Together with Daredevil, Jessica Jones is the Marvel series on Netflix that best captures the essence of a comic without requiring it to be extremely faithful to the cartoon strip. Season one was the model in this sense, because they got it right by integrating the imagery of the superhero in a rough and realistic detective story while sticking to their guns with a hearty spirit of the exposé. Jessica Jones was, and always has known how to be a parable for female liberation in the face of male influence, which insists on inhibiting her will and torpedoing the free exercise of her identity. However, it didn’t have to engage in discursive excesses, because the feminist element of the series was implicit in the configuration of the main character and an interpretation of the storyline that never tried to shun this, but rather assumed it with pride. The second season preserved the interest and melancholy tone but lost pace on two fronts: the narrative, because the storyline was too predictable and dilated, and in the air of irreverence, as it often resorted to excessively forced sentimental fatalism. The third season, and also the final cutting of ties between Marvel and Netflix, was surrounded by the uncertainty about whether those responsible could recover its initial merits and give such an iconic protagonist the sending off she deserves. And that’s exactly what happened.
The third season of Jessica Jones leaves no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’s well-aware she has to wrap up the conflicts open on different fronts and that makes her much more effective when it comes to building a credible emotional itinerary. The series once again projects the less than savory dynamics of the first (the dialogues are again filled with ironic punishment), finds the perfect balance between super heroic mysticism and the detective storyline, and also manages to create a discourse of a very specific field for both genres: the reflection on what a hero is in a world devoted to deciding whether the ends justifies the means. It does this by leveraging the relationship between Jessica and Trish (a wonderful re-reading of Hellcat, largely because of the conviction of actress Rachael Taylor) and because, unlike the second season, in season three, the suspense is tangible and points to irreversible consequences for the characters. One of the elements that had distinguished the series before engaging in maternal-filial rhetoric was that tension that had you believing the protagonist could lift a car with her bare hands, but also succumb to its painful fragilities. In the final season, it happens again: it makes you suffer, keeps you hooked, has truly memorable episodes (watch out for episode two, hands down the best of the whole series) and has in Krysten Ritter the best possible ally. Proof of this is that, regardless of what happens from her on in, she’ll always be Jessica Jones.