A man is alternately exposed to heat and cold as a form of torture. Another suffers headaches because of a tumor. A woman is shot in the upper body in a parking lot. One sniper shoots another in the head. A drone latches onto a vehicle, triggering an explosion that kills some passengers and injures others. A man's boat is overwhelmed by the raging sea, and he sinks to the bottom. All these painful incidents occur in the second season of The Terminal List, and you do end up identifying with the people experiencing them—but not quite in the way the show intends. The characters suffer physically. You suffer mentally. Whatever pain they endure on screen, you experience its psychological equivalent while watching the series. If the first season of The Terminal List was criticized for being "dour" and "miserable," the second season is even dourer and more miserable. Dave Nemetz of TVLine called Season 1 "punishingly grim and hopelessly boneheaded," adding that "the action is bloody but not exciting, and the story is bewildering but not interesting. In between, we get saccharine family scenes and a paint-by-numbers conspiracy that gets more complicated but not any more compelling."
Dear Nemetz, did you know back in 2022 that your words would remain so painfully relevant four years later? Your criticism can be applied, almost word for word, to the second season of The Terminal List as well. Yes, it is punishingly grim and hopelessly boneheaded. Yes, the action is bloody but not exciting, and the story is bewildering but not interesting. Even your complaints about the family scenes and the conspiracy remain applicable. Jack Carr, the author whose books inspired the series, responded to the negative reactions to Season 1 by pointing to its 95% audience rating and arguing that critics were not the show's intended audience. Who will tell Carr that critics are not aliens from Mars? They, too, are part of the audience that streams shows and goes to movie theaters. The difference is that professional critics are expected to examine what they watch closely, assessing not just whether a show appeals to them but how effectively it achieves what it sets out to do. When a series mistakes grimness for intensity and complexity for compelling storytelling, it becomes rather difficult to convince them that they are watching something worthwhile.
But anyway, Carr's response, viewed in retrospect, almost sounds like this: "Critics be damned. If they think The Terminal List is boring, exhausting, and unexciting, we'll give them more of the same in the new season." Is Season 2 a giant fuck you to the critics, then? Is it showing them the middle finger? If so, the creators should probably have checked their aim, because they end up giving themselves the finger in the mirror. They haven't meaningfully improved The Terminal List. And words like "entertaining" and "fun" were probably not thrown around in the writers' room, either. So here we are, stuck with another batch of eight long—really long—episodes. Each runs for roughly 50-58 minutes, yet somehow feels as if it lasts 50 years. I clicked the play button as a young, forward-looking critic, eager and excited about the viewing experiences the future had in store for me. When the series finally ended and I got up from my seat, my joints ached, my skin had gone flabby, my hair had turned gray, and my grandkids were asking if they could have pizza for dinner.
Even as that imaginary dad—or granddad—I couldn't give my seal of approval to an action thriller that many would classify, ahem, as a "Shows For Dads" kind of show. My future self revolted in disgust and founded a nonprofit organization populated by elderly activists protesting against shows that use our age and our status as dads or granddads as a license to sell unimaginative, enervating, and turgid content. And The Terminal List is so lacking in joy, vigor, and enthusiasm that The Terminal Disease might have been a more appropriate title. In Episode 1, Chris Pratt's James Reece, after a rough night, is seen fixing his boat. Honestly, I would have preferred it if James had spent all eight hours teaching us how to repair gadgets, cars, or other household items. At least then, the viewing experience might have been fruitful. Instead, he gets involved in yet another insipid terrorist plot.
But why does James even bother getting involved in another mission? Shouldn't he be retired by now—not just professionally but physically and mentally, too? The man has a brain tumor, for crying out loud. What kind of benign tumor is this, anyway, that seems content to torment him with flashbacks and hallucinations but still leaves him ready for another adventure? Is the tumor, by conjuring up characters and glimpses of events from Season 1, trying to tell us something about that season? Something along the lines of, "Well, some critics had a point"? But I digress. James returns because Mo Farooq (Dar Salim), his friend and former operator, is now working for a terrorist organization. Why? Don't hold your breath waiting for an answer that makes the wait worthwhile. The reveal is as underwhelming as the others in the show, which is quite an achievement considering how hard the revelations seem to work at being unpredictable.
Then again, the whole exercise boils down to removing one mask after another to reach the real target. In that broad sense, Season 2 resembles Season 1, as we once again move from one name to another—each belonging to someone who must be eliminated. The problem is not simply that this structure is familiar. It's that the show gives us little reason to care about the process. It reminds you that you could get a similar experience elsewhere without having to sit through eight episodes and emerge feeling like a corpse. Play Assassin's Creed, unmask enemies, eliminate targets, and check a few more names off your list of people to murder. You'll have a much, much better time than you will sitting through this nothingburger. The games even offer beautiful scenery, something The Terminal List is sorely devoid of. The 007 First Light, too, looks more spectacular.
Meanwhile, The Terminal List Season 2 is spectacularly unremarkable. It is so unremarkable that when James has a staring contest with a lion, the animal eventually walks out of the frame, presumably because it feels sorry for him. The lion grants James a small victory to help him feel better about being trapped in such a dull thriller. What a kind, sympathetic animal. No wonder lions are known as the kings of the jungle. I don't think I could have shown the same generosity. I would have stolen James' pills and hidden them somewhere secret so that he could die sooner—and the show could end sooner as well.
The press materials state that five of the eight episodes were written by military veterans and that veterans either co-directed or served as second-unit directors on four of the eight episodes. Good for them. But given how excruciating the series is, this isn't exactly a distinction worth boasting about. If anything, it underlines a point the show itself seems unwilling to acknowledge: expertise in one field does not automatically translate into excellence in another. Military experience can lend authenticity to a thriller's tactical details, but it cannot compensate for weak characterization, tedious plotting, or uninspired direction. I'm sure the veterans involved wouldn't expect screenwriters, directors, editors, cinematographers, makeup artists, or production designers to know how to fight a war simply because they excel at their own jobs. Sending them into combat would be a major misfire. What do you know? "Major misfire" is a pretty good way to describe the second season of The Terminal List as well.
Final Score - [1.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times