Inside the pages of Charles Forsman’s The End Of The Fing World comics, outsiders James and Alyssa will be forever where they were left – James shot by the police and Alyssa carving his name into her arm with a pin. Frozen between the gutters of Forsman’s drawings, they’ll never grow older than 17, never get jobs or go to university or get married. They won’t have to learn about responsibility or face the consequences of their bloody road-trip. Lucky them. TV Alyssa can’t say the same. In season two, which is now streaming on Netflix, she’s been broken out of the frame and much to her dismay, her existence continues. (The show’s creators are keen to keep James’ fate a surprise; you won’t learn it here.) For Alyssa, adulthood is looming, as is a nagging sense that she’s not okay. Far from it. Returning to this world two years later lets the show intensify its idiosyncratic perspective by applying it to a new stage of life. Everything the first season had to say about disconnection and love is explored just as fiercely in this new context. Nothing’s been softened. If adolescence was hard, then adulthood is even more alienating. Grief, depression, guilt, trauma, pain and vengeance are shot through the episodes. further reading: The Best TV Comedies on Netflix If anything, the pain is louder this time around, perhaps because, in true The End Of the Fing World style, it’s mostly been outsourced to the soundtrack while the characters lie about how they’re really feeling. Blur’s Graham Coxon has supplied more rolling Americana for the score, but the starring role goes to the 1960s love songs that contain all the yearning, loneliness and heartbreak the characters can’t articulate. They’re still a terrifically inarticulate bunch. A complete antidote to the glib, clever motor-mouths of American teen shows, the dialogue is laconic and stylistically condensed. Alyssa’s limited vocabulary and naïve expressions are a punchline in themselves. Nobody delivers a “shit” like Jessica Barden, or a smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. The dialogue’s deliberate lack of sophistication isn’t just played for laughs, it’s also a vehicle for beautiful sentiment that can knock you over with simple truth. Every so often, the characters express something complex so succinctly and with such childlike candour that it takes on an epigrammatic quality. Unsophistication becomes, perversely, sophistication. It’s clever stuff from writer Charlie Covell, who’s forged a strongly identifiable voice across both seasons. Season two is as cine-literate as the first and pinches tastefully from all over. The locations are still Tarantino, Fargo and Twin Peaks (as recreated mostly in Port Talbot, Wales), while it feels like homage is paid to all the greats of the misfit genre – Harold And Maude, Heathers, Wes Anderson… blended with the humor and visual language of brown 1970s British bungalows. Telling one story and almost all picking up immediately after the previous left off, the episodes are designed to binge. Ranging around 20 minutes each, they don’t outstay their welcome, making sure that the knowing coolness of it all doesn’t get overpowering. Bleakness and sourness are brightened by dark humor and the whole dark thing is warmed by the desperate longing for love and connection at the heart of these characters, who more than justify their return. The End Of The F***ing World season 2 is now streaming on Netflix. You can see a complete list of new Netflix releases here.
