HBO Max’s ‘Station Eleven’ is the Best Show You’re Not Brave Enough to Watch

There’s probably no harder sell to audiences this December than HBO Max‘s Station Eleven. The timeline-bending, genre-defying limited series follows characters trying to survive an apocalyptic flu pandemic that supposedly hit the world in, uh, 2020. Station Eleven‘s subject matter is triggering, though, in more ways than one. The show also picks up its narratives in the future, where the few survivors left are locked in a bitter fight to keep art and culture alive, even as an insidious “prophet” preys upon them. It’s not exactly the sort of cozy, easy, comfy thing you might want to watch during the 2021 holiday season, and yet Station Eleven is brilliant television. It’s one of the most profound meditations on love, loss, grief, and community I’ve ever seen.

HBO Max’s Station Eleven has the dubious honor of being a mistimed masterpiece. Everyone should watch it, but how many will even want to tune in?

Station Eleven is a loose adaptation of the best-selling Emily St. John Mandel novel of the same name, created by Patrick Somerville and guided by EP and director Hiro Murai. As in the book, the story opens on the death of famous actor Arthur Leander (Gael Garcia Bernal) on the stage. In the hullabaloo, an audience member, Jeevan (Himesh Patel), attempts to help save the man’s life, but instead finds himself drawn to a young child actress named Kirsten (Matilda Lawler) watching in the wings. When Jeevan realizes no one has thought to take Kirsten home, he reluctantly decides to shepherd her to safety. The problem is a global pandemic is about to shut down everything. Jeevan gets a tip from his doctor sister that he needs to barricade himself inside their brother Frank’s (Nabhaan Rizwan) apartment. Fate (and guilt) demands that Jeevan bring Kirsten along with him as it becomes impossible to reach her parents in the chaos of the night.

Station Eleven is not just the story of how Jeevan and his brother Frank save young Kirsten. It’s also the story of Arthur Leander’s past romance with aspiring comic book artist Miranda (Danielle Deadwyler), who leaves him a copy of her opus “Station Eleven” days before everything shuts down. We learn that Arthur dotes on young Kirsten and gifts her the book, which becomes Kirsten’s source of escape and strength through the trials ahead. Station Eleven is also the story of the adult Kirsten (Mackenzie Davis). 20 years in the future, Kirsten is the star of the Traveling Symphony, a commune of artists, actors, and musicians who tour the same Great Lakes communities each year bringing art of the past — namely, Shakespeare — to the flu’s survivors. Station Eleven is also the story of the debris Arthur Leander leaves behind and how a fluke of fate leaves three people close to the fallen thespian in a sealed off airport, free of illness (but not drama).

Station Eleven is a lot, and its storytelling is anchored by the words of Miranda’s graphic novel, a strange science fiction tale about grief, trauma, and a mysterious figure named Dr. Eleven. For many, watching a show that stares straight into the emotional debris of surviving a global pandemic might be too much. However Station Eleven is also full of enough heart and wit that watching it doesn’t feel like exposure therapy. (Hiro Murai’s visual style is also striking enough to draw a distinction between the fictional world of Station Eleven and the reality we all life in.)

One of the vans in the Traveling Symphony’s caravan has a quote from the “Station Eleven” graphic novel painted on the windows: “Survival is insufficient.” The ethos of the Symphony — and the point of Station Eleven itself — is that it is not enough to simply endure in the face of trauma. Being alive is not enough. People also need art, community, culture, and most importantly, catharsis. Art is positioned as the ultimate transformative power within the world of Station Eleven, the one thing with the power to heal the invisible wounds we collect. The show itself follows suit. I didn’t feel that I watched HBO Max’s Station Eleven as much as I experienced it. By the end of the show’s ten episode run, I had laughed, cried, and felt a weight slip off my shoulders.

In many ways, HBO Max could not have planned the release of Station Eleven any worse. It’s a confrontational show debuting in the middle of a pageant of corny Christmas fare. It’s a visceral emotional odyssey through the horrors and aftershocks of a pandemic debuting while COVID-19 continues to torture the world. It’s science fiction without the sexiness of mages or monsters. Station Eleven is going to struggle to find an audience this winter. (I know of a great many critics I admire who have shrugged off even considering watching it, for fear the material is too much.)

Ironically, though, all the reasons why Station Eleven‘s timing is terrible might be why its timing is good. We’re entering a fraught crossroads right now. We’ve endured almost two years of loss and trauma and might be staring down a few more. And Station Eleven is there for us. It’s a life-affirming, soul-warming, catharsis-inducing work of art that’s here to heal.

The first three episodes of Station Eleven premiere on HBO Max Thursday, December 16.

Where to stream Station Eleven