Currently: The Last of Us

This week, I am covering the TV show that took Twitter by storm over the last few months: HBO’s “The Last of Us.” Adapted from the video game written by Neil Druckmann, the show stars Pedro Pascal (of “The Mandalorian” fame) and Bella Ramsey (“Game of Thrones”). Pedro plays father figure Joel to Ellie’s “chosen one” trope. While the earth is enduring a sort of “zombie” apocalypse brought on by the fungus Cordyceps, Ellie appears to be immune to its violent effects. Joel is tasked with delivering her across the United States to a hospital in Salt Lake City, to see if they can discover a cure from the immunity in her blood.

I want to make it clear that from this paragraph forward, spoilers abound. I wanted to wait until after Spring Break to give those of you who don’t like to watch shows one episode at a time to binge the show, but now, there is nothing holding me back from delving deeper into this show’s fascinating themes and discovering what a “zombie” apocalypse story can tell us about humanity, and ourselves.

One of the most fascinating themes encountered in the show is that of nature “taking back” the earth. Unlike typical zombies, creatures of sordid undeadness and a clear reversal of natural law, the zombie-like characters of “The Last of Us” are simply humans that have been taken over by a fungus—a fungus that, as David (not a likable character, but we will get to that later) says in Episode 8, is simply doing its best to survive and protect itself and those like it. This fungus progresses through various stages of awareness and threat level, and also is always violent toward any humans it encounters. In the season finale, Joel and Ellie come across a town that seems to be run over with grass and trees. Nature has grown through the ruins of skyscrapers, and there’s a particularly poignant scene where the two stop and feed a freely wandering giraffe. Weirdly enough, this theme and this scene, especially, remind me most of the apocalypse-like event we just experienced—the Covid-19 pandemic. I remember the surreal images of dolphins appearing in the clear waterways of Venice, Italy’s canals since humans had paused their traversing to socially distance and quarantine indoors. Nature heals when we step back and let it exist the way it was created too, without being clouded by our human inventions, designed to take and take until the Earth has no more left to give. It is sad, but true, and it’s a piece of “The Last of Us’s” story that feels especially grounded in reality.

Which leads me into my next theme. “The Last of Us” manages to give the public a fresh, new, and very grounded take on the overdone zombie apocalypse trope. The use of cordyceps eliminates the sort-of “immortal '' feel to past zombie apocalypse stories and makes the possibility of these events actually happening seem a little more likely. However, the conflicts and relationships developed between the two main characters feel real and raw. Both Pedro and Bella have been heavily praised for their performances. The two begin as a pair that has been pushed together out of a need to get Ellie to Salt Lake City and slowly grow together, to the point where Ellie begs Joel not to abandon her with his brother Tommy, even though he doesn’t see himself as capable of getting her where she needs to go. Each episode introduces us to new characters that are, in turn, heartbreakingly killed off—but somehow they manage to make us fall in love with them first, in only an hour of runtime. The show explores the many different kinds of community that can arise out of an apocalypse. While the show begins in a quarantine zone under the control of FEDRA, the new government order that has risen out of chaos in order to maintain various cities against outbreak, the Fireflies, a group of rebels working against what they believe to be FEDRA’s unethical practices, are tasked with delivering Ellie across the country to find a cure. Joel is recruited by the Fireflies. In episode three, we encounter Bill (played masterfully by Nick Offerman), a lonesome end-time preparer who lives in his bunker of a town, rich in resources, gated, and isolated from others. In episodes four to five, Joel and Ellie encounter a hostile Kansas City QZ (“quarantine zone”), where a military leader named Kathleen has overthrown the FEDRA government and is rapidly hunting down anyone who worked with FEDRA or provided them with information. In episode six, Joel reunites with his brother Tommy in a Jackson, Wyoming safe haven that runs similarly to a communist society. The group shares freely with each other and works together to achieve their goals. Then, in episode eight, Ellie encounters David, a pedophilic cult leader who has utilized religion to swindle a group of people into living under his “fatherly” rule, sharing resources, and listening to his preachings. The idea is that an apocalypse brings out the baser instincts in people—some advocate for fairness and equality, some distrust all others, some use the power vacuum to rise to power themselves, and others use it to enact their own revenge. It’s a fantastic exploration of humanity and society, and where the two intersect in various ways.

One of the most fresh and new pieces that “The Last of Us” brings to its genre is its innate queerness. While many high action shows allow for one or two queer side characters, “The Last of Us” puts queerness in center stage with Ellie. Both episode three and seven are distinct and new forays in the world of queer art, and have both come under heavy scrutiny by the public eye. They have been praised for their realistic portrayal of queerness, avoiding the focus on sexualizing the characters and instead focusing on the humanity of them. Many disapprovers have taken to Rotten Tomatoes, making the two episodes the lowest rated, but both are masterful descriptions of the queer experience. It’s hard to call this a problem when more people feel seen and represented by these episodes than ever before. It also brings to mind a beautiful truth: while the dire straits of an apocalypse often makes us more violent out of a need to survive, it can also make room for a true and authentic love that is difficult to have in the world we know now. In the world of “Last of Us”, love is not a necessity, it is rare and has to be worked at. There are many barriers that stand in the way of a quality and beautiful companionship—the inability to trust others, the reality of loss everywhere you look. Queerness is not at all unfamiliar with a love that requires the breaking of barriers—it has always been that way. That’s why I love that the creators chose to center their love stories around queer love. A love that has already broken down so many barriers- it is no small wonder that it continues to survive in a post-cordyceps world. In fact, perhaps it is love itself that binds humanity together, it certainly seems to survive, against all odds, time and time again.

The show ends with a hotly-debated ethical conundrum. When Ellie arrives at the hospital, Joel discovers they have to kill her in order to create more Cordyceps-resistant fungi. She is sent into surgery as a sacrifice, without Joel’s knowing. Joel wakes up, rescues her, shoots the doctor and the fearless Fireflies leader, and escapes with Ellie into the sunset. When she wakes up, he tells her that she carries no cure and they had to fight their way out of the hospital to stay alive. It echoes the storyline of the video game and is a question that has plagued viewers for quite some time. Is Joel stripping her of her agency by not telling her the truth—by not allowing her to choose to sacrifice herself and instead giving her the chance to live? Or is he being gracious enough to never let her make this tough decision and to instead live the rest of her life without being plagued by survivor’s guilt? I won’t answer this question for you—each viewer must answer it for themselves.

Whatever your “The Last of Us” hot take is, one cannot deny that it is well-produced and often stays true to the video games. The story is moving, the performances are layered, and underneath all of it, there’s an important lesson about humanity, and how much each of us mean to each other. Would you sacrifice the ones you love for the general population? Is our individual love for one another what defines us or our love for the general human experience? I hope you’ll take the time to watch the show and discover for yourself: what does it mean to be human in a world that feels strange, scary, and distinctly unhuman?