Station Eleven is the best thing on TV – but you probably won’t want to finish watching it

Forget the glossy Netflix hits and HBO dramas – the TV show that’s most worthy of your time has been snuck onto Starzplay in the UK. The problem is, once you start it, you might not want to finish watching it.

Station Eleven’s opening episodes are enticing, competently made television, presenting the show’s world and story in engaging and tantalising ways. Adapted by Maniac’s Patrick Somerville from Emily St John Mandel’s 2014 novel, the series starts amid a flu pandemic that wipes out 99.99 per cent of the world’s population.

Episode one, set over one night, sees abandoned eight-year-old Kirsten (Matilda Lawler) taken into care by Jeevan (Himesh Patel), whose sister, a doctor, tips him off that civilisation as they know it is about to end. “It’s too late to run,” she tells him. “Lock yourselves in, build a barricade – it’s your best chance of surviving.” By episode two, 20 years have passed, Jeevan is AWOL and Kirsten is part of a now-renowned troupe of actors that moves from town to town, performing Shakespeare and other plays.

Casual viewers expecting a more straightforward viewing experience will be deterred by the change of pace. In fact, Station Eleven has the most admirable but jarring first-to-second episode switch-up I’ve ever seen. (It should also be noted that episode two is as weak as the otherwise fantastic show gets). It might not be immediately clear how the disparate characters are linked: there’s the apocalypse-weary Kirsten, now in her 20s, played by Mackenzie Davis, guarded businesswoman Miranda (Danielle Deadwyler) and a creepy cult leader known as The Prophet (Daniel Zovatto). These are all somehow tethered by a picture book that once belonged to a revered actor named Arthur Leander (Gael García Bernal), and the name of this book gives the show its title.

In a time when TV has to grab your attention in order to keep it, or generate Twitter buzz with inauthentic twists that largely end up going nowhere, Station Eleven stands out from the crowd. It’s long-game television, its surprises casually kept up its sleeve until the time is right to unveil them. In this way, the series tiptoes forward before drastically leaping ahead. Yes, it’s a big ask for someone to invest 10 hours into a show they might not be gelling with – especially one that regularly mentions “infection rates” and “quarantine protocols” – but to plough on leads to a more satisfying viewing experience than that recent binge of Stay Close on Netflix or ITV’s Trigger Point. The more time you invest into Station Eleven, the more transcendental its effect.

Unlike, say, recent US sensation Yellowjackets, Station Eleven isn’t interested in drip-feeding clues to mysteries viewers can feverishly attempt to decipher. Instead, the story is told in a seemingly meandering manner until – boom – you’re given an answer to a question you didn’t even know you were asking. It’s only when that puzzle piece slots into place that you realise the level Station Eleven is working on; don’t be surprised when you fist pump the air in glee.

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Station Eleven is a series that has been minutely mapped out; you just have to trust you’re in safe hands. It’s no surprise that Somerville cut his teeth on Damon Lindelof’s The Leftovers – fans of that show will be in safe territory here. In many ways, the Leftovers’ trajectory symbolises the 10-episode arc of Station Eleven quite effectively: a lot of people dismissed the first season, loved the second and felt the third cemented its status as one of the best shows of the past 21 years; it was recently named the seventh greatest TV show of the 21st century by BBC Culture. If Station Eleven had been released when voting took place, it would have certainly deserved a place on that list.

You might not immediately think so. But to judge Station Eleven after just a few episodes is to do the show a huge disservice. This is a series that needs to be judged in its entirety.