The concept of the hive mind is one of the most fascinating in sci-fi. The idea of once-ordinary human beings who have been stripped of everything that makes them unique—their thoughts, behaviors, personalities—and turned into nothing but puppets of a gigantic, incomprehensible consciousness, is terrifying. But there is still a strange allure to them; after all, many minds thinking together are far more powerful than multiple thinking alone, right? There’s always that temptation being posed to the protagonist and, by extension, to the viewer. Is losing your individuality to the hive worth it? Isn’t it better to be together than alone?
Vince Gilligan, creator of “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul,” has now released a show on Apple TV dealing with this very concept: “Pluribus.” And it is amazing. Its mixture of horror-movie scares with dark comedy is all underpinned by this constant dehumanizing dread that comes from the ego death of the entire world.
In the nerve-wracking first episode, “We is Us,” most of humanity is suddenly and violently absorbed into a hive mind. Beginning from a signal sent from outer space, we see the hive gradually infecting people at a research base, one by one. It’s slow and subtle until all of a sudden, it isn’t. In one chaotic night, 886 million people die, and nearly everyone else on the planet is now mindlessly content and mentally joined—everyone, that is, except for 13 people who somehow withstand the infection and remain “themselves.”
Our protagonist, Carol Sturka, is one of these 13 survivors. She’s played by Rhea Seehorn, previously known for playing Kim Wexler in “Better Call Saul.” Where the hive is euphoric, Carol is miserable. Even prior to the hive, she was tormented by past trauma and trapped in a dead-end career writing Barnes and Noble romance novel slop. But now everything’s gone to hell. Her wife, Helen, was killed as part of the global event now known as the Joining, and on top of that, literally every other human being is not exactly “themselves” anymore. Everyone from her neighbor’s pajama-clad children to the White House spokesperson on TV now knows her name, knows every detail about her life and is actively trying to convince her to join them. Her horrified reaction—and her confusion and anger that follow—is portrayed with stunning realism.
What’s truly unnerving about this concept is that the hive isn’t cruel or inhumane, like in other works of science fiction. In fact, they treat Carol with almost comical servitude, promising to take care of her every need, and supplying her with food, construction equipment and military-grade weapons on request. They even go as far as to provide her with a chaperone—Zosia (Karolina Wydra), a random host plucked off the streets of Tangiers, who was specifically selected to win Carol over due to her uncanny resemblance to one of her novel’s characters. It’s through Zosia that Carol, and the audience, get most of the exposition about how the hive works, and how far they have departed from the world that existed before. For starters, the hive views its own expansion as a “biological imperative,” just like breathing. Despite taking care of Carol’s every wish and desire, they will still find a way to join her to the hive mind, and are utterly convinced that she will love it—in spite of every indication to the contrary.
Seehorn’s performance as Carol is one of the highlights of the show. Carol is not a “likeable” character in the traditional sense. She’s rude, an alcoholic, and frequently loses her temper— and the audience feels that she has every reason, too. After all, the hive mind resulted in the deaths of her wife and 886 million other humans, and the most they can say is that it was “necessary,” all while continuing to use her wife’s memories (which they absorbed prior to her death) against her. Carol’s pain and trauma serve as powerful motivation to undo the Joining, and to learn more about the hive’s inner workings.
Unfortunately, when Carol meets with the other uninfected humans, she realizes that none of them share the same desire to save the world. Many of them, unlike her, have assimilated family members who have convinced them that everything is for the better. They continue to persist in an almost delusional state, simply accepting the new state of the world, taking advantage of the situation, or even wishing to be assimilated themselves. Carol’s argumentative personality only leads to the others ostracizing and berating her; and yet we, the viewers, know she’s objectively in the right about everything.
However, there is one other survivor who refuses to accept the hive: Manousos (Carlos-Manuel Vesga), a loner from Paraguay who is even more of a hater than Carol. Single-minded and moralistic to the point of paranoia, Manousos refuses all contact with both the infected and survivors. Much of the season focuses on the two slowly learning of each other’s existence. Viewers can instantly see that Manousos is a perfect match for Carol—their first conversation ends with them cursing each other out in Spanish, which is how Manousos learns that Carol isn’t one of the hive. It’s a great dynamic. Their shared misanthropy (plus the language barrier) ensures that they constantly squabble whenever they interact, yet it also keeps them isolated from the hive’s control and the complacency of the other survivors—they are the only two people who can do anything about this situation.
The acting of every member of the hive, including Zosia and some hilarious guest stars which I will not spoil, is also a highlight due to how creepy and uncannily they behave—constantly smiling, moving robotically and speaking like the PR department of a morally dubious tech company. They aren’t presented as “evil” in the traditional sense. All crime, conflict and prejudice has ended. Resources are distributed equally among all. No one is lonely. No one is isolated. No one experiences negativity. And yet the audience still can’t help but be repulsed by them every time they show up. Their interactions with Carol come to take on the dynamics of an abusive relationship—showering her with love and affection while manipulating her, claiming to respect her autonomy while trying to force her to give it up. And, as Carol comes to discover, the hive is hiding a terrible secret from her.
Yes, “Pluribus” can feel slow at times. There aren’t any “Breaking Bad”-style shootouts or explosions (though “Pluribus” also takes place in Albuquerque). There are long stretches of time where Carol or Manousos are in complete isolation; there are episodes where only a few plot-relevant events happen. But this slow approach only underlines the horror of the Joining—how, even in the most subtle or unassuming of moments, there is the constant, inescapable fact that humanity is dead. All lights are turned off at night since there is no crime. All grocery stores are emptied out and redistributed. Entire cities are abandoned on request and just as quickly repopulated. Civilization, as we know it, has been replaced with an alien entity that no longer operates on “human” logic.
The series is visually stunning, as well—every shot is perfectly framed and composed, from a winding road in South America to Carol lighting fireworks on her cul-de-sac. It takes full advantage of the vast, sprawling landscapes of suburban Albuquerque to showcase the bleakness of Carol’s isolation, but also the strange and surreal beauty that comes with it. This ensures that even whenever nothing important seems to be happening, there’s always something eye-catching happening on screen. In an age full of distraction and media illiteracy, this visual approach feels like a breath of fresh air, an invitation to put down the phone and pay attention to the show.
In short, “Pluribus” is a masterpiece. It’s thought-provoking, beautiful and hilarious, with a healthy dose of post-apocalyptic terror throughout. It’s not quite the same as Gilligan’s previous masterpieces, and it has big shoes to fill. But the one season that’s out so far excels at what it sets out to do—to capture a mood of subtle, incomprehensible horror, and to illustrate what happens when humankind becomes obsolete.
