Pluribus (2025) Review
In Vince Gilligan’s Pluribus, Carol, a cynical romance novelist, finds herself trapped in a world that relentlessly tries to assimilate her into their state of “perfect happiness.
The title comes from E Pluribus Unum (“Out of many, one”), which perfectly captures the tension between individual identity and collective conformity.
An alien virus transforms humanity into a peaceful hive mind in a post-apocalyptic story set in Albuquerque.
The only problem? A handful of immune people, including our protagonist Carol Sturka (played brilliantly by Rhea Seehorn). Refuse to join this supposedly perfect collective consciousness.
Pluribus is science fiction at its finest. It blends psychological thriller elements with dark comedy and genuine drama in ways that kept me thinking long after each episode ended.
What fascinated me was learning that Gilligan had been developing this concept for about a decade, since his Better Call Saul days. He says the hive mind idea came from observing schools of fish moving in perfect synchronization while scuba diving. I can see that influence—there’s something both beautiful and terrifying about the way the “joined” humans move and speak in the show.
I also appreciated learning that Gilligan specifically rewrote the lead role for Rhea Seehorn after working with her. That personal connection really shows on screen. After years of anti-heroes like Walter White, he wanted to explore a “flawed good guy,” and Carol fits that description perfectly. She’s prickly, difficult, and often her own worst enemy, but she’s fundamentally trying to hold onto her humanity.
In my view, the show’s most powerful theme is its critique of “toxic positivity.” We live in a world that constantly pushes us to “think positive” and “choose happiness.” But Pluribus asks: what if that is taken to its extreme? What if your right to be sad, angry, or difficult is literally stripped away? Watching Carol fight for her right to be miserable makes me reconsider how we treat negative emotions in our own lives.
I couldn’t help but see parallels to artificial intelligence throughout the series. The hive mind’s promise—efficiency, peace, progress—sounds a lot like what we’re told about AI. Give up some autonomy, merge into something bigger, and everything will be better. The show made me genuinely uncomfortable in the best way. Forcing me to question whether convenience and harmony are worth the cost of individuality.
I also read the show as commentary on echo chambers and conformity. In a world where everyone thinks alike, there’s no conflict—but there’s also no growth, no debate, no real humanity.
As someone watching Carol’s journey, I found myself drawn to her stubborn refusal to conform. The way the hive mind treats her mirrors abusive relationships—constantly telling her they “know what’s best” and her instincts are wrong. Some have pointed out that since Carol is gay, the pressure to “join” feels uncomfortably similar to conversion therapy. With the same cultish insistence that she’ll be “happier” if she just gives in.
I cannot overstate how phenomenal Rhea Seehorn is in this role. Her Golden Globe and Critics’ Choice wins absolutely deserved recognition—this work defines her career. She makes Carol simultaneously frustrating and deeply sympathetic. There’s a scene in episode three where she’s just sitting in silence, and you can see everything she’s feeling without a word of dialogue. That’s remarkable acting.
Some viewers online have called Carol annoying or dismissed her as a “Karen,” but I think that misses the point entirely. Her difficulty makes her human. Seehorn plays her with such nuance that even when Carol is being unreasonable, I understand why.
Karolina Wydra as Zosia, Carol’s liaison to the hive mind, was a revelation. She maintains this constant, unsettling smile while delivering lines that sound helpful but feel sinister. The chemistry between Wydra and Seehorn is electric. Many of the best scenes are just the two of them talking, and I was riveted every time.
Carlos-Manuel Vesga, as Manousos, brought an unpredictable energy as another holdout in South America, and Miriam Shor’s brief but heartbreaking performance as Carol’s partner Helen gave the pilot its emotional weight
Pluribus visual style is stunning. Gilligan uses Albuquerque’s vast landscapes to create this eerie sense of emptiness, even when people are everywhere. His signature unusual camera angles return here, adding to the disorienting, off-kilter feeling of a world that looks peaceful but feels wrong.
In my opinion, the sci-fi premise is genuinely original. Instead of the usual apocalypse wasteland, we get a world that’s functioning perfectly—it’s just missing what makes us human. That inversion of expectations kept me hooked.
Thematically, this show has layers. Every episode gave me something new to think about regarding autonomy, happiness, and what we’re willing to sacrifice for comfort.
I’ll be honest—this show is slow. And I mean glacially slow. Episodes 4 through 8 sometimes felt like they were treading water. There are long sequences of Carol just walking, sitting, staring at things. I appreciate that Gilligan wants us to sit with discomfort, but at times it felt less like building tension and more like padding the runtime.
If you loved Better Call Saul’s measured approach, you’ll probably enjoy Pluribus. Breaking Bad’s propulsive plot won’t satisfy you if you’re expecting that pace. I caught myself checking how much time remained in episodes more than I’d like to admit.
While I personally connected with Carol, I completely understand why some viewers don’t. She makes questionable decisions, refuses help when it would be logical to accept it, and can come across as childish. The show wants us to sit with her misery, but I can see how that becomes exhausting for some people over ten episodes.
The middle stretch of the season often felt repetitive. How many times can we watch Carol resist the same temptation? How many variations of “join us, you’ll be happy” conversations do we need? I think the same story could have been told in 6-7 episodes instead of 10.
Despite its pacing issues, I think Pluribus is genuinely important television. It’s tackling big ideas about consciousness, conformity, and what makes us human in ways that feel urgent and relevant. In a streaming landscape dominated by IP and safe bets, this show took real creative risks.
The finale’s cliffhanger left me desperate for season two, though I’ll admit some of my frustration with the slow burn comes from the lack of answers in season one. I invested ten hours and still have more questions than resolutions.
My recommendation: If you value thought-provoking science fiction, exceptional acting, and don’t mind a patient, meditative pace, this is essential viewing. If you need plot momentum and clear answers, you might want to wait until both seasons are available so you can watch them together.
In my opinion, Pluribus is one of the most interesting shows of 2025, even if it’s not always the most entertaining. It’s the kind of series that rewards attention and patience—just be prepared for a slow journey to get your payoff.
