For the people who came up with Vince Gilligan on “The X-Files,” his new series, “Pluribus,” isn’t much of a surprise. A deviation from “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul,” sure, but not for the guy who wrote ‘Pusher,’ ‘Folie á Deux,’ and ‘Monday’ during Mulder and Scully’s original 90s run. Gilligan has always been at his best when he brings the chaotic, weird, surreal, and unusual right into middle America’s living room, and he’s proved that once again with “Pluribus.”
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Carol Sturka (Rhea Seehorn) is a moderately successful romance novelist who doesn’t much care for the “mindless crap” she writes. Carol is traveling back home to Albuquerque, New Mexico, from her book tour with her business manager/romantic partner, Helen (Miriam Shor), when a worldwide event transforms seemingly everyone into different, albeit very nice, people. Everyone looks the same, and they don’t seem to pose any threat to Carol, but the event’s spread is nearly total, and she’s on the outside, looking in.
Understandably shaken by the ordeal, Carol scrambles to find answers while trying to communicate with other immune people like her. Along the way, Carol learns more about what’s happened/happening, and resolves to rescue humanity from the near-total takeover that has swallowed up the world. Her primary conduit of information comes from a woman, Zosia (Karolina Wydra), who communicates with Carol on behalf of this well-mannered “Other” collective. Fiercely independent, Biblically stubborn, and naturally combative: Carol has no intention of succumbing to whatever has spread all around her.
Like the audience, Carol has “seen this movie…and we know that it does not end well,” and this fear of assimilation/invasion is what runs through the heart of “Pluribus.” The series loves its wide shots and extras, creating a vast world for the viewer to take in the scope of what’s occurring throughout each episode. Though it carries “Twilight Zone” vibes, the endless skies and horizons of New Mexico, the crowded cast, and plentiful exterior set-ups sell the idea that this story’s reach and terror are global.
All of it revolves around Carol, however, and as sharp as the writing is and striking as the production designs/visuals are, the show lives and dies on the strength of Seehorn’s brilliant work. Selling the realization that the world as you know it has collapsed and you’re pretty much the only one aware of it is no small feat; the episodes require Seehorn to cycle through intense moments of confusion, despair, disbelief, anger, depression, and even humor. Carol learns a lot about the event, the “Others,” and herself throughout the course of this first series, and Seehorn doesn’t strike a false note through any of it.
Likewise, the series itself demonstrates an admirable amount of patience with its conceit, and rarely dilutes the narrative (the somewhat shaggy Episode 4 being the only notable exception). On the surface, no one wants to become a pod person or a happy zombie; yet, a strength of “Pluribus” is its allowance for this very threat to become seductive. Carol claims that those who are unaffected like her have a responsibility to “put the world right,” and while that seems a natural response, there’s some pushback.
“Why does the world seem saving?” one person asks Carol. “As we speak, no one is being robbed or murdered. No one is in prison. The color of one’s skin by all accounts: now meaningless.” For viewers, too, it bears some consideration, as anyone looking at the state of the world (America in particular) is forced to pause and consider how bad the show’s alternative really is.
What Carol keeps coming back to, and what the show plants its flag upon, is that our species’ propensity for disorder and violence is awful, but there’s at least a choice to be had amidst all that chaos. Humanity’s differences and fallibility make it special, and no amount of peace, order, and/or privilege makes the surrender of that basic, fundamental right worth it. In this way, “Pluribus” is an all-too-timely show, arriving at a moment when many governments and politicians are selling an illusion of safety at the expense of freedoms and rights.
Seehorn’s portrayal of Carol as an exhausted yet dogged opponent of this conformity feels like the spirit animal of every exasperated person doom-scrolling the news while encountering smiling idiots who exemplify the “this is fine” meme. And besides that, “Pluribus” is flat-out exciting, interesting, funny, and fun. On top of his credits as Creator and E.P., Gilligan wrote and directed the first two episodes, and they are a masterclass in character and world-building. Although developments in the back half of the series add more context and reveal more information about the inciting event and Carol, everything a person needs to know is covered in the first couple of hours, eschewing the mystery box trope to focus on narrative and character development instead.
Indeed, it would have been interesting to try to piece together the mystery of what happens early in the series and the origins of all that. Still, Gilligan’s genius has always been his exploration of people and the ways they react to high-concept situations. A high school chemistry teacher becoming a meth dealer is an intriguing idea, but “Breaking Bad” succeeded because it was more interested in the ways that transformation changed the man rather than the world around him. “Pluribus” succeeds on the same merits, and shouldn’t need a sudden, unifying global event to get everyone on the same page about that. [A-]
Warren Cantrell is a film and music critic based out of Seattle, Washington. Mr. Cantrell has covered the Sundance and Seattle International Film Festivals, and provides regular dispatches for Scene-Stealers.com. Warren holds a B.A. and M.A. in History, and his hobbies include bourbon drinking, novel writing, and full-contact kickboxing.
