“Entourage” Strikes Out With Horrific Series Finale, Ruins Characters

There are finales that disappoint. There are finales that bring unrealistically clean closure to messy storylines. And then there is the disaster that was the “Entourage” series finale.

No one should have been expecting a masterpiece. After all, the show has been mediocre, at best, for the past four seasons, and the eighth and final season, in particular, had given the impression that none of the cast and crew still cared. But, at the end of the day, the appeal of the characters and interest in seeing how it all came together was enough to keep the core audience intrigued. It was enough to make the audience care.

How did the HBO series repay them for eight seasons of loyalty? By effectively making everything that happened ahead of Sunday’s finale meaningless.

Obviously, arcs like one of the characters having a baby, one of the characters getting married and one of the characters quitting the business are always within the realm of reason for season or series finales. They’re the “go-to” closure moments for most shows. They’re sensible, safe wrap-ups for veteran series.

Unfortunately, “Entourage” made its money on a tone entirely inconsistent with that of the finale. And for a show that once dedicated an entire episode to a contest to see who could get laid first, a show that glorified demeaning one’s subordinates at the office and a show that introduced a new generation of fans to the non-“Full House” Bob Saget, closing with such sappy cliches was nothing short of insulting.

From the cheesy musical score, to the insane logical leaps, to the behavior inconsistent with the characters “Entourage” fans had grown to love–or at least tolerate–it was if the “Entourage” crew deliberately wanted to bury the franchise with the finale. Yes, it theoretically leaves the door open for a movie follow-up, but the characters and storylines in that movie, based on what was shown in the finale, will be nothing like those of the first few (excellent) “Entourage” seasons.

The E-Sloan relationship had long run its course, mainly because viewers never really bought them together (they didn’t “click” the way storybook television romances do) and yet never really bought their breakups (the breakups rarely made any real sense and always, and obviously, left the door open for reconciliation). So what value was there in having E pursue the unlikable, fickle Sloan in the finale?

“Entourage” can claim it raised the stakes with the pregnancy storyline, but that hot-shot, out-of-nowhere, overly-cliched story development didn’t really have any impact on the actual relationship between the two characters. Sloan’s disinterest in welcoming E into the baby’s life might have, technically, created an “obstacle,” but her attitude never seemed rooted in anything more than stubbornness. Oh, and maybe that “suddenly she cares 100% about what her father thinks” thing that is totally inconsistent with her character but occasionally brought up whenever they need an artificial obstacle.

While it was cute to hear Drama and Turtle refer to the child as “our baby,” their two-episode stint as “romance fixers” came across as ridiculously-lame and ridiculously-counter to everything we’ve learned about these characters. Suddenly, Drama and Turtle are these sappy chick-flick characters who only care about preserving the good name of romance?

And what was the payoff? E and Sloan agree to make it work–at an airport? Didn’t a previous “Entourage” season finale close almost exactly the same way? How did that work out? What did E overcome to show that, this time, his relationship with Sloan was for the long haul?

How can one exhaustively dissect the mess that was Ari’s almost-divorce with wife Melissa? Her motivations for suddenly hating Ari didn’t make a drop of sense all season (and just made her come off like a bitch), and yet Ari’s “sudden” realization that he wasn’t always the best father was equally ridiculous. The Ari character had ALWAYS been about portraying the struggle between hunger for career success and undying devotion to family. His level of absence had been clear, but unlike some “career-first” dads, he would always make the effort to come through for his kids. He would always be willing to engage in tearful begging on the steps of an obnoxious man to get his kid into a private school. That “fight” applied to his entire family–his wife, his kids, even Lloyd.

Epilogue or no epilogue, to then have him quit the job he’d spent his entire life trying to create, completely on a whim, felt like a slap in the face to viewers. Ari had dealt with this struggle since day one–the divorce and the “epiphany” from his daughter’s CD might have clued him into the perspective that he needed to try harder, but there’s no way the Ari Gold character possibly would have thought “wow, I’ve cared 100% about my job and 0% about my kids, so now I’m going to do the complete reverse.” That kind of writing simply isn’t honest–at the end of the day, Ari would never let his family fall apart, but he also has too much of a connection to his job to just walk away (and he’s been aware of the need for balance for a while). He actually cared about what he did. He CARED about making someone like Vince a star. He CARED about coworkers like Lloyd.

Just as Ari’s success as the head of a major agency would mean nothing without his family, his happiness with his family would be greatly tainted if he didn’t get to do what he does on a daily basis.

And something has to be said about Perrey Reeves’ hideous acting. That constipated face she made when supposedly driven to romantic tears by Ari’s ‘serenade’? Wow.

Vince getting married after the first date? Really?

In and of itself, the idea of ending Vince’s arc on a romantic note was nothing short of absurd. Fans have long been conflicted on where they wanted the Vince character to go, but there were at least some prevailing ideas that made sense. Vince winning an Oscar? That would make sense. Vince getting married? No chance.

But if that was, indeed, the direction they wanted to go with the Vince character, why not “sell” that to the viewers? Why not make it real? We kept hearing about how Sophia, Alice Eve’s character, was Vince’s dream girl, but we never actually saw any of it. Yes, she’s stunning, confident and didn’t lose her composure when Vince batted his eyes, but he spent the last two episodes swearing that there was something deeper. Where was that? The Vince-Mandy Moore connection seemed far more believable and deep, and that ultimately turned out to be the wrong path for Vince.

And, no, this was not a “commentary” on how celebrities get married on a whim. The writers put forth too much effort in establishing Vince’s true love for Sophia. Viewers might be expected to predict it fails, but they’re not expected to see this as a Vegas wedding with a paper ring. The writers wanted viewers to believe that Vince truly fell in love with Sophia.

Despite building the entire series to Vince’s wedding plans, effectively rendering arcs like “Aquaman” and “Medellin” meaningless, “Entourage” still did not find it important enough to actually show that love develop. No bones about it, that is bad storytelling.

The other flaws were rampant. “Entourage” spent eight seasons establishing Turtle and Drama as more than mere sidekicks. Any guesses what they were in the finale? The show spent two seasons trying to convince viewers that Scotty was “one of the gang.” Yet when the time comes for Vince’s “family” to attend his wedding, his distance from the group is acknowledged.

Lloyd, whose rise to becoming an agent was a big part of the show, became a bit player in the final season. While inaccurate (we know, for a fact, that he at least has Drama as a client), Ari’s off-hand remark that the opera singers would represent his first clients made for the only substantive update viewers received on the character all season.

On an overall level, the finale (and, frankly, final season) also far too greatly discounted the importance of Hollywood on the gang. Obviously, the idea that their friends and family mean more than their careers is perfectly acceptable, but clinging too greatly to that line caused the writers to miss out on another truth of the show–the business, itself, meant something. Vince wasn’t just doing it for money; he really liked the art of moviemaking. Ari really liked the role he played in creating careers. Throwing all that away in the final season felt like a robbery–why couldn’t Vince find personal life happiness *AND* land an award-winning movie role?

People wonder how a show that was so excellent for three seasons could suddenly sink into mediocrity. The finale, if it did anything, provided an answer–the writers simply didn’t understand the show they created.