WARNING: This review contains SPOILERS for Andor Season 2, episodes 10-12.
From the moment Andor Season 2 began, we knew the events leading up to the start of Rogue One were going to be intense, enlightening, and deep. I could not have predicted that the show's final three episodes would wrap the series up so neatly -- and transition so seamlessly into the 2016 film -- that I'd want to start the entire show over again immediately after finishing it.
Throughout the series -- particularly this season -- a lot of fans have claimed the show is perfect, or the best Star Wars we've ever gotten. I might agree more if the condensed release schedule hadn't strained my viewing experience, but that's a rant for another post. I suppose it might seem perfect if you believe a human-made streaming show can ever be such a thing. I must admit, however, that the final episode came fairly close to being the best ending to a Star Wars project we've had so far.
From Bix's step toward healing from trauma to Kleya's revelations about the price of seeking freedom amidst oppression, this series finale does not waste a moment. Cassian stands up for Luthen and his cause even when it puts him out of favor with his superiors. Mon and Vel struggle to mourn their losses while simultaneously planning for the future. Saw's desperation bleeds into the rebellion's ongoing efforts. We're left both satisfied with all the tied-up loose ends and anxious for the many connections made to Rogue One. Somehow, we feel as though we've completed only a chapter in a much larger story. Which is exactly how the end of a Star Wars story should feel.
I often say that Star Wars is at its best when it travels back in time to fill in untold parts of previous stories, and the ending of Andor is the ideal example of this. It was too late to dive right into Rogue One last night, but we're meant to do exactly that. This show has done exactly what it promised to do: It told captivating, meaningful stories while also going to great lengths to enrich the following story (Rogue One) and its characters. So often, Star Wars shows accomplish one or the other, but rarely both, at least not elegantly. Almost never both. Hopefully, this exception to the rule can, handled with care, pave the way for future stories that seek to accomplish something similar.
Upon reaching the end of this final episode, one thing has been confirmed for me for certain: I don't ever want another show exactly like Andor. I cannot handle it. I laughed, I cried, I contemplated the terrors of my own galaxy. I acknowledged individual and collective trauma, I realized that a good Star Wars show will only ever be universally acknowledged if it's live-action and men wrote it. But I also finished it feeling drained and overwhelmed. In a good way. A show is meant to force us to feel, think, and explore. Andor did all this, but at an intensity not previously attempted in this franchise. Do it once and you've created something memorable. Do it again, just like the first time, and you've diluted the magic.
From the music to the performances to the sets and more, this final trio of episodes proved that genuinely good television made in the streaming age is both possible and beneficial. I neither want a replica of this show in the future nor do I believe we'll ever get one. And that's okay. It's now time for all of us to dive deeper, to really explore what it is about this show that has moved and shaped so many of us and our recent conversations about politics and mental health and storytelling. It's not just good writing, or stellar acting, or any surface-level critiques often given to shows like this. It's more than that. Andor pushed boundaries, whether everyone liked it or not. What future creatives take away from its success will shape the future of Star Wars storytelling for years to come.