In a bloated age of comic book adaptations that require an insane level of continuity, there was something refreshing about Riverdale. As one of The CW’s flagship series, it started as a dark remix of a comic more in line with Norman Rockwell than David Lynch. How does one usher Archie Andrews into the 21st century without making him look like an absolute fool? Well, the answer was simple for one season. With a singular murder mystery, it captured audiences’ attention and promised to be the subversive formula for teenage dramas going forward. Oh, if only that good will lasted. By the time that the series reached its finale (137 episodes over 7 seasons and 2 spin-offs later), the story was much different.
While many have likely given up on the series after years of fighting death cults and interdimensional universes connected by Jughead’s comic book collection, there was something alarmingly simple about how the show went out. Coming after their chaotic sixth season that featured a superpowered duel with evil incarnate, choosing to jump back to the 50s seemed a bit deceitful. It wasn’t illogical for a series that reveled in contradiction. Still, some of the catharsis of Riverdale was it finally aging forward, pushing further into the great unknown. They were so close to finally turning 30 and having age-appropriate actors. And then… they jumped back in time to a simpler time, and one more recognizable to audiences prior to 2017. It was one of pure innocence.
In a series known for taking wild swings, there was something initially confusing about this. How could they just keep these characters locked to their high school for the rest of their lives, never evolving into someone greater? As Jughead suggests in the finale, he was grateful to have been through high school twice with the supporting cast. To some extent, this retroactive approach was frustrating, lacking the typical conflict the show is known for. However, it did do something brilliant within its messiness. It may have found better ways to do it, but then it wouldn’t be Riverdale. There is a need to throw in as much outdated slang as possible and do an anachronistic review of history and fads. What the show needed was to remember that even in a time of pure chaos and uncertainty, they always had each other.
This came at a certain cost. For those wanting business as usual, it would prove disappointing. Despite starting with the familiar murder mystery plot of The Milkman and clearing Ethel’s innocence, the season proved it wasn’t interested in the darkness. There were other conflicts that the series wanted to tackle, thus reflecting a contrast between a modern Riverdale and the bright-eyed and optimistic place things started. The 1950s continue to symbolize a period of innocence. It was a post-World War II period when America was trying to find ways to move forward. There were civil rights activists, beat poets, feminism, closeted homosexuals, burlesque dancing, TV censorship, cinema, and even horror comics. For as much as this is all jumbled together in often underwhelming ways, it was still a bold way to go out.
It was a chance to give the characters their aspirations. They were finally allowed to dream greater than where the next death was coming from. By focusing more on interpersonal relationships, the series allowed for the humanity to shine through. Even if it feels undercut by having most characters memory-wiped for most of the season, it allowed for Betty to not be overwhelmed by her serial killer gene arc, or how Jughead apparently can see through time and space, or even give Jason a failed chance of redemption. In its place was a removal of trauma that freshened the view and brought back hope. These were friends who loved gathering at Pop’s for shakes. That’s all they wanted. It was a cry for something simpler.
As a whole, I think Riverdale ended on a lackluster note in terms of overall enjoyment. There wasn’t as much focus on the absurdity this time around. Even if it’s ridiculous to think that Veronica was a Hollywood transplant who hung out with celebrities at Chateau Marmaduke, there wasn’t much that made the show feel exceptional. It was teens finding ways to put on a show. Veronica’s theater would evolve from a B-Movie house parodying William Castle shenanigans to the talk of the town. It was Betty having a sexual awakening that caused her to write “The Teenage Mystique” and challenge the conservative societal norms of the time. It was Jughead pushing the limits of comic books and not-not creating Sabrina the Teenage Witch in the process. Every character was given their catharsis as if the creators were too precious about giving anyone a tragic farewell. In that way, the show revealed its true colors. The brain may have been malfunctioning, but the heart was always pumping blood, challenging the levels these characters would go to for friendship.
This is probably because the show has never lacked this much cynicism before. It felt true to a 1950s media view of America in that everyone had potential. Archie, whose talent off the court is questionable, could actually be a poet if he genuinely wanted to. Toni could learn from the death of Emmett Till and follow the teachings of The Harlem Renaissance. It all sounds silly and far from where season one would’ve taken them, but that’s what makes season seven accidentally beautiful. For those who stuck with the show, it feels like more than deceit. It feels like a greater commentary on what Riverdale symbolizes at the start. Before a 21st century nihilism overtook the show it was allowed to be cute and silly. A whole episode could be nothing more than two characters going on a date. While it’s doubtful that any fan watched it without thinking that a murderer was going to tag every episode, it became a miracle to know that their problems were more practical, more rooted in something logical to teens of yesteryear. It was a search for inspiration as each episode designed itself like a hokey yearbook entry where everyone stood around, laughing, and saying “Remember when we got the principal fired?” It doesn’t mean much to those just walking by, but for those who stood around long enough and took in these characters’ personality tics, it approaches endearment.
Like every series, a finale is a rite of passage that may determine how many perceive its legacy. If you’re like me, there was a joke that they’d never grow old. They’d always be younger than 30, trying to understand when their lives would begin. The way Riverdale often teased this was near madness sometimes, but it became a wonderful joke to think of teenage years going on forever. Even when they escaped high school, the writers found a way to shove them back in. The fact it was more than a cruel joke was the most brilliant development in seasons. Still, one had to wonder how a show where anything could happen was going to say goodbye.
Things developed over the final two episodes that allowed for its new world logic to finally root. At the start, Jughead was told by an angel that the timelines were tangled up and she needed to fix them so they could travel back to the modern age. For those wanting that catharsis, you’ll be greatly disappointed. The angel returns and suggests that everyone is trapped in the current timeline. It’s absurd and maybe frustrating for those who liked the darker tones, but within the rule-breaking universe that be, it created something beautiful. The angel brought memories of their other timeline, of the joys that defined the previous six seasons. In what could’ve been a corny clip show, it turned into an existential study of whether these characters wanted to exist in ignorance or watch and think about what could’ve been.
It may be why the finale is one of the best places for the show to have ended. Any concern of characters growing old would be quickly dashed as the episode begins with an aged Betty. In some ways, it’s designed like Titanic (1998) with a small supernatural touch. Phantom Jughead approaches her as she’s reading a yearbook, wishing to go back in time as she recalls the recent passing of Archie. Much like the series, it will fade away one day and all that’s left is memories. Jughead invites her into the past for one last visit. It could be seen as a wink to the actors being way too old for their roles, but it could also be seen as the reality that for as terrible as some days were, good ones were just around the corner. The bad shall pass and lives will be lived. High school isn’t forever even if it’s also such a formative time.
Riverdale remains a silly show and it’s a miracle it made it this far into its run. The finale manages to find the earnestness inside of it with a unique duality that makes it beautiful. As every character is seen blissful on the last day of school, they are finally on the road to better things. Unlike their previous high school graduation, this would be one where they find peace. No serial killers. No corrupt politicians. They’d get to go their own paths and better the world. And yet, there is something bittersweet about it because all of this exists for the viewer as fan fiction, mostly told through the humble narrator Jughead for the last time. It’s a memoriam of what has passed. Even as one looks at those joyful faces, the series plays the trick of nostalgia one last time. We want to travel back to all of those stupid times. We want to remember where things started. As everything fades for the elderly Betty, this is what she holds onto. Not the journey where she hunted serial killers. It’s the one where she got to rekindle her relationship with her mother and start a family.
Some could complain that Riverdale taking the sentimental route is cheap and lazy. Then again, as a series that was always swirling through so much chaos, there was something sustainable about its cast. They bought into it well enough that it never felt too out of place. Everyone was in on the joke, and it reflected a society that was dangerous and scary. Having your high school friends was enough to survive. While it’s not as immediately scary as murder stories, the idea of growing old and moving on has its own fear, and the finale captures it excellently. All that’s left is the yearbook and the few landmarks not yet torn down.
I’m still divided on whether season seven was good Riverdale or not. It definitely lacked the surprise value of previous episodes. Even then, it was a season-long goodbye that managed to give us a show that cared about its characters. For all of the novelty and redundancy, the show stuck true to its guns. Most of all, it was great to see the cast having fun one last time. Even the idea of Kevin writing his own musical added a nice alteration of the familiar. All in all, I do love Riverdale for what it was and wish that more series would jump on crazy wavelengths and question the rationality of a TV series.
In some ways, Riverdale was always part of a bygone era, where everyone was less self-conscious about continuity. It was a time where you could earnestly say “Ginchy” and not seem out of place. It was a corny show that felt rooted in a few too many gimmicks in the back half, but they were always part of the show’s DNA. It was necessary to have the teens be teens one last time. The farewell could’ve just as well been a jump back to the present, a confused cast wondering how they wasted a year of their lives. Instead, it was something more strange yet affirming. It was a chance to be happy for once.
It may confuse outsiders, but in case you haven’t noticed, they’re weird. They’re weirdos. They don’t fit in. And they don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen Jughead without this stupid hat on? That’s weird, and that’s exactly how I want them to always be.
For the last time, thanks for the memories. I hope to never forget what we’ve gone through together over these past seven seasons. All the highs and lows of high school football will never be the same without you.
Comments
Post a Comment