From controller to couch – Why watching The Last of Us isn’t quite the same as playing it

Personally, I can’t claim too much emotional gaming trauma—my experience peaks with The Sims (and yes, when that gets adapted into a film one day, I’ll be first in line wondering what happened to Bella Goth). But I work alongside gamers who speak passionately about titles that have genuinely moved them. For them, the storyline isn’t just background—it’s the heart of the experience.

Take The Last of Us, for example. First released in 2013, the critically acclaimed PlayStation game is classified R18 in New Zealand, with content warnings across the three releases for graphic violence, horror, cruelty and offensive language—tells the gut-wrenching story of Joel and Ellie as they try to survive in a post-apocalyptic world where an infectious fungus drives its human hosts into a violent frenzy.

The recent series adaptation, released by Neon and self-rated as 16 for horror, offensive language, suicide, violence and content that may disturb, has brought this gritty universe to a whole new audience. And it’s having a ripple effect. People who never played the original game are picking it up for the first time—and many younger viewers who watched the series are now interested in trying the game, unaware that it's more intense and carries a higher age rating.

What’s the difference?

While the series sticks closely to the source material in many ways—mirroring scenes, characters, and even shot angles—it’s still a different experience. In the game, you don’t just observe violence or loss—you live it. You make hard choices, navigate terrifying environments, and sometimes sit with the emotional weight of actions you didn’t want to take. It’s these very scenes—ones where the player feels complicit or morally conflicted—that elevate the game but also make it clearly unsuitable for younger audiences.

As one gamer put it to me: “There are no good guys or bad guys in The Last of Us—only survivors. The violence and cruelty aren’t just present, they’re woven into every moment.”

Watching the show over a couple of weekends is very different from spending dozens of hours embedded in the game's world—especially when every conflict and kill is something you actively participate in, often with no other option.

Take Ellie, for instance. In the series, she’s the moody, impatient and survivor-guilt-ridden teen you want to protect or reason with. The second game looks closely at how far she, and others, can go when it comes to violence. The violent scenes are shown in such detail that they feel brutal and meaningful. As a player, you’re often powerless to avoid moments of extreme cruelty. You’re not just watching her choices—you’re making them. A strong example is the scene with Nora. In the game, you have to press the buttons yourself to kill her—you can’t skip it or choose not to. You’re the one carrying it out, and that makes it hit much harder. In the series (season 2, episode 5), the same moment is shown as more of an accident, which takes away some of the emotional impact and makes it easier to watch.

And it’s not just about the story—it’s about how it’s played. The same gamer put it this way, “Each person you encounter has a name. When you kill them, their companions call out in fear or anguish. It’s exhausting, and by the time you re ach the game’s final scenes, you’re not celebrating a win—you’re hoping it ends.”

One of the most powerful and confronting aspects of The Last of Us Part II, rated R18 with a content warning for graphic violence, offensive language and cruelty, is how it forces players to question their own loyalties. You may start the game rooting for Ellie, whose pain and rage feel justified after all she’s lost. But as the story unfolds, you also step into the shoes of Abby—someone many players initially see as the enemy. Suddenly, you’re asked to empathise with her, to understand her choices, and even to take actions as her character that feel emotionally uncomfortable. It’s a jarring experience, and that’s the point. The game deliberately blurs moral lines, confronting players with the idea that there are no easy heroes or villains here—just people shaped by trauma and doing what they think is right.

For a younger player, navigating that kind of emotional whiplash—especially while controlling the characters directly—can be intense and unsettling. It’s not just about violence; it’s about living through morally complex decisions that don’t have clean answers.

Why ratings matter here

That context is especially important for parents and caregivers. A young person who watched the series (16) might think they’re ready for the game (R18), but the leap in intensity is not small. It’s important to understand that the game’s R18 rating is a legal restriction—not just a recommendation—while the show’s 16 rating is a guidance classification, self-rated by streaming services based on New Zealand standards. That context matters, especially for parents and caregivers. The game’s R18 rating isn’t just a legal line in the sand—it’s a signal about emotional impact. The show may open the door to the world of The Last of Us, but the game throws you into the fire. Even seasoned gamers have described feeling overwhelmed or emotionally drained by it.

The gamer told me, “This is a hard R18 for me. Even adults can get overwhelmed by the storyline.”

That’s why it’s so important to talk with young people who might be curious about the game after watching the series. The transition to the small screen can make The Last of Us seem more accessible than it truly is.

How to navigate the conversation with a young gamer

So, how do you actually talk about all of this—especially if a young person in your life is asking to play the game? The games are legally restricted to 18+, but conversations go further than just rules. They’re about understanding why the rules exist, and helping young people build their own awareness and emotional boundaries.

Here are some conversation starters that can help:

Ask what draws them in.

Is it the action, the characters, the emotional weight of the story? Let them tell you why this game matters to them—it might be more than just “it looks cool.”

Have you seen or read anything about the game already?

They might’ve watched gameplay online or heard plot details from friends. Let them share what they already know—then you can gently fill in what they might not.

What do you think the difference is between watching the series and playing the game?

If they’re already a gamer, they’ll likely understand how immersive and intense gameplay can be. If not, this can be a good way to explain how taking control of a character (especially in violent or morally complicated moments) hits differently.

How do you usually feel after playing games with intense storylines or hard decisions?

This opens the door to talking about emotional resilience and what they’re personally ready for—not just what a rating says.

Do you think the characters always make the right choices?

This is a great entry point to talk about Ellie and Abby, and how the game challenges players to question their own judgments and actions. It’s heavy stuff—and it’s okay to say that.

A final note

Not every show or game crossover will raise these kinds of concerns, but The Last of Us stands out because it’s not just an action story—it’s emotionally complex, morally heavy, and brutally realistic. If someone in your whānau is keen to dive deeper, it’s worth taking a pause and asking whether they’re truly ready for what the game delivers.