The long-anticipated final season of ‘YOU’ has at last hit our screens. Netflix’s resident charming-yet-terrifying serial killer Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley) is back with a vengeance, seemingly more untouchable than ever before.
★★★★☆
SPOILER WARNING: This article contains spoilers for season five of You.
As the final season opens, we find that Joe is married to Kate, a billionaire CEO whose power has seemingly managed to wipe away anyone’s memory of his previous messy background. He is back in New York, back in Mooney’s bookstore, and back with his son Henry. Viewers are left once more wondering, “I wonder how he’ll manage to fall back into his pattern this time, and I can’t wait to see him get away with it, again.”
After promising to ‘keep each other good’, Joe and Kate begin to show cracks in their relationship, as Kate discovers that Joe’s killer instincts (pun intended) are not spawned from a desire to protect her and Henry, as he claims. Kate’s character development is wonderful to watch throughout, as she takes back the power so many of his female victims haven’t been able to have.
We are introduced to Kate’s complicated and fascinating family. Maddie and Reagan, Kate’s twin sisters, both played by Anna Camp, her half-brother Teddy (Griffin Matthews) and her uncle Bob (Michael Dempsey). Maddie and Reagan make for a particularly interesting highlight of this season. One of the biggest twists comes when Joe accidentally locks Maddie in his cage, having intended to lock in Reagan after she threatened Kate’s position as CEO. Anna Camp portrays the insecurity, narcissism, manipulation, and co-dependency of both twins wonderfully, her acting particularly blossoming after Joe forces Maddie to murder her twin sister and then pretend to be her for weeks.
We are also introduced to a new character, and a new obsession for Joe – Bronte. Initially, we are introduced to her as a vulnerable woman running from a dangerous situation with an ex-boyfriend, as Joe catches her sleeping in his bookstore. Captivated by her and falling into his ‘white knight’ pattern, he gives her a job at the store, an apartment, and to no-one’s surprise, they begin having an affair as he falls deep into his classic obsession.
At first watch, this felt quite tired and predictable, since Bronte’s portrayal of a romance-novel-loving, tiktok-watching Gen Zer feels quite cringeworthy at times. But in a fantastic twist, she is revealed as Louise, a former student of Joe’s S1 victim, Beck. It turns out, she’s been working with contacts online, including Clayton (Tom Francis), son of Dr.Nicky, Beck’s therapist from S1 whom Joe framed for her murder, who seeks justice for his wrongly-imprisoned father. This jaw-dropping twist feels like lighting a fire that would burn Joe to the ground.
The subtle references to previous seasons work brilliantly. Previous characters like Paco, Ethan, Love’s mother and more return to tell the world about Joe’s character, giving their thoughts on whether he is the cold-blooded killer the internet believes him to be. I would have, however, liked to see more references to Love Quinn (Victoria Pedretti). Arguably the most interesting character besides Joe himself, It was disappointing that she was barely mentioned.
Something this season should be commended for is the portrayal of Joe’s relationship to his son, Henry. The cycle of male violence and misogyny is not something I was thinking about when first watching the show, but it becomes heartbreakingly obvious that, as Henry begins to get increasingly violent, it is very much at large.
You’re given a false sense of security with Joe. As a spectator, the show is designed for you to fall in love with him, the spell can only be broken when you truly pay attention, something Marianne explains to Louise in a brilliant monologue in the penultimate episode.
To be ‘written by a woman’ is a discourse that has been popping up everywhere in recent years, but S5 definitely speaks to women’s experiences, which makes it all the more satisfying. The discourse of romanticising abuse, ignoring any signs of toxicity and violence all for the fantasy of ‘the nice guy’, was, in my view as a young woman watching it, portrayed brilliantly.
In the end, his victims control the narrative, they take back the voice Joe took from them. The fifth and final season brings all the blood, fire and drama you come to expect from YOU, while taking the audience on the frustrating journey millions of women go through every single day. You can physically feel the anger of the women lucky enough to live through Joe’s abuse. The loudest voice of all however, was provided by Beck, who haunted the narrative throughout. The show starts, and ends with her.
The final chilling scene of Joe haunted by loneliness in a prison cell shows him receiving fan mail of twisted sexual fantasies, his monologue pointing out the sickness of society. Joe Goldberg’s last words as he looks his audience in the eyes with his chilling signature stare, “Maybe the problem isn’t me. Maybe, it’s you,” making you feel sick to your stomach, in the most brilliant way.
The viewer is left with a similar feeling of sickness to that of watching Netflix’s fellow smash-hit Adolescence, knowing that Joe isn’t just a character, and his actions, his thought processes, his justifications, are being fed to young boys every second. The ‘nice guy’, the ‘protective boyfriend’, who justifies abuse because he feels that because there are worse men out there, his abuse isn’t that bad.
With the discourse of male violence and misogyny finally starting to be seen as the emergency it is, creating art like ‘YOU’ is more relevant than ever, and smashing the romanticisation of Joe Goldberg to pieces, is the best thing the show could have done in this current cultural climate.
Season 5 managed to turn a show about a charming stalker into a contribution to a cultural conversation, and did it brilliantly. Satisfaction, justice and female rage – could there be a better ending?
Goodbye, You.
The Verdict
YOU‘s final season cemented the legacy of the show. It ended with female victims of male violence simply living happily, which could not be more fitting. Penn Badgley’s acting in this final season was incredibly terrifying, and deserves all the praise it will inevitably receive. The real spotlight, however, must be for lines delivered by the principal actresses, such as Madeline Brewer’s beautifully-put, “The fantasy of a man like you is how we cope with the reality of a man like you.”
Words by Rosie Brennan
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