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This article contains spoilers for the finale of Netflix’s “You.”
He has been Joe Goldberg, the well-read manager of a New York City bookstore. He’s been Will Bettelheim, a worker at a trendy Los Angeles health food market. He’s been Jonathan Moore, a literature professor at a London university. And he’s been Joe Goldberg — again — but as a married man, a father and a budding philanthropist. No matter the name, he was the seemingly perfect significant other whose charming and considerate exterior hid a delusional, disturbed and dangerous sociopath who goes to extreme lengths — like killing nearly two dozen people — to insert himself into the lives of the women who became his obsession.
Now, Penn Badgley has shed all of those identities. His journey on the Lifetime-turned-Netflix series “You” reached its conclusion Thursday with the release of the drama’s fifth and final season. Joe has been found guilty of the murders of Guinevere Beck (Elizabeth Lail) and Love Quinn (Victoria Pedretti). And in the last minutes of the final episode, we see Joe with a buzz cut and in a red jumpsuit, sitting in a prison cell, skimming a copy of Norman Mailer’s 1979 novel “The Executioner’s Song.” The last words of the series, fittingly, come in the form of Joe’s inner monologue. And they take aim at the viewer.
“Can you say them?” says Badgley, asking for a gentle reminder when we meet a few days before the episodes are released.
Still sporting the buzz cut, he is sitting in a holding room at Netflix’s offices on Vine Street, and as he’s about to reflect on his character’s parting thoughts, the piercing tone of an emergency alert notification begins blaring through his phone‘s speakers. “Earthquake detected,” he says, reading the message before showing his screen. “Drop, cover, hold on. Protect yourself.” It’s that sort of startling distraction, just as the tension has intensified, that’s helped Joe escape detection. Badgely, though, isn’t looking for an out.
With no imminent danger within our radius, he returns to Joe’s final words. (Narrating for the show’s unreliable narrator is a daunting assignment, by the way.)
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“So in the end, my punishment is even worse than I imagined. The loneliness, oh my God, the loneliness. No hope of being held, knowing this is forever. It’s unfair putting all this on me. Aren’t we all just products of our environment? Hurt people, hurt people. I never stood a chance.” [An officer appears and slides a letter from an admirer through the bars of his cell. And Joe continues:] “Why am I in a cage when all these crazies write me all the depraved things they want me to do to them? Maybe we have a problem as a society. Maybe the problem isn’t me. Maybe it’s you.”
Here are edited excerpts from the conversation.
What are your thoughts on those final words? What he says is something you’ve talked a lot about over the run of the show.
Michael [Foley] and Justin [Lo, who took over as showrunners for the final season] had an incredibly difficult task for themselves to end this thing that is like, is it end-able? Is it really? I think it’s a satisfying ending. I think it’s the right ending. Thematically, that was where it had to go: him alone and alive. What I suppose you can’t see, what there isn’t time for, is to show him contending in real time with it. But I think he also shows us that he’s avoiding it. He’s like, “Well, it’s not me.”
We gave as much justice as the whole concept could take without breaking it. The show ends in a place where it’s like, what do you do with this? What do we do with with male violence? It’s a really serious question. It’s not at all simple to even approach an answer, if we’re really trying to consider the humanity of everybody and true justice. I think it ends in a place that we veer toward responsibility rather than away from it.
Elizabeth Lail and Penn Badgley in the first season of “You” on Netflix. (Netflix)
Madeline Brewer as Bronte and Penn Badgley as Joe in the final season of “You.”
Right. That’s what got me thinking, is he getting what he deserves, given what he says? Would death have been justice?
Honestly, what would [be justice]? There’s prison, there’s death, there’s torture and death or torture then prison; there’s not getting caught at all. There aren’t that many things that could happen. You go through the list. If he was to be murdered, well, that brings up a lot of questions — namely, is that fair to the person who has to kill him? That’s marring them, that’s leaving them, even if it’s totally justified, with an enormous burden to saddle on a woman’s shoulders, because it would presumably have been a woman [killing him]. That’s not right. There’s prison; we did that. The thing that makes it [work] — people think of the box as his weapon. That’s the thing he’s associated with. But if you think about it, he’s a romantic, seductive figure. And actually, where he does his most damage is really more in the bedroom, the proverbial bedroom. And that’s where he’s actually removed from the world.
It’s not torture, it’s not vengeance. She [Bronte, Joe’s new quasi-love interest played by Madeline Brewer] didn’t even technically mean to do it. That is the thing that makes it satisfying. I don’t even know if it’s satisfying ideologically. In the most practical sense, it’s satisfying. He’s not murdered and saved from misery. Somebody doesn’t have to do something to him that makes him think that he has a moral high ground above them. He’s just put in prison and that part of him is taken away so he literally can never do it again. There can never be a sixth or seventh or however many seasons.
Had you given much thought to what your protagonist deserved?
For years. The real ending is everything leading up to that. It’s the latter half of this last season and, in particular, the last episode. The box is the obvious thing. And, sure, how visually iconic and possibly satisfying would it be to have him killed in the box? He got stopped nearly naked and, for the first time in our eyes, he was becoming a sexual predator. That was what he was from the beginning and, whether right or wrong, what the show chose to do was withhold the viewer from being able to see that, make the visual connection. And if it was responsible, it was because it was making sure you do the work to realize: What do you need to see? Do you need to see a rape? Is that what you need to see in order to realize this man in a sexual predator? I don’t think we should need to see that. It was the one time in my life where I was adamant about being like, “No, I need to be in the least clothing possible.” The audience needs to feel that he is dangerously close to crossing a line, for us to see that moment. And to catch him there, for her to catch him there. For us to see it, to witness his deconstruction in that way — that’s what the ending is, not so much about the prison.
I think people will like it. But there’s gonna be so many people who are going to be like [rolls eyes and moans with disapproval]. OK, fair, fair. You might even have a point. But do you understand how much work a writers’ room has to [do] ... you have to try and turn over every stone. What they did, I think, is remarkable.
What was it like shooting that sequence in the woods? It was difficult to watch for all the reasons you say. Joe turned into an animal.
To be honest, I loved it. First of all, hats off to all of our producers. They made sure that we had saved time and money by the time we got to the last episode so we could shoot that thing like a little movie. We had time to make it right. By the time we got there, I’d invested enough that I didn’t have to do a lot more work that I was really consciously aware of. I had some of the most fun I’ve had throughout the entire series. I spent a lot of time in my underwear and nothing else. At the beginning of every take, for a period of about two weeks or so, I had to be covered in some degree of blood, sweat, exhaustion. I was doing a lot of burpees, so it was just physically super demanding. But I got into a place where it was two weeks of this incredible endurance exercise. It was a beautiful way to end the show. We could take care. I should give Madeline [Brewer, who plays Bronte, Joe’s latest conquest], her flowers. She was an incredible creative partner to do that with. There was nothing that felt difficult for the wrong reasons. I spent a week and a half in my underwear in the woods at night — I didn’t get one bug bite!
After five seasons, Penn Badgley says goodbye to the narcissistic sociopath character he portrayed in “You.” (Matt Seidel / For The Times)
You’re lying.
I’m not. I wouldn’t say that. That would be crazy! I’m not even exaggerating. Not one.
How much distance have you had from Joe at this point?
We wrapped in August.
Did you still have the voiceover stuff after that?
Yes, I had enough that my job was not over. In fact, probably two months later or something, I had to go in. On the last day, I didn’t know it was my last day. And by the way, it’s almost always been remote, except for the first season. So, I’m alone. It’s just two post-producers in my ear and the engineer. It’s emblematic of what the experience is for me. It’s like, “I’m here alone.” Of course, there’s so many people supporting but, somehow, Joe is like a man alone in a box. We were doing something kind of unremarkable for voiceover that [last] day. Because of what it was, I said, “Is this it?” That was the highly anticlimactic ending for me.
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So, it wasn’t the narration with Joe’s parting thoughts?
No. The final words you hear were the first take that I did months prior to it. My delivery, I think, was not emphatic as some might imagine it would be. The last word is “you.” So, I could really draw that out, and I was just like, “I’m literally not going to give you another one, because if I do, you will use it. I’m sorry, it’s very important to me. Fire me.” That was the one hill maybe I chose to die on.
The last thing [I filmed] was in prison. Actually, that was the same day I shot that “demure” TikTok. The funny thing is, Netflix is asking me to do something for it. I threw that together so fast because the first thing I had to do [for the show] was go in and shave my head. They were like, “Oh, you can do it after rehearsals.” I was like, “I can’t, guys. That’s a huge spoiler.”
That night [after wrapping] I drove all the way out to to Long Island [to spend two weeks at the beach with family]. I think I sat in a long silence. It was certainly surreal. It was a better part of my 30s — in a few months, I’ll be 39; it defines an era for me.
You started this journey with Sera Gamble. She stepped down from showrunning duties for the final season but remained a producer. Were you checking in with her?
Only in the beginning. She trusted Michael and Justin, and I trusted them. There wasn’t even a symbolic hand-holding. It was no longer her duty. Everybody was doing what they needed to do. I think we probably texted right towards the end. She probably had the closest experience to what I experienced but never in the same time and place.
There’s a three-year time jump at the start of the season. Joe returns to New York with Kate [Charlotte Ritchie], he gets his son back, and he’s been living a somewhat normal life, making a pact with Kate to abstain from his sociopathic tendencies.
I liked that there was a version of them trying to do this together. In the version where everything takes twice as long, that would have been cool to explore more. But we got two to three episodes where you do get to see [it]. Some of my most satisfying scene work is with her; he [Joe] was probably the closest to recognizing himself with her [Kate]. Her character bring these qualities that almost threaten to disrupt the entire charade. But then, of course, I suppose she’s also like him, all that stuff, blah, blah, blah. If I had, like a fantasy, like, [I’d like to] explore this more, it would be maybe that. Just a bit.
The show was in the works for a while, but it arrived at the height of the #MeToo movement.
Technically, right before. When we were shooting, all the [Harvey] Weinstein allegations were coming out — then, they were allegations.
It felt, at least then, like there was a reckoning and a shift in trying to holding men accountable.
And we did it! [he says sarcastically] Didn’t we?
Exactly. There’s been reflection on where we stand today, the cultural progression or regression. So, “You” is leaving at an interesting time. How do you make sense of that?
Let me preface any answer by saying, I suppose I’m trying to make sense of it like anybody. But to me, there’s forces of disintegration and integration at all times. I think, culturally, we have this knee-jerk habit where everything is either-or. It’s such a binary. We’ve been needing to transcend that for a very long time. We’re actually getting there because so many people are recognizing that and wanting a different paradigm that includes a lot more complexity and, therefore, truth. When it comes to this show, I’m really glad we’re ending and not starting now. It’s a very different moment. It seems [that] probably people are more disillusioned now than they were at the outset. At least when it comes to gender inequality, in particular, women’s rights. I suppose that must mean we, as countless others, were on to something. The exercise of Joe as a protagonist wouldn’t have resonated if all of these really difficult truths weren’t difficult and true. Nobody thought this show would solve it and, guess what? It hasn’t.
I guess that speaks to the point of his final words.
Yes, which is true. What I love is that he breaks the fourth wall and it’s like, “I’m not real. OK? I’m not real. So, it’s you. It actually can’t be me because I don’t exist.” I love that. I think the show leaves one feeling strangely good. I think? I could be wrong.
Tell me why.
I don’t know that I have good reasons, but I know that when I watch it, the last 20 minutes feel good to me. Here’s the main reason: because, by the end, we’ve deconstructed him and made him less interesting. It’s like, do you want more of this man? Do you really want more? I’m sure there’s a way we can cook something up, but do you really? And so it passes the narrative voice to her [Bronte]. What a great device too. Again, it’s not about the box. It’s about the voice and the bedroom. Those are the tools he uses more than anything else. He seduces. And those are the things we gave to somebody else. Well, one of them we took away and the other one we gave to her. Also, by his last scene with her, where she got him at gunpoint, I found the muscles in my neck, which is where all of the rage has always come out, were giving out in ways I’ve never experienced in my life. I couldn’t speak or do anything other than force up my lines using my diaphragm alone. It was exceedingly difficult to say anything audibly above the rain. In those last moments, he’s uninteresting. He’s like a lizard. He has nothing to offer. I could only “say my lines like this” [he speaks in forced breaths]. I was tired. At that point, I was just like, ‘I can’t do this man anymore.” She has everything to say and all the dimension and complexity. She has all the bars to drop. Let’s just usher this man away, please.
Were there moments where you saw something in Joe, or comments that he made, and thought, “I’ve been that guy before” or “I’ve done something like that...” How was he a mirror for you?
Absolutely. That was my job as an actor, just to simply permit myself to make the connections and to understand how I am like him. Of course, I have similarities. Because someone like Joe is made — I suppose there’s aspects to predisposition, genetics, all this stuff — but really, a person like that is made, which is made more complex by the fact that they make choices. What I’ve always been doing with him is understanding how my own experiences of anything that I could perceive as traumatic [and] ultimately grappling with my own sadness. We all have losses and grief that is unacknowledged and unexpressed. I think just understanding where is the violence and rage in me? That’s a more intellectual way of saying what I think I was doing intuitively all along. And that was why at the end, I couldn’t do it anymore because I was like, this is just exhausting. Because I’m not thinking about it, I’m doing it. And, so, all the time I was connecting. He was me. I’m not him, but he’s me, in a way. I don’t know if that makes sense.
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