In many ways, it feels like 2025 was the year that television gave up. Old favourites such as The White Lotus and Severance let us down, with gaping plotholes and a total absence of forward momentum respectively. New shows have failed to break through, too, largely due to an expectation that television shows are now the things people put on in the background while they scroll on their phones.
All in all, it seems like there hasn’t been a show that people could really get their teeth into this year. That is, until Pluribus came along.
Apple TV recently announced that Pluribus is its biggest show of all time. Admittedly this might not be saying much, because anyone with an Apple TV account will see how often Ted Lasso rises to the top of the charts like a dead frog in a stagnant pond. But even beyond the streamer’s metrics, it feels like Pluribus is taking hold.
There are probably two factors at work here. The first is that Pluribus is a Vince Gilligan project, the first one he’s been solely in charge of since Breaking Bad (its spinoff, Better Call Saul, was wonderfully delegated to Peter Gould). And, clearly, a new show by the creator of the best television programme in history is going to draw a lot of interest.
The second is that Pluribus has a premise that is at the same time far-fetched and horribly plausible. Rhea Seehorn plays Carol Sturka, a vaguely embittered romantasy author who somehow remains intact while an alien virus takes over the world. The virus causes everyone to lose their identity, becoming enmeshed in a global hive mind that causes them to act with a sinister placidity. They work together. They seem kind. Bad vibes actively seem to hurt them, too; whenever Sturka has a temper tantrum, millions die. And so, simply because nobody else is going to do it, Sturka sets about saving the world.
The story goes that the genesis of Pluribus is Gilligan imagining how hellish it would be if everyone was nice to him all the time. Which, let’s remember, they probably are. A rare showrunner who is happy to act as the face of their work, Gilligan was made a global celebrity by Breaking Bad. And with celebrity comes a sheen of insincere praise that can be hard to navigate. Certainly an early scene in the pilot, where Sturka grimaces through a series of toe-curling interactions with obsequious fans, hints that Gilligan can see through some of the bullshit.
But the genius of the show is that you can read it as an allegory for anything you like. Might a show about a woman living in isolation in the midst of a global virus possibly be about Covid? If you look at it a certain way, sure. Could the hive’s distant, uncanny desire for sycophancy be a nod to our blind acceptance of AI? Absolutely it could. Maybe it’s just a show about the sole voice of reason in a world gone mad? Surely everyone has felt a little like that at some point or another.
It’s this porous nature of the show that has led some to full-blown online obsession. Pluribus is a show that invites a wealth of theories. Reddit is practically drowning in takes about what happened to the hive, and what they want, and how to stop them. There is currently a huge debate over whether or not Carol is even right to resist the mob. Wouldn’t it be better to simply roll over and assimilate? If you’re into Pluribus, you’re in deep.
Fortunately that level of obsession isn’t a prerequisite. Many viewers (myself included) can just luxuriate in the knowledge that the world’s greatest storytellers are parcelling out something new, at their own pace and exactly the way they want to. It’s rare to be given something this confident and well-executed. Why kill the frog by dissecting it too much?
Speaking of pace, this might be an issue down the line. If you watched Better Call Saul, which regularly walked the line between leisurely and stately, you will know how slowly Gilligan likes his stories to unfurl. His are shows about process: whether it’s working out how to destroy evidence without entering a room (Breaking Bad), or how to dismantle a car to check for hidden surveillance devices (Better Call Saul) or, as the most recent episode of Pluribus demonstrated, how to spend several weeks travelling from Paraguay to Albuquerque by car and on foot.
This slow-burn pacing might be something that causes viewers to drop off as the series progresses. That certainly happened with Better Call Saul – the magnificent final season was watched by just a sixth of those who tuned in for the first episode – but hope springs eternal.
Because, as with Better Call Saul, the quality is absolutely there. It’s a thoughtfully written, thematically rich, beautifully directed sci-fi that feels like it has a very clear sense of self. The finale doesn’t air until Christmas, but it ends on such an intriguing note that new episodes cannot come fast enough. It is currently the best show we have. Why wouldn’t you go along for the ride?
