Severance – Sci-fi Series

Memory as a Place of Control

At the heart of this acclaimed TV Scifi series is a fascinating idea: the “severance” procedure, which separates a consciousness into two different parts—one that exists only at work (“innie”) and another that lives outside of it (“outie”). Rather than enhancing human abilities like many sci-fi narratives, this sci-fi takes something away, literally a lobotomy dressed up as progress. The first episode begins vaguely, as it develops the story about surveillance capitalism and corporate influence. Lumon Industries, the company behind the procedure, doesn’t just control how people work—it influences their very sense of self. The “outie” gives up part of their existence in exchange for a false sense of work-life balance, while the “innie” becomes trapped in a kind of mental servitude, unaware of life beyond the office. As the series progresses, Severance turns a metaphor into reality: feelings of alienation in a corporate world become a literal disconnection from oneself.

What makes Severance particularly thrilling is not its flashy sci-fi technology or characters with super powers, but the restraint in the storytelling. The attention and detail in the quiet, snowy winter backdrops echoes the void in the heart broken portrayal of the protagonist. The minimal set is design purposely with a bland version of modern and retro-futuristic styles, the long corridors, fluorescent hallways and simple terminals. This timelessness suggests that the future of dehumanization won’t be paradise, but rather mundane and even bureaucratic. The outside world seems only a bit more liberated—its suburban neighbour-hood like normalcy, yet the inside work building is that of a brutalist style and monotonous shell.

The use of architectural elements play a central role, acting as a bridge between the “innie” and “outie.” The elevator core stands out as a significant symbol, a passage that signifies transformation. The ascent-descent marks a moment of forgetting, a transition from one memory state to another. The elevator — the only vertical element in the otherwise horizontal expanse — becomes a sacred threshold. It is a ritual device, both architectural and metaphysical, that facilitate the moment of erasure.

With Season 3 on the horizon, it’ll be curious to see if how the divided memory dives deeper into this psychological drama. Either way, it’s already nailed one truth: modern life doesn’t need robots or lasers to feel dystopian—just white walls, a partitioned desk, and a moving hoist-way that awaits us in the next episode.