If this season of Westworld had you constantly struggling to answer such basic questions as “who’s who” and “what time period are we in,” you’re not alone. I, for one, had to turn to many outside sourcesꝉ to help me untangle the twisted mess of timelines and character arcs before, during, and after the robot rebellion. Though I legitimately enjoyed the puzzle-box nature of the show in its first season, I quickly realized that the chronological chaos of season 2 had me out of my mystery-solving depth. Even David Chen, co-host of Decoding Westworld, said about the season finale, “I don’t know what’s happening, death doesn’t matter, this character could be this character—that is ultimately the kind of soup of ideas I’m left with.” My thoughts exactly.
But my main issue with Westworld isn’t with what many have deemed its “unnecessary mystique and spectacle to the detriment of actual story” (though I’ll lay all that out below). My main issue is that because of the time and energy I expend just trying to figure out what’s happening, I never have enough mental bandwidth left over to ponder the classic sci-fi conundrums brought about by the show—questions like “what does it mean to be human,” “can consciousness be digitized,” or “will our technology be our own undoing?” Westworld is chock-full of such thought-provoking themes and ideas—there’s simply not enough time or energy to examine them.
First, a summation of the recent criticism, for those who may be unfamiliar, or for those, like me, who just need some empathy after trying so hard to love a show that keeps pushing us away…
These confusing delights have confusing ends
During the second half of this increasingly violent and aggressively achronological season, casual viewers and avid critics alike have divided into two camps—one praising the show for its complex and intriguing puzzle-box nature, and the other lamenting how the Nolans’ “addiction to obfuscation” has unnecessarily complicated the plot and thus impeded (or worse, eroded) much of our emotional investment in the characters.
This criticism gained traction after the enormously well-received eighth episode, “Kiksuya,” which uncharacteristically told a comprehensible, chronological, and character-driven story. Naturally, this led fans to question why more episodes couldn’t be as digestible, and whether the frankensteined timeline and world-shattering reveals on the show weren’t doing more harm than good (i.e., fostering more confusion than intrigue). Culture writer Alison Herman certainly didn’t think so, saying in her review “What Show Does ‘Westworld’ Want to Be?," “…the limitations of Westworld’s storytelling seem to have ossified… Protracted mysteries, delayed reveals, and fractured narratives aren’t temporary interest-drivers; they’re permanent parts of Westworld, and they handicap its potential as a drama rather than a scavenger hunt.” She further opined on The Watch podcast that “Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy have Jedi-mind-tricked themselves into believing that basic narrative clarity and allowing the even casual viewer to understand the basics of where we are, what people want, and where this is heading is not a goal for them. Or, even worse, is something they should actually try to avoid” (as qtd. in this Washington Post article).
Similarly, two Vox writers made the following observations while discussing the season 2 finale: 1) “I realized how many narrative decisions on this show are made solely to keep viewers guessing, and I got irritated all over again.” And 2) “Westworld is a game and the princess is always going to be in another castle, the ball is always under the cup you didn’t guess, and that’s clearly the point. And maybe there’s some larger payoff still to come in a future season, but to get there we have to go through characters whose continuity exists only so far as it serves the plot, not as it serves to deepen their identities.” I especially connected to the words of one of these writers, Todd VanDerWerff, who reacted to “Kiksuya” by saying, “it helped me understand why I can find Westworld interesting and engaging, but rarely deep, compelling, or insightful.” (Though I read this as referring to the viewer’s lack of brain power to dissect deeper themes evoked by the show, VanDerWerff goes on to explain that he means Westworld “largely exists as possibility space,” where the viewer is forced to be like a video game player, putting in substantial effort just to have a chance at interpreting and engaging with the show.)
In my mind, the tricks and puzzles of season 1 are forgivable—clever and intriguing, even—because it all makes (enough) sense in the end. Even the more casual viewers, like myself, could understand that the feints and twists of the episodic arcs had extended to the full season, that we had been seeing two separate timelines of Dolores searching for the maze, and had only been led to believe it was one. Furthermore, the Arnold/Bernard and William/MIB reveals were genuinely surprising (and more importantly, comprehensible within the larger plot). And overall, even when the characters and scripts were less than forthcoming, I could count on my emotional investment in the characters to keep me engaged.
Season 2, then, though expected by fans to be as puzzle box-y as ever, outdid its predecessor in ways most non-Reddit users weren’t ready for. What with a brain-addled Bernarnold in and out of the Mesa; equally doomed but separate Delos recovery teams; a homicidal Dolores riding throughout the park with an unclear plan; and welcome-but-random excursions to the Raj and Shogun World, viewers’ uncertainty as to who to root for, or even what anyone’s motivations were (Maeve not included), damaged our connection to the series. It was as if the fractured timeline existed to do no more than confuse viewers enough to prevent us from guessing any of the big reveals in the finale. “The show has gone too far in its unhooking from a thread that we can follow,” David Chen says after the sixth episode aired, before comparing the first season’s plot to “a piece of wood that was broken in half,” whereas in the second season, “it’s like that same piece of wood has splintered into ten different pieces,” leaving us to wonder if different pieces are even related (and if so, how?). Such complex storytelling, Chen argues, forces the viewer to do “homework” just to understand what’s happening, making it a much less fun viewing experience for many fans.
Except in this case, Arnold creates Dolores, Dolores kills Arnold, Dolores creates Bernard, Bernard kills Dolores, Bernard recreates Dolores, Dolores kills Bernard, Dolores recreates Bernard... and I guess whoever's not puzzling over Westworld inherits the Earth...
But of course, this is a debate, and there are those who find the show’s “homework,” its invitation to theorize, exciting and energizing. (One look at the Reddit rabbit-hole that is Westworld forums would confirm this in an instant.) Craig Carter, a podcaster quoted in the aforementioned Washington Post article, stood up for the show by saying, “That’s what mystery is: purposely withholding information… I saw someone tweet that they don’t need to do this whole time-moving-around thing. It’s an unnecessary gimmick. But that’s like saying, ‘Why does Shakespeare need this iambic pentameter gimmick?’ It’s fundamental to what the show is. If you don’t like it, maybe it’s not for you.” In other words, maybe it’s not that the show expects too much of its viewers, but that its viewers expect too little of themselves (after all, shows like Mr. Robot [with unreliable narrators] or Twin Peaks [left open to viewer interpretation] have earned devoted followers and achieved critical success). Joanna Robinson, Vanity Fair writer and the other co-host of Decoding Westworld, often finds herself siding with the Westworld creators, even as she wonders aloud whether Nolan and Joy aren’t too cerebral “for their own good”; nevertheless, the best she could do to sum up her reaction to this season was by saying that while season 1 was better overall, season 2 had higher highs (and lower lows).
Ultimately, perhaps David Chen is right when he says Westworld is “like the uncanny valley of complex shows”—it inhabits a space wherein it doesn’t explain enough that we can fully follow its convoluted narrative, yet still expects us to be able to do just that. In other words, it expects viewers to finish a 5,000-piece jigsaw puzzle without the picture on the box to guide them, and while withholding many of the key pieces.
As a final point, it's important to note that no one (least of all me) is arguing that there’s anything wrong with TV shows that make you think. It’s a welcome change from the cookie-cutter procedurals that we now need to rewatch episodes (or entire seasons) in order to catch all the hints or have all the information to truly understand the goings-on. Westworld also has a good amount of ancillary content, like the routinely updated discoverwestworld.com, that further invites fans to become engrossed with the world of the show. As for me, when it comes to piecing together a season of Westworld, I tend to alternate between serenely accepting that I do not understand, and pulling my hair out in frustration of trying to figure out when exactly a particular event occurred.
But in a show that delights in gaslighting its fans, making everyone paranoically theorize about every glance and line of dialogue, or debate whether any given character could be a host in disguise, few are able to digest the larger, more pervasive, sci-fi themes. Which means it’s time to…
Enter analysis mode
Instead of debating whether there is indeed a method to Westworld’s madness, let us turn to another (and I think, more engaging) Westworld discussion to be had.
It seems to me there are three levels of questions proposed by Westworld, and the third has yet to be reached by a mass audience. Level 1 deals with diegetic questions, or those asking about "what’s happening on the show” (e.g., “What exactly was Ford’s final game for William?” “What is actual death for a host?” “Why wasn’t Bernard affected by the many times he must have been in a room with another programmer saying the words ‘cease all motor functions’?” or “How many secret underground labs are there?”). Level 2 deals with nondiegetic questions, or those about the show’s format (e.g., “How much confusion is too high a price to pay to keep plot a secret?” “Am I even supposed to understand what’s going on this season?” or “Should I have to do homework to be a fan of this show?”). Level 3, then, is what I’m most interested in—the larger themes presented by the show.
And with a show about digitized consciousness, robots indistinguishable from humans, and the (non)existence of free will… there’s a host of existential debates we could be having (sorry, had to).
So far, while each season was airing, I have had limited success in engaging such themes. There was certainly a moment in season 1, following the Arnold/Bernard reveal, that intriguing questions came to the forefront, like “what does it mean that a host could be mistaken for a human by people who work closely with hosts?” which spiraled into “who else might be a host, and what really differentiates humans from hosts anyway?” and “do questions of morality even apply when the subjects aren’t human?” Season 2 was ripe with new ideas and information, though given my bafflement with the plot, the best I could do was to trace the “humans siding with hosts” storylines (paralleling the sympathies of real viewers), involving Ford, Felix, Lee Sizemore, Elsie, and briefly Bernard. Those were powerful arcs, adding layered material to the season’s queries of “Who is in the right—one of the human factions or one of the hosts’?” and “Which being is superior, or are we both fatally flawed?”
As I think more about this season, though, it's been fascinating to consider the ramifications of the human-host convergence, with humans seeking immortality and hosts seeking self-awareness. Neither group has fully succeeded, since humans have yet to fully decode the human mind, the so-called “last analog device in a digital world” (William gave up on testing James Delos, and Ford can only really survive within the cradle), and the hosts struggle with their purpose and lack of freedom (many simply escape into the “sublime,” while Dolores and Bernard look to be at idealistic odds on the mainland). I was pleased, though, that Westworld threw out the old “emotion versus logic” debate when it comes to differentiating humans and robots; we alternately watch humans falling victim to cold logic (like Charlotte killing Elsie to ensure her silence) and hosts exhibiting real emotions (like Dolores tearing up when sitting beside her dying father). Certainly, the final moments involving Maeve’s love for her daughter or Teddy’s love for Dolores make us question how “coded” love could differ from “real” love, thus reigniting the “perhaps we aren’t so different after all” debate.
And then there’s my favorite human/host question of all: “Who’s really stuck in a loop?” Using this query, here’s a sample of the sort of debate I like to have with myself: Aren’t we all subconsciously trapped in our own daily routines and schedules, our actions/reactions and speech patterns? But does that really make us 100% predictable? Sure, we’re an egotistical species, but are we really so devoid of complexity that our essence could be encapsulated in 10,000 lines of code? If so, what do hosts have that makes them more complicated? Haven’t “conscious” hosts just fallen into new loops, like Dolores’ quest for revenge/freedom and Maeve’s quest to find her daughter? And so on…
I am also a fan of the non-sci-fi but equally-as-provoking thought experiments involving the various moral dilemmas and character studies put forth by show. For example, look at Dolores—in her quest for vengeance/freedom, Dolores has actually become what she proclaims to hate. By changing Teddy’s code against his will, she has robbed him of his agency, his choice, and manipulated him into doing her bidding—the very act of objectification for which she hates the humans. Ford manipulates Bernard in the same way, and Maeve does so when she uses the mesh network to force the Shogun World hosts to massacre themselves. Each of them wields power over others’ “core drives,” their personalities and actions, which is pretty terrible regardless of their various intentions. And speaking of ethics discussions, there can be no one more worthy than the MIB, whose obsession with Dolores, Westworld, and immortality directly led to the deaths of his entire family (and incidentally, the Delos bloodline). How much is his original psyche to be blamed, and how much his experiences in the park? How has nature vs nurture played a role in both hosts’ and humans’ lives?
There’s just a whole slew of big questions beyond the ones I've already put forth, which, through the lens of Westworld, would be worth discussing:
What does it mean to be human? Do humans behave like algorithms? Can true emotion, the je ne sais quoi of human existence, be decided by an algorithm?
What is free will, and who has it? Is free will even real?
What is consciousness and why does suffering draw it out?
What would robots do with the world, if they were the only intelligent beings to inhabit it?
If a robot revolution really happened, whose side would I be on?
What happens when man plays god? Are we too advanced for our own good? Will TV series like this deter us from following such paths in the future?
...And so many more I haven’t yet conceived…
Now, many of these and similar questions are brought to the forefront in fellow sci-fi shows, like Humans (dealing with robots becoming conscious) and Dollhouse (dealing with mind/memory manipulation), as well as books/movies like I, Robot. I mention this because these stories are able to balance mystique and exposition, often keeping viewers engaged with meaty issues instead of pure spectacle. Unlike Westworld, their plots are a consequence of the exploration of these deeper questions—not other way around. And I know the Westworld writers are cognizant of the big questions raised by their show, but they only acknowledge these questions through Ford’s cryptic pontifications, which, like every other element in the series, take too much effort to parse out...
So in sum, I will say this: I would rather spend on time on questions of existence and morality than listening to recap podcasts. I would rather debate the complexity of the human mind than try to sort out the motivations and goals of Ford vs Delos vs Arnold vs Dolores. It’s all too much. Puzzle-solving, theorizing, and leaving space for interpretation is fun and all, but in a show where nothing can be taken at face value, I grow tired of second-guessing every line of dialogue and plot point and character identity.
I don’t need answers to all of my questions. But I sure would like the right questions to be asked.
ꝉIn a given week, beyond watching each new episode, I spent an extra 3–5 hours listening to recap podcasts, studying the compiled series timeline, watching HBO insider videos, and occasionally going on the Westworld website and reading various articles or reviews. (It’s not a huge chunk/inordinate of time, but it does warrant mentioning that I do not do this for any other show.) The following were most helpful to me in my quest to understand Westworld:
Decoding Westworld: I was surprised to find that these Westworld “experts” were empathizing with me as often as they were enlightening me. David and Joanna have especially illuminating meta-discussions in the final 20 minutes of episode 8 and the 70–80-minute portion of episode 10 (which includes a great look at opposing reactions to the finale).
Still Watching: Westworld: Like the above (and again co-hosted by Joanna Robinson), this podcast contains a somewhat more serious treatment of the show, including interviews with cast members.
This Insider page attempts to lay out every big event in Westworld’s history, listing the episode the information comes from, and updating after every episode.
This was the best article I could find discussing Westworld’s “big questions” (note: it is from season 1).
Both linked in post above, I appreciated the discussions in the aptly titled “Am I Watching Westworld Wrong?” and “Is talking about ‘Westworld’ more fun than watching ‘Westworld’?”
This season 1 interview with Evan Rachel Wood always makes me happy, and reminds me how difficult this acting job would be.
*Update: YouTuber Just Write has his own take on how Westworld could be improved in this video. And no, he doesn't complain any more about the narrative complexity. We're done with that now.