HBO’s new hit series “The Last of Us” has fast gripped audiences with its star-studded cast, including Pedro Pascal (whom you may remember from his role in “Game of Thrones,” or “The Mandalorian”) and Bella Ramsey (also from “Game Of Thrones”). “The Last of Us” has been met with groundbreaking success raking in around 4.7 million viewers on its debut episode. An adaptation of a much-loved video game, it was geared up to be a huge hit, gathering in old fans with its fresh take on an old story.
It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. The first few episodes are set in a post-apocalyptic Boston, after a global pandemic has destroyed civilization. Sound familiar? Smuggler Joel (Pascal) is placed in charge of 14-year-old Ellie (Ramsey), who may be humanity’s last hope. The show pushes all the right emotional buttons. Not only is it giving us all the expected, yet incredibly grotesque squirming zombies and kick-ass fight scenes, but its overarching theme makes for a wonderfully heart-wrenching tale about the cost of love, making personal purpose a powerful yet destructive motivator for most of the characters. Are you truly living if your only purpose is to survive? The third episode “One More Good Day,” released this past Sunday, left me, and most viewers, with tears streaming down but a satisfyingly uplifting feeling, reiterating again and again that there is nothing more dangerous than someone with everything to lose. However, the carefully planned emotional beats didn’t stick with me the most. What did was a single cutaway shot—a few moments when Ellie, scavenging for supplies, shoves three rolls of toilet paper into her backpack. I caught myself halfway through a laugh of relatability. Suddenly hyper-self-aware, I was struck by this dwarfing feeling of what it means to watch a show like this post-COVID-19. Why do we find comfort in these terrifyingly raw, and (now more than ever) realistic tales? Maybe we feel it gives us a greater sense of control, resonating more poignantly than ever, and acting as a psychological survival guide.
Hearing someone cough or sneeze post-pandemic ignites this knee-jerk reaction in us all, a warning of potential COVID contamination and a “stay away!” alarm ringing in our heads. I remember watching films during the pandemic where people were partying in clubs. I was so aware of the germs mixing and spreading. I could almost see the particles passing between everyone. It is the norm that became unnerving. Reality became a Suzanne Collins or Stephen King novel, and when in the unknown it can be difficult to not let our imaginations flourish. But now that it’s all “over,” what is the fallout on our media consumption? We have seen a huge spike in the consumption of media about pandemics, or apocalyptic scenarios in general. Take 2011’s “Contagion,” for example: according to BuzzFeed, pre-pandemic it was The Warner Brothers’ 207th most-watched film. In 2020, it became the second. Watching a film or TV show that you relate to, even if that situation is dire, seems to strangely soothe and give us a way to mentally cope and understand fear. It is saying, “this is how you can respond, it’s okay to be terrified because all these people are too.” In “Contagion,” they find a vaccine, and after all the grimness, it ends on a hopeful note.
The beautifully refreshing thing about “The Last of Us” is the fresh angle it offers: a story about finding unconventional love; watching Ellie not knowing to put on her seatbelt, and ogle in awe after stepping into a hotel lobby for the first time. Her innocent wonder gives us a new perspective, to appreciate the small moments in a cataclysmic situation. It’s nearly as satisfying as watching Pedro Pascal slaughter some infected zombies.
