Viewers and critics have offered a range of interpretations of Vince Gilligan’s new sci‑fi series Pluribus — debating whether its core is about artificial intelligence, consumer culture, or something else entirely. While those conversations are engrossing, what kept me watching was the series’ thoughtful treatment of its lead character’s identity as a lesbian. Carol’s sexuality isn’t reduced to a plot device; it informs how she experiences the global, mind‑merging catastrophe and how she grieves the person she loved. In that regard, Pluribus sets a higher standard for avoiding one of the most damaging clichés about queer characters.
Ed. note: Spoilers follow for Pluribus episodes 1–4.
Pluribus introduces Carol Sturka (Rhea Seehorn) as a chronically irritable, successful author who loathes the fame brought by her bestselling romantasy series. Her cantankerous public persona and contempt for her readers make her an imperfect protagonist, but the show anchors her through a tender and devastating private life: the love she shared with her partner Helen (Miriam Shor), who is taken from her when an extraterrestrial transmission merges most human minds into a single hivemind.
The transmission leaves nearly everyone in a euphoric collective state — except Carol and a few other immune individuals. The way the series explores Carol’s grief is notable: Gilligan and his team avoid flattening her into a stereotype and instead let her identity and loss shape her reactions to the new world order.
Image: Apple TVCarol is also closeted, a fact that reportedly made Gilligan uneasy as a writer because he didn’t share that lived experience. In early scenes, Helen urges Carol to be honest with her audience — to let people know she’s attracted to women — but before the couple can explore the idea, the hivemind’s final wave consumes Helen and absorbs her memories.
Helen’s death is not a quiet, background event. Because the hivemind acquires her memories, Carol’s private life becomes public: every intimate moment she confided in Helen is suddenly shared across the collective. That forced exposure eliminates Carol’s ability to grieve privately. The intimacy that made Helen and Carol’s relationship distinct — Helen’s willingness to challenge Carol’s gloom and hold her accountable — cannot be replicated by a faceless crowd trying to emulate her.
As difficult as Helen’s loss is to watch, my initial skepticism came from a broader worry: 2025 has felt inconsistent for queer women’s representation on television. There have been standout successes — for instance, Yellowjackets has given queer characters vivid, complex narratives — but there have also been numerous instances where queer women, and queer women of color in particular, suffer abrupt or poorly handled deaths.
Image: LucasfilmThere have been painful examples where queer relationships end in sudden death — moments that echo the infamous “bury your gays” pattern. When those deaths feel arbitrary or are used primarily to add emotional weight to another character’s arc, they compound a long history in which queer love was only permissible if it was punished or erased.
That historical trope has roots stretching back to earlier centuries, when queer characters in literature and stage were often punished to make their inclusion more acceptable. Over time the form changed, but the harm of repeatedly depicting queer characters as disposable persisted. Even well‑intentioned writers can fall into this pattern when the death of a queer character is handled without sufficient care for that character’s autonomy and humanity.
Image: Apple TVNumbers from advocacy groups underline the stakes: while LGBTQ+ visibility on television has increased, a sizable portion of those characters are not sustained across seasons — whether because series end, characters exit, or they die. That persistence of loss makes the “most miserable person on Earth must save the world from happiness” tagline feel pointedly grim when applied to Carol. Her anguish is tied to real concerns about representation and the recurring media pattern of queer suffering.
But Pluribus treats Helen’s death with a seriousness that avoids cheap shock value. Helen is not only a catalyst; the series continually returns to her through memories, flashbacks, and Carol’s desperate inquiries to the hivemind about what Helen withheld. Her presence remains consequential to the story and to Carol’s development.
Image: Apple TVThe hivemind can draw on contributors’ abilities and memories, but in doing so it effaces the contours of individual identity. For many who accept the joining, the erasure of personal distinctions — sexuality, race, disability, and so on — is a fair trade for the collective’s apparent peace. That philosophical bargain is precisely why Carol’s resistance rings true: she’d rather retain her imperfect, painful individuality than become part of a homogenized contentment.
Episode 4, “Please, Carol,” expands this context by revealing why Carol reacts so viscerally to the idea of merging. Visiting Zosia (Karolina Wydra) in the hospital, Carol confesses that she was sent to a conversion camp at 16 — a formative trauma that left her wary of people who smile while trying to change someone. When Zosia apologizes, Carol compares the hivemind’s impulse to smooth out difference to those who once tried to erase who she was.
Image: Apple TVZosia presses Carol to examine the hivemind on its own terms: it does understand anger and sorrow because it contains those memories. Carol, however, has only her surface perception of the collective. Her choice — to remain herself, carrying both pain and love — is what ultimately defines her humanity.
Gilligan and the writers do not exempt Carol from criticism for being difficult, nor do they treat her queer identity as incidental. They weave it into the character’s history and reactions without reducing Helen to a mere motivating corpse. Helen’s love, flaws, and influence remain central; the show repeatedly restores Helen’s agency rather than using her death simply as a shorthand for loss.
The first four episodes of Pluribus are streaming on Apple TV. New episodes arrive on Fridays.
Source: Polygon
