Spoiler alert: this blog discusses events in episodes seven-12 of Sense8 on Netflix, don’t read on if you haven’t finished the season.

It was clear from the off that the Wachowskis’s divisive, mindbending thriller was very clever. But by the end, it proved itself something better than that; it proved itself to be really rather smart.



Because, when you think about, Sense8’s bafflingly high concept wasn’t actually all that baffling. Most shows spend hours upon hours establishing grand hare-brained mythologies as if grand hare-brained mythologies are the most natural things in the world. Here, we found out about the “sensates”, their powers and predicaments, at the exact same pace they did. Which was, as it would be, one heck of a bewildering experience. They didn’t know what was going on (hello, 4 Non Blondes), so why should we expect to? In Sense8 we really were right there with the characters, which is pretty much the hardest thing for a drama to do. It’s a brave way to sell a series; as my editor commented, the “it gets better after a few episodes” comment is usually an apologetic cop-out, but here it was the case because it needed to be the case.

We’ll see whether such a bold tactic will pay off when we find out if Netflix orders a second season. The Wachowskis and co-writer J Michael Straczynski have a five-year plan in mind and the cast are now under contract. And so the second half of the series had the job to do of getting us to the point where such a thing is feasible.

A rescue mission, Sense8 style. Photograph: Netflix

And along the way, the show did emerge with something approaching a format; being in no particular order, some meandering character work that barely moved forward any plot; a high-octane action sequence that definitely did; and an occasionally magical sequence where the sensates found themselves in a curious synthesis. The scene in the Icelandic opera house when they all flashed back to their births before Riley’s nosebleed collapse was particularly affecting.

Which is not to say that anything, anything can ever match up to the show’s high audacity watermark: the great big orgy of episode six. Wonderfully, this was played for laughs when Will and Lito finally came face to face. “Do I know you?” asked the visibly curious cop; the newly out Lito matter-of-factly mentioning that they had sex and it was very special, them sharing a half-moment as an exasperated Nomi reminded them in the cadence-deficient drone we’ve come to love her for, “We’re on a clock here, fellas.” There’s sexual fluidity and there’s … that.



‘We’re on a clock here …’ Nomi (Jamie Clayton) in Sense8. Photograph: Murray Close/Netflix

And so the individual stories unfolded, reaching some kinds of resolution while the links within the sensate became even stronger – you could take or leave the ones you wanted. So Lito’s eventual redemption with the beard-love-triangle came when he rescued Danilea from Joaquin and played out like a telenovela of its own; Wolfgang’s crime-racket story got increasingly tedious but remained worth it for all the long shots of Max Reimelt smouldering; Kala’s story got increasingly pointless; and Nomi’s spy thriller, being led towards Whispers via the nefarious Doctor Meltzer gradually spun these people closer into each others’ worlds, so that by the end there were actually tangible relationships between them all.

It still feels like Sun and Capheus were underused as characters and were more like plot devices; she seemed to become involved only when somebody needs help with kickassery; and he in the finale literally popped up to hotwire a car, then vanished again.

Whispers (Terrence Mann) interrogates Jonas (Naveen Andrews). Photograph: Netflix

Which left Riley and Will front and centre. Not promising. Throughout, I have found her interminable, and him a little beige. Which probably says as much about what this show does with perception and empathy as anything. The revelation that her dour demeanour comes from losing a baby was jolting; you could feel – almost like being in the sensate yourself or something – what it would have taken for her not to just curl up on that mountain. Coupled with a tender and understated performance that you didn’t suspect Brian J Smith had in him, it made for a devastating denouement.

Over on the Doctor Who blogs, a common complaint below the line is for somebody to roll their eyes and wither about how “love has saved the day again”. Well here love did save the day, and it wasn’t just unapologetic, it was the whole point and it was beautiful. If the Wachowskis set themselves the task of making a sci-fi show that was emotionally mature, sexually fluid, that asked questions about faith and power and identity then they should give themselves a gold star.

These characters found themselves in a dazzling, chaotic, uncertain world full of imperfect people that, half the time, you can never quite read, but who will inspire and save you at the times you least expect. Sorry if the Wachowski fumes have turned me into a painful wannabe Yoda here – but if you can’t identify with that as a universal human experience, then you’re probably not a real person.

See you next year?