POV: You just got out of Artfight feeling good about yourself and you can now finally watch the finale of whitepine, everything is going great, THEN THE PLOT EXPLODES, LITERALLY!!!
I’m inconsolable, my fav blorbo is dead, and there’s no more eps
You know, when I write a review, I usually try to be as objective as possible, but I do introduce subjectivity when it comes to discussing the context, the author's assessment, and the personal impact the work has had on me. However, this is going to be much more difficult than I've been. Ever since I saw the final chapter, I've had mixed feelings and revisited chapters, thinking, reflecting, and re-experiencing a huge surge of emotions. I think it's time for me to start writing this down, but I won't write it all at once, since there may be times when I have to rewrite parts I no longer agree with.
I’ll say this right off the bat: Whitepine is quite possibly one of the best series I’ve seen in recent years, standing on par with—for example—Marble Hornets, which, as you know, has been another one of my obsessions. For anyone reading this for the first time who might be unaware, Whitepine is a period drama series about a mysterious individual named Ivory who ends up working as a maid for a wealthy family that owns a company—a household where countless dramas unfold behind closed doors. What sets this apart from what could easily have been a clichéd premise is the writing, direction, and music, as well as the fact that the entire production was created within the video game Minecraft.
To give you an idea of how difficult it is for me to write this: I’ve gone so far as to recommend the series to the film and animation professors who taught me during my university studies. They watched it and loved it—they simply couldn't believe something like this exists. For me, this represents a major achievement—not just for the creator, but for the landscape of web series and even video game machinima.
This series has deeply affected me, and for that very reason, writing a 100% objective review is proving to be one of the most difficult things I've written in a long time. The simple fact is that I don't want to let too much of my personal experience show in, but at the same time, I also want to explain a lot about it, because I feel there are some weaknesses in the final acts. Therefore, I'm giving a warning and apologizing in advance if I include too much of my subjectivity. Please understand that it's simply because I'm incredibly passionate about this project, not only as an administrator of the work done, but also because it has profoundly changed me, not only in how I write characters, but also in my directing style. I've even taken notes on things I liked here that I want to put into practice for my film projects.
I ask that you not take this review as a direct attack, but as its title says, a review of love; that is, one written directly from admiration with the intention of highlighting things that I personally find negative without diminishing all the good that has been done in this regard. If you read my previous reviews of The Glass Scientist and Digital Circus, you will understand what I mean.
I'm one of those who believe that true art is that which transcends, and that any filmmaker, illustrator, writer, or anyone in any creative profession doesn't become an artist until they profoundly influence the ways we reflect our personalities and the works we create from now on, through the work that has affected us. Therefore, this loving critique, which I'm already directing towards a work of art because, personally, for me, it is one. This goes out to Ivory and the entire passionate team that managed to create this. I have no idea what they'll want to do next, but if they need to take a break, so be it.
Thank you so much, if you ever read this, for letting us know how your mind works. This one is for you...
Shall we begin?
(I have Silent Hill music at the background to get into ambience while writting this)
As always, let's start with...
The good.
It is a real shame that *Whitepine* hasn't reached the same level of global viral success as other Minecraft-based creations—such as "Searching for a World That Doesn't Exist". However, there is a very good reason for this: technically speaking, those other types of videos are relatively easy to produce compared to the immense amount of editing, music composition, and writing that goes into this series. It is, without a doubt, one of the most high-production projects based on a video game that I have ever seen. I can certainly appreciate how difficult it is to actually finish a project like this; back when it first came out, several people tried to recreate that same style and narrative direction, yet very few managed to get past the third episode—in fact, most couldn't even complete the introductory phase or the first act of their own series. I could count on one hand the number of creators who attempted it and chose to stop. Unlike previous series before Whitepine—which were straightforward Minecraft roleplays where the players *were* the characters and the content consisted of recorded gameplay footage—this series demonstrates the level of quality we have reached by this point. You can spot various techniques involving editing, composition, and framing, as well as elements that must have required exhaustive rehearsals just to pull off.
The main difference between this series and others is the profound understanding of cinematic techniques involved; I’ve always described it as a blend of Wes Anderson and Stanley Kubrick—not to mention a touch of David Lynch, given the series' hidden videos (which we’ll get to later). The point is, this isn't just a case of keeping the camera rolling while characters move around; there is genuine intent. There are countless framing choices that only make sense within the context of the scene—details that might seem obvious given that this is, technically, cinema, yet the filmmaking achieved within this video game remains impressive. Despite what might appear to be a "controlled environment," the reality is quite the opposite; the sheer number of modifications and custom builds required to achieve a specific vision is exhausting just to think about. This is an aspect of the work I have to highlight every time I talk about *Whitepine*, as it is one of the series' greatest strengths: the fact that it uses the game itself as a foundation—rather than merely utilizing its graphics to create complex animations, as was done in the past—strikes the perfect balance between the two worlds.
But none of this would make sense without a distinct style at play; I can point to at least six ways Ivorycello has managed to maintain—and, I would argue, even perfect as the episodes progress—the aesthetic and directorial approach she has crafted throughout the series. While I wouldn't call it devoid of experimentation, I do agree that she is, in technical terms, an auteur discovering a signature style—those elements you know will inevitably be present in a specific director's film because that is simply how they prefer, and intend, to tell the story.
Of course, a story is useless without a strong presentation and a solid approach, and this is one of the series' greatest strengths. It takes an extremely humanistic perspective; the first episode suggests a police procedural akin to an Agatha Christie novel, yet what begins as a simple murder mystery unfolds into what is essentially the humanization of the murder itself. It is very similar to the approach David Lynch took—as I mentioned earlier—not in terms of cinematography, but in the themes explored in works like *Twin Peaks*. This is something that actually amuses me about other works: the fact that deaths only serve to advance the plot, without any real or at least human reaction within the characters. Reacting to the loss of a loved one, or at least seeing them hurt or in pain, is what makes the series feel even more palpable. Despite being characters made of cubes with pixelated skins, they feel like real people to a certain extent, and it's incredible that they've achieved this given the almost nonexistent expressiveness that can be given to the characters when they're moving. This is where the series also excels: it takes advantage of this limitation to create audiovisual storytelling, not just narrative. It's the kind of work that you absolutely have to pay attention to, otherwise you'll be missing too much.
Of course, I already mentioned that the characters are able to move in positions that are not normal within the video game, mostly thanks to the use of mods, but approximately 98% of the time these animations are not even used, instead they take care of mime and the movement of the head and torso, in order to communicate most of their actions, something that in itself is quite impressive that they have managed to do convincingly. One of its strongest points, personally, is the fact that there are no gestures; the characters don't even blink, even though that's possible in the game without mods. The simple fact that they use this complete inexpressiveness to communicate how the protagonist is feeling makes it clear that she isn't reacting the way a normal person would, and this can have a multitude of interpretations. I've heard some say it means she went through a traumatic event, while personally I feel she's just on the autism spectrum. But even if it's something else, it's still an extremely good representation of the character, since her inexpressiveness fits perfectly with the way she's written, literally using the limitation to explore how the character is feeling and how she perceives her surroundings.
I find it even more surprising that most of the actors involved here started out in Minecraft roleplay or community servers—and what surprises me further is that so many of them remain locked into the same archetypes they always play in these matches. Take Clownpierce, for instance; he usually ends up being the villain, but here he is portrayed as a war veteran—a subtle shift that distinguishes the character from the actor while also giving the actor a chance to show he can handle roles beyond the what he usually plays.
Take, for example, these kinds of transition scenes or rapid successions of images with the piano in the background. We know she has a great fondness for playing the piano, and therefore, this kind of thing is understood to be how her mind works. Or at least she's relaxing with abrupt cuts when she's taken out of this small, safe space and brought back to reality. Not to mention these long shots where the characters simply stare at the camera, and you can only wonder what they're thinking. You have to assume many things, but these things leave you with clear clues that give you the idea that they are thinking, reflecting, suffering, and learning as the series progresses.
The question is, what are they learning? This is precisely the basis for the claim that *Whitepine* is arguably the most human *Minecraft* series ever made—simply because of how it handles its themes. As I mentioned, the series begins with a murder; this is established right from the first episode—introducing the characters and the setting, followed by the killing—much like a classic mystery novel. Yet, that isn't the direction the story takes; quite the opposite. It focuses on the escalating tension within the mansion: fractured relationships, people in denial as everything goes to hell, and family members who refuse to even speak to one another. The death itself—brutal, involving the loss of an arm, a leg, and part of the torso—becomes an event no one wants to discuss, a reflection of the lack of communication within those walls. And the best part of it all is that the murder itself isn't even the main point. Once again, and if we look at how it happens in Twin Peaks, the murder is indeed what triggers the actions in the series, but there is no mystery or urgency behind the characters; in fact, there isn't a death until the last episode for the simple reason that, as I mentioned in The Ministry, it's not even important. It's about the reactions and the character study that everyone else is going through, and what humanization they need to bring back to the residence to make it feel like a comfortable place again. This is not only because when the protagonist arrives, the mother of the family is already dead, but also because one more death, at least in this violent way, would certainly trigger a multitude of reactions, from uncomfortable to downright oppressive.
This right here is a gigantic document of theories about the series that compiles... well, theories. But if you search for it, you will realise that almost nothing is said about the killer or any big complot or violent drama other than healthy overthinking and headcanons. Because this is one of those plays were the mistery is not the important stuff. Is the character exploration.
Even the simple humanization of what might be considered the most popular tropes of this type of novel strikes me as quite interesting. Take, for example, the detective. From chapter 2, we understand that this character is, to say the least, very determined in his work. However, the one who would usually be considered an important piece within the story ends up being an antagonist, not only because, for some reason, the guy thinks he's Sherlock Holmes and tries to solve the case on his own by doing a lot of idealistic things, but also because he resorts to police violence—things that shouldn't be done in real life but unfortunately do happen. This is a deconstruction and murder of the gigantic archetype when it comes to a mystery novel, since usually the detective is either one of the protagonists or is directly the protagonist.
Take, for instance, the family patriarch, Zombie Hemlock. At first, he appears to be the typical abusive character devoid of any redemption arc, yet he occasionally drops hints about his mindset. The truth is, he is so realistic that one can recognize parallels between his behavioral patterns and the way verbal abusers often speak. It isn't simply a matter of malice; rather, it is the only way they have found to communicate—or even express—themselves. The fact that he chooses to lock himself in his room during the final chapter is an attitude so pathetic, yet so realistic, that I would be surprised if it weren't based on actual experiences. Given the author's background, it wouldn't surprise me if she had firsthand experience with this kind of treatment. It is truly a shame, but it is definitely a point in the work's favor; it makes a scene—essentially constructed from video game blocks—feel deeply human, more so than much of the dramatic cinema produced in the last twenty years. And in case you're wondering, no, he doesn't redeem himself, he simply understands that he's wrong, but he tries—there's no indication that he wants to change. He tries to improve things, of course, but he doesn't know that the problem is his own attitude.
And as you can see, one of the things I admire most about the series is its inherently deconstructive approach to the tropes found in novels. I believe this is accidental, at least from a humanitarian perspective, since many of these tropes are usually reduced to caricatures of what a real person essentially is. However, here, because it's written in a much more humane way and viewed from the perspective of how a person can be psychologically affected in different environments, the tropes, despite their presence, feel fresh. They feel like something that isn't just happening, but something that people are actually experiencing. I have to reiterate everything: this was achieved thanks to excellent writing and acting. The limitations within the game weren't really a limitation, but rather a tool.
I could also get into other topics—such as the incredible world-building or the clever use of "Chekhov's gun" as a literary device—elements that initially seem like filler but turn out to be hugely important for the final episode. Although, I have to say, most of them unfortunately end up going nowhere. But as I said, we’ll get to that—and to my issues with it—in a moment.
But one of the things that perhaps stands out most about the series, and what I also highlighted with the theories, is that it doesn't try to be a drama based exclusively on mystery or the rather violent scenes it contains. Instead, these scenes are presented as oddities within the everyday life of the show. One might say that a series where the characters spend most of their time talking would be boring, but the truth is, at least for me, it's not as boring as many people do. Later, some people have confessed their feelings about certain episodes. I don't know if it's that I have a tolerance for that kind of slow-paced film, but the truth is that for me, most of the episodes maintain a very good rhythm, and as I said, most of the time they're simply talking. So, making dialogue sound interesting is quite a difficult task, one that also reveals a lot of trial and error from the past. *Whitepine* is not the first high-caliber film project by this creator. To delve into her identity as a man prior to her gender transition would be to step into sensitive territory; honestly—and not wanting to incur the wrath of the community—I prefer to avoid that. I will simply say that this is an extremely personal work. As I mentioned earlier, much of the writing feels less like an attempt to understand two characters and more like something drawn from lived memory. You can certainly grasp the fragments she has woven into the story—experiences she almost certainly lived through to some extent. While it isn't a literal retelling of her life, it rings true in the emotions it evokes; it captures a situation that could only be written one way, because you know exactly how you lived it yourself.
It's quite lovely to see how, in the comments section, many people begin to connect with the characters, even the minor ones. Almost the best thing about them all is that you can find something to resonate with, not to mention the fact that, despite initially being a rather unnoticed subplot, by the later episodes it becomes clear that this has a strong message of inclusion. And I truly believe it's one of the best works I've seen that handles this kind of thing. Not only because the characters understand their situation very well—after all, we're talking about the 1920s and 30s, so these kinds of things are, if not taboo, highly discriminated against—but also because it implies that the characters' process of self-discovery is an extremely slow one, one which, if not subtle in its presentation, would be considered too obvious. But the truth is, the series does it in such a beautiful way that it's only in retrospect that you can understand how these characters reached those points. Entire dialogues suddenly take on a different context and meaning once you understand the resolution of each one.
Now, venturing into dangerous territory, I can say that at least that's my perception, and I don't think it's a very good example to talk about it and imply to people that this work is damn well done. More than anything, because despite identifying as demisexual, the truth is I'm not the least bit proud of my sexual identity. On the contrary. I'm hating it more and more as time goes on. Anyway, I understand that for some people, this kind of thing is their whole world, revolving around their own identity, and how in modern cultures we tend to try to find a label for absolutely everything. So I think this series can even be therapeutic for several people who might be going through this kind of self-discovery. It is often said that in order to deliver a message and change the world, you don't have to create a story for everyone, because if you do, then you're not creating a story for anyone at all. Instead, you have to write about what you already know, about what you have lived and experienced, because that's when you can speak with complete honesty, and it is thanks to this that you can create a kind of refuge for others, a place where they can see themselves reflected or identify with their experiences. And I think the writing of this series only demonstrates the fact that this phrase is more than palpable in many aspects.
It has changed me as a person and it has changed the lives of others, so I suppose that if everything goes well, in a few years, this could be considered a kind of cult series. However, it is then that I have to remove the veil of fanaticism and start talking about a couple of things that can affect your overall perception of the series, not so much because it directly ruins the experience—I think all of this is part of it—but because, at least from my point of view, the more you think about it, the more holes you find.
So let's go with...
The Bad.
I mentioned before that the cinematography and direction of this series are quite slow, enough so that some people might not even find it appealing. This can be a benefit, as it introduces a mostly Minecraft-oriented audience to a type of film that can open the door to similar works without the constant dopamine rush. However, I must also admit that it's true that in some episodes, almost nothing happens. At least one could accept that it's simply the characters relaxing after a rather stressful moment. On the other hand, it can also be said that, compared to everything else, there are only about two or three important moments per episode, and remember, each one lasts approximately 20 minutes. Therefore, most of the time it's about sensory experiences that, as I said, you have to pay attention to understand. But beyond that, the small moments that are important later on could be summarized in much fewer. Therefore, I understand that some people might find it difficult to consume the series in this way. As I said, it's very slow, slow enough that if you saw it at first you'd say it could do without two or even a whole chapter. Although personally I feel it's lacking. And that's exactly what we're going to talk about right now.
Perhaps one of the biggest drawbacks of the series is that most of the arcs never truly become important. Sure, you find certain things that, to a certain extent, you might find relaxing or that have a deeper meaning—that is, what's important isn't what's happening, but how the characters will remember it. And yet, I can count at least five of these moments where it doesn't really matter that much; they're more like anecdotes. And these anecdotes give me the impression that most of the cast isn't as important as I might initially admit. It's true that you can remember most of them because of some events they recount in certain scenes, but aside from that, I find it quite difficult to even remember some of their names. This is mainly because, as I said, some of these characters could simply be summarized as a fusion of others, and it wouldn't change anything at all. I feel like there are too many children. I feel like there are too many servants, and in short, I feel like there are too many characters whose purposes ultimately don't contribute much.
I even feel that some characters could have been more important in the way most of them relate to each other. And perhaps that's partly intentional, having so many people in the mansion, each with their own different perspective and way of life, gives the idea that no one is the center of the universe. That's one of the things I admire about the series, even though the protagonist is clearly one of the most prominent members due to her eccentric, albeit quiet, personality. She's not the center of the universe, nor the focus of anyone's attention. Therefore, it's understandable that most of them are just filler, but I still feel there's a lot of wasted potential in most of them, not because they don't say anything, but because they say so little and have such short roles that, at the end of the day, I can say that cutting them wouldn't affect the rest of the story at all.
I've already mentioned this, but even I feel that there are arcs and plots in the overall storyline that never go anywhere and only exist to make life miserable for some characters. It's something that's constantly repeated, and while it's true that most are resolved quite easily with just a conversation or a phone call, and then the characters aren't even mentioned again, it still feels a bit tiresome because, once again, I feel that at least most of them are just filler, that they're not really telling me much unless their sole purpose is to make life miserable for others. I say all this simply because of how everything unfolds in the last episode. A very long chapter of approximately 50 minutes in length, not counting the credits, which is dedicated exclusively to not even tying up loose ends, but to cutting off at the root any kind of thing that could have any impact on the development of the characters, or rather, it burns them out.
I remember when the latest *Digital Circus* episode came out and many people accused the creator of showing massive favoritism toward just a few characters, sidelining the majority—even though those others had their own arcs, too. This is a problem I’ve actually faced myself, given the large number of characters in my own work. While I don’t think that’s what is happening—or rather, what happened—with *Whitepine*, I do feel like I’m starting to encounter a very similar issue.
As I’ve already mentioned, part of the series' theme lies in everyday life—specifically, how a person copes with life's hardships. Let me clarify my point here: the death of Pyro’s former maid was the catalyst for the entire series. It wasn't about the mystery itself, but rather how everyone reacted to the loss of someone so close. There is literally an entire episode—which many considered the worst, though I regard it as one of the best—dedicated solely to Mistycat’s funeral. Therefore, the death of a character here must be felt with enormous weight; it doesn't mean the disappearance of another member and that this will affect some kind of huge conspiracy or something like that; it's about the loss of a human being, and therefore it's too strange that suddenly, towards the end, the huge cast of characters is instantly killed thanks to a gas leak that blows up most of the mansion. One would therefore expect a bit more respect for these characters—setting aside the immediate situation—since, as the rest of the series has shown us, the humanization of death (or rather, the humanization of such environments, including the family dynamic) is a recurring theme. It is therefore quite strange to find that, by the 40-minute mark of the episode, none of this is fleshed out; instead, there is a three-day gap where we have no idea what happened, and we only see the events concerning the final three survivors.
In fact, one of my complaints about this is that I question the decision to make it just a single final chapter; in my opinion, there should have been two. One to show the aftermath—where everyone dies, of course—and a final one to convey and reinforce the message: that life goes on, and while we can pay our respects to the departed, life ultimately continues as best it can. It feels strange that this was all tacked on during the series' final minutes. After all, three whole days pass; the show does a great job of conveying the slow pace of the days and the monotony of life inside the mansion, so having three full days just fly by feels odd. It leaves you wondering what happened during that time and how the characters recovered. And for heaven's sake, how did Ivory get new clothes? Most of them were supposed to have burned up inside the mansion.
This reminds me a bit of Joel’s death in *The Last of Us Part II*. The problem isn't that he died—after all, that’s the point of the story—but rather the *way* he died. Even though the narrative was heading in that direction, it didn't feel entirely justified to me—or at least, the justification didn't give me enough time to process it and understand it as a necessary part of the work. Instead, it gave me the impression that the creator simply wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible and went with the first idea that popped into their head. I highly doubt that was actually the case, though, given the production process for the series, since those episodes took quite a long time—up to three months—to produce. And implying that the production time, plus the hiatus Ivory had on her YouTube channel for the series, was quite long, I absolutely don't believe this is true because there simply doesn't seem to be any justification behind it. In this case, it sounds more like it was planned from the beginning, but as the writing progressed, it had to adapt to the ending, rather than the ending having to adapt due to the story itself. At least that's my point of view, because, as I said, I feel there should have been at least a twelfth episode to process the fact that, well, the entire cast is dead.
If you notice, I’m not criticizing the decision to kill them all; in fact, I find it bold and risky enough to applaud, as it upholds the series' theme that there is no massive, overarching connection driving the events of life. They are simply accidents that happen: the killer had nothing against the family—he was just a madman who broke in and killed the first person he encountered—and there was no grand conspiracy involved, just someone desperate for money. Nor was the detective harboring dark intentions; he was simply an idiot. Given these situations, I expected the ending to strike a similar tone, but what actually happens is the exact opposite—or rather, the antithesis of everything we’ve seen so far. It’s not just that Ivory managed to cover what I estimate to be about 20 kilometers without tiring even once; it also culminated in a highly intense action sequence. I certainly won't criticize that scene in the slightest, as it was not only brilliantly executed but also superbly acted—to this day, I still have nightmares about the words she says to J.
"Why would you do that!? Bring then back!"
Seriusly. This thing left me with severe post-traumatic stress.
Think of this like the Star Wars prequels, where of course the film had to be this way because otherwise the story and narrative they intended to tell wouldn't work. But it's in the order and execution itself that, despite Yesenia being damn good, the method by which we got there is still a bit strange.
One of the most painful aspects of this is the way the character arcs are shattered; not only do most of them have well-established roles, but they also seem to be growing and reconnecting as individuals. Of course, once you watch the full episode, you realize the first twenty minutes are simply a blatant ploy to evoke empathy and nostalgia before killing everyone off—much like a character in a horror movie mentioning they’re about to retire, or a soldier in a war film talking about their family back home, only to die in the worst possible way a moment later. I feel it's very blatant, I'd even say easy, and it's not something I really see in the rest of the series, which isn't afraid to use conventional tropes. It is even more frustrating when you consider that most of them are at a point in their character development where they have to make a decision—specifically, *the* decision that will define who they become and recontextualize the entire work based on their actions. So, while their subsequent deaths might be understood as a commentary on the unfairness of life, the story doesn't really give you a way to process it. Unlike the rest of the series—where characters can move forward after a massive loss—here, the ending feels significantly darker than one might initially expect; I don't even think it allows for the possibility of rebuilding a life.
All in all, the survivors from The Mansion ended up in a much worse state than when they started—a fact made even more heartbreaking by certain comments and memories from throughout the series. It is particularly tragic that J won't be able to afford his mother's medical expenses; he will likely have to spend all the money he acquired on either her or himself—essentially facing the choice of whether or not to let one of them die. Meanwhile, Serapter is incapacitated and will never walk again; Ivory has offered to care for him, but doing so will require her to work double shifts—an ordeal that, in my opinion, leaves Serapter with no room for a personal life of his own.
That said, even though I think the series' ending and theme are damn well-defined when you watch it from start to finish, the idea of not allowing even a moment for rebuilding remains quite unsatisfying. It’s not as if everyone there was a stranger to Ivory or completely hostile toward her—quite the opposite; there was mutual affection, but simply a lack of good communication. Yet, the focus shifts entirely to After, completely glossing over—or excluding—one of the series' most moving scenes: Ivory and Pyro talking by the campfire (which, in hindsight, seemed to exist solely to force the setup for the finale). Yeah, I think I’m rambling a bit too much about why I didn't really enjoy the ending. This is one of those subjective comments I talked earlier.
But I think what's most frustrating for me is the fact that, as I said, having so many characters in a series and giving enough importance to most of them, even though they're in very small scenes, only for them all to end up in the meat grinder and only serve to help the protagonist in her character development, gives me the impression that most of them were just cannon fodder. I'm not saying that every work that uses a character for the sole purpose of sacrificing themselves in the end also uses this kind of perception that I'm accusing the series of, but once again, the fact that they forget it so quickly gives me the impression that the opposite is true. Beyond being characters whose deaths were meant to make me feel sad, it frustrated me because it all came about for absolutely no reason. I saif before in other posts that this is Diabolus Ex Machina, but even so, I realize that the fact that the mansion burned down was something that had been foreshadowed since chapter three onwards with many things that felt very forced, which at the end of the day did kind of hint that things were going to get ugly, but not to this level.
Clarification.
I want to pause here for a moment because, the first time I saw this ending, a massive shiver ran down my spine; I felt like I was missing something—that certain elements didn't even feel like a conclusion, but rather just a pause or a transition. Take the watch Ivory was given, for instance—I had absolutely no clue what that was supposed to signify. It wasn't until I spoke with people on the official Discord server that the realization hit me like a bucket of cold water: is there extra material I’m unaware of that serves to recontextualize—or simply provide context for—the series itself? When that thought crossed my mind, I immediately felt a chill—and not just because it meant I’d have to do some quick research to make sense of everything. On top of that, I really didn't want this series to suffer from that kind of issue. I’ve dealt with it plenty of times before—whether in niche or mainstream media—where understanding a story required reading comics or books, checking websites, or following an accompanying ARG. It’s happened with everything from *Star Wars* and *Halo* to *HiImMaryMary* and *EverymanHYBRID*, and I didn't want the same thing to happen to *Whitepine*.
That was when I started asking around, and I was told that you don't actually need anything else to understand the series—though you *do* need the series to understand those other things. Those "other things" are essentially secret images that provide a bit more context for elements that couldn't be explained naturally within the show itself; I checked them out, and they really aren't important beyond minor details. The same goes for the hidden videos—I’d mentioned this before, noting the strong inspiration drawn from David Lynch’s surrealist cinema (or at least, that was the impression I got, given that I’m a fan of his work). Still, I was initially alarmed, thinking I’d have to watch that material to understand the ending of *Whitepine*. Not to mention the fact that—as is common knowledge—Ivory is a YouTuber and streamer before being a filmmaker; there are videos of hers directly linked to the beginning of *Whitepine*. While watching them isn't strictly necessary to understand the series *per se*, I was worried that my negative impression stemmed from a major oversight: the fact that most viewers starting the series would have absolutely no context for why certain events occurred. Fortunately, that turned out not to be the case, but I can still judge the series on its own merits—and as a standalone work, I feel it failed in its conclusion.
This also led to several comments about whether that strange ending would mean a spinoff sequel or perhaps another separate project that has something to do with it, something which, honestly, I'm not in favor of at all, not only because I really would have liked the series to remain a unique element and independent of everything else, but also because I feel that from my own perspective, and speaking for people who might be in my situation, there will be people who don't care at all about Ivory's personal life or the things that happened before the series or during the secret videos, since, as I said, what would interest them most would be the series and everything within it, not so much the context that surrounds it. But having said that despite all this, I don't care at this point, the series is already finished. And while I feel extremely conflicted despite having an ending thematically in line with what was being proposed, I must also say that it is only a minor detail within everything I have experienced with this.
Conclusion.
When I discovered the series, only two episodes had been released; I remember most analyses focused on who the killer was or Ivory's true identity, but I couldn't help thinking that the show wasn't really about that—because it presented itself in a way that was completely opposite to everything I had seen up to that point. I remember the first time I watched the episode where the detective beats Ivory until she’s left completely brutalized; I remember that after that, I didn't watch another episode of *Whitepine*—not because of anxiety, but because it was the first time I truly understood friends who said they were afraid to read or watch the final episodes of their favorite series because it made them anxious or scared. I used to make fun of that feeling until I experienced it myself: when I saw the final episode uploaded to YouTube, my finger actually trembled before I hit play. Those who follow me might remember I even shared this in a quick post, because I honestly couldn't believe a series had messed me up so deeply.
I could complain for hours about the ending and how it recontextualizes so many aspects of the series—making things that once seemed significant feel pointless now—but despite that, I still highly recommend it. The series is excellent; it sets a completely different standard. There were people who used to complain about the repetitive content from Minecraft YouTubers, yet as soon as they discovered Whitepine, they immediately declared that this was the kind of thing they had been wanting to see all along. And to go no further, as I already said, this review started out trying to be objective and ended up becoming very subjective. As far as I know, I only share all the opinions I expressed. Even people who had some issues with the ending said they didn't really care that much.
Perhaps this review speaks more about me than the series itself, which is quite ironic given that most analyses of this show end with the reviewer focusing more on themselves and their own psychology than on the series itself—something that frustrated me, I won't deny it, but which I can understand quite well. The series is one of those works with which it's extremely easy to identify, and what might be your truth will ultimately become just that, your truth, right? The truth is, objectively speaking, the doctor had an intention behind making the series. Even if viewers have a general opinion, they're going to have completely different ones from each other. And in my opinion, this type of work can only be defined with one word: art.
I will continue to defend my position that at the very least, the last episode should have been split into two parts, with a bit more development of the three days Ivory spent wandering through the forest, without any connection to what is essentially his only remaining friend. But putting that aside, I think that at the end of the day it was a pretty good experience, and I will not stop recommending this series under any circumstances. Even if someone decides to subtitle the entire series or translate it into different languages through dubbing, I will be one of those people who will try as much as possible to share this work with more people. I would like more people to know about this, and I would like to keep trying.
Until then, all I can do is speak highly of her, recommend her, and take my hat off to her; after all, what I experienced over this past year—with its varied influences and my redefined tastes—was due in no small part to the work Ivorycello did with Whitepine.
Rest in peace, Pyroscythe Hemlocke... you will be missed..
i am in absolute despair /j..
He was my goat.. and now he's ashes.. and right after he thought things would get better?? Ivory, you're killing me. This was an incredible finale. And just an incredible series overall.
i hate youtube premieres, so im waiting for the final whitepine episode premiere to stop, and im NERVOUS... i don't wanna go online, because im scared of spoilers...
