When contemplating the climactic plague of locusts descending upon the ministry in the finale of "The Righteous Gemstones," one cannot help but draw parallels to Paul Thomas Anderson's groundbreaking 1999 drama, "Magnolia," which culminated in a biblical downpour of frogs from the heavens. Anderson's masterstroke served as the unifying thread in a tapestry of loosely woven L.A. narratives, echoing the heroic efforts of Robert Altman in classics like "Nashville" and "Short Cuts," where a singular, transformative event served to emphasize the shared cinematic realm inhabited by the diverse characters. In "Nashville," it was a concert at the Parthenon disrupted by gun violence that drew all parties together; in "Short Cuts," an earthquake forced characters to huddle for survival. Similarly, the frogs in "Magnolia," an homage to the plague in Exodus, invoked God's omnipotent hand in restoring order and instilling a quietude and humility among the tumult-ridden lives of its protagonists.
What rendered the frogstorm in "Magnolia" such a daring and polarizing gambit was its seemingly spontaneous emergence, unless one was attuned to the subtle "8-2" references (a nod to Exodus 8:2) scattered throughout the film. Though a tale of sin, "Magnolia" did not explicitly or implicitly delve into spirituality. Conversely, "The Righteous Gemstones" revolves around characters who incessantly pray and preach about God's interventions, evidenced by the title "Wonders That Cannot Be Fathomed, Miracles That Cannot Be Counted," borrowed from Job 5:9. While it's scarcely surprising to witness a heavenly intervention capping the third season, much of the show centers on charlatans profiting from the notion of God's miracles, making the sight of one all the more jarring. It's akin to the Y2K scare actually unleashing sufficient chaos to justify stockpiling survival kits.
In an exclusive interview with Roxana Hadadi for our last season, Danny McBride opened up about his aversion to season-ending cliffhangers, imbuing his words with a relatable passion. "For me, cliffhangers at the season's close have never sat right as a viewer. I find myself deeply engrossed, eagerly anticipating the unfolding drama, only to be left hanging for an entire year. Who knows if my enthusiasm will still be intact by then, especially after experiencing a plethora of other content? With this show, I cherish the notion that each season tells a coherent story, complete with its unique crop of villains and supporting characters, offering viewers a fulfilling experience that concludes satisfactorily."
Yet, the divine intervention that neatly tied up the third season without a cliffhanger – to the extent that critics mistook it for a series finale until the announcement of a fourth season earlier this week – unfortunately strikes a chord of convenience, akin to a clumsy deus ex machina. 'The Righteous Gemstones' had found itself entangled in a narrative web, and the locusts' appearance granted the show an overly optimistic conclusion that felt more like the handiwork of screenwriters than a divine blessing. Numerous ongoing conflicts were abruptly resolved: the Montgomery family schism between May-May and Karl versus Peter and Chuck; the rift within the Gemstone family over Eli's refusal to pay the ransom; and the fierce rivalry between the Gemstone and Simkin ministries for the support of NASCAR legend Dusty Daniels and his vast, untold millions. Marriages were mended, families reknit, and partnerships solidified, all in one fell swoop.
It all strikes me as a touch too neat, primarily due to the meager sacrifices made at the altar of a consoling denouement. Imagine Peter's U-Haul, laden with explosives, detonating in a department-store parking lot, carving out a gaping crater where Chuck, presumably, still sat moments before. Miraculously, he emerges unscathed, along with the shoppers who, we're later reassured, were safely ushered to safety prior to the detonation. Further into the narrative, when Peter's second truck, also packed with explosives, blows up in the woods adjacent to the Gemstone-studio parking lot, he too survives the fiery inferno, ultimately reconciling with his estranged family. (Curiously, the authorities seem to have turned a blind eye to him, despite the dragnet cast over his militia and his fleeting appearance as a person of interest on a Fox News broadcast.) One might ponder over a subtle underlying message—perhaps that the transgressions and excesses of megachurch swindlers like the Gemstones go unpunished. Yet, this interpretation teeters on the brink of conjecture. The crux of the tale rests firmly on the themes of second chances, reconciliation, and the omnipresent possibility of forgiveness, even when it appears as improbable as a localized plague of locusts descending from the heavens.
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In the grand finale of another stellar season of the show, grace notes abound, sprinkling magic like fairy dust. Walton Goggins, though featured less prominently than in seasons past (more on that in the subsequent bullet points), shines brightly in Baby Billy’s Bible Bonkers—a dazzling display of showmanship that triumphs over the quirky game’s flawed design. (Baby Billy, a mere Family Feud voyeur who stole the buzzer idea but forgot the board for families to conquer, stages an endless buzzer battle over Bible trivia.) The melodies that float through the air, the “hurricane booth” that stirs excitement, the deranged Oompa-Loompa dancers casting a spell of whimsy, and the pre-show witticisms (“If Noah were alive today, he’d struggle with wooden arcs. He’d craft a dinghy instead!”) all bear the hallmark of a genuine entertainer. Perhaps Baby Billy won’t secure the “reshoots” his production desperately needs, but he’s undeniably earned them.
Even if the climax feels somewhat manufactured, the denouement, set to Dolly Parton’s soulful cover of Collective Soul’s “Shine”—a masterpiece proving that covers can surpass originals—elegantly bookmarks the season’s opening, when the Redeemer was unveiled at a monster-truck rally. At that time, Aimee-Leigh was mortified by her family’s sellout for monetary gains, staging a vulgar spectacle that tarnished their values. (Beer was even hawked, heavens forbid!) Now, she stands, giving her celestial blessing to a family affair where everyone gets a turn to crush items in the Redeemer. This vehicle, once a symbol of greed and corruption, has transformed into a beacon of redemption, fulfilling its prophecy just as its name suggested.
As Eli wisely puts it, “God moves in mysterious ways.” And echoing the late Dusty Daniels, “Whoo-wee, indeed!”
