Because of course, in a world where your neighbor could turn into a mushroom demon, it’s still the gay kiss that ruins the night.
 |
| HBO |
The second season premiere of The Last of Us picks up right where we left off in season one. Joel (Pedro Pascal) has just lied to Ellie (Bella Ramsey) about the Fireflies, and the weight of that lie is already starting to settle in. As they walk toward Jackson, Wyoming, seeking refuge, Joel insists his version of events is the truth, but Ellie’s skepticism is clear. She hesitates before giving him a quiet “Okay,” signaling that trust has been obviously fractured.
This moment sets the tone for season two. The episode’s title, “Future Days,” comes from the Pearl Jam song Joel plays for Ellie, and it lands like a wish that’s already too late. This episode continually reminded me that unlike typical zombie apocalypse shit, this is no longer a story about starting fresh, but about the mess we bring with us when we try. “Future Days” doesn’t reset the board and just deepens the cracks that were always there.
Ellie has grown. She’s tougher, sharper, and less prone to pun books. But mostly, she’s starting to realize Joel isn’t the man she thought he was — and maybe never was. Joel, for his part, is unraveling in silence. The tenderness is still there, but there’s guilt beneath it, thick and unspoken. They orbit each other like a father and daughter stuck in different timelines — close, but out of sync.
In Salt Lake City, the Fireflies are burying their dead from the chaos Joel left behind. Among them is Abby (Kaitlyn Dever), burning with rage and determination. She insists they track down Joel, but Owen (Spencer Lord) suggests they regroup in Seattle first. Abby won’t be swayed. She wants Joel dead, not quickly, but slowly, for what he did to her father. If she reminds you of Joel at the start of all this, that’s no accident. Just like Joel’s path of revenge after losing Sarah (Nico Parker), Abby’s journey is driven by grief and a need to reclaim what’s been taken from her. It’s a dangerous cycle. She’s about to dive headfirst into it, it’s about to get ugly, and I’m fucking here for it.
We also meet Dina (Isabela Merced), the popular girl with soft eyes and good aim, who already feels like Ellie’s emotional anchor. Their chemistry is effortless, and their New Year’s Eve kiss is sweet — until a local bigot makes it ugly. Because of course, in a world where your neighbor could turn into a mushroom demon, it’s still the gay kiss that ruins the night. (Sarcasm, for anyone currently foaming at the mouth.)
And the infected? They’ve evolved. One hides, stalks, waits. It’s not just gross anymore, but also terrifying in new ways. The cordyceps are no longer just a backdrop. They’re mutating too, and so are the humans who’ve learned to live in their wake.
Catherine O’Hara plays Gail, Joel’s reluctant therapist and the widow of one of his Firefly victims. Casting a comedy icon here is a flex, and it works, because she plays it completely straight. Their sessions are quiet, but loaded. Joel’s not looking for healing. He’s looking for permission to keep lying to himself. And Gail, for all her restraint, sees right through him. It’s the kind of unexpected casting that makes you sit up, and I can’t wait to see where they take her from here.
So much of this premiere is about what happens after the life-or-death decision. Joel made his choice. He saved Ellie. But what’s left in the “future days” after that? A girl who doesn’t trust him. A town slowly being breached by tendrils. A woman on the outskirts vowing slow, surgical revenge.
After watching the season premiere, one thing stuck with me: the flood of misogynistic and homophobic takes I knew would follow. And sure enough, they came. I get it, Ellie’s changed. She’s grown colder, harder. But trauma does that, especially to someone already carrying this much damage. The problem isn’t Ellie. It’s the people watching, mostly the same folks who worship at the altars of Trump and Musk, too shallow to grasp that surviving the end of the world might actually change a person. — WALPHS.com
