We’re three weeks in and I’m starting to develop a little ritual: I watch the latest episode on Monday, including the preview for the next episode and the little retrospective from cast and crew. It’s a neat little way to hear some of the thoughts that went into the episode, especially in changes between the game and the show. Then, probably on Tuesday, I listen to the official HBO podcast with the show runners talking about the episode in depth. This is also an interesting perspective. Sometimes the worst thing a creator can do is talk about their product, but, in this case, I’m finding it an interesting bridge between what I’m seeing and what I don’t know having not played the game. Then, I poke around a few select internet sources I avoided to stay protected from spoilers.
I need to reiterate that I haven’t played The Last of Us. I’m one of 3 remaining people who doesn’t have a PlayStation. Even if I did, it’s not the kind of game I would gravitate toward. Also, I’m not participating in any discussions on Reddit, Discord, or wherever. I’m quietly waiting for the journal articles and stuff. Academics gotta academic, after all. And, if I’m fully honest, the only reason I’m curious is because this show has been credited with (blamed for?) delaying The Mandalorian. So it better be good.
One of the constant things I’m hearing is the connection between the show’s lead character, Joel, and how he’s a broken man. This journey is meant to be a healing experience as Joel bonds with Ellie. This is one of those Found Family kind of shows. Two lost souls in need of a family, in itself a very potent theme. But I’m going to go one step further: Joel represents America and the broader show the American Dream, and the show is an allegory for a much larger national identity crisis. The dates of the show are irrelevant to the allegory (the point is that it’s Today, not that it’s necessarily literally today).
2020 revealed how well the American Collective would function in a pandemic. COVID-19 was arguably a “light” pandemic, in the scheme of things. It’s still running its course, and evolving into new strains. In a connected global society, pandemics are inevitable and perhaps will be increasingly volatile. I’m not a scientist, but I pay attention to science. So, there’s more on the way. The sheer extent of national disunity over the pandemic is disheartening. Whatever one’s political views, too often, it seemed like people were putting their personal agenda over the betterment of all people. Sure, wearing a mask in public and keeping kids out of school really, really sucked, but it did help the spread of the pandemic. It just also happened to accentuate cracks in the system: the disparity between classes and races, the ability (or inability) of governing bodies to rally around protecting the people, the lack of trust in science and new technologies… Incredibly disheartening.
But, I think the pandemic helped provide a strong illustration how broken the idea of the American Dream really is. I’ve been standing on the hypothesis for awhile now that the American Dream is not sustainable. It promotes a life and lifestyle that is idyllic and unrealistic, but is held as a Gold Standard one uses to measure their success in life. When one can’t live up to that status quo, the shame and judgment becomes depression and drug use. The lack of security marked by social success heightens the differences between poverty and privilege. Media is a mirror into the mindset of the moment. Utopian media is encouraging and romantic, but dystopian media is by far the most honest.
The Last of Us is a modern dystopia. Everything fell apart after a fungal pandemic quickly reached across the world. I love the idea of a fungal pandemic, because viruses and bacteria are microscopic and easily unseen. Fungi are excited to spread and be seen. The idea of a fungus mutating and taking control of human bodies helps convey two very important ideas. One is that humanity’s attempt to control nature inevitably comes back to haunt us. This systemic disregard for the power of the environment conveys the idea that humanity is superior. That leads into the second very important idea: that humanity is a part of the ecosystem and will eventually be subsumed by it.
The people who have avoided this pandemic live in isolation, either in quarantine zones or in designated areas. I haven’t gotten much of a read on the “government” in this series, beyond the appropriate description by the character Bill in the third episode: “New World Order jackboot fucks.” Because we’ve already seen in our real world that relying on the government will only go so far, the dystopian mirror inevitably reflects that distrust.
Joel is what’s left of a realism that isn’t deluded by hope, cunning, or even misguided optimism. Joel is the part of the population who just gets by, doing what’s needed to survive. Life sucks, but doesn’t suck enough to suicide. Commentators hang hats on the extent to which Joel has failed: he’s a protector by his nature, but failed to protect the important people in his life.
I think this is an important aspect of the American persona that’s worth spending some time with. This concept of “protecting.” It’s a patriarchal concept that everyone is in need of a protector, and this creates a division of labor that privileges superiority and establishes that there is an inferiority. The two characters, Bill and Frank, toy with those boundaries. Bill is a survivalist and a loner, and Frank is the complete opposite. They balance each other out: they protect and nurture each other—each in his own way. In the end, what they help us see is that it’s not about protection, it’s about having a purpose; in other words, a purpose to life that’s not defined by specific roles and behaviors but rather by the fulfillment and satisfaction that comes from being human. Frank is a reminder to find the joy of life, even in the darkest moments.
Ellie is the next generation, that one that’s born in the chaos. She’s scarred from her infection but somehow immune to it. Again, this is environmental balance: eventually the human body has to evolve against the fungus or humanity has to die out. She’s a pain in the ass (she wasn’t raised on pre-pandemic social norms after all) but she represents something that people like Tess and the Fireflies need to make their lives more bearable: hope. Hope, I quickly point out, was one of of the evils in Pandora’s jar, and hope can poison a mind that is hungry for change. But, Tess’s concept of “change” is going back to the way things were. That’s never going to happen. That America will never exist again. More than anything, that’s the biggest danger of nostalgia. It’s a surface-level narrative that easily ignores the underlying systems that realign after a trauma. Holding on to the past, hoping for a “restored” future, easily blinds us from the necessary transformation that needs to happen to survive. I’m not going to say “heal,” because “healing” involves so much more than “feeling better,” or accepting the scars. Collective trauma needs collective rebuilding, redefinition, and rebecoming.
We’ve got a few more episodes, and another season, still to come that can totally prove me wrong, but it’s fun to think about in the meantime.
For fun to punctuate a wall of text, here’s a link to the show trailer. I don’t own the content, and I’m not paid to endorse the show.
Priscilla, I need an update on this from you, assuming you've completed the series by now. :) Several themes like the "protector" and group-think/government in a crisis situation evolve more in the second season. My son and I binged this - he was our "tour guide" as he was aware of the story through his gamer-Youtube world. (But we must be the other two people without a Playstation.)
The show was fascinating and we're waiting on the edge of our seats (for the next 18 months I guess) for season three!
Be well,
Brian