If you’re a fan of shows about the undead, there are certain hallmarks you can always come to expect: vacant-eyed zombies lurching in unison, screaming figures down dark alleyways, gaping mouths full of bloody teeth. But when The Last Of Us landed in 2023, it seemed that no one was prepared for the body horror. Based on the acclaimed video game franchise of the same name, the show follows Joel (Pedro Pascal) and Ellie (Bella Ramsey) as they travel across a post-apocalyptic America where the population has been decimated by a parasitic fungal infection, turning people into mindless, mushroom-headed monsters.
In the second episode, Tess (Anna Torv) sacrifices herself to save Joel and Ellie from a wave of Infected. Instead of chomping down on human flesh, the mutant delivers a deadly kiss, as a mass of wriggling tendrils unfurls from its mouth into Tess’s to guarantee her place among the ‘community’ of Infected. But alongside moments of stomach-churning horror, humanity thrives inThe Last Of Us – and it’s in the unlikely ruins of this plague-ravaged society that we find some of the most authentic LGBTQ+ representation in recent years.
While The Last Of Us (with the second season's first episode landing on 13 April) earned praise for redefining the post-apocalyptic genre with its performances, storytelling and cinematic visuals, the show also revolutionised the portrayal of queerness in TV. To many people’s surprise, the show thoughtfully expanded implied queer relationships from the game into fully realised love stories, most notably in the third standalone episode, which follows the romance between grumpy survivalist Bill (Nick Offerman) and artist Frank (Murray Bartlett). After Frank is accidentally captured in a booby trap on Bill’s land, the pair embark upon a beautiful 20-year partnership that elevates queer joy, even in a world defined by suffering.
Unlike the game, where Bill is a bitter, beaten- down man following the death of Frank, the show flips the script on the harmful trope of ‘bury your gays’, in which queer characters are slain at a disproportionate rate, often in needlessly violent ways. Although Frank eventually succumbs to a degenerative disease, the pair decide to depart the world on their own terms by drinking poisoned wine; together, in love, and having lived a fulfilling life.
Bill and Frank’s love story isn’t the only prominent queer thread in the show. In episode seven, we travel back in time and learn about the events that changed Ellie’s life. Weeks before she begins her journey with Joel, she spends a night out with Riley (played by Storm Reid), her best friend from the Boston quarantine zone. Together, they explore an abandoned mall, play in the arcade and share their first kiss – a captivating moment that focuses on the couple’s sweet date without grappling with the weight of hardship, bigotry and discrimination. While their budding romance is cut short when the pair are attacked and bitten by Infected, leaving Ellie to outlive Riley because of her rare immunity, the second season of the show will prove that her queerness is not a throwaway subplot.
Based on the 2020 video game sequel, The Last Of Us Part II, which became the first blockbuster game to centre a lesbian female protagonist, the second instalment of the show takes place five years after season one, and sees Ellie begin a relationship with her girlfriend Dina, played by Isabela Merced. Ellie and Dina’s partnership and relationship was a big focus of the game, and Merced has said that ‘the chemistry that Bella [Ramsey] and I have is so palpable’ throughout new episodes.
Whenever LGBTQ+ representation makes gains, though, it’s inevitable that homophobic backlash will follow. Although The Last Of Us drew a cumulative viewership of 30.4 million, outperforming the Games Of Thrones prequel House Of The Dragon, the episodes centring LGBTQ+ stories sadly became the target of online trolls. On aggregator sites such as Rotten Tomatoes, Metacritic and IMDb, episodes three and seven were review-bombed, garnering the lowest ratings of the series.
Predictably, many of the negative reviews complained that the episodes ‘push the LGBTQ+ agenda’, or likened the inclusion of queer couples to ‘political propaganda’, despite the fact that there isnothing inherently political about the existence of gay people, either in the media or the real world. If anything, though, the best antidote is to continue presenting nuanced depictions of queer identity, experiences and love.
Of course, The Last Of Us isn’t the first in its genre to include authentic queer characters. Over the years, Doctor Who has portrayed an admirably diverse array of LGBTQ+ characters. Then there’s Netflix’s unabashedly queer hit, The Umbrella Academy. When Elliot Page came out as trans, the show rewrote his character, formerly known as Vanya, as a trans man, introducing us to Viktor in season three. AMC’s Interview With The Vampire, meanwhile, makes the queer undertones of the 90s film adaptation explicit, and hit survival horror Yellowjackets features prominent queer storylines among the supernatural mysteries and cannibalism. Then there’s pop culture juggernaut Stranger Things, which creates space for myriad forms of queerness through the characters of Robin Buckley and Will Byers.
In these shows, queerness doesn’t define the characters; instead, it’s authentically woven into their narratives, normalised as just part of who they are. Even in dystopian societies, they are simply individuals leading rich and complicated lives, just like anyone else. And therein lies the power of this new wave of LGBTQ+ screen stories. Through nuanced protagonists, who exist in environments against all odds, we defy the trap of positive representation that so often simplifies queer lives. And when LGBTQ+ storytelling is at its best, it reminds viewers that queer people exist in every world, and that they deserve meaningful and memorable stories like everyone else.
WATCH NOW The Last of Us season 2 is available to stream now
