The concluding chapter of Loki's sophomore season unfolds with the grandeur befitting a series finale, brimming with ambitious concepts. On paper, it encapsulates the essence of a fitting send-off for the trickster god Loki Laufeyson, right down to its poignant title, "Glorious Purpose," echoing his iconic mantra from The Avengers. Yet, beneath its grandiose facade, the episode struggles under the weight of symbolism devoid of substance and plot machinations lacking a human touch. It's adorned with the most mystical imagery Marvel has to offer, yet struggles to forge its own distinct narrative path. If this marks the curtain call for the mischievous deity who ultimately transcends his title, it leaves a disappointing aftertaste, barely eliciting more than a shrug.
One indisputable highlight spanning both seasons of Loki has been Natalie Holt's ethereal score, which this week introduces the tale with an ominous, pulsating melody that harmoniously mirrors the episode's opening: Marvel Studios' logo spinning in reverse, heralding a journey where Loki, having mastered his time-bending prowess, ventures deeper into the past to relive pivotal moments.
The narrative begins with a redux of a previous scene, where Kang variant Victor Timely attempts to aid the TVA in repairing the "Time Loom," only to be shattered by temporal radiation. Despite Loki's attempts to alter this fate, the outcome remains immutable, propelling him on a relentless journey further back through the season's timeline and even into the preceding one, engaging in futile attempts to avert disaster across "centuries" as the on-screen title card proclaims.
Yet, the passage of time feels fleeting, with the repetitive sequences failing to build momentum or intensify through editing. Tom Hiddleston's portrayal, too, remains relatively unchanged, in contrast to Jonathan Majors' portrayal of He Who Remains as Kang, who exudes the weight of aeons spent as a solitary timekeeper. Other sci-fi narratives have more skillfully executed this concept of repetition in recent memory, like the Tom Cruise-led Edge of Tomorrow (or Live. Die. Repeat.), where Cruise's character relives the same day, each failure adding to his exhaustion and wisdom as he progresses through alien skirmishes akin to video game levels. Even NBC's sitcom The Good Place, a cousin of sorts to this episode, more effectively harnessed montage to create a captivating rhythm and sense of repetition.
"Glorious Purpose," however, constrains what should feel boundless, portraying Loki's endeavors through swiftness and efficiency rather than the emotional toll they ought to evoke. There's little indication that this reformed antagonist, who recently grasped the value of friendship, has witnessed his comrades perish countless times. Each attempt ends with logistical necessities: Timely must traverse from A to B, inserting Machine X into Slot Y to stabilize the Loom, without a hint of a true dilemma emerging. A semblance of conflict arises when, after Loki's centuries-long problem-solving, Timely finally accomplishes his mission but dallies, risking perpetual death despite the task's completion. This forces Loki to confront the excruciating choice between one life and billions—a scenario that, had it materialized, would have truly resonated.
Alas, the anticipated scenario fails to materialize, though another, potentially more formidable one lurks in the shadows, ready to seize its place. Despite Loki's cunning manipulation of the Time Loom, chaos ensues, and he emerges vanquished, for the device's limitations are exposed in the face of the boundless multiverse's infinite branching paths. This predicament forces him to rewind to the very origin of his troubles: the climactic finale of season one.
The proliferation of timelines stems from a fateful act—Sylvie's assassination of He Who Remains, causing the once-sacred timeline to splinter into a myriad of realities. Loki's efforts to thwart her prove futile, as she triumphs with a chilling prophecy: "If you wish to halt me, you must slay me." Yet, this profound moral quagmire remains largely unexplored, as Loki's innate virtue forbids such a dire course, leaving their repeated clashes at the citadel mere pugilistic spectacles devoid of substance.
The narrative reduces itself to a recycled confrontation between Loki and He Who Remains, their words echoing the same dire ultimatum as before. Maintain the status quo, and a singular timeline marches on unhindered. Overthrow He Who Remains, and the multiverse erupts into chaos, with Kang's myriad variants igniting a cataclysmic war. However, the season's failure to immerse us in the stakes of these scenarios—rarely, if ever, venturing into the realms of actual timelines or depicting their "pruning"—transforms this climax into a mere teaser for future Marvel films, where Kang assumes the mantle of villainy.
Amidst Loki's apparent stalemate lies a philosophical kernel: the notion that mastery over time imbues him with boundless power (a paradoxical dichotomy with his inability to alter destiny's course), transforming him into a deity amidst human frailties, despite forging profound connections throughout the season. Yet, his dilemmas hover abstractly, disconnected from the emotional depth of humanity and genuine relationships that should anchor his choices. His loves never seem truly imperiled, especially when the solution boils down to retrying the same strategy, only to unwind the consequences when they spiral out of control.
He delves deeper into his past, revisiting his initial encounter with Mobius, a conversation that, albeit hypothetical in nature, rooted itself in Mobius's very real past with the weighty question, "Would you kill baby Hitler?" (A deed he did not commit, and its burden lingers heavily on his shoulders.) However, this is not the amicable Mobius that Loki has come to know (or at least, not yet), as if the episode is hellbent on teasing potent drama's brink, only to skirt around it with a labyrinthine web of sci-fi intricacies.
Ultimately, Loki's epiphany, sparked by a profound dialogue with Sylvie about destruction and rebirth, leads him to conclude that the sole path to liberation lies in assuming the mantle of Time's Overseer, mirroring He Who Remains' former role. It's a dilemma rehashed from the season's climactic finale, yet this time, the stakes are heightened by the presence of those he cares for, lending his impending sacrifice a poignant edge. Yet, the screenplay falters in conveying this depth, cloaking itself in operatic grandeur that glorifies abstract notions of time and human lives, devoid of tangible, heartfelt emotion.
At the heart of this lies the conundrum of the Time Loom, a recurring theme that has haunted this season since its inception. Conceptually, it embodies the dichotomy between singularity and multiplicity—between determinism and free will. Yet, it's reduced to mere machinery, devoid of soul. As Loki strides across the temporal bridge, he seemingly reconciles disparate "timelines," but all we behold is him tugging colossal strings, their proportional significance to lives saved or experiences lived lost in translation. His transformation, draping himself in a cape woven from these threads en route to a throne of gold, is a visually stunning spectacle, yet its meaning requires intellectual dissection rather than instinctively resonating within its aesthetic tapestry.
Holt's score, as always, soars to majestic heights, yet even her crescendo struggles to fill the void left by the absence of genuine emotional weight. Amidst this, Mobius finds solace in a poignant flashback, observing his earthly life from afar in a serene, silent sequence. Such tender sci-fi moments reveal the true prowess of directors like Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead when liberated from the constraints of superhero spectacle, though the episode's finale is inextricably tied to the exposition of the MCU's future landscape.
The new TVA, now under Loki's watchful eye, scours for Kang variants and their ilk, ostensibly as his allies—hopefully willing ones, though the fate of supporting characters remains nebulous.
The fact that Loki ultimately attains what he has ever yearned for—a kingdom, albeit a solitary one—casts a profound shade of tragedy, yet the intricate workings of the series veil the precise contours of his woe. Does this throne mandate his perpetual involvement in the weaving and safeguarding of time, or is it a Sisyphean ordeal, a relentless self-inflicted punishment stretching into eternity? The ambiguity lingers, yet the scene where he intertwines myriad timelines into an hourglass form, echoing Yggdrasil, the Norse tree of life, stands as a rare instance where Marvel's narrative delves into mythology to evoke a sense of grandeur and, aptly, a profound sense of purpose. In essence, it's visually stunning, even amidst an episode largely mired in stakes that, at times, struggle to resonate with a human touch.
