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The Next Life lumbers in at three hours, and let me tell you, that’s a full-length meal when what our brains ordered was a snack. It’s billed as a pseudo-sequel to Zagreus, built around Rassilon trying to worm his way back from the Divergent Universe, but it mostly throttles the narrative to agony. It’s supposed to unpack C’rizz’s backstory—finally, a reveal eight episodes too late—but the weight of it is buried in mud.
The Doctor and Charley end up in a Congo-like jungle, shadowing a missionary trek chasing the Church of the Foundation—spoiler: it’s actually C’rizz’s father running the show. That church? Rassilon’s hatchery for some labyrinthine plan involving the TARDIS as a cosmic key. It’s convoluted; every twist wants to be metadata for Doctor Who’s grand design, but the pay-off never lands with impact—it just whacks you with more exposition.
You’d think the supporting cast would add color, but they’re a blur of “that guy” and “that woman”—until the final hour, where you retroactively meet who they actually were. By then you’ve long stopped caring. The jungle atmosphere tries hard—echoing drums, wildlife chirps, humid breathing fields—but it’s like layering wallpaper over a crumbling wall. No foundation. No stakes.
And the characters: flat. C’rizz finally gets his backstory—losing family, faith, identity in a swirl of guilt—so he should be raw, he should be broken. Instead, the emotional punch slips on verbal explanations and never lands in the ribcage. The Doctor and Charley wander through moral ground with the energy of tourists visiting a graveyard—nodding solemnly, stopping to photograph the tombstones.
The thematic center tries to wrestle with faith, redemption, and cosmic power. Rassilon versus belief in the Almighty. A son seeking approval, seeking home. A universe deciding the meaning of sacrifice. You can hear the drumbeat of “big ideas,” but it remains in the background, muffled—it never takes over the track.
What kills it is the deus ex machina engine running full tilt. Every time the plot jams, someone tosses an explanation that wasn’t set up earlier, or pushes us forward with a nonsensical prophecy or revelation. It’s narrative whiplash. Should have been a sharp two-hour zoom in on C’rizz’s scars. Instead, it drags, sagging under its own pretension.
Final Thoughts:
The Next Life had potential. A jungle quest, family ties, cosmic betrayal, Rassilon’s return. But it’s bloated, meandering, and too much talk, not enough blood. By the end, you feel like the characters have gone deeper into the wilderness than your interest ever could.
Rating: 2 out of 5 forest pilgrimages to nowhere.