Five episodes into the first of a planned four seasons, what is Pluribus? The premise of the Apple TV show, as outlined by its creator, is “the most miserable person on Earth tries to save the world from happiness”. Still, though, what is it really?
Is it a cautionary tale about artificial intelligence, a satire on service culture in an unequal world, a celebration of human individuality, an assimilation-themed horror, a political allegory, a conspiracy thriller, a survival drama?
Is it, perhaps, a meta meditation on creativity, a morality play for the streaming era, a post-Covid take on the postapocalypse genre, a tribute to the power of menopausal rage, or all of the above?
The brilliance of Vince Gilligan’s new science-fiction series – Pluribus is definitely science fiction – is that it’s a Rorschach test. Everybody will see something slightly different in its ink blots. As the show depicts the absorption of humanity into a collective consciousness, it would be ironic if we didn’t.
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Expect to be wrong-footed. “Oh, you think you know what kind of show this is? It’s not that show. It’s not that show, it’s not that … No, not that one either,” says Rhea Seehorn, who plays Carol Sturka, our reluctant heroine.
Knowing that Gilligan, the creator of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, initially thought his lead character would be male, and that he first conceived Pluribus before the pandemic and ChatGPT, doesn’t spoil any of this fun.
I love a good science-fiction mystery – or, as one of the Others in the show would say if I joined their hive mind and ceased to exist as an independent person, this individual loved a good science-fiction mystery. But there are, of course, rules they must abide by in order to work.
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The show must establish an internal logic that remains intact twist after twist. It must be capable of surprising viewers while avoiding the impression that the writers are making it up as they go along (even if they are). And there must be at least one character whose fate we care about. Do these things and the show will likely comply with the most important rule of all: do not outstay your welcome. I call this the Lost rule.
Congratulations to anyone who watched all 121 episodes of ABC’s six-season paranormal mystery drama, but Lost was one of the great scarring experiences of noughties television. Would the air-crash survivors ever escape the island? Some of them did, apparently, but what an ordeal it was. For viewers. Were the islanders in purgatory all along? No, again, that was us, the viewers.
True, high-concept genre series can be especially difficult to sustain. Shows that hinge on mystery thrive by encouraging guesswork and fan theories, yet they must do this without testing patience. They must seem as if they’re approaching an “answer” without feeling as if they’re going around in convoluted circles, offering diminishing rewards. Series that arrived full of promise can easily become victims of their own success, their idiosyncrasies starting to grate.
Even those that stay strong through much of their run can conspicuously fail to stick the landing. The reboot of Battlestar Galactica, a dark space opera that crossed firmly and abruptly into supernatural territory at its denouement, leaps to mind here.
Personal tolerance for genre television will fluctuate, too. With Stranger Things back for its fifth and final season, I’m curious to see if the many millions who stayed loyal to the Netflix phenomenon will be satisfied by how it wraps up. I checked out soon after its charming, near-perfect first season, in 2016, and have yet to regret this decision – sometimes you just have to move on.
But I’m optimistic, for now, that my shiny new love will be more than a fling, if only because there’s enough comedy in Pluribus to indicate that the journey will remain enjoyable even if the destination ultimately proves a disappointment.
This week’s episode, uploaded early to get in ahead of Thanksgiving (and the return of Stranger Things), is compelling, tantalising, delightfully absurd and carried almost single-handedly by the wonderful Seehorn.
Resilient, pragmatic Carol, alone in sun-drenched Albuquerque, New Mexico, is now relying on delivery drones for basic services, as the Others, creepily obliging by default, no longer fancy picking up the phone.
Is she truly miserable? She seems to have found a purpose she was missing as an author of speculative historical romances. And how “happy” are the Others? These “beneficiaries of extraterrestrial technology” seem blankly serene at best.
Gilligan says that Pluribus, Apple TV’s biggest launch to date, will “maybe” run for four seasons, with a second season already confirmed. If the desire is to go out on a high, four seems a sensible number. But there’s only one certainty here, and it’s on the end credits: “This show was made by humans.”
And humans, as we know, are flawed.
