I tell you, friends, I wore that pause button on my remote to a nub watching this week's episode of Severance. It was a bombshell of revelations, spilling the beans on Lumon's inner sanctum, Kier's profound teachings, and the intricate evolution of the severance process.
Harmony Cobel? She's a full-blown Kier Kool-Aid addict, that's for sure. The episode opens with her perched on a bed, draping a necklace adorned with a severance-chip pendant around her neck. Her bedroom? It's a macabre blend of hospital and prison, with stark white cinderblock walls and a harsh fluorescent light that casts a ghastly glow over her bed. Who in their right mind would choose such a decor? And the real question is, who's trapped in that chip? It's highly unlikely to be Petey, so... who could it be?
The answer might lie in Cobel's creepy shrine to Kier. Lumon might be a cult masquerading as a biotech company (and odds are, it probably is), but this setup underscores Cobel's deeply emotional ties to the Eagan family — and possibly Kier himself. The shrine is a treasure trove of Easter eggs, including a certificate from the Myrtle Eagan School for Girls, a breathing tube, and a hospital bracelet labeled "Charlotte Cobel, DOB: 3/17/44" (could that be Cobel's mother?). There's also a cheeky flyer for the seventh annual Kiernival.
But what really stands out are the paper masks standing guard at the four corners of the shrine. Curiously, they resemble the fool, the goat, the old woman, and the young woman from the painting that Burt and Irv admired when they first met. These masks might correspond to the four tempers — woe, frolic, dread, and malice — but I can't for the life of me tell which is which; they all give me the creeps equally.
It's evident that Cobel isn't working at Lumon for the stock options or the fat paychecks. She's there because she's a true believer in what they're doing. She believes in Kier with every fiber of her being. And Patricia Arquette nails the religious zealot gleam in Cobel's eyes to a tee; it's downright chilling.
Feeling called by some higher power, Cobel starts to go rogue. Throughout the episode, she loses her cool with the refiners, even hatching a plan to lock them in their workspace like chickens in a coop, preventing them from wandering freely through Lumon's labyrinthine corridors. She also decides to insinuate herself into Devon and Ricken's lives as their lactation consultant. Clearly, Lumon is blissfully unaware of her antics, as evidenced by her cagey demeanor when Graner knocks on her door and she's caught wearing a nurse's uniform.
Suddenly, Devon emerges as a pivotal character in her own right, transcending the role of "just Mark's sister." She's not only grappling with the disguised Cobel, but she's also piecing together puzzling truths about Lumon's ulterior motives for the severance process.
When Devon unexpectedly encounters the mysterious woman from her birthing retreat in a local park, their interaction is awkward and uncomfortable. The woman is cold and aloof, leaving Devon perplexed. Her husband, Angelo Arteta, introduces himself, and when Devon mentions where she knows his wife, he hurriedly whisks his family away. This prompts Devon to delve deeper into the internet, seeking answers.
Her search uncovers numerous articles quoting Arteta as a staunch advocate for "legalized severance." Buried in the corner of the screen, she stumbles upon an article revealing that Lumon was a significant donor to Arteta's political campaign, a revelation that comes as no surprise. The concept of severance for a broader population was briefly mentioned at the start of the season, but this is the first time it has been revisited in some time.
It seems that the senator's wife underwent severance, shifting the burden of childbirth and parenthood onto her innie. While this might be a tempting option for many women if given the chance, the idea is deeply twisted. Imagining an innie giving birth to a child or even carrying an entire pregnancy, only to be denied the joy of seeing their offspring, is reminiscent of the chilling dystopian world of "The Handmaid's Tale."
Meanwhile, life inside Lumon has become increasingly intriguing. Irv is even breaking some rules! In a tender moment, Burt leads Irv into a hidden room filled with lush greenery, providing a secluded oasis for the star-crossed lovers. Director Aoife McArdle peeks through the foliage, giving us a voyeuristic glimpse into their intimate encounter. It's impossible to watch them share that tender forehead-to-forehead nuzzle without wondering if their bond extends beyond the walls of Lumon.
Love seems to be brewing among the characters, as Helly and Mark take their workplace flirtations to the next level. Both Irv and Dylan call Mark out on his budding romance, adding another layer of complexity to their relationships. Later, as Helly and Dylan discuss the mysterious disappearance of Ms. Casey, Dylan muses, "Well, maybe love transcends severance." He quickly dismisses the idea, but the show continues to hint that powerful emotions may indeed find a way to bridge the divide between the two worlds.
Imagine severance as a subtle form of brainwashing or a homage to Kier, akin to a cultic ritual. If this were the case, it would be logical to assume that the process might require tweaking if the severed employees retain lingering memories of their loved ones. The entire severed floor resembles a warped video game, filled with maze-like corridors, secret departments, and color-coded systems. Could it be that the eerie numbers, the goats, and whatever the O&D department is up to with their watering cans and hatchets are all part of a radical quality control measure to ensure the severance process functions smoothly? Although, that's probably not the case.
MDR and O&D engage in a tête-à-tête, their shared experiences drawing them closer. Mark delivers an impassioned speech, posing the same question he posed to Cobel earlier: Why are they keeping them in the dark about what's really happening? Mark wonders aloud, "If the Eagan philosophy truly stands for 'Illumination above all,' then why are we excluded from this enlightenment?"
Before Milchick storms in, Dylan slips a strange card into his pocket. The card, adorned with cartoon-like imagery, seems harmless enough. But as events later unfold, we learn that these cards hold incredible importance and are top-secret. As he selects a card, the camera pans across a tray filled with various options. Each card depicts two men, one in a blue shirt and the other in green, with red arrows indicating their interactions. They remind me of the CPR instructional posters that once hung in the service aisles of restaurants I worked in. But these cards certainly don't depict lifesaving techniques. In fact, most of them seem to depict attacks.
Dylan. Oh, Dylan. I had hoped we would learn more about him last week, and this episode delivers. It turns out he has an adorable son who can count to 1,000 in the blink of an eye! And he...has a closet? Alright, maybe that's all we learn about him for now. But we finally catch a glimpse of Dylan's outie, even if it's only for a fleeting moment. Additionally, what?! It turns out that Milchick can switch employees to innie mode even when they're not physically at Lumon?! I had assumed the elevator served as a sort of boundary, but it seems the severed employees can be remotely controlled by anyone with access to a switch within Lumon's premises. I imagine the outies didn't sign up for this, but outie Dylan doesn't seem too perturbed when Milchick flips the switch back. His expression remains inscrutable as he nonchalantly asks, "We done here?"
Elsewhere, Mark's outie embarks on a second encounter with Alexa, the radiant doula of Devon. Despite his drunken antics on their initial outing and the oceanic depths of his personal baggage, Alexa seems inexplicably drawn to his messiness, granting him a second chance. As she gently prompts him to delve deeper into his feelings about Gemma, his sorrow is palpable, yet there's also a palpable sense of relief in his voice as he's invited to open up about her.
This week, we witness varying hues of Mark's inner self (finally questioning authority) and his outer persona (lucidly and sincerely reminiscing about his wife). Adam Scott manages to seamlessly blend these diverse shades into a cohesive palette, ensuring that Mark remains a fully realized and complex character, regardless of the angle from which we view him.
On a whim, Alexa and Mark attend June's concert, joining the Lumon-hating chorus in a rousing sing-along. Their lyrics ring out with passion: "I hate you, Lumon! You stole my first love! I hate you, Lumon — it's never enough! Fuck you, Lumon! I hate you, Lumon!" The chant is catchy and contagious, reflecting the growing sentiment against the corporation.
After the concert, Mark and Alexa share an intimate moment, but something continues to nibble at Mark's conscience. Perhaps it's the sight of Petey's daughter, or perhaps it's something deeper and more profound. Regardless, he's compelled to retrieve the flip phone from the trash. As he reaches for it, the phone suddenly begins to ring, its jarring tone echoing through the stillness. McArdle captures this moment with a stunning overhead shot, framing Mark as a solitary black silhouette against the snow-covered street. The image is hauntingly reminiscent of the black goo-shadow emerging from the trash can in the opening credits, foreshadowing the mysteries and revelations that lie ahead.
Coincidentally, both Graner and Mark head to the university at the same time, their paths converging on the Lumon defector who has been un-severing people. Mark makes contact with her, and she leads him down a darkened hallway, the tension and anticipation building to a feverish climax. The cliffhanger is activated, leaving us eagerly anticipating the next chapter in this intricate and captivating narrative.
