‘Paradise – Season 2’ Review: Human Stories at the End of the World

It’s likely that, upon starting the second season of Paradise, more than a few viewers will hit pause just to make sure they’re watching the right show. What appears on screen initially has little in common with what came before—or at least that’s how it seems. Gradually, as tends to happen in these cases (after all, Vince Gilligan, creator of Breaking Bad, helped popularize these kinds of cryptic openings that only connect to the main storyline much later), the relationship between the two becomes clearer. And so, with two episodes devoted almost entirely to a single story, the new season of Hulu’s hit series gets underway. By episode three, things will return to normal—or at least to whatever passes for normal in this post-apocalyptic world.

The opening minutes follow a teenage girl who repeatedly takes the tour at Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, to the point where she knows it by heart and recites it for her bedridden mother. Years later, after her mother’s death and a failed attempt at studying medicine, the now-grown Annie (played by Shailene Woodley) works as a guide there for curious visitors and fans of the King of Rock & Roll. It’s while she’s on the job, alongside a friend and coworker, that the cataclysm hits—the very event that gives rise to the sealed-off existence at the center of the show’s main storyline. The first episode focuses on Annie’s story: how she managed to survive for so long inside Graceland, and how she eventually met Link (Thomas Doherty), leader of a group of survivors who passed through and with whom she formed a relationship that was initially tense but gradually softened.

Viewers who saw the first season will remember that Xavier (Sterling K. Brown) left “paradise” in search of his wife, who—according to “Sinatra” (Julianne Nicholson)—may still be alive. The second episode follows his complicated attempts to navigate the semi-apocalyptic world that remains outside, where he encounters a number of characters—many of them children—who seem to be living in a feral, makeshift society. These two episodes, which eventually connect, push Paradise closer in tone to The Last of Us, focusing on stories of encounters, conflicts, alliances and survival in a harsh, unforgiving environment. There are no zombies here—or none that I could see—but it’s still a world where everyone is in constant danger.

By the third episode, the series returns to its usual atmosphere and narrative throughline. And it’s worth noting that the previous two installments end up being more compelling than the familiar power struggles unfolding in the corridors of that luxury survival bunker. Like the season premiere, episode three is packed with flashbacks to events that took place before the volcanic eruption—sequences that deepen the characters and draw unexpected connections between them. The fallout from the political crime that launched the series (and was resolved in the first season) takes center stage, along with the return of “Sinatra,” who had been in a coma while someone else filled her role as the leader. In this present-day timeline, the late President Cal Bradford’s son Jeremy (Charlie Evans) attempts to organize a rebellion against the ruling elite, while a covert operation appears to be quietly unfolding among members of the Secret Service and other insiders.

The main difference between what we’ve seen of this season and the previous one is the absence of a straightforward whodunit driving the narrative—no mystery nested inside the larger apocalyptic framework. And that absence is welcome. The presidential murder mystery was never as central to the story as it initially appeared; it functioned more as a narrative device that lent a procedural structure to an otherwise speculative sci-fi premise. Mysteries, suspense, traps and betrayals still abound—both inside and outside the bunker—but none serve as the single narrative engine. Each group of characters faces a different conflict, even as their stories intersect, while past events continue to ripple into the present.

In truth, Paradise now resembles many other post-apocalyptic sagas more than it once did. It’s no longer just a strange, post-collapse take on The Truman Show, but a series interested in juggling multiple storylines within a broken world. Perhaps the main reason Dan Fogelman leans in this direction is that he seems far more comfortable telling human, emotionally driven stories—about fractured families, romances, births and deaths—than weaving intricate political thrillers involving billionaires, security forces and mercenaries. In fact, before one of the season’s most violent scenes, Fogelman takes the time to introduce the tragic backstory of a character who will die moments later.

It’s true that the show occasionally overreaches in its attempt to give everything a human, tragic dimension. But the context allows for it: after all, this is a cataclysm that wiped out two-thirds of the world’s population, with no telling how it affected those who remain. Through that lens, the series ultimately defines itself through emotion, even embracing a certain narrative slowness that pushes pure action into the background. It’s not so much that Fogelman and his team sideline it intentionally, but rather that their interest clearly lies elsewhere—in the more intimate, personal dramatic moments. The creator of This Is Us has always had a knack for making viewers cry, and here he leans into it without hesitation.