13 reasons why show review
Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay AsherYou can’t stop the future.
You can’t rewind the past.
The only way to learn the secret . . . is to press play.
Clay Jensen returns home from school to find a strange package with his name on it lying on his porch. Inside he discovers several cassette tapes recorded by Hannah Baker–his classmate and crush–who committed suicide two weeks earlier. Hannah’s voice tells him that there are thirteen reasons why she decided to end her life. Clay is one of them. If he listens, he’ll find out why.
Clay spends the night crisscrossing his town with Hannah as his guide. He becomes a firsthand witness to Hannah’s pain, and as he follows Hannah’s recorded words throughout his town, what he discovers changes his life forever.
’13 Reasons Why’ Season 3 Doesn’t Know Why It Exists
Sometimes a TV show should not continue beyond its first season. For indisputable proof, look no further than 13 Reasons Why , a Netflix drama about teen suicide that was controversial but often compelling in its first season, and should have ended immediately after that season concluded. Bryce Walker: Perhaps the least liked character on 13 Reasons Why. In a lot of ways, season three of 13 Reasons Why is a redemption tour for Bryce, played by Justin Prentice, who we learn via flashbacks was, prior to his death, trying to learn from his bad behavior and become a better person, albeit with mixed results. The Bryce through line allows the 13 Reasons Why showrunner, Pulitzer Prize—winner Brian Yorkey, and his writers to double down on what has been a theme in 13 Reasons all along: the idea that everyone is fighting a hard battle that may not be apparent on the surface. In season three, those battles affect multiple characters and involve almost every social issue that currently may affect the youth and non-youth of America: bullying, sexual assault, suicide, abortion, steroid abuse, the opioid crisis, gun violence, marginalization based on sexual identity, and the crackdown on illegal immigration.
Here was another show that depicted teens in despair, each hazardous action a desperate cry for help. But as its first season went along, the comparisons between the shows dissolved, revealing Euphoria to be a singular work of teen arthouse, an outgrowth of generational trauma born from disillusionment with the American dream. The question of Euphoria is clear: How are the teens of today supposed to grapple with the damage previous generations inflicted on the environment, political systems, and the pursuit of happiness? What are the teens supposed to do when debt waits for them in college and emotional disillusionment in their adult lives? The kids of Euphoria ultimately resolve to make the most of their disaster, allowing themselves to bathe in the small pleasures of social and sexual enlightenment. And most pointedly, Euphoria is a show that centers the perspective of the teenage girl, positioning teenage boys as largely unaware of what their more marginalized peers go through. Throughout the events of the first two seasons, Clay rises from outcast to the Godfather of the school, doling out mob justice whenever he feels like his friends have been wronged.
It is instructive, however, to remind viewers of how the storyline worked in season one, and what made it so madly addictive to its disproportionately teenaged audience: Hannah, the high-school student who took her life after being raped, left behind a suicide letter in the form of a tape, which was passed around to the friends and classmates who played a role in her suicide.
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Sign in. Hannah seeks help from Mr. Porter, the school counselor. Clay plays the new tape for Tony and weighs what to do next. Clay and Hannah grow closer. While Clay spends a heartbreaking night listening to his tape with Tony, tensions boil over at Bryce's house. Hannah winds up at a party after an argument with her parents.