Animation
Bat-Fam
Bat-Fam is almost a dream come true for little superhero fans who may be too young for Batman’s live-action escapades.
It’s about the most genteel planetary invasion one could hope for.
Indeed, the word invasion might be a bit strong. You could call it an extraterrestrial-boosted upgrade. Someone (or something) about 600 light-years away beamed a code to earth, knowing that we humans would tinker around with it ‘til we figured out what it was.
Sure enough, we did! And once we replicated that virus (for that’s what it was), everyone was instantly connected to one another, like a massive, organic Internet system. No, it was far, far more than that: Everyone was … well, everyone. Instead of a teeming mass of individuals, we became one huge collective. A human hive mind. And boy, we all sure liked it—or, at least, so we said afterward.
But not everyone was invited to the party.
All Alone
Romance novelist Carol Sturka missed out on what the rest call the “Joining.” Something in her chemical makeup made her immune. She watched in horror during the Joining as her wife died, everyone else convulsed and the world fell apart. But the worst part? When the convulsions stopped and everyone came to, they were all so … nice!
Sorry for the shock, they said. Hope you’re doing well, they said. If you need help burying your dearly beloved, we can arrange that, they said. And that just about sent Carol over the edge.
Carol’s wife wasn’t the only one on the planet who died during the takeov- … uh, the Joining. Millions perished through accidents or unsuitability. And Carol wasn’t the only one who was immune, either. A dozen others missed out. And the hive tells them (ever so gently and kindly) that they’ll be working on a “cure.” Soon, this tiny clutch of outcasts will be able to Join with them and experience the pure joy of this wall-less, secret-less society.
But Carol wants no part of it. She wants the world back the way it was. She wants to undo the Joining and make everybody solitary and petty again.
And she’ll get right on it—just as soon as she has another drink.
Better Phone Home
Pluribus (drawing its name from the Latin word for many) is the creation of Vince Gilligan, the same guy who created Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. It’s Gilligan’s most creative endeavor yet, and critics can’t get enough: It holds a 100% “freshness” rating on Rotten Tomatoes.
But you don’t come to Plugged In to get a secular critical overview. And from where I sit, the show comes with some problems.
This planetary takeover may feel more pleasant and seductive than, say, The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. But its protagonist, Carol (played by Rhea Seehorn), makes up for it with her caustic chaos. Knowing she’s a lesbian, the collective introduces her to a companion who looks just like a female version of her books’ hunky male protagonist. (The two are platonic in the show’s early goings, but a romance is almost sure to blossom.) Her favorite words are profanities. And because members of the hive die when she gets very angry at them, she can be an unintentional killer, too.
And boy, do we see a lot of death in the early going. Right after the Joining, a number of people drop dead right where they are. Streets are littered with bodies at first, and one hive member tells Carol that, early on, she might want to stay indoors: They’ve got some cleaning up to do, and they don’t want her to be disturbed.
The show’s creators offer the viewer no such caution. They want us to see the whole sordid world: the dead bodies, the naked bodies, the apoplectically profane bodies. So while the show is indeed creative and crisp—as compelling and as sharply written as you’d expect from Gilligan—it is well named, too: Its problems, they are pluribus.
(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)
Scientists tinker with a message transmitted from a distant star. They soon realize that it’s some sort of viral code. Scientists successfully replicate that code in the lab—but only realize they’ve done so when an infected rat wakes up and bites one of the scientists, setting a world-changing event in motion. Just when the hive is set to make its public debut, Carol and her wife, Helen, return to Albuquerque after a book signing—stopping for a drink at a local bar.
That stop does not go well. Carol is horrified when everyone around her, including Helen, goes into a trance and starts convulsing. Most recover, seemingly unharmed, but Helen dies in Carol’s arms. Others apparently die, too, and we see one man lying in a pool of his own blood. Cars crash. Fires leap from vehicles and buildings (as hive-minded humans calmly try to douse them). One new member of the hive mind hops into a car with part of his leg missing. A compatriot helpfully carries out the missing limb and hands it to him.
Before the disaster strikes, Carol and Helen hold hands. The two hang out in a bar; Carol quaffs cocktails while Helen drinks soda, marking her as the couple’s designated driver for the night. (It’s clear from conversation that she’s typically no teetotaler.) Their car is equipped with a breathalyzer (suggesting one or both of them have been charged with DUIs), which Helen dutifully uses. Later, Carol drinks several slugs of whiskey. Glasses of beer teeter on a platter.
Infected humans (which is how the hive virus is initially spread) distribute the brain-hijacking code in a variety of ways, but often it’s through kissing. A woman kisses a man. A man kisses another man. And soon the infected are swabbing their own cheeks and sticking the cultures in petri dishes, to be distributed around the world.
Carol reads passages aloud from her latest book, which tends to the tawdry side. Scientists talk about gassing rats. Characters smoke, and some swear quite a bit. We hear nearly 20 f-words and about 10 s-words. “Crap,” “d–n” and “h—” are also uttered. God’s name is misused about 10 times (twice with the word “d–n”), and Jesus’ name is abused twice.
A member of the hive—Zosia—introduces herself to Carol as Carol tries to dig a grave for her wife, Helen. Carol soon realizes that the hive picked Zosia especially for her; she’s a female version of Carol’s male protagonist, Raban. Carol admits that she and Helen once considered making Raban a woman (turning Carol’s romance novels into explicitly lesbian affairs), but only the two of them knew it. And that means that Helen might’ve connected with the hive before she died. A furious Carol pushes Zosia and calls her a ghoul: Zosia begins to convulse—as does every other soul connected to the hive.
“We’re affected by your emotions,” Zosia explains later. “The negative ones, if they’re directed right at us, they can be a little difficult to take.” Indeed, Zosia says that some died because of Carol’s outburst. Partly chastened, Carol nevertheless wants to arrange a meeting with the people who aren’t a part of the hive—hoping that, together, they may be able to figure out a way to change things back.
Members of the hive insist that they don’t care to harm anything—not even an insect that might bite them. But Zosia admits that the death toll during the Joining was horrific: upwards of 866 million. Carol learns that her own anger killed millions, too. When relentlessly upbeat hive members ask her how she’s doing one morning, she says, “Better than I should for being the biggest mass murderer since Stalin.” We see people convulse due to Carol’s rage, including one man suspended from a wire. (When he recovers, he reassures Carol, by name, that he’s just fine.) Helen’s dead body, wrapped in a quilt, begins to draw flies.
Zosia travels across the globe to get to Carol’s home in Albuquerque: She sheds her old outfit and throws it away in a trash bin, walking down a hall completely naked. (We see her from the rear.) She takes a shower, and she’s filmed from the shoulders up. Carol meets other outcasts like her, including a suave and hedonistic fellow named Koumba. By the time Carol meets him, he’s already gathered several beautiful hive members (most dressed in cleavage-revealing outfits), and he has his eyes on Zosia, as well. We hear some crude conversation regarding Koumba’s alleged intentions. We spy Carol and Helen’s wedding picture.
Koumba drinks a martini, proclaiming it as the best he’s ever tasted. Carol rapidly slams down several glasses of wine, makes an impassioned speech and marches off—to collapse in a clump of grass.
Carol throws up. She also keeps up her swearing pace: 13 f-words and four s-words, along with “h—,” “d–k,” “p-ss,” “g-dd–n” and three misuses of God’s name. (“Must you curse so much?” the hive asks her.)
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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