Blood in, blood out. The Killing began with a murder and that’s how it had to end. How we got to Sarah Lund spraying the brains of a children’s charitable trust director over his car is an interesting one but ultimately this show was born dipped in blood and smeared with shit, dragged as it was from the collective unconscious of Nordic mythology, that foul recess where good men perish and monsters reign. The penultimate episode begins with the finger of suspicion pointing at Niels Reinhardt, PA to Robert Zeuthen and director of the Zeeland’s Children’s Trust. He was in Jutland the weekend when Louise Hjelby was abducted, raped and sent to a watery grave. His wristwatch went missing, his mobile phone was switched off, his alibi is shaky – it all smells very fishy (much like Louise Hjelby).
That’s certainly Loke Rantzau Poulson’s take on affairs and as he prepares to drown Reinhardt for his crimes Lund helplessly Henry Fondas that maybe he never done it but Poulson ain’t trying to hear that. Luckily, Borch arrives to put a stop to things with his gun and fists. A good job he did too because the door lock data log from Reinhardt’s hotel shows that he could not have killed Hjelby as he was in his room at the time. Damn. Poulson agrees to lead Lund to the pressurised container containing Emilie if she promises to deliver justice to the real killer. Lund is all “you bet” and off they trek into Norway having nearly slaughtered an innocent man. Close call – good work getting there in time Borch!
“Ultimately this show was born dipped in blood and smeared with shit, dragged as it was from the collective unconscious of Nordic mythology, that foul recess where good men perish and monsters reign.”
And how about that Borch? “Say, Lund – would you like to see my special branch?” he said before knocking the back out of her in Jutland. It was my favourite line of this series, so different to what we’ve come to expect from the show. That he never actually said it did not subtract from the moment: Lund in love. They plan to move in together like they never did when she bottled it all those years ago back at the Academy. This could be the magic at last. In other relationship news Brix and Ruth seem set to get it on which is cool because they both sound like the punchline to one of those “what do you call a man with a chimney on his head?” jokes. Also, Zeuthen gets some pussy off his estranged wife for the first time in years. It’s the lighter side of child abduction. Maybe Emilie should wander off with strangers more often?
“Brix and Ruth both sound like the punchline to one of those ‘what do you call a man with a chimney on his head?’ jokes.”
Or maybe not. She’s certainly been an ongoing pain in the balls for Prime Minister Kristian Kamper and his campaign for re-election. But where lesser men see a problem, Kamper sees opportunity. This could be an election winner! He does his own detective work on the Jutland murder and, with the help of a Lisbeth Salander clone running her mouth, discovers that his useless son Dead Benjamin did the one worthwhile thing of his shit life by accidentally photographing Reinhardt on the very cusp of getting Louise into his car.
Reinhardt? Innocent Reinhardt who just escaped execution by the skin of his balls? Yeah, that guy. Lund is reaching the same conclusion in Norway having been fed some good info from Asbjørn Juncker. Brix tells her to drop it – they’ve got the exculpatory door lock data. “Fuck a door lock data log, son.” she responds “Zeeland own that hotel chain.” She’s right too. It’s totally Reinhardt. And he’s going to walk. A set-to between Zeuthen and Poulson in Norway ends with a Norwegian copper fatally plugging Poulson who manages to get out with his dying breath that Emilie is actually back in Denmark on board The Medea. Everybody! To The Ship of Death!
“Asbjørn finds her – alive. Indelibly psychologically scarred for life with a crippling fear of open spaces, enclosed spaces, boats, lifts, walkways, bridges, shopping malls and everything else on the planet but alive!”
It’s Asbjørn who finds her – unconscious, unresponsive but alive. Indelibly psychologically scarred for life with a crippling fear of open spaces, enclosed spaces, boats, lifts, walkways, bridges, shopping malls and everything else on the planet that isn’t a rubber room with cabbage patch dolls and restraints but alive! She awakes strapped to the gurney as her mother watches over her. “You took your time, you bitch” she sasses before nodding off again. Wait till she gets you home, kid.
“He wonders what a photo proves and who could give a rat’s ass about some orphan girl getting fucked to death or his hopeless three-time loser son.”
This all means that Kamper wins the election and when he reflects that his own Justice Minister Mogens covered up the murder Reinhardt committed, inadvertently leading to Kamper’s son’s death and the subsequent five murders Poulson commits and the institutionalised torture and rape of children Kamper is fewwwurious. Any second now he’s about to go with Karen and blow the lid on the whole sordid business.
And then something strange happens. He takes it in, considers the political fallout, wonders what a photo proves and who could give a rat’s ass about some orphan girl getting fucked to death or his hopeless three-time loser son. Karen waits for him at the foot of the stairs so they can go together to do the right thing and blaze a trail for moral rectitude, ensuring their own political oblivion as they do. She waits. He doesn’t come. He’s never coming. Power corrupts. The man don’t give a fuck. Zeuthen has figured out Reinhardt as well but he too is hopelessly compromised and sits inert, shell-shocked by his company’s complicity in the atrocity. Everyone is busy watching their own back. No one stands for Louise Hjelby.
“Karen waits for him at the foot of the stairs so they can go together to do the right thing and blaze a trail for moral rectitude and political oblivion. She waits. He doesn’t come. He’s never coming.”
Not quite no one. As they await passage back to Denmark and the smug monster sits in the front seat of the car looking forward to his future sex crimes, taunting Lund with her failure she calmly exits from her backseat, pulls her gun and shoots him in the motherfucking head. Dead. FFS, Lund! True enough, he fits Dexter‘s code for his murders – a monster who slipped through the gaps in the justice system but Lund is not Dexter. She’s done.
“Like The Silver Surfer she must soar alone because all her borefriends end up brokenhearted or dead. Sarah Lund: she kissed the boys and made them die.”
Borch witnesses the execution but is too late to save Reinhardt this time and he knows that there’s going to be no happy ending, no cohabitation, no Sarah and Mathias, just the biggest shit storm of his life and he’s not wearing waterproofs. He sticks some money in her hand, gives her his Special Branch security clearance and gives her a mission: GTFO of the country and prove the case against Reinhardt. Sarah, that sullen enigma goes along with the plan. She really will do anything to get out of a relationship.
Oh my. That’s how you nail the landing of a three season airship that absolutely had the potential to break up in midair and spiral onto Craphole Island like Oceanic Flight 815 on Lost. It stayed true to its noir essence, played us all like an accordion and hit home like a pilled-up Sean Penn beating Madonna with a baseball bat. The moral torpor of the powerful, the abuse of the helpless and the struggle of the few good souls left who fight the good fight were starkly, beautifully drawn. Lund was a shitty parent and an even worse girlfriend but she was a hell of a detective. And like The Silver Surfer she must soar alone because all her borefriends end up brokenhearted or dead. Sarah Lund: she kissed the boys and made them die.
I’ll tell you something though. For all the on-the-souls-of-my-children denials from both star and creator I bet she comes back. While the character still breathes it’ll be an itch they just can’t scratch. And if she doesn’t, then she went out like a G. You really couldn’t ask for more.
The verdict on The Killing 3 finale: Luuuuuuuund on the runnnnn.
Marks out of 10: 9
Imagined: Saturday, 15 December 2012