Riverdale: Best. TV Show. Ever.

Ha ha I’m just joking. Or am I? No, I am. Unless?

Hello to whoever is reading,

I have given up any pretense of making my writing on this “newsletter” “good.” So, here’s a stream of consciousness.

Riverdale is batshit ridiculous. If you know nothing else about the show, you probably know that. It draws fervor online, especially by people who don’t even watch the show (or by people who quit it) who are shocked at the latest outlandish plot developments. I should know; against better judgement, I’ve recapped the last few episodes of the show on TikTok. Also against better judgment, I admit I find the show entertaining. Sometimes, it even makes me giddy.

The truth is, there are no rules on Riverdale. Or, rather, there is one rule: anything goes.

Shoehorned musical numbers? Check. Villains who could be aliens? Check. A high school student running a speakeasy? Check. An alternate universe, a main character closing a time loop by writing a comic book series that decides what happens in that universe and fuels its energy, and a dog with superpowers? Check, check, and check.

We’ve barely scratched the surface.

And, honestly? That’s how the show has always been. That’s what the show should be. That’s what makes the show… the show.

I want to take people who say, “What happened here? Wasn’t this a simple show about a murder mystery? Wasn’t this a show about cheerleaders?” and shake them.

What would make anyone think this show was simple? What would make anyone think this show has ever committed the ultimate sin of being… normal?

For one, Veronica and Cheryl are main characters on the show—two people who speak like tweets chucked through an AOL away message written on a T9 keyboard.

When people ask what happened to this show, they’re shocked at the supernatural elements. But Riverdale has long hinted at the supernatural. In the first season alone, Cheryl’s grandmother predicted that Polly would have twins; in fact, the entire Blossom family were supposedly descendants of witches.

The show also often made mention of Greendale, the city where Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (CAOS) took place. Both shows exist within the same universe. If magic exists in CAOS, then it exists in Riverdale.

And throughout the seasons, Riverdale has left some things unexplained. What some might call lazy writing, I call a wink to the audience that something’s amiss. What exactly was going on with the Gargoyle King? Were the Mothmen actually aliens? Sure, the Gargoyle King ended up being Chic—the conman who pretended to be Betty’s sister. Yeah, the Mothmen were just an urban legend. But those leering shots that went on a beat too long, that eerie score that suggests not everything is as it seems? It’s like watching an episode of Scooby-Doo. This time, you unmask the villain and it’s Old Man Mr. Jenkins. Next time, it might actually be a ghoul.

And who could forget the infamous moment Betty saw two infants floating above a fire at what first appeared to be a human sacrifice to appease the cult her mom and sister were in? Real? Hallucination?

Nothing, though, compares to the current season of Riverdale. It has completely lost it. At the end of the last season, Archie and Betty were hooking up in bed when a bomb placed under it went off. That explosion created an alternate timeline, Rivervale. This season began with a five-episode “Rivervale” event, where anything that could happen did happen. Supernatural plots ran amok. The entire town sacrificed Archie! Toni turned into La Llorona! The Devil showed up!

It all concludes with the 100th episode of Riverdale. Dear reader, it is an episode I will never forget. It is seared into my brain. It’s a smorgasbord of converging multiverses. Old characters who should be dead pop up. The actor who played Reggie in season one appears, leaving current Reggie quite confused. The short of it is that Rivervale Jughead discovers a comic book series titled Riverdale—for 95 issues. Then, there’s an explosion, and the comic book title changes to Rivervale. The storylines match up with how their lives have played out so far. He finds out that Rivervale is siphoning energy from the Riverdale timeline. As the world begins to crumble around them, there’s only one way to ensure both timelines don’t implode: Rivervale Jughead must continue writing the comic book series to act as a battery to fuel the Rivervale universe. Jughead is the Rivervale god. The episode is titled “The Jughead Paradox.”

Back in Riverdale, Archie and Betty somehow survive the explosion. They soon realize Archie is invulnerable; he threw himself on her as a reflex, which is how they didn’t die. Betty can now see people’s malevolent auras. Their dog, Bingo, broke all four of his legs but they heal in just a couple of days. Jughead, who was also in the house, loses his hearing in the explosion but gains the ability to hear people’s thoughts.

That’s not all. Others are now gaining superpowers. Cheryl can start fires with her mind. Tabitha can time travel. Anyone else could be next.

And it’s great timing, too. A new villain has entered town. His name is Percival Pickens, and he has the power of persuasion. He’s also existed in Riverdale for decades (as Tabitha learned while time traveling). Since at least the 1940s, he’s tried to sow doubt and mayhem within the town. He is “evil incarnate,” as Tabitha says. She went to the future, and it was apocalyptic, all barren and ash. Whether by serendipity or because some Rivervale energy has spilled into Riverdale, this is why our gang has gained their superpowers.

It’s fucking nuts.

It’s not careening along the edge of ridiculousness. It has catapulted beyond the atmosphere of ridiculousness. Ridiculous is the Earth’s sky, and Riverdale has reached Pluto.

That’s not even mentioning the tiny details. Every single episode, I am shocked—nay, dismayed—at what comes next. I thought a shoehorned musical number was weird. Then, I thought the possibility of spontaneous human combustion was bonkers. Then, Tabitha tried to prevent the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and drank a milkshake out of the literal Holy Grail to get back to the present.

When people hear about these details, a common rebuttal is that the Archie comics were wholesome stories about a redheaded guy and his friends. How did they lose the plot? But that’s not exactly true.

Archie comics have always been playful and fun—and, yes, even ridiculous. In the 1950s, they began Archie’s Mad House, dedicated to offbeat storylines and the supernatural. It’s here where they introduced Sabrina the Teenage Witch. She was so loved, they decided to canonize her into the regular Archie comics. In the 1960s, they introduced Pureheart the Powerful, Archie’s superhero alter ego. There’s Jughead’s Time Police, where Jughead time travels. There are crossovers, like the one with Sonic the Hedgehog or the TV show Glee. There are parodies, like the James Bond ones. There’s the horror collection, which included zombies and vampires. There’s Archie’s Weird Mysteries, both the comics and the show, where monsters invade Riverdale due to lab experiments gone wrong.

Riverdale seemed like it started as a dark, sexy take on Archie and the gang—yet another fun, new reimagining. But there was always something bubbling underneath the surface. It has now pushed the envelope further and further. What happens when a reimagining reimagines itself? It’s not just funhouse mirrors. It’s like several funhouse mirrors propped up against each other, the image warping infinitely. Are we even sure we know which image is the original? It’s taken the spirit of the continued reinvention and twisted itself inward, spiraling till it finally combusts. It only feels unearned if you haven’t been on the ride since the beginning… or if you don’t appreciate the mythos, for lack of a better term.

Is it good; is it bad? Yes? Does Riverdale exist in these binaries?

The greatest misconception people have is thinking the Riverdale writers aren’t in on it, as if they are unaware of how bonkers their show is. I don’t imagine the Riverdale writers holding up every script, tears in their eyes, in awe, whispering: “My masterpiece.” (Though, maybe they should be.)

At any moment, someone could be possessed; misusing FBI resources; blackmailing J. Edgar Hoover; joining or creating a cult; selling or consuming the drug Jingle Jangle; faking their own death; boiling someone alive; creating a group of vigilantes; trying to take down yet the latest serial killer in town; hiding someone’s corpse in their house; locking an evil spirit in a doll; or be a guardian angel who shows someone their true form in order to literally drive them mad, like Birdbox.

But I also don’t imagine that the Riverdale writers sit around thinking about what they’re trying to say. What is the show trying to say? I don’t consider myself to be the smartest man in any room, but, you know, I get by. I can’t pinpoint what’s the “message” of Riverdale.

Is it that good will prevail? Is it a story about loyalty (as noted by Archie’s undying love for the town)? Is it that creativity is the energy of life? Something else?

I think, maybe, that it doesn’t matter. Two years into a global pandemic, one of the commonalities of TV shows and movies right now is alternate timelines. We’re seeing it in the MCU. We’re seeing it in the film most are calling the best of the year, Everything Everywhere All at Once. We saw it in Riverdale. We hear people talking about it in conversation—“How did we get in the bad timeline?” Perhaps we’re craving an escape, a peek into something otherworldly.

Riverdale is true escapism. It is not rooted in our reality, but it’s also not rooted in any reality. Anything goes. Nothing’s off the table. For 42 minutes to an hour, watching it means to be untethered, free of any restraints. It means being wholly unbothered with the real world. I often find myself screaming at the screen, mouth agape, adrenaline coursing through every cell in my body. Some Sunday nights, when it airs, I can’t sleep after watching the latest episode of Riverdale. Is good television measured by the height of emotions we feel? Probably not. But I can tell you few shows have ever made me go through as many emotions per minute as Riverdale has, if any. It’s exhilarating.

And one thing’s for sure: there’s nothing else like it.

Is it good; is it bad? Riverdale has carved a new adjective into our lexicon. It is Riverdale. Removed from descriptors. Well, except for one.

I might not be able pinpoint what Riverdale is trying to say, but it’s obvious the indelible mark it will leave behind. Riverdale: the most batshit show on television.