To describe the anticipation for the return of HBO’s high school odyssey as “long-awaited” is an exercise in profound understatement. Since its 2019 debut, Euphoria has existed as a cultural lightning rod, blending visceral trauma with a shimmering, neon-soaked aesthetic that redefined the visual language of Gen Z’s relationship with sex, drugs, and mental health. It transformed Zendaya, Sydney Sweeney, and Jacob Elordi into global A-listers, yet in the intervening years, it produced a mere 18 episodes—a casualty of a global pandemic and the devastating Los Angeles fires.
For a long time, a new season of the drama became a pop culture mirage, akin to the promise of a new Rihanna album: something that might, possibly, arrive before the cast aged out of their twenties. Now that the wait has finally ended, the result is a jarring disappointment. Based on the initial episodes released for review, this Euphoria season three review finds the series not only out of touch but actively repellent. What was once a surreal exploration of adolescence has devolved into a grubby, humourless exercise in torture porn, obsessed with the mechanics of sex work while appearing fundamentally repulsed by it.
The new season opens with a staggering five-year time jump, effectively leaping past the characters’ formative teenage years and into a bleak, adult reality. Rue, played by Zendaya, is no longer the erratic high schooler we knew; she is a recovering addict now entangled in the insalubrious orbit of drug dealer Laurie (Martha Kelly) to settle mounting debts. The narrative shifts into a gritty, cinematic gear, with Rue acting as a mule between Mexico and the U.S.
These sequences draw heavily from the visual tropes of Westerns and blaxploitation, echoing the sex-worker-centric cinema of Sean Baker. However, the execution is relentlessly grim. In one particularly heavy-handed scene, Rue provides a voiceover explaining how fentanyl is smuggled into the U.S. Via lubricated balloons swallowed by mules. Her descent continues under the employ of Alamo (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), a Stetson-wearing club owner whose proximity to a rehab clinic feels less like a safety net and more like a cruel irony. Rue is trapped in a cycle where she simply cannot catch a break.
A dated approach to the sex economy
While Rue navigates the underworld, Cassie (Sydney Sweeney) has pivoted toward a sanitized version of “trad wifedom” alongside the perpetually toxic Nate (Jacob Elordi). Once the center of a volatile love triangle with Maddy (Alexa Demie), Cassie and Nate now present as the quintessential all-American couple—provided one ignores Nate’s crumbling business and Cassie’s secret penchant for creating OnlyFans content while dressed as a puppy.
The show’s handling of the “cam girl” economy is bafflingly dated, treating the profession with a mixture of voyeurism and judgment. One line of dialogue—”You wanna sell your body for floral arrangements?!”—underscores a narrative disconnect that makes the show feel like it is judging the very behaviors it insists on filming. The series continues to lean on Sweeney’s nudity, ensuring she is topless by the second episode, and introduces Grammy winner Rosalía as a Spanglish-speaking stripper. It is a masterclass in contradiction: the show wants to critique the male gaze while simultaneously serving it on a silver platter.
The erosion of humor and heart
The earlier iterations of Euphoria were capable of being shocking and surreal, but they were also anchored by a dark, meta-humor. Whether it was the cringe-inducing musical interludes of Elliot or the absurdity of Kat faking a terminal illness, there was a rhythmic balance to the misery. That balance is gone. The current humor is reduced to crude jokes, such as Rue’s AA sponsor Ali (Colman Domingo) cursing “butt sex.”
Even moments of potential wit are crushed by a new, oppressive mean-spiritedness. In one scene, a housekeeper lists the waste of an uneaten buffet for Nate and Cassie—a moment that could have been a droll commentary on their excess. Instead, the scene is deadened when Nate threatens to kill the woman. While Nate was always established as a sociopath, he has transitioned from a complex antagonist into someone who is simply plain mean.
Most tragic is the treatment of Jules (Hunter Schafer). Once the unapologetically queer heart of the series and a rare, non-exploitative representation of trans life on television, Jules has been reduced to a conduit for the show’s confused exploration of the sex economy. Now an artist and a sugar baby, she feels less like a character and more like a blank canvas for various shades of male perversion, stripped of the agency and vibrancy that once made her essential to the story.
Legacy, loss, and the synthetic opioid crisis
Creator Sam Levinson has framed this season as a tribute to the late Angus Cloud, who played Fezco and died in 2023 at age 25, as well as a reflection on the third step of Alcoholics Anonymous: “surrendering to a power greater than ourselves.” There is an undeniable sense of loss permeating the production, further emphasized by the fact that this marks the final on-screen appearance of Eric Dane as Cal.
Levinson is clearly attempting to make a sociological point about how synthetic opioids are ravaging ordinary American lives. However, the execution suggests a belief that the only way to convey the horror of addiction is to make the characters’ lives horrifically bleak without respite. The result is a viewing experience that feels designed to rattle the audience for the sake of the shock itself, rather than to foster genuine empathy or understanding.
Despite the narrative failings, the performances remain a high point. Zendaya, Sweeney, and Akinnuoye-Agbaje deliver strong, often excellent work, fighting against a script that offers them little emotional oxygen. If the cast appeared desperate to finish the production, the final product explains why.
| Region | Platform | Release Date |
|---|---|---|
| United States | HBO / Max | 12 April |
| Australia | HBO / Max | 12 April |
| United Kingdom | Sky Atlantic / HBO Max | 13 April |
As the series moves toward what is likely its conclusion, the question remains whether the stylistic flourishes of the past can survive the grim reality of its current trajectory. The next checkpoint for viewers will be the full rollout of the season starting April 12 in the U.S. And Australia, and April 13 in the UK.
Do you believe Euphoria has lost its way, or is the bleakness a necessary evolution of its characters? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
