I feel like the words ”Poor Will” have almost become a mandatory part of my Good Wife posts lately, but if ever they were justified, it was this week. Poor, poor, Will.
No sooner has he dodged the Grand Jury bullet, than Smugsy Malone shops him to the Bar Association, just like she said she would, and he’s back in the suds. Poor, poor, poor, Will. “It never ends, does it?” It really doesn’t.
But this is the grown-up, Alicia-improved Will, who owns his mistake and takes his lumps. He goes out in style, though, managing to “hit one last home run on (his) last at bat” – per the marvellous Diane – as does the show, with an ingeniously clever and moving story bringing back Chumhum, Rita Wilson’s Viola Walsh and the running themes of online privacy and tech company responsibility, and weaving them in to the uprising in Syria, with one happy ending, two desperately unhappy ones, and cute nods to both Occupy Wall Street and the “Gay Girl in Damascus” furore from last year, just for good meansure.
I can’t think of any other show that could squeeze in all the complicated politics, corporate ethics, new media issues and just general sadness, and yet do it so well. This was particularly affecting stuff: when I went to bed not long after watching, I actually dreamt an entire episode about what Will did next. (In case you’re wondering, my dream was pretty good. But not as good as this.)
Mercifully, though, Eli’s sub-plot didn’t feature in my sleeptime script-writing, because I hated it. Mosquito Stacie is bad enough, but teamed up with the repellent Vanessa… Dear God. There is nothing – nothing – about that l like and I want it to end. The show can manage without either of these two harridans. Whether the firm can manage without Will is another question, entirely.