Spoilers ahead for M*A*S*H and How I Met Your Mother
You’ve been following a TV show for years, eagerly awaiting the resolution of your favorite characters’ stories. The series finale airs, and it’s a masterpiece – tying up loose ends, delivering emotional payoffs, and leaving you satisfied with the conclusion of a story you’ve invested so much time in. Sound familiar? If you were a TV fan in the pre-streaming era, it probably does. But for many viewers today, this experience is becoming increasingly rare.
In the golden age of television, the series finale was a major cultural event. Shows like M*A*S*H and How I Met Your Mother captivated audiences for years, and their epic conclusions were must-see TV. However, in the modern streaming landscape, where shows are often prematurely canceled after just a few seasons, the art of crafting a satisfying TV finale seems to be slowly fading away.
I’d like to explore the importance of a well-crafted series finale and examine how the rise of streaming has impacted this aspect of television storytelling. We’ll look at some of the most iconic finales in TV history and consider what made them so effective. We’ll also discuss the challenges that modern streaming shows face in delivering satisfying conclusions and consider what the future might hold for the TV finale as an art form.
So, whether you’re a long-time TV fan or a streaming-era viewer, join us as we dive into the evolving world of television storytelling and explore the enduring power of a great series finale.
Let’s start with M*A*S*H. This finale wasn’t just a ratings juggernaut; it was a cultural event that captured the attention of an entire nation. And it’s not hard to see why. After 11 seasons of laughter and tears, the show’s creators knew they had to deliver an ending that would satisfy its devoted fans while staying true to the series’ core themes.
One of the keys to the finale’s success was how it balanced the show’s signature humor with more serious, emotional moments. Yes, there were plenty of laughs as the characters traded quips and engaged in their usual hijinks. But the episode also didn’t shy away from the harsh realities of war and its impact on the characters we’d grown to love.
Take Hawkeye’s storyline, for example. Throughout the series, he’d been the wisecracking, irreverent heart of the show. But in the finale, we see him grappling with the psychological toll of his experiences, culminating in a powerful scene where he breaks down in a mental hospital. It’s a gut-wrenching moment that adds new depth to his character and underscores the show’s anti-war message.
Or consider the scene where a runaway tank accidentally crushes a jeep, killing a soldier. It’s a stark reminder of the indiscriminate nature of war and the constant danger that the characters faced, even in their final days at the 4077th.
But perhaps the most affecting moments in the finale are the goodbyes themselves. After so many years together, the characters have become a family, and their farewells are emotionally charged. From B.J.’s heartfelt “I love you” to Hawkeye over the helicopter’s noise to the iconic final scene of Hawkeye discovering B.J.’s “GOODBYE” message spelled out in rocks, the finale is full of poignant moments that feel earned after 11 seasons of character development.
In the end, the M*A*S*H finale succeeds because it understands what made the series so beloved in the first place. It’s funny and heartfelt, irreverent and sincere, a celebration of the bonds forged in wartime and a bittersweet acknowledgment that all things must end. It’s a master class in how to say goodbye to a long-running series, and its impact is still felt decades later.
Of course, not every finale can be “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen.” But by looking at what made it work so well – its emotional depth, its commitment to character, its ability to balance humor and pathos – we can better understand what separates a truly great finale from a merely adequate one. And in an era where so many shows are cut short before they can reach a satisfying conclusion, that understanding feels more important than ever.
While M\*A\*S\*H’s finale is often held up as the gold standard, How I Met Your Mother’s conclusion is a bit more divisive. The show, which ran for 9 seasons from 2005 to 2014, had always been a complex, non-linear narrative, jumping back and forth in time as Ted Mosby recounted to his kids the long and winding story of how he met their mother.
The finale, then, had a lot of heavy lifting to do. It needed to tie up not just one storyline, but multiple character arcs spanning over a decade. And while the show’s creators, Carter Bays and Craig Thomas, certainly swung for the fences, not everyone was happy with where things landed.
The most controversial decision was undoubtedly the choice to kill off the Mother (whose name, we finally learned, was Tracy) and have Ted ultimately end up with Robin, his on-again, off-again love interest throughout the series. For many fans, this felt like a betrayal of the show’s central premise and a negation of Ted’s growth over the course of the series.
After all, the show had spent years depicting Ted’s journey from hopeless romantic to someone ready to settle down and start a family. His relationship with Tracy, while only shown in brief flashforwards, was portrayed as the fulfillment of that journey. To have her die off-screen and Ted revert back to pining for Robin felt, to some, like the undoing of his entire character arc.
However, it’s worth considering the finale’s ambitions in the context of the show’s overall structure. How I Met Your Mother was never really a show about the destination; it was about the journey. The winding, often convoluted path Ted took to find love was always the point, not the endpoint itself.
In that light, the finale’s choice to subvert expectations and explore the messy, unpredictable nature of life and love could be seen as a fitting end to a series that was always more interested in the twists and turns than the final destination. As Ted himself notes in the finale’s closing moments, “life’s funny that way.”
Moreover, while the finale’s choices may have been controversial, there’s no denying the ambition behind them. Bays and Thomas were attempting to bring closure to a sprawling, decade-long story, tying up loose ends and providing definitive (if not always satisfying) endings for beloved characters.
They didn’t play it safe, and while that may have alienated some viewers, it’s an approach that should be commended in an era where so many shows are content to leave things open-ended or unresolved.
Ultimately, the How I Met Your Mother finale is a reminder that endings are hard, especially for shows with such a devoted fan base and such a complex narrative tapestry. While it may not have stuck the landing for everyone, its willingness to take big swings and provide closure (however controversial) is admirable. In the age of the prematurely-canceled streaming show, there’s something to be said for a finale that actually attempts to tie everything together, even if the knot isn’t as neat as we might have hoped.
The rise of streaming has undoubtedly changed the television landscape in countless ways, but one of the most frustrating for viewers is the trend of shows being canceled prematurely, before they have a chance to reach a satisfying conclusion.
Netflix, in particular, has gained a reputation for this in recent years. Shows like The OA, I Am Not Okay With This, and The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance are just a few examples of series that built intricate worlds and complex mythologies, only to be abruptly axed after just a couple of seasons.
The OA, for instance, was a mind-bending sci-fi mystery that followed Prairie Johnson, a young woman who reappeared after being missing for seven years, now with her sight restored. The show unfolded over two seasons, each more weird and wonderful than the last, building to a massive cliffhanger that left fans desperate for answers. But those answers never came, as Netflix canceled the show in 2019, leaving its story forever unresolved.
Similarly, I Am Not Okay With This, based on the graphic novel by Charles Forsman, was a coming-of-age story with a supernatural twist. It followed Sydney, a teenage girl navigating high school, family drama, and burgeoning superpowers. The show’s first season was a critical darling, praised for its performances, writing, and unique tone. But just a few months after its premiere, Netflix pulled the plug, citing COVID-related production difficulties. The cancellation left fans hanging, with Sydney’s story cut short just as it was beginning to take shape.
Perhaps most heartbreaking of all was the cancellation of The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, a prequel to Jim Henson’s beloved 1982 film. The show was a technical marvel, using cutting-edge puppetry and visual effects to bring the world of Thra to life like never before. It was also a hit with critics and fans, who praised its world-building, characters, and themes. But despite all that, Netflix axed the show after just one season, leaving its epic story unfinished.
These are just a few examples, but the pattern is clear: promising shows, often with passionate fan bases, cut down in their prime by the ruthless economics of streaming. And it’s not just Netflix; other streamers like Amazon and HBO Max have done the same, canceling shows like The Patriot, I Love Dick, and Vinyl before they had a chance to fully explore their premises.
The reasons for these cancellations are varied and complex, often coming down to viewership numbers and cost-benefit analyses that viewers aren’t privy to. But the effect is the same: a sense of frustration and disappointment among fans who have invested time and emotional energy into these stories, only to see them cut short without resolution.
It’s a far cry from the days of shows like M\*A\*S\*H and How I Met Your Mother, which were given the time and space to craft proper endings, even if those endings weren’t always universally loved. In the streaming era, it seems, the art of the satisfying finale is slowly being lost, replaced by a culture of disposable content and abrupt cancellations.
Of course, not every show needs to run for a decade or more. Some stories are better suited to shorter runs, and there’s something to be said for leaving viewers wanting more. But there’s a difference between a planned, purposeful ending and an abrupt cancellation that leaves plotlines dangling and character arcs unresolved.
As streaming continues to evolve, it’s worth considering how this trend might be affecting the way stories are told and consumed. When shows can be canceled at any moment, does it change the way writers approach their craft? Does it make viewers more hesitant to invest in new series, knowing they might never get a proper conclusion? These are questions that the industry will need to grapple with as it moves forward.
In the meantime, fans of canceled shows are left to commiserate, to trade theories about where the stories might have gone, and to hold out hope for a revival or a wrap-up movie that might provide some closure. It’s not a perfect solution, but in the age of the unfinished story, it’s often the best we can hope for.
And there is a point to be made about the importance of a predetermined ending in crafting a satisfying narrative arc. When showrunners know exactly where their story is headed and how long they have to get there, they can pace their plot and character development accordingly, planting seeds and payoffs that feel organic and earned.
Two recent examples of this approach are Breaking Bad and The Good Place, both of which are widely regarded as having some of the best series finales in recent memory.
Breaking Bad, which ran for five seasons from 2008 to 2013, chronicled the transformation of mild-mannered chemistry teacher Walter White into a ruthless drug kingpin. Creator Vince Gilligan knew from the start that this was a story with a definite endpoint, and he structured the show accordingly, with each season building inexorably towards Walt’s downfall.
By the time the finale rolled around, all the pieces were in place for a stunning, inevitable conclusion. Walt’s lies and crimes caught up with him, his relationships shattered, and he faced the consequences of his actions in a brutal, cathartic final episode. It was a masterful example of long-form storytelling, with every plot thread and character arc woven together into a cohesive, satisfying whole.
Similarly, The Good Place, which ran for four seasons from 2016 to 2020, was a show with a clear vision and endpoint from the start. Creator Michael Schur pitched the show to NBC with a four-season arc in mind, and the network agreed to let him tell his story on his own terms.
The result was a philosophical comedy that explored questions of morality, destiny, and what it means to be a good person, all while constantly reinventing its premise and pushing its characters in new directions. By the time the finale aired, the show had taken us from the afterlife to the depths of the Bad Place to Earth and back again, all in service of a beautifully crafted story about growth, redemption, and the power of human connection.
In both cases, the showrunners’ ability to plan their endings in advance allowed them to craft stories that felt purposeful and complete, with every twist and turn serving a greater narrative purpose. It’s a model that stands in stark contrast to the often haphazard, open-ended storytelling of many streaming shows, where the possibility of cancellation looms over every season.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. There’s value in allowing shows to complete their stories on their own terms, even if those stories don’t necessarily require 11 seasons to tell. A well-crafted, purposeful ending can provide closure and satisfaction for viewers who have invested their time and emotional energy into a series.
Moreover, giving creators the freedom to end their stories on their own terms can lead to more diverse and daring storytelling. When showrunners don’t have to worry about stretching their premises out indefinitely or keeping things open-ended for potential future seasons, they can take bigger risks and explore more complex themes and ideas.
Of course, crafting the perfect ending is no easy feat, and not every finale will be universally loved. The How I Met Your Mother finale, for example, remains divisive to this day. But even in cases where the ending doesn’t quite stick the landing, there’s still value in the attempt, in the idea that a story can and should have a definite conclusion.
As we move further into the streaming age, it’s important that we don’t lose sight of this idea. While the economics of streaming may incentivize open-ended, perpetually renewable storytelling, there’s still a place for the well-crafted, purposeful ending. Whether it’s a five-season arc like Breaking Bad or a four-season journey like The Good Place, a satisfying conclusion can elevate a good show to a great one and provide a sense of closure and meaning that resonates long after the final credits roll.
Ultimately, the art of the series finale is about more than just tying up loose ends or providing a neat resolution. It’s about the idea that stories matter, that the time and emotional energy we invest in them is worthwhile, and that a well-crafted goodbye can be just as powerful and meaningful as the journey that led us there. As the television landscape continues to evolve, preserving and celebrating that art feels more important than ever.