‘Barry’ Loses His Religion
The final season of the HBO show does great character work without being showy.
Barry will go down as one of the strangest TV shows of all time, I think. What started off as a comedy constructed from a variety of relatively familiar tropes, with the dopey premise of a contract killer who decides to become an actor, slowly morphed into a bizarre dramedy that explored the brutal consequences of violence and poor mental health while also featuring supernaturally deadly 12-year old girls1, a scheme to corner the sand market in the American construction industry, and an assassination attempt utilizing a pen-gun that explodes in someone’s hand as a payoff to a quick joke about a podcast focused on gadgets2.
What holds it all together and makes it succeed is the character work. Yes, the direction (often at the hands of star and co-creator Bill Hader) and the performances are pretty stellar, but the story works because the characters are very well-defined. Cartoonish in many ways, but consistently portrayed and written as having a deep inner life3. Many shows that get increasingly stylized over time, like Barry, lose sight of the characters—they also become increasingly stylized, increasingly metaphorical instead of representations of realistic people making believable decisions. But Barry never forgets who its characters are at their core. Even when a cowardly grifter somehow transforms into a legendary criminal mastermind, it’s rooted, somehow, in their core character4.
This is true for Barry himself. The most amazing thing about the character of Barry Berkman is the fact that he literally does not change over the course of the show. Every other character—every other character—changes and evolves. NoHo Hank betrays himself and becomes the hardcore (yet stylish) crime lord he always wished to be5. Fuches loses everything and transforms into the badass he always wanted to be. Mr. Cousineau finds a shred of dignity within himself and becomes a better person (for a while)6. But not Barry. Barry remains exactly the same, and the key giveaway is his turn towards religion in the back half of the final season.
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As a character, Barry is a study in self-deception. We meet Barry when he’s already an experienced contract killer, a man who has already killed several people. When Barry stumbles upon Gene Cousineau’s (Henry Winkler) acting class—the sort of workshop that attracts both aspiring artists who don’t know any better and lazy middle-of-the-roaders who are happy to just “do the work” even if they have zero shot of ever landing a role—he sees a chance to be something different, to leave the killing behind and be the good guy he believes himself to be.
Barry’s belief that he’s actually a good person is the key to the entire show, of course; Barry essentially attempts to murder his way to salvation, which is equal parts hilarious in execution and horrifying in implication7. That mixture of truly terrifying personality dynamics and honestly hilarious visuals and scenarios is what has made this show so great over the course of four somewhat challenging and perplexing seasons, and one of the best aspects of this show is the simple fact that Barry has never actually lost his North Star: He consistently wants to believe he is a good person no matter what kind of fucked-up shit he does. And then does even more fucked-up shit to somehow erase or make up for the first batch8.
So when the show takes an eight-year time jump and Barry has embraced a Christian sect, attending virtual church services, listening to pastor podcasts, and praying to god on a regular basis, it lands not as a superficial character beat, but as a rational extension of the man we know Barry to be9. In a less well-written show, this might have been just a gag, a feint at faith that would crumble, revealing Barry to be a monster after all. But that doesn’t happen here, because Barry is actually a true believer. He believes that religion offers him what he thought acting would offer: Redemption10.
And On Today’s podcast We’re Gonna Talk About How Murder is Definitely Not a Sin
Put simply, Barry once thought that if he could channel his violent and horrific past into art, he would be insured against punishment and retribution by transforming his violence into something worthwhile. When that failed, he embraces faith as a way of doing the same thing—if god forgives him, if god is really in charge of his life as so many religions teach us, then he cannot be a bad person. It was all to a purpose11.
The show demonstrates how hollow this is when Barry, back in L.A. and hellbent on murdering Gene Cousineau, goes shopping for a pastor podcast that legitimizes his decision. He finds one, voiced by Bill Burr in a perfect cameo—a “pastor” who insists that since murder was in the Bible, it’s okay by god. Barry feels good about this because it’s all he’s ever wanted: An excuse. He’s not a bad person. He’s a good person who is forced to occasionally do bad things. He will be forgiven by his new god, a god that is as much a creation of Barry’s imagination, perfectly sculpted to his needs as it is a version of the Christian god12.
It’s solid writing, and a good example of how thin the line can be between a lazy idea—Barry gets religion!—and the more sophisticated version of it—Barry uses the tropes and trappings of religion to justify his brutality in an echo of his previous efforts to imagine himself as a good guy with a bad mission just as he used the tropes and trappings of performance to imagine himself as a sensitive artist with a bad mission!
Of course, there’s a whole essay in the fact that Monroe Fuches is the only person in the Barry universe that actually makes his version of reality into the truth—after years of pretending to be a brilliant criminal mastermind, he actually becomes one after he tries to save Barry’s life and winds up being nearly beaten to death as a result. But, of course, Monroe Fuches actually suffers and has a legitimate epiphany, which Barry doesn’t—but that’s another essay13.
One thing the world can thank Barry for: It has cured me of my lifelong dream of becoming a world-class assassin14. You can all rest easy now.
Next week: The Marvelous Mrs. Stealth Villain Origin Story
AKA, twelve-year old girls in general.
Which also involves the greatest acting Guillermo del Toro has ever managed.
This is how a character as deliriously ridiculous as NoHo Hank can be one of the most terrifying presences on screen at any given moment.
Monroe Fuches, man. That’s it. That’s the footnote.
Anthony Carrigan’s line readings in the “Unboxing the FUBKs” scene are incredible. “Why am I still opening these?” indeed.
This also happens to me regularly, but I’ve gotten so used to my shame/dignity cycle I hardly notice any more.
That’s why I think aggressively drinking your way to salvation is a better choice. This way I don’t destroy lives, I just destroy truck stop bathrooms.
Sort of the way I’ll eat increasingly alarming fast food on a Saturday night, as if those chili cheese fries will somehow erase the memory of those jalapeno poppers which I ate to erase the memory of those sliders etc etc world without end.
It’s also a study in the hollowness and general asshattery of all organized religions, but that’s another essay.
As a result of my 14 terrifying years in the Catholic faith, I have the following survival skills: Always knowing where the exits are, never accepting offered drinks from communal chalices, distrusting men in vestments on sight, a sneering attitude toward silly hats, and being able to watch everyone else out of the corner of my eyes so I know the dance moves.
Is obviating all blame for our shittiness the main reason for religion in the first place? Yes. Also: A chance to wear ridiculous outfits without fear of being mocked. Also: The possibility of a god granting you the power to shoot lightning bolts from your hands, I assume.
If I was inventing a god to excuse all of my shitty behavior, it would definitely be more badass. There would be tentacles, and a Sauron Eye, and Iron Maiden music. Can you imagine a fiery sermon about how god is definitely gonna smite you scored to Run to The Hills?
Yes, there are a lot of tangents here, what of it?
Frankly, it looks like a lot of work.