"Don't exist to serve your job; let your job enrich your existence." This haunting mantra is stamped onto the packaging of Lumon's revolutionary Severance™ chip. As a masked technician nonchalantly opens the container and implants the chip into Helly's brain, it seems almost as routine as popping a new contact into one's eye or injecting a daily dose of insulin. Yet, while the sight of drilling into Helly's skull is undeniably unsettling, it's the startling normality and commercialization of the entire process that truly chills the blood.
And this begs the question: How many individuals have surrendered their minds to Lumon's Severance technology in this world? This is a query that may take some time to unpack, but if Mark's encounter with the mysterious Whole Mind Collective later in the episode is any indication, Lumon has ambitious plans to extend its severance technology beyond the workplace and into society at large. If the teenage member of the collective is to be trusted, the company even intends to force certain individuals into severance. This concept is downright terrifying, but it seems par for the course for a shadowy conglomerate operating in a dystopian universe.
One thing is certain: if Lumon proceeds with this rumored severance expansion, they'll certainly need a new mantra.
In his new role as department head, Mark now has a fresh slate of morning responsibilities, and he carries out his duties with unwavering diligence. He even silently acknowledges the portrait of Kier Egan hanging in the office, a behavior that is decidedly out of the ordinary for regular employees. The evidence is mounting that Lumon might just be a secret cult that venerates the color green. (So. Much. Green.)
But what are regular employees expected to do? Well, since Helly is still in the throes of orientation, we get a peek into the daily grind as Dylan, Irv, and Mark guide her through a typical workday at Lumon.
First, let's pause and delve into the enigmatic character of Helly. Through fleeting glimpses, we catch a peek at her outer self as she traverses the severance process. This journey is punctuated by the constant presence of Mr. Milchick, who seems profoundly grateful for her company. His demeanor is gentle and kind, as he patiently explains every intricate detail. It transpires that he was even present when her inner self attempted a daring escape on her maiden day.
"I really don't want to be in there," outie Helly declares, spinning around in a flurry, reluctantly dragging her innie back into the fray. This scene echoes the profound words of Mark from the preceding episode: "Every time you find yourself here, it's because you chose to come back." But while other severed employees may remain oblivious to their inner selves' longing to escape the workplace, Helly is acutely aware in this moment. She knows that her innie yearns desperately to flee, yet she persists in forcing her return. Intriguing indeed.
On Helly's second day, she is inundated with a torrent of information. The macrodata refiners are on a hunt for ominous numbers hidden amidst lines of code, and their progress is rewarded with ludicrous prizes. Completing 10% of a file earns a Lumon-branded eraser, oddly sans pencils. Reaching 25% nets a finger trap, a toy that has never been embraced by any adult, let alone an entire coffee mug filled with them. And the ultimate prize for completing 100%? A bizarre caricature that holds little more than amusement value. While these items may seem frivolous and useless, Dylan seems to relish receiving them as they serve as tangible markers of his progress and achievements. What he truly covets is the waffle party, the coveted reward reserved for the refiner of the quarter.
Although Lumon exists solely in the realm of fiction, this sad little incentive structure is not too dissimilar to how numerous businesses treat their workforce in reality. If you've ever been subjected to a lackluster pizza party or a forced-fun company picnic as a token of appreciation for meeting your quota, you'll understand what I'm getting at. Do you possess a branded mug or stress ball from a past workplace? I do too; mine was a Christmas present in lieu of any bonuses that year.
Lumon seemingly revels in doling out these special yet ultimately worthless perks to their employees. They strive to create the illusion of providing incentives to their severed workforce without engaging in the tedious task of understanding them as flesh-and-blood individuals. After a team-building exercise turns sour, Mr. Milchick offers a melon party as a consolation. The fruit is served in elegant melon bowls, but the offering is a far cry from the refreshing watermelon; it's mostly honeydew, a selection that would be enough to drive even the famously eccentric BoJack Horseman to the brink of insanity.
The party sparks another daring escape attempt from Helly, perhaps a hint that she too finds honeydew unpalatable. Unconvinced by Lumon's purported code-detector technology, she hurriedly scribbles a resignation note on a Post-it and flees to the elevator. Mark, the epitome of chivalry, ends up taking the blame for Helly and finds himself in the dreaded Break Room.
The mystery surrounding macrodata refinement remains elusive. Dylan imagines they're cleaning the seas, while Irv believes they're purging swear words from movies. My hunch? They're priming brains for the severance process. Those creepy brain implants must be coded somehow, and who better than the actual severed employees to perform this task? However, a nagging question remains: why do 80% of the files expire before the workers have a chance to complete them?
Regardless, the department's central task is one that leaves its employees unsettled, stressed, and terrified day in and day out. And we haven't even delved into the monotony of the innies' lives. They're confined to Lumon-sanctioned food, never allowed to leave, deprived of sunlight, and robbed of proper sleep. It's essentially a recipe for a torture chamber. Or, as Dylan aptly puts it, "endless toil."
Even when the severed workers dare to steal a moment of slumber, they face punishment. We witness a surreal interlude with Irv, who dozes off at his computer, dreams of viscous black goo creeping into his workstation, and is then sharply reprimanded by Mr. Milchick. It's noteworthy that this goo is prominently featured in the psychedelic opening credits, hinting that it's more than just a random vision.
Irv is summoned for a "wellness check" with a woman named Ms. Casey (Dichen Lachman), who drones facts about his outie in a monotone voice. He's forbidden to react to these revelations, as she encourages him to accept them all with equal detachment. Her robotic demeanor and insistence that Irv adopt a similarly blank affect during the session echo shades of Westworld, leaving me to wonder if someone will eventually be revealed as a full-fledged host. Have you ever questioned the nature of your reality? For dedicated workers like Irv and his new acquaintance Burt (Christopher Walken), such musings seem a distant echo.
The chemistry between Irv and Burt is electric yet fleeting. Both pause to admire a hauntingly ominous painting on the wall, depicting a man bathed in light, wielding a whip over a fool, a goat, a young woman, and an old woman. For me, gazing at this hellscape evokes the same unease I imagine the macrodata refiners feel when confronted with terrifying numbers. Burt, however, claims it brings him a sense of calm.
In the mundane realm of reality, Mark's serene workplace is interrupted by a nightmarish date and an unwelcome visit from nosy Mrs. Selvig. Intrigued by the mysterious address scribbled on the auspicious red envelope handed to him by Petey, Mark eagerly punches "499 Half Loop Road" into his GPS and embarks on a curious journey. Upon arrival, he discovers Petey residing in an abandoned greenhouse, feverishly mapping out the labyrinthine floors beneath Lumon. The man's condition, marked by reintegration sickness, is both disturbing and pitiable. Mark, unable to ignore his plight, extends a kind gesture and invites him to recuperate at his home.
Yul Vazquez's portrayal of Petey is haunting and disturbing, while Adam Scott's interpretation of a grieving, chronically inebriated Mark is both captivating and heartbreaking. However, the sequences unfolding in the mundane world have, thus far, lacked the vibrant intensity and engrossing nature of the events unfolding within the isolated cubicles beneath Lumon. The sparse tidbits of information Petey offers in the stark daylight fail to match the urgent intrigue of the subterranean drama.
Yet, as the episode reaches its climax, Petey's condition takes a turn for the worse. In Mark's basement shower, he experiences a disturbing episode where his mind seems incapable of distinguishing between his innie and outie selves. His reality fractures like a broken record, leaving Mark and the audience alike with a profound sense of unease and foreboding. It is clear that Petey's situation is escalating rapidly, and the time for concern has well and truly arrived.
