The Worst Series Finales of All Time

Joe Otterson’s defense:

A critical thing to consider with any piece of media is the context in which it came out. Instead of the age of instant streaming gratification and binge watching we live in now, the first half of the sixth and final season of “The Sopranos” came out two years after the fifth season ended. The second half, which ended with the infamous cut to black in the middle of “Don’t Stop Believin’,” came out a year after the first half. So fans were understandably a little perturbed. On top of that, it was not as easy to go back and re-watch episodes leading up to the finale at the time. That is why now, 15 years after “The Sopranos” concluded, the ending of the series is actually satisfying upon repeat viewing, instead of thinking your cable has gone out. Fans can see the buildup to the finale in minute detail, leading to the conclusion that Tony Soprano gets what was coming to him courtesy of the mystery man in the Members Only jacket.  

Kate Aurthur’s rebuttal:

Someday, I will do a “Sopranos” re-watch, and when I do, I reserve the right to take this blurb back. But that Sunday night, I was the TV editor at the Los Angeles Times, and we were all in the office watching the show together, because TV critic Mary McNamara, who’d later win a Pulitzer Prize, was reviewing the series finale for the next day’s paper (the internet was actually a secondary thought at the time). So when the screen went black, we all screamed in the mostly empty newsroom, thinking the cable had gone out. Yes, that’s become a cliché, I know! But yes, it also really happened! Panic ensued, with everyone wondering how Mary could write a review not knowing whether Tony died — and then we all slowly realized that it had been deliberate. That rage is what I will always associate with the ending of “The Sopranos,” even if/when I reverse course on thinking it was a cheap, cheating way not to tie up the story of Tony Soprano. Also, I could do without the years and years of discourse about what really happened. Anything for less discourse, is my motto! [Smash to black.]

The ending to Larry David’s legendary sitcom isn’t bad because of where it leaves the characters; having the central group of neurotic New Yorkers land in jail, bickering with each other, as usual, in the cell is a pretty fitting way for the show — famed for no hugs and no learning — to go out. The ending is bad because it’s painfully, painfully boring. The plot follows the four friends as they’re arrested for criminal indifference after cruelly mocking a fat man being robbed, and are faced in court by an endless parade of people they’ve encountered over nine seasons who recount their various misdeeds. Essentially, it’s a glorified clip show — one that directly followed a two-part clip show with no plot whatsoever, to add insult to the injury. One of the sharpest, least cute shows on television deserved better than a groaner of a finale overly enamored with its own history. — Wilson Chapman

It’s hard not to feel a little bad for David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. When the duo signed on to “Game of Thrones,” they were expecting to adapt a completed series of novels with a fleshed out endpoint. But with George R.R. Martin being the master procrastinator that he is, that didn’t happen, and they were stuck with the task of wrapping a sprawling, years-in-the-making fantasy epic themselves. But at the same time, you’d think the conclusion to a juggernaut franchise would be given more care than it did.  

Instead, the final episode (arguably the entire final season) of “Game of Thrones” was unforgivably sloppy, with a rushed descent into fascism on the part of Daenerys (Emilia Clarke) that could have been interesting had it been given any real buildup, and largely unsatisfying endings to the stories of the cast — from Jon Snow (Kit Harington) being banished to Arya (Maisie Williams) choosing to abandon her family to explore the world for reasons that were barely explained. And, of course, after eight seasons of fans debating who will end up on the Iron Throne, the eventual crown to rule Westeros went to one of the characters who did the least to earn the title. HBO can try to repair the legacy of the franchise with spinoffs all they want, but “Who has a better story than Bran the Broken?” will live on in infamy as a catch-all term for bad TV finales. — WC

To write this blurb, I had to hit the books (um, I googled) to remind myself of what happened in the May 2009 series finale of “Battlestar Galactica” — which I watched multiple times back then, both for work and as a huge fan of the show. And I was definitely confused by it then, but reading about it now? WTF! Kara (aka Starbuck, aka the best character on the show, played by Katee Sackhoff) was some sort of divine being — huh? The Final Five Cylons … mean what now? Hera is who? “All Along the Watchtower” … why? But most of all, the show’s infamous epilogue in New York City, set 150,000 years later, in which Six (Tricia Helfer) and Baltar (James Callis) discuss some of this hooey, and refer to the discovery of Hera’s remains as “mitochondrial Eve” — just absolutely not. But for its calamitous ending, “Battlestar Galactica” might have been a show for the ages, one new viewers continuously discover. Blew it. — KA

Four words: he became a lumberjack. Upon its airing, the series finale of “Dexter” was so poorly received that its final scene, which sees Miami’s most prolific killer hiding out in a new life as a lumberjack in Oregon, became an instant meme and a catch-all term for shows that royally screwed the landing. The gory drama had been in a longtime downward trajectory for roughly four seasons, but not even fans who stuck through the rough patches could predict how badly the series ended. Dexter ends up facing no real consequences for his actions, with his friends and colleagues never learning about his various misdeeds throughout the series. And show MVP Debra ends up in a vegetative state and unceremoniously dumped out to sea in a cruel coda for her character that tried for tragedy, but just ended up ridiculous. At least there was a silver lining: Last year Showtime aired “New Blood,” a 10-episode limited series continuation that, although not perfect, allowed lead actor Michael C. Hall to hang up his knives with a bit more dignity. — WC

Michael Schneider’s defense:

“We have to go back!” And that’s what I did, in 2020, at the start of the pandemic — I did a deep binge of the entire run of “Lost” along with my son, and here’s the big reveal: It’s an even better watch as a binge. And better than you remembered it. Rather than waiting months for answers as viewers were forced to do during the show’s original broadcast run, watching it all at once is a much more fulfilling experience in seeing the pieces come together — leading to a final season and finale that makes a lot more sense when you take the show in its entirety. It’s a show about letting go, and moving on. And at the end, that’s what Jack Shephard, and everyone, is able to do. There are few shows that have been such a fun ride as “Lost,” and I’m not just talking about Hurley, Jin and Sawyer in the Dharma Initiative van. But that was fun, too.

Maane Khatchatourian’s rebuttal:

There was never a chance the finale was going to resolve all of the unanswered questions that had accumulated over six seasons. But the decision to make the “flash sideways” sequences into a kind of purgatory, while thematically apt, also came off like it was trolling all the (incorrect) fan theories that the survivors of Flight 815 had been dead the whole time. Also, that temple containing the light of the island looked far too much like a cheap set, critically undermining what should have felt like The Big Climax for one of the most addictive, and obsessed-over, TV shows ever.

Kids, I’m going to tell you an incredible story. A story about how a friend group’s years of personal growth was swiftly flushed down the toilet. In its final episodes, “HIMYM” delivers on its years of buildup to unite Ted with his soulmate — only to kill her off. It’s revealed that Barney and Robin divorced, a particularly frustrating detail following an entire season leading up to their wedding. Ted ends the series the same way he started it — by professing his love to Robin, a regression that’s anything but legen- (wait for it) -dary. An alternate ending included with the ninth season’s DVD release provided a far less depressing finale — one where Tracy (aka The Mother) lives, and Robin and Barney’s future remains hopeful. — Katcy Stephan

“Dinosaurs” was an interesting ABC sitcom experiment: What if you replicated the family vibes of “Step by Step” or “Family Matters,” but the whole cast is made up of big Jim Henson dinosaur puppets? Perfect for a child demo that would soon be scared to death by “Jurassic Park,” the four-season, 65-episode run of “Dinosaurs” delivered saccharine hijinks that could have been photocopied from “Full House.” Perhaps that’s why it was so distressing that in the 1994 series finale, the whole family dies. That’s right — all of your favorite characters, including the catchphrase-spouting Baby Sinclair, freeze to death thanks to the looming Ice Age. While historically accurate, it was perhaps the dourest episode of television to ever air. After all, there was no precedent — “Growing Pains” didn’t end with the slaughter of the Seaver family. So when patriarch Earl Sinclair tells his skeptical family, as snow is falling, that “Dinosaurs have been on this earth for 150 million years. And it’s not like we’re just going to … disappear …”, the music swells as we leave their concerned faces and cut to a news broadcast. The dino anchor, delivering a wintery weather forecast while shrouded in grey tones and wearing a thick coat, looks down the barrel of the camera and says, mournfully, “Good night. Goodbye,” before fading to black. Still don’t think this ending traumatized a generation of sitcom-loving Millennials? Consider a top comment on the YouTube rip of the ending: “What’s worse is that, realistically, the baby would probably be the first to die, followed by the other family members one by one until Earl (the one with most body fat) was the only one left, his final moments filled with guilt over what he did to the world and his family.” Thanks for the nightmare fuel, “Dinosaurs!” — William Earl

What was once one of the edgiest shows on television (and opened with a literal bang) ended with a whimper. The love triangle between Anna Paquin’s Sookie, Alexander Skarsgård’s Eric and Stephen Moyer’s Bill that had sucked in fans for seven seasons, was resolved in the most noncommittal way possible … she doesn’t choose either suitor, instead marrying an unidentified, faceless “everyman.” In fact, Bill sacrifices himself so Sookie could have a “normal” life — despite the drama about vampires, faeries, shapeshifters, werewolves and witches being the antithesis of normal. — MK

Before things got weird in a wholly different way with ending the “Roseanne” show — that is, ABC’s abrupt cancellation of the series in May 2018 (to be reborn as “The Conners”), after star Roseanne Barr compared former Obama adviser Valerie Jarrett to an ape on Twitter — the show’s original run on ABC had concluded in an utterly bizarre manner over the course of its ninth season. At once fascinating and a total train wreck, “Roseanne,” which had always been about the Conners’ struggles as a working-class family, turned into an entirely different thing after they won the lottery at the beginning of the season and became millionaires. There are a number of parody episodes of classic sitcoms (“WandaVision” before “WandaVision”? If only!), and the season certainly contains some interesting moments — but it was basically a failed experiment. In the final episode, in May 1997, the audience learned that, in fact, Dan (John Goodman) had died of a heart attack at the end of the show’s eighth season, and all of its ninth was Roseanne distracting herself by writing a fantasy instead of her memoir. When ABC revived the show in 2018, the whole lark that was Season 9 proved to be easily thrown out, with Roseanne joking about Dan dying in his sleep. Now that’s funny! Unlike Barr’s self-immolation on social media, which has brought her career to an end. — KA

Daniel D’Addario’s defense:

The tidiness of certain loose ends being tied off, with conditionally happy endings for Peggy, Roger and Joan, feels pleasurable and satisfying; things fall into place as viewers sense they ought. But it’s where the show leaves Don that takes the finale from good to great. Broken down and having run out of ways to distract himself from the emptiness within, Don has a powerful moment of communion at a group therapy session … and instantly has the idea to convert the ethic of togetherness into a generation-defining ad campaign. Everything in his line of sight can be hollowed out and made commercial. It’s juicily complex and as happy an ending as could be hoped for a man as soul-sick as the nation whose fantasies he conjures: Don finds his way back by turning pain into profit. 

Maane Khatchatourian’s rebuttal:

Let’s face it, there was no way to wrap seven seasons of brilliance in a manner that appeased every viewer. As clever as the ending was, which finds Don — meditating atop a hill at a California oceanside retreat — having an epiphany to come up with the legendary Coke ad “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke,” it felt unsatisfying. Despite all the soul-searching, he comes to realize he’s soulless and his true purpose in life is to monetize all positive emotions, even exploiting the feeling of togetherness.

The best episodes of “The X-Files” were standalone mini-intrigues, like “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space’” and “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose,” that pitted Dana Scully’s scientific skepticism against Fox Mulder’s gut-level want to believe. But as the series chugged along through nine seasons, such creative one-offs became increasingly rare and the writers strung along two impossible-to-satisfy intrigues: the on-screen romantic tension between the two agents, and a murky conspiracy involving the Cigarette Smoking Man. The later seasons were bogged down by this menacing figure, who finally died in the 2002 finale, neither revealing nor resolving much. Though Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny’s wound up in one another’s arms, the ending offered little in the way of closure for the many mysteries planted over the 200 previous episodes. X-philes were even less satisfied with the reboot, when the show was brought back for two mini-seasons in 2016. — Peter Debruge

Chuck Lorre let his anger get the better of him as he wrote the final two-part episode of “Two and a Half Men,” which ended the CBS sitcom’s 12-season run in February 2015. Although two seasons had passed since Charlie Sheen’s spectacular firing from the hit CBS/Warner Bros. Television sitcom, Lorre, co-creator and showrunner, still exacted some revenge against Sheen in the episodes titled “Of Course He’s Dead, Parts 1 and 2.” The result is a mix of animation, fourth wall-breaking and some cryptic score-settling jokes that were pretty much devoid of the raunchy fun that Sheen and co-star Jon Cryer, Angus T. Jones and Conchata Ferrell delivered in the series’ prime. — Cynthia Littleton

After watching Lena Dunham’s Hannah Horvath character entertainingly burn through boyfriends, relationships, jobs and personas for six seasons, it came as a bit of a shock to watch her seemingly settle down into contented motherhood by the end of the final episode. Of course, it is Hannah, so there are inevitably bumps along the way, as Marnie volunteers to help the overwhelmed new mother. But a newborn is too much even for Marnie, so she calls in Hannah’s mom, and eventually Hannah starts to feel more comfortable with her new baby Grover. But where are Shosh, Jessa and Adam? With barely a mention of the other characters, their shared Brooklyn history or Hannah’s writing career, the complacent “Girls” finale was a dish of pablum that seemed like a missed opportunity to revisit the chemistry and smart writing that made the show so special. — Pat Saperstein

“Lonely boy” Dan Humphrey’s reveal as the titular tattletale just doesn’t add up. Over the course of six seasons, viewers witness Dan’s visible shock at a number of salacious posts — not to mention the many times GG’s attacks negatively impacted Dan and his relationships with sister Jenny and girlfriend Serena. When the creators told Vulture in 2017 that Dan wasn’t originally intended to be Gossip Girl, it didn’t come as much of a surprise, given the countless plot holes created by the reveal. How does Dan answer for his years of deception in the flash-forward? By marrying Serena, the target of his unrelenting cyberbullying. Serena deserved better! — KS

Dr. Sam Beckett spent five seasons leaping from life to life and hoping each time that his next leap would be the leap home. So fans of the beloved sci-fi series were understandably a little miffed when the series ended with a title card indicating that Sam never actually leapt home. Instead, he decided to continue leaping through time. Not exactly the happy ending some would like, especially considering it was established that Sam had a wife waiting for him. The series also set itself up for trouble by always hinting that Sam was driven by “an unknown force” to leap and keep fixing history. While this is addressed somewhat in the finale, there is never a clear explanation as to what was guiding Sam’s leaps, leaving the mythological element of the series a mystery. — Joe Otterson

“Northern Exposure” was a huge breath of fresh air when it snuck onto CBS’ air on July 12, 1990. The definition of a dramedy, the Universal Television fish-out-of-water vehicle launched actor Rob Morrow in the role of Joel Fleischman as a brash New York City medical student sent to the fictional tiny town of Cicely, Alaska, to work off some of his med school loans. The series was beautifully written and well produced on location in Washington state (not far from where ABC’s “Twin Peaks” was shooting at the time). The storylines were packed with quirky characters, and the show boasted fantastic supporting actors (Barry Corbin, John Cullum, Peg Phillips, Adam Arkin) and was an early springboard for notables including John Corbett, Janine Turner and Cynthia Geary. But the show’s vibe was never the same after creators and original showrunners Joshua Brand and John Falsey exited and David Chase (who was a Universal TV veteran at the time) took over. Morrow exited halfway through the final season. The series finale, “Tranquility Base,” was disappointing for longtime fans for key story decisions made for Turner’s maverick aviator Maggie O’Connell and Corbett’s disc jockey Chris Stevens. — CL

The medical-mystery show turned the tables on the viewer in the series finale. In the final episode, Dr. Gregory House (Hugh Laurie) seemingly died in a fire. After spending the episode visited by the ghosts of dead (and some undead) characters past, it seemed like this would be the end for House. The drama pushed the con even further, filming a funeral complete with tear-filled farewells to the incorrigible savant. However, moments after the COPIOUS goodbyes, it was revealed that the whole thing was an act, House was alive, and he scammed everyone so he could get out of getting in trouble for a prank, thus spending the last five months with his terminally ill best friend Wilson. Glad that all worked out for everyone … but Wilson. — MW

Having written, produced and aired a gratifying and well-received series finale is usually a good sign that you don’t need to make another season, but look to “Scrubs” if you need proof. In May 2009, Season 8 of the series wrapped with a double-length episode that brought hard-earned closure for J.D. (Zach Braff) and his friends, and would be worthy of placement on a list of finales that made their mark. But ABC, which took over the medical sitcom from NBC right before its would-be last season, greenlit another installation that lacked any of the show’s original luster. “Scrubs” Season 9 was so different from the rest of the series that creator Bill Lawrence even asked ABC if they could change the title to “Scrubs: Med School” and brand it as a spinoff, considering it a different show, even though he himself was enthusiastic about the chance to keep the story going. The only actors from the original ensemble who stayed on as series regulars were Donald Faison and John C. McGinley, with their characters Turk and Dr. Cox, respectively, mentoring a new flock of med school students played by Eliza Coupe, Kerry Bishé, Michael Mosley and Dave Franco. The stories didn’t stick, the ratings dropped and “Scrubs” was canceled after losing its shot at going out on a high note. — Selome Hailu

“Killing Eve” began as Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s thrilling twist on the usual cat and mouse trope, pitting Jodie Comer and Sandra Oh against each other with each actor at the top of her game. Four seasons and as many showrunners later, however, the series became a repetitive shadow of itself. By the time it finally ended in a burst of all-too-predictable violence, “Killing Eve” fans couldn’t be too shocked, but they could absolutely be disappointed. — Caroline Framke

Rare is the series to deliver not one, but two underwhelming endings, but Amy Sherman-Palladino’s beloved mother-daughter dramedy managed it. The original seven seasons ended with almost no real closure, with Rory (Alexis Bledel) moving away from Stars Hollow in an episode that left a lot unsaid in the personal journeys of her, her mom Lorelei (Lauren Graham) and the entire Gilmore clan. But while the original finale was overly slight, the ending of the Netflix revival was downright rage-inducing. Rory, having regressed into a full-blown monster in the years since the series, winds up pregnant with the child of her college boyfriend Logan (Matt Czuchry) in an echo of her own mother’s history. The attempt at a full-circle moment landed painfully flat, turning one of the warmest, loveliest shows on television into a nightmare of a family doomed to repeat its own mistakes. — WC

Ruth didn’t deserve to go out like this. Say what you will about the fate of the Byrde family, the breakout star and heart of the series was always Ruth Langmore (played by Emmy-winning actress Julia Garner). After seasons and seasons of abuse, neglect and clawing her way up the con-artist food chain, Ruth was finally on top. She beat Marty Byrde (Jason Bateman) at his own game, a move that infuriated, but also made the antihero a bit proud. The Netflix series spent four seasons systematically wiping out every single person Ruth loved, but toward the very last episode, things seemed to finally be coming up Langmore. But like all things cooked up by the Byrde fam, this was also too good to be true. The scrappy Ruth wouldn’t get that long-awaited hug from her waffling father figure. Instead, she was shot down in the rain by a final season character add-on. Ruth, who cemented the phrases “bitch wolf” and “I don’t know shit about fuck” into the halls of TV history, deserved a better exit. Or, at the very least, a last quip. — Meredith Woerner

The provocative hospital drama was a ratings juggernaut for NBC from 1982 to 1988, helping launch the careers of stars David Morse, Alfre Woodard, Ed Begley Jr., Howie Mandel, Mark Harmon, Denzel Washington and Helen Hunt. Despite being touted as gritty and realistic, the series ending proved that … it wasn’t real at all. In one of the most talked-about series finales of all time, the last scene revealed that the entire show was actually a figment of an autistic boy’s imagination. The hospital existed in a snow globe that Tommy played with, and all the stories were imagined in his mind. Talk about a slap in the face. — MK

Teri Hatcher and Dean Cain were the hottest thing on TV in “Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman,” so audiences desperately wanted Lois and Clark to have a happy ending. And they did. Well, sort of. To be fair, the Season 4 finale was never meant to be the end of the series. Lois and Clark, now happily married, find out they are unable to have children. By the end of the episode, the couple are in bed when they hear a baby crying. Clark investigates and finds a newborn with a Superman blanket and note saying it’s theirs. Who is that baby? Where did it come from? Twenty-five years later, I still want answers. — Jazz Tangcay