The Euphoria Finale (Almost) Made Up For The Disaster That Was Season 3

Thank God Euphoria has come to an end. After watching this very weird and graphic season carelessly shuffle its characters through drug lords, sex work and crime bosses, it finally said something of substance. And though I enjoyed the finale — which creator Sam Levinson recently confirmed wraps the series — I find it difficult to clap too hard. (Spoilers ahead, obviously.) This past season was a circus that used overtly religious themes to clumsily get to the point. Since its 2019 premiere, Euphoria’s alluring storylines and aesthetics gave us a window into the world of a group of high schoolers who could make Degrassi look like PBS programming. Through Zendaya’s Rue, we’ve gotten a front row seat into how addiction takes a tragic toll on not just the individual, but those around them. We’ve witnessed Jules (Hunter Schafer) search for acceptance through romantic and physical intimacy. We’ve seen the rise, fall, and rise again of friendship through Cassie (Sydney Sweeney) and Maddy (Alexa Demie). And the (deserved) demise of Nate (Jacob Elordi), the guy who came between them.  As viewers, we grew an attachment to these characters’ journeys that made Season 2’s crescendo into Lexie’s (Maude Apatow) iconic play a peak moment in TV finale history. Which is why despite how devastating it was watching Rue’s death by fentanyl-laced pills and Ali, masterfully played by Colman Domingo, avenge his surrogate daughter in a Western-inspired showdown with Alamo (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), Season 3 was disappointing ragebait at best and a disturbing display of festishization that seems like it spawned from an incel’s 4chan chat history at worst.  Season 3 was disappointing ragebait at best and a disturbing display of festishization that seems like it spawned from an incel’s 4chan chat history at worst. taryn finley Masked behind Biblical metaphors, Levinson wants you to believe that he’s saying something deep this season. He’s not. Instead, he’s living out his Quentin Tarantino wet dreams by unnecessarily using the n-word and other slurs each episode. Instead, he’s dragging out stereotypical depictions of sex workers, believing that if these scenes are outrageous enough then maybe we’ll forget that there’s little nuance. (Seriously, what the hell was that 50-foot Cassie scene?) Instead, he’s taken these young women characters and tortured them with a series of humiliation rituals, near-death experiences and objectification that feels worlds away from where we were introduced to them. You’d think that because the stakes are higher for these characters as adults, their stories would be more captivating. Ironically, the fact that this Babylon-esque wild west world exists feels like a sin in and of itself. In fact, fans dissecting the season’s symbolism on social media found more grounding than the show’s plot. Logistics, schedules, and rumored behind-the-scenes drama were already a good enough reason to wrap up the show and maybe film a two-hour feature focusing on Rue, the most concrete storyline of the season, instead of another eight-episode arc. The overdramatization of Cassie’s OnlyFans career, Jules’ new life as a sugarbaby, the race war between Lauri (Martha Kelly) and Alamo, and whatever the hell that was with Nate and those flowers felt like Levinson needed to find something to say about these characters but came up short. Frankly, he didn’t have the range. Levinson reserved his creative discipline and restraint for the finale, which doubled as a touching tribute to late actor Angus Cloud who played Rue’s best friend, Fez. The finale was moving because it gave grace to those who suffer from addiction and played out the very real desire to seek vengeance when your loved ones are suddenly taken from you. taryn finley The finale was moving because it gave grace to those who suffer from addiction and played out the very real desire to seek vengeance when your loved ones are suddenly taken from you. Rue’s death, though tragic, was tender. Though the choice to kill off the show’s lead character (a performance for which Zendaya won an Emmy) has been divisive, I understood it. Witnessing Rue embrace Fez and her parents as she transitioned into the afterlife ran in opposition to her intense brushes with death throughout her seven-episode sobriety. But it felt appropriate.  Even watching Rue’s loved ones move through grief, especially Ali, was the most humanizing thing about this season. I imagine that’s because Levinson’s own battle with addiction has informed much of Rue’s storyline. His honesty here is moving. But when the director leans into his misunderstandings about race, gender and sex, we end up watching flattened stereotypical depictions under cinematic lighting and glam. In the words of Aretha Franklin, “great gowns, beautiful gowns.” By the end, Euphoria had the headline-grabbing storylines, Pinterest-worthy aesthetics, and a culturally-riveting rawness dressed up in sex.