A viewer’s nostalgic look at Riverdale’s evolution throughout its showrunning. 

Since its debut in 2017, Riverdale has been a rollercoaster ride of mystery, melodrama and over-the-top twists. As someone who grew up with the Archie Comics and ventured into this series when it first aired, my relationship with the show has been tumultuous, to say the least. Rewatching it years later, I find myself both nostalgic and bewildered. From its promising start to its chaotic conclusion, here’s my take on the highs and lows of Riverdale.

Season 1: A Promising Start

The first season remains a standout, delivering a perfect blend of mystery and character-driven drama. Episode 1 introduced a darker tone than I expected, but it was gripping. The missing-person plot surrounding Jason Blossom set a compelling, eerie vibe. The gang—Betty, Veronica, Archie and Jughead—felt like a modern update of the classic comics, albeit with much more edge.

Veronica’s arrival was a curveball, shaking up the group dynamic. Her bold, spicy personality stood out, and her friendship with Betty blossomed early on, contrasting with the more antagonistic relationship they often had in the comics. Betty’s girl-next-door perfection cracked almost immediately as she defended herself against her controlling mom, Alice. The show hinted at her deeper, darker layers, which became a cornerstone of her arc.

The mature topics, from complex parental dynamics to an utterly disturbing teacher-student relationship between Ms. Grundy and Archie were jarring for me. Grundy’s manipulation of a sophomore boy made my skin crawl then, and it still does now. It’s moments like these that made me question whether Riverdale strayed too far from its comic roots.

Cheryl Blossom was a revelation. In the comics, I disliked her brash, mean-spirited antics, but in the series, she’s magnetic. Her quick wit and vulnerability made her one of the most dynamic characters. By the end of Episode 1, with Jason’s body discovered and a bullet hole in his head, I was hooked. Season 1’s mysteries were engrossing, each clue building toward a satisfying payoff.

Season 2: The Decline Begins

Season 2 started strong with Archie racing his father to the hospital after a shooting, but the pacing soon spiraled out of control. The introduction of the Black Hood plot was gripping at first. Betty’s compliance with the Black Hood’s demands showcased her inner conflict and guilt. However, the show’s penchant for excess began to shine through. Why were high school sophomores suddenly toppling gang empires and solving serial murders? The grounded simplicity of Season 1 gave way to implausible scenarios that felt divorced from reality.

One glaring flaw was the lack of coherence in character arcs. Veronica’s tumultuous relationship with her parents, especially Hiram Lodge, became repetitive. She oscillated between defiance and trust, often ignoring glaring red flags. Jughead’s journey with the Serpents was intriguing but overly dramatic. Cutting Penny’s tattoo off? He’s sixteen! The characters acted like adults yet remained trapped in childish antics.

Despite this, there were moments of brilliance. Cheryl continued to shine, especially in her red outfit—a callback to the day Jason died. The final revelation of Hal Cooper as the Black Hood was shocking, but the clues were inconsistent. His green eyes magically appeared, matching the Black Hood’s all of a sudden, leaving me scratching my head.

Season 3: Absolute Madness

By Season 3, the show fully embraced its chaotic nature. Gargoyle Kings, organ-harvesting cults and boxing matches among high schoolers—it’s hard to believe these plots coexisted. Archie’s time in juvie felt like a different show altogether, but it was strangely compelling. The “gargoyle game” killing people was absurd, but it was in line with the show’s increasing detachment from reality.

Betty’s investigation into The Farm, a cult that harvests organs, was a highlight of the series. Her dynamic with her mother, Alice, was a rollercoaster throughout this subplot. Cheryl and Betty teaming up was another bright spot. However, the season’s pacing was a mess. By the time the Farm disappeared, I was left exhausted.

The Time Jump: A Different Show

Season 5 marked a significant shift with its seven-year time jump. While I understand the need to evolve the story, the show’s tone and themes felt completely altered. The characters returned as adults, but their arcs often felt disconnected from the show’s roots. Veronica’s gullibility with Hiram grew tiresome. Jughead’s disconnection from the Serpents, once central to his identity, was disappointing.

I’ll admit I barely kept up with Seasons 5 and 6 during their original runs. The Riverdale arc in Season 6 was a refreshing nod to the comics, blending surrealism and meta-narratives. However, the show’s increasingly bizarre twists, like superpowers and time travel, felt like a different genre entirely and felt more like one of my fever dreams. 

Season 7: A Bittersweet Goodbye

Season 7’s time-travel twist, trapping the characters in the 1950s, was baffling. While it honored the era when the comics thrived, it felt like the show had lost its way. The finale was a heartfelt goodbye, though. Jughead’s narration, dressed in 21st-century clothing, reminded me where the characters truly belonged. The closing scene at Pop’s and the Archie Comics puzzle cameo brought me full circle. It was a fitting end for a show that, for all its flaws, meant a lot to me.

My Final Verdict?

Despite its many faults, I can’t bring myself to hate Riverdale. The show’s commitment to reinventing itself every season, while frustrating, is also commendable. Beneath the absurd plots and cringe-worthy dialogue lies a story that stayed true to its core: the bond between the core four and their love for their town.

Watching Riverdale as a teen and revisiting it in my twenties offered vastly different experiences. As a teenager, I struggled with the chaos, viewing it weekly and forgetting key details. As an adult, binge-watching provided clarity to plots I was confused about when I was younger. The show’s intricate web of plots became more coherent. It is crucial to embrace the show’s absurdity to appreciate the creativity behind this project.
Riverdale is a mess, but it’s a beautiful mess. It’s not something you can easily explain to someone else—and maybe that’s the point. For better or worse, it’s an unforgettable show for me, and perhaps that’s its greatest achievement.