Revisiting The Leftovers feels like returning to a haunting memory. Part of me wanted to see if it would evoke the same or similar emotions from back then, but a larger part hoped it would. This HBO masterpiece, crafted by Damon Lindelof and Tom Perrotta, delves into human despair, loss, and the struggle for meaning, presenting an unforgettable narrative that challenges conventional storytelling.
Right off the bat, the series introduces its inciting incident, the Departure, and immediately shatters language and cultural barriers. It thrusts viewers into a world with a bizarre cult, a modern messiah, inexplicably aggressive dogs, and a parade of deeply troubled heroes, heroines, and lost souls – all drowning in indescribable despair.
From a filmmaking point of view, the series stands out with its mounted over-the-shoulder camerawork, “sparky” editing, and montage sequences, all elevated by Max Richter’s incredible soundtrack. These techniques enhance the drama, build suspense, make you unintentionally laugh, and cause astonishment across all three seasons. While these elements merit an essay of their own, it’s the narrative structure that truly sets The Leftovers apart.
The narrative doesn’t just portray despair – it sinks its teeth into it. It doesn’t hesitate to violate everyone’s personal feelings and emotions and expose them. It reflects the rawest forms of human suffering, remorselessly scrutinises their pain, chews it up, spits it out, and feeds it back to them. This unflinching exploration is what makes the series so profound.
The actors’ understanding of these narrative strengths ensures the story resonates with raw, unfiltered authenticity. Kevin Garvey (Justin Theroux), Nora Durst (Carrie Coon), Laurie Garvey (Amy Brenneman), Meg Abbott (Liv Tyler), Tom Garvey (Chris Zylka), Jill Garvey (Margaret Qualley), Matt Jamison (Christopher Eccleston), Patti Levin (Ann Dowd), Erika Murphy (Regina King), and Kevin Garvey Sr. (Scott Glenn) are just a few characters who carry this weight with remarkable depth.
The Leftovers places religion under a microscope, scrutinising it through the lens of an American society grappling with discombobulation and disillusionment. The show questions whether God works in mysterious ways or if belief itself provides any solace. Does the Departure reflect divine intervention (Rapture), or is it merely unexplained chaos disguised as a higher power’s plan? And how does a holy book provide comfort – or confusion – when nothing in it aligns with our tangible experiences?
Countless moments resonate: Amongst them, the Departure, the dog shooting, the stoning of a Guilty Remnant member, the amorous ferry to Melbourne, the placement of the lookalike dolls, Kevin’s suffocations, and Nora’s shooting (not what you think). These moments force viewers to confront their own reactions to trauma, exposing how individuals and societies cope – or fail to – when faced with the inexplicable. What happened? Why? How? Where did they go? Was it a scientific experiment gone wrong? Or did the entire world become a massive purgatory, dividing people and creating its own narrative? These speculative questions haunt the viewer long after the credits roll.
What also makes The Leftovers extraordinary is its mastery of non-linear storytelling. This technique perpetuates agony and suspense, answering questions not when we want to but when we need to. Take, for instance, the Reverend’s desperate sacrifices to save himself and his wife or Kevin’s surreal experiences in the mysterious hotel. The delay of resolution heightens the narrative’s emotional impact. The hotel Kevin finds himself in, clearly inspired by David Lynch’s surrealism, is a prime example. Its disorienting, dreamlike atmosphere challenges viewers to interpret its purpose. Is the hotel purgatory? A state of mind? While this approach may alienate some, it rewards those willing to read between the lines, culminating in a deeply satisfying ending.
Season 2 surprises with its tonal shift – new characters, a new setting, and a fresh premise. Yet the anomalies in human behaviour, the earthquakes, the false security of Miracle Town, and Kevin’s unravelling tie it seamlessly to the overarching narrative. Season 3, in contrast, offers a crescendo of revelations, taking the action to Australia, where the story grows increasingly surreal. Garvey Sr., the mysterious woman on the phone, the girl on the telly, and Nora’s heart-wrenching decision all contribute to a conclusion that feels both inevitable and extraordinary.
The Leftovers resonates deeply because it mirrors our world’s fragility. Lindelof and Perrotta created a drama that delves into the abyss of the human psyche, projecting fears, insecurities, and pettiness, offering an unexpected realism on an event that is so unlikely to happen. But we’ve lived through events we never thought possible – planes crashing into buildings, economic collapses, and a global pandemic that led to unprecedented fights over toilet paper. In these moments, the abyss of our psyche surfaces, forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about ourselves and our society.
The series’ dialogue exceeds expectations, oscillating between comical, heartbreaking, and profound. And the balance between the plot and subplot ensures that every moment feels purposeful. For clarification purposes, the subplot is the Departure; the plot is the aftermath. The scattered puzzle pieces audiovisually hint that someone – perhaps even ourselves – might hold the answers we seek. But we are too lost in ourselves to find them.
What do you think Miracle Town represents? Divine intervention? Geophysical energy? Or something else entirely? The brilliance of The Leftovers lies in its ability to evoke such questions. It doesn’t provide closure but rather invites us to sit with uncertainty. Who knows? Ultimately, maybe the 2% departed, but perhaps it was the 98% who truly left.
By the end, the series has laid bare the human condition in a way few narratives dare. No one knows how they feel anymore, how to act or react, or where they belong. Arguably, no one knows what anything means or if it means something to begin with. In times like these, when one means something and another perceives it entirely differently, a simple dialogue can speak volumes about how we are and feel.
– Kevin: Is Nora gone?
– Laurie: We’re all gone.
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