Would Joining a Hive Mind Really Be So Bad?
Scrolling through 12 streaming platforms but still can’t find something to watch? You’re not alone. Our television columnist Michel Ghanem, a.k.a. @tvscholar, watches over 160 seasons of television each year, and he is here for you. Perhaps you’re in the mood for a hidden gem that’s sitting undiscovered on a streamer or a series with mysteries so tantalizing we can’t stop thinking about them. It’s all about carving out time for the shows that are actually worth it — your “Appointment Viewing.” Fire up that group chat, because we’ve got some unpacking to do.
We’re nearing the end of the year and have watched some great shows, from Netflix’s Too Much to FX’s Dying for Sex. This month, we’re obsessed with Pluribus, the new high-concept sci-fi series helmed by Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan and starring his Better Call Saul collaborator Rhea Seehorn.
I’ve always hated walking around on late Sunday mornings, a slice of the week that I’m convinced has been reserved for those in romantic relationships. The Joined, if you will. Filling the sidewalks as I journey to pick up ingredients for my weekly meal prep are couples walking to and from brunch or carrying cute tote bags from the farmers’ market with leaves of kale poking out. They take up the entire sidewalk strolling, holding hands, all seemingly at the same languid pace, with a sense of peace and quiet joy on their faces. I’m usually hung-over and tired, grumpy and avoiding the writing on my plate later that evening. Most of the time, I feel profound relief that I can close the door when I get home and not hear another man’s voice in my apartment. But on these mornings, I just want to be absorbed into the collective relationship hegemony and find someone to carry my tote of kale. That’s what Apple TV’s new show Pluribus is about. Or that’s what I’ve decided it might be about. Besides, I have free will to make that analysis — as an individual.
In Pluribus, Carol Sturka, played with assured intensity by Rhea Seehorn, is a cranky writer, just like me. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and returns home after a book tour to promote the fourth novel in Winds of Wycaro, a fantasy-romance “trilogy,” with her manager, who is also her partner Helen (a too-brief appearance by Miriam Shor). While debriefing over a drink at a bar on their way back home, everyone in town starts convulsing violently, Helen included. The episode isn’t keeping us completely in the dark about what’s happening here, though — in the cold open before we meet Carol, we see that scientists have been trying unsuccessfully to decode a message from space. When they eventually realize it’s a DNA sequence, they begin testing it in rats. A breach occurs, and the virus spreads quickly from there. It’s like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or the assimilation-obsessed Borg on Star Trek, and the pilot episode plays out like apocalyptic horror. Our shock is embodied through Carol, who appears to be immune and rushes her convulsing partner to the hospital in a panic.
When the dust settles, it’s a new world order. The virus infects the entire globe, aside from 12 inexplicably immune “survivors.” It feels very Lost to call them the Others, but these infected humans are now joined through a hive mind. And to Carol’s horror, they’re … happy? Turns out, they have a biological imperative not to harm other living organisms, not even a bug. To try to get to know Carol, who is justifiably both freaked out and pissed off at humanity’s overnight makeover, they send Zosia (Karolina Wydra) — purely based on how similar she looks to the pirate on the cover of Carol’s fantasy books.
There is a mystery-box element to Pluribus that is entertaining to untangle. Can Carol really get anything she wants if she asks Zosia for it? Can every hive-mind human feel Zosia’s pain? What do the Joined do for fun, or is their entire purpose to optimize the human species? Will my shows still get made in this universe?! Vince Gilligan and his writers feed us answers slowly, but over time, those questions fade to the background of larger philosophical musings. It reminds me of Station Eleven and The Leftovers — and is quite different from the way Breaking Bad ramps up. Pluribus feels designed for philosophical interpretation in a way that doesn’t come along often on our small screens.
Over the seven (of nine) episodes provided to critics, there is so much stillness. Some episodes barely have dialogue as we follow Carol through the seven stages of grief for both her partner and the life that she can’t leave behind. By the time she reaches a form of surrender, she’s done quite a bit of damage along the way. But she’s living in a world with no war, no crime, no lying, no stripping the Earth raw of her nonrenewable resources like we’re all doing on a daily basis. It’s lonely on the outside of belonging, though. “When the day comes that you have peace and love forced upon you, who knows; maybe in that last fleeting moment, you might just realize you treasured your individuality,” she says in a later episode.
Maybe Pluribus is about waking up and realizing that everyone around you is brain-rottingly using AI for everything in their lives. Maybe it’s about feeling out of place on the outside of a political movement or music-stan community, where you can’t help but think everyone except you is crazy, despite their seamless and passionate connection to one another. Maybe it’s about the futility of ever-optimizing ourselves as a species, about how the chaotic messy emotions we feel — from exhilaration to rage to deep sadness — are actually how we derive meaning from our lives. Or maybe, like me, you’re watching and thinking, Will I miss being single when I wake up and find myself in a long-term relationship, even with all the social capital and financial gain that comes with it? Or am I like Carol, resisting and white-knuckling through expressing my individuality while neglecting the benefits of companionship and community? This virus spreads by kiss, after all.
Not-yet Joined: