Gravity Falls, and the catharsis of finality

Children's shows are a curious medium. Although their core audience is, of course, children, their full audience encapsulates a scope far broader.

What happens then is you get shows that play with childlike wonder and boundless creativity, but tie adult humor, themes, and references, to create a beautiful, singular whole. This is sphere in which Gravity Falls plays.

So, how do you describe Gravity Falls? I've done the "show in a nutshell" spiel, where I paint it based on its key plot beats: It's a show about 12-year-old fraternal twins—Dipper and Mabel—who stay with their Great Uncle Stan in his home/tourist trap for the summer. The twins quickly discover that Gravity Falls is not quite what it seems, and they work to uncover the strange, supernatural occurrences in their small town. This covers the baselines, but feels too reductive, as it fails to encapsulate the magic, intricacies, and pathos the show delivers.

Perhaps a better way, then, is to highlight what makes it special: It's a show that taps into the wonders of mystery, both within the story beats and with its audience through secret encoded messages and endless Easter eggs. It's about family, community, ambition, and love, all tied into a kooky, 20-minute packages that simultaneously spark your curiosity and warm your heart.

And, at least in my eyes, what makes it truly special is that it's a show that was designed with an ending. Gravity Falls was written and pitched as a show that stayed contained at a tight 40 episodes, so no detail goes wasted. Every character has a purpose. Every setting is meaningful. Every plot point drives character growth.

Try as they might, the characters cannot exist in an endless summer, because, like all good and beautiful things in the world, life is transient. It moves on. It leaves us with that bittersweet feeling in our souls when something temporary has to end. Summer camp. Graduation. Final curtain. Life.

After finishing the final episode of the show, I, predictably, cried. But beyond that, I cried because creator Alex Hirsch gave us something even more special. He gave us a peek into the messy, complicated world of a sibling pair who love each other more than anything else, who stay willing to sacrifice for each other time and time again. He showed us their story, let us walk with them, and then let them drive off into the forest, where their story will continue on without us. We can only hope and imagine that the lessons we learned right along with them will carry them through and bring them the same joy it brought to us.

There's a beauty in finality that I think we so often get robbed of in modern media due to the siren's call of money. Many creators even walk into their show not knowing how it will end. And this is no fault to their process! Many shows that ended in ways I'm sure the creators could have never imagined have struck gold in the cockles of my heart.

It just makes the strange and wonderful beauty of a show like Gravity Falls feel even more special, because it is a self-contained piece of art and was always meant to be consumed as such.

Oh, and, if you somehow aren't convinced to watch Gravity Falls after reading this, you're a cold, heartless being. Go to Hulu or Disney+ or wherever and actually do the thing. I promise you won't regret it.