There have been few comic book shows that with as wild of a ride as Riverdale. What started as a conventional murder mystery has slowly unwound into this elaborate landscape of dark camp, where the absurdity was just as infectious as the central plot. So much has happened over the past six seasons, and the fact the most recent run featured some of the show’s most enjoyably bonkers moments suggests things are far from finished. Go ahead and suggest that it’s not *great* TV, but to not call it a one-of-a-kind experience that rewards the great unknown would be a great disservice.
Nowhere was that more obvious than in their recent Rivervale miniseries. Following a Hitchcockian cliffhanger only a month prior, the series had the fun task of trying to figure out how to dismantle a bomb under Archie’s (K.J. Apa) bed. There was no way that they could pull it off. The intensity was rushing and it felt like the clock was SECONDS away from reaching doomsday. What was the show going to do to save their protagonist? Could Riverdale be the same without Archie? Technically yes, as Apa has often taken a smaller role in recent years, but that’s beside the point.
The result was the one thing that The CW production hadn’t thought to do yet: alternate universes. Somehow, everything up to this point had existed within a reasonable continuity. Suddenly, with Jughead (Cole Sprouse) playing narrator, he turns the five-episode run into his version of The Twilight Zone, providing insidious warnings about giving into evil spirits. It’s a series that featured bargains with the devil, Archie having his heart ripped from his chest, La Llorona attacking children, and even an appearance from Sabrina (Kiernan Shipka) of Chilling Adventures of Sabrina in a Cruel Summer-esque narrative about lesbian witches spanning centuries. The show was lofty, embracing horror like it never had before, and all in the wake of a very special anniversary.
Some could argue that this was more of a marketing push by the network. After all, the lead-in series The Flash also featured a miniseries running just an hour before. It’s what they’ve done for years to draw attention to their channel before the fateful midseason hiatus. Even moving Riverdale to Tuesdays suggested that this was going to be something special. In a lot of respects, it would be no matter what. Here was a show that wasn’t afraid to do anything doing something it had never done before. What made it an exceptional moment that made this perverse excess more brilliant is that the concluding chapter “The Jughead Paradox” was also episode 100.
Even if this was the end of the line, where this was the ultimate summation of the series, it would have been one of the greatest celebrations of ethos it could’ve done. With Jughead noticing that Rivervale is an alternate universe, it allowed room for the show to cleverly deconstruct its core values. While the previous four episodes weren’t as warmhearted as Jughead makes it out to be, there’s still the belief that Rivervale is a “nice” town. It’s a place where everything you’d assume about the original comics was more likely to come true. The villains that we had followed for seasons were suddenly pure. Even Jason Blossom (Trevor Stines), whose death informed the mystery around season one, got his first speaking role. It was an episode so full of nods and references both within the show and comics (including an alternate universe where people are dressed in 50s regale as The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar” plays) that rewards fans who’ve come to love this crazy universe.
It doesn’t all make sense, but does it need to? It’s a chance to watch Jughead lovingly pour through the Riverdale comics and recount plotlines that have come to define the show. In his own Rick and Morty-like way, he is tasked with trying to save multiple universes and the road there feels like a compressed example of what a Bizarro universe should feel like. Characters who have been deemed protagonists turn to the dark side, whose insidious deeds threaten the stability of the series. Even if it’s a fleeting moment that doesn’t impact the greater narrative, it’s striking in ways that capture the dynamic of these actors. Everyone is having a great time, so committed to this strange tone, and it’s delicious to witness.
There is more difficulty tying the other episodes to “The Jughead Paradox,” which for the most part feel episodic. This is the least reliant on continuity the series has ever been, and it’s been interesting to see what can be achieved in a cramped space. Very little of it is arguably the show’s best work, but they’re fun exercises in genre, proving how flexible this premise always was. Even if they’re more rooted in genre, the characters feel more authentic, in some ways more confident in their performances.
Even a premise like Veronica (Camila Mendes) running a casino while negotiating debts with the devil (named Louis Cypher) feels richer. It’s a thematic study of morality, asking what everyone is willing to sacrifice in order to maintain reason and order in their own lives. There’s been many stories about the characters individually, but none that recognize conflicts of the soul with as much clarity as they do here. Watching Jughead negotiate if his writing career is worth sacrificing for a few moments of fame creates dilemmas that the show has always explored, but rarely with as grand of stakes. One has to wonder what would happen if this was the fate of Riverdale, where everyone is stuck in their own monkey’s paw twist of misery.
Given how the show has expanded over the seasons, including two spin-offs, it’s amazing to note that the Rivervale miniseries suggests that there’s still some directions that the series could go. The fact that they could adapt La Llorona into this heartbreaking tale of a mother’s sacrifice or find a tender romance culminating in a bedside séance suggests that this world has so much more to offer. “The Jughead Paradox” is maybe the most direct and literal example of this, having Jughead openly admit that there are other worlds, unseen to the viewers, that could have many different scenarios play out. These are just a few, and boy are they enticing.
Riverdale has always prided itself on being a bold series, never taking an easy solution over something that could be more entertaining. Given that we’re fresh off a season where Cheryl (Madeline Petsch) started a church and claimed to be “Queen of the Bees™” should prove that something more insane is in store. While Rivervale technically ties into the grander narrative, who’s to say that it makes any difference going forward? There’s still a bomb under Archie’s bed and the cliffhanger resets. It seems a bit more optimistic than last time around, but just barely. This is a gap in the series’ logic, and it’s fun trying to make heads or tails in any sense of continuity. Was it just a fever dream, or is there a good chance that the alternate universes collide again, finding more tangential comic references being shoehorned in?
But that’s the thing that keeps the show fulfilling. If Rivervale has proven anything, it’s that the show is shameless fun. It may lack the critical acclaim that it once did, but by its 100th episode, there’s evidence that no line is too corny, no plot twist too convoluted. In an age where comic book adaptations are self-conscious with how they present themselves, having Riverdale throw caution to the wind, constantly reinventing the form, has revealed the limitless potential of the series. By diving headfirst into genre, it has shown that it can manage a balance of sincerity and camp better than most.
Everything about this universe is predicated on some level of ridiculousness. The nostalgia of the 50s gave way to nostalgia for the 90s and serial killers. The brilliance was keeping the names and locales intact, forcing the plot to have a grave seriousness around it while trying to recognize its goofiness. This is the land of The Trashbag Killer, or a murderer who travels The Lonely Highway. It’s where Betty has “serial killer genes” and takes a guidance counselor to arrest men that they know are armed and dangerous. It’s a show that just goes for it.
For all of its highs and lows, Rivervale is a celebration of the show as something greater than another teen soap. While it has the hormonal core of its predecessors, it has evolved and found its own voice. Critics be damned, because in an age where Ryan Murphy’s off-the-wall antics are growing stale, the writers at Riverdale have found ways to still amuse themselves. It doesn’t always work, but every now and then a miniseries like this suggests that there’s a world where the show evolves, changes its path entirely, and it’ll still be one of the most reasonable things it could do. Who knows if there will be more bargains with the devil, more chances to delve into a dark, demented history of family rivalries.
So where does the show go from here? How much longer can it truly last? It’s hard to say. For as hokey as Rivervale feels as a concept, it was a chance to deviate with a few crazy ideas. The fact that these characters are malleable enough to still feel reasonable within this landscape is deserving of applause. It may not be the best show that ever aired, but it always knew what it wanted to do. It wanted to have a good time and tell some stories about Archie and his friends in ways that appealed to modern audiences. Given how ridiculous the whole franchise always seemed, I’m fine if it continues to challenge the term “off the rails” and gives us moments like Rivervale. They’re necessary moments to try and make something new, if just to question what the future looks like. Maybe it is just Jughead doing his best Rod Serling impersonation, chewing the scenery with every hokey line. Maybe it’s something greater. Whatever it is, it’s what makes Riverdale feel like Riverdale.
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