You probably remember exactly where you were when you first saw the strawberries. It sounds silly. A middle-aged man in a post-apocalyptic wasteland giggling over a handful of fresh fruit shouldn't be the most devastating thing you've seen on television, but here we are. Long Long Time The Last Of Us didn't just break the internet; it fundamentally shifted how we talk about adaptation, queer storytelling, and the "filler" episode.
Most shows treat a side story as a distraction. A way to pad the runtime. This was different. This was a 75-minute detour that somehow felt more essential than the main plot.
Bill and Frank: The Departure from the Source Material
If you played the 2013 Naughty Dog game, you were expecting a very different Bill. Game-Bill is a paranoid, traps-laying survivalist who lives alone in Lincoln. He’s bitter. He’s mean. He and Frank? They didn't get a happy ending. In the game, you find Frank’s body hanging from a ceiling—he died hating Bill, choosing death over another day in that paranoid fortress. It's a grim reminder that "alone" is the only way to survive.
Craig Mazin and Neil Druckmann looked at that and said, "Nah."
They flipped the script. Instead of a cautionary tale about how love makes you weak, they turned Long Long Time The Last Of Us into a manifesto on why life isn't worth living without someone to protect. Nick Offerman was a casting masterstroke. We know him as the stoic Ron Swanson, but here he’s vulnerable in a way that feels almost invasive to watch.
The episode spans twenty years. We see the paranoia of the initial 2003 outbreak. We see the trap-setting. Then, Frank (Murray Bartlett) falls into a hole. Literally. From there, it’s a slow-burn romance that covers everything from the "first date" at the piano to the inevitable, quiet end.
Honestly, the chemistry is what sells it. Bartlett plays Frank with this persistent, annoying, beautiful optimism. He wants to paint the boutique. He wants to trade a gun for strawberry seeds. He forces Bill to be a person again.
The Linda Ronstadt Effect
Let's talk about the song. "Long Long Time" by Linda Ronstadt wasn't a random choice. Before the episode aired, the track saw a massive 4,900% spike in streaming on Spotify. It’s the emotional anchor.
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When Bill sits at the piano to play it, he’s clumsy. He’s a guy who has buried his soul under layers of reinforced steel and plywood. Then Frank takes over. The lyrics—"Love will abide, take things in stride"—become the mission statement for the rest of their lives. It’s not just a needle drop; it’s a narrative device that connects their first meeting to their final day.
Music supervisor Ian Hubert and the creators didn't want a "cool" song. They wanted a song about pining. About the tragedy of time. It worked.
Why the Backlash Missed the Point
Of course, there was noise. Whenever a show centers a queer romance, a certain corner of the internet yells "filler" or "agenda." But if you actually look at the structural integrity of the series, this episode is the load-bearing wall.
It provides the motivation for Joel.
Without the letter Bill leaves behind—the one that says, "I used to hate the world... but then I found one person worth saving"—Joel doesn't take Ellie to the Fireflies. He doesn't commit to the journey. Bill is the mirror version of Joel. Both are men who believe the world is dead and only "the job" matters. Bill finds another path. He shows Joel that being a "protector" is a noble, if terrifying, destiny.
The Cinematography of Isolation and Intimacy
Eben Bolter, the Director of Photography, did something brilliant here. The episode starts with wide, lonely shots of the woods and Bill’s fortified perimeter. It feels cold. As Frank enters the picture, the framing gets tighter. The colors get warmer.
- The garden scenes use natural light to make the apocalypse look like an Eden.
- The dinner scenes are shot with a shallow depth of field, blurring the world outside so only the two of them matter.
- The final shot—moving through the open window as the wind blows the curtains—is a direct nod to the opening menu of the original game.
It’s visual poetry. It tells you that while the world outside is rotting from a fungal brain infection, inside this one house in Lincoln, Massachusetts, everything is okay.
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The Logistics of the Apocalypse
One thing the episode gets right that most "end of the world" stories miss is the sheer boredom of survival. They show the mundane stuff. They show the wine pairings. They show Bill fixing a fence.
There's a scene where they argue about painting the house. It's such a human moment. In a world where Clickers are ripping throats out, these two are bickering about aesthetics. That is the ultimate rebellion against the Cordyceps. Maintaining a sense of "home" is the hardest thing you can do when the world is ending.
The episode doesn't shy away from the passage of time, either. We see them age. We see Frank’s illness (implied to be something like ALS or Parkinson’s, though never explicitly named to keep it grounded in reality rather than "zombie world" logic).
Impact on the Industry
Since Long Long Time The Last Of Us aired, there’s been a shift in how streamers approach "event" television. It proved that you can break the "A-plot" for an entire hour and the audience won't just follow you—they’ll thank you for it. It earned Nick Offerman his first Emmy. It earned Murray Bartlett an Emmy nomination.
It also set a high bar for the rest of the season. Some argued the show never quite reached that emotional peak again, though the finale gave it a run for its money.
The legacy of this episode is in its restraint. There are no massive action set pieces. There’s one brief skirmish with raiders in the rain, but it’s filmed from a distance. The violence is secondary. The "monsters" aren't the fungi; the monster is time. The monster is the fact that we don't get long enough with the people we love.
How to Appreciate the Episode on a Re-watch
If you're going back to watch it again, pay attention to the wine. In their first meal together, Bill serves a Beaujolais Villages. It’s a specific detail that shows Bill’s hidden refinement. In their last meal, they drink the same thing.
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Look at the paintings. Frank’s art evolves from vibrant portraits to shaky, frustrated lines as his health declines.
Also, notice the lack of zombies. It’s one of the few episodes where the "infected" are almost non-existent. Their absence makes the world feel even more haunting. It’s just two men and the silence.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Creators
If you’re a writer or a storyteller, there are three major takeaways from this specific hour of television:
- Character over Plot: You can pause the "save the world" narrative if the character study is strong enough. People care about people, not just stakes.
- Adaptation is an Art, Not a Transcription: Don't be afraid to change the source material if it serves the theme better. The game's version of Bill was great for a game; the show's version was perfect for television.
- The Power of Mundanity: Use small details—a strawberry, a song, a coat of paint—to tell a bigger story than any explosion could.
The episode ends not with a bang, but with a quiet walk to a bedroom. It’s a dignified, chosen end. In a genre defined by brutal, sudden deaths, giving two characters a peaceful exit is the most radical thing the creators could have done.
When you look back at the first season, Long Long Time stands as a reminder that even when the world is literally falling apart, there is still room for a bit of beauty. It's not filler. It's the whole point.
To get the most out of the experience, watch it back-to-back with the game's "Bill's Town" chapter. The contrast will give you a much deeper appreciation for the creative risks taken. Also, listen to the full Ronstadt discography; the woman had a voice like a bell, and she deserves the 2020s renaissance this show gave her. This episode didn't just change the show; it changed the way we view the potential of video game adaptations forever._