Near the conclusion of the inaugural episode of Pluribus, Carol (Rhea Seehorn), facing a strange and unreal predicament, poses a very simple question: “What the hell is going on?” This is likely something you’ll find yourself questioning repeatedly as you watch. I certainly did. However, that persistent sense of enigma, combined with the deliberate tempo at which Pluribus unfolds, constitutes one of the most compelling aspects of the new series created by Breaking Bad mastermind Vince Gilligan. There’s much I can’t disclose about Pluribus currently — but I can share that feeling bewildered is part of the attraction.
So, what can I convey to you? Carol is a thriving author of fantasy novels — or rather, “speculative historical romance literature” — and she despises both her craft and her readership. She aspires to produce something of greater significance, yet the revenue she garners from her written works complicates the transition. Despite enjoying wealth and success, along with a supportive partner who also serves as her adept manager (Miriam Shor), Carol is predominantly unhappy, although she manages to maintain a façade in public.
Join me for an in-depth discussion loaded with spoilers on November 10th
Although I endeavored to keep this early review free from spoilers, Pluribus truly invites a more thorough conversation. However, I would require your involvement. So make sure to revisit The Verge on Monday, November 10th, following the premiere of the first two episodes and your chance to view them, when I’ll host a book club-style discussion for Verge subscribers, where we can collectively discuss Apple’s newest venture into sci-fi.
But everything changes when… something occurs. I don’t want to delve too deep into spoilers before the show airs (the initial two episodes will be available on November 7th), but the premise of Pluribus suggests that after a near-apocalyptic global incident, almost every individual on the planet is struck by an overwhelming sense of bliss. They become harmonious and cooperative, completely incapable of inflicting harm upon any living being. Carol remains untouched — but not due to a lack of effort. Early on, while she stands outside a hospital resembling a war zone, the “others” — as I’ll refer to these joyful individuals for now — attempt to sway her to their side. When their efforts fail and she panics, they all chant in unison, “We just want to assist, Carol!”
The situation is quite unsettling and places Carol in a challenging position. Normally she criticizes everything flawed about the world, yet now she is nearly the sole individual capable of actually salvaging it. Naturally, the method through which she accomplishes that is not straightforward. One individual against billions puts her at a significant disadvantage. The intriguing aspect is that while the others desire Carol to join their ranks, they are also prepared to go to great lengths to ensure her happiness. It’s inherent to their nature; indeed, when Carol experiences intense frustration or anger, it manifests as physical harm to them. This dynamic introduces a captivating tension as she learns to manage her emotions amid an unimaginably daunting scenario.
There’s a lot at play, and the first two episodes primarily focus on Carol’s struggle to accept the peculiar situation. This is beneficial, as it grants viewers the opportunity to grapple with it as well. While Pluribus exhibits elements reminiscent of a post-apocalyptic narrative, it diverges in several significant ways. Because, in reality, does this world truly require saving? No one in The Walking Dead wishes to become a flesh-eating zombie. But transforming into a perpetually cheerful individual? That might not be so adverse. As one of the others declares early on, the day the shift occurred was the “greatest day in the history of humanity,” and it’s conceivable that some might concur, even if Carol decidedly does not.
Pluribus truly explores the intricacies of how this new and remarkably distinct universe operates, and it is unhesitant to take its time doing so. There exists a level of trust that Gilligan and his crew have placed in the show’s composition. “As I age, I find myself increasingly confident, not in my skills but in the intelligence of the audience,” Gilligan shared with me prior to the premiere. “The types of programs we produce attract exceptionally astute viewers.”
That’s why there are prolonged, often dialog-free scenes showcasing, for instance, a woman boarding an aircraft and flying halfway around the globe. Initially, you’re left wondering her motivations, or even her identity, but the show rewards your patience. The same applies to seemingly tedious practicalities such as how food is produced in a world where the majority of humanity cannot inflict harm on any living entity. These story elements yield some of the most impactful — and at times unsettling — insights. Pluribus features an unusual concept, but its creators meticulously consider its logical implications (at least that holds true early on; I haven’t seen the entire season yet).
This gradual unveiling of reveals and information is captivating due to the fact that Pluribus is crafted exceptionally well. This is especially true regarding Seehorn’s portrayal, which grounds the entire narrative. Carol is not your typical heroic figure; she is often wretched and exasperating, yet it’s difficult to divert your gaze from Seehorn, who evokes laughter, tears, and the desire to shake her, often simultaneously.
This means that while those “What the hell?” instances are frequent, they’re not exasperating as they can sometimes be in similar narratives. (Apologies, Lost.) The revelations aren’t just tricks. Pluribus isn’t a puzzle to be deciphered. It’s a tale rich with oddities and complexities to share with you — and it is more than willing to take its time doing so.
