The Illusion of Redemption in Barry
Two HBO workhorses have just bit the dust, both tackling similar themes with commentaries on generational trauma and redemption, and only one sticking the landing (in my opinion).
But this is not exactly a review blog (though I might be interested in that at some point), so instead of weighing one against the other, I want to discuss Barry’s ending, and the illusion of redemption.
Needless to say, spoiler warning.
Redemption in Narratives
One of the most compelling character arcs is the redemption arc. It is seen throughout history and within nearly all our media: Hercules, Vader, Snape, Itachi…the list goes on. These redemptive tales comprise much of the media we consume. Why is that?
On the one hand, it’s a fairly simple question to answer: we as human beings are flawed and are bound to fuck up, and to know that redemption is always an option is a comfort. But on the other, what do we crave redemption for? What is the source of redemption?
Over the ages and through increasing secularization, redemption arcs have shifted. We see a turn from external redemption to internal redemption, mirroring in some way humanity’s inward turn to subjectivity. How many Victorian novels end with a conversion to, or an affirmation of, God, saving the character’s soul? As collective beliefs have changed, this sort of external redemption has become less and less viable, calling for narrative change, for characters who acquire redemption within themselves without the help of an external source like a God or a doctrine.
We live in an age of media that is obsessed with moral ambiguity, and without ultimate goodness to stack up against, it has meant redemption must come in different forms.
The problem that arises with internal redemption, is the concept of “moral dessert”. This is a term used to characterize the action of performing good deeds as a means towards some reward. This is an added dimension that a lot of TV shows, books, and movies will lean into. Did such and such character do that good deed for the sake of itself, or not? Is there a difference if the outcome is the same? Tons of people much smarter than I have invested their time answering this ethical dilemmas, so I’ll take the backseat. What I’m more interested in is how Barry used these narrative elements, and what its finale is trying to say about them.
Redemption in Barry
In the last season of the show, Barry—on the run as a fugitive with his new family—has taken a religious turn; his devotion, though, is questionable, to say the least. He gets his sermons from a YouTube channel, along with most of the materials he uses to homeschool his son (which he himself is learning for the first time as well).
The issue is not that he has become a man of faith, it’s that he’s only done so for moral dessert. He falls hook line and sinker into a surface level understanding of Christian redemption, and believes that he’s saved now that he watches a sermon here or there. The show overtly satirizes this; one memorable scene is when Barry is on the way back to LA to deal with a recently re-emerged Couseneau, and he cycles between various Christian podcasts until landing on one that justifies his right to kill. In the finale itself, Barry says a prayer just before going into what he thinks will likely be an ambush and the death of him. Paraphrasing, the prayer is something like “please God, protect my son and let my sacrifice redeem me and secure my place alongside you for eternity in heaven”.
Barry’s idea of redemption comes from the media and narratives that he’s been fed by the military, by Fuches, and by his internet sermons. He’s happy to take things on face value, happy to let others tell him what to think, happy not to think critically about his actions, about the meaning of redemption, or faith. Barry’s understanding of redemption is the beating heart of patriotism: sacrifice yourself, and be immortalized—it’s as simple as that. And, ironically, it works—his son is left with nothing but the immortalized image of his father, hailed a hero with Hollywood panache.
In many ways, the film version of Barry’s story is exactly how he viewed himself, and reifies the fabricated narrative of redemption. Barry was not redeemed—he is undeserving of the good light given to him, yet it happened nonetheless. In fact, the only real redemption qua narrative arc of the show was, debatably, Fuches, which is ironic, given that he is responsible for much of Barry’s delusions.
This depiction might present a cynical view towards the value of this kind of redemption, and indeed the value of truth itself. What is the worth of redemption if it serves a man like Barry? The show seems to want to say: it settles the hearts of those left behind. This illusion, that Barry was a good man, is enacting some good in the world—specifically for his son. This leaves us with a consequentialist view about our narratives and illusions; Barry is dead anyway, so what’s the harm in letting his son believe he was a hero?
Subverting truth in favour of comforting lies is no foreign mechanism—it is something we all do regularly, and It’s something Barry is quite versed in. Instead of criticizing our delusions, the show’s finale seems to be hinting at the necessity of them. It is true that redemption doesn’t function in real life as it does in narrative, but it is a concept we need. For many, the idea of redemption is paramount, is the only thing keeping them going. Without the possibility of having your mistakes and wrongdoings forgiven, it’s hard to see how one can make their way in the world.
This calls to mind the binary I brought up earlier: external and internal redemption. Barry was given the former, but not the latter. He was not a good man—though he constantly said he wanted to be good, his actions consistently defied this desire. He used everyone for his own gain, never thinking critically about his actions and place in the world, and because of that, he never attained internal redemption. The show gave the grace of internal redemption to its characters that were brave enough to dispel their delusions. Fuches, Sally, even Noho—they were able to find internal redemption once they could confront their mistakes, once they looked truly inwards. Barry and Cousineau, cut from the same cloth, refused to do so. Barry chose not to own up to his mistakes, chose to hide behind his shallow understanding of God or whatever mechanism would easily forgive him, and Cousineau was eager to shed his illusion of virtue at the possibility of Mark Wahlberg playing him in a film. These are not damning flaws—vanity, ignorance—but the two characters were given plenty of opportunities to redeem themselves, and they always chose the easy way, always chose to squander them.
The show gives the most grace to its characters that were able to shed their illusions, were able to finally act as their authentic selves. Their redemption was personal, principled, not performed for others.
Perhaps that was Barry and Cousineau’s most damning characteristic, that they lacked a self, the two alike in ways neither would like to admit. Perhaps that’s why they gravitated towards each other, why their fates were conjoined.
Let me know what you thought of this ending!