Everything changed when Abby died. Honestly, if you were watching Ray Donovan series 5 as it aired back in 2017, you probably remember the collective "wait, what?" from the fanbase. For four seasons, the show was a gritty, somewhat predictable—yet addictive—procedural about a Southie fixer cleaning up the messes of Hollywood’s elite. Then came the fifth installment, and showrunner David Hollander decided to blow the whole thing up.
It wasn't just a shift in plot. It was a total structural overhaul.
Usually, a show like this sticks to the formula. Ray gets a call, Ray stares intensely at someone while holding a baseball bat, and Mickey ruins everything. But series 5 took a nonlinear approach that forced us to piece together the timeline like a puzzle. We were bouncing between the present day in New York and flashbacks to Abby’s final days in Los Angeles. It was jarring. Some people hated it. Others thought it was the most profound the show had ever been.
The Abby Factor and the Nonlinear Gamble
Most of the drama in Ray Donovan series 5 anchors itself to the loss of the family matriarch. Paula Malcomson’s departure wasn't some behind-the-scenes contract dispute or a random creative whim; it was a calculated move to strip Ray of his only moral compass. Without Abby, Ray is just a high-functioning sociopath with a nice suit.
The season opens with Ray in court-mandated therapy. Think about that for a second. The guy who barely speaks is suddenly forced to talk about his feelings to a therapist played by Susan Sarandon (Samantha Winslow’s fixer-turned-boss). It felt weird. It felt wrong. And that was exactly the point.
The storytelling didn't give us the "death scene" right away. Instead, we got "the year of the pivot." We see Ray struggling in New York, working for Sam Winslow, while the show slowly reveals the brutal reality of Abby’s battle with cancer. The decision to use a nonlinear narrative was risky. In an era of binge-watching, audiences usually want momentum. Series 5 gave us grief. It gave us a slow, agonizing look at a family falling apart in slow motion.
If you look at the ratings from that era, there was a noticeable dip. Longtime viewers who tuned in for the "fixer of the week" vibe found themselves trapped in a somber meditation on mortality. But looking back at the full run of the show, this season was the bridge that allowed the later New York seasons to even exist.
Samantha Winslow and the New Power Dynamic
Let’s talk about Susan Sarandon. Bringing a powerhouse like her into Ray Donovan series 5 changed the gravity of the show. Up until this point, Ray was usually the smartest, most dangerous person in the room. Even when dealing with the FBI or the Armenian mob, Ray had the upper hand because he was willing to go lower than anyone else.
Sam Winslow was different.
She wasn't just another client. She was a reflection of what Ray could become if he completely lost his soul to the corporate machine. Their relationship was transactional, cold, and deeply cynical. She represented the "New York transition." While the Donovan boys—Terry, Bunchy, and Daryll—were still reeling from the fallout of their various Los Angeles disasters, Ray was trying to reinvent himself as a high-level corporate cleaner.
It didn't quite work.
The subplots this season were, frankly, all over the place. You had Bunchy getting his settlement money stolen in a sandwich shop (classic Bunchy), and Terry dealing with the aftermath of his Parkinson's surgery. Then there was Mickey. Jon Voight’s Mickey Donovan is always the wildcard, but in series 5, his schemes felt even more desperate as the walls closed in on the family.
Why the "L.A. to NYC" Jump Happened
Showrunners often move a show’s location to save money or refresh a tired premise. With Ray Donovan, the move to New York felt like a forced exile. The family had burned too many bridges in California.
- The Setting: Moving from the sun-drenched, fake-gold aesthetic of Hollywood to the gray, vertical claustrophobia of New York City.
- The Stakes: It wasn't about saving a movie star’s reputation anymore. It was about Ray trying to find a reason to keep living.
- The Tone: Series 5 is arguably the darkest the show ever got. There is very little humor here, even the dark kind Mickey usually provides.
Was Series 5 Actually Good?
This is where the debate gets heated. If you ask a casual fan, they’ll tell you it was too slow. They’ll say the flashbacks were confusing and that killing Abby killed the heart of the show.
But if you look at it from a character-study perspective? It’s a masterpiece of deconstruction.
Liev Schreiber’s performance reached a new level of internalised agony. You could see the weight of the previous four seasons finally breaking him. The episode "Mister Lucky" is a standout, showing the sheer desperation of the Donovan brothers as they try to navigate a world without the one person who kept them somewhat grounded.
It’s also important to acknowledge that the show was grappling with its own identity. By the fifth year, most dramas start to repeat themselves. By killing Abby and moving the setting, the writers avoided the "Smallville effect" where the same villains keep popping up. They forced Ray to evolve, even if that evolution was painful to watch.
Breaking Down the Key Players
The dynamics shifted in ways that felt permanent.
- Terry Donovan: Eddie Marsan is the unsung hero of this series. His struggle with his health and his guilt over Abby’s death (specifically the assisted suicide aspect) provided the season’s most emotional beats.
- Bridget: She grew up. Fast. Her resentment toward Ray reached a boiling point, and her own storylines started to mirror the tragedy of her parents.
- Mickey: He remained the ultimate narcissist. Even in the face of his daughter-in-law’s death, Mickey was looking for a score. It’s a testament to the writing that we still find him somewhat charismatic despite him being an objectively terrible human being.
The Legacy of the Fifth Season
Ultimately, Ray Donovan series 5 wasn't trying to be "fun" television. It was a funeral.
It functioned as a 12-episode wake for the life Ray thought he could have. By the time the finale rolled around, the stage was set for the final act of the series. Ray’s jump into the East River at the end of the season wasn't just a cliffhanger; it was a literal and figurative baptism. He was washing off the Los Angeles grime and preparing for the cold reality of New York.
For viewers looking to revisit the series or jumping in for the first time, series 5 requires patience. You can't multi-task while watching this one. If you look away for ten minutes, you'll lose track of which year you're in. But if you give it your full attention, the payoff is a much deeper understanding of why Ray is the way he is.
It’s messy. It’s depressing. It’s structurally ambitious.
How to Approach Series 5 for the Best Experience
To actually enjoy this season without getting frustrated, you need to change your expectations. Stop waiting for the "fix." Ray isn't fixing things this year; he's breaking.
Watch for the subtle cues. The lighting changes between the past and the present. The way Ray wears his jacket. The silence. There is so much information packed into the silence of this season.
Pay attention to the Sam Winslow arc. It seems like a side-quest at first, but it sets the tone for everything that happens in seasons 6 and 7. It’s about the shift from "neighborhood fixer" to "global shadow player."
Acknowledge the grief. If you’ve ever lost someone, the fragmented nature of this season will make total sense. Grief isn't linear. It doesn't happen in a straight line from 1 to 10. It hits you in flashes and shadows, which is exactly how the season is edited.
If you’re planning a rewatch, try to view episodes 8 through 12 in a single sitting. The momentum builds significantly toward the end, and the payoff for the "Abby flashbacks" is one of the most gut-wrenching sequences in modern prestige TV. Don't go looking for the old Ray; he's gone. This is the version of the character that had to emerge for the story to reach its eventual conclusion in the movie.
Moving forward, the best way to process the shift is to treat series 5 as a standalone experimental film tucked inside a long-running crime drama. It’s the "Fly" episode of Breaking Bad, but stretched out over a whole year. It’s divisive, it’s bold, and it’s the reason the show survived as long as it did.
To get the most out of your viewing, track the specific parallels between Ray's new job in New York and the flashbacks of Abby's treatment. You'll notice that his "fixes" for Sam Winslow are often desperate attempts to exert control over a world that took his wife away. It's not about the money anymore; it's about the illusion of power. Once you see that, the season transforms from a confusing mess into a deliberate, albeit painful, character study.