In the words of NBA Finals star and one of the sunnier characters we got to know throughout the series, Klay Thompson (Klay Thompson), “Holy cannoli!”
‘Game 6’ turned out to be the surprise ending no one saw coming, wrapping the show an episode earlier than expected. Was this a case of budgeting restraints? Summer blockbuster competition? Performer fatigue? Or was it the plan all along? Let’s dive into the dramatic closing of the series to figure it out.
Early on, ‘Game 6’ began to feel familiar in that it shared a lot of the pacing problems of the last couple of episodes. Any momentum gained in the storyline for either the ‘Warriors’ or the ‘Celtics’ was pretty much immediately snubbed out by the other in a lurching, effortful call-and-response. The physicality of ‘Game 5’ was also back, though the stunts seemed ill-timed and awkward. For example, Draymond Green (Draymond Green) doing the rote dance moves for the song ‘YMCA’ in Jayson Tatum’s (Jayson Tatum) face within the first 12 minutes, a choice even co-director Steve Kerr appeared confused about.
However just when it seemed like we were bound for the same pacing pitfalls and rote corporeal concerns, and that Finals was going to be remembered as a show that shifted to stunt work to save itself, ‘Game 6’ suddenly turned to comedy.
It started subtly, a few off the finger losses of the all-important ball that this series has been centered on. At first it was easy enough to think, “Okay, here we go, another clumsy allegory of how the tools of daily life have come to overtake us,” but the slapstick sloppiness continued to pile up. There was Draymond Green bungling a behind the back transfer of the ball to Klay Thompson when the two had just deftly stolen it away and gone running down the length of the floor. There were even more misfired transfers ricocheting off the actors feet, hands and shoulders. There were cartoon pile-ons where a tangle of bodies looked like a Looney Tunes fight — and indeed, involving Kevon Looney (Kevon Looney).
The break of ‘halftime’ saw a lopsided tally of points — 54-39 — in favor of the ‘Warriors’ group, who found themselves again on the parquet floors of a believable interpretation of a demoralized ‘Boston.’ Before there was time to consider whether numerology was meant to play a role (the ‘Warriors’ had a tally of 27 in both of the show’s first two acts), and really it was for the best because it felt late, even for Adam Silver, to introduce yet another mystical element, there was the over the top somber mood the ‘halftime’ scene worked to strike.
Huge funeral-esque bouquets flanked the half moon desk where the four familiar men sat hunched together — an aside: there haven’t been five of them again since ‘Game 1’ and the absence of Magic Johnson (Magic Johnson) was never explained, is he back consulting on season two of HBO’s Winning Time? — and their collective tone was made pitch-perfect to match. All four of the hosts sounded on the verge of terror when consulting on the action that had just unfolded, but rather than shroud ‘Game 6’ in doubt, they helped dial up its comedic energy. Here were four modern day Pagliaccis but without any of the murderous intent, only the dole dour demeanors.
The transition into the second half of action was swift and moved adeptly from slapstick comedy into high-stakes drama in major part to the show’s prevalent hero, Steph Curry (Steph Curry). The fabled third quarter opened into what the narrators adeptly (for the first time) labeled “Curry chaos.” Oh, this isn’t a comedy, Steph Curry seems to say, casting a calm glance across the floor and shifting the action into a high-flying content of gymnastics. Indeed, we saw that done very well by his co-star, Klay Thompson, who seems to have figured out a way to move faster through space and time.
Ever the showman, Steph Curry’s character has appeared to take the earlier strife he felt in the series and his usual metronomic bearing and alchemize them into something playfully austere. He single-handedly flung the ball on five long arcs toward the solitary stanchion, sinking three cleanly and gracefully through that circle of consequence. The only adversary brave enough to try and stop him came in the late series emergence of Al Horford (Al Horford), who, after seeing his companion Grant Williams (Grant Williams) bloodied and battered, seemed ready to take revenge.
It was a deft though no doubt difficult decision by co-directors Steve Kerr and Ime Udoka to tarnish that once golden third quarter with a blood price, but after the camp and satire ‘Game 6’ started with, the move makes sense. And Steph Curry worked to further incense his opponents on the ‘Celtics’ by kissing his ring finger, the place we understand to be wanting for him and where the prize of this match-up will sit for its winner.
There were still a few confusing cuts in Finals penultimate episode. The genie Steve Javie (Steve Javie), for example, was back to talk about blood. The camera cut to him in a peaked sequence of events and took us visibly far from the action, to that dark and sparsely maintained control room somewhere. Then after all their success in “making shots,” the ‘Warriors’ group suddenly went cold, missing ten attempts in a row but without it meaning much for the ‘Celtics.’ A missed opportunity to further elaborate on how the narrative trope of a hero’s journey is overused in today’s television.
While the finale was quiet — the ‘Warriors’ group holding close to the ball as if hesitant to part with it, the ‘Celtics’ group tired, replaced by extras so close to the finish and unable to muster much of their earlier energy for the stage — the emotion was raw. Steph Curry openly wept as the production ended and turned meta, stagehands scrambling to build a stage on the stage. All of the actors embraced at length while the green-clad and once furious crowd stirred in their seats, confused at what to do, or else streamed to the exits like exorcised ghosts.
The theme in ‘Game 6,’ and certainly the whole of NBA Finals, was that for triumph to really take hold, poise had to be thrown through a window, like a brick, in real time. This was a series that was as elaborate as it was bizarre, played with concepts of masculinity, vulnerability, the limits of physicality and even of our concept of the universe as we know it. While all the hints at alternate realities and clones never came to anything, we can appreciate how creative showrunner Silver was in this production (thought he was, perhaps not wanting to hog the spotlight, absent in it’s award ceremony) even if those risks didn’t quite have the big payoff fans of his earlier shows wanted.
And really, wasn’t this all to show that life is the biggest production within a production of all?