Final Space Review: The Devil's Den

 

"Lightfold."

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(NOTE: Major spoiler alert for this review! Do not read this unless you've seen the episode or are okay with it being ruined for you!)

Gary and his crew stand, immobilized, staring out the window of their ship. They're on the other side of the gate, back in their universe, but it's not a celebratory moment. The fabrics of the universe burst, blinding pink lights shining through the seams, as Invictus stands before them. At a loss for words, all he can say is "My God, what have I done?"

The classic story-telling adage is to always leave them wanting more, and that's certainly a concept that Final Space rides out to the max, especially with its finales. But whereas there has been some assurance in the past that things will be alright, with some persisting glimmer of positivity—the first season was renewed almost immediately, and the second, beyond having something of a happy ending, was renewed pretty quickly thereafter—the startling darkness which Season 3 ends on is compounded by the fear that this could very well be the end of the road.  

Final Space is, in its very existence, a challenging show. It deploys increasingly-lessening suggestions of comedy while telling deep, gripping drama with pretty hardcore serialization that helps maintain the stakes as perpetually intense, and that's proven to be a hard sell to the networks it's found its home on. Its second season on Adult Swim floundered under interference and notes that it take a more comedic and episodic approach which watered down it vision, while its third season received the least backing from its resident network yet, with every episode being released to minimal fanfare or promotional consideration. Hell, the last three episodes fell victim to budget cuts that necessitated that they be altered to the degree that this finale was almost entirely redone. As I mentioned in a previous review, Olan's frankness about his experiences in the industry are difficult to stomach, and it's hard not to be sympathetic to it. It's hard not to just get overwhelmed in the moment, sitting there stunned at the episode's end and praying that this isn't where the journey stops. 

But you can't get angry at Olan and co. being unafraid to pack the cruelest punch in the face of the show's uncertain future—that's what you wanna expect, no holds barred. There was never gonna be a happy ending, but that doesn't mean I can't commend Final Space any less for even daring to do something so dangerous. "The Devil's Den" as an episode is the result of calculated build-up, and while that occasionally plays out to the episode's slight detriment, that also ensures its success in the grand scheme of things.

Most prominently, Ash has solidified her spot in this next iteration of the show by formally joining the opposition, declaring that Invictus was right about everything. It really starts to set in that Ash is too far gone by this point, absolutely irreconcilable, and it's a stride distressingly quintessential to this season: it's not that Final Space is a show less foundationally based on hope, but there are some things you just can't place hope in. 

When she confronts Gary and Avocato again, who have come to retrieve Little Cato and profess to the truth of the matter, amidst the power struggle, Gary lets out a meager but meaningful apology to her: "I'm sorry we failed you." For a moment, it registers in Ash, but she can't be recovered. It's one of the episode's most startling moments, least of all because it doesn't prompt some maudlin change of heart. It reminds us that Ash is a tragic figure who's endured an existence crueler than she deserves, and that boost of humanity helps steer the episode through its most tortured portions, where the nothingness sets in behind her eyes and she becomes one with Invictus' poisonous grip. Some other factors complicate the broth as well, especially the Lord Commander, who makes his entrance as a threat to both parties (before getting a pretty immediate ass-whooping), but "The Devil's Den" lives and dies in breaking down its dramatics into its most human aspects.

Things aren't quite as intense for the rest of the cast, even if that's partially by design. Quinn and her half of the crew handle the far tamer mission this episode of reconnecting the gate to the outside world, which at least makes for a chance to give her and some of the show's ancillary cast just one more go to do what they do best. Sheryl aids in Quinn's personal dilemmas with her unique brand of tried-and-true, tough love pragmatism—formerly a tool that made her slick and diabolical, but which has gone on to imbue her character with legitimate heart. As Quinn sits anxiously on the precipice of losing her identity by putting on Nightfall's helmet, Sheryl's reassurance that she's simply becoming the next evolution of herself was a particularly sweet moment. And the season's two most expendable cast members, K.V.N. and Biskit, both get shining moments that more than redeem their struggles over the past few episodes. The latter especially affirms his worth, which I didn't think was possible, through his contributions of the Dragonhawk V and a newly souped-up H.U.E. that saves Gary and the Catos from certain doom.

They do stumble upon a snag, though. Even with the portal brought back to full power, it's disconnected from the other side and inoperable unless they can find someone out there able to reactivate it. Those dramatics surrounding the gate are perhaps a bit labored this episode, though more by fault of the show's intense telegraphing; we know Tribore is on the other side and that he'll connect the gate for Quinn, so it's just a matter of waiting for that to happen while our cast looks on as if the situation is hopeless. Perhaps it's a mandatory beat for the narrative, but having Quinn and Gary confess their love for each other under the presumption that they'll be trapped in Final Space doesn't really register when you know things are about to take a good turn.

Fortunately, there's still a ways to go before the episode ends, and the gate opening is far from the finish line. As the gang reunites and prepares to make their exit, they're suddenly pulled back by Ash, and in the struggle, Mooncake breaks free and attacks her to free them up... but it proves itself to be a lose-lose situation. Ash easily overpowers Mooncake, who is no longer the strongest being in the universe, and drains him of his power, presumably killing him and granting Invictus the key that it needs to break free. For the first time, then and there, Quinn doesn't try to persevere. She coldly commands the ship to lightfold as Gary cries over the loss of Mooncake. It's a heart-breaking shift for her character, someone always determined to fight things out in pursuit of some unequivocal victory, but a mandatory one. There's no going back.

The loss of Mooncake maybe isn't the deepest, most emotional gut punch the show could do, but it's no less of a shocking moment. Maybe it's just me, but I can struggle with the guy at points; he's generally nonverbal and a conduit for other character's emotions, complex in his background but simplistic in what he brings to the table. At the same time, though, the loss of Mooncake is a massive development that threatens not just the fate of the team squad, but the entire universe. Invictus has all the power it will ever need, and everyone else is completely powerless in comparison. So while I didn't cry, I felt a knot in my stomach with the realization that things are horribly, horribly fucked. What have you done indeed, Gary.

It's sad to think the story could end here, far before the narrative of the show can be completed and especially at the point where it feels like Final Space has finally, fully actualized itself and become the show that it's always wanted to be. But if this is the last Final Space review that I ever write, I just wanna say... remember when I wrote my first review of the show? (You might or you might not, and if you don't, well, thanks for joining me on the journey anyway.) I recall watching the first two chapters due to my contractual obligation as a human being to be entranced by the ball of human sunshine that is Olan Rogers, and I also recall treating the show with a naive skepticism. But I don't think, looking back, that that was a poor judgment call; I was naive of the show's future, and the show was naive alongside me. 

Gary used to be a loud, shouty man-child with an inconsolable affection for a woman he barely knew, and a prisoner trapped in solitary confinement whose only defense against insanity was extreme annoyance. But the show's kept growing, and changing, taking risks and coming into itself, temperamental as ever to criticism but never straying from the guiding light that is its intuition. Gary became a figure of great warmth, a prototypically-unlikely hero and occasional wild card as always but a character defined by great love to placate the darkness. He's an amazing character. I don't want to pretend that I made a difference in the show's evolution, but to be able to follow it along its way, to watch it survive the initial hostility it was met by and go on to defiantly defy the box it was put in, was a spell-binding experience. I hope that this isn't the end of the journey, but no matter what, it's a journey that I'm grateful that I took.

FINAL GRADE: A.

SEASON GRADE: A.

For my last Final Space review of "The Leaving," CLICK HERE.

Additionally, you can access every Final Space review I have ever written HERE.

For updates every time I post a new review, follow me on Twitter @Matt_a_la_mode.

Special thanks to my friend Henry for stepping in and helping me edit this final piece! You're the best, dude.