The Next Apocalypse

A video game turned series that finds intimacy in disaster.

- JEN CHANEY

WHEN POP CULTURE has given us so many stories about mass-extinction events in the past 15 years, is it still possible to tell one that’s surprising? That’s the question before HBO’s The Last of Us, an adaptation of the revered 2013 PlayStation game that follows a pair of Americans attempting to survive after a climate-change-fueled fungus turns much of the world’s population into zombielike creatures. The nine-episode first season, which debuted January 15, focuses on Joel (Pedro Pascal), a man who lost his daughter the night the pandemic began in 2003, and Ellie (Bella Ramsey), a teenager whose immunity to the fungus could be instrumental in finding a cure 20 years later. Joel is tasked with transporting Ellie across the country in search of a medical facility where she can be examined, a journey that features long treks through barren landscapes and moments of genuine horror whenever a “clicker”—someone so severely infected with mutated Cordyceps that mushroom blooms burst through their brain—jumps from the shadows to attack.

With a season-one budget reportedly exceeding those for the early seasons of Game of Thrones, The Last of Us is punctuated by intense action sequences and elaborately rendered practical and visual effects. It’s a very well-made piece of television. It’s also full of recognizable twists and themes; though it is technically not a zombie-apocalypse show, its rhythms and survivalist details—the endless graveyards of abandoned vehicles, the joy found in an expired but edible can of Chef Boyardee—will bring back memories of