When I started Killing Eve four years ago, I jumped in knowing someone was going to die.
I didn't know who, or why, or where, but the pilot episode made clear that the world I was jumping into was as dangerous as it was exciting. Much in the same way I imagine Eve felt as she got wrapped up in her cat-and-mouse game with Villanelle.
I never expected them to ride off into the sunset, because their world was like ours. The odds of a prolific serial killer being able to live out their days with someone they love are slim to none in reality. And, given Villanelle- and Eve's- proximity to the still-unknown "12," I wagered that not everyone would make it out.
Now, before anyone gets too upset: I watched Lexa die live three days shy of my seventeenth birthday. I experienced and contributed to the ensuing fallout of her death, and watched Hollywood reckon with the tour-de-force of damning evidence that poured in to prove bad writing habits.
And still, The 100, Game of Thrones, and now, Killing Eve, all made the same arrogant mistake: prioritizing shock value over genuine development. Why are writers rooms so afraid of people figuring stuff out?
(Please note: I know that any decision in this process doesn't fall squarely on one persons shoulders, and that there may have very well been people at KE's table who protested this direction.)
I'm not saying that you need to set up a complete roadmap. You should always keep viewers guessing about the how's and why's of your narrative. Those unanswered questions are what keep us coming back each week.
But, a person should be able to draw a vague line between where a character starts and ends. There may be some hills and valleys throughout, but the line shouldn't go off the page. I'd argue that if an audience is able to approximate where a character will land, the writer has done a good job.
Eve and Villanelle couldn't have spent every episode together; there'd be no tension. But Killing Eve did it's best to make sure that the two weren't alone together for too long. Crafted damn-near entire seasons building up side characters and chasing subplots where it could've spent time actually building toward us this final episode.
Like... you had two BAFTA award-winning actresses, and you kept them apart?
Killing Eve trailed onto the table. Whittled the crayon down to nothing on dead ends. So, instead of your main character's death providing closure for a mystery well-solved, it just leaves people angry.
Some past grievances could be forgiven if there was payoff. If one- or any- of those tributaries reconnected to the main line. But they didn't. All you had to do was give Villanelle's death some purpose. Some greater meaning.
Instead, it's just another loose end to add to a pile of strings. We ask ourselves the same question Eve did this season: for what?
They finally kissed. Four seasons of intimacy embraced just to be snuffed out twenty minutes later because....because...
I think it's immeasurably more frustrating for a show of this caliber. Finally, here's an overtly queer drama we didn't have to make concessions for. It had everything; fantastic acting, (once) good writing, and flawless cinematography. The total package.
You don't have to make your gay characters invincible. But, if they're being killed off, there better a damn good reason. Killing Eve had plenty available, yet still managed to fumble their narrative and strongest asset in the series' final moment.
I'm not just disappointed about the wasted potential. I'm upset that all the good things about this show- Oh and Comer's electric chemistry and performances, it's unique premise, the many ways it subverted it's genre- will all be overshadowed by a single sniper bullet.
The context is different this time, but I'm brought back to the night I sat numb on my parents couch all those years ago.
When my shock and anger wore off, I found myself wishing that they'd died together. Eve had blood on her hands. Had likely gotten too close to the now forever-unknown faceless organization that they'd built the whole goddamn show about.
At least then it would've been a testament to the relationship Killing Eve spent four seasons capitalizing on. (And then subsequently left on the back burner until its swan song.)
I see you. There's no way out of this. But, if this is the end, I'm glad it's with you.
That's the tragedy that I signed up for, at least.
Instead, I watch Killing Eve sink to the bottom of the river it once cut through. Sorry, Baby indeed.
Liked this? Connect with me here, or find me on Twitter @MegCoIleran.
