Euphoria season three

As controversial as it may have been received, one thing is for certain: Sam Levinson’s glitzy US remake of Israeli miniseries Euphoria has become a catapult-like launchpad for its stars. While the actors’ meteoric rise post-season one makes them indispensable to the showrunner (who clings to Zendaya, Jacob Elordi and Sydney Sweeney as his biggest assets), the constant renegotiations to bring the band back together seem to have come at the expense of the creative process.

The move beyond high school is the make-or-break moment for most teen dramas, which is at least part of the reason why so many shows try to prolong the established social structure in a college setting. To Euphoria‘s (perhaps only) credit, there is none of this awkward phasing out in season three, rather it takes the gamble of a time jump.

Four years after graduation, Rue (Zendaya) is tracked down by a dealer she still owes money to. In order to pay it off, she is forced to start trafficking product across the US-Mexican border. Having previously mocked the spiritual framework of rehabilitation programmes, an encounter with a religious Texan family miraculously awakens Rue’s interest in God, whom she believes is guiding her towards a job in a strip club.

It’s not just the questionable logic – which one could arguably excuse as coming from a character whose mind may well have been warped by years of drug abuse – that makes this storyline so baffling. It’s also the fact that it leaves five of the series’s six central female characters involved in some form of sex work, past or present. As the writing makes no real attempt to engage with this reality or the industry itself, in either a critical or empowering capacity, it’s not hard to conclude that this development exists primarily for shock value, and at worst risks veering into exploitation of its actresses.

The latter is rather evident in the distasteful deterioration of Sydney Sweeney’s character, who was introduced as the victim of “revenge porn” in the show’s pilot: her private images handed around at a party, while Zendaya’s impassioned voice-over urges a shift in blame, away from those who send pictures to their partners and toward those who compile them in online directories. Rue’s initial description of Cassie – “she’s actually super sweet” – is unrecognisably at odds with season three, where she reduces her to “this dumb bitch”. Her past struggles erased from memory, she is now portrayed as a vapid caricature: trying to monetise herself on OnlyFans to bankroll extravagant wedding fantasies. Levinson hits an all-time low in depicting Cassie as more concerned with getting blood on her bridal gown than her husband being beaten within an inch of his life. This goes beyond lazy, misogynistic writing; it reflects the hypocrisy of wanting to profit from Sweeney’s continued presence on Euphoria (given the commercial success of The Housemaid has reinforced her bankability), while simultaneously pandering to the audiences who vilify her.

While the heightened drama was always an element of humour, now the direction undercuts every emotion for comedic effect. Empathy is sidelined entirely, as the audience is instead prompted to laugh at their misery. Early visuals like Rue’s glittery tears were not just aesthetic choices; they made the audience relate to her inner turmoil. Season three feels notably hollow, relying on crude provocation to elicit some form of response from the audience. The departure of key creatives like Labrinth is also felt in the absence of the show’s once-signature audiovisual style. Perhaps for the first time in history, a Hans Zimmer score feels distinctly out of place.

Season three of Euphoria is a pitiful excuse of a last hurrah; a desperate attempt to wrangle together a troupe of actors who have long outgrown the show. Seemingly misunderstanding why viewers were drawn to it in the first place, most of its elements have been reduced to gratuitous, tabloid-style excess rather than genuine explorations of its themes. Basking in the furore around his reputation, the creator failed to realise that shock only resonates when the audience still cares.