The primary guideline of Pluribus is “do not discuss Pluribus.”

The newest production from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul creator Vince Gilligan is shrouded in secrecy. Its promotional materials are enigmatic, showcasing eerie phone conversations and individuals meticulously licking donuts. The trailer evokes unease yet remains ambiguous. Crucially, Apple TV wishes to keep reviewers from disclosing the show’s core premise. So, what is there to share about Pluribus?

Well, let’s get straight to the point. It’s outstanding.

With Pluribus, Gilligan and Better Call Saul actress Rhea Seehorn present an engrossing sci-fi narrative about a future oscillating between idealistic and nightmarish. It combines an apocalyptic thriller with a character exploration, marking yet another sci-fi success for Apple TV, which, with offerings such as Severance, Silo, and Foundation, has established itself as the premier streaming platform for this genre.

What is Pluribus about?

Pluribus creates an unprecedented showdown. On one side is Carol Sturka (Seehorn), the most wretched individual on the planet. Opposing her is the global population, all affected by a virus that induces overwhelming happiness.

What is the source of the virus, and how did it disseminate worldwide? I wish I could disclose that, but Gilligan has devised answers that are astonishing, making the first episode of Pluribus one of my top TV experiences this year.

The episode progresses like a first-rate disaster film, a masterful exhibition of escalating tension that culminates in an absurd horror spectacle. Paradoxically, these infectious terrors contribute to a happier global environment — except for Carol. She represents the solitary frown amidst a sea of grins, all desiring nothing more than for Carol to find joy (which, of course, only deepens her distress). While the infected may perceive their treatment of Carol as benevolence, for her, each overly broad smile and excessively cheerful “Hi, Carol!” becomes grim reminders of the topsy-turvy existence she endures.

Pluribus provokes thought-provoking inquiries regarding ethics and happiness.

In the initial seven episodes provided to reviewers, Pluribus never fully achieves the heart-racing heights of its captivating debut. Nevertheless, following the sheer “What! What! What!” revelation of the first episode, you’ll discover intriguing inquiries about the moral implications of the world’s newly acquired euphoria.

Among these is whether the contagious joy and the tranquility it fosters are genuinely beneficial for society. Indeed, fighting has ceased, and the infected’s focus on resource allocation will restore ecological health. Sounds ideal, right? The infected appear to believe so. Their unnervingly serene explanations, paired with placid smiles and kind gazes, may persuade you to the extent that Carol’s determination to reverse the virus might appear villainous, seemingly opposing the greater good.

Yet beneath Earth’s new serene existence lies a more sinister undertone, as the virus strips its blissful citizens of agency and uniqueness. Gilligan skillfully navigates the horrors of this reality alongside the peculiar, sometimes humorous effects of relentless happiness on human life. The outcome is a show whose atmosphere is a constantly shifting fusion of apprehension and humor, sci-fi and quirky travelogue, as Carol traverses the globe in pursuit of answers.

Rhea Seehorn shines in Pluribus.

The partnership between Gilligan and Seehorn that began in Better Call Saul continues to thrive with Pluribus. Gilligan tailored the character of Carol specifically for Seehorn, and the reasoning is evident. She is an immense talent.

At first, Carol’s despair acts like armor, with misanthropy and irritation replacing protective gear. However, as she spends more time in this virus-influenced realm, her suffering surfaces in fleeting, brilliant moments. For this, Seehorn channels all the fury and sorrow left on Earth, crafting scenes that are both cathartic and heartbreaking.

In Pluribus, Seehorn frequently performs solo, often carrying whole episodes almost entirely on her shoulders.