Netflix’s “Penelope” is like nothing else on television

Penelope is an ancient name that dates back almost three millennia Odyssey. Homer's Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, is Western culture's archetypal faithful wife, fending off dozens of suitors while she awaits her husband's return from the decades-long Trojan War at home. But in the breathtaking half-hour drama PenelopeThe film, now streaming on Netflix, follows her contemporary teenage namesake as he goes on an odyssey, running away from home and wandering the wilds of the Pacific Northwest on a quest that is as mysterious to her as it is for the viewer.

Created and written by independent film and television legend Mark Duplass and biosphere Director Mel Eslyn, who also directed and served as showrunner, Penelope is like nothing else on television. Each of its eight episodes is immersive and impressionistic; The camera lingers in patient shots, accompanied by birdsong, the crunching of leaves underfoot and quiet, wordless music, in the bright green and dark brown tones of nature. With this in mind, Megan Stott (Little fires everywhere) delivers a remarkable performance in the title role, embodying, in all her confusion and contradiction, a character who is at once a normal 16-year-old, a girl in an existential crisis, and the heroine of an ambitious allegory.

When we meet Penelope, she is caught in a moment of everyday transcendence, dancing with other young people on some kind of camping trip in the neon-lit forest. Everyone listens to music through their own headphones; She is surrounded by her peers, but also noticeably alone. The next morning, her mother texts her saying that she has to come home to prepare for the SAT. Penelope types an answer: “Mom… was I a happy child?” – but changes her mind. Then she goes to a big box store, buys hundreds of dollars' worth of outdoor gear, gets on the train, and records a farewell voice message begging her parents not to look for her. “It’s not you,” she says. “I'm not running away. I feel like I'm running towards something. It’s like I’m being called.”

Her destination is the Cascade National Forest, and when she gets there she's so broke that she has to sneak in after the ranger at the gate leaves for the night. Despite obtaining a survival guide, Penelope clearly doesn't have the skills for a solo expedition of any length. The first night she sleeps under a majestic, moss-covered tree and asks him for help as she finds her way. Little by little, with great effort, over the course of several episodes, she teaches herself to make a fire, find food, and build increasingly sophisticated shelters. From a psychological point of view, she is experiencing something extremely unusual. But you also recognize her as a teenager who celebrates her successes in the hinterland with dancing and screaming.

Penelope meets others, animals and people, in the forest. A lonely bear cub becomes a kind of mirror: “What actually happened to you?” she asks. “Did your mother die? Did you get lost or run away? If so, do you feel like a real asshole?” The people she meets have also strayed from the paths they were supposed to take. Krisha Fairchild, the ivory-haired bohemian who made her breakthrough in Trey Edward Shults' film KrishaShe is perfectly cast as a soulful activist who has been camping out for decades to prevent loggers from cutting down her beloved trees. When Penelope admits that she's afraid that there's “this huge hole” inside her that she can “never fill,” the woman explains the concept of inherited trauma: “The pain that you felt – it really could “Be very old.” So you won't understand it.” But it's “the pain that connects us,” she says.

Television at its best is often described as novelistic, characterized by psychologically rich characters and complicated, interconnected storylines. More like poetry than prose, Penelope does something we almost never see on television, no matter how much of it Hollywood produces. The situation resonates in a way that goes far beyond what is literally happening on screen. By sticking to Penelope's point of view, the series not only spares us the familiar storylines of frantic parents and police investigations, but also focuses our attention on the arduous daily work she must do to survive. I was also touched by the extent to which she was treated—in a medium that often reduces teenage girls to victims, monsters, or jokes—as a whole, if still developing, person whose journey deserves to be taken seriously to be taken. Duplass and Eslyn would do well not to analyze their motivations too much; The mystery keeps their quest universal. What would cause a person to leave society? Looking for spiritual fulfillment in nature in 2024? I mean, you did seen Society around 2024?

Duplass and Eslyn acknowledge at one point how the series resonates Into the wild. There are also noticeable connections to Cheryl Strayed's stories – rarer but more numerous each year – about young women leaving civilization and trying their luck in the wilderness Wild to Lauren Groff The Vaster Wilds. But these predecessors have more definitive, triumphant or tragic resolutions. PenelopeThe abrupt ending might be its weakest point. But the series stays true to its theme in that it's less about the destination and more about the adventure, its challenges and its enlightening moments, and the structure of a life stripped down to its essentials. If you've ever felt a longing for a reality even more elemental than your own, here's a show that speaks to your soul.