'American Horror Story': Redemption songs

Hell, if Kit can look past all those lashings and her indirect role in abetting Dr. Arden's vicious experiments, then who are we to cast Judy Martin out as an irredeemable sinner? Kit, angelic soul that he is, intuitively grasps that Jude has been a victim all her life (more on that below) and that forgiving his former torturer will offer them both a clean slate. Credit is due to "Asylum" writers and directors for staging the ex-Sister's fall from grace very carefully these past few weeks, making it possible for us to feel sympathy and even vicarious relief as Kit took Jude into his home and nurtured her back to health. Jessica Lange's final on-screen moments recalled the grand, "Angels in America"-inspired loftiness we've experienced whenever Frances Conroy's Dark Angel has appeared, buoyed by finality and James S. Levine's heavenly score. If only humanity were always that poetic.

Themes of feminism and pure femininity--in its myriad forms--have been hardwired into this season's DNA. They've been prevalent enough to singularly justify the leap ahead in time, so we'd have the opportunity to see for ourselves that Lana and Jude's struggles weren't for naught. Of course, they are two wildly different examples of womanly distinction. Jude's life story has been one of abuse and manipulation at the hands of men, whether one-night stands, Monsignor Timothy or Jesus himself. But just prior to her dying words, she urges Kit's children to refuse typical gender assignments and ignore anything but the passion and potential inside them. She herself has transformed into an enlightened soul more tested and considered than whatever icons she once blindly followed. Lana is a bit more inscrutable, even at season's end. Circa-1970s Ms. Winters symbolizes a generation of women's struggles to differentiate unprecedented voice and opportunity from naked, muscular ambition. But 2013 Lana Banana (loved that callback to the callback) is damn near a superheroine. After coyly playing a TV reporter with orchestral finesse, she goes mano a womano with her twisted son Johnny in what would prove a fatal confrontation. When it's all over, and as we flash back to she and Jude's initial 1964 encounter, it all feels clear: Lana is the sum of half a century in modern womanhood--marked by scars and tough choices, but shaped by resolve and perseverance. Battle-worn but utterly self-possessed, Lana Winter is tough, but she ain't no cookie.

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