“Chernobyl already has its own obsessives, its own writers. But I don’t want to become one of those people who exploits the subject.” — Irina Kiseleva, journalist, Voices from Chernobyl

How does one begin to talk about the most tragic man-made accident of the 20th century? Out of all the elements that made Chernobyl the historic calamity we know today, what should a storyteller choose? What would the story focus on? Most importantly, how can we, as observers of the aftermath, try to make sense of the whole event? Especially when there are so many people interested in bending this reality into the direction of their chosen agenda — whatever the agenda may be.

How can we do justice to the truth?

Looking deep into our darkest side as people has never been a popular task. History bears witness to this fact. Since the dawn of man, when people tried to uncover the truth about a deviant part which ultimately belongs to our human construct, there was always someone at the end of the line, waiting to bring that person down. Silence, often combined with ignorance, has always been considered safer, more convenient than facing the truth. That is because speaking the truth has always been paired up with taking responsibility. And responsibility means consequences.

Our zeitgeist sadly stays true to this learned human impulse. It seems to be following the cultural legacy of running away from the truth, by preferring the superficial (see Instagram), the easy laughs (see TikTok), and the shortcuts (see any hustling corporate culture trending in today’s workspaces). But this attitude only creates the opportunity for an ever-growing thirst. And people around the world are steadily becoming more thirsty for something raw, honest, real, and that truly matters in the grand scheme of things. Silence and ignorance are slowly dissipating, one individual at a time.

So when the Chernobyl series hit the big screens earlier this May, that felt like a breath of fresh air for many. It brought important conversation topics to the table. It even sparked noteworthy debates among viewers, discussions which you would normally find in philosophical textbooks — and whose answers, as a collective, determine who we are as a species (ex. what values matter to us? What do we truly care about? What stories define us? Will we create a society based on truth-seeking or lies? etc.).

People loved focusing their attention on the Chernobyl universe and the ethical questions that it stirred deep into their souls. And the main reason why we ended up feeling so satisfied and satiated from this production lies in its storytelling. That is the well-thought, beautifully implemented backbone of Chernobyl’s success.

There are 3 main storytelling components that gave the series such heart-capturing power, and we will take our time here to dissect each one of these points:

1) Focusing on catharsis

2) Getting the right details right

3) Betting on balance

Side-note: the main contributing factor behind the impeccable story development for Chernobyl was Craig Mazin’s laser-sharp intention setting. He knew from the get-go what angle to use and what kind of story this would turn out to be. This clarity is hugely important to building and organizing your storytelling craft! But we will discuss the implications of knowing your intention as a storyteller (and in life) in a later article from this series.

1) Focusing on catharsis

A tragedy is a tragedy is a tragedy. Image credits go to Hoshino Ai from Unsplash.

Chernobyl — the HBO mini-series is so good because it knows where it stands on the story spectrum, and that is in the classical tragedy corner.

According to Merriam-Webster, a tragedy is “a serious drama typically describing a conflict between the protagonist and a superior force (such as destiny) and having a sorrowful or disastrous conclusion that elicits pity or terror.” In literary theory, this type of artwork places a great deal of emphasis and perspective-taking on the role of man in the universe, by setting characters up for both disaster and an unhappy end.

We, humans, have a couple of story-related genres that we are fond of. Tragedy has been up there with the narrative bad boys since the beginning of recorded history. The concept of tragedy is so deeply rooted in our collective psyche, that since its popularity in Ancient Greece, the core of the genre survived and has proven its viability over the last 25 centuries (and counting). The reason behind tragedy’s long-lived popularity is due to its important purging role, that helps us recycle core emotions such as fear, anger, and pity into perspective-building, maturing, and even enlightenment.

The way this mechanism works is called catharsis. Coming from the Greek term “katharsis”, this word literally translates into “purgation” or “purification”. Aristotle is one of the prominent thinkers that put this concept forward in his work Poetics. In this piece, Aristotle shows how tragedies can pave the way for catharsis to take place in the audience that witnesses the unfortunate, woeful events around the play’s characters. What happens is that the story arouses primordial, powerful emotions such as fear and pity, with the purpose of offering moral lessons that will inspire personal change. For example, the most important message one can extract from Chernobyl is that lies have dire and unimaginable consequences. This intention has been cleverly and carefully drilled by writer and producer, Craig Mazin, in every person involved in the series production and in every part of the production itself. Walking away from the mini-series’ 5 intense episodes, the viewer is no stranger to the show’s main message — and its relevance in today’s strong image-based, metamodernist zeitgeist.

Catharsis is one of the most effective ways of learning, especially because the acquired lessons are not only memorized, but embodied. From a physiological perspective, the experience starts by firstly conjuring up fear-based feelings in the amygdala. This organ starts disseminating fear-specific substances throughout the body. In this state, the brain becomes more open to the information it receives. And here lies the magic of personal transformation: while the emotional brain is freaking out due to the fear trigger, the rational brain calms us down, by placing us in a safe context. With Chernobyl, you are seeing horrible things happen on your screen, but you know that you are okay and safe, peacefully eating that old piece of pepperoni pizza in your bed. That allows you to focus and experience what is happening in the story, without you actually getting hurt or traumatized. This way, you are able to absorb the lessons in an awe-striking, but pain-free way.

With Chernobyl, we begin our wisdom-stretching journey as early as episode 1, due to the rightfully-framed-and-paced story. In the first 10 minutes, we witness the heavy death of Valery Legasov, a scene that shocks, and unveils the high stakes of the rest of the story. We get to discover the magnitude of the catastrophe along with characters that reveal themselves to us more and more, as the episodes go by. Take Legasov, for example, the main character of the series. Even though he starts out as just another bureaucrat of the Soviet Union, playing the system game in a business-as-usual fashion, we are able to understand that redemption is possible. We go together through tough decisions, disappointments, and pain. In the end, we all uncover virtue, together with our new Russian TV-show friend, exactly because of his trials. Although not meant in the absolute, godly sense of the word, the show’s scenes depict glimpses of the power behind human truth and values. And those moments are priceless gems that give us, the audience, the important life-lesson of virtue. Remember Khomyuk’s defiance in front of senseless propaganda, Shcherbina’s piety and reverence of truth in the face of his own mortality, and Legasov’s final court confession. These are all heroic moments on their own. But, as we see, standing up for justice and truth is not a peaceful walk in the proverbial park. Truth hurts, people try to contain and control it, and truth-tellers suffer from being pitchforked by the mob. But, as the show valiantly points out, trying to be virtuous is still the right and the best thing we can do. And we learn that humanity prevails, even in the darkest of times, even in the blindest of societies. From tragedy, if we embody the right message, we can end up reaping the necessary hope and clarity for building a better future.

A big part of the reason why we end up watching Chernobyl and feeling like we have grown in the process is due to it following the classical tragedy arc. The experience does encourage fear-aided learning, a process known in psychology as quick, powerful, and long-lasting. In this case, we are witnessing the perfect example of using a “negative” emotion for our own personal growth, sans the trauma. It is actually refreshing to see a contemporary show take on the bold move of revealing such a powerful, tragic story, while also bringing back meaning in creative television and beyond. And all that through the right use of catharsis.

Fun fact: did you know that the etymology of the word “tragedy” can be traced back to the Greek concept of “goat song” — from the words tragos (“goat”) and aeidein (“to sing”)? The more you know!

2) Getting the right details right

A story doesn’t stand if the elements that help build up the narrative are sloppy. For example, if one tries to engulf the viewer into a magical world of medieval princesses and dragons, showing up with a Starbucks’ cup or water bottles in the background ruins the otherwise well-done atmospheric efforts. But what happens when you, as a creator, give it your all to set the stage impeccably for your story? The result is remarkable. Moreover, this approach will plunge the whole creative output into a virtuous cycle: your story stands stronger, the viewer is more wrapped in the action, the cast is more committed and performs better. Thus, your creation’s message has a better chance of getting through in the exact way it was meant to. As a creator, witnessing all of these puzzle pieces coming together is the best thing that can ever happen to you. As an audience (especially after reflecting on the impact of this story), we can’t help but feel our hearts swell with gratitude, reverence, and awe regarding what we have just witnessed.

This is evident in Chernobyl’s whole production effort, from its conception to post-production and promotion. The best example to illustrate the team’s professional and passionate take on the project can be read in their impeccable, almost neurotic detail-orientation and precision.

Just think about the insane scenographic performance of this HBO series. Close your eyes and try to remember what the scenes looked like. I bet you got a shot of the dark, teal, muddy and sad images, But the Chernobyl team went even further with their scene building efforts. They wouldn’t only create a world where the colors participate in telling the story. They would rebuild the whole atmosphere of 1986, Soviet Union. The best record-keeping and commentary on the crew’s realistic (and exceptional) scene development is done by Slava Malamud, a Russian sports journalist. He also happened to dive into his childhood memories as the series unfolded, shedding light on how realistic everything in the series is.

Here are some poignant examples of Mr. Malamud’s thoughts:

You can read the whole account on Mr. Malamud’s personal Twitter page:

The decor didn’t only help build the visual universe for the story. It also created the perfect atmospheric context in the viewers’ and crew’s heads. Actors recount how important the realism of their environment was for the quality of their own performance. They could act better because they were submerging themselves into this world that stayed stubbornly faithful to those past times, down to the pins, flags, and even the tea mugs that were used in certain scenes. Everybody loved the old-school, eerie feeling the Eastern-European setting gave because it made the story sink in deeper. As we have read, even those who have experienced the Soviet way of life were lost for words. The author of the book which inspired Craig Mazin, Svetlana Alexievich, was also positively surprised about how the producers used her raw material, saying: “We signed a contract. At first, I doubted, because my book has been taken as the basis of films for a dozen times, and I thought it would be another failure, but it turned out to be quite the opposite — there was an information explosion,”

The authenticity of the show doesn’t stop at using the right props. Aside from sticking to the historical facts as close as the series could, the writer even used real dialogue snippets from actual conversations that happened in and around Chernobyl. One of the most iconic ones is present in episode 4 of the series, “The Happiness of All Mankind”. As the newly appointed “biorobots” prepare to go on the rooftop, we, the audience, get a voiceover from the character General Tarakanov, who was a real person in charge of the rooftop clean-up. What we hear from Ralph Ineson, the actor who plays General Tarakanov, is 90 percent what the real Tarakanov said to the troops, before they went on their mission. “You will enter reactor building three. Climb the stairs, but do not immediately proceed to the roof. When you get to the top, wait inside behind the entrance to the roof and catch your breath. You’ll need it for what comes next.” We all know what happened afterwards. The writer, Craig Mazin, decided to use footage from a Chernobyl documentary as a direct source of inspiration for this scene. He didn’t need to embellish something that already told the story in such a powerful manner. What Mazin felt was the power of Tarakanov’s words. One of the men who was sent on the rooftop even explains that Tarakanov’s speech almost sounded like a prayer, repeated over and over again to those whose lives would never be the same again. The solemnity and heroism of that scene are amplified by the writer’s choice: to let the story unfold as it did 33 years ago. Also, fun fact: the real Tarakanov, who is now 85 years old, has praised the show, commenting that the actor who plays him in the series ‘did a great job’.” If even those who have lived the Chernobyl tragedy can appreciate the show creation, it should send us all a message about its level of quality and dedication.

Of course, there are moments where the show producers valued an artistic angle over documenting the exact truth. But these instances are all carefully picked and intelligently added to the overall storytelling mix. Their purpose is to guide the viewer into understanding the story on a more personal level. But the choice over what to change and what to leave as is was never easy. The pressure of making these important decisions was so high (because the original story is so tragic and real), that Craig Mazin, when signing with HBO, conditioned the production. He would create the mini-series’ story under their brand if, and only if, they also supported the creation of an addendum podcast, in which he could clarify and explain his decisions with regard to making the show in its current form. This is a first-time feat for any television series. But the intention, alongside the actual podcast. have connected audiences even more with the show’s core and message. It helped us understand the writer’s vision of honoring the Chernobyl happenings and learning the all-important lesson: what is the cost of lies?

While not perfect, Chernobyl — the mini-series does an excellent job at getting the right details right. There is very little errata to mention from a creative point of view in this TV show. And that plays a remarkable role in getting the story deep into our brains and hearts.

3) Betting on balance

Start thinking of balance as an essential storytelling element. Thanks for the image, Mark de Jong!

The last element that significantly boosted Chernobyl’s impact and overall appreciation is its capacity to create a balanced story. What we have seen on the screen is the TV show version of a narrative Goldie Locks: not too much, not too little, but just right.

The concept of balance might sound strange in this storytelling context. In Chernobyl, we live drama, we breathe tragedy, we cry and shake our heads at the unbelievably cruel events, like the puppy shooting scenes or Lyudmilla’s radiation-filled hugs for her husband — which we know will cause problems for her unborn baby. But when you look at the decision-making process behind the artistic work itself, moderation played a key role. We don’t get pointless plot twists, dramatic exaggeration, gore for the sake of shock, or cringy evil-villain-selfless-superhero dialogue. On the contrary: the story that unfolds feels eerily human, and flows naturally.

What is remarkable is that the show creators reached this level of familiarity and balance with a story that comes from a different cultural, political, and historical background than the world we live in today — at least in the Western hemisphere. This feat could only be done if the creators were focusing on the human element behind the narrative, which is exactly what they did. And in this human element, the need for balance is strong. The series uncovers virtuous acts, but also shows scenes of self-preservation. We get death and despair from the first arc of the series with Legasov’s shocking suicide. But we also foster a sense of hope in humanity, that only grow stronger the more we go into the story. The story’s ending is genuinely painful, watching Legasov being taken away from his catastrophe comrades, not being publicly acknowledged for doing the right thing, and going towards what we know will be the bitter end of his life. But, at the same time, this scene evokes real, palpable heroism. Legasov is facing the proverbial ax after revealing what actually happened at reactor 4, but his spirit is untouchable. He will suffer from telling the truth, and he will pay with his own life. But his integrity profoundly inspires us. This man’s virtuous call on the situation balances the story from a hopeless one to a showcasing of virtue. Chernobyl becomes a place where good and humanity can win, even if just for a little bit.

We can observe the moderation theme in the Chernobyl series and production on numerous occasions:

the contrasting exploration of beauty (Lyudmilla’s affection towards her husband) and sorrow (Lyudmilla’s loss of both her love and their baby);

(Lyudmilla’s affection towards her husband) and (Lyudmilla’s loss of both her love and their baby); the difference and communion between the masculine (Legasov) and the feminine (Khomyuk) — which is an idea that the Voices of Chernobyl author, Svetlana Aleksievich actually pointed out in one of her interviews, saying: “They introduced a woman [in the series], and with a man and a woman, you get two perspectives.”;

(Legasov) and (Khomyuk) — which is an idea that the Voices of Chernobyl author, Svetlana Aleksievich actually pointed out in one of her interviews, saying: “They introduced a woman [in the series], and with a man and a woman, you get two perspectives.”; the use of storytelling artifice combined with employing real historical conversations and facts.

This list can go on and on with examples for the theme of balance.

Most importantly, Chernobyl — the miniseries helps us enrich our world view by offering us a story of multitudes. By focusing on building and exchanging perspectives, the show delivers a round narrative that leaves us, the audience, thinking. We never have the chance to get stuck in just one world view or another. For example, we can empathize with Legasov’s situation of being stuck between the Soviet propaganda machine and dealing with something so big and unheard of, that it threatens the mere existence of the human race. But before we can get too comfy with Legasov’s position, in another scene, we get Khomyuk reaching out and confronting Legasov about telling the truth at the different trials for the accident. This narrative build-up doesn’t let us sit comfortably with one character or the other. We don’t really know on which side the balance will tip, so we need to start thinking for ourselves. This mental shift and holistic character appreciation can only be achieved by shifting perspectives. Yes, we do understand Legasov’s difficult position of wanting things to be okay, on both the propaganda and the accident side. But then, when we see Khomyuk’s boldness and determination, in front of anything and anybody. we change our minds. Our tendency is to feel uneasy about Legasov. At that moment in the series, we just don’t know which side of him will prevail: will it be fear? Or will he tell the truth, no matter the consequences? Going through this emotional and mental experience enriches our take on the world. It develops our much-needed, balanced depth.

In using this harmony-loving rationale to unveil the story, the mini-series also showed us how to begin using balance for ourselves: in the way we choose to think and in the stories we choose to believe. We don’t fully realize this yet, but the stories you tell yourself and those you surround yourself with form the mindset that will ultimately drive the course of the rest of your life.

Reading the comments, reviews, and critics, I believe that the HBO team managed to deliver the story of their lives. No one expected the success that currently crowns the TV show, and most certainly, no one thought it would become the phenomenon it did, outside of the TV realm. But that is the point: great storytelling, done in the right way, cannot be ignored.

This is what the Chernobyl story does best: it brings people together and offers them a transformational experience in and beyond the screen, facilitated by impeccable craftsmanship. At the end of the day, this is what great storytelling is all about: emotions, change and growth.