It's not an exaggeration to proclaim that "Severance" stands out as the most visually captivating show on television today. The series boasts stunning costumes, artful direction, intricate production design, and impeccable cinematography. But the opening credit sequence, masterfully crafted by Oliver Latta (a.k.a. "Extraweg"), is a clay-animated masterpiece that complements the show's artistic sensibilities, drawing you in with its captivating visuals. I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from it.
And then there's the setting - the magnificent Bell Labs designed by Eero Saarinen. This mid-century modern masterpiece serves as a crucial narrative hub, adding a real-world touch to the story. As an observant Redditor pointed out this week, the overhead view of the Bell Labs complex eerily resembles a severed brain. This imagery not only adds to the show's surreal atmosphere but also prompts us to delve deeper into the themes of the mind.
If Lumon is indeed fascinated by the workings of the brain, it's certainly not in pursuit of unlocking its untapped potential. In fact, quite the contrary. In a healthy brain, all regions are interconnected, with synapses firing and communicating seamlessly throughout the mind and body. But the severance process and the mysterious severed floor operate on a completely different plane. Here, everything is shrouded in mystery, with no apparent connection or collaboration. Obfuscation is the name of the game.
Lumon is actively suppressing the workers' potential, turning them into unwitting puppets for its own mysterious ends. And there's no escaping this nightmarish realm. Especially not for Helly R. Despite her outie's horrifying brush with death - murder by an innie being a novel way to die in this bizarre world - she remains resolute in her refusal to quit. Perhaps the allure of a Pip's VIP card is too strong to resist? After all, Helly, you did accidentally slip on a projector slide today and sustain a near-fatal neck injury...but never mind that! Here's your gift card!
The refusal of outie Helly to abandon her job on the severed floor, despite her innie's desperate attempt to harm herself, is baffling and downright chilling. From the fleeting glimpses we've had of Helly's outie, we know only that Milchick was eager to have her undergo the severance procedure and that from the outset, she's been aware of her innie's desire to escape. What could possibly compel someone to stay at a job after enduring such horrors? Is it money? Fame? Duty? Who is this woman, and what drives her to persevere in such dire circumstances?
Even after days of Helly's suicide attempt, her return to the severed floor is seamless, her consciousness unmarred by the passing time. She awakes, choking for breath, sprawled on the elevator floor. There, Mark stands, attempting—albeit unsuccessfully—to soften his gaze.
While Helly lay unconscious, innie Mark underwent a revelation, sparked by Ricken's tome. Many passages resonated deeply with him, but one quote, "fight for the freedom of the soldier next to you," seemed to ignite a shift in his mindset, igniting a newfound determination to better assist Helly.
The emerging triangular dynamic between Mark's innie, Mark's outie, and Ricken is humorous indeed. Ricken clearly holds a deep regard for outie Mark's opinion of his book, yet that particular version of Mark remains oblivious to its existence. It is innie Mark who holds the tome, and he is smitten indeed. If only innie Mark knew that Dr. Ricken Lazlo Hale was frantically dialing his cell phone in the real world, I daresay he would be quite delighted. Moreover, Ricken's panicked voicemail to Mark, addressing his innie as "still in severed work form" and "Mark's work self," is a comedic gem. May Kier bless Michael Chernus and his impeccable comedic timing.
Spurred by Ricken's words, which reignited his rebellious impulse, Mark resolves to rescue Helly from Ms. Casey's relentless wellness surveillance. He leads her through a mental health walk within Lumon's labyrinthine corridors. Somehow, they find themselves in a hallway where the lights depend solely on motion sensors. Helly presses ahead, the fluorescent bulbs casting a dim glow only a few feet ahead of her path. This effect, in keeping with the show's ethereal motif, lends an otherworldly atmosphere, akin to Helly and Mark being beamed to another planet. It also evokes a profound sense of anxiety. How are they supposed to navigate this perverse maze, especially in the darkness?
As they wander aimlessly through the hallways, trying desperately to find their way back, an unnerving noise assails their ears. It sounds like a screaming robot baby or a shrieking eel. (Dylan can sense these things, you know.) Surprise! It's baby goats. And these innocent little creatures are inexplicably being raised on the basement floor of a windowless office building. Before Mark and Helly can even process this bizarre revelation, the goat caretaker frantically shoos them away, shouting, "They're not ready! It isn't time!" This encounter naturally leads Helly to wonder if the goats are somehow connected to the mysterious numbers. Personally, I'm speculating if they're implanting chips in the goats or perhaps cloning them for some unknown purpose. But the truth is probably far more bizarre than any of our guesses.
Helly and Mark finally reached a friendly truce, just moments before Ms. Casey unexpectedly stumbled upon them in the hallway. This marked the third episode featuring the enigmatic Ms. Casey, who continued to exude a strangely comforting aura. Despite her apparent robotic efficiency, reminiscent of a Westworld automaton (evident in her precise knowledge that a trip to the supply room took precisely eight minutes), she possessed a tender heart beneath her calculating exterior. After all, it was she who informed Irv that Burt awaited him in the conference room.
As Irv drifted into another black goo nightmare, he awoke determined to seek guidance from his new compatriot. But when he attempted to make a copy of his O&D map for Mark, he stumbled upon a hideous painting lurking in the printer's depths. The ghastly image depicted the O&D department ruthlessly slaughtering the refiners. It was a chilling discovery, revealing that Milchick had planted the picture as a deterrent, hoping to dissuade Irv from pursuing Burt. However, Cobel was not amused by this interference. She had her own agenda, and she didn't appreciate Milchick messing with her plans. Her terse yet profound pronouncement summed up her strategy: "The surest way to tame a prisoner is to make him feel free."
Undeterred by the ghastly painting, Irv pressed onward to confront Burt. But Dylan, his shadowy pursuer, was hot on his heels. Portrayed by the dynamic and charming Zach Cherry, Dylan had been a memorable yet enigmatic figure throughout the series, and I was eager to delve deeper into his character. His palpable fear of O&D and his fondness for workplace perks had been well-documented, but this episode finally peeled back another layer of his complex persona, revealing a surprising skill.
In his efforts to keep Irv and Burt apart, Dylan sprung into action, using only a belt and some trusty knots to secure the conference room door handle. As motor skills are housed in a distinct region of the brain, it was likely that Dylan's outie retained this knot-tying prowess from his severed life. Perhaps he was a sailor in his former life? Or maybe a Boy Scout? Regardless, I was eagerly anticipating learning more about Dylan's outie. Come on, Severance! Throw us a bone!
Despite Dylan's efforts to physically separate them, Irv and Burt managed to carry on a lively conversation through the glass partition. Their sparks flew despite the barrier, indicating a deep and possibly fateful connection between these two unlikely soulmates.
In a rather bizarre turn of events, Burt disclosures to Dylan and Irv that his team holds a rather odd belief. They surmise that the refiners possess pouches, within which they carry larval offspring. Apparently, these larvae eventually devour and completely replace the refiners. Of course, all these ludicrous rumors are merely a ploy hatched by Cobel, Milchick, or some higher-up puppet masters, designed to maintain perpetual discord among the departments and thus exercise control over the severed populace. Nevertheless, it's noteworthy that Burt's narration of this tale coincides with the introduction of the goats, leaving one to ponder whether all the severed employees are indeed human. (A suspicious glance is cast at you, Ms. Casey.)
Dylan and Irv escort Burt back to O&D, and Dylan stumbles upon the same painting that he and Irv had encountered earlier in the copier room. His panic is palpable, yet he fails to observe that the badge colors have been swapped. Burt refers to this painting as the "Macrodata Refinement Calamity" and reveals that it has never been exhibited before. He then invites the two refiners to meet the rest of his team, as the music swells in the background, setting the stage for an even more intriguing encounter.
