In the opening episode of Severance, Adam Scott takes us through a hauntingly silent maze of stark, sterile hallways, a journey that spans an entire 87 seconds. Without a word spoken or a single emotion betrayed, he simply strides forward, challenging our expectations in a pop-culture landscape dominated by fast-paced, dialogue-driven walk-and-talks. This brief interlude serves as a powerful invitation to slow down and absorb the unique world of Severance, a show that provocatively explores the obsessive pursuit of the elusive "work-life balance."
Emerging as one of the standout shows of 2022, Severance is a bold offering from Apple TV+, a streaming platform increasingly recognized for its risky bets on original and unconventional narratives. Conceived by writer Dan Erickson and directed masterfully by Ben Stiller in six of the nine episodes, the series boasts an ensemble cast that includes Patricia Arquette, Christopher Walken, John Turturro, Britt Lower, and Adam Scott, who plays not just one but two distinct versions of his character. The pedigree alone makes it a must-watch, but its gripping and thought-provoking plot ensures that it's a series that will keep you hooked.
In the dystopian world of Severance, Mark Scout (portrayed by Adam Scott) is a man trapped in the clutches of Lumon Industries, a shadowy conglomerate that dominates his life. Every day, he punches in, deposits his L.L. Bean duck boots and fancy watch in an industrial locker, and descends to his workplace on a floor of the building designated as "severed." Mark has voluntarily undergone a controversial procedure called severance, which separates his work memories from his personal ones.
As we delve deeper into this "real world," it becomes apparent that the severance process is fraught with ethical, moral, and legal complexities. But for Mark, these considerations are merely distractions from his primary goal: to escape the shadow of his wife Gemma's tragic death in a car crash several years ago. Even in his severed state, however, Mark seems to be haunted by a lingering sadness, perhaps the lingering effects of a hangover or the residual trauma of his past.
As we follow Mark through a typical workday in the premiere episode, it's evident that he's overwhelmed, even in his compartmentalized work life. When his close colleague Petey suddenly disappears, Mark is unexpectedly thrust into a promotion. He's now under the watchful eye of Mr. Milchick (portrayed by Tramell Tilman), who appears to be a loyal guardian of Lumon's operations, and Ms. Cobel (Patricia Arquette), a formidable figure who seems to relish her role as a tyrannical boss. Whether these characters are also severed like Mark remains a mystery, but their imposing presences certainly leave a lasting impression.
Fortunately, the oppressive and oddly mismatched pair is countered by the dark humor that flows between the separated colleagues. Irv (John Turturro), seemingly a veteran of this surreal existence, reminisces about the bygone era when coffee creamer was a perk at the company. Dylan (Zach Cherry), on the other hand, is laser-focused on his duties, dreaming of attending one of Lumon's coveted waffle parties.
And then there's newcomer Helly R. (Britt Lower). To say she's struggling would be an understatement. Awakening atop a conference table, she's greeted by Mark, who relentlessly probes her with Lumon's manual's chilling question: "Who are you? Who are you?" Understandably, she erupts in anger. After all, she's just emerged from brain surgery and is rudely awakened by a disembodied voice demanding answers to one of life's most profound existential queries. Who is she, indeed? She's dazed, perplexed, and furious.
Mark attempts, albeit unsuccessfully, to orient Helly to her new reality. She retaliates by slamming a speaker into his head and demanding to leave. But escape is not an option. Whenever she approaches the stairwell that marks the severed boundary, she's inexplicably drawn back into the blinding white corridor. Her severed consciousness is confined within these walls, and something—or someone—continually pushes her back.
Eventually, Helly resigns herself to her fate and returns to Mark. Shocked and bewildered, she asks, "Am I dead? Is this hell or something?" Mark dismisses her fears with a forced laugh, assuring her that it's not. But perhaps it is. At one point, Ms. Cobel shares with Mark the reassuring news that hell is merely a figment of overactive human imaginations. However, humans are capable of creating anything they can envision, leaving the door open to endless possibilities.
The intricate world-building within Lumon is truly remarkable. Stiller's meticulous framing crafts a world rife with loneliness. His liberal use of overhead angles in the premiere not only establishes the suffocating Big Brother-like anxiety of working for a monolithic conglomerate like Lumon but also vividly captures the aching loneliness and claustrophobia that accompany dragging oneself to a thankless cubicle job day in and day out. Ironically, it's the "real life" counterparts who endure the monotony of the daily grind, while the severed workers remain insulated from such tedium.
Just like Mark's cerebrum, the opening episode is meticulously divided between his professional and personal worlds, a harmonious blend of two distinct halves. However, the antics he indulges in after clocking out are not nearly as captivating as his adventures within Lumon's walls. At home, Mark strives to flip the switch and turn off his brain, zoning out in the darkness of his TV screen, engaging in petty arguments with his eccentric neighbor Mrs. Selvig over trash day, and attempting to numb his unresolved grief with the numbing effects of wine and beer.
Yet, his one saving grace is his sister, Devon (Jen Tullock), with whom he shares a genuine and profound bond. It is for the sake of this sisterly love that Mark finds himself attending a dinner party devoid of food, a potential purgatory on earth. If the absence of actual dinner is not bad enough, the insufferable guests make the situation even more unbearable, especially when Devon's husband Ricken (Michael Chernus) steers the conversation towards Mark's severed brain. They liken the procedure to trapping the work version of Mark in Lumon's subterranean depths, a prospect that visibly irritates him.
Later, Devon gently remarks to her brother that merely checking out for eight hours a day does not seem to be synonymous with healing from his profound grief, and she is spot on. But Mark is not quite ready to engage in such a profound conversation yet.
As the weekend draws to a close, Mark resumes his mundane routine, staring out at the bleak winter landscape while clearing his gutters, a task far from exciting. Then, he heads to Pip's to redeem the mysterious voucher he received after being clobbered on the head by Helly—or rather, after slipping on a projector slide in the office. There, he stumbles upon an unexpected acquaintance.
It's Petey. And he's eager to know what's for dinner. Mark is initially perplexed by the work-related reference, but Petey (Yul Vazquez) quickly brings him up to speed. After a brief chat, Petey scurries away, leaving Mark with a cryptic letter enclosed in a red envelope.
In his note, Petey ponders whether he and his fellow severed brethren are monsters for choosing to undergo such a radical process. Ultimately, he concludes, "We're not monsters, Mark. Not real ones." And he's absolutely right. Sometimes, we make questionable choices in an attempt to safeguard a vulnerable part of ourselves, but this doesn't transform us into vile individuals.
At least, most of us aren't vile. The verdict is still out on Ms. Cobel, who turns out to be Mark's neighbor, Mrs. Selvig, all along. A shocking revelation indeed!
It seems like it's time for me to make my staggered exit as well. So, I'll grab the elevator and bid you farewell until our next encounter...
