Genndy Tartakovsky’s ‘Primal’ Lives Up to Its Haunting Namesake

Few shows have managed to capture the full range of the human experience as expertly as the first few minutes of Genndy Tartakovsky’s Primal. Within the series’ first episode, “Spear & Fang,” there’s deep emotional pain, fear so all-consuming it will make audiences unconsciously hold their breath, bottomless sinking depression, and rage. Endless, deadly rage. By stripping every emotion and element of its central story down to its basest form, Primal silently leaves audiences with a canvas on which they can project their own humanity.

That’s a grandiose description for what is ostensibly a story about a man and his dinosaur. Over five parts and five nights, Primal tells the story of an unnamed caveman and his dino ally. United by tragedy, together they hunt prey, fight off bigger predators, and do their best to do the only thing that matters in this ancient world: survive.

Much like with Tartakovsky’s best known show Samurai Jack, the animation in Primal is heartbreakingly gorgeous. Every frame of the series could be hung in a gallery for how precise and sincerely beautiful it is. But there’s an intentionality behind Primal‘s action and gore that echoes Samurai Jack‘s near-perfect final season more than any of Tartakovsky’s other work.

Even at its most bloodthirsty and gruesome, Primal never fully leans into its gore. Its most graphic moments happen as dream-like silhouettes that are never detailed enough to convey their true horror. But this simple choice has a disturbing, adverse effect. Primal always leaves enough blank space for your imagination to fill in the sickening gaps. Broken legs that strategically spurt blood transform into horrendous accidents you’ve seen in real life. Pointed grunts become all too relatable flashes of pain. Shadows of carnivores eating young become revolting nightmares. Primal is meticulously structured to capture the core of what it’s like to be human, but within that outline there’s always a carefully constructed amount of space for personal projection.

That balancing act is heightened through Tyler Bates and Joanne Higginbottom’s haunting score, which effortlessly supports the emotional weight of the show. Filled with drums and ominous swelling strings, Primal’s music walks hand-in-hand with its action. It’s not uncommon for the grunts and bashes from a deadly bludgeoning to seamlessly transition into a new piece of music. But those musical ebbs and flows are what communicate the alternating pain, outrage, fear, and fleeting moments of happiness experienced by our prehistoric protagonist. They’re the only way we know what he’s thinking, and yet they’re shockingly effective. Through its music Primal always tells us the grand emotional swatches of what we should be feeling. Yet much like the series’ animation, its lack of dialogue leaves every moment open to more nuanced interpretation.

Though the central conflicts of modern life have evolved far past the kill or be killed world of Primal, there’s a universal truth to Tartakovsky’s latest series. Perhaps it’s because no amount of evolution can ever promise security for our families, no amount of money will ever remove pain. In the end we’re still just as bound to our emotional responses as this series’ central caveman. Truly there is no show on television more aptly named.

A five-night event, Primal premieres on Adult Swim on Monday, October 7 at 12/11c. New episodes of Primal will premiere every night from October 7 to October 11.

Watch Primal on Adult Swim staring October 7