TV Show Endings That Fans Still Argue About To This Day

As "Severance" wraps its second season for Apple+, traumatized theorists and shippers on deck slip into the familiar rhythms of the long wait for new adventures in Lumon's cultish underbelly. Scenes will be inspected for clues that might lead us astray (for one thing, that's Helly R. at the end, not Helena, and that's a promise from Britt Lower herself), dialogue pored over for foreshadowing we missed the first time around, and fan artists will fill their sketchbooks with motion studies Mr. Milchick's (Tramell Tillman) fantastic yet eerie turn as a marching band leader.

But at least we know we're going to get that future season. Other fans are sometimes not that lucky. Or their luck lands them a finale with curves so far out of left field that there's nothing to do but argue over it. For months. The months become years. Sometimes the years become decades. And yet the fandom argues. It's not a new phenomena, since fans have found things to argue about in fiction for centuries. But it can be a fun, and as we all scratch around looking for something to hit that "Severance" itch, it's a good time to look back at our TV history and learn just how little fandom changes sometimes. 

Here are 10 TV show endings that fans are still arguing about today.

June 10, 2007 is the day "Made in America," the series finale of "The Sopranos," first aired, the day of the shot that wasn't heard around the world. Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini) sits down for a family meal at a diner in a very late-game attempt at reconciling with his family. They each straggle in, and occasionally, the camera pays lingering attention to a man in that particular kind of old dude's jacket (a member's only jacket, they used to be called). As Tony's daughter arrives, late, and as Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" crescendoes, the scene cuts to black. Roll credits. Show's over, folks.

The arguments were swift and unrelenting, and showrunner David Chase would only leave his own tantalizing hints — and one season three scene where AJ (Robert Iler) learns about Robert Frost and how the color black can symbolize death — to the riddle's resolution. But for Chase, there's more to the ending than what it means for Tony to die, so he's happy to let people argue, as long as they're still discussing the show itself. That said, it seems pretty clear, guys: Whether it happened in the diner or not, Tony Soprano is as dead as disco.

In "Batman: Arkham City," the Joker (voiced by Mark Hamill) takes a moment from his usual deadly ramblings to ask a deadly serious question: "How come it all ended in a church?" My guy, nobody else who stuck with "LOST" for six seasons and 121 episodes is quite sure either.

The wheels were coming off the island tour bus for a while, as long-time fans and unstoppable clue-hunters had long since started to suspect that the show, at the time lauded for its complicated mysteries, wasn't as cohesively planned out as anyone thought. At least one canary in that coal mine was the abrupt derailing of Walt's (Malcom David Kelly) psychic kid storyline, which left the terrific Harold Perrineau stuck intermittently screaming his kid's name and not much else. The final season added to the controversy, as its bumbling wrap-ups and convoluted reveals left some fans wondering if the island survivors had been dead all along. That's not the case, but they can't be faulted for asking the question.

"LOST," which loved playing with flashbacks, flash forwards, side flashes, and all sorts of other multi-thread story gimmicks, does reveal that its final series of off-island flashes take place in some nebulously religious purgatory, where Jack Shephard (Matthew Fox) reconciles with his dad. Christian Shephard (John Terry, and yes that is the character's real name) is the key to leading all the islanders to some final light. It's a truly bizarre "Touched by an Angel" moment for a series that blended Egyptian mythology and multiple layers of philosophy together, and frankly, it's still annoying that it happened. At least Ben (Michael Emerson) and the good natured Hurley (Jorge Garcia) are left in charge of the island.

Outside of a handful of fans who've made some sort of grudging peace with the series finale of "Game of Thrones," the argument over Daenerys's (Emilia Clarke) shockingly abrupt fall from grace and the out of nowhere crowning of Bran the Broken (Isaac Hempstead Wright) typically wavers between "that kind of sucked" to "what the f*** were they thinking?" The worst part? It's probable that this is George R. R. Martin's actual planned finale. We can only assume it'll play out better in text (if he ever actually finishes writing it).

Chief among the earliest responses to the finale and an overall sub-par last season was wondering if the show runners, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss, had managed to do lasting damage to the legacy of "Game of Thrones," much less epic fantasy itself. Considering over 10 million viewers later lined up to give "House of the Dragon," the Targaryen-heavy prequel series, a fair shot, apparently the franchise is surviving just fine. Benioff and Weiss had to lay low for a while, losing some big projects thanks to the sheer amount of internet blowback the haphazardly handled finale netted, but they continue to work. 

Meanwhile, epic fantasy is actually undergoing a surprising tv resurgence. Who has a better story than Bran the Broken? J.R.R. Tolkien's "Rings of Power" and Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time," apparently. Not so much HBO's attempt to chase their own dragon, however. While "House of the Dragon" does alright, other pricey series like "Dune: Prophecy" can't catch that early season GOT magic.

Comic fans know that Jessica Walters (Tatiana Maslany) is right up there with Deadpool when it comes to leaning on the fourth wall in cheeky, hilarious ways. Her arrival in the MCU with the "She-Hulk" nine episode miniseries — or, hopefully, a first season merely awaiting a belated renewal — left fans of the new multimedia version of the Marvel universe a little confused, many of whom expected something more Hulk-like from a sassy gal who's knocked boots with everyone from Matt Murdock (Charlie Cox takes the shameless honor in the TV series) to Juggernaut. But that's not She-Hulk at her core, and the blowback remains puzzling to longtime fans of the character.

Well, it's only confusing if we let it be. The finale, which sees Walters confront the AI-powered K.E.V.I.N. at the heart of the "real" Marvel Studios — pulling together a massive wall-break of a gag about Kevin Feige's ultimate story control over the MCU — appears to be the final straw for a cadre of anti-woke "fans" that haven't shut up since "Captain Marvel" hit theaters. They still haven't shut up. You can post a side-by-side of Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) rocking out to *NSYNC, which these particular fans loved, and Walters twerking with Megan Thee Stallion, which they hated, and ask them what exactly their problem is, and the conversation quickly devolves into listening to dingos screaming. At least everyone is passionate about their interests, I guess?

"Neon Genesis Evangelion" is an intensely plotted, deeply intricate series that blends together Biblical apocrypha (texts that are historically legitimate but not considered part of religious canon, such as the infancy gospels of Jesus) and Kabbalist mysticism. On the surface, it's about cool giant robots, human trauma, and vengeful angels. Under the surface, however, a little investigation shows that creator Hideaki Anno was going through a lot, and this was a therapeutic story for him.

The original series finale, which sees the Instrumentality Project break everyone's individuality down into the fundamental soup of creation, focuses on Shinji's struggle with his own sense of self. It ends with what feels like a bizarre birthday party, as the people in Shinji's life congratulate him. What it all means is hotly debated, even after the "End of Evangelion" movie and the four-part "Rebuild" saga. Although being that almost every ending results in Shinji finally looking out for himself and rejoining the real world, there might be some clues. Of course, we're kidding. Though there's plenty to pick over about "Evangelion" and what it all means, for Shinji — and Anno himself — it's about embracing the real world around us, flaws and all.

There's a decades-old TV conspiracy theory out there that today's fans may not realize is still growing strong. "St. Elsewhere" was what our grandparents watched before "ER" and "Grey's Anatomy" gripped the planet. It was a hard-nosed '80s medical drama that provided early work for some big names, like Howie Mandel, Mark Harmon, and Denzel Washington. It delved into some big topics for the era, from AIDS to autism, and it's the latter that provides the sauce for a finale that left some people salty and others obsessed with seeking out further links to a child's imagined multiverse.

Tommy Westphall (Chad Allen) is an autistic young man whose father works at the hospital. Or he did, until the last moments of the show switch perspective to a humble city apartment, and we're left with the implication that Tommy has imagined the entire series up to its final moments. It's a weird, thoughtful, even metafictional swerve about how to end a story. But for TV historians and other gleeful nerds, it's a cache of screwball fun, especially since "St. Elsewhere" had a rich history of crossover episodes, from "Cheers" to "Homicide: Life on the Street."

By playing a version of the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game, one can still connect most of the modern television universe to this kid's snow globe, helped in no small part by "Homicide" and "Law and Order: SVU" veteran Richard Belzer bringing his role as John Munch to a record-shattering number of series. It's a fandom fight that's done for fun — short of the faction that argues all of it is over-obsessive silliness. However, the fact that Tommy is a poor representation of autism, particularly by today's standards, isn't really in doubt.

Sam Beckett (Scott Bakula) and his friend and navigator, Al (Dean Stockwell), offered five seasons of anthological cozy sci-fi sociology in "Quantum Leap." There were trappings of something harder in the science that let Dr. Beckett jump from body to body, crisscrossing the rivers of time, but it wasn't long before it went by the wayside, save for a junky side-story about "evil leapers" trying to muck with history. Mostly, it was a show about learning about people from the inside, and it was a landmark (sometimes) when it tacked disabilities, feminism, and human sexuality. Sometimes it was even a comedy.

As "Quantum Leap" reached the end of season five, there'd been questions as to whether they'd be renewed. The finale was written to be ambiguous, and ambiguous it was. Even the previous jumps in tone, however, couldn't prepare anyone for the symbolic, theologically heavy-handed ending they'd get. The only hope would've been if a real Sam Beckett had gone forward in time and seen the ending of "LOST."

Yes, Sam's buddy Al gets a happy ending, but Sam wraps up his story with the help of a bartender who might be God and gets some weird exposition that turns his leaps into an exercise of free will. According to a final card, Sam Beckett, driven by that godly will to fix stuff, never returns home. Unfortunately, the revival series doesn't bring him home, either, and fans get to continue to wonder what the hell the original finale really meant and if there'd been another way to end the series.

The only thing more fun than a community uniting to piece together the clues of a series is commiserating after a properly whiffed finale. The arguments over the ending of "How I Met Your Mother" are the sitcom version of "Game of Thrones," where everyone agrees it was bad, but there's still some hashing out over just how bad it all is.

The answer is: pretty dang bad. It's one thing to set up a swerve, but it's another to completely undermine the premise of your entire series, including its title, just to set up a completely different happily ever after. Ted (Josh Radnor) is urged, by his own children, to chase after Robin (Cobie Smulders), as they realize this nine season story is more about her than their own mom. Their mother is also revealed to have been dead for six years in the finale, turned into a white rabbit that never even rated a full name until the very last moments of the show before being set aside. There's a message here about finding love again after the loss of your first, and maybe that would've been meaningful if the show had ever actually been about that. Choose your fighter to rage at: fridged mother figure or ham-fisted twist endings meant to "subvert expectations." They're all viable in this battle royale.

It's refreshing to have a fandom where the fan slap fights aren't against each other but directed in a fairly cohesive battle against the network that killed their favorite show. "Hannibal," another Bryan Fuller baby left to wither young, got a mere three seasons to grow its absurd, violent, and darkly sexually charged relationship between FBI profiler Will Graham (Hugh Dancy) and the ever-infamous Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelsen). In the end, the series was working through its own version of the Francis Dolarhyde case (adapted twice in "Manhunter" by Michael Mann and "Red Dragon" by Brett Ratner) after reworking elements of Ridley Scott's messy version of "Hannibal" to suit Graham and Lecter's weird relationship.

It was all convoluted, eerie, and incredibly interesting stuff to watch. Unfortunately, as things too often happen for inventive and edge-running series, NBC took the small but dedicated viewership numbers as simply not good enough to continue the show. Heaven forbid "Law & Order: SVU" shave off a little of its budget or maybe the producers of some of the most vapid reality TV shows on earth take a little cut. To this day, Hannigram (the name for the sordid relationship between Will and Lecter) fans are still fighting for a little more of that murderous good time. Hey, we finally got "Daredevil" back. Let them fight that good fight.

Bickering over our favorite series didn't start with the Internet forum era. Heck, it didn't even start with "Star Trek," although it came very, very close to being the progenitor of the classic "the heck does this all mean?" interpretive fandom slap fight. The winner here is "The Prisoner," a 17-episode series that ran for five demented months from 1967 into early 1968, putting star Patrick McGoohan in situations that have no firm answers to this very day.

That's 60+ years of fights over some of the most interpretive televised stories known to modern society. Here's what's at least vaguely clear: Number Six (McGoohan) is an English spy who's just quit his job in a huff. He's quickly blackbagged by somebody and dumped in the Village, a pleasant open air prison for spies behaving badly. Beyond this point, it's anyone's guess what's going on half the time. Six fights for his individualism against a collectivist society, says McGoohan himself, but can he actually win in the long term? The finale is somewhat clear on suggesting he can't. His return to his home in the outside world is bittersweet, tinged with reminders that he's still, in a way, very much trapped in the Village. Everything else is up for interpretation, from the bouncy balloon that's actually a terrifying security device to the various mind screws Number Six goes through just to have a nice day.