![]() The power of story, and art in all its forms is storytelling, is great and almost unknowable. John Mandel pulls the beauty from the decaying world. Shakespeare, even at his most popular, explored the human condition. They were popular stories, made for the masses, but, crucially, they had something to say. We speak now of the works of Dickens and Shakespeare in hallowed tones, but it is important to remember that those were not the works considered the “artistic classics” of their time. There is an alchemical madness to what makes a story transcendent. But even as it continues to be deeper and darker, the mysteries and power of the performances are only making it more interesting. The show has been praised from the start for the way it integrates art and performance into the post-pandemic world. Infusing every moment with all too real dread but also an incredibly welcome dose of hope. John Mandel’s novel continues to do just that. And yet Patrick Somerville’s adaptation of Emily St. Into that world it can be hard to inject hope, especially with a piece as seemingly void of hope as Station Eleven. The world did not end, or at least it has not yet ended, but the dread and fear and feelings of hopeless anticipation have only seemed to grow as time goes on. Sometimes it seems that life will never be anything but an endless stream of mistakes and mishaps that carry with them the endless specter of death. We continue to navigate the endless ravages of the pandemic. “This strange and awful time… was the happiest of my life.” The following contains spoilers for Station Eleven Episode 6, “Survival is Insufficient” (written by Sarah McCarron and directed by Helen Shaver) and Episode 7, “Goodbye My Damaged Home” (written by Kim Steele and directed by Lucy Tcherniak)
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