The Testaments Is YA Dystopian Excellence
Hulu’s Handmaid’s Tale sequel goes back to the drawing board, with stellar results.
I’ve never believed that The Handmaid’s Tale was necessarily a show for women — not all women, at least. As a cautionary tale, sure, the Hulu series was for everyone: an urgent, dire reminder of how easily we can slip into dystopia — or, more appropriately, a “what if?” in a world that has already perpetuated its sins tenfold. As a tool for radicalization, it took the form of a sledgehammer, repackaging centuries of very real dehumanization within a story that would feel real for, and scary to, white women. It makes perfect sense that a show so bleak became such a powerful symbol of resistance in 2017, a year when it was more important than ever to perform the routines of revolution. It was the call-to-arms we needed then, but its dogged commitment to its own misery left people behind the longer it went on.
There are echoes of that in The Testaments, the sequel series that passes the righteously indignant torch to a new generation. The legacy of June Osborne (Elisabeth Moss), the heroine of Handmaid’s Tale, looms large as a new crop of female rebels come of age in the dystopian Hell known as Gilead. But this follow-up, created by original series showrunner Bruce Miller, has no problem suggesting that this revolution has outgrown her. June’s platitudes about sacrifice and the greater good, about leaving loved ones behind if it means fighting another day, were once gospel. But to someone like Daisy (Lucy Halliday), the latest addition to June’s clandestine resistance, that might as well be a dead language.
Collateral damage isn’t an option for the heroines of The Testaments; neither is staying quiet and letting Gildead erode them into compliant breeding machines. The strength of their resilience surprises the old guard throughout the sequel’s 10-episode season — and rightly so, as The Testaments goes even deeper into the heart of its dystopia, following the daughters of the Commanders who so readily abused June and co. in the original series. These girls, known as “Plums” when they come of age, are part of the group Mayday is attempting to save by dismantling Gilead from the inside out. That task is supposed to be difficult because they’re not supposed to know that they need saving. And sure, they might not at first, but The Testaments revels in the shattering of their gilded cage, debunking that notion with a delightful YA twist.
If The Handmaid’s Tale didn’t have the guts to bring its saga to an end, it’s because the resistance needed fresh blood to destroy Gilead for good. June’s last good deed was liberating the city of Boston from the oppressive Christian ethnostate, but if Gilead’s leaders are fazed by that coup, they don’t show it — not to their wives and children, anyway. There’s a lot that we don’t see in The Testaments, which makes the series ideal for new watchers looking to dip a toe into this world. Tackling Gilead from a new angle allows Miller to rebuild it slowly, comprehensively, folding the lore we need to know into a new social hierarchy. There are the Aunts of The Handmaid’s Tale, here charged with rearing the next generation, and the girls in their care: the Plums poised for the marriage mart, the “Pinks” who’ve not yet come of age, and the Pearl Girls, converts from beyond Gilead’s borders hoping for a chance to prove their worth.
The Testaments might handle Gilead with kiddie gloves, but it’s a welcome change to its predecessor.
The Daughters of Gilead are sheltered and naive, more or less desensitized to the brutality that creeps into their world and makes their existence possible. It’s not unlike a young-adult novel in that way: as the testament of Agnes (Chase Infiniti) infers, this is just the way things are. The way they have to be. Women are prone to sin, and most pay for their transgressions with infertility. Those who cleave to the laws of Gilead, obey their husbands, and demonstrate a healthy zeal for God’s justice are rewarded with a fruitful womb. Getting your first period is akin to “a stamp of approval from God,” as it’s the only thing that allows Plums to graduate from their academy (by marrying a rich old guy, of course). It’s the thing each of our heroines is praying for when The Testaments begins. “It was all we wanted then,” Agnes says, “and it terrified us.”
The Testaments takes on the basic beats of a debutante narrative, following Agnes, Daisy — who comes to the academy in the guise of a Pearl Girl — and their class as they find themselves on the fast track to marriage. Some, like the snippy Shunammite (Rowan Blanchard at her most watchable), are downright desperate for this chapter of their life to start, and will resort to wild methods to “reach menarche.” Others, like Agnes’ best friend Becka (Mattea Conforti), would rather eat glass than step into this new phase of womanhood. Raging hormones, jealousy, and unrequited crushes are issues much more pressing than the question of their autonomy, or even the rebellion that turns their routine field trips into a dangerous minefield. Teen angst is the same wherever you set your scene, and this series has a lot of fun transposing that to Gilead.
The heightened drama of girlhood makes Gilead’s oppressive reckoning all the more urgent.
That shift in focus is what makes The Testaments so watchable, even bingeable. The ways it stokes a fire within its leads are blessedly gentle compared to its predecessor; even when the hellish truths of Gilead do rear their heads, it’s with quieter, more intimate finesse. There are shades of a smaller #MeToo movement in the conspiracy that radicalizes the Plums, and it’s effective, if only because the show needs it to feel like a Handmaid’s Tale story. But I worried more over the mundane drama that unfolds during the Plums’ debutante ball, the wires crossed when one of our heroines is later betrothed to her friend’s forbidden crush, than the worldbuild-y, dread-inducing intrigue inherent in a prestige series.
Infiniti is fantastic as Agnes, a girl who’s been raised to swallow any discomfort like a sugar pill, who you could easily see leading a revolution of her own. But it’s the moments where her girlhood slips out (like when she openly wonders if it’s too late to develop a personality) that make her a heroine worth following. The same goes for any of the actresses working alongside her — save for Conforti, whose Becka bears the brunt of Gilead’s twisty, bloody machinations, and comes out the other side as the dark horse of the season.
Miraculously, all of it melds perfectly into a story you can’t turn away from. My one qualm is that I’m not watching this as a 16-year-old, that I can’t text my high school group chat about all the grim goings-on in this parallel world. There’s something very 2017-y in this proto-girlboss, “Hell is a teenage girl” narrative. But if The Handmaid’s Tale must be reborn, at least it’s in a form that’s a little more inclusive.
