Skank Hunt" is with some unexpectedly good design work, music, and cinematography. Even in it's construction paper cut out days, the show had a certain visual experimentalist quality to it. But in "Skank Hunt," the show goes a step further to drive home the faux-magnitude of what's taking place, whether it's the pan up to the sky as a little girl drops her phone into the river, or the leering shadow of Gerald as he wages war against a Scandavian olympic athlete, or the slow shots of what looks like a massacre as the South Park Elementary girls deliver break up letter after break up letter to the boys. This episode did a great job of using the "camera" of this still semi-crudely animated show to help convey mood and heighten the feeling of these scenes.
Throw in a ridiculous sequence sent to a Boston tune that subs Gerald's typing for tickling the ivories, a similarly goofy sequence of Gerald celebrating his notoriety to the silly strains of "Steal My Sunshine," and the swelling music that back the break up sequence, and you have a show that's using more than just its superb writing and bent premises to make its impact.
But the story and themes are still the core of Skank Hunt. The seriousness with which everyone treats a classmate quitting Twitter leads to the interesting point about the outsized importance we place on social media, but also does a nice job of driving the story, from leading the boys to kill Cartman...'s online presence, in a series of scenes the show mostly plays straight to hilarious effect. The story between Mr. Mackey and Scott Malkinson (who we haven't seen in forever) is South Park's humor at its darkest. Well, maybe not its darkest (see: Scott Tenerman), but still, only a show like this one could wring the humor in a beleaguered guidance counselor growing tired of comforting his "suicidal" student and wishing that he would (more or less) just off himself already. It's hard to call it well-observed exactly, but there's the germ of humanity in the scene to someone becoming strained even with one of the most noble duties there is, in classic exaggerated South Park fashion.
And then there's Gerald himself, who in a Heisenberg-esque twist, is enjoying his double life as a troll too much to avoid dropping hints to his wife and son. There's commentary in his role in the episode as well, with once again, everyone in South Park, from the children to adults, treating something as ridiculous as an anonymous person on the internet spewing profanity and photoshopping lewd images with such seriousness. That seriousness seems particularly interesting in contrast to how Gerald is just doing it to "stir the pot," because he thinks it's funny. There's a disparity between how the rest of the world responds to this, and Gerald's less than grandiose reasons for it. It's clear that he's just doing this for the fun of it, and also for the notoreity of it, and that by taking trolling so seriously, the people of South Park are actually just enabling and encouraging him.
There's more to unpack here, from the idea of collective guilt and collective punishment, to the continued presence of the member berries, to the promise of more storylines in the future stemming from Cartman's wrongful "death," and Gerald's attempt to troll the untrollable. But on the whole, "Skank Hunt" is an episode about how easy it is to treat our online lives with the utmost importance, and treat anything that impugnes them like a horrid, deplorable attack on our very being, when neither our silly online posts, nor the dumb screeds that they may engender in response, deserve that level of attention, importance, or concern.
I am incredibly grateful to Game of Thrones for this adventure I have found myself sucked into for some years now. I am grateful for all the emotions it brought me since day one, bitter and sweet alike. I am grateful for all the laughs, all the tears, all the jokes and gags, every single bit of it, I really am grateful and appreciative of it all. It's been just... wonderful.
That said, I am feeling robbed and betrayed right about now. This ending is arguably one of the worst series finales in the history of television and trust me I realize how bold of a statement that is. The terrible violations the characters have suffered this season, the lack of proper resolution to many of the plots and narratives developed over seasons worth of buildup, the seeking of shock value at the expense of quality writing... that and much much more solidified this as an absolute disappointment of a finale, as opposed to the marvel wrap it could've given this cultural phenomenon.
This episode does have its positives, as always the score, acting and cinematography are perfectly performed but I just do not think it's nearly enough to compensate for how lackluster the writing has been, as much as I wish they did. Oh well, sad as it may be, I'll just hold on to the good stuff and hope that GRRM's book, once finished, will tackle the ending in a more coherent, more respectful and more meaningful way. It's been real y'all...
P.S: I'll leave this here lest some people jump me again. This comment is a representation of my own personal opinion, I am entitled to one just as all of you are. If you enjoyed this season and felt this finale delivered what you were looking for then more power to you mate, but that doesn't nullify my opinion nor does it make yours any valid. If you want to discuss or challenge my views, I'd be more than happy to engage you on that basis but if all you have to offer are petty remarks then please keep them to yourself.
What a strong start of this new season! The tone is set, Toby will need to understand that siblings bonds are way stronger than the one they love, and Randall trying to recreate his adoption surely makes me love Beth a bit more. Also good for Kate to finally realize it's her talent and not her looks, although I can truly relate to her thinking it's always about the looks since most of the times it is. That ending with the amazing version of One had me in tears again, I am truly happy that Jack probably dies from a fire and not from drunk driving I seriously would've hated that, although there is still a chance that he was drunk when the fire happened. Also kudo's to the writers for a Gremlins reference lol... It's funny that the big 3 is as old as I am (only i wont be 37 till november), so i can truly relate to some problems they have. Also I hope it will be a long time before we actually see the death of Jack cause when that happens it will probably be over for his storyline and I truly love Milo so I hope we won't see it soon!
Oh well … what can I say
"This hospital, huh!?"
There were so many great scenes in here - it's hard to mention all.
BUT there was one scene standing out!
When Rebecca was on the phone talking to the hotel, the focus moves very slowly from Rebecca to the background. While the unsuspecting Rebecca makes her call (in real-time), the background moves in slow-motion.
Then the focus moves back to Rebecca again, now she is calling Miquel, then the focus goes slowly back to the background again, once more in slow motion.
AND THEN … (at 24:55) right before she put the money into the machine YOU CAN HEAR JACK's VOICE CALLING "Beck!?".
Which must have been shortly after Jack had left his body! She even turns around!
DID YOU GUYS NOTICE THAT?
(please share!)
I also LOVED how they did not show Jack's body, but only the reflection of him in the window, together with his wife now realizing the situation. And then these split second shots of younger Jack … Awww man - why are you doing to us!???
Ugh - What a freaking masterpiece!
What can I say … I just love this show!
{Honorable Mention:} GREAT performace by the doctor talking to Rebecca, amongst everybody else on this show!
PSA - Explanation of what the two ladies on the phone are talking about in this episode:
Better Call Saul is great when it comes to contrasts, especially when it comes to its two most significant characters (who are, incidentally, its two legacy characters from Breaking Bad). "Amarillo" shows Jimmy as a man trying to do the wrong thing, or at least the underhanded thing, and being pushed to do the right one by those closest to him. It also shows Mike as a man trying to do the right thing, the right way, and having him pushed back toward crime and the seedier side of his new home because of those closest to him.
We know that Jimmy McGill tends toward the con, toward the misdirection, toward the razzle dazzle in an "ends justify the means" sort of way. So when we see him pay off a bus driver from a local Sandpiper nursing home in Texas (with a beautifully shot opening of our hero dressed in white against the Lone Star State's flag painted on the side of a building to boot), it's par for the course. There's something intoxicating for Jimmy, and for the audience, to see him work his magic on that bus full of seniors. Sure, there's something a little underhanded about it--even part from the payoff, it feels like he's manipulating them more than a little bit with his "send your nephew to talk to the manager routine--but he's so damn good at it! If there's one thing viewers love and admire, it's talent and competence, and Jimmy is a talented, more than competent client outreach specialist.
I promise, at some point I will stop comparing this show to Breaking Bad, but it's hard not to see the parallels between Walter White and Jimmy McGill here. I'm not suggesting that there's the same sort of pride or evil lurking within Jimmy that there was as Walter slowly let Heisenberg out of his cage. But both Walter and Jimmy are very good at something (making meth and talking their way into/out of anything respectively) and that makes them each loathe to give up plying their trade even when the rules make it a dangerous proposition. Each knows where their talents lie, and know what got them to where they are, and each is unhappy, if not afraid, of the idea of letting go of that and risking ending up back where they started.
Besides, when it comes to Jimmy's situation here, what's the harm, right? It might not be totally above board to walk the line between following up on a mailer and soliciting, but he's not taking advantage of these people. He's trying to help them! Sure, he's helping himself at the same time, but there's no real victim here.
Then, we run into Chuck, sitting across the table from his brother and pouring cold water on Clifford and Jimmy's good news about the number of clients Jimmy managed to sign up. It's a wonderful sequence in the episode, and one of the things that makes it interesting is the way that Hamlin and Clifford both realize this is a family feud and try to stay neutral, diplomatic, and supportive of both sides in the argument.
And it's quick, but it's a hell of an argument. In Game of Thrones, Tyrion Lannister once describes his own sibling as more than capable of using true feelings for something false. In that vein, I love situations like the one presented here, where Chuck is 100% right about the concerns he expresses about Jimmy's outreach efforts, and yet not exactly for the right reasons. Jimmy's brother isn't wrong when he points out that any questions about the way their legal team obtained their clients, especially with seniors, leaves them vulnerable in a way that could torpedo the case. And he's also not wrong to be suspicious of Jimmy wrangling 20+ clients while following up on a single mail-in response, particularly given what he knows about Jimmy's past behavior and what he (rightfully) suspects about his current behavior.
It's a risky, arguably foolish thing that Jimmy did. And Chuck's rightfully pointing that out, but coming from him it feels petty. Chuck's made it clear that even if it's bound up with his own sense of pride in his work and accomplishments, he can't shake his skeptical, dismissive view of his brother. Chuck may very well be legitimately and earnestly concerned that Jimmy is going to poison this whole deal. Maybe Chuck even thinks that given Jimmy's financial stake in the outcome, he's saving his brother from himself on that front. But it also can't help but feeling like he's trying to just knock a brother he doesn't believe in down a peg, to try to show that he doesn't belong here. The contrast between those two things--asking the right questions but for the wrong reasons, with so much bad blood there--makes it an endlessly interesting little scene.
Jimmy, of course, uses the same skill he did his fellow attorneys that he did with those seniors. He comes up with a plausible story; he sells it to the assembled with little trouble, and a despite the uncomfortable air between them, he managed to shut his brother up. But Chuck is, no doubt, unconvinced, and neither is the only other person in that room who knows Jimmy well enough to smell his B.S. In contrast to the last time the two of them were in the boardroom together, Kim moves away from Jimmy's advances under the table, because even if she doesn't say it, she agrees with Chuck.
And as sorry as I am to go back to the well of Breaking Bad, it makes me worry that she'll receive the same kind of reaction that Skyler did. Without delving into the thorny issues of sexism, at base, people don't like to see their protagonists thwarted. Jimmy is the main character of Better Call Saul. We get the show through his perspective, and that means that, consciously or unconsciously, we're psychologically on his side. We're with him on this journey, even if in the back of our minds we can acknowledge the actions that he takes as morally questionable. Storytelling is constructed to make the listener sympathetic to the person the story's about. That creates a risk that someone like Chuck, with sketchy motives, comes off worse despite the legitimacy of his concerns, and between this and the end of the prior episode, it risks turning Kim into something audiences like even less -- a scold.
Kim has more or less replaced Chuck as the cricket on Jimmy McGill's shoulder, as the person in his life who keeps him aspiring to be better and do better. Chuck's admonition at the table doesn't move Jimmy; it just gives him cause to strike back. But Kim's response causes him to interrupt and emphasize that yes, in fact, all of his client outreach will be above board.
And when we see Kim push back against Jimmy after the meeting, she offers a damn good reason for why she took Jimmy's news with the same skepticism that Chuck did. She put her neck out for Jimmy. He is, if not a nobody, than a hustling public defender who would have otherwise had to spend years in the pit before he ever had a chance to so much as sniff a partner track job like the one Kim finagled for him. She put herself out there for Jimmy, with her boss, with her colleagues, and with her own reputation and prospects at stake. She's absolutely right when she says that everything Jimmy does in this job reflects on her and her judgment, and that Jimmy doesn't just have himself to worry about when he's scheming and flim-flamming his way into more clients.
There it is. Suddenly that incredibly amusing, downright charming scene with Jimmy on the bus seems a little more sinister, a little less harmless. While adding more wronged individuals to the class seems like a good thing on the surface, if it's done in a way that doesn't pass muster, it could mess up a good portion of the case and leave the HHM/Davis & Main team playing from behind when trying to pursue justice for these people. And if it goes wrong, if Jimmy is chastised for stepping outside the lines, it could also screw over the person who stood up for him and put him in a position to have a seat at the table, the person whom he seems to love.
But what's great is that the show does the opposite with Mike. Mike is trying to stay on the straight and narrow. He's trying to do right by his son, by his daughter-in-law, by his granddaughter, and that, ironically, pushes him to use his skills and talents in a way that he's not necessarily inclined to -- to help criminals. Mike is doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.
And what's so striking about it is that Mike knows he's being taken for a ride. When Stacey left a pregnant pause after telling Mike about her money troubles back in Season 1, it was a nod toward the idea that she wanted support from him, but there was enough ambiguity as to whether or not she really meant it, whether she was specifically trying to guilt Mike or, rather, just venting her anxieties to a sympathetic ear without any ulterior motives.
But that wiggle room pretty much goes out the window in "Amarillo". The question now is whether Stacey is deliberately and intentionally playing on Mike's guilt, or whether it's merely something subconscious. But the phantom bullet mark, not to mention the token resistance she puts up to Mike's suggestion that Stacey and her daughter come live with him before immediately agreeing to it suggest the former rather than the latter.
That makes Mike seem noble even as he slowly but surely starts heading down a path that we know will lead him to "big time jobs for big time pay." He doesn't want to be a criminal, at least not at a lethal level. What's more, he knows he's being taken advantage of in some sense, that, at a minimum, Stacey isn't just being straightforward with him and asking for help and support, but laying on guilt trips and making up stories to get him to intervene, with the knowledge that he's too broken up about his role in what happened to Matty that he can't resist. So Mike compromises some of his principles. He steps back into a world he seemed to be trying to avoid, all in an effort to do the right thing.
Nobility comes less naturally to Jimmy than it does to Mike, but poked and prodded or not, he too tries to do the right thing. It's heartening to see Jimmy using his creativity to succeed within the rules rather than to find clever ways to get around them. Again, his idea of a targeted commercial, based on his intimate knowledge and diligence about the schedules of the folks at Sandpiper, is fairly genius and perceptive.
When we see him constructing the commercial, it shows his innate understanding of human nature, of how to affect and have an impact on his target audience. The fact that he's channeling it into something legitimate, that he's succeeding even when boxed in a bit, is an encouraging sign. By the same token, it's hard not to feel proud for him when Kim watches the commercial, put together by Jimmy and a couple of college students, and walks away impressed with him. She is, after all, a big reason why he's doing this rather than continuing his less-savory ways of finding clients, so her approval is big.
It's also heartening to see him try to work his magic on the phone system, just like he did when sequestered in the back room of the nail salon, and see the results of his work roll in. There's such a great bit of tension in the air in those moments where we wait to see whether Jimmy's ad-buy scheme is going to work. His frantic dissecting of the gameplan with his subordinate conveys how anxious he is about the whole thing, how much is riding on this play for him. That makes the moments where the phones start lighting up, where it all falls into place, that much more exciting, for Jimmy and for us.
But that excitement is short-lived. Even when Jimmy's doing right; he's doing it wrong. He doesn't run the ad by Clifford. He thinks about it. He comes close. But at the end of the day, he just can't face the risk of failure or rejection. He can't face the possibility that he has this brilliant thing he put his heart and soul into, and that someone could tell him no. That's Jimmy's game -- do whatever you think needs doing, and bet on the fact that the results will justify whatever actions you took to get there.
The problem is that Jimmy isn't just betting on himself here. He's gambling with Kim's reputation, with his brother's I-told-you-so's, with whatever ethical rules for attorney advertising he may or may not have paid particularly close attention to when making the ad that could, again, jeopardize the case as a whole. Jimmy is trying. He is trying so hard in the best way he knows how to both keep things above board but achieve at what he sets out to do, and that's why he's sympathetic but also complicated.
And yet even as he tries, there's a piece of Slippin' Jimmy still left in him, a part of him that thinks the best way to show Kim and Chuck that he's worthy of their love and respect is simply to succeed, and that the ends will justify the means. The tragedy is if that effort, motivated by a desire to show those close to him what he's made of, is what drives them from him, and turns him into the relatively scruple-free huckster we come to know down the road.
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.
[9.0/10] Welcome back to Neptune! I am glad to report that Rob Thomas, Kristen Bell, and the rest of the cast and crew haven’t missed a beat since we left them. If anything, this re-pilot episode feels more like the classic Veronica Mars than the 2014 film did.
We’re back to the outstanding (and winkingly modernized) banter, back to the great father/daughter dynamic, back to the haves vs. have nots, back to dealing with the treatment of young women, back to an intriguing mystery to motivate the season. In brief, I was shocked at how true to form this thing feels, as though there were no time at all, rather than a decade-plus gap, between seasons 3 and 4. This is Veronica Mars, back in all its wondrous glory.
But a few things are different though, and they’re all good things (or at least promising things)! Most importantly, we have a new cast of characters involved in a mystery, from a douchebag law bro and his friends, to a nerdy crew trying to get by on Spring Break, to a young party girl and her coterie, to the brother of a congressman, to a middle class hotelier and his daughter, to a harried pizza guy played by none other than Patton Oswalt! While I’m sure that some familiar face will be involved in the bombing incident somehow (most likely Dick Casablancas’s dad), it’s nice to see a new set of whodunnit candidates that feel new and yet of a piece with the show’s milieu.
We also have the involvement of some kind of cartel boss, with scenes in Mexico that feel like something straight out of Breaking Bad. It’s new and different territory for Veronica Mars, and I’m curious to see how it intersects with Mars investigations.
Speaking of which, the show has advanced Veronica and Logan and Keith and even Wallace to create new challenges and storylines which all feel unique and, again, promising in the early going. Wallace’s part isn’t really a storyline, but it’s still nice to see him with a wife and a kid and the irony with which Veronica calls him an 09er. Keith’s possible alzheimers is an interesting hook for someone who makes a living on their wits, and has the potential to show Veronica having to confront what happens when a parent starts to slow down, which is fruitful territory.
And, of course, for you LoVe-rs out there, we get some good Veronica/Logan material. The prospect of the two of them making a life together over the past five years, one that Logan wants to make permanent, but which Veronica is wary of given their respective families’ marital histories, is a strong one out of the gate. It gives both of them someplace to go without an arbitrary break-up and get back together, and roots the challenge in something true to the characters’ pasts without regressing them to their teenage selves.
All the while you have interesting spectres and echos of things from the series’ past. You have money troubles versus justice creeping in as a theme, as Veronica winces at who she’s working for in the cold open, while Keith is taking jobs for nice shopkeeps who may not be able to pay the going rate, as both think about the future of their P.I. firm. You have a rough and tumble bartender who goes after assaulting dudebros and challenges the uptight well-heeled entrenched interests much like Veronica herself did. And in the show’s most fun sequence, you have Cliff sashaying through the hospital, handing out business cards, and rustling up business for our heroes.
The laughs are there. The character dynamics are there. The mystery is there. The class-consciousness is there. The black velvet heart of it all is there. In short, Veronica Mars is back. There’s still seven episodes for the show to go off the rails from here, but the hardest thing for a revival is to make the proceedings feel like they once did, to recreate the alchemy that made a show so memorable and worth bringing back in the first place. At least in its first episode, season 4 of Veronica Mars has that down.
[8.6/10] This one was a little more disjointed than some of the prior episodes, but man, the ending. I like the fake out here. Veronica does some legit detective work with the help of Maddie (aka Veronica Jr.). Keith nails down the lead and feeds it to the cops. The cops use it to arrest the bomber. Badda bing badda boom. I’m not saying it’s totally plausible that this season would wrap up its mystery in episode 3, but you can envision Veronica Mars having the bombing be a minor red herring, or accidental entree into some sort of bigger mystery.
The episode actually sells it pretty well too! Fresh off of Patton Oswalt’s character bringing up how Keith had trouble with the Lily Kane murder, and got kicked out of the sheriff’s office for evidence tampering is a nice reminder of past issues with the Mars family being overzealous. Keith himself brings up that Veronica doesn't have more than a hunch to go on that there’s something bigger here, and that they’re known to “tilt at windmills.” You buy it, or at least the threat that this is building a sandcastle out of nothing.
But then, in a moment of calm, when we’re expecting nothing but more silly Dick Casablancas antics, the second bomb goes off. I don’t normally like voiceover in shows, but Veronica’s sarcastic asides and noir-esque monologues always work for me, especially here. The desire to be wrong, to want everything to be okay, only to realize that your instincts are unfortunately right, speaks well of Veronica’s detective bona fides, but poorly of her future safety and mental health. There’s a soft pain to that moment, which is well-directed, as everyone runs away from the blast, the danger, but Veronica can’t help marching into it, time and time again.
But hey, to lighten the mood, “PLAY NO SCRUBS!!!” As indulgent as some of Ryan Hansen’s schtick gets here, it’s nice to just see Veronica and her crew having a bit of fun and being silly at Comrade Quack’s. Again, one of the things that made this show great in its day was despite the dark subject matter, it always had a lighter side, and beyond the show’s classic exchanges, it’s nice to see it still vindicating that side of things.
It’s also nice to see the show following up on Keith Mars’s mobility and memory issues. Clyde getting him into a concierge doctor, and the medical wonderland that follows, is a nice indication of the show’s exploration of classism that’s still in play. It’s also a way for Clyde to ingratiate himself to the people most likely to be investigating his boss and associate.
I’m into what seems to be the larger mystery, namely some kind of conspiracy among the people who were at the prison in Chino: Big Dick, Clyde, Perry Walsh (the bomber), and the guy from the bakery who set the rat at Hu’s grocery, to run some “undesirables” out of town. (That’s also coupled with Veronica’s mugger, who she suspects of being in league with them, being the guy who took dumps in the Sea Sprite ice machines.) Now why do they want to do this? Maybe it’s a real estate scam with Big Dick, or some prison racket through Clyde. Whatever it is, I’m anxious to find out.
I’m less enamored with the continued amount of time devoted to the Congressman Maloof storyline. Him getting kidnapped and beaten by the rednecks, and then kidnapped and threatened with murder by the cartel members feels like things are starting to get far fatched and a little convoluted even for Veronica Mars. But maybe I’m just less excited by the non-Mars parts of the show.
That said, I continue to get a big kick out of the dynamic between the two goons, whose matter of factness and ways of ribbing one another get a big laugh out of me. Plus, we have a Weevil sighting! I was wondering when he was going to get involved!
Otherwise, we have the continued training of Maddie, and reflections on the anger of losing someone close to you at that age, which feels like a nice way to reflect on where the show started. The Patton Oswalt Murder club is less adept at wringing comedy out of that, and feels like the show trying to be meta in a too cute fashion, but it’s brief and light enough to be forgivable.
Overall, this is another winning outing from the revival season, with dramatic twists, some fun moments, and a hell of a beat to go out on.
[7.6/10] Holy cow, there’s a lot to unpack here. This was the most disjointed of the episodes so far, with a slew of former guest stars returning in a somewhat haphazard fashion, and fewer throughlines to unite everything.
So let’s cover those guest stars! We have the two culprits from season 3 playing the Hannibal Lecter game with Veronica in season 3. We have Max (Mac’s old boyfriend) as the owner of the dispensary on the boardwalk. And we even have the triumphant return of Vinny Van Lowe, in all of Ken Marino’s usual glory, as a separate P.I. hired by Mrs. Maloof to track down the family ring. It’s a minor thrill to see these people again, but everything is so glancing that it feels like more of a case of “hey, remember that guy!?” than naturally adding them to the story. (Though meethinks we haven’t seen the last of Vinny.)
Heck, I was even a little come-see come-saw about the return of Leo, and he was my favorite of Veronica’s love interests back in the show’s original run. I don’t know what it is, but the dynamic between him and Veronica isn't as easy or natural as it was back in the day, and the two of them talking about their romantic lives on a stake out feels pretty contrived. He’s still a welcome presence, and I like that he’s an FBI agent assigned to the bomber case because of local ties, but right now he feels more like a device than a character. (Though my favorite part of the episode was his awkward interactions with Logan, and Logan ensuing query of whether Piz was hiding in the back somewhere.)
Oddly enough, the best pairing in this episode was between Keith and Clyde. There’s something endearing about the two old guys trading war stories together, even if the show seems to want you to think that Clyde is playing Keith to some extent. It also gives Veronica a chance to be clever when she uncovers what’s in Clyde’s bag from the hardware store.
Oh, and I almost forgot the return of Weevil! I like the fact that he got to save Veronica’s behind here, showing his continued loyalty, but also remaining sort of a tweener on the good/bad divide, since he’s fallen into chop shops and working with local “hoodlums.” He gets the line of the episode when Veronica chastises him for these things, “It must be nice to have choices,” which sums up the show’s complicated take on racial and class divides, letting its protagonist be self-righteous but also flawed and, at times, myopic about where she sits in the social order.
I have to admit that I’m a little tired of The Murderheads. I do like that Maddie goes to them because she doesn't know where to turn after overhearing the Mars family’s theory, and that the Murderheads, in turn, blow up the Mars family’s spot by broadcasting the hypotheses Veronica and Keith are still running to ground in an explosive town council meeting. Still, the comedy stuff with that crowd has gotten a little too broad for my tastes.
But the mystery stuff is coming together at least. We’re getting more pieces falling into place for the whole “real estate plot from Big Dick” theory, with shell companies buying up boardwalk businesses. That said, it’s way too early for an answer to the central mystery to be that clear and that right this early. So my new theory is that the owner of Comrade Quacks is behind the bombings, meaning to teach the assulting douches of Neptune a lesson, given who’s ended up dead so far.
I’ll admit that I’m a little worn out by the Congressman Maloof story, which feels a little more exaggerated than the rest. (Give or take a neck bomb.) Him being faked out and presumably extorted by the cartel guys is a little much, and the same goes for the hillbillies being found in the desert. I like that they’re bringing the cartel folks closer to Veronica’s orbit, but until then, it just feels like a distraction.
Oh, and I almost forgot that Dick is pretty damn funny in this one! Him landing in a Lifetime X-mas movie in Romania about a woman who falls in love with two mannequins is the kind of comedic specificity that I get a big kick out of.
Overall, this one was not as strong or cohesive as some of the past episodes of this season, but there’s still good stuff to enjoy along the way.
[8.0/10] There’s two things I really liked in this one. The first is the conceit of Ketih and Veronica testing their theories that the other’s new best friend is the culprit behind the conspiracy/bombing. The second is the collection of emotional confrontations Veronica has with three of the major figures in her life (or at least what used to be the major figures in her life).
On the first part, I like how Veronica starts bonding with Nicole, and Keith starts bonding with Clyde, while at the same time having to test out one another’s theories. Veronica and Nicole playacting at Wallace’s party, getting high in the bathroom, and then staging an impromptu glass bottle firing range is a lot of fun. But it also lets us know that Nicole is understandably still scarred by her own sexual assault in a way that would give her motive to take out the various assaulting douchebags in her clubs, and that she has the familial construction/demolition know-how to get it done.
At the same time, there’s something adorable about the old man bromance between Keith and Clyde. Plus, it gives Keith the opportunity to nab some photos of a text conversation between Clyde and Big Dick which suggests they’re out of the loop on the bomber...unless it’s a feint from the seemingly genre-savvy Clyde.
The reveal that Nicole’s already sold Comrade Quacks, and that Clyde (or someone) left a dead duck in Patton Oswalt’s bed complicates the motives and possibilities even more. I like the show building up both theories, and having Keith be the voice of caution, noting that they’ve had crazy conspiracy theories before. Still, the very fact that the show’s clearly articulated both of these theories by episode 5 suggests that neither of them is accurate, and that instead it’s some third option no one’s considering (presumably involving the Mexican cartel we’ve spent so much time with).
But apart from the fun mystery angles, I like the scenes we get with Veronica and some of the people closest to her or, in the case of Weevil, who used to be. One of my favorite things about the Veronica/Weevil relationship from the original show is that the two would talk truth to each other, and it’s nice to see that continue with them as adults. Weevil asking for Veronica to lay off one of his young lieutenants, only for it to turn in a spilling of guts and recriminations between the two of them is a welcome development.
You can tell there’s genuine bad blood and hurt feelings between the two of them now that their friendship has soured, with low blows on both their parts. And Kristen Bell does great work with Veronica initially putting up the tough front after Weevil declares that there’s no more good will between them, until he leaves and then in one expression, she show’s Veronica’s hurt at that realization.
The scene between Keith and Veronica is even better. For one thing, I appreciate that the lead-up is Veronica sensing something is up and basically drumming it out of Cliff. When she and her dad sit down and have an actual conversation about it, it’s one of the more heartwarming, mature bits in the whole series, and a sign of the snarky dynamic but genuine love between them that very likely makes them the best father/daughter duo on television.
And the scene with Veronica and Logan is the cherry on top. There’s some recency bias for me here, but it’s hard for me not to see the LoVe relationship in this season as a strange echo of the Jennings’ relationship from The Americans, a volatile connection between two damaged people who nonetheless care about one another deeply. You can sense Logan being hurt and worn out behind is staid exterior, and Veronica struggling with him not just getting with the program. You can see Logan worrying that he’s an unfortunate anchor to Veronica living the life she wants, and Veronica’s equal and opposite reaffirmation that he means so much to her.
The exchange between them about “What would you do if your dad and I weren’t here?” “I would stick my head in the oven because the two most important people in my life wouldn’t be there” is, again, one of the most charged and heartbreaking of the whole show. It is, again, mature real stuff that the show is doing, and it finds a solid emotional throughline through it all.
Overall, this episode does a really nice job of advancing both the mysteries and the personal relationship sides of the season in entertaining and, at times, poignant fashion.
[7.7/10] I’m not sure Veronica Mars has ever given us this big a chunk of the mystery answered this early before. Having us get to hear that Big Dick was, in fact, at least partly responsible for the Sea Sprite bombing, for the reasons Veronica suspected, is an interesting reveal. The same goes for Clyde being against it, and Big Dick thinking that Clyde got rid of Perry Walsh for him. Obviously, there’s going to be more to the story, because this show wouldn’t give up the ghost in episode 6, but still. It’s intriguing to get that piece of it so early, and Keith’s mini-interrogation is well-done to boot.
It’s also a heart-pumping moment to go out on, with Congressman Maloof getting shot by one of his hillbilly antagonists. It’s a cool moment to get Clarence Wiedman back in the picture, however briefly, and something dramatic to make bingers want to immediately click on the next episode (which I managed to avoid for the time being).
I also appreciated that Logan got to be a part of the mystery-solving team. Him using his military intelligence connections to track down Congressman Maloof’s hacker, is an amusing bit, especially when he regifts his buddy a milkshake giftcard for the privilege. But him using some conman skills to get the white supremicist teenager to admit to it is a nice touch that shows his wits.
It also brings the collision course between Veronica and the cartel goons ever closer. The show’s done enough to build up Alonzo to make him an interesting foil, with enough ties between their worlds to make the inevitable confrontation have intrigue. At the same time, I like that we’re getting more Weevil here (though I have to admit that his performance is a little shaky here). That said, I still like the writing, where Veronica and Weevil are upset with one another for essentially the same thing -- that each had a certain chance to escape this life and both of them turned it down. It retreads some of the same ground from the last episode, but it’s still good.
It’s also nice to see Keith and Veronica doing some good ol’ fashioned con work when they’re scoping out Alvarado’s hotel room. Keith faking a heart attack, and Veronica being identified by Weevil’s sister because she thought it might be real is a nice touch to be sure.
I also liked the Veronica/Logan stuff here, which is to say, poor poor Logan. The show is doing a nice job of showing how its protagonist is flawed here, with her turning down his multiple requests that she join him in therapy, and being kind of standoffish until he’s on another mission. It’s sad, because you can see how hard Logan is trying to be healthy, and how much he cares about her (see also: his farewell voicemail), and how much Veronica is only interested in maintaining the status quo. It all makes me afraid that the show is going to kill off Logan, since it’d be a very noir-ish thing to do that would shake Veronica’s world and make all of their interactions much more poignant.
Regardless, I’m not crazy about the show playing things coy and flirty between her and Leo, if only because the love triangle thing always bugs me, but I do like that he bugged/tricked her for once by leaving out the old case files! The sequence with her and Leo partying with Nicole was well done, even if it portends unhappy things.
And last but not least, I’m intrigued at the prospect of Maddie being Veronica’s roommate for the time being. It seems like there’s more to Maddie’s involvement in this whole thing than we realize (maybe even to the point that she’s the culprit, who knows!), and even if she’s just playing Veronica Jr., I like the dynamic.
Overall, an episode that has some pretty dramatic reveals in terms of the mysteries, and some pretty striking developments on the personal front as well.
[8.0/10] I keep using superlatives for this season, and I want to resist the temptation, but here we are anyway. Was the gunfight with Alonzo the most tension-filled Veronica Mars sequence ever? (I feel I should admit here that I found both Aaron Echolls’s and Beaver’s late episode supervillainy to be more cheesy than scary.) Veronica counting her bullets instantly adds to the suspense. Her breaking her “cuss” rule is an odd but effective way to signify the seriousness of the situation. And Keith rummaging through his car and trying to reload while the bad guys advance is a nail-biting moment if I’ve ever seen one.
Plus, the whole thing gives us an unexpected Big Damn Heroes moment for Weevil! That’s twice that he gets to play hero this season, and I like the nod of recognition and loyalty between him and Veronica, that cuts through their past conversations and bad blood.
Otherwise, the big news is obviously Veronica accepting Logan’s proposal, which I like the destination and reasoning of, if not every step along the way. The show tries a little too hard to fake us out with Leo, including by making Leo more of a douchebag than he was in years past to accomplish it. There’s no reason he can’t have gotten a little jerkier since we last saw him, but his intense flirting when he knows that Veronica has a boyfriend feels at least out of step with what we knew of him previously, and his little apology at the end feels like a fig leaf to try to get the audience to like him again after the show no longer needs for him to be “the other man.” And by the same token, Veronica’s erotic dream feels a little explotative as a “hey, we’re not on network television anymore” moment!
But I do like where they end up and Veronica’s reasoning, even if it takes some voiceover to convey it. The notion that post-dream, she felt relief for not hurting Logan rather than a new yearning for Leo, and that in her near-death experience, Logan’s all she could think about, works for change of heart. It’s the type of thing that could put what really matters into focus, even if it doesn't exactly wipe away the ways in which she was not being the best or most sensitive partner to Logan.
The one thing I didn’t really care for her was the obvious red herring with Patton Oswalt. Maybe it’s just the rules of T.V., where you’re sure that they’re not going to reveal the second bomber in the penultimate episode, and it seems unlikely that they’ll make the comic relief character the villain, and despite some good dramatic turns in Big Fan and Young Adult you can’t really see Oswalt as a killer. To that end, it felt like the show was spinning its wheels by focusing on him, and I didn’t really buy Keith and Veronica thinking that he’s the culprit either (though their interactions with the chief of police were amusing.)
(As an aside, was that Matt Damon on the phone as the head of the FBI? I couldn’t place the voice, but it sounded familiar.)
Thankfully, Oswalt’s interactions with Cliff were good for a laugh, and the bomber’s limerick gives us a nice ticking clock to motivate things in the final episode. Heading into the finale, my current theory is that Mama Maloof is behind it all, hoping to eliminate an unsavory prospective daughter-in-law and help propel her other son to the Senate, but hey, that’s at least my fourth theory here, so take it with a grain of salt.
The other part of this episode that I really liked was Keith’s confession to himself that he should get out of the game. You knew something bad was in the offing when the “Previously On” repeated his “what if I do something that gets us hurt” line. The actor does a great job at communicating the way that Keith hates himself over this, over the possibility that he might have gotten his daughter hurt or killed, and the hardship of having to accept that he may not be up to his chosen profession anymore. It’s really good, powerful stuff.
At the same time, I enjoyed the scenes focused on Clyde here too, including his one with Keith. It’s nice to see their mutual admiration society breaking down over the bombings, with Clyde still playing it cool. And the fact that Big Dick may have outlived his usefulness in Clyde’s eyes after going back on their deal, to the point that Clyde throws Big Dick to the wolves (aka the cartel goons), is an intriguing development.
But theirs is not the only bromance (er, friendship) to break down in this one. I like Veronica’s choice to come clean to Nicole about bugging her office. There’s this sense of nobility and honesty you don’t always see in Veronica, which makes it a good way to signify what this friendship means to her. In the same way, that makes it all the more impactful when Nicole tells her to get the hell out.
Overall, this was a very momentous episode that kept me on the edge of my seat in the suspenseful parts, and feeling for the characters in the series of one-on-one interactions that changed or reshaped any number of relationships here. On to the finale!
[7.3/10] Well, that was bold. I have to give the show that much.
Let’s start with the big mystery reveal. I suppose I have a bit of egg on my face after my last write-up when I railed about how Penn couldn’t be the real bomber. The show gives him a good bit of motive and opportunity. We see him having been harassed and disrespected by all the Spring Breakers, which gives him reason to hate them and want them gone. And his interest in true crime gives him the understanding of how these investigations proceed to be able to (a.) potentially get away with it (b.) feed the investigators what they need and (c.) understand how the explosives work, something he’s been working up to.
You can also see how the whole Murderheads thing makes him love the spotlight, idolizing killers, until the two combine and he realizes the best way to hang onto the spotlight is to become one of the murderers he so admires.
But I don’t know, at some point it just requires too much contrivance to really make complete sense to me, less from motivation and more from action. Can you really picture Patton Oswalt lugging the body of his “friend” Don or getting the neck bomb on that kid? And at the same time, for his plan to work, he had to be able to play Veronica and Keith to a degree that feels impossible, requiring them to pick him up at just the right time so he could leave his bag in their car, and lead them to Don, and all this other stuff that just seems kind of implausible.
Beyond Penn turning into a Bond villain and delivering monologues to Veronica at the end (which you can at least attribute to him watching true crime shows and aiming for their same sense of grandiosity), beyond the sort of visceral implausibility of Penn managing to stage all these crimes, it just requires too much to go right for him for everything to work out the way it did.
Granted, I think of the 7 major mysteries the show has done at this point, I think I only found one of them fully satisfying, so there’s a fair argument that this sort of thing is just the show’s M.O. and a decade and a half after the series’s debut, you’re either on board with it or you’re not. I like Veronica Mars for the great humor and dialogue, the strongly-written character relationships, and the fun and twists of the mystery along the way, regardless of whether the answers make complete sense.
But man, those character relationships take some pretty big blows here! I admire the show’s boldness in killing Logan right when he and Veronica are at peak happiness. This show was often compared to Buffy the Vampire Slayer in its early days, and that’s a very Buffy move. The ethos for this show has always been that in Neptune, where everything is rigged, even when you win, you lose. To have Veronica solve the mystery, marry the love of her life, and get a clean bill of health for her dad, only to see the bomber take one last pound of flesh, and to have the corporate and gentrifying interests take over the beach anyway, feels true to what the show is and has been.
I’ll admit, though, that I don’t really like the fake out with it seeming like Logan was going to bail on the wedding. I understand needing to have some stakes in these moments, but it just came off cheesy to me, as did the whole “last recorded voicemail” shtick. Still, as a BSG fan, it’s always a thrill to see Mary McDonnel pop up, and I appreciate that the silver lining to all of this is Veronica accepting that she needed to deal with some shit and going to therapy.
I also neglected to mention that however contrived the situation is, I really like the scene at the heretofore unmentioned Kane High School commemoration. For one thing, it’s just fun to see Veronica show up and crash another Kane event (almost literally). But there’s legitimate tension when Veronica has to watch Keith stand there and try to convince Penn to confess and defuse the bomb before they’re both blown up. Say what you will about how the show crafts its mysteries, but it knows how to pull off a suspenseful scene.
Otherwise, I like where things land for the most part. I appreciate the reveal that Maddie is the one who stole the ring (Vinnie was right!), which establishes her rough-around-the-edges bona fides that makes her fit to fill Veronica’s shoes at Mars Investigations. I like that in the end, Keith still can’t abide what Clyde did, despite how endearing their bromance is, and I like that Clyde ends up with his girlfriend and his car dealership, underscoring the anti-”evil never prospers” message of the show. And I like that maybe, just maybe, Veronica is genuinely ready to move on from Neptune, to go see what else is out there, now that the best life she was living there has been ripped away from her.
Overall, I’m not entirely satisfied with the answer to the big mystery, but otherwise I really liked this season. It definitely had the tone and sensibility of the show right. It had some good personal developments with the main characters, and brought in a slew of interesting new fresh faces. And it made some bold moves here, that challenge our hero, and live up to the show’s perspective rather than sanding it down. Good, bad, and otherwise, this season was still very much the Veronica Mars that I remembered, and that’s a good thing.
From the beginning, that coffee mug has been a symbol of the way that Jimmy doesn't really fit in his new circumstances. "Bali Ha'i" doubles down on that symbolic motif throughout the episode, to show the several ways that the nascent Saul Goodman is a square peg who does not quite belong in the hole he's trying to fit into.
It's clear in the episode's creative and enjoyable cold open, which features Jimmy fighting insomnia in his generic corporate apartment. He takes those odd wicker balls that seem to be the default decoration for an upper class setting and turns them into fun and games, whether it be an impromptu hallway soccer game or a spate of trick shot basketball. He turns on the television and finds that Davis & Main has decided to adopt his idea to use commercials in order to reach more potential Sandpiper clients, but went with a bland white text with voiceover production in lieu of his attention-grabbing spot. Eventually, he returns to his hovel in the back of the old salon, clears out enough room for his fold out couch, and is finally able to get to sleep.
The broader implications are straightforward. Try as he might, a man as colorful as Jimmy doesn't fit into the antiseptic world he's stepped into, with the generic living space, the anodyne commercial, and the slick corporate car that doesn't quite accommodate his oversized novelty coffee mug. So when, at the end of the episode, he pulls out a tire iron and bashes in the cupholder until there's enough space, it's not just a scene of day-to-day frustration, it's a quiet act of rebellion that speaks to the way in which Jimmy is growing ever-weary of the space he inhabits.
But the episode's focus is on the way that the same weariness and frustration extends to Kim, who is out of the basement, but not out of the doghouse at HHM. The episode features scenes showing how both Kim and Jimmy are feeling boxed in, cornered, and unfulfilled by their current circumstances. Jimmy is cataloguing clients in a tedious session where the meticulous Erin is triple checking his every word. Kim is trying to do the very simple act of going to lunch, while Hamlin sends an envoy of his own to keep her at her desk during the lunch hour with only the promise of ordered-in lunch from "that fancy new salad place" to placate her.
Interestingly enough, Kim, unlike Jimmy, is offered an attractive out. After Kim is left to argue a losing motion in court, Schweikart her opposing counsel, compliments her for going down swinging and takes her out to lunch. There, he offers her a golden ticket: a partner-track position, a clean slate in terms of her student debt, and the benefits of being hand-picked by the partner with his name on the door. But more than that, Schweikart's best point comes when he tells her an old war story and explains that he left his old firm because he felt like the folks in charge there didn't have his back. (Incidentally, the Pacino-like Dennis Boutsikaris does a lot with a little in that brief scene and his performance helps to cement the attractiveness of what Schweikart is offering.) It's particularly salient at a time when Kim is questioning whether she has a future at HHM given the frosty reception she continues to receive from Hamlin.
It's clear that Kim feels a certain loyalty to HHM that she is loath to give up on. She tells Schweikart that she's been there for a decade, that they brought her up from the mailroom, and that they put her through law school. But Schweikart responds by noting that they're making her pay them back, that it's not kindness or generosity on their part, but sheer self-interest -- they not only didn't give her a "gift" by sending her to law school and putting her to work, but they're taking advantage of her by not using her to her full potential and sending her on fool's errands like arguing that motion.
The accusation has all the more force when, in an excellent scene, Hamlin is stone cold to Kim as they walk to meet the Mesa Verde clients, and then mechanically turns on the charm a few steps before they walk into the room. Not only does Kim have reason to doubt that Hamlin, and the firm he oversees, truly have her back, but she has reason to doubt he ever did, or at least sees that with an ability to shift his demeanor and put on whatever mask suits him at the moment, she can't trust that she'll ever really know where she stands with him.
As much as last week's "Rebecca" was a showcase for Rhea Seahorn as Kim, this week's episode gives her all the more opportunities to convey her character's emotions in subtle ways: the way her eyes light up for split second when Schweikert encourages her to imagine what she could at a firm that acknowledged her talents and abilities, the look of longing she takes on when sitting at the bar and looks at Schweikert's business card, the gradual smile that spreads across her face as she listens to Jimmy's voicemail, the clear conflicted stare she offers Jimmy when he asks her about the job offer. It's a virtuoso performance that does a good job of selling the thoughts Kim is turning over in her mind without ever requiring her to say them out loud.
"Bali H'ai" brings these two individuals, each feeling the desire to buck against the tides meant to hold them in place, reunite to blow off steam by conning another rube at the same bar. The rub of that sequence comes later, when in the morning after setting, Kim admits she has little interest in cashing the mark's $10,000 check, she just wants to keep it as a trophy, as a symbol of what both she and Jimmy are capable of when they're not constrained by the strictures and authority figures that keep them in their gilded cages. Jimmy is trying to convince himself as much as Kim when he tells her that he took the Davis & Main job because it's what he wanted, not because of her, and Kim is trying to figure out what she really wants and where her talents are best used. There's a greater strength to Kim that suggests she'll find her path, even as the more temperamental, if charming Jimmy McGill (whose answering machine song was adorable) seems more and more poised to trade in the good life for the much scrappier one in which he's much more comfortable, whether he means to or not.
Mike also finds himself backed into a corner in this episode, locked into a world he's been trying to get away from. After what was supposed to be a one-off transaction with Nacho, Mike finds himself embroiled in a dispute with the Salamanca family that requires him to continue to dabble in a criminal world he never wanted to return to in the first place.
There's something undeniably compelling about Mike as the reluctant badass. When he stands up to Arturo (Hector Salamanca's henchman) without intimidation, when he slips carbon paper under his newly purchased doormat in anticipation of another attempt to rattle him, when he uses his incredible sense of anticipation and misdirection to neutralize his would-be assailants, it's exciting and culminates in one of those trademark sequences that keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole time. But when Mike's hand trembles after he methodically cleans off the gun he used to pistol whip the intruders, much the same way it did while he sat at the bar and waited for Matty's killers in "Five-O", it's clear that he wants no part of this.
But the appearance of Hector's twin nephews (a thrilling moment for Breaking Bad fans) forces Mike's hand. In my review of "Gloves Off" I wrote about the ways in which Mike has common ground with Batman. "Bali Ha'i", on the other hand, puts the grizzled grump in the unexpected company of Superman, the "big blue boyscout" who occasionally teams up with his counterpart from Gotham. The challenge for writing Superman stories is how to create stakes and tension for a character who is impervious to nearly every threat. Similarly, when a character is as uber-capable as Mike has been depicted in Better Call Saul, it can be difficult to make it seem like anything is a genuine threat to them. And yet, the answer in each case is to show that no matter how strong the character at the center of your story is, the people close to them, the ones they're trying to protect, may be quite vulnerable. The striking image of The Cousins gazing at Kaylee from the distance, and the sharp change in Mike's demeanor says everything about how to put pressure on someone as calm and collected as Mr. Ehrmantraut.
But the end game in the episode is telling. In a wonderfully tense scene, Mike stands up to Hector even as he's acquiescing. And when Nacho comes to his house to make the delivery of Mike's ransom money, Mike offers him half. Even though Mike himself has gone through quite a bit, he has a code and principles, and the fact that he didn't do the job he hired to do means that Nacho is entitled to some of his investment back.
Sure, it's partly just good business, but that sense of honor is also a part of Mike that he cannot turn off, even in the "no honor among thieves" setting he finds himself in, in the same way that Jimmy cannot escape the colorful conman side of who he is, and Kim cannot ignore the conflicting parts of her that value loyalty but also the thrill of that con and the idea of living up to her potential. "Bali Ha'i" finds three of the major characters in Better Call Saul each being walled in through circumstances beyond their control, and explores the way that who these individuals are at their cores is something they cannot ignore or squelch, even when that part of them is clawing at the walls.
What I love about Better Call Saul are the little things, the subtle touches that communicate something powerful about who a character is or what's going through their minds in a clear, but artful way. When Jimmy returns to his nail salon beginnings and goes to record his voicemail, he starts off with his faux-British secretary routine. Then he stops, and tries it again in his regular speaking voice, not as James M. McGill Esquire, but as Jimmy McGill, attorney at law. It's a small distinction, but a big difference.
It is, on the one hand, a concession to Kim's way of thinking, and a sign that she's gotten through to him, if only a little bit. When she turns down his offer for partnership a second time, he's clearly hurt, but takes it as well as can be expected. He cares about what Kim thinks of him, and the fact that his "colorful" ways were enough to scare her off may not be enough to make him straighten up and fly right, but it's enough to make him forego a little piece of the trickery that rubs her the wrong way. Davis & Main was too much and too fast for Jimmy. He was never meant to be that guy, as much as he wanted to for Kim. But he can be a better version of the Jimmy we know and love.
On the other hand, it's also a small reject of Chuck and an affirmation of himself. The pretensions of having a fancy secretary, of Jimmy's strange conception of sophistication manifested in a stuffy, mildly foppish voicemail, is a strange reflection of how he sees his brother, or what being a fancy pants attorney means. By moving away from that, he's turning away from chasing his brother's shadow. That doesn't mean he's going to immediately revert to being a con artist again. But he's going to be bombastic. He's going to be rough around the edges. As the name he uses on the answering machine suggests, he's just going to be himself.
Kim has a small but meaningful moment of her own. After a successful interview with Rick Schweikart and his fellow partners, Kim says goodbye and thank you to her potential employers, and accidentally calls Rick "Howard." It's a Freudian slip, but also a sign of how Jimmy's caution that it would be a lateral move for her, that Howard Hamlin and Rick Schweikart are interchangeable, has gotten through to her as well.
In that interview, Kim explains that she left her hometown because she wanted something more, and she's starting to realize that even if that doesn't mean coloring outside the lines like Jimmy does, she's too much of a free spirit as well, too much the kind of person who's not satisfied to be another cog in one nigh-identical machine or another, that she once again wants to bet on herself.
It's little moments like these, that say so much while saying so little, that make me frustrated with scenes like the cold open. That opening flashback takes us back in time to Jimmy's childhood, while we watch his father get taken advantage of by a grifter who tells Jimmy that there are wolves and sharks and he has to decide which one he's going to be, prompting Jimmy to take his (presumably) first few purloined dollars out of the till. After all, if Papa McGill is going to be bilked anyway, it may as well go to his family.
It's not an entirely bad scene. It lines up with Chuck's description of his father, and small touches like young Jimmy pretending to sweep or hiding the Playboy behind Boy's Life or refusing to give the grifter his cartons of cigarettes before getting the money show Jimmy's savvy even at a young age. But the whole thing feels a little too perfect--not unlike the flashbacks in BoJack Horseman--when it comes to accounting for the current psychological state of Jimmy McGill. His father is a little too trusting, even for a rube; the grifter is a little too slick, especially with the corny advice he gives to Jimmy; and Jimmy himself takes the lesson to heart a little too quickly. I like what BCS was trying to do, but overall, it was a little too tidy and too blunt to work as well as it needed to.
In truth, the "Inflatable" montage that juxtaposes a loudly-dressed, obnoxious adult Jimmy and a wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man who is just as flamboyant, is not particularly subtle in what it communicates either. By damn it all, the sequence is just too much fun for me to care. The De Palma-esque split screens that put Jimmy's fruit-smashing, turd-laying, bagpipe-playing antics side-by-side with a frantic, improvisational balloon creature dancing in the wind like a rainbow-colored dervish is a deliriously funny scene and speaks to how the younger McGill brother hopes to escape with his bonus intact by doubling down on his unique individuality.
And yet, when Clifford Main gives Jimmy what he wants and fires him for being a jackass instead of for cause, there's remorse on Jimmy's part. He isn't lying when he says it was a bad fit, and there's something very true and very unfortunate when Clifford asks Jimmy how they mistreated him or didn't do everything they could to put him in a good position. Cliff took a chance on Jimmy, and the fact that the arrangement was doomed from the beginning isn't his fault. Jimmy knows that, and it may not be enough to get him to sacrifice his bonus, but it's enough for him to offer to pay them back for the fancy new desk, to tell Clifford that he thinks he's still a good guy, and most importantly, to feel at least the slightest twinge of guilt about it.
Jimmy isn't the only one with regrets however. In another one of those little touches, Mike never has to say that he's disgusted to consider the fact that a sleazeball like Jimmy approves of how he handled the Tuco situation, or that he feels conflicted and even a bit concerned with what paying for his daughter-in-law's emotional blackmail will make him have to do. The fact that he finds the comparison to Jimmy unflattering, that he thinks Jimmy's approval is an insult rather than the compliment it's intended as, comes through in the way he doesn't want the pair to share an elevator, or accept Jimmy's legal services as a gift. By the same token, all it takes is a look from Mike to convey the moral calculus he's doing in his head as Stacey picks out her dreamhouse.
And all it takes is a look from Jimmy to know how he feels about Kim's proposal that the two of them share an office, but remain separate. The scene features a wonderful shot of Jimmy stuck in the frame between the two pieces of the business card that Kim tore in half. He wants the two of them to be together, to be a single unit, personally and professionally. Kim's alternative isn't a rejection, but it is, as Mike would say, a half-measure.
In the world of Breaking Bad, half-measures are often deadly, ways of both making things worse in exchange for a temporary reprieve and delaying the inevitable. On the generally less lethal Better Call Saul, the effects are not unlikely to be nearly so extreme, but the character of the results have the potential to be just the same.
There's something that brings Jimmy and Kim together, a zest for life, for self-determination, for truth to themselves that they share. But there's differences that keep them apart: Kim's professionalism, Jimmy's shadier side, and the part of each of them that says the only reason to do this is to do it their own way. It's a little difference--being separate attorneys in the same offices rather than partners, being separate people who spend time with one another rather than being "together"--but for Jimmy, even if he gives it the old college try, it's a world of difference.
