TL;DR: Messy but moving, Peacemaker Season 2’s finale drops the narrative ball but scores a moral victory. It’s overstuffed, overextended, and occasionally brilliant — much like its hero.

Making the World Slightly Better (Even If the Episode Isn’t): My Long, Messy Love Letter to Peacemaker Season 2’s Finale

It’s funny how something as ridiculous as a man in a chrome helmet talking to an eagle can make me feel things. Not just geeky giddiness or meme-worthy laughter — though, sure, Peacemaker gives me both — but genuine emotional weight. That’s James Gunn’s particular brand of madness: the ability to take what should be absurd and spin it into sincerity without losing the absurdity. So when Peacemaker Season 2 dropped its finale, “Full Nelson,” I settled in expecting one last round of that chaos-coated heart. And for the first time in this wild, uneven, occasionally transcendent season, I found myself saying something I didn’t think I’d ever say about Gunn’s work: maybe the chaos got the better of the heart this time.

Let’s get this out of the way — Peacemaker Season 2’s finale isn’t bad. It’s just… a little lost. Like Chris Smith himself, standing shirtless on that alien rock, confused and hopeful and still quoting ’90s bands no one has thought about since dial-up internet was a thing. It’s trying to do too much — wrap up multiple storylines, pay off emotional arcs, set up an entire future phase of the DCU — and in trying to do all of that, it drops several plates it had been spinning all season. Some break cleanly. Some just wobble and clatter. A few, though, still shine under the flickering light of Gunn’s manic sincerity.

And yet, for all the narrative clutter, this finale gave me a moment that hit harder than any explosion or twist: Harcourt and Peacemaker, back on that damn boat.

THE NIGHT ON THE BOAT (AND THE LIES WE TELL OURSELVES ABOUT LOVE)

Let’s talk about that “night on the boat.” We’ve been hearing about it since, what, Episode 2? The moment teased and joked about like a sitcom subplot that might never pay off. Except it does — and in the most James Gunn way possible. The reveal that the night wasn’t some sloppy drunken hookup but instead a moment of shared vulnerability set against the soundtrack of Nelson — yes, that Nelson, the ’90s duo with matching hair and matching harmonies — is both ridiculous and perfect.

The sequence feels like it was ripped from an alternate universe where the MCU let Gunn go fully feral. There’s a kind of tenderness in how he shoots it — the neon blur of the cruise lights, the sweat-slick shimmer of a summer night, the sheer awkwardness of two emotionally broken people finding connection in the middle of nowhere. It’s a small, human moment surrounded by cosmic nonsense. It’s also, ironically, the only thread the finale really ties up properly.

What makes it work — what always makes Peacemaker work — is John Cena’s ability to sell sincerity through sheer absurdity. His performance has evolved from the self-parody of The Suicide Squad into something bordering on tragicomedy. He’s still the musclebound idiot who dances in his underwear and calls his eagle his best friend, but there’s a visible exhaustion behind his eyes this season. A man trying to fix a world he’s not sure wants fixing.

Jennifer Holland’s Harcourt, meanwhile, continues to be one of the most underappreciated characters in Gunn’s cinematic sandbox. She’s a woman carved out of cynicism and trauma, yet she still reaches — cautiously, begrudgingly — for something like faith. Watching her finally admit that the night on the boat meant something, that it meant everything, feels like a release not just for her but for the entire season’s emotional scaffolding.

And that’s the irony: for all its talk about world-ending conspiracies and multiversal prisons, Peacemaker remains most powerful when it’s about broken people trying to love each other anyway.

WHEN THE WORLD-BUILDING STARTS BUILDING OVER THE CHARACTERS

Now, if you’re a DCU nerd (and I say that with love, as one of you), you probably noticed something creeping into Peacemaker Season 2 — that faint but familiar itch of franchise setup. You know the one. The sudden mentions of Superman, the winks toward Checkmate, the lingering camera shots on suspicious tech that screams, “See you in the movie!” It’s the curse of connected universes: eventually, every show becomes a trailer for something else.

Rick Flag Sr., played by Frank Grillo with the intensity of a man who hasn’t had a carb since 2003, is the biggest casualty of this shift. His transformation from morally grey antihero to outright villain feels rushed, like someone accidentally fast-forwarded through three episodes of character development. In Creature Commandos, he was complex. In Superman, he was ambiguous. Here, he’s… just a guy having evil meetings at Lex Luthor’s old office while his men get obliterated elsewhere.

I get what Gunn’s aiming for — the tragic parallel between father and son, the endless cycle of vengeance. But the writing doesn’t quite get there. Rick Sr. becomes a mouthpiece for the show’s theme (“making the world better”) rather than a fully realized character. His plan to imprison metahumans on a planet called Salvation sounds like a neat DC Comics deep cut — and it is — but narratively, it lands with a thud. Not because it’s a bad idea, but because the episode doesn’t give us enough emotional grounding to care.

It’s a weird sensation watching Gunn’s storytelling instincts — the same ones that made Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3such a masterclass in balancing spectacle and sincerity — stumble under the weight of his own expanding universe. For the first time, I could feel the machinery of the DCU grinding behind the scenes. The jokes still land, the needle drops still slap, but the connective tissue feels manufactured.

ADEBAYO, ECONOMOS, AND THE CURSE OF THE SUPPORTING CAST

I’ve always loved how Peacemaker treats its supporting cast. In Season 1, they weren’t just sidekicks; they were emotional counterweights to Chris’s idiocy. Danielle Brooks as Leota Adebayo was especially brilliant — the beating heart of the show, tethering Peacemaker’s ridiculousness to something resembling empathy. But in Season 2, Adebayo’s storyline feels like it’s been squeezed between larger, louder things. Her marriage struggles, her moral doubts, her professional crisis — all the juicy, human stuff — get reduced to a handful of scenes that feel more like checkboxes than arcs.

The same goes for Economos and Vigilante. Steve Agee and Freddie Stroma are still comic gold, but the finale doesn’t give them anything new to do. Vigilante’s deadpan absurdity, which once danced on the edge of sociopathy, now just loops on itself. Economos, who had one of the most unexpectedly touching moments of Season 1 (“I dye my beard, okay?!”), feels like a background prop here — an accessory to punchlines rather than a person.

And that’s where the finale’s imbalance becomes clearest. The emotional payoff between Chris and Harcourt works precisely because Gunn slows down long enough to let it breathe. Everything else? It’s rushed, overstuffed, or sidelined. The heart of the show — the messy, found-family dynamic — gets overshadowed by lore dumps and setup teases.

FOXy SHAZAM, CHECKMATE, AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE COOL IDEA WITH NO FOLLOW-THROUGH

Here’s where I started muttering at my screen like a deranged fan theorist. Because I want to love the whole Checkmate setup. It’s classic comic-book nonsense — a new spy organization formed by reformed villains and weary heroes, operating in the moral murk between idealism and necessity. That’s catnip for someone like me. But in execution, it plays more like a teaser trailer than an organic story beat.

The montage of the gang setting up Checkmate intercut with Foxy Shazam performing the show’s theme song on the cruise ship is very Gunn — stylized, ironic, emotionally charged. But it also underscores the episode’s biggest issue: it’s all montage, no meat. I wanted to feel the decision, to understand why these broken people would choose to join forces under that banner. Instead, it just… happens. Cool idea, half-baked execution.

I can already hear the defenders: “It’s setting up Season 3!” Sure. But the problem with saving everything for the next season is that it leaves the current one feeling incomplete. A finale should close a door, even if it cracks open another. “Full Nelson” leaves too many ajar.

THE WEIRD BEAUTY OF FAILURE (AND WHY I STILL LOVE THIS SHOW)

And yet — because this is Gunn we’re talking about — even in its messiness, there’s something endearingly honest about this finale. It’s trying, damn it. It’s swinging big. It’s stumbling, but with purpose. And when it lands, it lands beautifully.

Chris Smith’s breakdown — his conviction that he’s cursed, that everyone around him gets hurt — feels painfully authentic for anyone who’s ever tried to do good and failed anyway. Adebayo’s impassioned plea (“I believe in miracles because of you!”) could’ve easily been cheesy, but Danielle Brooks delivers it with such raw conviction it cuts right through the cynicism. And Harcourt’s simple admission — that the night on the boat meant everything — lands like a quiet gut punch.

Maybe that’s why I’m still so attached to Peacemaker despite its flaws. It’s a show that refuses to be cool. It’s earnest to the point of embarrassment. It’s messy, contradictory, often frustrating — but so is the idea of becoming a better person. Maybe that’s the point.

LOOKING AHEAD — THE CASTAWAY OF SALVATION

The final image of Peacemaker stranded on Salvation — alone, shirt ripped, eyes scanning the alien horizon — feels less like a cliffhanger and more like a metaphor. The man who once solved every problem with a gun is now stuck in a world where violence won’t save him. It’s isolation therapy for a guy who’s spent two seasons learning to connect.

If Gunn leans into that idea for Season 3, we might be in for something special. A stripped-down, introspective Peacemaker? A survival story where the only person he can punch is his own reflection? Sign me up. But I can’t help but wish that setup hadn’t come at the expense of this season’s cohesion.

CLOSING THE HELMET

So, where does “Full Nelson” leave me? Frustrated, yes. But also hopeful. Because even in its weakest moments, Peacemaker still has more soul than most superhero media. It remembers that the point of these stories isn’t the multiverse or the cameos or the setup — it’s the humanity underneath the spandex.

The finale doesn’t quite make the world better, but maybe it makes it a little more honest. And in 2025’s sea of cinematic universes and corporate synergy, that might be the best we can hope for.