When Vince Gilligan announces a new show, television stops to listen. The man who redefined antiheroes with Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul has returned — not to the world of crime or cartel wars, but to the quiet, unnerving edges of science fiction. His new series Pluribus, which premiered on Apple TV this week, is nothing short of a bold, haunting experiment that feels as human as it is otherworldly.
If Breaking Bad was about one man’s descent into darkness, Pluribus explores something even deeper: what happens when humanity decides to surrender its individuality in pursuit of happiness. It’s unsettling, beautiful, and at times painfully reflective.
A world where everyone is happy — except one
Set in a near-future America, Pluribus opens with a strange global phenomenon. Overnight, people begin to act differently. They smile more, argue less, and seem to share a collective peace. Wars stop. Crime vanishes. The world feels cured of its chaos. But underneath that harmony lies an eerie question: what if this “peace” is not natural at all?
Rhea Seehorn plays Carol Sturka, a successful romance novelist whose life has never felt lonelier. When the mysterious “Pluribus event” occurs, she becomes one of the few who remain unaffected. As everyone around her drifts into an unnerving calm, she finds herself isolated, angry, and terrified. Her confusion soon turns into obsession as she tries to uncover what caused the change — and why she alone seems immune to it.
Seehorn, who earned massive acclaim for her layered performance as Kim Wexler in Better Call Saul, brings an emotional depth few actors could match. She turns Carol’s cynicism into something tragic and painfully human.
Gilligan’s storytelling grows larger — and quieter
What makes Pluribus so fascinating is that Gilligan resists the easy route. Instead of flashy technology or alien invasions, the show builds tension through tone, silence, and unsettling normalcy. Every frame looks beautiful but faintly off. Conversations linger too long. Smiles stretch a second too far. The world feels familiar yet alien — like someone turned humanity into a collective simulation and forgot to tell you.
In an interview, Gilligan called the show “a love story disguised as a mystery, and a warning dressed like a miracle.” That sums it up perfectly. Pluribus doesn’t rush to explain its secrets; it lets them breathe. Each episode peels away layers of comfort until you realize how fragile the human sense of individuality really is.
The emotional heartbeat: Rhea Seehorn
Rhea Seehorn completely owns the screen. As Carol watches friends, colleagues, even her own family slip into the “connected” hive of Pluribus, her grief becomes palpable. She screams into empty spaces. She walks through streets filled with smiling faces and feels like the last person alive.
In one chilling scene, she asks her husband, “Are you still you?” and he simply replies, “Does it matter?” That moment captures everything the show is trying to say — that maybe happiness without freedom isn’t happiness at all.
Seehorn’s ability to portray loneliness as both anger and sorrow makes Pluribus a deeply personal experience. Her journey isn’t just science fiction; it’s a mirror for anyone who’s ever felt disconnected in a hyperconnected world.
Apple TV’s most ambitious gamble yet
Visually, Pluribus is stunning. The cinematography embraces contrast — bright daylight scenes filled with calm faces and empty streets fade into dark, moody interiors where Carol’s paranoia grows. The soundtrack is sparse but haunting, relying on whispers, echoes, and ambient hums rather than big orchestral hits.
Apple TV has quietly been building a reputation for prestige sci-fi (Severance, Silo, Foundation), and Pluribus might be its most daring move yet. Unlike its flashier counterparts, it asks the viewer to slow down and think. It’s not a show about saving the world; it’s about understanding what we lose when the world saves us.
Critics are divided — and that’s a good sign
Early reviews have been polarized, which is exactly what you’d expect from a Vince Gilligan project. Some praise Pluribus as “philosophical television at its best,” while others call it “too slow, too quiet, too strange.” But that tension might be its greatest strength.
As one critic from The Guardian noted, “Gilligan has replaced guns with questions, and explosions with ideas. It’s unsettling in all the right ways.”
And they’re right. Pluribus challenges its audience to sit with discomfort — something most modern shows avoid.
Beyond science fiction: A mirror for today’s world
Beneath the sci-fi surface, Pluribus feels eerily relevant. In an age where social media connects billions yet isolates millions, the idea of a “collective consciousness” doesn’t feel so far-fetched. The show’s quiet horror lies in its familiarity — the way people smile, agree, and stop thinking for themselves.
Gilligan has always been fascinated by transformation. Walter White’s descent into Heisenberg showed how corruption can start from desperation. In Pluribus, transformation takes the opposite shape: a world that becomes “perfect” and loses its soul in the process.
The verdict: A slow-burn masterpiece
Pluribus isn’t a show you binge. It’s a show you absorb. Each episode feels like a chapter in a slow-building novel, and the payoff lies in the details — a glance, a repeated phrase, a subtle shift in tone.
Is it perfect? No. The pacing can test your patience, and the mystery unfolds with almost cruel restraint. But that’s also what makes it special. It’s thoughtful television in a world addicted to instant gratification.
For fans of Gilligan’s earlier work, it offers something new yet familiar: his signature moral complexity, wrapped in the eerie glow of speculative fiction.
Final thoughts
Vince Gilligan’s Pluribus may not please everyone, but it doesn’t need to. It’s confident, strange, and emotionally devastating — the kind of show that lingers long after the credits roll. Rhea Seehorn shines as the heart of this quiet apocalypse, and Apple TV deserves credit for backing a project this risky and cerebral.
In a television landscape crowded with noise, Pluribus whispers — and somehow, that whisper is louder than everything else.