A large company proposes an irresistible plan to its employees: by inserting a chip into their brains, they can separate their memories of work from those of their free time.
One part of the conscience remains locked in the office and the other lives in an eternal holiday, without knowing anything about the other.
The series is called
Separation
(Apple TV+), and it's a wonderful irony that this allegory of technocratic messianism is produced and broadcast by the company that wanted to replace the cross with a bitten apple, and Christ with Steve Jobs.
The series is at heart a topical conspiracy
thriller
older than the Dead Sea Scrolls.
The good thing about
Separation
is that it is enjoyed despite the coarse salt sermon imparted by anti-neoliberal doctrine.
The allegory is as aesthetically refined as it is coarse in its dystopian approach, imposing an enormous distance between the characters and the viewer.
If someone who makes a living with a computer compares his reality with the plot of the series, he will hardly recognize anything: his company does not want to separate him into two halves, but to merge all his parts into a single connected and uninterrupted existence, without schedules, vacations no personal matters.
More information
Nightmare jobs that ask to blow everything up: the invasion of work dystopias in fiction
The border between personal life and work was a wall imposed by the workers' struggle, not by the businessmen.
Workplace terror isn't a chip in the brain, it's one of those foosball-and-scooter offices where work looks like youth camp.
The disturbing threat is not Patricia Arquette with silver hair imitating Cruella de Vil, but your 30-year-old boss dressed in a
Big Bang Theory
T-shirt sending you a
with emoticons at eleven o'clock at night and asking you in a very good vibe if you could deliver the project tomorrow.
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