For those who have religiously followed "Mr. Robot," it's no secret that the series thrives on bold, daring swings—be it in concept, style, or narration. The show is replete with mind-bending twists (Elliot and Mr. Robot merging into one; Elliot's entire existence as a prison illusion; Angela's revelation as Price’s daughter; and Elliot's childhood sexual abuse), gimmicks that stick (who could forget the '80s sitcom parody?), and an abundance of plain weirdness that borders on surreal (Angela's eerie journey into Whiterose's lair). Sam Esmail's vision, for better or for worse, is a perpetual motion machine, demanding an ambitious narrative and cinematic blueprint to keep pace. Drawing inspiration from a myriad of cinematic influences, Esmail's relentless urge to experiment with form and tone, to contour the show to his whims, evokes memories of shows like "Moonlighting" and "Community."
Yet, I've never been particularly enamored with this facet of "Mr. Robot." With a handful of exceptions, most of its twists and conceptual tricks come across as cheap gimmicks, aimed at invigorating a thematically deep venture or unnecessarily entangling an already labyrinthine narrative. Often, Esmail's swing-for-the-fences approach merely highlights the emptiness beneath. "Mr. Robot" shines brightest when it stays simple and grounded, a principle beautifully illustrated in its final season, which toys with storytelling while keeping flights of fancy to a minimum. I can tolerate the occasional all-silent episode if it means revisiting its original roots and bidding farewell to its sprawling ensemble cast with sensitivity.
However, once Esmail introduced the possibility of a third personality—or a second Elliot—there was no escaping the elephant in the room. This leads us to "Exit," the often bewildering, intermittently exhilarating penultimate episode that, at the eleventh hour, unlocks new dimensions. After weeks of adhering to a linear path, Esmail dives headfirst into uncharted territory with unabashed bravado. It's an episode whose emotional resonance partly rests on a text adventure video game before morphing into something akin to "Lost" territory.
The episode resumes with Darlene bidding farewell to Elliot at the motel, setting him on a solitary path towards Washington Township. Driven by Price's dying wish to dismantle Whiterose's project for Angela's welfare, Elliot forges ahead despite Mr. Robot's warning to steer clear. Unwavering in his resolve, Elliot encounters a vision of his mother and youthful self (or perhaps another entity entirely), urging him to embark on this journey alone, guided by their spectral presence. With the Beach Boys' "Heroes and Villains" as his melancholic companion, Elliot treks towards the Washington Township nuclear plant, only to find it eerily deserted upon his arrival.
Imagine his astonishment when he realizes that Whiterose and the Dark Army have seized control of the facility, plotting a catastrophic meltdown. Their motive? The typical, grandiose aspirations of Whiterose: to be reborn into a utopian parallel universe, a realm where humanity is liberated from the shackles of the past and destined to thrive. This revelation unfolds as Elliot, captured by Dark Army soldiers, confronts Whiterose face-to-face in the enigmatic Black Box chamber, the same locale where Angela was once deceived and brainwashed. Envisioning a world collapsing at humanity's own hands, Whiterose craves a new Eden, justifying the imminent massacre and willing to orchestrate another Chernobyl-like disaster to bring her vision to fruition. Or so she claims.
Perhaps "Exit" would have flowed more smoothly had it not suffered from a structural laxity. The episode's midpoint feels almost suffocatingly confined, restricted to a slow-paced duel of monologues between Whiterose and Elliot. These intentionally leisurely exchanges serve to highlight the series' broadest thematic dualities: love versus hate, liberation versus imprisonment, creation versus destruction. While Rami Malek imbues Elliot's speech with heartfelt sincerity, detailing his renewed commitment to the world inspired by the unwavering, resolute love others hold for him despite his emotional displacement, this segment grinds the narrative to a halt.
However, had the subsequent events not unfolded in a manner that bordered on the absurd, it might have been tolerable. Amidst the blaring alarms of the plant, Whiterose informs Elliot that the malware he installed to incapacitate it has malfunctioned. Elliot urgently pleads with her to reconsider her plan, yet she persists in dictating the course of events, ultimately ending her life abruptly and without ceremony. Esmail's strategy in this sequence is particularly exasperating: he clothes Whiterose in deliberately ambiguous dialogue meant to be meticulously scrutinized for hidden meanings, only for it to devolve into mundane gibberish. This segment has become the series' most Reddit-baited moment, which holds little appeal for me.
But then, Elliot discovers that his so-called "choice" rests within a text adventure game titled "eXit," which doubles as an override system designed to halt the impending meltdown. The objective of this game, encompassing a dungeon and a boat, is not to flee to a new realm but to refrain from abandoning one's feeble companion. Despite Elliot's triumph in the game, the meltdown has progressed too far to be halted. Thus, he sits across from Mr. Robot as the plant crumbles around them, steadfastly refusing to desert his friend. They declare their affection for each other, and with a tear tracing down his cheek, Elliot echoes Mr. Robot's words from long ago: "It's an exciting time in the world."
The screen then turns crimson, and another alarm sounds, serving as an awakening call. A man awakens in his apartment, draws open the curtains, puts on a record playing "Turn Up the Radio" by OK Go, and stretches his arms. It is Elliot, and it is his time to commute to work. Esmail plunges us into this parallel reality, presenting a jubilant version of Elliot who dances in the shower, styles his hair, and opts for a button-down shirt and sweater instead of his usual hoodie. In this world, he is the CEO of Allsafe, poised to secure the esteemed "F Corp" account (managed by an alternate Tyrell who amusingly mimics Elliot's attire and sports a beard from the original timeline) and soon to wed Angela. He maintains a vibrant and active bond with his father, Edward, who still runs the Mr. Robot computer repair shop. While he pays lip service to yearning for a more thrilling existence, it is evident that he cherishes his routine. He is content and engaged. This is the "normal" world that Whiterose yearns for with all her being. Ironically, in this reality, she is the wealthiest person on Earth and an active philanthropist.
At this juncture, discerning the authenticity of this so-called reality is akin to navigating a labyrinth without a map. Yet, given Whiterose's assurance to Elliot that she would unveil the visions Angela witnessed, I'd venture a guess that this is yet another of her intricate illusions. Regardless of whether this proves accurate, Esmail's handling of the timeline shift leaves much to be desired, primarily due to his overbearing emphasis on its surreal essence. Everyone's artificially effervescent demeanor, akin to being under the influence of potent mood elevators, and the impeccably crafted circumstances serve as red flags. Elliot and Angela's conversations resonate like dialogues from an alien playbook, one that has meticulously studied the behaviors of blissful bourgeois couples.
Subtle tremors flicker at the fringes — a sudden earthquake hastily dismissed, Elliot inadvertently referring to F Corp as "E Corp," and his persistent headaches — all serving as aggressive cues that nothing is as it seems. The incessant playback of "Turn Up the Radio" feels like a playful jab in the ribs, accompanied by a whisper, "This is peculiar, isn't it?" The mystery is too transparently orchestrated, seemingly designed solely for Esmail to pull back the curtain in next week's grand finale.
Nonetheless, the climactic image of Original Elliot and Sideways Elliot confronting each other in the apartment carries a genuine electric charge. For the very first time, the Real and the Ideal lock eyes, pondering if they are but mirrors of one another.
