That’s All, Folks: Breaking Bad’s Series Finale Perfectly Ended TV’s Most Epic Tragedy
Photo Courtesy of AMC
Most scripted television shows end in cancellation, so there’s something special about the ones that get the chance to go out on their own terms. This year, Ken Lowe is revisiting some of the most influential TV shows that made it to an officially planned final episode. That’s All, Folks is a look back at television’s most unforgettable series finales.
I’ve been wondering about why tragedy so transfixes us for a long time. You can’t help but wonder such things during all that Shakespeare they make you read. The best explanation I’ve heard is that we can’t look away from the fall of someone great—the destruction of a MacBeth or a King Arthur is fascinating. Crucially, we need to see the flaw before it unravels the main character: their violent ambition, or hypocrisy as they build a blameless kingdom, or being two dumb horny teenagers in a bad play nobody likes.
Breaking Bad is not Peak Post-Sitcom Super Serialized Hyper-Scripted Prestige TV’s only tragedy, but it’s my vote for its best, a show that didn’t have itself completely planned out to the most minute detail from the beginning by any means, but which knew where it was going when it began and delivered on the premise. Walter White is as prideful as he is doomed, and like great tragic heroes in Shakespearean or Arthurian tradition, his downfall comes entirely by his own hand. We see it coming from the jump. But we can’t look away.
The Show
Walter White (Bryan Cranston, in the role that ensured he would never have trouble landing roles for the rest of his natural life) is a high school chemistry teacher struggling in America. Like some young teachers I knew when I was still in school, I would see them working a second job during off hours, earning peanuts in part-time work because that’s the only way they could make ends meet despite all the lofty rhetoric about how kids are our future and education is the key to equality and opportunity. We see just how thankless and scorned Walt is, and then we see him collapse at his part-time job at a car wash. Walt’s got inoperable lung cancer. He’ll die any minute now.
Suddenly freed from the burden of having to survive, Walt hatches a plan, unknowingly planted in his head by his DEA agent brother-in-law, Hank (Dean Norris). Walt realizes there is an absurd amount of money to be made making and selling methamphetamine, and while riding along on a drug bust with Hank, he discovers that he knows a meth cook. He witnesses a former burnout student of his, Jesse (Aaron Paul), fleeing the scene. Walt coerces Jesse into helping him enter the drug trade, and the two discover that they make an amazing team when it comes to meth and a disastrous pairing when it comes to doing literally anything else right.
The show slowly and methodically takes Walt from a man pressured into an extreme course of action to a coldhearted criminal mastermind who doesn’t think twice about lying, stealing, money laundering, peddling a product that legitimately ruins people’s lives, and of course, murdering the shit out of dozens of people over the course of the show through direct action or by his orders. Bodies are dissolved in acid, people get mass-murdered in prison or have their decapitated head put on a turtle with a bomb in it. It’s a show where the violence is always shocking and stark and interesting, because it’s almost never perfunctory or meaningless or done for the convenience of the writers.
The cast, from the series regulars to the guest stars, all shine, with special mentions for Walt’s family, who both had the weightiest roles as the series came to a close: wife Skyler (Anna Gunn, who got a load of shit for turning in a performance that is basically exactly how any self-respecting woman would react to her husband becoming a criminal sociopath) and their son Flynn (RJ Mitte, whose performance in the last handful of episodes alone broke audiences’ hearts).
Most astoundingly, series creator Vince Gilligan has revealed that the show originally planned on killing Jesse off early in the run, but audiences responded so enthusiastically to Paul’s performance that they kept him on and he became the unquestionable co-lead and the heart of the series—the person for whom Walt’s actions cause the most suffering, even compared to his blameless young son. The show had a morality to it, a retributive poetry to the way characters would meet their ends, almost always as a result of their personal flaws or weaknesses somewhere. And every dropped body came with attendant problems for Walt and Jesse, whether the unhinged Tuco, the silent assassins known only as the Cousins, or Giancarlo Esposito’s all-timer villain Gus.
Eventually, though, the mayhem and hubris had to come to an end. Through the show, Jesse and Walt had a form of camaraderie, but it never let you forget that Jesse was essentially being forced into his situation, driven from his family, dragged further into a life of violence and crime, and always, always subordinate to Walt’s will. It had to end, and everybody who had been watching the show knew it had to end in the worst way possible. Walt’s insurmountable ego, the betrayals (of which he’s on both sides) have set everything up for a classic catastrophe.