Can The Last of Us Outlive Its Antihero?

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On Sunday night, the post-apocalyptic drama The Last of Us delivered its most spectacular chapter to date. Following the events of the first season, HBO’s two central characters — Joel (Pedro Pascal), a grizzled smuggler, and Ellie (Bella Ramsey), his impetuous adopted daughter — decided to settle in Jackson, Wyoming, joining what may be the only remaining human outpost where hope, not fear, ruled. The community boasted schools, horses, electricity, and even a therapist — all rarities since the fungal pandemic that wiped out civilization as we know it nearly two decades ago. In the episode, the couple’s hideout was destroyed by a horde of infected — hosts who had been overtaken by the fungus and essentially turned into zombies — in an epic battle that recalled the best moments of Game of Thrones. In another Game of Thrones twist, the hour ended with a death that redefined the entire series: the brutal murder of Joel.

In the season premiere, a cynical Joel chided Jackson Mayor Maria (Rutina Wesley), who also happens to be his sister-in-law, for draining the town’s limited resources by welcoming strangers with open arms. (In a clear nod to our own political reality, Maria reminded Joel that he, too, had recently been a refugee.) But we’ve also begun to see a different side of him: After five years in Jackson, Joel has become a man who dotes on his nephew Benji, mentors the younger residents, and makes statements like, “I can’t be responsible for anyone’s emotional states.” (The latter earned him a surprised, incredulous response from Ellie’s best friend, Dina: “Are you in fucking therapy?”) Though he’s rolled his eyes at the city council’s idealism, he’s come to regard the place as his home, and much of Sunday’s episode’s pathos comes from the realization of what might be lost if it crumbles. There’s also satisfaction in witnessing the meticulous preparation and determination of his fellow Jacksonites to defend what they’ve built. The commune’s high outer walls are reinforced with barrels of gasoline that, when set ablaze by flaming torches, incinerate zombies en masse; after some inevitably breach the perimeter, they’re met by trained attack dogs and a reserve force armed with flamethrowers. The town’s uneven resilience is all the more moving because of the hours already spent with its citizens. When Maria’s husband, Tommy (Gabriel Luna), who’s also Joel’s brother and Benji’s father, faces a particularly terrifying foe while she watches anxiously from the ramparts, too far away to help, the stakes of the encounter feel acutely personal.

This sense of intimacy in the midst of the action also marks a sharp departure from the first season, when Joel and Ellie rarely stayed in one place long enough to truly get to know its inhabitants. The pair set out on their journey from Boston to Salt Lake City as strangers: Joel regarded Ellie, whose immunity to the infection made her a target for a guerrilla group known as the Fireflies, as little more than “cargo,” and his resistance to deeper connection made their dynamic less compelling than the woes of the survivalists and opportunists they met along the way. There were militarized zones that restored a semblance of order through repression, as well as personality cults organized around a leader’s ability to provide a sense of purpose. Often, these disparate societies were as warped as the creatures they were defending against.

By the end of the first season, however, the core relationship has changed. In Utah, Joel learns that the Fireflies have coordinated with a doctor to perform surgery to slice open Ellie's brain in an attempt to find a cure, and that if he had a choice between saving her and saving the world, he would choose her. He shoots up a hospital, kills a surgeon, and drags an unconscious Ellie off the operating table, making a series of unthinkable decisions out of love. At the start of the second season, she is an angry, tattooed nineteen-year-old, and she can barely bring herself to talk to him. Pascal, finally freed from the shooter's brutality, perfectly expresses Joel's newfound guilt and isolation. Now in his sixties, having lost his own daughter before she could distance herself from him, Joel may be out of his element raising a troubled teenager. Ellie, for her part, is irritated by his desire to protect her, even though her immunity and increased skill with a gun give her a teenage sense of invincibility.

While Season 2 gives these individual dynamics more room to develop, it ultimately feels less substantial than its predecessor as a whole. A subplot involving Ellie's crush on the flatly written Dina (Isabela Merced) soon descends into melodrama, and the narrative detours and enticing world-building that once gave the show such bite and unpredictability are replaced by relentless pounding.

Sourse: newyorker.com

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