The following is a spoiler-free review of all seven episodes of The Last of Us Season 2.
Season one of HBO’s The Last of Us was a superb retelling of the Naughty Dog game of the same name, both staying loyal to and enriching a beloved story. But season 2 struggles to replicate those qualities – it’s a bleak, abbreviated chapter whose key moments fall flat with too much regularity. It’s by no means bad – in fact, at times it’s very good – it just kept me at arm’s length, never letting me quite connect to its characters in the way that’s so crucial to The Last of Us Part 2. It’s often a spectacle, crafted with skill throughout, but fails to live up to the thrilling heights of its source material or capture the heart of its first season.
If season 1 was about discovering love in the post-apocalypse, season 2 is about holding onto hate, and the more rugged production design reflects this: Fire engulfs snow, melting it away to reveal the fragility of the world these characters inhabit. Five years after Joel (Pedro Pascal) freed Ellie (Bella Ramsey) from the Firefly hospital, we see cities that have fallen apart at the seams, with cult-infused graffiti and showcases of mass murder seemingly on every street corner. It evokes the descent into hell that Ellie goes on, as everything, including the elements, turns against her, with rain pouring and darkness overwhelming sunlight with increasing frequency.
This show is dark in every sense of the word, with little aside from a few dad jokes and the occasional love song to lift the gloom. These moments that puncture through the misery and offer hope are always welcome, though, despite how deliberately eye-rolling the punchlines may seem. They’re at the crux of what makes The Last of Us still compelling, if flawed, television this time around.
I’m not envious of showrunners Neil Druckmann and Craig Mazin. Adapting The Last of Us Part 2 and balancing its many reveals with moments of shocking violence and subtle revelations is a highwire act, indeed. Splitting the game into multiple seasons to adhere to a dual-perspective story that delivers its heaviest hammer blows in flashbacks was always going to be a challenge. For what it’s worth, I love Part 2, even more than the original The Last of Us, but watching the HBO version has me questioning just how much of that is due to me being able to actively control its two leads, and just how much being part of this story is what makes it work.
Those coming in fresh may be as equally floored by the way the story is being told here, but I can’t say it fully works for me.
Those coming in fresh may be as equally floored by the way the story is being told here, but I can’t say it fully works for me. I think this is largely due to some big early revelations emerging about newcomer Abby (Kaitlyn Dever). She’s a less compelling presence when she isn’t shrouded in mystery. As a whole, season 2 feels a little stop-start, a startling cadence where momentum quickly ramps up with one action scene after the next, before grinding to a halt with whole episodes dedicated to reflection and remembrance. And with only seven episodes to play with, it struggles to find its rhythm as a result.
Much like the first season and The Last of Us Part 1, season two keeps Part 2’s larger plot intact. The same events still take place, albeit sometimes presented to us at different junctures, with some expanded upon to add context, but never to the extent that Bill’s story was woven into season 1. That’s not to say there aren’t frequent flashbacks – they’re often parsed out to give extra context to choices being made or emotions being felt. Pascal continues to portray Joel with an excellent, tearful humanity as he learns to live with his fateful actions in Salt Lake City. Ellie is all that matters to him now, and that’s expertly conveyed by Pascal’s eyes, which work overtime in numerous heartfelt conversations with his surrogate daughter.
The jumping back and forth in time is largely successful here, too, filling us in on fresh faces such as Jeffrey Wright’s Isaac – a deliciously performed character who is woefully underexplored in the game. But one episode that takes place almost entirely in the past doesn’t quite work, mainly due to where it falls during the season. The individual scenes are beautifully performed and often tugged my heart in several directions, but it just feels oddly placed in the series as a whole, grinding forward momentum to a halt at a critical point. It then hurtles towards its end in a slightly disorienting fashion, almost deliberately confusing us with fraying threads of subplots leading to other stories that are left dangling.
The quieter moments – Bill’s tragic romance, Henry and Sam’s doomed brotherhood – were my favourite in season one and, thankfully, the same can be said for its follow-up. The problem is they’re fewer and further between this time around. Little time is afforded for contemplation, or to form our own interpretation of the characters’ motives. Instead, everything is handed to us in quite an obvious manner, which is to the detriment of a story that should be slaloming through the grey areas of right and wrong. Catherine O’Hara’s therapist character seems mainly present to be a proxy for the audience, but rather than prod us in the right direction and make us think, she frustratingly delivers exposition dumps concerning the people of Jackson’s internal feelings, rather than letting us form our own assessments.
I fear the pendulum has swung too far from season 1’s scarce encounters with the infected. Hordes and literal avalanches of cordyceps-encrusted monsters descend regularly, especially in the season’s earlier episodes. At one point we’re treated to an almost Helms Deep-like battle sequence in which a flood of infected attempt to wipe out another pocket of humanity; the problem is, this event, although spectacular in its design and execution, overshadows what should be the pivotal moment of the whole season. The catalyst for the rest of its story is reduced almost to a sideshow. It’s a rare miss for a creative team that displayed such elegance in the way it weaved its biggest, most shocking moments into the fabric of season 1.
After a stop-start beginning, the show settles into more of a rhythm (albeit a breakneck one). A familiar feel of deadly road-tripping is resumed, with some of the game’s most threatening foes transferring over to add horror to every dark corner – and providing some of the season’s brightest highlights, too. The midpoint is where it feels most like season 2 is reliving the glory of its predecessor, compared to earlier episodes that strain to fit new characters and Joel and Ellie’s journey into the same spotlight. But The Last of Us gets back on the road soon enough, blending moments of pure horror and touching sentimentality gracefully – episode 4 proved my favourite of the bunch.
The pace skips along too breezily for a supposedly grueling suicide mission into an unknown warzone that’s told over the span of just seven episodes. What should feel like Martin Sheen’s long ordeal in Apocalypse Now is presented more like a whistlestop tour of Seattle landmarks. Ultimately, the only hearts of darkness here belong to the many people who have chosen violence as a way of life – a reality seemingly inescapable for any citizen of post-apocalypse Seattle.
Tribalism is at the core of this season, and indeed the core theme that resonates through its source material.
Tribalism is at the core of this season, and indeed the core theme that resonates through its source material. Seattle has its warring factions, and Jackson is a tribe all of its own. The problem is that Ellie has never been one for authority, stretching back to her FEDRA training days and subsequent betrayal of the fireflies at the hands of Joel. Personal ties are what powers her choices, and the internal conflict between selfishness and selflessness is keenly explored. This is aided by Ellie’s new friends Jesse and Dina, who are played fantastically by Young Mazino and Isabela Merced, respectively.
Gabriel Luna is the early episodes’ MVP. His Tommy is the rock of Jackson: tender but strong, and the cool to his often hotheaded and impulsive brother, Joel. But it’s the charismatic Merced who’s the star of the show in season 2. As Dina, she’s a great source of warmth and humour throughout – as much as can be found in this world, anyway. A fun (bordering on jarringly quippy) foil to Ellie, she gives as good as she gets but also stands strong in their many encounters with Clickers and other such threats. (And when the time comes, she knows to just run away, too.) Between this and Alien Romulus, she’s proven that she’s perfectly at home being chased by monsters.
Bella Ramsey was fantastic as a younger version of Ellie, but their performance in season 2 didn’t really sell me on the fact that five years have passed in the world of The Last of Us. Ellie just doesn’t appear to have matured, and it sits strangely next to the very mature content of season 2. Ramsey acts with more physicality, displaying impressive combat skills, but still behaves like a child in conversation. They’re great most of the time, but in the flashes of rage they’re asked to present, it feels slightly off – especially now that Abby is around: In the brief moments we spend with her, Kaitlyn Dever is a force. Ramsey mostly remains a strong interpreter of Ellie, and they’re superb at the precocious, cheeky side of the character, but upstaged by Dever in the show’s more heated moments – she’s simply able to deal a more ferocious shade of heat.
On a production level, The Last of Us remains a near-faultless display of prestige television. Beautifully shot, it captures both the scale of the depravity taking hold over nature and presents both the beautiful and horrific details that inhabit it. The lighting stands out in particular: Sentimental moments are drenched in warm sunlight, while horror is often (and appropriately) bathed in blood-red hues or hand-lit by the flame of stalking threats. At its best, the atmosphere sparks images of Ben Wheatley’s thriller-come-folk horror masterpiece, Kill List, as it merges modern architecture with thoroughly medieval, violent practices – an ominous, cultlike religious group introduced in season 2 only adds to this air of doom.
This is a story barely half-told, and as such is hard to evaluate.
But this is a story barely half-told, and as such is hard to evaluate. The further into Seattle we get, the more we’re getting scraps of things we won’t see in their entirety until later on. It could be that by the end of season 3, these seven episodes feel like an exciting piece of a greater whole. The problem is, this is television, and we’ll have to wait many months, if not years, for those gaps to be filled in. I fear, for all that makes season 2 worth recommending, it will leave a lot of people bewildered rather than intrigued. I ultimately respect the decision to largely stick with the game’s structure – it’s part of what makes the steady reveal of its story and our evolving sympathies towards its characters such a masterstroke. I’m just wary that the effect hasn’t translated all too well here.
