The series finale of the hit Netflix original YOU is a treat for fans of neuroticism and romance alike. The fifth and final season is much like the others before it—gimmicky, cunning, and bingeable to a fault—but it comes with a riveting twist that teases justice.
It starts as Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley) leaves a bloody mess in England and returns to New York to start things fresh with his wife Kate Lockwood (Charlotte Ritchie) and son Henry (Frankie DeMaio). However, Joe’s past in New York is just as ugly, and he finds himself out of his element with the arrival of new quirky bookworm girl #4, Bronte (Madeline Brewer). Haunted by the corpses of his past, Joe is witnessing the cycle of violence come full circle in real time.
This season wastes no time getting the murder ball rolling but takes its time to set up the fragile character dynamics that make the murder that much more devastating. The story takes a closer look at the wealthy Lockwood family, propping them up on a petty pedestal waiting to be knocked down at the first sign of weakness. The Lockwoods are rich snobs filled with greed, contempt, scandal, and everything else Joe likes to kill. But it’s his murderous past that makes the Lockwood’s money and power so vital.
The criminal justice system works exactly as designed. The Lockwoods were financially able to clear Joe’s name. He could regain custody of his son and return to the real world without an alias, but this was all contingent on the assumption that he wouldn’t get accused of murder again (haha).
Violence spreads like a disease, and large cities are highly contagious. That’s why Joe returns to the biggest city in the world, New York. Not to blend in and abstain from murder like he promised his dear wife, but to get attention. It doesn’t take long.
The thin, arbitrary line between justice and injustice is prevalent throughout the entire series, but this season goes back to the people the justice system failed. Some of these are familiar faces from earlier seasons, and others are just loved ones in mourning, but they all know Joe Goldberg is to blame. And word spreads faster than violence.
New York City is the perfect backdrop for these events to unfold. Not only is it decorated with plush parks and timeless architecture, but it’s also filled with chaos and people who need to mind their business.
The large crowds of commuters and tourists are characters in their own right, acting as a stand in for the audience. Nothing goes unnoticed when you’re a Lockwood, and that goes double for Lockwoods with murder charges on their record. The masses whisper, point, and laugh, putting Joe under such scrutiny that he makes mistakes he hasn’t made since season one.
Joe is different this season, just not different enough. In the earlier seasons, his obsessive voiceover was unique and cringeworthy at best. This season’s inner monologue feels dry and predictable. You can practically finish his sentences for him. This repetition works best as a moment for character reflection rather than a plot device.
Like all art, this season is at its best when it’s unexpected. This season has several moments that play out as expected, but the ones that don’t are that much more impactful. A prime example of this is the comedy. Until this season, the humor was mostly ironic, playing on the audience’s moral superiority to Joe. This season maintains that sense of humor but adds jokes that are downright silly, to a point where you have no choice but to laugh.
The wacky shenanigans that the Lockwoods find themselves in are very reminiscent of your average sitcom. Take Anna Camp for instance. She plays identical twins Reagan and Maddie, who are polar opposites personality-wise. That’s hilarious in and of itself. What they do with it is arguably predictable as well, but it’s predictable in the most refreshing way. Sometimes old gags still work.
Despite this cliché, the family is vulnerable enough to warrant sympathy. This is especially true for Teddy Lockwood (Griffin Matthews). It’s tough enough being the only Black person in any room, but being the only openly gay Black person in the entire family must be brutal. Teddy wears this adversity like a badge of honor, setting himself apart from the others with his unique wit and verbal warfare.
Even Kate, who has her own shady past, begins to show signs of redemption. She accepts her past and puts in the work to do better. The same cannot be said for Joe, but it wouldn’t be much of a show without his ego.
Prince Charming can’t become king if he doesn’t change.
Penn Badgley plays Joe a bit too well, easing into the psyche of a psychopath with the finesse of a practiced magician. He handles Joe’s masculinity with the delicate care it requires, roaring when we need him to be powerful and crying when we need him to be relatable. When it comes to playing a product of violence, he understands the assignment and does so responsibly. Joe was more vulnerable than ever last season, allowing audiences to see the full scope of Badgley’s range. This season preys on that vulnerability and juxtaposes it with the ignorance and arrogance Joe has accrued over the years.
Joe’s shortcomings are most apparent when you compare him to his female counterparts, Kate and the new girl, Bronte. Actresses Charlotte Ritchie and Madeline Brewer command the narrative when they’re on screen with him—often voicing what the audience already knows, what Joe refuses to hear—but they don’t hesitate to let Badgley guide the emotions of the scene when necessary. This natural give and take feels seamless, which is testament to the talent and chemistry the actors share.
YOU takes advantage of the times and capitalizes on the recent phenomena of the “incel.” Short for “involuntarily celibate,” the term has been around for at least a decade. However, delayed right-wing talking points and recent depictions of film have brought this word back to the forefront. Though it once had a definitive meaning, incel is just another buzzword these days. It’s about as meaningful as “woke” or “DEI.” It enrages people for reasons most of them can’t seem to articulate. Still, it’s relevant and captures people’s attention.
For what it’s worth, Joe Goldberg is not an incel. He’s something far more sinister and dangerous. Joe Goldberg is a middle-aged little boy who thinks women owe him something.
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