Pluribus is high-concept, low-speed science fiction

To call Vince Gilligan’s new series, Pluribus (Apple TV+), “much-anticipated” would be an understatement. Gilligan crafted the television masterpiece Breaking Bad, in which Bryan Cranston’s cancer-stricken chemistry teacher descends into meth-cooking bedlam. In the prequel, Better Call Saul, Bob Odenkirk’s grifting legal defender grapples with hardcore criminality. Both series were studies of desperation and degradation, and how quickly ordinary men could be tempted into ethical quicksand.

Now Gilligan brings us Pluribus, part of the Latin phrase for “out of many, one”, which is a traditional motto of the US appearing on some currency and the Great Seal of the United States. Set, like Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, it’s a return to Gilligan’s sci-fi roots (he was a writer, director and executive producer on The X Files). Rhea Seehorn – Kim from Better Call Saul – is the lead, playing Carol, a lesbian and cynical writer of “speculative historical romance literature”. (See Q&A on page 7.) When a cab driver asks if he should know who she is, she snaps: “That depends. Are you a big fan of mindless crap?”

Travelling with her partner (Miriam Shor), an event occurs that kills multitudes and plunges others into a catatonic state. Carol turns on the television to find a White House announcement from the invaders directly addressing her in soothing tones: “No pressure, we know you’ve got questions.”

Carol is one of 11 people on Earth not to have been transformed into hosts for the beings (“We are not aliens. We are, however, beneficiaries of extraterrestrial technology”), mainly represented by Karolina Wydra’s benign supervisor Zosia. Carol refuses to cooperate, while another man in Paraguay is hiding out and surviving on pet food. Whereas other humans welcome the global harmony and plenty, Carol’s “negativity” is shown to harm and kill.

A tonal comparison to Pluribus might be its Apple TV+ stablemate Severance, though the initial event is more reminiscent of John Wyndham’s 1957 novel The Midwich Cuckoos – adapted into 1960 film Village of the Damned – in which an English village is taken over by aliens. There are also elements of the 1978 version of the sci-fi classic Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Emerging themes include pandemic-esque isolation, governmental control, the hive mind versus the free thinker, and the self-interest and apathy of humanity. There’s both a zombified cultdom and seductive menace to the apparently peaceable beings. Their passive-aggressive despair at Carol’s obstinacy is often expressed in eerie sing-song unison: “Oh Carol, please!”

As an exercise in high-concept sci-fi, Pluribus is a departure from Breaking Bad. Apple TV+ guaranteed two series of Pluribus from the off and reportedly a sizable budget: it must be the first show to use a helicopter to deliver a garden digger. As episodes go by, it is marred by self-indulgence and a grindingly slow pace that almost fetishises domestic monotony. In one lengthy sequence, Carol’s rubbish is picked up by a drone. The ever-brilliant Seehorn carries the series practically alone.

A strong dual mystery – what has happened, and why hasn’t it happened to Carol? – and ink-black humour keeps the show afloat. There is also a sense of subversion: Pluribus doesn’t do what modern sci-fi usually does, which keeps you wondering what it will do next.

On Disney+, Ryan Murphy’s 10-part legal dramedy, All’s Fair, co-created with Jon Robin Baitz and Joe Baken, gives camp a bad name. And that’s despite an all-star cast. Kim Kardashian (one of the executive producers, along with her mother, Kris Jenner), Naomi Watts and Niecy Nash play a team of multimillionaire Californian divorce lawyers who formed their own company to help women. Glenn Close plays their mentor.

The result is horrible, almost reputation-ruining for Murphy: the lawyers clomp around in designer gear having tacked-on personal crises (infidelity, frozen embryos) and instantly solving idiotic cases engineered around guest stars such as Grace Gummer with her cruel tech-bro husband, and Jessica Simpson and her equally nasty rock-star husband forcing her into plastic surgery. And so on.

Going by the opening few episodes, the dialogue is either vapid (“I’m happy to be flying solo in my 50s!”) or crass (“Fuck all the way off, douchebags!”). Close is styled like Liberace, while Watts – playing British – is submerged in woollens. Kardashian isn’t just wooden, she’s the full sideboard. She displays all the emotional range of an emoji. Sarah Paulson’s rival divorce lawyer is a perma-screeching Wicked Witch of the West – all she’s missing is a set of flying monkeys.

The prolific Murphy has produced some wonderful work (The Assassination of Gianni Versace; Pose; Capote Vs the Swans, in which Watts starred), but if All’s Fair becomes a hit – even a cult one – I’ll chew on a Louboutin slingback. It’s a mess of conspicuous consumption (bling, private jets); non-existent characterisation; faux-feminism; and lazy, brittle dialogue. It forgets the fundamental formula of great camp: wit, darkness and heart.

For those who felt that ex-Olympic diver Tom Daley and his side-eye departed from The Celebrity Traitors too soon, he can be found presenting a new Channel 4 eight-part series Game of Wool: Britain’s Best Knitter.

Game of Wool follows the blueprint for such series as The Great British Bake Off and The Great British Sewing Bee. In the “Yarn Barn” in Scotland, 10 competitors’ creations are judged by experts Di Gilpin and Sheila Greenwell. As contestants sit on sofas, clicking away, producing Fair Isle tank tops and sofa covers, Daley, a knitter himself, whips up excitement (“This is knitting like you’ve never seen it before!”) and models designs – in one, he resembles a yarn-swaddled Maximus from Gladiator.

Every week, the best click-smith gets a “knitted sheep baa-dge” while the worst is “cast off”. Drama is provided by dropped stitches and too-small neckholes. When Daley talks to “Wee Tom” – a knitted doll of himself wearing trunks – there’s a creepy ventriloquist vibe. But Game of Wool is classic arts and crafts TV, running on amateur passions and British eccentricity. Simple, silly and lovely.

Death by Lightning

(Netflix)

Period drama boasting a strong cast. Michael Shannon portrays US president James A Garfield, who is assassinated by Charles J Guiteau, played by Succession’s Matthew Macfadyen.

Squid Game: The Challenge

(Netflix)

Return of the real-life gameshow version of the South Korean dystopian drama in which 456 contestants  compete to win $4.56m. Roll up for plastic pigs full of loot, childlike games and existential despair.

Empire with David Olusoga

(BBC Two)

Historian David Olusoga, recently seen in The Celebrity Traitors, presents his latest docuseries: an in-depth exploration of the British Empire, going back to the 16th century.

Photographs by Apple TV/Disney/Larry Horricks/Netflix