Breaking Bad

“I don’t watch television, but I hear Breaking Bad is very good.”  So goes a line from Toast of London (sixth most popular post on this blog, incidentally) that has stuck with me even more than shouting out “Ray bloody Purchase” whenever I feel like it.  For me, though, only half of it has ever been true.  I do watch TV.  In fact, I’ve watched enough to churn out 200 posts about 200 different programmes over the last few years.  But I have spent my recent life hearing that Breaking Bad is very good.  People have asked me over and over again if I have watched it and, until now, I’ve had to say no.  So, I thought, with the 200^th post spectacular coming up, what better boxset to go out on?  I sat through all five seasons on Netflix.  I had heard Breaking Bad is very good, but I didn’t like it all.

While I brace myself for onslaught of abuse this revelation will earn me, let’s go back to the beginning so I can justify myself in the order my thoughts occurred to me.  Years back, when Breaking Bad was all the rage, I pursued my characteristic route of ignoring whatever everyone else was focusing on.  Like The Sopranos and The Wire, I was determined to reach this big American boxset in my own time.  What’s more, its premise never really appealed.  I’ve talked previously about my lack of interest in drug dealing as a concept, though I have made numerous exceptions by covering shows about the business here, from Narcos to Top Boy.  But this was drug dealing, chemistry and cancer, polar opposites to my preferred themes of the apocalypse, zombies and high schools.

Bravely, though, a few months back I clicked play on episode one, series one, ignoring all the other things in my Netflix menu I would rather have been getting on with (including hipster haircut festival, The Last Kingdom).  In those early days, I was fully under the impression that I had, following many recommendations, finally uncovered the perfection others rave about.  The set-up, while unappealing on paper, was masterful in establishing tension and storylines.  For a while, I wondered if anyone would ever better it.  The grittiness, while still slightly Hollywood-esque in the Arizona sunshine, showed an unglamorous flipside to American life.  Here, Walter White struggles to make ends meet as an undervalued high school chemistry teacher (and part-time car wash attendant) while his heavily pregnant wife supplements their income with online auction sales of tat and their disabled son comes of age.  He’s about to find out it’s not so easy being diagnosed with terminal cancer.  Using his chemistry skills, he comes up with the idea of cooking crystal meth with a perfect recipe, making sure he’ll leave his family well provided for.  There’s a slight setback in that his brother-in-law is a DEA agent, but he’s not too sharp so we’ll save for that for a later series.

The drama is at its best when White, propelled by his expiring mortality, steps out of his family-man responsibilities into a world of dangerous risk-taking.  He takes on hardened criminals while driving a sensible car and calling home to apologise for being late for his tea.  He’s unhinged, unbridled and out of control, yet it’s all coming from a place of love – he just can’t tell his wife why he’s being suspicious.  The geek in me also enjoyed the science, while the marketeer appreciated the top-notch product he launches.  But, we must acknowledge Jesse Pinkman as the crucial key that connects his criminal and domestic lives.  This former student and current loser becomes White’s business partner.  Where White brings scientific knowledge and exceptional problem-solving, Pinkman brings chaos and incompetence.  His endless messing up irritated me more and more with each episode.  Occasionally, a spectacular twist would mean that their fractious relationship would be laid bare, with one needing the other before a reversal at a future fracas, but their main mode of operation was just white men shouting at each other.  It got tired.  Plus, Aaron Paul is a beloved voice from Bojack Horseman, so all I could ever hear during his whining was lovely asexual Todd.

Each season, our novice cook-dealers take on a different baddie to control the Phoenix meth trade.  Huge personal sacrifices oddly never fail to dissuade White from cooking again.  Their running of their business lurches from problem to problem, yet I just wanted to know more about Skylar or Walter Junior.  And if they weren’t around, I would find myself preoccupied by the inhabitants of the various crack dens where White would go looking for Pinkman.  The human cost of their drug baking only ever looms as a backdrop for their own dramas, with addicts given as much backstory as the walkers in The Walking Dead.  I can accept the customers are never the focus of Breaking Bad, but I can wonder if their development would have lent greater richness.  Pinkman’s addictions come and go and never really feel true.

Back to the brother-in-law.  Schrader begins as an uncouth bigot, beloved by his nephew, but a bit of a gaffman.  His out-of-dateness eventually elicits sympathy, even while he misses staggering clues about the origins of White’s prosperity.  I found myself rooting for him as he started to put two and two together.  But don’t worry about that cat-and-mouse situation concluding too quicky, as constant car crashes serve to derail things whenever convenient.  Thus, we go round in circles.  Everyone falls out, makes up, ends up in hospital, the cancers seems occasional, White’s reasons to cook become reasons never to do it again.  Everyone is unhappy, everyone is shouting, shocking violence interrupts arguments just before they burn out.  By this point, Breaking Bad had become a background show for me.  I didn’t care.  Episodes would play on while I cooked (lasagne rather than meth) or baked or cleaned.  I missed a key death while vacuuming.  Some instalments even have the highest IMDB ratings out there for single TV episodes, but I just wanted it all to be over.  I’m not really sure how it all ends, but I’m not arsed either.

And so, it’s with slight regret that Just One More Episode bows out after 200 posts on something that didn’t quite cut the mustard for me.  I’ll admit I might have felt biased given the hype it could never have lived up to, but it began well and I paid real attention.  However it was liberating to realise I hated it and it’s been enjoyable to dismiss it here.  Let’s get things in perspective: nobody cares what I think and I’m not looking to persuade fans.  A few friends I’ve mentioned my conclusion to have agreed they found the show overrated or admitted to failing to finish it.  Breaking Bad has had huge cultural influence and blazed the trail for the boxset to take centre stage in our hearts, with quality TV supplanting sloppy blockbusters.  I can appreciate it for what it is, but I’m glad it’s over.  You might feel the same way about this blog.  My evenings can now be spent indulging in newly discovered masterpieces like Babylon Berlin (watch this immediately) or looking forward to the return of trash like Elite and Love Island, but take comfort in the fact I won’t be banging on here anymore about my unasked-for opinions about them.