David Bianculli

The most miserable person on Earth, it says, must save the world from happiness.

And even if I wanted to elaborate, the streaming service's press restrictions on spoilers make it next to impossible.

I've never seen such a long, detailed list of plot points not to reveal.

But I don't mind.

If you stick with the Twilight Zone analogy, you'll notice echoes in Pluribus from various classic Zone episodes.

A woman all alone in her home fighting against a mysterious enemy surrounding her.

A woman fighting against a society that wants her to conform and act just like them.

A man all alone with buildings and streets deserted trying to survive.

And so on.

Vince Gilligan was a writer and producer on The X-Files, and his love of the genre comes through loud and clear here, like a radio signal from across the universe.

And what he's doing in Pluribus, while having fun with themes from The Twilight Zone and classic sci-fi films like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, somehow is paradoxically bordering on unique.

Yes, he and his creative team of writers and directors dip into Gilligan's familiar bag of tricks.

Beautiful photography, long extended set pieces and montages, intense and lengthy conversations among characters.

But the way those characters are introduced and dealt with here, and the way the plot widens and deepens to say so much about so many big-idea topics, it's as singularly and hypnotically odd in its way as Twin Peaks was.

It's disturbing, unpredictable, and alternately funny and creepy.

And while Ray Sehorne doesn't carry all of the weight of Pluribus, other co-stars, including Carolina Wydra and Carlos Manuel Vesca, are wonderful too.

Her Carol is a character you'll relate to, laugh at, and buy into completely.

The opening episode, written and directed by Gilligan, takes her on a wild and crazy ride, and we go right along with her.

And Gilligan and Pluribus ask a larger question as well.

Fighting for life and liberty, that's a given.