The Handmaid’s Tale Season 4: Burn It Down
Photo Courtesy of Hulu
Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel The Handmaid’s Tale is riveting and upsetting not just because it depicts the gruesome and torturous rapes and maiming of women held hostage by a fundamentalist government—but because all of these crimes were based on actual events in our history.
Premiering while American progressives were still donning pink pussy hats and marching in the streets in response to Donald Trump’s 2017 presidential inauguration, creator Bruce Miller’s televised adaptation of Atwood’s dystopian story represented a warning cry: that all the Canadian author wrote about was about to come true. Myself and others who voted for Hillary Clinton found ourselves huddled on our couches, recoiling at any breaking news push notification that came across our phones while pointing at our TVs like real-life Leonardo DiCaprio.GIF memes. See that! We’re not that far away from a world where Elisabeth Moss’s heroine, June, is ripped from her family and ritualistically raped by religious zealots! Spend all your time on the civic action site 5calls.org, or you could have your clitoris removed like Alexis Bledel’s Emily! Post incessantly on social media about LGBTQ+ rights and freedoms, lest you get labeled a gender traitor and murdered or rounded up for exile like Moira’s (Samira Wiley) partner, (Rebecca Rittenhouse)!
The adrenaline and the anxiety were high and I, personally, gave up trying to watch the show before bedtime.
Now, after the real America has seen an administration change, a pandemic, and an on-going reckoning for disgusting and abusive men, the fourth season of The Handmaid’s Tale will premiere April 28 on Hulu. And, like any long-running horror series, it has upped the ante of jump scares and torture porn for an audience already numb and exhausted by the travesties happening around them.
The season opens with last year’s cliffhanger. That was when June, having seemingly sacrificed herself by serving as a distraction, liberated a plane full of children and caregivers out of the totalitarian government formerly known as part of America’s Northeastern states, and now called Gilead. The passengers landed free and safely in Canada, but June is bleeding from the gut after a gunshot wound, lying next to the body of the soldier she killed in that skirmish. Now, she is carried—dutifully, awkwardly, as quietly as possible—by her flock of followers; handmaids who, like her, stayed behind in Gilead to risk their lives fighting the good fight.
Just as Caitriona Balfe’s Claire in Starz’s Outlander is the very perfect person to travel back in time due to her knowledge of more modern medicine and her studies of ancient treatments, June’s companions have just the right connections and surgical know-how to eventually get them all to a safe house where she can recuperate and they can watch over her and await her instructions.
The idea of June being these oppressed womens’ only hope for freedom has been brewing for a while. Last season, she literally stood at the foot of what remained of Abraham Lincoln’s statue in Washington, D.C. and gazed up at The Great Emancipator’s now-faceless head while seemingly asking for guidance.
But, this season, June’s getting cocky. She puts more peoples’ lives in danger just so she can prove her point and maybe take down a few more of Gilead’s elite in the process. She is seething with anger and has every right to be. She still represents our actual world of women who are sick of being attacked and manipulated and hurt and abused. And it can be cathartic to watch her fight back either with words or actions.
But her rage and willingness to put bloodshed over a well-considered escape plan doesn’t make her a role model; it feeds into the idea that Gilead has seeped into the soul of someone who once was simply a happy wife, mother, friend, and book editor. In the first episode, “Pigs” (which is written by Miller and directed by the show’s cinematographer, Colin Watkinson), June, still injured and limping, unleashes her minions onto a Gilead soldier who’d drunkenly stumbled onto their safe house. He’s gored and ripped apart as he represents all the people who have hurt them.
This scene, and others throughout the season, are a clear reference to the series’ pilot and the power trip of Ann Dowd’s Aunt Lydia. That woman, who always maintained that she had her “girls’” best interests at heart, controlled June and her fellow handmaids with the threat of her cattle prod and other torture devices so strong that she could force them to rise up and stone a strange man to death.
June is the captain now.