If any viewer still harbored doubts about the full extent of Carol’s unpleasant disposition, the third episode of *Pluribus* dispels them decisively. From the very first moments, the show frames her misery not merely as a fleeting mood but as an ingrained feature of her personality. The episode begins with an evocative flashback sequence that transports us to a glittering ice hotel in Norway, a location that ought to epitomize wonder and serenity. Carol (portrayed by Rhea Seehorn) and her companion Helen (Miriam Shor) are immersed in what most people would consider a dream vacation — a crystalline landscape sculpted out of frozen beauty, a once-in-a-lifetime escape from routine life. Yet Carol cannot appreciate any of it. Instead of marveling at the surreal craftsmanship of an environment literally made of ice, she fixates on its discomforts, complaining incessantly about the cold. When confronted with the celestial spectacle of the aurora borealis painting the night sky with waves of color, her response is devoid of awe. She dismisses it curtly, likening the magnificent scene to a computer screensaver. This reaction reflects a soul steeped in cynicism, a person whose instinct is to puncture beauty rather than embrace it. And yet, paradoxically, it is this very skepticism — her inability to be swept up by sentiment — that may later equip her to face the extraordinary crisis around her: the emergence of a global hive-mind civilization driven by relentless cheerfulness.
The double-episode premiere of *Pluribus*, the new Apple TV series conceived by *Breaking Bad* creator Vince Gilligan, introduced us to a reality eerily suspended between science fiction and social allegory. Within this unsettling world, humanity has largely been absorbed into a single collective consciousness characterized by unshakable positivity. Among this mass of interlinked minds stands Carol, one of only a handful of unaffected individuals, thrust into a post-apocalyptic scenario where individuality itself has become the ultimate rarity. The premiere not only launched this striking premise but also sparked widespread discussion among *Verge* subscribers, who eagerly exchanged theories and interpretations. With Episode 3, that conversation continues to evolve, inviting us to reexamine what isolation means when the rest of humanity has fused into blissful unanimity. Needless to say, what follows contains significant spoilers.
Episode 3 delves further into Carol’s pre-apocalyptic temperament, highlighting just how irritable and unyielding she once was — traits that, ironically, become both her greatest burden and her potential advantage in this strange new order. Through her experiences, we witness the profound difficulties inherent in existing outside the hive-mind. Carol’s fiercely independent spirit clashes with her reliance on the collective, which, despite having transcended individuality, continues to cater to her every need with almost divine efficiency. The absurdity of this dynamic becomes painfully apparent when she attempts something as mundane as grocery shopping, only to find herself waiting helplessly while the hive coordinates replenishment efforts. Her autonomy, it seems, is only theoretical; in practice, she depends on the very entity she mistrusts.
This symbiotic tension reaches surreal proportions when Carol learns the extent of the hive’s devotion to keeping her content. It appears that this entity, embodying a philosophy of absolute positivity, is psychologically or perhaps biologically incapable of denying any request that might bring her happiness — no matter how dangerous, irresponsible, or morally questionable it may be. The result is both darkly comic and deeply unsettling. When Carol tests the limits of their obedience, pressing them with hypotheticals about what they would do for her, the hive responds without hesitation: they would move heaven and earth to please her. Their sincerity borders on menace. In one of the episode’s most striking moments, they even go so far as to ask whether she would like a nuclear weapon — an “atom bomb” offered not as a threat but as a bizarre gesture of affection. Before the final credits roll, the consequences of this imbalance manifest violently when a grenade detonates inside Carol’s own home, injuring her assigned chaperone, Zosia (Karolina Wydra). The scene encapsulates the disturbing irony of the hive’s benevolence: in their obsession with fostering happiness, they create chaos.
Meanwhile, Carol’s isolation grows more pronounced. Being one of perhaps a dozen remaining humans untouched by the collective mind is a fate that would test anyone’s sanity. Her attempts to reach out to other survivors — particularly English-speaking ones — yield little comfort. Many of them have no desire to reverse the current state of the world; they regard the hive not as a disaster but as an evolutionary improvement, a peaceful resolution to humanity’s pain. Amid that disheartening apathy, Carol’s best hope for meaningful connection appears to lie thousands of miles away, in Paraguay, where a man named Manousos (Carlos Manuel Vesga) reportedly despises the hive even more intensely than she does. However, this glimmer of hope is complicated by geographical and linguistic barriers. Manousos speaks only Spanish, and their first conversation, conducted by phone across continents, deteriorates quickly into shouting and mutual frustration. Yet beneath the chaos lies potential: he may be the only person who shares Carol’s conviction that forced happiness is not salvation but imprisonment. The thought of an ally — someone who perceives the same grotesque flaw in a world unified by cheer — gives Carol, and perhaps the viewers, a fragile strand of optimism.
Thus, the central question underpinning *Pluribus* becomes one of coexistence. How can Carol, an emblem of flawed humanity and emotional volatility, inhabit a planet dominated by a perfectly synchronized consciousness? Can she find a way to build a life alongside the hive without losing herself, or will her defiance inevitably provoke it toward self-correction — or even destruction? These inquiries propel the narrative forward, merging psychological drama with speculative tension. For now, Carol continues to survive in a delicate equilibrium, dependent on the kindness — or compulsion — of an entity too generous to say no. Whether that generosity becomes her salvation or her undoing remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: her cynicism, born of dissatisfaction and doubt, may yet prove the most powerful weapon in a world that can no longer understand unhappiness.
Sourse: https://www.theverge.com/entertainment/820523/pluribus-episode-3-discussion
