is ellie gay in the last of us movie

Unpacking Ellie's Sexuality & Queer World-Building in The Last of Us

From its gritty portrayal of a post-apocalyptic world to its deeply human characters, The Last of Us has always pushed boundaries. But perhaps nowhere is its impact felt more profoundly than in its groundbreaking approach to LGBTQ+ representation. At the heart of this discussion often lies the question: is Ellie gay in The Last of Us? The definitive answer is a resounding yes, and her journey, alongside other queer characters, forms a crucial part of the franchise's enduring legacy.

Ellie's Identity: A Canon Confirmed

For those familiar with the games, particularly The Last of Us Part II, Ellie Williams's sexuality is unequivocally established. She is a lesbian, and her romantic relationships with women are central to her character arc and the overarching narrative. While some early discussions or fan theories might have debated this, developer Naughty Dog and co-creator Neil Druckmann have consistently affirmed her identity. Ellie's first on-screen kiss with Riley in the Left Behind DLC cemented her orientation, which was then expanded upon significantly in Part II through her relationship with Dina.

Dina, herself openly bisexual, shares a profound and complex bond with Ellie. Their relationship is not a side plot or a minor detail; it is the emotional core that drives much of Ellie's motivations throughout the game. We see their tenderness, their domestic life, and the fierce love that propels Ellie's actions.

And it's not just Ellie and Dina. The world of The Last of Us is quietly rich with queer lives. Joel, the series' other protagonist, has established gay friends in Bill and Frank, whose poignant story in the HBO series adaptation beautifully underscored the enduring power of love in a shattered world. Even secondary characters like Lev, a trans boy in Part II, are handled with care and respect, illustrating a commitment to diverse representation that feels organic to the narrative, rather than forced. This isn't just about inclusion; it's about depicting the full spectrum of human experience within this desolate future.

The Last of Us Part II: A Bold Queer Tapestry

The Last of Us Part II is a masterclass in weaving queer identities into a mainstream narrative. It doesn't shy away from depicting the realities of being LGBTQ+ even after societal collapse. Consider the scene in Jackson, both in the game and the recent show premiere, where a homophobic slur is hurled at Ellie and Dina. This moment serves as a stark reminder that even in a world reshaped by fungus and desperation, old prejudices persist. Joel's immediate, protective response highlights the deep familial bond he shares with Ellie and reinforces the game's message that love, in all its forms, is worth fighting for.

The game takes bold risks, making its primary protagonists queer and allowing their relationships to be as central and as flawed as any others. It pushes against traditional video game tropes, refusing to reduce its characters to mere archetypes. Instead, we see them as fully realized individuals, grappling with love, loss, vengeance, and belonging, with their queer identities being an intrinsic, undeniable part of who they are, not an add-on.

The Queer Bookstore Paradox: A Critical Lens on World-Building

While The Last of Us Part II largely excels in its queer representation, one particular moment has sparked considerable discussion among fans and critics: the visit to the queer bookstore in Seattle. For many players, especially those in the LGBTQ+ community, this scene is a beloved highlight. Ellie and Dina stumble upon a hidden oasis of literature and art, celebrating queer stories. Their innocent wonder at finding books depicting girls kissing feels incredibly humanizing, a moment of fragile beauty amidst the game's relentless violence.

However, an interesting critique emerges when you consider the broader world-building. Ellie and Dina, two openly queer individuals, seem utterly oblivious to the concept of a "queer space" or the meaning of a Pride flag. Their reaction to seeing covers of women kissing-"they're like us," they exclaim-is endearing, but their apparent ignorance of fundamental queer history and symbolism feels strangely dissonant with other elements of this post-apocalyptic world.

Think about it: Joel can recall Pearl Jam songs and recite lines from Jurassic Park. Ellie can research Yuri Gagarin, even if she mispronounces his name. Society has clearly retained fragments of pre-outbreak culture - music, movies, historical figures, even the ability to make a decent coffee. So, why would an entire history of identity, community, and symbolism for queer individuals be completely erased from collective memory, especially when queer people like Ellie, Dina, Bill, and Frank still exist and thrive?

This paradox, for some, pulls at the seams of an otherwise meticulously crafted world. It suggests that while queer individuals survived, the shared cultural knowledge and history of queer identity somehow vanished. For a game so deeply committed to portraying queer lives, this specific narrative choice can feel like a missed opportunity to foster a deeper sense of belonging and historical context for its queer characters and its audience.

The HBO Show: An Opportunity for Elevation

This is where the HBO series adaptation has a unique chance to enhance the narrative. As a more condensed, narrative-driven experience, the show is poised to pick its moments with even greater precision. If the queer bookstore scene makes it into the adaptation, reimagining Ellie and Dina's reaction could significantly elevate its impact.

Imagine if, instead of complete bewilderment, they recognized the symbols - perhaps not fully understanding their origins, but instinctively grasping their significance. What if they acknowledged the Pride flag, not as an alien object, but as a faded echo of a community that existed before? This slight tweak wouldn't diminish the "discovery" element; it would transform it into a powerful moment of ancestral connection. It would allow Ellie and Dina to feel a greater sense of belonging, realizing that their own identities are part of a larger, historical tapestry that transcends the apocalypse.

Such a subtle shift would ground the moment more firmly in the established world. It would acknowledge that while the world changed, the human need for connection, identity, and a sense of shared history endures. It would reinforce that queer people are not isolated anomalies, but part of a continuum, even in the ruins of civilization. Just as Ellie connects with the wonder of the space museum, she could connect with the history of her own identity, making the scene less baffling and more profoundly impactful.

Conclusion: The Legacy of Queer Narratives

The Last of Us stands as a monumental achievement in interactive storytelling and, crucially, in diverse representation. Ellie's journey as a lesbian protagonist is not just progressive; it's integral to the story's emotional weight and resonance. While the game's depiction of a specific queer cultural memory might present a minor narrative puzzle, the HBO series has the unique opportunity to refine this aspect, adding even more depth to an already rich world.

Ultimately, Ellie's sexuality is a core component of who she is, contributing to one of the most compelling and human characters in modern media. As storytellers continue to explore the diverse facets of humanity, franchises like The Last of Us pave the way, reminding us that every identity has a place in our narratives, even-and especially-when the world has crumbled around them.