Apple TV+ ‘Government Cheese’ Episode 10 Review - A Whimsical Finale With a Few Loose Ends

“St. Hampton,” the tenth and final episode of Government Cheese, doesn’t just close a door; it pauses in the doorway, glances back at the cluttered room of Hampton Chambers’ chaotic life, and lets out a long, satisfied sigh. It's not a fireworks-ending kind of finale. Instead, it's the quiet kind that knows exactly how strange life has been and chooses to end on a half-smile rather than a bang.

Hampton played with unwavering oddball sincerity by David Oyelowo, is still riding the line between genius and delusion. His invention, the self-sharpening drill bit hilariously named the “Bit Magician,” is finally ready for the world, or at least, ready for one last desperate pitch. He’s on a redemption tour: paying off old debts, mending family bonds, and maybe even proving he’s not just a footnote in his own story. But for a man who’s been chased by ghosts, both literal and metaphorical, closure isn’t going to come easily.

The episode opens in a typically offbeat tone. Hampton arrives in upstate New York, where the Canadian Prevost brothers, two maple syrup-smuggling enforcers with a fondness for pastel tracksuits, await payment. It’s a showdown that’s less about violence and more about awkwardly negotiated dignity. This gang subplot, recurring throughout the series, has walked the line between menace and absurdity, and the finale leans fully into the latter. The confrontation ends not with gunfire, but with a bizarrely touching handshake and a hockey analogy that somehow feels earned.

But the real heart of “St. Hampton” lies in the Chambers family. This is where the episode slows down and allows the emotional arcs to land. Hampton’s sons, Einstein and Harrison, are no longer the wide-eyed kids we met earlier. Einstein’s still weird in the best way, operating on a wavelength only he understands, and Harrison is still the voice of reason, though more tired now. Their father’s reappearance is met with a mix of sarcasm, suspicion, and some very uncomfortable silences. And yet, there’s warmth buried beneath it all. These moments don’t force reconciliation, they let it simmer, letting the messiness of real family dynamics unfold without fanfare.

Simone Missick’s Astoria remains the series's most grounded presence. She doesn’t let Hampton off the hook, and she shouldn’t. She’s built a life in his absence stronger, wiser, and entirely uninterested in coddling his latest plan. Their scenes together carry an electric tension, part romantic friction, part long-term exhaustion. When she finally says what’s been brewing all season, that she doesn’t need saving, fixing, or another promise, Hampton hears it. And, crucially, the show lets him sit with that truth.

Tonally, the episode is right in step with the rest of the series, just weird enough to feel original, just grounded enough to feel like it matters. There’s an oddball pacing to Government Cheese, and “St. Hampton” embraces that rhythm fully. Scenes linger longer than expected, dialogue zigzags, and the score bounces from jazzy funk to gentle acoustic in a minute. It’s all deliberately off-kilter, and that’s where the show thrives. There's a joy in the unpredictability like the writers are in on a joke you’re just catching onto.

That said, the episode doesn’t stick the landing. The fate of the “Bit Magician” feels oddly muted. After a season-long build-up, the actual payoff for Hampton’s invention is glossed over. It’s hinted that he might’ve sold the patent, or maybe he just gave up on the whole thing, but the show doesn’t seem sure which direction to go. For a plot device that represented so much hope, reinvention, and obsession, the lack of closure is noticeable. A stronger episode would’ve given us a clearer resolution or at least a poetic failure.

There’s also a strange detour involving a chicken-fueled dream sequence that, while visually amusing, feels more like filler than revelation. The show has always flirted with surrealism, and when it works, it adds flavor. Here, it interrupts the pacing, dragging the middle third of the episode just a little. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just one eccentric flourish too many in an episode already doing a lot.

Still, those bumps don’t undo the charm. There’s an emotional intelligence to how the series wraps up. It doesn’t redeem Hampton so much as let him exist, flawed, hopeful, occasionally absurd. His final scene, sitting alone on a bench outside a hardware store, watching a kid struggle with a screwdriver, is the kind of quiet, ambiguous end that some viewers might find maddening. But it’s honest. Life doesn’t always wrap up in clean lines. Sometimes you just watch and hope the next twist isn’t a disaster.

Performances remain top-notch. Oyelowo fully commits to the quirks and contradictions of Hampton, never tipping into caricature. The supporting cast, from his world-weary sons to the pastel-clad Prevosts, all bring a natural charisma that keeps the ensemble feeling lived-in and human. Direction-wise, the episode uses its visual palette wisely, with cool-toned lighting and dusty mid-America backdrops giving everything a dreamlike fog. It looks like memory, or maybe the kind of place your uncle swears was real, but no one else remembers.

In all, “St. Hampton” is a finale that chooses softness over spectacle. It embraces the mess of its characters and lets their loose ends dangle just enough to feel authentic. It’s not flawless. Some plot threads are skimmed over or dropped entirely, and the whimsical tone can occasionally tip into indulgence. But those flaws feel in keeping with the show’s DNA. Government Cheese was never about perfection, it was about the odd, stubborn beauty of trying. And in that spirit, the finale delivers. Not a perfect finish, but it's a fitting one.

Final Score- [7.5/10]