‘Barry’ has a different kind of unfinished business now

(Editor’s Note: The following review contains spoilers for “Barry” Season 4, Episode 6, “The Wizard.”)

Intuitively, “Barry” is in a darker place. Getting there was a slow-motion process for the show’s entire run, even if it was escalated in season four. Apparently cheerful characters have seen the edges of their personalities eroded. Loved ones were murdered in concrete ways. The giant nihilistic cloud that started brewing with the central premise of “Barry” – a hired hitman faced with the idea that there might be more to life than ending it – has pretty much swallowed everyone.

This week’s “The Wizard” adds another damning perspective: In this world, the only cure for the desire for vengeance is death. Whether it’s their closeness to Barry (Bill Hader) or some unshakeable itch inside them, every person has something they want to make up for or someone they hold responsible for a simmering grudge. In Season 4, trying to get over that feeling didn’t work. Even ignoring it didn’t work. So now, as the show heads into its literal final hour, our central characters are starting to face the finality of those decisions head-on, whether by choice or force.

We start here with Fuches (Stephen Root), who gets out of prison in a very peculiar time jump. Hardened by betrayal and served as an inside man for Los Angeles’ new crime kingpins, he’s both phoenix and raven. Plus, he now knows exactly what he wants. This is true of the barista he locks eyes with over his first cup of coffee outside, as is evident in the demands he makes of Hank (Anthony Carrigan). Fuches enjoys his fine dining and panoramic canyon views, all while he plans how to settle the score with Barry for leaving him with no exit plan. (Finally, the Black Sabbath theme song picked from the speakers in his convertible gives the episode its title. For a brief moment, Fuches really is the star of the show.)

Barry, meanwhile, has taken it upon himself to not only deliver his piping hot reward, but to feel justified in doing so. His trip back to Los Angeles finds him morality shopping through a handful of podcasts outlining different interpretations of church doctrine. When he arrives at “the Father Stu of hockey through Bill Burr,” he goes beyond soul-searching into what is clearly a desperate plea for time off.

In keeping with last week’s obsession with Abraham Lincoln, he’s still on his way to finding people who will tell him he’s a good person. Of course, wanting to kill Gene is a selfish exercise. But this goes beyond satire on an infectious Hollywood mentality — not wanting anyone else to tell your story — and delves into a deep sense of regret. Barry is angry that Gene has resurfaced after all these years, more so because this bearded former teacher of his is threatening the bubble of caution (and ignorance) that he, Sally and John thought they were safe in. Gene isn’t just threatening Barry’s anonymity. He is threatening Barry’s ability to escape the tangible moral consequences of his actions.

Created by Hader and episode writer Duffy Boudreau, the tragic irony is that both Barry and Gene seem to have put a lot of work into erasing their past selves, and it’s only by trying to finish the job that they both end up putting themselves in jeopardy. each other. Gene’s efforts to nip Warner’s biopic project in the bud bring Barry out of hiding and into the open. Barry’s quest to neutralize Gene also puts Leo and Gordon in danger, the main thing Gene was trying to avoid by moving away from the continent.

Strangely, the one person in all of this who experienced the greatest tragedy right before “Barry’s” time change is the one who will apparently have the most comfortable life in the future. Hank fulfilled Cristobal’s last wish and went legit, imposing their empire of sand on an estate they both named after. (“Nohobal” works as the perfect kind of generic name for a business venture: distinct enough to be memorable, but vague enough to also sound like a VC firm or pharmaceutical or rideshare app. It would fit perfectly. inside Los Angeles office park mondo.) But despite living well, Hank also has a reputation he can’t shake. Fuches, either ignorant or especially good at poking people into the most vulnerable parts of their psyches, talks about Cristobal at their reunion dinner. Hank wants to project the idea that nothing would stop him from maintaining control of the city, without having to remember the biggest test of his past. In “Barry” you can’t have it both ways. Here perception is reality.

There’s also an extra layer of stretching Hank’s language in this hazy future. Between “place de resistance” and “Look what the cat brought!…home!” it’s a sign that Hank’s outward appeal can only go so far. With every cheery facade and forced smile, he’s trying to drown out the old version of himself that drove Cristobal away—that killed him. Just like a giant, Like Adrian Veidt the statue won’t bring Cristobal back from the dead, continuing a respectable business plan isn’t enough to mask the anger and regret that essentially helped kill him. Once Fuches recovers and realizes that the “NoHo Hourglass” may be Hank’s big vulnerability, that could spell big trouble for both of them.

That vicious cycle comes for everyone in “Barry.” Sally, after taking a small sliver of power last week and driving a lone stalker out of her workplace, her house is nearly turned upside down by her efforts. The meticulous home invasion sequence is another season four showcase for patience and specificity. Just as horror and comedy are a good double-edged sword, there’s a dread and humor that goes hand-in-hand with someone casually showing up at your door when you least expect it. In a very subtle way, “Barry” plays both sides of the surprise party/dangerous assailant spectrum in the matter-of-fact way that he presents this ghost in a suit. All the intruder says as he drives off to crash the house in his car is the acid-based dessert this show served up.

Sally felt out of place in “Barry” at times. Her fate lines up with so many others in this web, especially her meteoric rise and fall. She was written as an unstable character with her own brand of ambition. She sometimes she manifests as anger, sometimes as jealousy. Now that all signs point to dead ends, Sally herself has entered a zone of severe apathy, a tough spot for any character. But Sally’s particular brand of melancholy is also the sign of someone who’s just trying to pass the time until the inevitable happens, someone who’s pursued a life built on performance and remained inert as a result. If “Barry” after the timeskip is purgatory, then Sally is the only main character who has lost faith that anyone will be going anywhere soon.

Also blocked for now? Barry, in Jim Moss’ (Robert Wisdom) garage. Maybe this is the moment he says Until we meet again to his fatal problems. Regardless of the outcome, the wordless final coda to “The Wizard” is another example of “Barry” understanding the power of silence, from the abandonment of his theme song to the eerie stillness in the house where Sally, Barry and John hang out. they are holed up. When everyone stops talking, it’s easier to hear the aftermath.