Review
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
Work
4 min read

Severance: the ins and outs of seeking oblivion

We can't contain trauma to just one sphere of our lives.

Josh is a curate in London, and is completing a PhD in theology.

In a retro-future styled office, workers stand or sit around a pod of desks.
Apple TV.

How far would you go to stop yourself doing late-night emails? Or what would you be willing to do to escape those painful memories? Severance, returning for its second season on AppleTV+, explores an extreme solution to both. 

The show follows a group of office workers at Lumon who have had their memories severed: when outside of work they do not remember what they do at work and when at work they do not know anything about their lives outside. The work-self, referred to as an 'innie', enters the elevator at 5pm and immediately finds themselves back in the elevator at 9am the next day. They feel rested without any memory of the rest. Their "outie" blinks at 9am and then it is 5pm.  

Adam Scott's protagonist, Mark, joined Lumon Industries as a severed employee working in "Macrodata Refinement" (MDR) as a result of losing his wife. In an episode early in the second season, one character recounts Mark telling them that he applied for the role because it felt like he was "choking on her ghost." Being severed offers Mark hours each working day where a version of him can work oblivious to this grief. 

Of course, Mark's employer is up to something sinister, though exactly what remains unclear even to the innies. Lumon is at times terrifying, at times goofy and always unsettling. Innies are mistreated but cannot communicate with their outie beyond what Lumon allows. Even in these conditions, the small MDR team, each with no more than a couple of years' worth of memories, find purpose in their relationships with one another and in seeking to understand their bosses' designs.  

Severance has attracted a lot of attention and reflection. Writing for the Financial Times, Emma Jacobs concludes that the show points us to our impossible longing for a boundaried life. The Northeastern University academic Tomas Elliot proposes that Severance can be read as an inversion of The Matrix: employees knowingly placing themselves in a state of naivety. Jacobs and Elliot both read the show as pointing to the paradoxical nature of modern work as both the cause of discontentment and the place many look to for a sense of purpose and fulfilment.  

Instability cannot be contained to one sphere of life. Life is hard and so is work. Neither can offer escape from the other. 

At the heart of many of the questions that Severance raises is the relationship between work and identity. Most of us live with a sense that who we are is found in our relationships. Work means something because it is one of the places we are most powerfully shaped by and shape relationships with colleagues, competitors, consumers and everyone else. Work becomes destructive when it cultivates destructive relationships in the workplace or when it displaces other forms of community and sources of identity.  

The process of severance  protects outies from the formative power of workplace relationships: their strains and their joys. No doubt we could each imagine benefits to this. However, it leaves Mark's outie paralysed by grief because he has denied himself a key source of relationships through which he could begin to heal, integrating that grief into a new sense of self. 

Just as Mark's innie is protected by the outie's grief, the outie is protected from discovering who he could be without his wife. As the series progresses, it becomes less clear whether Mark's motivation is the fear of grief's crushing burden or the fear that one day the burden may ease.  

In his book Resonance, Hartmut Rosa writes: 

Time and again, human beings come to discover that they can become "different people" in different contexts. And under the highly dynamic conditions of late modernity, the task of finding out who we really are collides… with repeatedly having to "reinvent" and creatively redefine ourselves. That said reinvention also should be "completely authentic" is surely one of the more pointed paradoxes of the present age.  

As Rosa notes, the dynamism of contemporary market forces produces a dynamism in our sense of identity, which can be experienced as instability. One response to this instability—and all the other humiliations and challenges of living at this time—is to look for ways of separating "work" and "life", to carve out a space where I can be free from constant performance and reinvention. And yet, as Severance shows us, whatever part of ourselves we designate as "life" or "outie", it cannot be free from pain and sometimes we will escape to, rather than from, "work".  

Instability cannot be contained to one sphere of life. Life is hard and so is work. Neither can offer escape from the other. Some things must be resisted and some must simply be lived with. Both can only be done together. Ultimately, both can only be done if we are held in and defined by a relationship secure through any failure or loss. Seeking such a relationship is a life's work, for both innies and outies.  

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Review
Community
Culture
Film & TV
Romance
5 min read

Nobody Wants This: the rom-com for tense times

Warning: contains warm depictions of strong community and belief.

Lauren Westwood works in faith engagement communications for The Salvation Army.

A couple together on a sofa watch a laptop,
Kirsten Bell, Adam Brody.
Netflix.

I hope places of worship are ready to be inundated with hopeful singles, because it seems there is a market for spiritual authorities as romantic leads. 

In its latest hit, Nobody Wants This, Netflix saw Fleabag’s ‘Hot Priest’ and raised us ‘Hot Rabbi’. Through ten half-hour episodes – so watchable that it is easily viewed in two sittings or less – we follow the unlikely love story of recently single rabbi Noah, played by Adam Brody, and agnostic sex podcaster Joanne, played by Kristen Bell. The pairing of ‘a rabbi and a sex podcaster’ may sound more like the opening of a politically incorrect joke, but after an impressive 15.9 million views in its first week of streaming, it’s clear that somebody wants this. 

“Tonally, we’re at such a tense time,” shared Brody, as he tried to explain the show’s success. “I think just something that’s very positive and celebrates love, is funny and has a warm feeling. I think people are responding to that.”  

It’s true. In days of emotional heaviness and concern, we shouldn’t be surprised by the resurgence of genuinely good romantic comedies. But I don’t think that is all that accounts for the triumph of Nobody Wants This. Its seamless blend of profound religious concepts with an evolving and exploratory faith continually presents viewers with the idea that there is more and better to life. Its redemptive quality goes beyond the classic strangers-to-lovers storyline. Depictions of strong community and belief in greater things have captured an audience who crave something more than surface-level fluff, even from their rom-coms. 

Perhaps, their allure does not lie in authority, sacred position, or even in appearance, but in the fact that they, too, are real, vulnerable and multi-dimensional people. 

 We meet Joanne who, like many of us, is clumsily curious and searching. Initially, she is on a one-woman mission to prove that her work as a podcaster contributes to ‘something bigger’, then she wants to discover whether she is a ‘good’ person or not. These moments of self-exploration are only side quests in her constant longing for a love more lasting than her previous relationships. The character of Joanne is based on series creator, Erin Foster, who converted to Judaism after meeting her partner and, although the series’ highly criticised portrayal of Jewish women leaves much to be desired throughout the show, the season finale leaves us with a clear emphasis that Joanne is now searching for true belief amid conversion questions. 

In the role of Rabbi Noah, as in Fleabag’s Priest, we glimpse behind the proscenium into the life of someone who has committed to serving God. In their struggles, hopes and complicated relationships, we discover a humanness beyond the lectern, titles and ceremonial clothing. In Noah, we see a man who does not always get it right – who often misses the mark – but who owns up, makes amends and learns from his mistakes. During one particularly moving scene, Noah unashamedly brings the sacred into the mundane by introducing Joanne to her first Shabbat meal over a restaurant date. We see a person of faith who doesn’t allow personal holiness to segregate them from the grit of everyday life and who, above all, prioritises relationship over regimented religion. 

There is an obvious physical attraction to men such as Adam Brody and Andrew Scott playing men of the cloth, which I find equal parts weird and worrying for those unfamiliar with real-life clergy, as they’ve possibly had their expectations set a little high. But I wonder if it is their character’s humility, gentleness and authenticity that compels the audience, drawing us to trust them. Perhaps, their allure does not lie in authority, sacred position, or even in appearance, but in the fact that they, too, are real, vulnerable and multi-dimensional people. In these depictions, the life of faith and self-sacrificial vocation does not seem far-off or removed from our society. Not everyone who comes to faith is going to become a rabbi or a priest, but these men go a long way in dismantling the perception that religion and relationship with God is only for a certain, superhuman people. Far from the fire-and-brimstone stereotype, they are responsive, relatable and – crucially, for a romantic lead – emotionally available. 

Sure, sex and sexual attraction eventually plays a large role in the plot, but how many romantic comedies save their most tender scene for a powerful moment of humble prayer... ?

On another level, the overwhelming response to Nobody Wants This reveals a desire to be part of healthy relationships is characterised by respect, patience, honesty and kindness. One online comment stating that, ‘Hot Rabbi is a walking green flag,’ speaks for thousands who simply want to be treated well by those they trust. Another claims, ‘This show healed something in me.’ Noah and Joanne’s story not only defies convention around community and social expectations, but it bucks the trend with its non-toxic approach to dating and religion. In the face of a sabotaging ex-girlfriend, an unconvinced sister, and the giant conversion-shaped question-mark over their future, the two persist by continually choosing and honouring one another. 

The ultimate strength of Nobody Wants This is that it is founded in a story that seeks its worth in more than just sex. Sure, sex and sexual attraction eventually plays a large role in the plot, but how many romantic comedies save their most tender scene for a powerful moment of humble prayer, instead of a passionate kiss? Nobody Wants This presents the viewer with a better possibility, both of life as it is now and life as it could be. Through Joanne, the person who wants something more meaningful is afforded a front-row seat in exploring religion. Even to the total newbie, there is no judgment or embarrassment – and you’d be hard-pressed to find a person who’d get it as wrong as her, making the sign of the cross in a synagogue. Through Noah, our faith in mankind and religion institution is restored as we witness his honesty, patience and kindness. Surely, this cannot be bad press for any place of worship.