See you in Hell, Scofield

If history repeats itself first as tragedy, then as farce, what follows?  In high school — high school, Scheuring — I got acquainted enough with Tom Stoppard’s 15-minute Hamlet to be thoroughly underwhelmed by last Friday night’s coda to the Prison break series finale.  The 84-minute special felt a little something like Stoppard’s revision of Shakespeare, only, y’know, completely idiotic and entirely bereft of literary import: a full, season-worthy story arc of classic Prison break, replete with prisons, betrayals, thwarted moves, strange bedfellows and an anti-climactic escape.  (That penultimate flashforward didn’t help your narrative cause, guys.)

There’s really not much to be said about the post-finale finale; it served principally (and gratuitously) to remind us of Scofield’s unqualified heroism.  America loves few things more than a handsome, wrongly-persecuted, self-sacrificing genius.

"The final break."
"The final break."

— J.C. Freñán

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