The Last of Us Episode Three: On Adaptation

The third episode of The Last of Us demonstrates the philosophy behind quality adaptation.

Coming off of the third episode of The Last of Us, it seems as though we have been given a new cultural landmark of an episode. Unparalleled praise opposed by disappointing denouncement of its well structured, heartfelt story between two survivors has propelled this episode to the forefront of modern television.

As if the show already wasn’t.

Because the obvious bloater in the room is simply how good the series is, and how that’s especially odd for a video game to film adaptation. A pop culture phenomena with an atrocious track record so unconvincing of the formula that any and all video game fans get a nervous shrill at the mention of their favorite story moving from screen to…bigger screen. However, The Last of Us continues to impress and inspire hope for future video game features, shows, what have you with its stunning quality. This begs the questions: what is the nature of a video game adaptation, and how does The Last of Us work around its limitations to make a story successful across media?

The answer lies in the semantics. “Adaptation” doesn’t simply mean the crossing of fourth walls from one medium to another. Rather, it is the attempt to meld a story to the form its taking, AKA “to adapt.” The issue with major video game adaptations is that the enjoyment of the two medium’s are distant. One watches a film and connects with the character through quality writing and visuals. On the other hand, one plays a game, physically controlling the character directly through a one to one relationship. The entertainment value comes from committing the action via a vessel, not watching a character do the same thing. Worst yet is when that vessel is nothing more; how can one make a movie about a blank slate like Mario? That’s the adaptational struggle Illumination finds themselves in now, and why so many are expecting a disappointment. In a medium where the player is the character, it is difficult to make it entertaining for that same player to solely watch their character they injected with life. That is why gamers historically despise long cut scenes and quick time events, as they strip the player of doing the cool action displayed on screen. Again, why would I want to watch Mario jump on goomba’s instead of doing it myself?

Then there’s the affordances of each medium. For example, there has been a trend in recent AAA games to have “walking sections,” where the player pushes forward on the control stick while other characters monologue context to the character/player. While this has garnered criticism as of late, it is nothing compared to the hate that would be thrown at a movie scene where two characters are talking exposition at each other for five minutes with no change in cinematography or scenery. The worst video game adaptations are an encapsulation of his concept. Tomb Raider is a test of patience in a multitude of ways: how long can I sit through this exposition? How long can I keep myself from watching Lara Croft do cool things instead of doing them myself? In other words, the worst adaptations are a direct translation from game to film, allowing all of the commonalities of the medium that turn to annoyances when the camera starts rolling.

The Last of Us, smartly, takes advantage of narrative malleability with its adaptation. Joel burning a child’s body in episode one, introducing Ellie outside of Joel’s perspective, and now episode three; the series is unafraid to add to the story and manipulate what is already present. Neil Druckmann, writer of the original two games, in a post-episode feature described the difficulty of visualizing the airborne nature of the virus. Their solution? Presenting the virus as omnipresent through miles long underground connections. This acts as an example of the ways the creators allowed the story to be adapted, not translated, to the medium of film. After the first two episodes, I realized I felt differently about Joel from watching instead of playing as him. By filling the sixty minute plus runtime of a typical narrative drama with details missing from the game or lines original to the show, I found myself viewing Joel in a more personal way. Before I controlled a virtual body, but now I am experiencing a character.

On the other hand, it is impossible to continue showering the series in praise without acknowledging the ways in which the source material is conducive for a serialized format, at least more than Mario. The original game was praised for its narrative, and while that doesn’t mean there is not a litany of challenges facing the writers to adapt that script to a new screen, at least they don’t have to come up with a personality for a purposefully blank slate of a mascot. That being said, the celebrated elements in episode three are mere implications in the game, if not completely missing. Bill’s character was previously perceived as a stone cold victim. Void of a giddy laugh at a fresh strawberry or an emphatic declaration of nazism invading our country, Bill was less humane in the game. Instead, he is a perfect, direct foil to show Joel what he could become. While this depiction served its purpose for the gamified version of this narrative, the serialized depiction required adaptation of Bill for the version of this narrative it’s trying to tell. On screen, because the film manipulated the story to not even show Joel and Bill meeting in the present day, Bill transforms from one dimensional pixels to a fully realized character.

And that is what one can learn most from The Last of Us: that adaptation is possible, but requires the hard work of truly adapting a story. Only be recognizing the faults of each medium and where the story can change to solve those narrative faults can an adaptation match the heights of its other iterations. While meeting a purely survivalist Bill would have been a treat of its own, I cannot imagine a single viewer preferring anything from what we were given. In this way, the series is a retelling even more centered on relationships, expanding the scope of the original story to new emotional and thematic heights. That is the power of adaptation, and I cannot wait to view the other ways Mazin and team sculpt this story into their own creation.