The key to enjoying 'Pluribus' is noticing all the details

Pluribus on Apple TV starts with a bang. It appears to be a tense sci-fi invasion story at first glance. However, instead of going down the more traditional path with jump scares and evil characters, the show zigzags to be much more complex. It’s a little tricky to nail down its genre.

Vince Gillian’s show, starring Rhea Seehorn, has a big concept with detailed storytelling. As viewers, we’re constantly shown mundane tasks and repetitive chores. So, whether you’re just starting to binge the show now or reading reactions after you’ve finished it, it’s important to understand what Pluribus is and what it’s not. And part of understanding the show is noticing the small details of it. Without spoiling any major points, here’s what I’ve appreciated about it.

The show revolves around its detailed storytelling

During its first season, Pluribus has spent most of its time focusing on the edges. Just like a person doing a puzzle puts together the outside edges to establish a boundary. It seems like that’s what Gillian has done.

The scope of a collective hive mind among humans, which is part of the premise that we find out about during episode one, is boggling. What does that mean exactly? What can they do? What can’t they do? The rules are vague. So little by little, throughout the episodes, we get new edge pieces. Sometimes they’re made obvious, while other times the information is more casual.

For example, since the hive mind people are all mentally connected, they don’t need to audibly talk to each other—so they don’t. We don’t see or hear them discussing plans. No one has to work out who’s in charge or leading.

This aspect shapes the show’s whole vibe. There’s no crowd chatter in various scenes. Even when lots of people are shown on screen, the tone is much quieter than in other shows.

There’s one scene where lots of people are gathered in a sports arena, but no one is talking outside of the two characters on screen. One of them references a man farther away, and when the camera pans to him, he waves. He can hear them talking because it’s quiet.

In another scene, Carol and Zosia walk into a diner. It sounds exactly like you think it would. Silverware is clanging and people are talking. But for exactly that reason, it sticks out as unusual.

This scene doesn’t have sloppy production. It’s the opposite. The diner scene further illustrates that everything you see (and hear) is purposeful. In this case, the noise is staged. But just because the details are small, it doesn’t mean they’re secretive. If you miss one clue, a sign, or some easter egg, you won’t be lost in the show. But the attention to detail helps define the boundaries of the show and point to its larger picture.

The details all point to something more fulfilling

During one of the episodes in the middle of the season, Carol begins dialing 0 every chance she gets. She hears the same thing over and over again. But the audience gets to experience that detail too, for what feels like the same amount of times as she does. It gets to be annoying—purposefully. She just wants to hear someone’s voice. To have the resemblance of communication and connection.

Ultimately, Pluribus is a very philosophical show. It wants you to consider what’s important in life. The whole time it’s subtly asking viewers, what makes you happy? What is true happiness? A common question in the show is something along the lines of: Would that make you happy? It’s even asked out loud throughout, in various ways.

Carol essentially has unlimited resources and power, but that doesn’t matter because she’s lost human connections. That’s one of the things we’re watching her grieve over in near real-time. You can almost feel her wondering whether she can ever be happy again. We get glimpses of the material things not being fulfilling. Hitting golf balls through a corporate office seems fun, but not satisfying long-term.

And so, even though Pluribus starts as a high-intensity thriller, that’s not the story of season one. It’s a slower-paced drama that’s intentional about everything. Not to hide things, but to fully point to these bigger, more meaningful questions. I think lots of people would go crazier than Carol did, binging on material things for a lot longer. But eventually, most people would end up where she does, simply longing for human connection, trying to figure out what happiness looks like, and how to reverse the global event to get those things back.