Elisabeth Moss plays June, who is captured and forced to become a reproductive slave.
The Handmaid’s Tale, which debuted its first three episodes April 26 on Hulu, presents an unflinching and horrifying introduction to the oppressive, patriarchal hellscape that is the Republic of Gilead.
Based on the iconic 1985 dystopian novel of the same name by Margaret Atwood, the show takes place in a not-so-distant future where the United States has been taken over by religious fundamentalists whose authoritarian regime has gradually stripped women of virtually all their civil rights. The show manages to capture a peculiar — and disturbingly relatable — feeling of being trapped in an alternate timeline where everything is terrible and there’s no way out.
The story’s protagonist, portrayed spectacularly by Elisabeth Moss (Peggy from Mad Men), is a former book publisher named June who is captured by authorities while trying to escape to Canada with her husband and young daughter. Her husband is murdered, her daughter is taken away, and June (renamed Offred) is forced to become a Handmaid — a type of reproductive slave whose only purpose is to bear children for the leaders of Gilead, most of whom are infertile due to exposure to pollution.
There are scenes of gratuitous violence — bloody public executions, humiliating sexual subjugation, brutal methods of indoctrination — but some of the show’s most terrifying moments aren’t necessarily the most graphic. The truly chilling scenes are often the smaller moments, presented as flashbacks, that show the country’s slow yet inevitable march toward dystopia.
It’s scary because it feels so familiar. The proponents of Gilead use a fake terrorist attack to leverage fears about the threat of Islamic radicalism. The Constitution is “temporarily” suspended until safety can be established, but once gone, the freedoms never return. The spread of extreme conservatism leads to a puritanical social regression that enforces strict gender roles. Women are openly slut-shamed and eventually barred from working, handling money or owning property.
It’s beautifully shot, if hard to watch — the idyllic town where the story takes place (likely somewhere in New England, though it’s never explicitly stated) is sunny, immaculate and lush with greenery; the costumes, color-coordinated to denote the oppressive new caste system, give a powerful, visual pop. Jane/Offred’s inner monologue — often darkly humorous and profane — serves as narration.
The series is essentially a faithful adaptation of Atwood’s novel — the author was an executive producer, after all, and she even makes a brief but dramatic cameo in episode one. And when the show does depart, it does so by adding more detail about the backstories of certain characters. It’s also sprinkled with pop-culture references (Uber, Tinder, salted-caramel ice cream) that add another layer of realism. And though the show was announced in 2016, months before the presidential election, the parallels with the current political climate are jarring. Above all else, it feels like a cautionary tale against complacency.
“Ordinary is just what you’re used to,” says Aunt Lydia, who’s tasked with breaking the Handmaids to prepare them for their new life. “This may not seem ordinary to you right now, but after a time it will. This will become ordinary.”
