why the fuck did the radio station tell me the stealers game was at 3pm

That it isn’t a puzzle-box doesn’t mean it’s without suspense (spoilers follow). This is actually what I thought Station Eleven was up to at first. It would also be enough, arguably, to reproduce in the audience the feelings of despair and uncertainty the characters have suffered, without weaving anything more out of their individual stories.

What matters far more is the feeling the book creates and what that feeling does. We don’t even especially need to know the particulars of the Station Eleven graphic novel within the show. We are not interested (for example) in how the pandemic started, or who (if anyone) engineered it, or even how exactly it works. What I mean by that isn’t that the post-apocalyptic drama doesn’t supply answers-it does, in increasingly rewarding layers as the miniseries unfolds until a fullish picture of the past emerges-but rather that the questions that really matter can’t be addressed through plot mechanics. Patrick Somerville, Station Eleven’s showrunner, also worked on The Leftovers, and Station Eleven shares with that earlier show a commitment to questions over answers. That’s partly because the end of civilization has left the world within the show so fractured that sense-making is inherently difficult, and partly because it’s a story about trauma that mercifully transcends it by subordinating plot mechanics to the pleasures of poetic echoes and personal as well as symbolic connections. “Plot holes” aren’t really something to worry about with this drama. What the finale proved is that the show’s more questionable plot devices-like children locating and digging up land mines-don’t matter.

When HBO’s exquisite Station Eleven came to a close on Thursday, it answered both more and less than we perhaps expected about its main players following a civilization-toppling flu pandemic.

Why the fuck did the radio station tell me the stealers game was at 3pm