It happened. If you played through Naughty Dog’s 2020 sequel, you know exactly which moment I’m talking about. You’re deep into Abby’s three-day journey in Seattle. The tension is thick, the violence has been relentless, and then, suddenly, the game forces a hard pivot into a moment of raw, uncomfortable intimacy. The boat scene The Last of Us fans still debate today wasn't just a cutscene; it was a narrative grenade.
It felt weird. It felt clunky to some, deeply human to others, and controversial to almost everyone.
But why? Why did a few seconds of two characters finding a brief, desperate connection in the hull of a derelict boat cause more of an uproar than the hundreds of brutal throat-slittings that preceded it? To understand the weight of this moment, you have to look past the surface-level "cringe" and see what Neil Druckmann and the writing team were actually doing with Abby Anderson and Owen Moore.
The mechanical discomfort of the boat scene The Last of Us Part II
Most video games treat romance like a reward. You pick the right dialogue options, you give the right gifts, and you get a "romance" cutscene that feels like a trophy. The Last of Us Part II doesn't do trophies. It does consequences.
When Abby and Owen finally hook up in that boat, it isn't a "happily ever after" moment. It's messy. Owen is drunk. He’s spiraling because he just shot a fellow WLF soldier—Danny—because he couldn't bring himself to kill a defenseless, elderly "Scar." He’s questioning the entire war. Abby is there, fueled by her own repressed trauma and the physical toll of her obsession with Joel.
The scene is intentionally unpolished. The character models for Abby, famously modeled after athlete Colleen Fotsch for her physique, show a level of physical realism that made people uncomfortable. We aren't used to seeing bodies that look like that in intimate gaming moments. We're used to stylized, "perfect" versions of humanity. By grounding the boat scene The Last of Us in such heavy realism, Naughty Dog stripped away the voyeuristic fantasy and replaced it with something that felt almost too private to watch.
Breaking down the Owen and Abby dynamic
Owen was always the "light" to Abby’s "dark," even if that light was flickering out. Throughout the flashbacks, we see them as teenagers at the aquarium. They were kids in love before the world broke them.
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By the time they reach that boat, they are two people who don't recognize themselves anymore. Owen wants to run away to Santa Barbara. He wants the Fireflies to be real. Abby, conversely, has turned herself into a human weapon. Their encounter is less about passion and more about a desperate attempt to feel anything other than the crushing weight of the war between the WLF and the Seraphites.
Critics often point to Owen’s partner, Mel, who was pregnant at the time. This adds a layer of moral filth to the scene. You aren't supposed to cheer for them. You’re supposed to feel the complication of it. It’s a betrayal of Mel, yes, but it’s also a betrayal of the cold, hardened soldiers they’ve pretended to be.
Why the "cringe" factor was actually the point
Let's be real. A lot of the internet's reaction to the boat scene The Last of Us was rooted in a weird tribalism. Some people hated Abby for what she did to Joel—a fair emotional response—and used this scene as ammunition to call the game "bad writing."
But let’s look at the writing objectively.
Good writing makes you feel something. If you felt disgusted, the writers succeeded. If you felt like looking away, they succeeded. The world of The Last of Us is a world where beauty is dead and everything is transactional or frantic. Intimacy in this universe shouldn't look like a Hollywood rom-com. It should look like two tired people grabbing a moment of heat in a cold, damp boat while a war rages outside.
Halley Gross, the co-writer of the game, has spoken in various interviews about wanting to explore the "messiness" of being human. Humans make terrible decisions when they’re grieving. They have sex with people they shouldn't. They hurt people they love. The boat scene is the pinnacle of that philosophy. It’s the moment Abby stops being a "boss" or a "villain" and becomes a flawed, selfish, and deeply lonely woman.
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The technical execution of the scene
From a technical standpoint, the animation in this sequence was a massive undertaking for Naughty Dog. They used high-fidelity motion capture to ensure that the subtle shifts in weight and expression were captured.
- Facial Animation: Notice the hesitation in Abby's eyes before she commits to the moment.
- Lighting: The scene is lit by a dim, warm lantern, contrasting with the cold blue of the Seattle rain outside.
- Sound Design: The sound of the rain hitting the hull is constant, a reminder that they are trapped in this environment.
This wasn't some "tossed-in" moment. It was meticulously crafted to be exactly as awkward as it ended up being.
The impact on Abby's redemption arc
Interestingly, the boat scene The Last of Us serves as the primary catalyst for Abby’s change of heart regarding Lev and Yara.
Right after this encounter, Abby has a nightmare. But it’s different this time. Instead of seeing her father’s dead body in the hospital, she sees the two Seraphite kids she abandoned. The guilt of her actions with Owen—the sudden rush of humanity—cracks her shell. She realizes that she can't just keep killing. She has to save something.
Without that moment of vulnerability in the boat, her decision to go back for Lev and Yara might have felt unearned. She needed to be "broken open" by Owen to remember that she was capable of caring about someone other than herself. It’s the turning point from her being a soldier of the WLF to becoming a protector.
Addressing the backlash and misconceptions
A huge portion of the "discourse" around this scene involved misinformation. People claimed it was "forced" or "agenda-driven." In reality, it was a standard narrative beat for a character-driven drama. If this were a show on HBO—which, funny enough, it eventually became—this scene wouldn't have raised an eyebrow.
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The disconnect happened because of the medium.
Players have a "God complex" with their protagonists. We want to control them. We want them to represent our values. When Abby does something "wrong" or "gross," players feel a loss of control. But The Last of Us Part II isn't a game about player agency; it’s a story about specific characters making specific, often terrible, choices. You are a passenger in Abby's trauma, not the driver.
What we can learn from the boat scene today
Years later, the dust has settled, but the boat scene The Last of Us remains a case study in "uncomfortable" storytelling. It reminds us that games don't always have to be fun or empowering. They can be challenging. They can make us sit in discomfort.
Honestly, if you're looking to understand the narrative architecture of Part II, you have to stop viewing this scene as a meme. You have to look at it as the moment the cycle of violence briefly paused to let in a very human, very flawed moment of desperation.
Practical takeaways for fans and writers:
- Analyze the "Why": Next time a scene makes you uncomfortable, ask if that was the intended effect. Usually, in high-end narrative games, it is.
- Context Matters: Abby’s actions in the boat are inseparable from Owen’s trauma over Danny and Abby’s guilt over Joel.
- Humanize the "Villain": To write a complex antagonist, you have to show them in moments where they aren't in control. The boat scene is Abby at her most vulnerable and least "in control."
- Physicality in Gaming: Pay attention to how Naughty Dog uses body language rather than dialogue to convey Owen and Abby's history. It’s a masterclass in "show, don't tell."
If you’re revisiting the game or watching the series, keep an eye on how Owen and Abby’s relationship is seeded early on. Look for the small touches, the way they look at each other in the winter lodge, and the tension at the aquarium. The boat wasn't a random event; it was an inevitability. It was the only way their story could have collided before the tragic end at the beach.
The scene isn't there to be liked. It's there to be felt. And in that regard, it’s one of the most successful moments in modern gaming history. For those looking to dive deeper into the lore, your next step should be re-playing the "Aquarium" chapters specifically—pay attention to the notes left behind by the former residents. It mirrors the tragedy of Owen and Abby's own doomed sanctuary more than you'd think.