Pluribus review – the audacity of the Breaking Bad creator’s new TV show is incredible

Even with the name of Vince Gilligan attached as creator, Pluribus – neatly styled Plur1bus on screen, to further evoke the unofficial motto of the US “E pluribus unum” (“Out of many, one”) – looks at first like a bit of light relief. The man who has spent the past two decades immersed in the harrowing world of Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul and El Camino, you reckon, has probably earned it. Perhaps he is returning to his X Files roots with this tale of an alien virus that sweeps the globe, turning everyone happy and content, literally uniting minds (everyone’s thoughts, knowledge and memories are available to all – people no longer refer to themselves but as “this individual” when they speak) and causing them only to be kind to each other. Peace in our time! But what, kids, are we going to do about Carol (Rhea Seehorn)? She’s a middle-aged, bestselling writer of romantic fantasy novels, fantastically rich, adored by hundreds of thousands of fans – and as furiously miserable as only a misanthrope can be in such conditions. And Carol appears to be the only person in America immune to the virus. Hilarity must surely ensue! Ah, no. Gilligan still has sociocultural business to attend to. It takes some chutzpah to look at the world in 2025 – especially if you are a non-Maga citizen of the US – and say to yourself, “Yes, but wouldn’t it be almost more terrible if everybody just … got along?” But that is essentially what Gilligan has done. The execution may not be flawless – Pluribus is a slow burn that is frequently just slow, and has the wonderful Seehorn spinning her wheels too often – but the audacity of the question is incredible. For Carol, utopia is a nightmare, made worse by the fact that her wife, Helen (Miriam Shor), does not survive infection (one of millions worldwide, it is revealed – one of the downsides to bringing bliss to the rest). Everyone’s attention is trained on Carol as the smiling hordes try to meet her every need while they work – despite her desperate pleas for them to stop – on trying to find a cure, as it were, for her immunity and bring her into the contented fold. “We just want to help, Carol” is the increasingly sinister refrain. “It’s not an alien invasion,” the new president, who televises addresses just for her, assures her. “The fuck it isn’t!” she roars, as well she might. So begins an interrogation of what is lost when everyone is in agreement. When there is but one mind, no variation – are we still human? Exploiting the hive’s prime directive to make her happy, Carol demands that she meet any other English-speaking people immune to the virus. Soon she is confronted by a half dozen who are either enjoying life as a cosseted rarity, or eager to join their families again without any of the rage Carol feels at having their individuality subsumed or independent thought stripped from them. She cannot make them understand the problem. Maybe it is one of her own creation? Wouldn’t it just be better, easier – they ask – to let go? Some people can. Some people can’t. Carol is one of the latter to the marrow. On Gilligan goes, adding characters and plot sparingly, but keeping platefuls of the big questions spinning: about the rights we think we have, those we believe are inalienable but turn out to be anything but (the lack of escapism becomes palpable as the series progresses), the moral duty we have to others, and many more. Carol’s angry outbursts induce emotional overload in the hive mind and result in the deaths of about 10 million at a time – but does this mean she should accept her fate? Is there an inherent evil to extremism? If even the most apparently benign form – everyone be happy! – leads to the suffering of those who cannot or will not comply (let alone the impact it has on the ability to make progress in a civilisation), what are we to make of all its other forms? Pluribus also functions brilliantly as a portrait of (especially) middle-aged womanhood and as an allegory of abusive relationships. Carol is urged to keep her feelings, especially her anger, in check, deny her instincts, reframe her experiences and endlessly believe the best of people – and believe they want the best for her – in the face of mounting evidence to the contrary. She speaks and is not heard. She repeats herself and she is not believed. She shouts and is told to behave better. Pluribus has great lines and blackly funny moments but escapist fluff it is not. It’s almost as bleak as real life. • Pluribus is on Apple TV now.