Supernatural: Season 7 Finale

Somewhere deep within the space-time continuum my younger self just felt an inexplicable chill — the gloomy feeling you get when someone walks over the grave of your favorite TV show. Gathered with her college roommates to watch the epic second season finale of Supernatural, the me of 2007 is unable to fathom a world in which the Winchester narrative ceases to excite. She can’t imagine 2012.

At the close of Supernatural season seven I had hoped—I had really, really hoped—that the finale would draw me back into the land of angels and crossroad demons, wendigos and killer clowns. Instead it served as a bitter reminder of what I’ve been unable to openly express until now: Supernatural just isn’t what it used to be.

As fanatical devotees of the nerdy arts, we’re predisposed to turn a blind eye to the flaws of our obsessions. It’s not that we don’t see them; we do. We just choose to keep calm and dork on, waiting eagerly for the fan moments that still make it worth tuning in. This season these instances were fewer and farther between than they’ve ever been. To use its own terminology, Supernatural has become a shade of its former self, a revenant—the ghost that just doesn’t know it’s dead yet.

With the introduction of the Leviathans, Supernatural overreached. The monsters, simply speaking, got too ambitious. They skipped the black arts and went full-on corporate, turning season seven into the Winchester brothers vs. the 666%.

Led by Dick Roman (James Patrick Stuart), business go-getter of the monster persuasion, the Leviathans’ grand plan was to farm humans like cattle: fatten us up with dosed high-fructose corn syrup and hamburgers and lead us to the slaughter house. Yet at no point were Dick and his Tremors-faced cohorts actually scary, or menacing, or worth watching. They didn’t go bump in the night so much as stumble around in the dark until they knocked over a coat rack.

At least the showrunners got a kick out of naming their main antagonist Dick. If I were playing a season-long drinking game for every time someone needlessly uttered that name I’d be in need of a liver transplant.

In seasons one through five, the show was never better than when the Winchesters’ problems paralleled that of the monster-of-the-week and the overarching villain was somehow rooted to their story. Season seven, like the angel civil war of last year, once again made Sam and Dean (Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles) pawns in their own game. Supernatural ceased to be personal.  

Like with the Colt, or Ruby’s knife, or the Angel Swords, there’s always a weapon that crops up, specially invented to kill that year’s baddie. A few episodes before the finale, Sam and Dean stole a tablet from Dick inscribed with a means to kill Leviathans, a weapon made of the “bone of a righteous mortal… washed in the three blood of the fallen.” Yeah, sure.

With the ingredients finally in their hands, the Winchesters’ plan of attack consisted of sneaking into a big boring office building and stabbing Dick with their magical bone of contention. Meg (Rachel Miner) needlessly crashed the Impala (how we’ve missed Dean’s baby) into a glass sign in front of the building to distract the really stupid guards, while the boys made their way inside. I guess we have to assume Castiel (Misha Collins), current Captain of the good ship Crazy Pants, angelized them in.

As expected, it all ended anticlimactically with Dick getting a bone jammed sideways through his throat (a few inches higher and he could have been Sideshow Mel!). The resulting black-slime explosion killed Dick, transported Castiel and Dean to purgatory, and left Sam alone to face the scattered Leviathan minions and the ascension of Crowley (Mark A. Sheppard) on Earth. The boys separated? One of them trapped in a paranormal realm? How shocking and new!

And where was Bobby (Jim Beaver) in all this? At midseason it looked as if our favorite idjit-wrangler had walked into the light, only to turn back at the last second. As he slowly turned violent, even possessing the body of a hotel maid in an attempt to get to Dick, he became Supernatural’s Old Yeller. In the finale he finally asked the boy to put him down by burning the flask that was keeping him earthbound.

It was interesting to get a glimpse at how even good people become vengeful spirits, but I’m still unsure as to the point. He didn’t help in the finale, and they dispensed of him without nary of word of gratitude. No “Thanks for helping raise us, Bobby!” or “We love you, Bobby!” I guess if you get a second chance to properly say goodbye to the man who was a second father to you…don’t say a word.

Floundering or not, I will watch Supernatural until it’s ready to carry on (my wayward sons) into the sunset, but I’m tired of making excuses for it. This must be what it’s like to be a parent whose child goes off and picks up a drug habit, or willingly DVRs Wipeout. You will always love them, but you just can’t agree with their choices.

Supernatural should take ghost!Bobby’s advice, and when it’s time, don’t linger. Like all fans, however, I still have the inescapable hope that next season will get better. Maybe they’ll bring back ol’ Yellow Eyes and his janitor meatsuit. Going back to the past sure beats whatever could possibly come after the Leviathans. What will Sam and Dean fight next, global warming? Income inequality? Bank foreclosures? Scary just got really unsexy.