Image via HBO
From its opening moments, The Last of Us seems engineered to defy preconceptions. HBO’s television adaptation of the hit PlayStation and Naughty Dog post-apocalyptic video game franchise doesn’t open with the game’s thunderous prologue but with a bold zag. It’s 1968 and a Johnny Carson–like host is talking with two panelists about the dangers of a global pandemic—as if to directly acknowledge the 50,000-pound elephant lingering in all virus-centered media post-2020.
The host laughs off the suggested notion of the bolder panelist before asking the otherwise quiet participant about his concerns. He replies with an answer that draws skeptical guffaws from the audience: “Fungi.” In a tense exposition, the scientist states in stark detail how the spores could alter the entire human mind if they evolved to a certain point. The host terrifyingly asks, “If that happens?” The scientist’s pragmatic response sends chills: “We lose.”
Loss is at the heart of The Last of Us. Set in what remains of the U.S. after a parasitic Cordyceps fungus does indeed infect civilization to horrific results, the television adaptation of the action-adventure-horror video game follows the same overarching plot as the game. A resentful smuggler Joel (Pedro Pascal) escorts the 14-year-old Ellie (Bella Ramsey, who played young spitfire Lyanna Mormont in later seasons of Game of Thrones) across the country on a secret, dangerous mission that may hold the key to finding a cure.
The game garnered near-universal praise for blurring the lines between cinematic and interactive storytelling. It’s a deathly serious title—with stakes that feel adult, weighty, human, and worthy of inclusion alongside prestige dramas you’d see on networks like HBO. While the “curse” of the bad video game adaptation is long over, with the successes of projects like Sonic the Hedgehog, Castlevania, The Witcher, and Arcane, The Last of Us carries a certain gravitas. As such, any translation of the game to the screen brings expectations and challenges.
Let’s cut to the chase: HBO’sThe Last of Us, helmed by game creator Neil Druckmann and Chernobyl’s Craig Mazin, is a triumph. Across the first season’s nine episodes, all of which HBO provided for review, Druckmann and Mazin’s approach to adaptation, storytelling, production design, performance, and direction is masterful, always prioritizing the cinematic presentation found at the game’s core. Fans of the genre will recognize the overarching path at its core—The Road–like odyssey across America—but the journey will take a few twists and turns, enriching and improving the story while helping it transcend its storied trappings. Some of the decisions are minor (the aforementioned talk show opening, for example), while others are major and better left unmentioned for viewers to discover through the first season. My quibbles are few; I found pacing to be a slight issue in some episodes, but often it’s due to individual storytelling beats that strengthen the overarching narrative, even if their mechanics aren’t as tidy as I’d prefer.
I’ve not played the games, deciding to see how the adaptation would fare without having the source material to influence me. Curiosity still lingers, and I often sought YouTube clips of big emotional beats from the game to see how they compared to the show. Caveats aside—I’m cherry-picking individual beats and not living the whole experience of the 10-hour-plus video game—the changes Druckmann and Mazin implement help expand the world in fascinating ways without compromising the core of Joel and Ellie’s story. To wit: An early season installment pivots away from the leads for a one-off featuring career-best performances from Nick Offerman and Murray Bartlett (The White Lotus).
The episode, written by Mazin and directed by BAFTA award-winning director Peter Hoar, is a master class in economical storytelling that will make you fall in love and break your heart—all in an hour. Hoar and Mazin’s tale is a micro-distillation of the show’s macro themes of love and loss, hope in the darkness, and human connection in utterly dire circumstances, rendered by empathic and superlative work from Offerman and Bartlett. There are further deviations like this throughout the series, leveraging strong work from beloved performers like Merle Dandridge (reprising her role as Marlene from the game), Gabriel Luna, Anna Torv, Storm Reid, and Melanie Lynskey.
This is still Joel and Ellie’s story, however. Pascal and Ramsey imbue their characters with the trappings of the traditional end-of-the-world protagonists before working to strip away any pretense around those archetypes. Pascal’s natural warmth has made him successful in The Mandalorian and Massive Talent. Still, those projects and his breakout tenure on Game of Thronesoften feature him digging into darker elements. That’s the case with Joel. When we encounter him in the throes of the new world order, he’s decidedly prickly. “You’re cargo,” he plainly states to Ellie at one point. The gray morality and deep-seated bitterness are indicative of the ethos he’s adapted to survive, and the show’s refusal to make him an outright noble figure is commendable.
The Last of Us hinges on the believability of the relationship between Joel and Ellie, and Ramsey, who uses they/them pronouns, makes another explosive impression. Their performance in Thrones made them one of the more intriguing young performers, but The Last of Us sees Ramsey chart a meteoric ascension. Ellie is hardened by this environment and far more capable than Joel––or anyone else––gives her credit for; a scene in the middle stretch of episodes sees her precisely pinpoint the root of one of Joel’s lingering ailments. It’s one of many moments where Ellie actively leverages her perceived naivety to her advantage.
Later episodes offer rich emotional beats as Ellie and Joel learn to trust one another, and we learn more about her past; it’s here where Ramsey elevates their craft once again—most notably in a gutting bottle episode toward the conclusion of the season. That’s not to say Ramsey is all grit all the time. They’ve got plenty of comedic beats to help lighten the heavy tone, including a recurring gag wherein Ellie gleefully recites a series of awful puns. Ramsey nails the comedic timing with effortless ease.
The comedic aspect is a welcome but never overbearing addition to a decidedly heavy world. The way The Last of Us balances its bleakness with hope evokes HBO Max’s Station 11, which handled a similar topic with grace and beauty. Both shows tackle big questions about what makes life worth living, how much of ourselves we must sacrifice to keep going, and what we should preserve in the face of annihilation. Make no mistake, this world is brutally crushing, but there’s often hope to soften the blow—a tenant that feeds into the show’s central ethos.
These wondrous moments are often some of The Last of Us’ most affecting scenes, whether it’s a shared moment of connection between two people or how the world reclaims its natural beauty. The visuals strengthen these wonders, notably John Paino’s staggering production design. Whether it’s the Federal Disaster Response Agency’s (a.k.a. FEDRA, the last bit of remaining governmental control) quarantine zone in Boston, the overrun outskirts of a city, a picturesque bed of blooming flowers, a snow-covered settlement at Christmas, or deserted gas stations, everything feels tactile and lived-in. That’s to say nothing of the striking design of the Cordyceps-infected, whose fungi visages are haunting and alluring in equal measure. These moments are scored by the sparse but impactful guitar-forward compositions of Gustavo Santaolalla, who worked on the game and reteams with Druckmann once more.
The Last of Us is a walking contradiction. It’s beauty and bloodshed, death and decay, light and dark, hope and sadness. As one character says in the finale, it’s about finding something new to fight for in the midst of unshakeable loss. These aren’t new ideas, especially in this genre, but how Mazin and Druckmann execute them is top-tier, channeled through performers who are ideal in their respective roles in a vividly memorable world. Like the fungi virus at its center, The Last of Us will get under your skin. Its power and prowess are hard to shake.
The Last of Us premieres on HBO on Sunday, Jan. 15.
