Based on Margaret Atwood’s iconic 1985 novel, The Handmaid’s Tale imagined a dystopian theocracy called Gilead, born from the ashes of a crumbling United States. The novel served as a chilling warning against authoritarianism, and when it got adapted it into a series in 2017, the show quickly became a cultural touchstone — eerily echoing rising global anxieties. Over the last eight years, the show has expanded well beyond Atwood’s original material, chronicling a brutal struggle for freedom in a world that doesn’t easily allow it. Now, with its sixth and final season, the series reaches a sobering, if not entirely satisfying, conclusion.
The final season of The Handmaid’s Tale attempts to tighten its narrative and steer the sprawling chaos of earlier seasons toward closure. While visually stunning and often emotionally resonant, the show continues its frustrating cycle of pain and resistance. It is a powerful end, but one that also reminds us of the show’s own narrative loops.
As the last chapter begins, June Osborne (Elisabeth Moss) and Serena Joy (Yvonne Strahovski) find themselves fleeing Canada, boarding a train to Alaska — one of the last safe havens in what remains of the United States. Their temporary alignment is both tense and oddly reflective, as both women carry scars and babies from their time in Gilead. Meanwhile, back in the regime, Commander Lawrence (Bradley Whitford) presses ahead with New Bethlehem — a so-called reformed Gilead — while Nick (Max Minghella), still torn between duty and love, rises in the ranks. The ever-elusive goal of rescuing June’s daughter Hannah looms, still painfully out of reach. As characters navigate betrayal, false hope, and fleeting alliances, the show pushes toward a reckoning — not with Gilead itself, but with what freedom truly means.
The good
Even in its final stretch, the show retains the high production values and haunting cinematography that have defined it. Elisabeth Moss delivers yet another layered, powerful performance — one that captures June’s weariness, rage, and dogged resilience. Moss also directs several episodes, including the finale, bringing a sharp, personal lens to the show’s emotional core.
The visual symbolism remains striking, if heavy-handed — light for hope, shadow for despair. Scenes between June and Serena crackle with tension, their twisted history and shared motherhood offering moments of psychological complexity. And the season’s focus on systemic compromise — like Canada’s willingness to appease Gilead for trade benefits — adds timely political nuance. These instances of moral grayness are among the show’s sharpest.
The bad
And yet, The Handmaid’s Tale continues to suffer from a lack of forward momentum. The sixth season opens with the promise of change, even self-awareness, as the characters head toward a new frontier. But almost immediately, the narrative falls back into its familiar loop: moments of escape followed by new, soul-crushing obstacles. June’s path, once revolutionary, now feels cyclic and exhausting. Likewise, Serena’s arc, despite Strahovski’s excellent performance, circles back to ambiguity rather than resolution.
The show often teases evolution only to retreat to well-worn tropes — children as symbols, men plotting in shadowy rooms, women clinging to slivers of sunlight. Subplots, like those involving Moira or the colonies, often feel like afterthoughts. The series’ emotional brutality remains unrelenting, and after six seasons, it borders on numbing.
The verdict
Season six of The Handmaid’s Tale is as elegantly crafted and agonizingly grim as ever. It reflects a world where hope is not a climax, but a flickering light barely kept alive. While the final episodes offer glimpses of closure, they are not interested in catharsis. That’s both the show’s strength and its greatest weakness.
As a farewell, it’s fittingly bleak — a mirror held up to our own troubled times. But for a series that once felt like urgent prophecy, its ending may leave viewers not so much stirred as simply relieved that the nightmare is finally over.
