Point by point, "Felina" managed to tie up loose ends. Of course the ricin had to go to Lydia (will Stevia packets ever look safe again?). Of course the machine gun was only way for the Nazis to go down (an eye for an eye, after all), naturally by way of one last Rube Goldberg contraption designed by Walt in his desert lab.
Like Pete said, it was a shady proposition, morality-wise, but Gilligan nailed it: "Felina" allowed Walt everything he wanted without letting him off the hook. His farewell to baby Holly was appropriately bittersweet, and it's safe to say that neither Flynn nor Skyler will ever manage to shake free of the damage Walt inflicted on their lives. He won only once he lost everything.
Every devout "Breaking Bad" viewer had a theory for how this episode would go down and because Gilligan evidently believes in payoff, many people probably had the right idea. My own version of suspicions that I'm sure many possessed drew from the final moments of "The Shootist," Don Siegel's 1976 Western featuring John Wayne's final role, as an aging gunslinger dying of cancer who decides to go down in a firefight. In his final moments, Wayne locks with eyes with the righteous young man (Ron Howard) he has tentatively befriended. Howard tosses Wayne's gun away in disgust and the Wayne character nods in agreement. That's more or less where Walt and Jesse concluded their storied relationship as the latter quasi-victim ducked into his vehicle and rode to freedom. No words could resolve their laundry list of tensions; a single, firm gaze did the trick. With a bullet in his abdomen speeding up an end he already saw ahead of him, Walt saw Jesse off and found an ending on his own terms.
Despite the specificity of its resolution, "Breaking Bad" left a fair amount of ambiguity in play. Will Jesse rescue Brock and finally settle down? Could Skyler's plea bargain actually shield her from further persecution? Does Walt's drug money actually make it to his family? And will the rest of the "Breaking Bad" ensemble, not afforded the luxury of watching "Breaking Bad," comprehend the full extent of Walt's destructive antics?
Gilligan's brilliance in this concluding episode stems from an awareness that there's no need to fully address any of these questions. "Felina" provides just enough parting exchanges to leave every unresolved aspect up to fate. The simplicity of such a proposition is a sly rebuke to Walt's central flaw, which was perfectly illustrated by the episode's opening gag in which he frantically attempted to jumpstart a stolen car only to discover its keys. Walt could never accept the possibilities of unknown variables, but life was ultimately too chaotic to adhere to his schemes.
Walt's greatest enemy wasn't the Nazis or Gus or Hank, but a universe that defied the cold rationality of his chemical equations. That outcome casts "Breaking Bad" in an otherworldly light far sturdier than his brilliant strategies, none of which could abolish the specter of defeat. It's here that Gilligan's roots as a writer for "The X-Files" really came into play, because "Breaking Bad" often felt like science fiction (no more so than when Walt relied on cockamamie plot devices like the ricin and automatic weaponry that figured heavily in the finale).
Broadly speaking, "Felina" took on the dimensions of a post-apocalyptic tale from a world that erupted at least one season earlier. It dealt shrewdly with the prospects of coming to terms with failure and diagnosed a malady more common than Walt's cancer: the danger of blindly pursuing self-interest without regard for consequences until they've already arrived. It's a disease inflicted by frail human emotions like hubris and rage, set in motion by a shady disregard for morality and put into action by desperation. It comes from a tendency to think first and feel later. It comes from a dark, awful set of motivations both objectively evil and universally familiar. It comes from Walter White.
Alison Willmore is on vacation, but will return to "Breaking Bad" with a final take on the series as a whole next week.