Jessai Flores

Over winter break, I watched the HBO miniseries “Station Eleven,” based on the 2014 Emily St. John Mandel postapocalyptic novel by the same name. It centers around a global pandemic: the fictional ‘Georgia flu’ wipes out nearly all of the planet’s population within a matter of weeks. As the flu gradually dies down, a tiny fraction of civilization survives, without having to fight against flesh-eating zombies. The show explores the nuances of human behavior after the fall of society. 

Because so much of the magic of the show is in the unraveling mystery of what has occurred between year one and year 20 of the pandemic for each character, I will refrain from telling much more about the plot. However, since I loved it so much, I want YOU to watch it too. So, here are five reasons — in no particular order— you should watch “Station Eleven”:

The Characters

From the licentious yet magnetic Arthur Leander to the unambitious but thoughtful Jeevan Chaudhary, the characters are lovably imperfect and incredibly complex. Each character contains an intriguing blend of virtue and vice, a blend that remains consistent before and after the pandemic, a blend that shows the uniqueness of each one of them, as they do not simply mold into a single, apocalypse-hardened trope.

This is particularly appreciated in the portrayal of Kirsten, the central character. Oftentimes, women in dystopian media fall flat, with a vast amount of their qualities simply forming a kind of “ideal” woman. They are painfully self-sacrificing, their fierceness is sexualized and their independence is excessive. Selfish, devoted and persistent, Kirsten is refreshingly nuanced. She argues with a pregnant friend when she leaves the Traveling Symphony, a troupe of Shakespearean actors performing for small communities across the United States, because she no longer wants to risk her life on the road. What she does may not be fair, but it is unapologetically human. Equally strong female characters abound, like Miranda, who values nothing more than her graphic novel project “Station Eleven,” and Elizabeth, who remains deceivingly calm even when having an affair. 

The Acting

The actors do a tremendous job of highlighting their character’s personalities, not only bringing the incredible screenwriting to life, but also amplifying it in miniscule facial expressions, vocal inflections and glaring body language. Anger, love, frustration and fear bleed through even when there is no dialogue to convey it.

The actress playing 8-year-old Kirsten, Matilda Lawler, gives a particularly notable performance. Given her youth, the Kirsten character arguably changes the most between pre- and post-pandemic scenes, from the death of her parents to wielding a knife against the murderous “Red Bandanas.” Lawler navigates even the subtlest changes deftly, demonstrating the toll of the catastrophe through both heart-wrenching breakdowns and chilling ruthlessness as she adjusts to the new world.

The Shots

Gorgeous and occasionally startling frames, like instantaneous glimpses into post-pandemic ruins, combined with the facial acting — my eyes were glued to the screen. I would pause even if I had to take a drink of water, because to look away was to miss something significant. 

Each scene is chosen with care, injecting every millisecond with a whole host of thoughts. Backgrounds are lush with meanings, from the erratic pink sticky notes on Frank’s bookshelf to the oddly full grocery store as the pandemic begins. Often, the psychology of a character is only made apparent through what the audience is allowed to see — and not see.

The haunting world without human intervention is given its due, even if the show ultimately emphasizes the beauty of human connection.

The Wardrobe

I do not mean only the everyday outfits of the post-pandemic wanderers, though they are wonderfully quirky in making use of all sorts of scraps that still give each character their own unique style, beyond the simply drab, torn and dirty outfits of neutral colors commonly seen in many post-apocalyptic shows and movies. By wardrobe, I am also referring to the extravagant, suitably ridiculous costumes The Traveling Symphony dons when performing Shakespeare.

Not only is the clothing in “Station Eleven” gloriously captivating, but they also highlight an often overlooked aspect of apocalyptic narrative: the reduction of gender and sexuality binaries. The women are unshaven, commonly bald and barefaced. Characters’ sexualities are fluid and irrelevant. Anyone can play any role in Shakespeare — Kirsten herself often plays Hamlet. The genderless wardrobe is just another way in which this is emphasized.

The Connections

Beginning with the death of celebrity Arthur Leander on stage in a production of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” at the very beginning of the pandemic, the narration branches out from this one man to explore the stories of all those whose lives were tangled with his, as significant as his ex-wives and as insignificant as the stranger in the audience who attempts to save his life. Like “It’s a Wonderful Life,” the show affirms an awe-inspiring yet captivating sense we perhaps can all relate to during the pandemic: each action we take, no matter how seemingly big or small, has implications we cannot predict or sometimes even know — even 20 years after the end of the world. 

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Since it is about a pandemic, it may be smart to wait a year or two to watch it — but it is worth the wait. “Station Eleven” shows how human connection through art endures, something we have seen throughout this pandemic. Stuck at home, we have searched for solace in shows, books and social media. Even the act of watching this show, stuck at home hiding from the rampant COVID-19 infections in my town, felt bizarrely meta. 

So next time you search for something new to watch, “Station Eleven” gives a somewhat optimistic look at the apocalypse, reminding us to “remember the sweetness of life on Earth” — while we have it, of course.