Wednesday season 2 part 1 review: Bloodbath, a zombie, and the choreography of collapse

Wednesday is back. Darker, yet funnier, however, even more furious. The third episode of Wednesday Season 2 Part 1 ends like a hymn for all the things that failed to bloom. A zombie attack leaves a trail of blood and questions, Enid’s life is still at stake, and even a sword duel turned into a private humiliation. Wednesday loses, the book is gone, and her confidence fractures.

The music swells, but it’s not triumphant. It’s Losing My Religion, slowed to a whisper, mourning what could’ve been.

But right before everything collapses, the show leans into something else. A bath scene becomes a Latin bolero of absurdity while a zombie wields a literal axe. The Shining vibes.

A psychiatric ward erupts into chaos to the haunting instrumental of Zombie, because the past has a way of clawing its way back in, wordless, relentless, already known.

Every frame of this batch of new Wednesday episodes bleeds intention. The horror is staged, the humor sharpened, the absurd orchestrated. And somehow, it works.

The tragedy of the sword

Wednesday trains like she’s rehearsing survival. The duel against her mother demands more than skill: it demands legacy, defiance, and bloodline pride. She steps in with focus, but Morticia moves like a prophecy already fulfilled. When the blade hits the ground, it's not just a loss, it's the loss of hope. The sword falls, the vision fades, confidence turns to doubt, and somewhere in the midst of all that, Wednesday realizes that she might not be the heroine this tale requires, at least, not yet.

The absurdity of soap and terror

There’s a zombie with a machete at the door. There’s a man in the shower, singing Bésame Mucho. And instead of fearsome, the scene leans into comedy. Gomez Addams, completely vulnerable, wears a bathing cap and the confidence of someone who could die and still call it a performance.

It’s Zombieland by candlelight. The timing is ridiculous on purpose. The music turns a slasher setup into a romantic interlude. The horror never interrupts the show; it becomes part of it. A door breaking under the weight of a monster is like part of the choreography.

The camp here is precise. The scene references The Shining, holds on the moment before the axe hits, and lets the absurdity bloom. Gomez sings. The zombie waits. And we? We laugh. Not only because it’s funny, but because it’s perfect.

The crows always remember

The birds are not set dressing. From the start, crows appear as symbols, omens, patterns in flight. One has half its face exposed, raw and red, like a warning. Others circle scenes of death. A few attack, and others simply watch. But together, they build something ancient. A Murder of Crows. A sentence.

"Murdered by a murder of crows,"Wednesday state at a point.

The school is named Nevermore. The lineage ties back to Poe, to The Raven, to loss that refuses to fade. The walls are filled with secrets and the sky is filled with wings.

The show plays with the folklore: one for silence, two for truth, three for pain. Even when not spoken, the rhyme lingers. The eyes being taken. The blood on the feathers. The girl with too much clarity and not enough time.

The girl, the monster, and the silence that followed

Everything collapses at once. The book vanishes in the fire, the duel ends in defeat, and Wednesday pushes forward with nothing left but raw instinct. Inside the institution, the chaos builds to something feral. Alarms scream. Doors fail. And then it happens.

The Hyde appears. Not half-seen, not hinted at, but full and undeniable. It lifts her and it throws her. The impact is violent and final. Wednesday lies on the ground, blood pooling beneath her, and all over her face. Her visions, her confidence, her body, all stilled now.

We don’t see what comes next. The episode ends with no answers. Only in the preview for Wednesday Season 2 Part 2 do we learn what this fall has done. She’s in a coma. The search for truth has left her broken.

And while the system crumbles around her, another truth slips in: this wasn’t just a murder mystery. It was an experiment. The outcasts were being watched, no, mor ethan that. Studied. Experimented on. Their reactions, their pain, their thresholds, all measured. The institution didn’t protect anyone. It violated them.

Wednesday: Counting Crows at Nevermore

A rhyme for visions, vanishings, and velvet funerals

One crow for silence, a secret not said

Two crows for warnings, eyes burning red

Three crows for shadows that dance in the hall

Four crows for voices no one can recall

Five crows for flowers left under the bed

Six crows for dreams stitched with silver thread

Seven for memories stolen mid-scream

Eight for a raven that lives in your dream

Nine for the witch who forgets her own name

Ten for the mirror that whispers your shame

Eleven for blood in the shape of a door

Twelve for the end that’s been waiting before

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Rating with a touch of flair: 5 out of 5 corvids counting the consequences before they even land.