My first memories of falling in love with a TV show go back to my early teens, hiding behind the sofa as my parents watched the first season of LOST. I'd missed the first half of the season, but the finale had me gripped—who were the others? What was the black smoke? Why is there a metal hatch in the ground?
The finale gave us more questions than answers, something which I soon realised was by deliberate design to make the show so "watchable". The writers had perfected the art of the cliffhanger, although many would argue that their overindulgence in such a device, along with a lack of long-term planning, would turn them away from the show.
My parents never kept watching after that first season finale; I never understood why. For me, this was the beginning of something wonderful. For them, they seemed frustrated knowing they were so far from the end. Since my fascination with LOST (and trust me, I was obsessed), I have fallen in love with many other TV shows such as The Sopranos and Twin Peaks, but when it comes to new releases, I approach recommendations with a degree of caution, often allowing works to essentially "ferment", for time to pass in order to see if they are merely a "flash in the pan" cultural phenomenon or a true work of art with both style and substance.
My reduced participation in online media communities has kept me largely sheltered from the popularity of Severance, but this year I had increasingly noticed little bits from the TV show appearing here and there to pique my interest—memes on Twitter, references from other actors. I'm not much of a TV watcher, but the concept drew me in.
For those unfamiliar, Severance centres around a fictional procedure that surgically divides one's consciousness into two separate identities: a work self and a home self. Employees at the mysterious Lumon Industries undergo this procedure, creating "Innies" who exist only at work with no knowledge of their outside lives, and "Outies" who experience life outside work but remember nothing of what happens during their workday. The story primarily follows Mark Scout, played brilliantly by Adam Scott, as both versions of himself begin to question the ethics and secrets of the corporation. It's a fascinating exploration of work-life balance taken to its most extreme, dystopian conclusion.
As with any sci-fi concept, I knew my enjoyment of it would largely lie in its execution. It's important that although what I'm watching is unrealistic in my world, in the world that's been created, things follow rules—an internal logic that is consistent and believable. In LOST, I thought that "whatever happened, happened" was a great example of this. A recent time travel series that I loved which followed similar rules (before adding more and more layers) was Dark.
What impressed me immediately about Severance was how quickly it addressed my concerns. Within the first two episodes, it answers many of the questions about how its concept works. Even more impressive is that it immediately sets up the moral and ethical questions about ultimately creating another person, or slave, which seems incredibly realistic. The show introduces characters like Helly, Irving, and Dylan who work alongside Mark in the mysterious Macrodata Refinement department, where they perform cryptic work that involves sorting numbers based on how they "feel." Their controlling manager Milchick and the enigmatic department head Harmony Cobel (played masterfully by Patricia Arquette) add layers of tension and intrigue. Scenes which would look absurd without context, like most of the action inside Lumon (the break room punishments, waffle parties, the way they communicate and so on) actually make sense. The show still requires a certain suspension of disbelief but, as John Ford said when asked why the Indians don't just shoot the wheels in Stagecoach, "because the movie would end".
Severance quickly establishes itself as a competent sci-fi piece and a thought-provoking exploration of morality, condemnation of humanity and more. The romances it establishes are powerful and moving, and the show has an incredible ability to switch between points of empathy where we're constantly questioning what we think. The show can be infuriating and maddening, but always with reason—what would we do if we were any of these characters?
The show moves at a methodical, mysterious pace. The visual aesthetics embed us into the world and routines of the characters, emboldening the themes and letting us experience glimpses of what such a world could be like. Severance showcases the depravity of humans but also the wonder, people at their very best and very worst. In each episode, the cinematography, editing, score and sound design are impressive; the "Lumon" office is a true marvel of design.
There are many episodes that have been lingering in my mind since watching them. Both seasons end with fantastic finales. Without spoiling them, season one's might just be one of the finest hours of television I have ever seen, a masterclass in revelation. Season two's is one of the greatest presentations of ethical/moralistic dilemmas I have ever seen. Then in between them, we have an episode in "Chikhai Bardo" which is so emotionally powerful that I think it will be remembered in history like "The Constant" from LOST.
I cannot recommend Severance highly enough. Its breathtaking originality and flawless execution set it apart from anything else on television today. The show manages to be both intellectually stimulating and emotionally resonant—a rare combination indeed. The writing, direction, and performances coalesce into something truly special, and I find myself eagerly anticipating where this remarkable journey will take us next. If you've not yet experienced Severance, you're missing out on what may well become one of the defining television series of our time.
