WHAT IT'S ABOUT: The final six episodes of this Tina Fey/Robert Carlock series are now streaming, and here are a few plot points to keep an eye on: Kimmy's (Ellie Kemper) efforts at authorship have met ill luck, but she still tries to get her book, "The Legends of Greemulax," before the public; Titus (Tituss Burgess) is still coping with the trauma of sexual harassment, at the hands of a hand puppet, no less ("hashtag Mr. Frumpus"); Jacqueline (Jane Krakowski) is still up to whatever it is that she does _ and that's much too complicated to get into here. Ditto landlady Lillian (Carol Kane). Meanwhile, expect lots and lots of cameos and callbacks. A partial list: Jon Bernthal, Zachary Quinto, Kenan Thompson, Bobby Moynihan, Steve Buscemi and New Yorker writer Ronan Farrow.
MY SAY: "Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt" was a really good comedy with a simple premise and self-explanatory name. It was about unbreakable people, one in particular, in the face of insurmountable odds _ which mostly involve living in Manhattan on an income that barely exceeds four digits, if that.
Kimmy _ thanks to a peerless performance by Kemper _ had the disposition of a SpongeBob SquarePants and the unconstrained optimism of an orphaned Annie. She emerged from being imprisoned underground by a cult leader, then promptly headed to New York because . . . well, because Frank Sinatra told all of us too: She wanted to wake up in a city that never sleeps, and find herself top of the list, king of the hill, A-number-onnnnnnne.
Oh, and about all that: It didn't quite work out. New York ate her up and regurgitated her out. Kimmy kept coming back for more. She had good company. There was Titus Andromedon, with the distantly Shakespearean name who was a preening hopelessly-in-love-with-love gay roommate who just wanted his shot on Broadway but could never get beyond a Times Square costume character. There was her desperately needy employer, Jacqueline White, who sought romance in all the wrong places but who really needed to reconnect with her Lakota ancestry. There was her unbalanced landlady, Lillian Kaushtupper, who raged against tourists, yuppies and all those who sought to turn New York into one giant Dylan's Candy Bar.
It certainly helped "Kimmy," the show, that it got first-rate New York actors to handle these complicated characters, helped even more that they managed so effortlessly to capture the essence of Robert Carlock's language and Tina Fey's sensibility.
Either through luck or because the paycheck was big enough, Netflix also got Carlock/Fey's first post-"30 Rock" venture. Luck probably more than anything: NBC was weary of this kind of comedy high-wire act, and sought shows that spoke directly to the heart _ seriously, whatever that actually means or meant.
But NBC's loss was Netflix's obvious gain: A show as bright and vigorous and smart as "30 Rock," and also a signature for a streaming service that was still seeking one back in 2015. "Kimmy" demonstrably said to other showrunners who also saw big paydays that creativity is welcome here. More than "House of Cards," "Kimmy" really got this crazy party started.
I haven't spoken much about how "Kimmy" ends, because that would spoil it for you. These last six episodes do what most of the others did so well, and more so.
