But The Last of Us of is about those assorted mushroom-baddies in exactly the same way that The Sopranos was about RICO charges. Which is to say — they’re a threat, yes, and they loom ever-present, but the show’s really about what the characters do despite them.
And what they do, on The Last of Us at least, is grow deeper and more complex in meaningful ways. Pascal plays Joel in the early episodes as if he’s encased his heart in his beskar steel armor from The Mandalorian, but as his connection to Ellie grows, he starts talking more — risking more, emotionally, in every scene — and it lands on us with a satisfying heft.
Ramsey’s young Lady Mormont was a heartening surprise back on Game of Thrones, but that character was written to do one thing — be a badass — and Ramsey did it well. Last year, in Lena Dunham’s Catherine Called Birdy, she got to show us a good deal more. Even so, she’s an absolute revelation here, investing Ellie with a toughness that manages to carve out plenty of room for vulnerability, teenage silliness, the pangs of first love, grief, rage and steely resolution.
Some may balk at the series’ choice to spend so much time showing us two people learning to rely on each other, instead of throwing ceaseless hordes of CGI-enhanced fungal foes at them. But by allowing the monsters to serve chiefly as catalysts to the complex emotional reactions of its characters, The Last of Us accomplishes what Station Eleven did last year.
It’s a hopeful show about the end of humanity — one that manages to find, and nurture, moments of grace amid the ruins.