Euphoria High is back at it again. The HBO teen drama notorious for its explicit depiction of sex, drugs and nudity is back doing what it does best — the absolute most. The show’s first season already made the biggest of splashes, launching the careers of its lead actors left and right and making Zendaya the youngest lead actress to ever win an Emmy. With the release of the finale last week, did Euphoria Season Two live up to the hype and expectations after Season One?
The show wastes no time lingering on its accolades and we pick things up with a lengthy montage about one bad-ass grandma before showing us relapsed Rue at her lowest – or highest, really. If you like sombre, contemplative, low-key TV, Euphoria wastes no time demonstrating that this show is not for you. The show is full-on from the first episode onwards, and just when you think it can’t get any more intense the show reaches new heights — after following Rue to a drug deal/murder cover-up and then a house party, we’re introduced to most of this season’s new characters and by god are they well cast.
First up, we have Faye played by Chloe Cherry, whose primary gig before showrunner Sam Levinson slid into her Instagram DMs was a thriving adult entertainment career. In a world where all major film studios seem to have restraining orders filed against every adult performer, Euphoria is breaking boundaries and putting the industry’s hypocrisy on display. For me, Faye is the aesthetic personification of Euphoria Season Two: a heavy drug user, of course, disinterested and dreamy yet funny in a deadpan way and with lips that would give the Kardashians a run for their money. You’d be hard-pressed to find a hint of subtlety here, but who needs subtlety when you’re this charismatic?
Unusual even for Euphoria’s standards is Martha Kelly as the unnervingly mom-ish drug mobster Laurie who, whenever she appeared, somehow simultaneously induced and cured my anxiety. She could be Euphoria’s normcore representative – if she didn’t have suitcases full of Class A drugs and an arsenal of punching-ready big boys obeying her every command.
Probably the least exciting new character is resident sad boy Elliott (Dominic Fike) who turns Rue and Jules’ wonderfully toxic us-against-the-world situationship into a love triangle snoozefest that we’ve all seen a million times. Elliott felt a bit like a plot device this season, but perhaps Sam Levinson has big plans for him in Season Three – which is already confirmed – we shall see. The truly unforgivabale element with Elliot is that the portrayal of his character brings Jules down with him; the few times we see her, she’s condemned to longingly gaze at one of her love interests. Her own arc of gender exploration and escaping the male gaze that was one of the high points of the first season, something which becomes criminally overlooked for all of Season Two.
Typical for the maximalist spectacle that is this precious show, there’s literally everything happening all the time, from babies eating cigarette buds to peeing on the nuclear family to £445 skincare routines at 4 am and a masterclass in gaslighting your way out of a relationship that made my last break-up look utterly peaceful. Surprisingly, some episodes do have a slower feel, but this only heightens the adrenaline rush when shit inevitably hits the fan. The second half of the season is noticeably more upbeat, with some standout episodes that had me almost disoriented and second-guessing what on earth I was watching when they dropped on an innocent Monday morning.
The variety in pace is tied together by the consistently awe-inspiring cinematography. Just like the first season, Euphoria is a stunning, no-holds-barred delight, with make-up, editing, camera direction and costume design all at the top of their game. The vibrant colours, the seamless oscillation in and out of reality, or simply the sound of Maddy’s clacking nails will leave any cinephile (or is it telephile?) salivating and hungry for more – if that’s even possible, or palatable.
What’s maybe even more impressive however is that Euphoria is not just a grippingly hedonistic rollercoaster of a TV show. Under its sparkling skin – that has seen more Fenty Body Lava than Rihanna herself – lies a beating, soulful heart with layers and layers of meaning. Quickly, it becomes clear that the underlying themes of a world failing the young, of the damages of hypersexualisation, and of a society ravaged by substance abuse are deeply relevant and relatable to many of us.
Euphoria steps up big-time and delivers a show-stopping second season. Apart from Elliott being a kind of underwhelming lover-boy and a distinct lack of Jules throughout the season (which is disappointing considering she’s half the reason I watch this show), there’s not much to criticise. Euphoria Season Two is a gutsy undertaking and continuously too much, but I have never been more content in my overwhelmedness. Really, all there’s left to say is bring on Season Three, because I (still) want more.
Words by Luis Teschner
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