Ray Shoesmith is a bit of a nightmare. He’s also the guy you’d want in your corner if things went south in a Sydney suburb. By the time we hit Mr Inbetween Season 3, the mask isn't just slipping; it's basically gone.
Scott Ryan, the creator and lead who basically willed this show into existence after his 2005 cult film The Magician, delivers a final act that feels less like a TV season and more like a slow-motion car crash you can’t look away from. It’s brutal. It’s funny in a way that makes you feel slightly guilty for laughing. Honestly, it’s one of the most honest portrayals of a mid-life crisis ever filmed, provided your mid-life crisis involves disposing of bodies for a guy named Freddy.
The Weight of Being Ray Shoesmith
In the final stretch, the show stops being about the "job" and starts being about the cost. Ray is tired. You can see it in the way he carries his shoulders. He’s navigating the complexities of being a father to Brittany, who is growing up and starting to see the cracks in her dad’s "security guard" facade, while dealing with the declining health of those around him.
The brilliance of this season lies in the quiet moments. Think back to the scenes between Ray and his brother, Bruce. Nicholas Cassim’s performance as Bruce, who suffers from motor neurone disease, provides the emotional anchor that forces Ray to confront mortality in a way a hitman usually avoids. It isn't about a gunfight. It’s about a cup of water or a difficult conversation in a quiet living room.
Most crime shows go big for their ending. They want explosions. They want a "Scarface" moment. Mr Inbetween Season 3 goes the other way. It gets smaller. It gets more intimate. Director Nash Edgerton uses the Australian landscape not as a postcard, but as a lonely, dusty backdrop for a man who is increasingly realizing he might be the villain of his own story.
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Why the Final Season Hit Different
There’s a specific episode in this final run—"Ray Who?"—that captures the essence of why this show works. Ray gets stuck in the middle of nowhere. No backup. No plan. Just raw survival. It strips away the cool-guy hitman tropes and leaves us with a guy who is just fundamentally good at violence, but maybe not much else.
The dialogue remains the show's secret weapon. It’s hyper-realistic. People don’t give monologues in Sydney back alleys; they grunt, they swear, and they argue about the mundane.
- The humor is dark. Like, pitch-black.
- The violence is sudden. It’s never stylized. It’s just fast and messy.
- The relationships are messy. Ray’s friendship with Gary (Justin Rosniak) is perhaps the most authentic "best mate" portrayal on television. They talk about porn, sandwiches, and murder with the same level of casual intensity.
If you’re looking for a show that wraps everything up with a neat little bow, you’re watching the wrong thing. Life doesn't work like that, and neither does Ray. He’s a guy who lives in the gray areas. The show respects the audience enough not to preach. It doesn't tell you to hate Ray, and it certainly doesn't ask you to forgive him. It just shows him.
Dealing with the Freddy Problem
Damon Herriman’s Freddy has always been the catalyst for Ray’s headaches. In Mr Inbetween Season 3, the relationship finally reaches a breaking point. Freddy is a parasite. He’s the guy who stays clean while Ray gets blood on his boots.
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The tension this season stems from the realization that Ray is outgrowing the underworld. He’s too smart for the people he works for, yet he’s trapped by his own skillset. You see him trying to be a "good guy" with his new love interest, but the world keeps pulling him back. It’s that classic noir trope—the "one last job" energy—but handled with such grit that it feels fresh.
The pacing is deliberate. Some viewers complained it felt slower than the first two seasons, but that’s the point. It’s a funeral march. You’re watching the death of an era for these characters. When the violence does erupt—and it does, specifically in the final two episodes—it carries a weight that makes your stomach drop because you’ve spent so much time in the quiet with these people.
The Cultural Impact of a Sydney Hitman
We don't get many shows like this anymore. Everything is so polished now. Everything feels like it was written by a committee to satisfy a global algorithm. Mr Inbetween feels like it was written in a garage by someone who actually knows what a dive bar smells like.
Scott Ryan’s journey is legendary in the industry. He wrote the character, played the character, and waited over a decade to get the show made. That passion is baked into every frame of the final season. It’s why the ending works so well. It wasn't dictated by a network head; it was the natural conclusion of a story Ryan had been telling himself for twenty years.
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The finale, "I'm Not a Wizard," is a masterclass in ambiguity. It gives you exactly what you need while withholding what you think you want. That final shot? It’s iconic. It’s a challenge. It’s Ray Shoesmith in a nutshell.
How to Appreciate the Layers
If you’re revisiting the series or diving in for the first time, pay attention to the sound design. The cicadas in the background. The hum of a cheap refrigerator. These sounds ground the show in a reality that makes the sudden bursts of action even more jarring.
Also, look at the way Ray interacts with kids. Whether it's Brittany or a random kid he meets, Ray is consistently more honest with children than he is with adults. It’s the only time he isn't performing.
Actionable Insights for the Dedicated Viewer:
- Watch "The Magician" (2005): To truly appreciate where Ray came from, you have to see the mockumentary that started it all. It’s rougher, but the DNA is identical.
- Focus on the Eyes: Scott Ryan does more with a squint or a slight tilt of the head than most actors do with a three-page script. The final season is a clinic in "less is more" acting.
- Track the Wardrobe: Notice how Ray’s clothes change—or don't—as he tries to integrate into "normal" society. He’s a man trying to fit into a world that isn't built for him.
- Listen to the Silence: The best parts of the third season are the gaps between the dialogue. That’s where the real story is happening.
Ray Shoesmith isn't a hero. He isn't a misunderstood soul. He’s just a man with a very specific set of problems and a very direct way of solving them. By the time the credits roll on the final episode, you realize that the title wasn't just a clever name. He really is "in between." Between being a father and a killer. Between being a brother and a ghost. Between living and just surviving. It’s a perfect ending to a nearly perfect show.