By the end of The Penguin's eighth and final episode, Sofia Falcone has transformed. No longer the conflicted daughter of Carmine Falcone, the woman struggling to break free from her father’s legacy, or the tragic figure locked in Arkham for the murders he committed, Sofia has finally come into her own—only to realize that her victory is short-lived. She has seized power, won the gang war, and defeated both Salvatore Maroni (now dead) and Oz, but in the cold, dark finale, she finds herself once again outplayed by those who see her as nothing more than a pawn in the patriarchal game of Gotham’s underworld.
Sofia’s monologue in the final moments is an eerie reflection of her journey.
Speaking to Oz and his mother, Frances, she recounts a childhood story about three birds: a mother bird, two chicks, and how the weaker one pushed the stronger one out of the nest in the end. The symbolism is heavy, and Sofia spins the tale with an unsettling calmness, referring to Oz’s own murderous acts against his brothers and Frances’ blindness to them. It’s a psychological power play, but it also fits the story of the show—where Sofia, like the weaker chick, is ultimately outgunned by those around her. It’s a story about survival, about the inability to break free from a world that punishes women who try to change it.
The Penguin, a spinoff of The Batman, was always a curious proposition. The character of Oz, played by Colin Farrell, was a standout in Matt Reeves' The Batman, but how could a series focused on a supporting character who was more cartoonish than complex succeed? The answer, as showrunner Lauren LeFranc proved, is by shifting the focus away from Oz and toward Sofia, a lesser-known character played by Cristin Milioti, who outshines Farrell in the end. This isn’t a show about The Penguin—it’s a show about the struggle of women trying to carve out space in a world built by men.
The finale, titled A Great or Little Thing, ties up Sofia’s storyline with a moment of apparent triumph: she burns down her father’s house, looking out over the ruins to the strumming of a haunting version of In the Pines. It’s a bravado moment—Sofia shedding the past and forging her own path. But there’s an unsettling undercurrent. How much of Sofia’s actions are really her own, and how much are they simply a replication of the violent cycle she’s trying to break?
Sofia’s brief reign is soon cut short when Oz returns to the scene, more powerful than ever, his return marked by betrayal. Sofia, who thought she had gained control, is ousted by men, including the very cops she thought she had bought. The patriarchal system that demands women like her fail is impossible to overcome. In the end, she is locked back into Arkham, a casualty of the same system that made her father a legend.
In the midst of all this, The Penguin also explores the tragic relationship between Oz and his mother, Frances. A flashback reveals that Frances made a deal with gangster Rex Calabrese to kill her son. At the last minute, however, she changes her mind, choosing to raise Oz and make him promise to provide her with the luxurious life she always wanted. This maternal love, twisted and possessive, is the engine of Oz’s eventual cruelty. He manipulates her into a twisted version of herself—trapped in a coma in his penthouse, a victim of the power he learned from his mother.
As the show wraps up, the tragic fate of Frances is cemented. Despite all of his actions—the backstabbing, the murders, the endless manipulation—Oz’s ultimate desire is to control, and Frances is the woman he couldn’t control, a constant reminder of his own helplessness. So, in the show’s final haunting scene, Oz forces Eve Karlo, in full Clayface disguise, to become a version of Frances, a puppet he can mold into what he needs her to be.
While The Penguin cleverly pairs the culmination of Sofia’s and Oz’s storylines, not everything in the finale lands. The destruction of the Bliss plant, which leaves a giant hole in the heart of Gotham, is barely acknowledged. The explosion, despite its size, feels like an afterthought—a narrative cul-de-sac that doesn’t have the weight it should. It serves mostly as a vehicle for Oz’s final manipulation, but it feels oddly detached from the larger stakes of the series.
Likewise, Vic’s storyline fizzles out in a rather unsatisfying way. What was once set up as a potential foil to Oz—a troubled boy pushed into violence by a corrupt system—becomes just another victim. Oz kills him in cold blood, a stark reminder of the show’s central theme: Oz is not a product of his environment; he is the environment. The twist here, though, is that the show didn’t need to reveal this.
Oz’s nature was always clear, and Vic’s death feels less like a twist and more like a failed opportunity for the show to give us a deeper exploration of its central villain.
Still, in the end, The Penguin finds its strength in the story of Sofia—a woman who couldn’t escape the weight of Gotham’s brutal patriarchy, and a show that, through her eyes, critiques the very system it portrays. It may have been easy for the show to simply spin out more Batman content, more Oz-related antics, but instead, it turned into something more meaningful. By pushing the Penguin out of the spotlight, the show elevated a character who, like the weaker chick, pushed the more powerful one aside and claimed the nest for herself—only to find that the nest was always meant for someone else.
In the final moments, The Penguin asks a haunting question: How much can a woman really change in a world built by men, and how far can she go before she becomes just another part of the system she tried to break? The answer, in Sofia’s case, is far too short of the revolution she imagined.
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