‘Pluribus’ Review: Vince Gilligan’s Intrepid Sci-Fi Series Is Greater Than the Sum of Its Parts

Bucking convention at every turn — not just for fun, but to exemplify its central thesis — the "Breaking Bad" and "Better Call Saul" creator's latest New Mexico-set drama can be fitfully satisfying from scene to scene, but wields its many big ideas into a potent season with surplus potential.

This review can’t tell you what happens in “Pluribus.” Not the twists, of course, but not the basic premise either. Apple’s embargo list is so extensive, it makes answering prospective viewers’ most common question — “So, what’s that show about?” — all but impossible.

While far from a rarity these days — many screeners sent to critics come with episode-by-episode spoiler lists, or NDAs that require us to watch a Spider-Man cartoon “out of sight or hearing of anyone else” — the intensifying control exhibited by distributors is ultimately one more method of keeping everyone on message. If writers can’t describe the show in their own words, they’ll have to use the words provided by press notes, trailers, and other public-relations materials. The less that can be said, the more likely the same things will be said, taking us from commercialism to conformity all before the actual reviews are ground down to feed a Rotten Tomatoes score (which is, I’m told, what people really value).

The restrictions attached to “Pluribus” are only striking then, because they’re the one facet of the show that’s incongruous with its themes: themes that celebrate individuality and reject compliance; themes that contend what makes us different is what makes us human, and what makes us human is what makes life worth living; themes about the effort required to do what’s right, while acknowledging that being right isn’t all that matters.

So while I can’t tell you what happens in “Pluribus,” I can tell you (I think) that “Pluribus” is desperate to be heard. Every aspect of Vince Gilligan’s massively weird and weirdly massive science-fiction series is tailored to pinpoint the essence of humanity and highlight what makes it so vital, flaws and all. Yes, that also means many perceived flaws could just as easily be viewed as attributes, which makes for quite the mind-fuck when trying to acknowledge what’s frustrating about a show that’s easy to admire, impossible to pin down, and worthy of loving, even if getting there feels a little strange.

The first seven episodes of “Pluribus” remind me quite a bit of the first seasons of Gilligan’s last two series, “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul.” (Maybe you’ve heard of them?) Before the former became a modern classic, its debut was considered a touch plodding and a tad dark. It had the right materials but didn’t really start cooking until Season 2. “Better Call Saul,” as the prequel to TV royalty, was given more leeway from first reactions. Sure, skepticism over Saul Goodman (Bob Odenkirk) as a leading man was soon dispelled, but what made me dubious about joining Jimmy for his lonely ride to Omaha, Nebraska was how damn bleak it looked. Saul wasn’t too silly to carry the drama, his arc was just too damn sad.

See how that turned out? As a great man once said, the bones are the money, and the bones of “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul” were as sound as they come, allowing Gilligan & Co. to flesh out the rest of their thrilling character studies into some of the best dramas the small screen has ever seen.

I obviously can’t say “Pluribus” is destined for similar standing. The bar is too high, the timing is too soon, and all ideas (even from the same great mind) are not of equal promise. The first season has its fair share of flaws, mainly when it comes to momentum. Rather than drive viewers to keep watching, cliffhanger endings can accidentally foreground inaction in the preceding hour. Similarly, Gilligan’s devotion to process — observing the dedicated methodology required to accomplish a mundane task, whether it’s forging documents or making phone calls — gets away from him sometimes and throws off the pacing, which is already unsteady thanks to the general shapelessness of our protagonist’s overall journey.

A protagonist you say? Yes, “Pluribus” is led by Carol Sturva (Rhea Seehorn), the first and foremost example of the series’ many good bones. A thriving romantasy author who hates her own books and a cynical introvert who still knows how to work a crowd, Carol’s life is changed forever in the click of a cigarette lighter. Everything she was working toward is gone, along with everyone she once knew — although “gone,” when it comes to her select friends and chosen family, is certainly up for debate.

What’s not is that Carol, in a key departure for the man who invented Walter White, is a hero. If the vague description above sounds like any one of the world-altering moments society has faced in the last decade or so, then you’re already attuned to what “Pluribus” is talking about. She is our pandemic avatar, our post-election surrogate, our survivor of the AI apocalypse, and she is none of those people — not exactly. Gilligan’s fresh premise allows Carol to remain on viewers’ emotional wavelength while embarking on an adventure detached from single, simple real-world parallels. And Seehorn, an unquestionable star throughout “Better Call Saul,” pushes herself to searingly soulful extremes, time and time again, in a performance demanding as much as Tom Hanks in “Cast Away” or Will Forte in “The Last Man on Earth.”

Honestly, I thought more of the latter than the former throughout Season 1. The premiere builds to an extended parody of sorts, both haunting and hysterical at once, and its black yet bubbly sense of humor only spreads from there. It often winks without winking, letting a joke sit just beneath the surface, waiting to be picked up, and it treats its dramatic layers with similar nonchalance. Marshall Adams’ camerawork is steady and stunning, Denise Pizzini’s production design is colorful and clarifying, and Jennifer L. Bryan’s costumes are cozy and clever. In other words, “Pluribus” rewards acute attention and an engaged mind, which would be more than enough reason to recommend it even if it wasn’t also a sharply observed celebration of the human condition.

“Pluribus” is at its best when it doesn’t have to over-explain itself. The how’s and why’s of Carol’s unprecedented situation are given ample consideration, but parts of the world-building can still feel like an afterthought. Combined with a very loose plot, perhaps it’s easier to explain what “Pluribus” isn’t rather than what it is. It’s not dressed like classic science-fiction, but it regularly uses science to explain its fiction, often to deliriously imaginative ends. It’s not your typical doom-and-gloom post-apocalyptic drama, but it is a show set after a version of the apocalypse and filled with layers of existential dread. It’s not a fast-paced thriller, but it is thrilling and moves at its own calculated pace. It’s not an antihero show, but its hero is flawed, unpredictable, and distinct.

In a few weeks, it will be easier to talk about “Pluribus.” Until then, I humbly recommend paying attention to how it makes you feel. The strangeness is the point, and the strangeness is worth savoring.

Grade: B+

“Pluribus” premieres Friday, November 7 on Apple TV with two episodes. New episodes will be released weekly through the finale (Episode 9) on December 26.