Right now, Pluribus sits at 100% on Rotten Tomatoes, and critics are calling it “brilliant,” “genre-defying,” and “deeply unnerving.” One praised it for being “as bleak as real life but twice as funny.” The other says it could steal the crown from Severance as Apple’s most ambitious original series.
Others, however, aren’t convinced. Some viewers found it “alienating,” “too slow,” or “pretentious.” Another user said, “It’s like someone spiked The Truman Show with Prozac.” Which, honestly, is the most accurate description I’ve read so far.
This is not comfort TV. This is not background noise while you scroll. You either commit to Pluribus or you tap out.
Rhea Seehorn Deserves Every Award
The glue holding this madness together is Rhea Seehorn, who gives one of those performances that feels both exhausted and electric. Her Carol is sarcastic, frightened, and deeply human. She’s the only sane person in a society that’s literally smiling itself to death.
Seehorn’s actually been brilliant for years. She was the emotional backbone of Better Call Saul, but here she gets to do something new. She’s a mirror, reflecting our discomfort with enforced positivity.
She sells the insanity because she reacts to it like any of us would: confusion first, fear second, sarcasm always.
Gilligan Has Gone Full Existential
But if you expected another Breaking Bad or Saul, this isn’t that universe. Pluribus feels like Gilligan wanted to blow up everything he’d done before. Gone are the desert landscapes and moral gray zones; in their place are pink suburbs, cheerful dystopias, and the occasional philosophical gut punch.
What’s impressive is how controlled the chaos is. The show’s world-building is stunning. You can tell it was designed by people who love visual metaphors. Everything bright feels sinister, every “smile” feels like a warning. The cinematography is both beautiful and deeply unsettling, like Wes Anderson after a nervous breakdown.
Fans online keep comparing it to Severance, the other Apple TV+ show about a corporate-controlled reality, but Pluribus feels more emotional than procedural. It’s less “what if you split your consciousness for work?” and more “what if everyone’s happiness made you question reality?”
It’s Weird, But It’s the Right Kind of Weird
I love weird TV, but I hate weird TV that confuses weirdness with meaning. Pluribus doesn’t. It’s strange, yes, but it earns it. When things don’t make sense, it’s because they’re not supposed to yet. The show trusts you to catch up or at least enjoy the ride, while you don’t.
One of my favorite details is how it mixes the absurd and the terrifying so casually. There’s a scene with a donut that’s both hilarious and horrifying. The dialogue shifts from heartfelt to absurd in seconds. It shouldn’t work, but it does, because Gilligan’s writing always has a rhythm.
Scrolling through reactions online is its own experience. Some people are dissecting it like it’s a college thesis; others are quoting lines without context and calling it the “most confusing comedy of the year.”
Final Thoughts
After two episodes, I’m not entirely sure where Pluribus is going, but I’m already invested. It’s funny, disturbing, thoughtful, and weirdly hopeful.
Rhea Seehorn gives the kind of performance that makes you forget you’re watching sci-fi. Vince Gilligan proves he can still surprise us. And Apple TV+ is quietly becoming the home for the smartest shows on streaming, and it might just have its next obsession.
So, if you’re tired of safe content, give Pluribus a shot. You might not “get it,” but you’ll definitely feel something. Thank god for that feeling.