Welcome back to The Deep End. Today we aren't
just looking at a TV episode. We're really standing
in the wreckage of a catastrophe here. Oh, absolutely.
We're looking at a city covered in debris, a
family completely torn apart, and a man who is
desperately trying to rationalize the irrational.
Right. We're taking a deep dive into the season
three premiere of Breaking Bad, the episode titled
No Moss. It is... It's a massive turning point.
If you look at the whole trajectory of television
history, this specific hour serves as a major
pivot. It basically stops being just this gritty
crime thriller about a guy making meth and...
It becomes a profound psychological study, a
study on guilt, on trauma, and really the visual
language of silence. And just to set the table
for everyone listening, our sources for this
deep dive are centered heavily on the extensive
Wikipedia entry for the episode. But we're also
pulling from some production notes, critical
reception data, awards history, and a really
deep analysis of the plot mechanics. We want
to understand what exactly makes this specific
hour of television tick. The mission here is
really specific for you guys listening. We want
to explore how no moss functions as a well kind
of a reset button reset button Yeah, right because
think about where we left off in season 2 it
ended with this high octane fiery crash two planes
colliding in midair Exactly. It was loud. It
was chaotic destructive, but no moss transitions
us into something else entirely It's a slow burning
psychological study. I like to think of it as
the hangover after the adrenaline spike That
is a perfect way to put it the hangover It really
is a massive shift in gears. Just to set the
scene for where our characters are starting out,
Albuquerque is completely traumatized. Yeah.
A midair collision has rained literal debris
over the city. Skylar has left Walt. Jesse is
in rehab. It's incredibly grim. It feels like
the morning after the end of the world. It really
does. The whole color palette has changed. The
energy has completely shifted. And the first
thing we see isn't Walt and it isn't Jesse. Something
entirely new. So let's unpack this, because I
want to start right where the episode starts,
which is that cold open. We are introduced to
two very scary men in very nice suits. The cousins,
Leonel and Marco Salamanca. Right. And the source
material describes this opening scene as a pilgrimage.
But let's paint the picture for you, if you haven't
seen it recently. We aren't in the familiar suburbs
of New Mexico anymore. We are in Mexico. Down
in the dust? Yes, it is dusty, it is drenched
in that yellow filter, and it looks incredibly
hot. And these two men are just, they're crawling
on their bellies. It's such a striking visual.
You have these immaculately tailored, shiny,
sharkskin suits, perfectly juxtaposed against
the dirt and the filth of this rural Mexican
road. Yeah, and they're crawling. They aren't
running, they aren't even walking, they are dragging
themselves through the dust. And the villagers
are just watching them. There's this heavy sense
of reverence but also fear. The source notes
that this scene is almost entirely silent. There's
no dialogue at all, just the sound of the wind
and the scraping of their expensive suits on
the rough ground. This is where we really have
to talk about the cinematography. Michael Slovis
was actually nominated for an Emmy for this episode.
Wow, really? Yeah. And this opening sequence
is the anchor for that nomination because it
establishes a tone of impending doom without
a single word being spoken. Just visual storytelling.
Exactly. It's visual poetry, but it's the poetry
of pure violence. And they're crawling towards
a shrine. A shrine to Santa Muerte. St. Death.
Right. And this is a crucial piece of cultural
context from our sources. Santa Muerte is a folk
saint. She's not recognized by the Catholic Church,
obviously. She is often associated with healing
and protection by some. But in the context of
the cartel culture we see in the show, she is
the patron saint of the drug trade and of violent
death. So by having the cousins pay homage here,
what is the show telling us about them? It's
signaling that their mission isn't just a job.
It's not just a standard contract killing for
money. It is deeply spiritual. A ritual. Yes,
a ritual. Think about it. If a hitman is doing
it for cash, you can maybe pay them double to
stop. Right. You can outbid them. Exactly. You
can reason with greed. But if they are doing
it for a deity, if they're dragging themselves
through the dirt for Santa Muerte, you cannot
reason with that. They are elemental forces.
That makes them so much more terrifying than
just regular thugs. Mm. And when they finally
reach the shrine after this grueling crawl, they
leave an offering. Yeah, they do. And it's not
flowers or a candle or anything traditional.
It's a drawing. A drawing of Heisenberg. That
crude little pencil sketch of Walter White in
the pork pie hat and the sunglasses. It honestly
gave me chills rewatching it. You have this ancient,
dusty, mystical setting. And then suddenly, bam,
there's this direct link to Walter White's suburban
life. Yeah. It bridges the gap between the folklore
of Mexico and the crime drama of Albuquerque
so perfectly. It connects the consequences. Walt
thinks he's just a guy who cooks a meth to pay
for his cancer treatments. He doesn't realize
he has become a mythic figure pinned on a shrine
in Mexico. He has no idea. He has invoked forces
he fundamentally doesn't understand. And speaking
of forces he doesn't understand, we have to talk
about how these guys get across the border. Because
if the shrine scene was the spiritual side of
the cousins, the border crossing is the practical,
brutally efficient side. It's a really stark
display of their methodology. They need to get
into the U .S., and obviously they don't have
visas, so they hide in a truck. Specifically,
a hay truck transporting migrants. Right. Which,
at first glance, seems like a pretty standard
smuggling operation. They're just sitting in
the back, surrounded by A -bails and other people
who are just trying to find a better life. But
then the tension just skyrockets because one
of the fellow migrants notices something. He
spots the boots. And then the tattoos. Right.
The cousins have very specific skull tattoos
indicating their affiliation with the Hua's cartel.
And the moment that recognition happens, you
can feel the energy in that truck shift instantly.
It's a death sentence. In that specific world,
recognizing a cartel member isn't some friendly
small world moment. It's a total liability. The
migrant recognizes them, and the cousins instantly
know they've been made. The source material details
the resolution of that conflict, and it is, well,
comprehensive is one word for it. It is a total
massacre. They don't just kill the guy who recognized
them. They kill all the passengers. They kill
the driver. Everyone. And then they blow up the
truck. They erase the evidence completely. And
this scene serves a very specific narrative purpose.
We've spent two whole seasons watching Walt deal
with the bad guys. Right, like Tuco. Yeah, Tuco,
who is erratic and crazy, and crazy eight, who
was inexperienced. Even the local street dealers
are kind of sloppy. But the cousins, they are
silent permanators. They are so efficient. They're
brutal. They represent a level of professionalism
that Walt is completely unprepared for. Exactly.
Walt is clumsy. He's hesitant. Walt spends entire
episodes debating whether or not to kill someone
in a basement. The Cousins wipe out a truckload
of people without a change in their heart rate.
Yeah, it establishes them as an unstoppable force
of nature. It's the classic shark in the water
technique. While our protagonist is dealing with
his personal drama on the beach, the audience
gets to see the fin cutting through the water.
And it is swimming fast. You're very fast. So
let's pivot to the man on the beach. Or rather,
the man alone in the condo, Walter White. Because
while this shark is approaching, Walt is just
living in his own personal purgatory. He really
is. The contrast is super sharp. The cousins
are purposeful and constantly moving forward.
Walt is totally stagnant. Yeah, he's living alone.
Skylar has moved out. She's demanding a divorce.
He's... deeply depressed. And we get this incredible
sequence that I think perfectly encapsulates
the war going on inside his head. The money ritual.
The barbecue grill scene. This is iconic. It
really is. Walk us through this, because on paper
it sounds completely insane. A grown man grilling
money. It is insane, but as the sources analyze
it, it's psychologically consistent. Yeah. So
Walt is sitting by his pool in the backyard.
He has these heavy duffel bags of cash. millions
of dollars. The very object he destroyed his
entire life to get. Exactly, and he starts taking
bundles of it, lighting his barbecue grill, and
just throwing the cash onto the flames. It's
such a visceral image. The fire literally consuming
the cash, the thing that everyone kills for,
the thing he ruined his soul for, he's just treating
it like charcoal. What's the deep read on this
from the sources? It represents a profound desire
to punish himself. He feels the agonizing guilt
of the plane crash. He feels the loss of his
family. He knows it's his fault. He knows, on
a deep subconscious level, that this money is
blood money. It's the physical manifestation
of his sin. So he wants to burn the sin. He wants
to purify himself by destroying the root cause
of his misery. And then he stops. The reversal.
This is the key to the whole scene. He watches
the money burn for a few seconds and then pure
panic sets in. The Heisenberg side of his brain
wakes up and just screams, what are you doing?
He realizes he's burning his accomplishment,
his trophy. Exactly. He dives into action. He
wildly starts throwing the burning flaming bills
into the pool to save them. That image of the
charred, wet money just floating in the bright
blue pool water. It feels like the perfect symbol
for Walt's life at this point. It totally is.
It's salvaged, but it's ruined. It's toxic debris.
And the fact that he saves it tells us everything
we need to know about who actually won the internal
war. The guilt lost. The guilt lost. The greed
won. The pride won. He just couldn't let go of
the one thing that proves he's special, even
if that thing destroyed absolutely everything
else. The greed definitely wins out. But he's
still desperately trying to convince himself
and everyone else around him that he's actually
a good guy. which perfectly leads us to the assembly
speech. Oh, this scene. This is arguably one
of the most painful scenes to watch in the entire
series. It defines cringe. It really does. Let's
set the context for the listeners. The local
high school is holding an assembly. The whole
city is traumatized. Physical debris from the
plane crash literally fell onto the school grounds.
Yeah, right in the courtyard. Students and teachers
are passing the microphone, sharing their trauma.
People are crying. They're incredibly upset.
It's a heavy moment of collective grief. And
then the principal hands the microphone to Mr.
White. And Walt, in his infinite lack of wisdom,
decides this is the exact right moment to use
logic to cheer people up. He actually tries to
put it in perspective. He does. He compares the
horrific collision over Albuquerque to the Tenerife
Airport disaster. Which is a real -world event.
The collision of two Boeing 747s in 1977. It
is still the deadliest accident in aviation history.
Right, and Walt's argument to these grieving
kids is essentially, hey, look on the bright
side. The death count here wasn't nearly as high
as Tenerife. The planes weren't fully booked.
He's standing in a gymnasium full of traumatized
teenagers, telling them statistically it could
have been worse. He literally starts listing
the numbers. He says something like, it's only
the 50th worst air disaster. Why does he do this?
I mean, is he just that socially awkward? No,
it's much deeper than social awkwardness. If
we connect this back to the bigger picture of
Walt's psychology that the sources talk about,
it is a massive defense mechanism. How so? Break
that down. Well, Walt knows deep down that he
is directly connected to this crash. He let Jane
die. Right, he stood there and watched. Exactly.
And Jane's death caused her father, Donald Margolis,
to deeply grieve and lose focus at his job as
an air traffic controller. Donald's error caused
the crash. Walt is the first domino. So by minimizing
the tragedy to the school, he minimizes his own
responsibility. If the crash isn't that bad statistically,
then his original sin isn't that bad morally.
He is desperately trying to rationalize human
emotion into cold data points so he doesn't have
to feel the crushing weight of what he's actually
done. That is wow. That makes so much sense.
He's not talking to the kids at all. He's talking
to himself. Precisely. He is conducting a public
debate with his own conscience. He is entirely
unable to process human emotion because to do
so would require him to admit his own monstrous
guilt. So he retreats into facts. He retreats
into the one single place where he feels safe
and in control science and data, but applied
to a raw human tragedy, it just makes him look
like a total sociopath. It's the ultimate well,
actually, of grief. And it lands terribly. The
look on the faces of the students and the faculty
as he's talking, they're just horrified. They
are desperately looking for comfort, and he basically
gives them a spreadsheet. And right in the middle
of all this internal chaos, the external world
knocks on the door, or rather, buzzes in his
pocket. The text message. Pulego. Just one word.
It's the harsh intrusion of the criminal world
right back into his domestic stasis. He's trying
to figure out who he is. He's trying to mathematically
rationalize his guilt. And Gus Fring is just
reminding him, hey, I'm still here. We have business.
We'll get to Gus in a minute because that meeting
is super crucial to the plot of the season. But
first, we really have to look at the other side
of the coin. We have to look at Jesse Pink, then.
The contrast between Walt and Jesse in this episode
is really the emotional anchor of the whole story.
Yeah, while Walt is making charts about air disasters
and trying to minimize the event, Jesse is in
rehab and he is completely broken. He is dealing
with profound self -loathing. He blames himself
entirely for Jane's death. He blames himself
for the collision. He is feeling everything that
Walt is refusing to feel. Right. Walt is building
walls and Jesse is just sitting in the rubble.
There's a specific scene in rehab that really
stands out in the analysis. The group leader,
played brilliantly by Jer Burns, tells a story
to the group and it is incredibly heavy. Jer
Burns gives an amazing performance here. It's
a monologue that could honestly stand on its
own as a short film. The group leader confesses
a really dark secret from his past. He talks
about how 10 years ago he was high on cocaine.
It was his daughter's birthday and all he wanted
was vodka. Right. He was tasked with getting
the ice cream cake for the party, but all he
cared about was getting the vodka. So he got
in his truck to go to the liquor store. And he
didn't check the driveway. He backed over his
own daughter. He ran over his own daughter and
killed her. Killed her. Such a dark, breathless
reveal in that room. And the reason he tells
this story is to make a specific point to the
group. He argues that hating oneself for past
mistakes is only an impediment to moving on.
Yes. He says he hated himself for years, and
it almost killed him. He's offering this core
philosophy of radical self -forgiveness. He's
saying, I did this terrible, unforgivable thing,
but I can't let it completely destroy me, or
I'll never get better. He's preaching that acceptance
is the only real path forward. But Jesse, Jesse
hears this, and he has a very different reaction.
This leads to what the source is called the bad
guy epiphany. Yeah, because Walt actually visits
Jesse later at the rehab center to try and give
him that exact same absolution. Right. Walt tells
him, the crash wasn't your fault. The money wasn't
your fault. Walt is desperately trying to play
the benevolent father figure. But notice Jesse's
demeanor here. He's not the manic, screaming,
crying Jesse from season one or two. He's so
quiet. He's Kong, almost dead inside, and he
completely rejects Walt's attempt to fix it.
He totally shuts him down, and then he says that
iconic line, I learned not to shy away from who
I really am. The bad guy. That line is pivotal.
It's a massive turning point for his entire character
arc. What does that actually mean for him? Is
he just giving up? In a way, it's a very twisted
form of maturity. Jesse is finally taking responsibility.
He's looking at his actions, selling meth to
recovering addicts, enabling Jane's relapse,
the chaos he brings, and he's saying, I cause
pain. I am a criminal. I am the bad guy. He's
fully owning his nature. Whereas Walt is still
out there pretending to be the victim or the
hero. Exactly. Walt is constantly Constantly
deflecting, Walt is saying, we are good people
caught in a bad situation. Jesse is saying, no,
we are bad people creating bad situations. It's
tragic, really, because Jesse's acceptance is
highly self -destructive. How so? Well, if you
truly believe you are the bad guy, you stop trying
to be good. You just accept your damnation. But
at the same time, it's vastly more honest than
anything Walt is doing. It is deeply honest,
and that honesty makes him dangerous in a brand
new way. He has nothing left to lose now. He
has accepted his role in the tragedy. So we have
the cousins actively coming for blood. We have
Walt in deep denial, trying to math his way out
of guilt. We have Jesse accepting his villainy.
And then we have Skyler. The domestic collapse.
This is where the rubber really meets the road
for the white marriage. Skylar is completely
done. She's sitting in the divorce lawyer's office.
But notice her hesitation in that scene. The
lawyer is very aggressive. She starts talking
about uncovering hidden assets. She says, if
he's hiding money, we'll find it. We'll turn
over every rock. And Skylar just freezes. Yes.
Why, though? She wants him gone. She wants to
hurt him. Why pause when the lawyer offers to
take him down? Because she knows something is
there. She strongly suspects it. And she deeply
fears what actually finding it might mean. Because
if the lawyer finds drug money, the police find
drug money. And if the police find the drug money,
Hank finds out. Her teenage son, Flynn, finds
out the entire family's reputation is completely
destroyed. They lose the house. They lose everything.
She realizes the blast radius. Exactly. She doesn't
want the raw truth to blow up her family's life.
Even if she desperately wants the marriage to
end, she's protecting the son. She's protecting
the image. It's a fascinating, terrible position
to be in. She is functionally trapped by his
crime just as much as he is. She essentially
becomes an accomplice after the fact simply by
wanting to protect her children from the public
shame. But she can't hold it in forever. We get
that incredible confrontation scene. She goes
back to the house to pack up some things or check
on the place, and Walt is there. And she finally
accuses him. She lays it all out. She's done
the math. She's looked at the long hours, the
sudden influx of money, the second cell phone.
She looks at him and says, you're a drug dealer.
And Walt, he finally stops lying. Well, partially.
He admits it, but he has to correct her. Oh,
he can't help himself. He says specifically,
I am a methamphetamine manufacturer. Not a dealer,
a cook, a manufacturer. It is typical Walt Pride.
Even in his confession, even as his wife is looking
at him with absolute horror, he has to claim
the technical expertise. He has to distinguish
himself from the street level thugs. Yeah, he's
an artist. He's a manufacturer. It's pure ego.
He really can't help himself. So the secret is
finally out. Skylar knows the truth. She knows
he cooks meth. What is her move here? Does she
run out and call the police? No. And this is
where Skylar's character complexity really shines
and where the show pivots her role going forward.
She bargains. She negotiates with a drug ping
-pong. She does. She demands a divorce and full
custody of the children. And in exchange, her
complete silence. She uses the secret as leverage.
She says, I won't tell anyone. I won't go to
the police. but you have to get out right now
and you stay away from the kids. It's a massive
tragedy when you step back. Yeah. Think about
it. Walt started all of this, supposedly, for
his family, to provide for them, to leave them
a nest egg after he died. Right. And now, the
very act of revealing the truth of how he got
the money is what guarantees he loses them completely.
The irony is suffocating. He has the money. Well,
he has the money he didn't burn on the grill,
but he has no family left to spend it on. Yeah.
He has wildly succeeded in his business goal,
but completely failed in his personal goal. He
has absolutely nothing. Which brings us right
back to that text message. Polos. The business
of empire. Gus from WALT. WALT has nothing left
at home. So he goes to the one place where he
is actually valued. Los Polos Hermanos. He meets
Gus. And this meeting is a master class in power
dynamics. Walt walks in and he feels entirely
defeated. And he tells Gus, no moss. No moss.
He tells Gus he is quitting. He's out. He's lost
his family. He's got enough money. He's done
with the whole thing. But Gus is a businessman.
He doesn't accept no easily. But he also doesn't
threaten. He doesn't pull a gun or threaten to
kill Walt's family. That's not Gus's style. Gus
uses a carrot, not a stick. He makes a counter
offer. And the numbers are just staggering. Only
a million dollars. Three million dollars for
three months of work. That is a staggering amount
of money, especially for a guy who just burned
half his stash in the backyard. It's an incredibly
calculated offer. Gus knows Walt's ego. He knows
Walt's greed. By offering three million, he is
validating Walt's genius. He's saying, you are
worth a million dollars a month. You are the
absolute best in the world. That validation is
exactly what Walt isn't getting at home. At home,
he's a monster. With Gus, he's a valued artist.
Exactly. Gus is appealing directly to his vanity.
Walt refuses, though, at least for now. He's
trying hard to hold onto that no -moss idea.
He walks away. But the seed is firmly planted.
The seed is planted deeply. He can't unhear that
number. There's a little side note here that
I think is hilarious but also terrifying, and
it involves Hank. Hank helps Walt move into his
new depressing apartment. Oh, the duffel bag
scene. This is a brilliant bit of writing. So
Walt is moving into this bleak furnished condo.
Hank is being the good brother -in -law, carrying
boxes, helping out. He picks up a heavy double
bag. It's the bag with the money, the drug money
Walt got from the deal with Gus. It's incredibly
heavy because cash is heavy. Hank strains with
it. He asks, what the hell do you have in here?
Cinder blocks. And Walt just looks him dead in
the eye and says half a million in cash. He literally
tells the truth. He tells a DEA agent it's half
a million in cash. And Hank just laughs. Hank
laughs out loud. He thinks it's a joke. He says
something like, that's a good one, Walt. Bricks,
right? It really highlights just how effective
Walt's disguise still is. He is so pathetic in
Hank's eyes, so mild -mannered, so completely
beta, that he can confess to a massive felony
right to the face of a DEA agent, and the agent
just laughs it off. It's the ultimate camouflage.
Being constantly underestimated is Walt's superpower,
but it's also his personal torture. Yeah, his
ego hates it. He wants to scream, I am the danger,
I am the guy with the cash. But he can't. He
has to eat the insult to keep his freedom. It's
a moment where he's totally safe, but he feels
incredibly small. And Walt hates feeling small
more than anything. He does. And that feeling
of smallness is exactly what Gus will exploit
later on. So we've covered the plot mechanics,
we've got the cousins approaching, Walt isolated,
Jesse broken, Skyler bargaining. But we really
need to talk about the episode itself as a piece
of production. Because no Maz feels different
than season two. It really does. As the sources
point out, this episode was directed by Bryan
Cranston. The man himself. It's highly significant.
This was his directorial debut on the show. The
lead actor also shaped the entire visual tone
of the season opener. That's a ton of pressure.
You're leading the hit show, and now you're setting
the visual language for the whole new season.
And he totally nailed it. It shows his incredibly
deep understanding of the character and the world.
The choices he made, the long silence of the
cousins, the framing of the burning money, the
agonizing awkwardness of the gym assembly. These
are directorial choices that emphasize profound
isolation. And the critics definitely noticed.
The sources highlight a review here from IGN.
Seth Amatun gave it an 8 .8 rating. And he's
a great baseball analogy that I love. He said
season two is a fastball, that high speed crash,
the action, the constant intensity. And season
three opens with an emotionally impacted change
up. A change up that lands softly in the catcher's
mitt, but it totally messes with your timing.
It's a perfect description. It slows things way
down to make you feel the impact. A fastball
is exciting, but a change -up requires serious
precision, and this episode is precise. The ratings
were really solid, too. 1 .95 million viewers
tuned in. Which, for Cable, back in 2010, for
a show that was still steadily growing its cult
following, was a very strong start. Remember,
Breaking Bad wasn't a massive ratings juggernaut
in the beginning. It grew through word of mouth.
But interestingly, when we look at the rankings
like lists from The Ringer or Vulture, this episode
often lands in the middle. or even lower tier.
The Ringer ranked it 54th out of 62 episodes.
Vulture had it at 45th. That raises an interesting
point. Why is it ranked lower when it's so important?
Maybe because it's a setup episode. I think so.
It definitely suffers from the setup tax. It
doesn't have the explosive climax of a face -off
or the pure emotional devastation of a nazi mandias.
It's doing the heavy lifting of moving the chess
pieces around the board. Right. It has to move
Walt out of the house. It has to move Jesse to
rehab, introduce the cousins, and reset the cartel
dynamics all in one hour. It's the foundation,
not the flashy skyscraper. Exactly. It's a completely
necessary episode, a brilliant episode, but maybe
not the most quote unquote exciting one on a
casual rewatch if you're just looking for thrills.
But without this foundation, the rest of season
three just doesn't work. You don't get the tension
of the parking lot shoot out later in the season
if you don't clearly establish the Cousins' silent
menace here. You don't get Walt's descent into
working for Gus if you don't establish his stark
isolation right now. It lays the groundwork for
absolutely everything. But technically, it's
a marvel. We mentioned the cinematography nomination
for Michael Slois, but also The editing is called
out. Skip McDonald was nominated for outstanding
single camera picture editing, and you can really
feel it. The way it cuts between the silent menace
of the cousins in the hot Mexican desert and
the noisy internal chaos of Walt in the cool
blue suburbs. The pacing is incredibly deliberate.
It creates a full sensory experience. You feel
the heat, then you feel the air conditioning,
you feel the silence, then you hear the awful
speech. It's a master class in atmospheric storytelling.
So if we synthesize all of this for you guys
listening. What does No Mas really mean for the
show? It literally means no more. Right. But
look at the characters. Walt tries to say no
more to crime. Skylar says no more to the marriage.
Jessie says no more to the lies. They are all
trying to draw a line in the sand. They're all
trying to say, this is where it stops. I'm done.
But the past doesn't care about their lines.
Exactly. The past is completely inescapable.
You can say no ma's all you want. You can burn
the money on a grill. You can move to a sad new
apartment. You can go to rehab. But the cousins
are already crawling across the border. The consequences
are already in motion. You can't put the genie
back in the bottle. or the smoke back in the
plane. Precisely. No Maz is just a wish. It's
a plea. But the harsh reality of the universe
they inhabit is there's always more. That's a
really chilling thought. It makes you realize
that Season 3 isn't actually about making new
choices. It's entirely about paying the bill
for the old ones. The bill always comes due.
Before we go, I want to leave you guys listening
with something to really mull over. Something
that builds on what we discussed. Think about
that group leader's philosophy in rehab. The
idea that self -forgiveness is absolutely necessary
to move on. It's a very provocative question.
Is self -forgiveness actually a virtue? Is it
a genuine way to heal? We see the group leader
who killed his own daughter, and now he seems
okay. He's functioning. He's even helping others.
But he did it by forgiving himself for the unforgivable.
And we clearly see Walt trying to do the exact
same thing with his assembly speech. He's trying
to forgive himself for the plane crash so he
can keep functioning. So the question to explore
is that is self -forgiveness a tool for healing
or is it just a tool for permission? Is it just
a convenient way to permit oneself to do terrible
things, move on, and then potentially do them
again without the heavy burden of guilt? If you
forgive yourself for everything, do you eventually
lose your conscience? Is forgiveness a release
or is it just an eraser? And in the world of
Breaking Bad, the answer is usually very dangerous.
If you erase the guilt, you erase the guardrails.
Indeed you do. Well, that's all we have for this
deep dive into Nomaz. It's a heavy one, but man
is it good. A true masterpiece of setup. Thanks
for diving in with us, everyone. We'll catch
you on the next deep dive. Stay curious.