In 2024, a group of scientists wrote a paper warning about the end of all life on Earth. Or not the end, really — instead, it would be a kind of new beginning.
See, all cells have a structure, and those structures have an orientation. Given that Pluribus, the new sci-fi mystery that is all about this, is a Vince Gilligan joint, you may even be familiar with the concept. Because if you watched Breaking Bad, the generational smash hit that first put Gilligan on the map, you would have heard chemistry teacher-turned-meth kingpin Walter White explaining it.
It’s called chirality. For all us D science students in the audience, it basically amounts to the idea that the smallest building blocks of life are oriented a certain way, and if flipped, they wouldn’t be the same things anymore. In simple terms, you can think of them as being either left-handed or right-handed.
But theoretically, there could be opposite versions of those building blocks: “left handed” versions of “right handed” ones. If those backward blocks then formed a backward cell, you’d end up with something exactly reversed and wholly unnatural. And if those opposite cells then came together, they could make an opposite version of a living organism — what those worried scientists up top referred to as “mirror life.”
That could prove incredibly useful for some long-lasting medical treatments, as your body wouldn’t be able to break them down. But also, as those scientists explained in their paper, that mirror life could eke out an unopposed existence: no natural predators, and no immune responses could whittle away their population.
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That is kind of the setup of Pluribus — though not really. At least, it’s what we can kind of say about the secretive followup to Gilligan’s Breaking Bad Expanded Universe — still largely set in his beloved Albuquerque, N.M., and once again returning Rhea Seehorn of his Better Call Saul series as a main character.
This time she plays Carol Sturka, a fantasy-romance author with an insipid book series she hates, a secretive relationship with her manager, Helen (Miriam Shor), and a barely managed drinking problem.
Oh yeah, and a frantic defence against the mirror life-esque, world-altering change reshaping the face of the Earth.
See, this is a show about change. The new status quo — a terrified and confused Carol is soon informed by a confoundingly cheery man on her television — is a new way of life.
It’s a happy one, a grinning woman (Karolina Wydra) assures her, while offering a water bottle she absolutely promises isn’t poisoned — an insidiously joyful change that (without spoiling the goods) will eventually come for Carol, too. That is, unless she can figure out a way to undo what’s been wrought on the planet.
If this description sounds somewhat coy, that’s because it is. Much of Gilligan’s show is blanketed in mystery, twists, turns and mindbenders — coming alongside a refreshing update to his dust-swept, early aughts esthetic.
Instead of the grainy, kitsch maximalism of his earlier productions, Pluribus is sleek in its isolating atmosphere.
Bright yellow pleather, cascading sparks from sharply broken telephone poles and wide, empty frames stretch throughout the new world on display in the two episodes premiering Friday on Apple TV — emphasizing both the pervading themes Gilligan works through and an updated sensibility (and, most likely, budget).
Some of these themes are, to be fair, a bit annoyingly reductive. As Carol travels halfway across the globe to put her resistance into action, she even addresses the somewhat cliché aspects of the plot: “I’ve seen this movie. We’ve all seen this movie,” she shouts. “And it does not end well.”
Well-tread ground
It’s true that many aspects of this story have been trod, retrod and retrod again since the earliest days of science fiction — and definitely the early days of Hollywood. Readers of Ron Currie Jr.’s beautiful novel Everything Matters! — about a man who learns, while in utero, that a comet will destroy the Earth in 36 years — will appreciate the existential questions around the inherent value of life.
And fans of Robert Cormier’s Fade — about a boy who discovers he has the power of invisibility — may value the ethical dilemmas posed, namely around ethical responsibilities owed to our fellow humans.
And — again, without spoiling the reveal — fans of more than a few classic sci-fi thrillers will be right at home with Pluribus. Just trust us.
But an early conceit of the show — the question of whether this change may in fact be a good thing — is posited in a faux intellectually complex way that, more than anything else, feels artificial. It’s a disappointingly reductive narrative gimmick that feels more at home in a Bond villain’s operatically silly speech than a philosophical action mystery.
It even comes along with the most narratively clichéd story-delivery device of all: an actual answering machine message, inexplicably used in the Year of Our Lord 2025.
To be fair, this is an alternate present. And these somewhat hackneyed flourishes don’t get in the way of what is otherwise an expertly crafted, eminently addictive series. And they operate as setups to the central questions Gilligan is sure to dig into: What is happiness, how valuable is it and how much should we be willing to sacrifice to get it?
The sheer fact that Pluribus makes all three of these not only tough questions to answer, but ones undergirding the most binge-worthy show since Severance, is enough of a recommendation. In short, get ready to have your whole life taken over.
