With stunning cinematography, incredible acting performances and unparalleled style, “Euphoria” has taken the world by storm. However, with the conclusion of the show’s second season, many viewers are left with more questions than answers. The brutal starkness of the portrayal begs a deeper question as to what the line is between portraying trauma on television and glamorizing self-destruction.
The premise of “Euphoria,” created by Sam Levinson and based on his own struggles with addiction, follows Rue Bennett (played by Zendaya) and her classmates as they navigate the tumultuous waters of relationships, addiction and trauma. The show portrays harrowing challenges that these teenagers face with a self-indulgent frenzy that could only be represented by teenagers. Coupled with adrenaline-inducing plot structures and evocative performances, the explicit and provocative lives of these teenagers feels in and of itself like a drug — uncomfortable and scary, but blissful nonetheless.
The primary conflicts of season two deal heavily with the fallout of Rue’s relapse that concluded season one. The other major conflict in this season was the unexpected and tumultuous coupling of grade-A abuser Nate Jacobs (Jacob Elordi) and his ex-girlfriend’s best friend Cassie Howard (Sydney Sweeney). Both of these plot points are jettisoned by the portrayal of the events from season one in the form of a school play written and produced by Cassie’s sister Lexie (Maude Apatow).
I understand that the play was supposed to serve as the primary plot device and overarching catalyst for the themes explored throughout the show. However, the artistic decision to incorporate the play’s performance into the ongoing storyline gave the final two episodes a frail surrealness that left a bad taste in my mouth. The abstract artistic choice failed to compensate for the lack of plot structure that permeated through the season.
Throughout the season, conflicts were either drawn out for far too long or fixed up at harrowing speeds that made little to no sense as an audience member. Plot holes ran rampant throughout the season, and the sudden and disillusioned conclusion left me with more questions than answers.
In attempts to make up for this lack of plot structure, season two of “Euphoria” was easily one of the most beautifully directed displays of artistic surrealism that I have ever seen. Shot entirely with Kodak Ektachrome film, the ambiance of the season was bathed in a soft glow that gave a veil of whimsical innocence to contrast with the dark subject matter. This is a stark difference from the smoke-swallowed neon lights and glitter that permeated season one, and as an artistic choice, the tonal shift was refreshing.
However, it seems that this season Levinson relied almost entirely on the artistic depiction of the actual show and paid little to no attention to character arcs, storyline or writing.
“Euphoria” and Levinson have both come under fire for the gratuitous portrayal of characters that are supposed to be minors. While some viewers felt that it was irresponsible to demonstrate children committing a multitude of exploitative and deviant acts, I find myself defending the show for the sake of societal critique of the effects of trauma on the emotional and mental stability of an adolescent, which is one of the only portrayals that Levinson hit without a flaw.
The show is designed to make viewers uncomfortable because it mirrors the experiences that teenagers are enduring in reality. The kids really aren’t alright, and that is what the entire show is trying to convey to the adult viewers. Like it or not, teenagers are partying, drinking and experimenting with drugs or sex; kids were doing it when I was in high school, and according to my 17-year-old brother, they still are.
What “Euphoria” does exceptionally well in a way that I haven’t seen before in pop culture is accurately depict trauma and the effects trauma has on the emotional stability of an adolescent. In the cold opens that each season one episode started with, as well as some season two episodes, we are given an in-depth report on the brand of trauma experienced by each character in order to provide context to their actions.
Rue struggled with the death of a parent and mental illness, so she uses drugs to disassociate. Cassie was abandoned by her father and every man she ever loved, so she became a love addict. Nate was exposed to his father’s promiscuity with minors, and this left him afraid to be like his dad, thus developing hyper-aggressive controlling behaviors in order to cope. The list goes on, and while these traumas are no excuse for the terrible things that happen in this show, it provides an honest context and demonstration of how these kids weren’t born wild or bad or evil, they were made this way.
Nothing is glamorized in this show, despite what critics have ascertained. Sure, the mental breakdown of an addict in the throes of withdrawal is set to West-Coast rap music and accentuated by glitter, lighting and a smoke machine, but it’s still a violent breakdown. The choices these kids make out of ignorance, pubescent impulsivity and trauma responses are poor decisions, but these characters are also met with the swift and decisive consequences that they would receive in the real world as well.
While “Euphoria” has its flaws, it does what few shows of the past have done, which is to represent the good, the bad and the ugly of our youth with brutal honesty. It shows how trauma effects kids and how children turn to drugs and alcohol and unsafe sex as a result of misguidanceor neglect, not because they are born to be bad.
The show isn’t designed to be a clean linear narrative of a modern coming-of-age story. It’s supposed to make you unsettled; it’s supposed to make little sense; it’s supposed to be messy, convoluted and complex because that’s how real life is. The show is also supposed to be artistic and beautiful and transformational because that is also how real life is. This juxtaposition is supposed to be an honest reflection on life and adolescence, and while it isn’t perfect, neither is life, and I’m pretty sure that’s the point of the whole show.
culture@dailynebraskan.com
