These "Leftovers" Are Worth Saving

When HBO's "The Leftovers" ended its three-season run last week, I was instantly overwhelmed by a variety of silent, internal reactions. I actually needed time to process what it did or didn't mean, which hasn't happened to me in a long time. It's rare that a TV show can make you think so deeply and feel so intimately about a diverse group of characters in a world not so different from our own. "The Leftovers" gave us television at its profound best, showing that The End can be a new beginning, and sometimes the world does change with a whimper instead of a bang.

"The Leftovers" is based on the 2011 novel by Tom Perrotta, who co-created the show with "Lost" producer Damon Lindelof and also co-wrote several episodes. The series follows the experiences of a small town after a mysterious event known as the Sudden Departure (akin to the biblical Rapture) causes 2% of the world's population, roughly 140 million people, to vanish. Among those left behind, a cop, a preacher, a therapist, a cult member, and a special investigator are trying in vain to comprehend the scope of what happened, both in their lives and in the world around them.

In doing so, we are treated to one of the most nuanced, incisive portraits of human nature that mass media has offered to date. As these characters are tested physically, mentally, emotionally, and yes, spiritually, they prove what they are truly made of. Their choices are never as black-and-white as the path of least resistance or the road less traveled. We're forced to honestly reflect right along with them about what we would do in the same situations.

Thankfully, despite the subject matter, it was never all doom and gloom on "The Leftovers." Brief moments of levity, often landing on the side of dark humor, made the characters' responses to their plight that much more believable. Right up until the very last episode, which found a character writing a preemptive obituary with Mad Libs, the series knew that humanity is always drawn to even the faintest of light when faced with the darkest of times.

The show was also wise to avoid any specific religious alignment or affiliation, making it accessible to the audience and helping them relate within their respective worldviews. Instead, it chose to revel in a caliber of interfaith debate that is seldom featured in the allegedly godless realm of entertainment, presenting every side of the issues at hand but letting the characters (and viewers) find their own truths. Those answers, like the series itself, were a slow-burning miracle to behold.

In its final season, set around a milestone anniversary of the Departure, "The Leftovers" achieved a remarkable feat. Over the concluding eight episodes, each character was provided with genuine closure without watering down its meaning or beating us over the head with symbolism. A deceptively simple score evokes their struggles, alternating between melancholy strings and a few haunting notes on a single piano. These complex, multifaceted people earn their resolutions on their own terms, for better or for worse... which is exactly how life is supposed to play out in the real world, but it never seems to happen that way in the neat little bows of happily-ever-after fictional worlds.

Unlike other shows that incorporate apocalyptic plot devices, "The Leftovers" dispatches its action and suspense in the penultimate episode, dovetailing into the quiet eloquence of its brilliant, challenging finale. Rather than wasting its last installment on a more obvious character -- like Kevin, the heroic (potentially messianic) police officer, played by Justin Theroux -- the closing chapter revolves around key ensemble player Nora, the special investigator who lost her husband and her two children in the Departure.

As expertly portrayed by series MVP Carrie Coon (who unquestionably deserves Emmy recognition this year), Nora was arguably the most skeptical of all the characters; not just about the events surrounding the Departure, but also about people's motives in its wake. Seeing her journey come full-circle, in an electrifying monologue that gave me chills and moved me to tears, was one of the most satisfying dramatic moments in recent broadcast history, cable or otherwise. It's a bravura performance in a beautifully crafted hour of television that does everything you need it to while being nothing that you expected.

As the gospel according to Perrotta and friends, "The Leftovers" reminds us that it doesn't really matter what happens to us or why, but rather who chooses to persevere and how. There is powerful poetry in the show's final shot, reinforcing a message that the series sometimes subtly and sometimes overtly adhered to from day one: hope. It's a redemptive statement that our world -- whether we're living at the beginning, the middle, or the end -- is in dire need of believing right now.