By the time you realize what he really is, you've already been corrupted. It's the horror of our complicity, of our ignorance, and the part of us that will never be exactly sure how willful it was. That's the true horror of Walt: not only what he is, but what he makes us.
When he isn't sitting around his living room in a semi-fugue state, he's driving around the bad part of town, hucking huge wads of hundred dollar bills out the window of his car like desperate, apologetic Molotovs. It's been a long ride for our boy Pinkman, and it's left him with nothing but two duffel bags containing $5 million dollars and a gnawing pit of guilt his stomach so deep that it threatens to swallow him. Jesse has always been the conscience of the show, or at least a barometer of the damage that Walt inflicts.
Walter White does not require your love, or your sincerity. And that's all Walt really wants: Not necessarily for Jesse to actually believe him, but to be willing to go through the motions of pretending he does. She projects it, naturally, onto Lydia, marching over to order Walt's former "business associate" off the lot while Walt lingers in the background, fully aware that he flicked that row of dominos.Īnd you see it in Jesse's eyes as he sits numbly on the couch while Walt insists that he *needs *Jesse believe he didn't kill Mike, and how Jesse forces himself to mouth the words, fully cognizant of the lie. The look of horror in Hank's eyes is devastating, but if you look closely, you can see a flash of it in Skyler's eyes too-that one fluttering moment of fear when Walt suggests they buy a second car wash and she doesn't know quite what that means (because how can you ever be sure what Walter White means?). The feeling that we always knew it was going to end this way, even if we didn't want to admit it.
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I suspect the ending will feel that way as well: like something half-forgotten and remembered, a name on the tip of the tongue that we knew how to say all along. (Walt remembered to throw away the Lily of the Valley, perhaps, but not the Leaves of Grass.) But while we walked down the garden path towards Heisenberg one tiny dose of evil at a time, Hank was forced to drink all of it in at once, as though the last five seasons of the show were instantly downloaded to his brain in one shocking, electric moment by a single epigraph that was as terrible as it was obvious. Walt has always tempted us to rationalize, to make ourselves complicit in his crimes with our willingness to excuse them. Now, we see him return home to 308 Negra Arroyo Lane, where he stands in the ruins of his former life, like Ozymandias in the desert, reading the inscription on his own statue.įor viewers-and many of the show's primary characters, like Skyler and Jesse-Walt's transformation has been possible, or at least palatable, specifically because it has so gradual. In the opening sequence of "Blood Money," we jump forward again to Walt's 52nd birthday, where he previously picked up a mysterious bag and Chekov's machine gun from a gun-runner at Denny's during the Season 5 premiere. There's a terrible urgency to it, the same one that has compelled us all to watch this five-year slow-motion car wreck, whose potential energy has always been barreling towards a final, kinetic release.Īnd the flash-forward that begins the episode doesn't tell us anything we don't know: that it ends with a wall. Chips to Heisenberg: There wasn't any time. That's the impulse-the rationalization-that compelled Walt down each terrible step on the path from Mr. The show, like Walter White, has always been on a clock, counting down its own mortality episode by episode like the digital display of a bomb. The end of Breaking Bad has always been with us, since the very beginning.
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