The most remarkable thing about “EL Camino,” the Breaking Bad one-off (maybe? Maybe not?) sequel that sees Vince Gilligan going feature-length in his return to gritty, grimy Albuquerque...is how precisely unremarkable it is.
Ever since those khakis soared through a clear, dry New Mexico sky, Gilligan’s landmark TV show excelled at an attention to detail—instead of trying to outdo himself, it was all about letting his story take its natural course…against as exquisitely-realized a neo-Western tapestry as possible. For all intents and purposes, Gilligan was the cook of a product that was as pure as Walter White’s blue sky, and once the story’s finish line began to come into view, the question wasn’t if Walt would end up on the road to hell; it was in what gear he’d be heading there.
“El Camino” adopts – in great measure, and to mostly satisfying success – that same matter-of-factness that fueled “Breaking Bad’s” homestretch. Gilligan isn’t trying to outdo himself; there are no shocking revelations that upend or change our view of everything that’s come before. If you watched “Breaking Bad” (and there’s plenty to be enticed by for those who haven’t) and had three guesses, you could very well describe broadly how this two-hour joyride focusing on the tormented Jesse Pinkman ends.
But what happens in those two hours makes for a worthwhile return to Albuquerque…and a world that remains as dangerous as ever in year 1 AW (after Walt).
The movie starts at the close—that is, Aaron Paul’s Jesse is back where we last saw him: behind the wheel of an El Camino speeding as fast as it can away from the gunfire at a neo-Nazi compound as dozens of police cruisers speed in. Gilligan showed some guts in keeping the end of Jesse’s story ambiguous for several years – it’s made for an interesting thought experiment among fans to wonder how far Jesse could drive before eventually being caught – but there’s an undeniable glee in seeing Paul’s wily, crime-hardened Jesse finally free. For practically the first time since we’ve known him, he isn’t being manipulated by Walt, or Gus, or Mike, or anyone.
Of course, he’s not really free. Nor is he bereft of the trauma that built up inside him as a meth-cooking prisoner who spent his time either in a concrete hole or chained up in a lab, to say nothing of all that came before, including – but not limited to – murder, disposing of a child’s body and the deaths of multiple romantic love interests. Just in case we’d forgotten, “Breaking Bad” was never nice to the character who always needed it most, and it shows in Paul’s eyes when he appears on the doorstep of the only people he can count on.
Because Gilligan's trademark mercilessness runs this world like the hand of God, every second Jesse spends in Albuquerque is another second that the DEA spends inevitably closing in on him. In “Breaking Bad,” Jesse and Walt took over the city; in “El Camino,” he’s got to get the hell out of dodge. And he’s going to have to pave the road for himself, inch by inch and with as little blood spilled as possible.
As Jesse frantically bounces from tense situation to tense situation in the Duke City, searching for money he doesn’t have, the question of whether we “needed” this supersized “Breaking Bad” coda or not begins to de-mystify. Yes, you can pass on it and be content with the ending Gilligan provided in 2013, but there’s a purpose “El Camino” creates for itself as it begins to mirror the mainline show’s homestretch.
While that final run of episodes focused, rightfully, more than ever on Walt, his downfall and the desperation that drove his attempts to avoid it, “El Camino” puts an equally-desperate Jesse firmly in the spotlight, and in the driver’s seat of his destiny. Every moment you think he's in control of his situation should be cause for concern, and every decision has the weight of the aftermath of creating the country's biggest-ever drug distribution empire, as we learn Walt and Jesse presided over, behind it.
I found myself questioning at times, early on, whether Gilligan’s uber-deliberate style of directing fits the one-off movie mold of “El Camino,” but – true to his dedication to natural storytelling – his script is never anything more than what it has to be.
There are surprises (some of them bloody), showdowns (bloodier still) and a peppering of moments that immediately recall the morbid whimsy forming the brick and mortar of Gilligan’s tragicomic sensibilities. All the while, Paul easily slips into his iconic character like he never said farewell to him.
There are some flashbacks, too – new moments with old characters that haven’t been as lucky as Jesse to this point – and they perform their narrative purpose. But one in particular is a gem of a scene, a back-and-forth that Gilligan uses to remind us of exactly how far Jesse has come, and of how impossible it now is for him to go back. The emotional cocktail that’s conjured up – pride, empathy, love, regret; felt both by the characters and by ourselves – is a treat to drink up.
Hope is not something that could have ever blossomed in the world of “Breaking Bad,” where everything that goes around not only comes around, but typically at the end of a gun or the sip of a poisoned drink. But the final seconds of “El Camino,” accompanied by a visual bookend that only Gilligan could come up with, whisper the suggestion that it could exist after all. At least, for the character that’s perhaps the most deserving of it, hope is a glimmer on the horizon. It’s much more than Gilligan has given him before.
