Everybody thinks they have a right to closure, apparently. That intangible, metaphysical myth used after every breakup, every crime, every TV show, every anything we’re not quite happy with and want more from so we feel better about it.
Breaking Bad was a brilliant show which ended in thrilling, conclusive, fashion six years ago. While Jesse Pinkman was a character I enjoyed watching, so was Saul Goodman, and three series of Better Call Saul have beaten that out of me. El Camino is an indulgence which, while not unwanted, was never needed.
Jesse is traumatised, his stint as a Neo Nazi meth-chef-pet has given him deep scars; something subtly hinted at by him literally having scars all over him. He’s now free from the psychopathic Todd (Jesse Plemons stealing the show with more of the mundane murderer) and wants to get away from it all – put his feet up. That’s El Camino’s set up, that’s what you get. It’s no more complicated than: will Jesse get a happy ending?
As the film ticks away with the usual ‘something’s going to happen any minute now’ tension Vince Gilligan has made a career from, I couldn’t help but feel that El Camino is an exercise in futility. While not bad, it also never breaks anything. Much like lusting after closure in the real world, the film is a cyclical and pointless endeavour with no vanishing point.
El Camino is simply a six years late, two-hour obituary to Breaking Bad. Please, no more closure.