The Handmaid’s Tale ended last year after six seasons, bringing catharsis but not a whole lot of closure. By then, Hulu had already announced the sequel series The Testaments was in the works—and its existence meant that Bruce Miller, who created both series, had to take into account the fate of certain characters, with input from Margaret Atwood, author of both the 1985 original novel and its 2019 follow-up.
There are strong connections between the two series; The Testaments picks up about four years after the explosive Handmaid’s Tale finale. A full six-season rewatch before diving into The Testaments isn’t required, but familiarity with major events of The Handmaid’s Tale is a must, even as The Testaments strives to provide any necessary context. The experience of the new show is enriched and often made even more impactful if you’re able to fully appreciate the perspective it brings to the table. (io9 was able to view the entire 10-episode season for this review, which will be spoiler-free.)
In The Testaments, we see Gilead—the totalitarian regime that’s replaced most of the United States in the wake of a violent coup launched by far-right religious extremists—not from the point of view of Handmaid’s Tale main character June (Elisabeth Moss), but through the eyes of girls who’ve been raised within its borders. They’re the daughters of top Commanders and other elites. They live in luxurious mansions and are accustomed to being pampered and protected, but that comes at a steep cost. These “precious flowers,” to borrow the title of the first episode, are being groomed to become the next generation of Gilead wives.
A crucial part of this training comes from a familiar Handmaid’s Tale face: Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd). Instead of torturing Handmaids at the Red Center, she’s now in charge of the Aunt Lydia School—or “school,” since Gilead doesn’t allow most women to read or write, much less learn anything about science, math, or history. Instead, the girls are instructed in subjects like needlepoint, music, scripture, cooking, and “domestic management.”
Their most important lesson, however, is obedience. Their lives are curated down to the color of clothing they’re allowed to wear—something we saw in The Handmaid’s Tale, with the red cloaks. (In The Testaments, girls on the brink of womanhood are “Plums,” dressed all in purple; there’s even a purple school bus to ferry them around.) For any infraction, punishments are swift and cruel, and there’s an ever-present cloud of fear and paranoia that aligns with Gilead’s culture of extreme vigilance. Everyone’s always watching everyone else and waiting for them to step out of line—not for nothing are the much-feared secret police dubbed “the Eyes.”
Gilead is grim and oppressive. But it’s exactly that atmosphere that makes the friendships at the heart of The Testaments so powerful. Shoved together into this rigid life that has every phase planned out since birth, the younger characters have a bond built on shared brainwashing that hasn’t succeeded in squeezing every shred of hope out of them. At least not yet.
That’s a dwindling notion, though, as Agnes (Chase Infiniti), Becka (Mattea Conforti), Shunammite (Rowan Blanchard), Huldah (Isolde Ardies), and the other Plums face the reality that as soon as they’re fertile—getting one’s first period is cause for ritualized celebration in Gilead—they’ll be married off and expected to start producing children. (Handmaids are no longer commonly in use; whether that’s because of rising birthrates or the violent events of The Handmaid’s Tale—or more likely both—isn’t really explored.)
Their husbands, who will have complete dominance over them that can never be questioned, are chosen for them by Aunt Lydia. Since a match is determined by social standing (and by rigorous family-tree research to make sure nobody is accidentally inbreeding), that means these girls, who are around 15 or 16, tend to wed men who are much older. It’s not an appealing prospect, but the girls have been indoctrinated into the idea that this is exactly the life they want. And more than that, they better not even consider any alternatives.
A wild card enters this airtight community with Daisy (Lucy Halliday), a refugee from Toronto, Canada, who’s full of forbidden knowledge of the outside world. She has secrets that The Testaments thankfully doesn’t take too long to reveal—but as we see, hiding things is far from a unique quality in Gilead. Just about everyone seems to have a lot going on behind all that performative politeness and stiff, formal greetings of “Blessed day” and “Under his eye.”
For all the disappointment The Handmaid’s Tale fans might feel upon returning to Gilead and realizing that not much has changed, despite June’s big revolution, The Testaments does offer proof her efforts weren’t in vain. In the alternating voice-overs from Agnes, Daisy, and Aunt Lydia, it’s often apparent that our narrators are looking back on the events we’re watching, with the knowledge that they were eyewitnesses to a time of important change.
That’s a reassuring glimmer amid The Testaments’ harrowing story, but there are other elements that elevate the show above a depressing slog. The cast is more than up to the task of conveying the emotional burdens piled upon Gilead’s girls; we all knew what Infiniti could do after her breakout turn in One Battle After Another, and her young co-stars prove similarly gifted.
Their characters inhabit a world that has its moments of innocence, as seen in the pinky promises they make to each other. They also have typical teen-girl emotions: selfishness, jealousy, FOMO. But a pervasive feeling of terror is hammered into them every step of the way—especially when it comes to the men they encounter, because the girls are taught that if a man behaves badly, it’s automatically the woman’s fault. The cast does a wonderful job showing how careful the girls are to stay composed no matter what they’re faced with.
While some of the adult characters are more one-note—we already know 95% of the men in Gilead are monsters—it works for the story, which can feel at times like a fairy tale that’s rapidly fracturing into a nightmare. There’s even an evil stepmother in Agnes’ much-loathed gatekeeper Paula (a perfectly prickly Amy Seimetz).
That fairy-tale feeling is bolstered by The Testaments’ visual language, which makes great use of Gilead’s emphasis on outward appearances. The illusion of perfection is everywhere. But that’s far from the reality, evidenced every time the Eyes display executed bodies as a silent warning to anyone thinking of stepping out of line. No amount of aesthetically pleasing landscaping can blunt that horror.
While The Testaments follows a satisfying arc across its 10 episodes, fans of The Handmaid’s Tale will recall that that show took six seasons to get to the “unleash hell” stage. The Testaments has similar pacing, so be warned if you’re expecting more of that right off the bat.
That said, The Testaments lets us know from the start it will be charting an awakening among Agnes and her friends; understandably, it takes some time for the characters to realize that their secret thoughts and taboo urges can translate into action. It’s a thrilling, fascinating, disturbing story, but that slow build means it feels like things are just getting started when the season—presumably the first in a planned longer run, though that’s not yet confirmed—comes to an end.
The Testaments drops its first three episodes April 8, followed by a weekly rollout thereafter, on Hulu and Hulu on Disney+.
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