Jean-Paul Sartre claimed that hell is other people. Season two of Yellowjackets shows that being trapped with other people doesn’t just put you in hell – but plunges you ever deeper into its bowels.
The first season tortured its characters with blackly comic aplomb, but in its follow-up, things have become so spectacularly dire for our ensemble that it is hard to believe this ever felt like a playful respite from the frequently dour realm of prestige TV. And that is no criticism of the show. The conclusion has been utterly thrilling. It remains brilliantly written, wonderfully acted and continually surprising, but it has evolved. It no longer relies on a litany of juicy little mysteries and soapy twists, but takes its power from making the audience sit with the characters they’ve come to love and truly absorb what it is to lose all hope.
