Subsisting on Scraps

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As the episodes of Yellowjackets progress, it’s as if you’re dining at an endless feast of suspense and intrigue, where waiters continuously offer tantalizing morsels of mystery on skewers. Oh, the richness! The indulgence! All the most enticing plot twists served directly to your seat! But once you’ve savored those initial bites and hunger for more, it becomes increasingly difficult to find another server. You wait, but your portions seem to dwindle. You resort to filling up on less substantial elements like dialogue or secondary characters, with a growing sense that the most captivating scenes slipped away before the feast was over.

Since the day their high-school soccer team unexpectedly landed in the Canadian wilderness, Yellowjackets has delved into how American society, often rigidly patriarchal and traditional, suppresses women’s desires, only to harshly judge them when these desires surface. Three seasons deep, this perspective remains insightful within the ’90s narrative, particularly when combined with eerie world-building and supernatural elements. The show maintains a sense of ambiguity, “Is it real or is it trauma?”, making the survivalist aspects more exciting as it explores how characters form relationships, eat, and manage their households. However, after season two veered off course with the grown-up versions of our favorite cannibals, season three seems to lean even further in that direction, abandoning present-day storylines as if acknowledging that the characters’ extreme teenage actions are more intriguing than their ambiguous adult lives. This is a recurring theme in the series, with Shauna’s bitterness over becoming a housewife and Misty’s closest companion being her pet parrot, but it should not dominate the narrative. Instead, season three appears to be erasing the adult storylines rather than resolving them from the corners they’ve been written into.

In the opening episode titled “It Girl,” we leap ahead in both timeframes. Previously, Natalie, the ruling Antler Queen, struggles to maintain unity among the different factions, providing valuable perspective for her future misery but also highlighting Juliette Lewis’s absence in the contemporary timeline even more significantly. The lack of Juliette Lewis and the intense turmoil she portrayed in this role are sorely missed. In the TV series Yellowjackets, we witness Natalie’s funeral, six weeks following the occurrences of “Storytelling,” signifying the conclusion of her and the deceased adult Travis’ stories (who didn’t seem to matter much to the other Yellowjackets). This event marks a turning point for Shauna, Misty, Van, and Tai, allowing them to progress with their relatively more stable lives.

In the show, Yellowjackets, the narrative has consistently veered from predictable endings, allowing characters to follow their instincts, doubts, and suspicions wherever they lead. However, this strategy results in the characters appearing isolated when season three starts. Natalie is no longer present, Shauna’s murder of Adam is attributed to someone else, and Misty’s relationship with Walter, a vague motivator, has deepened. In an attempt to shift away from adult Natalie’s impact on the plot, Yellowjackets seems to rush through the women’s complex connection to grief, using her death as a means to intensify the show’s eerie atmosphere rather than delving into how they cope with losing a crucial member at this point in their lives. Although it’s commendable to try to cater to each actor (Melanie Lynskey, Christina Ricci, Lauren Ambrose, and Tawny Cypress) by providing distinct storylines, Yellowjackets forgets that one of its key attractions is the interactions between these characters.

In my perspective, the performances by Lynskey and Ricci are top-notch; their heated argument in the third episode, “Them’s the Brakes,” was brilliantly over-the-top, showcasing their mutual disgust while also highlighting the lingering effects of their ordeal. This scene is one of the standouts from the season so far due to its authentic portrayal of their frustration and seclusion. However, some of the character’s actions seem less like logical progressions and more like contrived plot devices to steer them towards places they wouldn’t naturally go. This issue is particularly noticeable in Shauna and Jeff’s daughter, Callie, who, unfortunately, becomes this season’s star for illogical decision-making, especially after a surprising twist at the end of the fourth episode, “12 Angry Girls and 1 Drunk Travis,” further exacerbates the growing inconsistency in the narrative.

Previously, the story commences in a manner that appears to be a female-versus-female pursuit but is more cunningly disguised as a twist on “capture the flag” during the vibrant spring season of tawny gold, russet, moss, and olive hues. As winter fades away, temperatures climb, and survivors establish a community reminiscent of a nature reserve, echoing the eerie atmospheres of “The Wicker Man” and “Apostle”. The most ardent worshippers of the wilderness begin to enforce a strict religious conformity, causing tension among the survivors as they grapple with the consequences of their lost months. Although there are playful ducks wandering around the camp, the haunting wind, dense woods, and unyielding mountains evoke the series’ persistent theme of pagan mysticism, as if the region were under the rule of ancient gods who view the high-schoolers from Wiskayok not as survivors but intruders. Some of the teenagers’ achievements may require a stretch of your imagination, such as crafting wooden furniture and creating sky lanterns, but overall, the woven-rattan teepees, animal-hide garments, and feathered headdresses showcase an enhanced resourcefulness under Natalie’s leadership as the Antler Queen.

The weight of the crown is heavy for Natalie, as her classmates pairing off only intensifies her sense of loneliness after her split with Travis. On the other hand, Van and Taissa are deeply in love, despite having differing views about the enigmatic presence they’ve labeled “It”. This dynamic will be reversed in a future subplot that subtly unfolds in the present day. Lottie is taking advantage of the group’s growing familiarity with the local flora to feed Travis psilocybin mushrooms, believing that when he hallucinates, perceiving his environment as shifting, kaleidoscopic landscapes, he’s conversing with “It”. Lottie’s deliberate interaction with unknown forces is a risky move, and it’s striking that the others appear unfazed by this dangerous experiment on Travis.

In essence, Shauna’s behavior has become increasingly bitter and erratic since the death of her baby and Natalie taking charge. Her disdain for the group’s growing pagan practices gives her a hidden influence, allowing her to act as she pleases, from mocking Van’s religious rituals to manipulating group decisions in her favor. A rare moment of vulnerability is shown when Shauna encounters Melissa, a survivor introduced in season two, who surprises Shauna by having a distinct personality. The actresses Sophie Nélisse and Jenna Burgess portray an unusual pairing that mirrors the complex relationship between Shauna and her childhood friend, Jackie. Furthermore, Shauna’s calm, reserved adult persona seems to be a muted reflection of her more intense youthful self. Adding to the personal conflicts, the trees, reminiscent of David Lynch’s haunting forest scenes in Twin Peaks, could potentially be conscious, and the environment might be affecting everyone’s mental state. A constant, disconcerting soundscape combines human cries, growling sounds, grinding noises, and industrial racket. Quite an entertaining mix!

In the unsettling new antagonists arising from and internal conflicts brewing within the wilderness of “Yellowjackets”; in Lynskey’s delivery of a harsh, biting monologue; in the clever wit with which the writers acknowledge this series as a television production, when co-creators Ashley Lyle and Bart Nickerson, along with their creative team, delve into what drives these girls and women, skillfully portraying the fine line between civility and savagery, “Yellowjackets” remains rich, captivating, and sharp. Few series have perfected their dopamine-triggering formula as effectively as this one, with its nostalgic music choices (a Rancid–Cat Stevens combo that resonates deeply) and characters’ blunt expressions of disdain (Ricci’s Misty attempting to set a man’s crotch on fire being particularly relatable). However, the enigma surrounding the story’s progression and the dwindling chances of survival for these characters create an ominous atmosphere that casts long, glowing shadows.

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2025-02-14 15:54