‘Breaking Bad’: Postmodern Redemption and the Satisfying End of Desperate Masculinity

Because Jesse doesn’t fall into the same masculine megalomania that Walt does, he prevails. He suffers–god, does he suffer–but he is not sacrificed. He peels out of that Nazi compound in that old El Camino, tearing through the metal gates and sobbing and laughing his way away from his life as a prisoner of toxic masculinity–first Walt’s, then Jack and Todd’s.

Breaking Bad finale promo.



Written by Leigh Kolb

At the end of Breaking Bad, Walt slips away into death. Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” plays and the camera pulls up, as police are tentatively swarming his body. The lyrics mirror Walt’s love for his craft–for his “Baby Blue” that he has returned to–but the line, “Did you really think I’d do you wrong?” wasn’t from Walt’s point of view. Instead, Vince Gilligan was showing he’d fulfilled his promise to us, the viewers.
Ultimately, Gilligan did not do us wrong. Many critics were squirmy about how neat and tidy the end was, but it worked.

After “Ozymandias” aired, I was pleased and comfortable with my hatred for Walt. I was done. I would not be a “bad fan”–a “Todd.” In thinking about the father worship that surrounds Walt, I kept repeating, “Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.”

And then “Granite State” happened. I was pulled back in to Walt’s desperate humanity, and the pity and aching sympathy that I thought I’d banished came flooding back.

Dammit, good writing!

I didn’t know what to expect from the series finale. I refused to read any grandiose predictions. I’d heard that Gilligan was telling interviewers that the ending was “satisfying,” and that’s all I needed. My only wish was that Jesse wouldn’t die, but I was wide open for anything else.

Walt sets out to undo some of what he’s done.

As uncomfortable as I was with my quiet, uncontrollable root-for-Walt urges after “Granite State,” the finale, “Felina,” let me reconcile my disgust and my sympathy. To the outside world, Walt’s final acts were cruel, manipulative, and dangerous. He’s ensured that Flynn will get the remaining money (which Flynn doesn’t want) by, as far as Gretchen and Elliot know, holding them hostage and threatening their lives. He admits to Skyler that he’s done everything for himself. He poisons Lydia. He kills the Nazis and dies in a meth lab (by his “Precious,” Gilligan said). Willa Paskin writes at Slate, “Imagine the news story: ‘Druglord Heinsenberg found in Neo-Nazi compound: Dozens dead, booby-trapped car found on premises.’ Walt would have loved that.”

We can see all of that, but we are also focused in on Walt’s point of view throughout (a brilliant analysis on NPR describes how point of view and camera angles have encouraged us to root for Walt). We know that those hitmen were Badger and Skinny Pete with laser pointers. We know Walt saved Jesse. We know he hadn’t been cooking that meth.

Because we can clearly see Walt’s evil and his shreds of good, we are able to reconcile our feelings for him and his death feels right. He is redeemed as much as he can be in this postmodern antihero’s tale. He does not die a hero, but he dies doing what he thought needed to be done. His family is safe. Jesse is safe. At the end, they are safe in spite of and because of Walt. He did what he could to redeem himself–even if that redemption consisted of picking up and rearranging the garbage that he’d created.
Jesse is chained against his will.
In the end, I got to feel all the feelings about Walt: contempt, pity, and some kind of complicated, undying fatherly love (listen, it doesn’t help that my own father is a retired biology teacher, basically has the same wardrobe as Walter White–especially that khaki jacket–and loves Marty Robbins). Walt-as-hero wouldn’t have worked. Walt-as-pure evil wouldn’t have worked (for me). The complexity of the last three episodes takes us through an arc of emotions about our protagonist that we must work through.
There was something for all viewers (except for, perhaps, the Todd fans, who were probably drunk and confused and mad at Skyler for some reason).
Skyler, hearing Walt’s final words to her.
On a larger scale, I loved the ending because of the ultimate messages the show conveyed about masculinity.
From the very beginning, Walt’s journey was one of desperation–to provide for his family, to heal, to be the best, to be the king, to be violent, to run an empire. Walt wanted to be a fucking man. And for a long time, he embodied what it means to be a man in our culture. He’s violent, ruthless, proud, and never satisfied. He’s domineering and authoritative (or tries to be) at work and at home.
As a foil to Walt’s desperate and festering masculinity, Jesse has always been drawn as a sensitive, emotional, and compassionate man. His conscience guides him, and he avoids violence. He loves. He cries. His last name is Pinkman.
When the band of Neo-Nazis watch Jesse’s confession DVD, Uncle Jack says, “Does this pussy cry through the whole thing?”
Which of these characters possesses strong, masculine traits?
Which of these characters possesses weak, feminine traits?
If you ask the Todd fans and Skyler-haters, it’s always been pretty clear: #TeamWalt.
True aficionados, however, will realize that we are supposed to criticize this binary, and that pushing and prodding “strength” and masculinity into a narrowly defined, violent box will lead to failure. It will lead to death–literally and figuratively. Relationships and lives are ruined because building an empire for himself made Walt feel “alive.”
Jesse, however, is introspective and emotional. He is careful and gentle, and this is illustrated in the flashback to him as a younger, softer teenager in shop class lovingly crafting a wood box (he’d sell it for weed instead of giving it to his mother, but it brings to mind again Jesse-as-a-Christ-figure imagery).
Because Jesse doesn’t fall into the same masculine megalomania that Walt does, he prevails. He suffers–god, does he suffer–but he is not sacrificed. He peels out of that Nazi compound in that old El Camino, tearing through the metal gates and sobbing and laughing his way away from his life as a prisoner of toxic masculinity–first Walt’s, then Jack and Todd’s.
Jesse kills his captor, and releases himself from bondage.
Walt loses. Jesse wins. And while they ultimately weren’t pitted against one another (so many fans expected a final showdown), they nodded to one another, an understanding gesture that ended their relationship. They both know Walt is dying–Jesse sees the red blood stain bleeding into the sky blue lining of Walt’s jacket–and that Jesse is living.
This is the way it is supposed to end.
And while Walt’s machine-gun trick is pretty bad-ass, it’s destructive. It’s fleeting. Power and violence is not the answer. Our cultural definition of masculinity may be fun to watch or aspire to, but it’s not real. It doesn’t–it shouldn’t–win.
He doesn’t shoot Walt when he sees his side has already been punctured by a bullet. See above, in re: Jesse-as-Christ-figure.
In Marty Robbins’s “El Paso,” the singer is in love with “Felina.” In Breaking Bad, Walt’s Felina (or FeLiNa) isn’t a woman. It’s not his wife; it’s not his children. It’s his power and his money, the empire that he built with blue meth. The line “A bullet may find me” foreshadows what will happen to Walt. He has, purposefully or not, killed himself. His own gun, his own ricocheted bullet, did find him. At the end, his desperate need for power, to be a man, killed him–and so many others in his path.
“I did it for me,” Walt tells Skyler. “I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really–I was alive.” As he dies, Walt emotionally touches the tank in the lab, leaving a bloody handprint as he falls.
I realized that this ending is exactly what I wanted. And sometimes it’s good to get what we want–especially when it involves excellent storytelling, complicated characters, and criticism of our worship of American masculinity.
Jesse is free–feeling all the feelings, just like we are.
 

 

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Leigh Kolb
 is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

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