VideodromeCan TV influence us in ways beyond simply offering us a different perspective? Is media transformative--not just mentally, but physiologically? Does watching sex and violence make us into monsters, and are the distributors of these wares responsible for the social impact of that content? These are broad social questions that would fit into many movies, but Videodrome goes further, "breaks through" as Max Renn (James Woods) might say, by proposing that through the influence of the television signal, people can be evolved into a "new flesh", one where reality is less real than television.
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Videodrome deals with the director of a small cable TV station--Max Renn--and his search for the next form of broadcast depravity. Disappointed by fishing for themed softcore pornography, questioning if he can "get away with it" (this is pre-internet 1983), he is solicited by colleague/airwave pirate, Harlan (Peter Dvorsky), to preview a broadcast of what appears to be (and probably is) snuff TV--torture, degradation, and other sick thrills. The show--called Videodrome--should be shocking to viewers today, save that we are now of a society that has been numbed to all manner of horror lurking online, "dark net" or no, where all boundaries have disintegrated. Convinced that this "show" is the answer to his prayers, he pursues its origin against the warnings of others with better "subterranean" connections, and becomes wrapped up in a conspiracy...or goes psychotic...or both potentially. Max finds a connection--or at least animal attraction--with Nicki Brand (Deborah Harry), radio DJ by day, masochist by night. Nicki is so turned on by the extreme broadcast, that she seeks to become a "contestant" on the program. While Max has been angling for the rights to Videodrome, he is instinctively repulsed and protective, trying to deter Nicki from getting in what he considers is over her head. Max's connection to Nicki is a tether for him in his phantasmagoric odyssey, as she frequently manifiests in his hallucinations--which tend to be television-themed--luring him ever closer into the transition, tuning in to a new lifeform. As the untrustworthy representative for Spectacular Optical, Barry Convex (Leslie Carlson) observes to Max, "who would watch a scum show like Videodrome"? Max...Nicki...many more, and there are enough like Max to justify its existence in the media marketplace, hidden and subversive or a mere Google search away. Is Max's descent into this psychosomatic inferno all a conspiracy, or all in his head? And if so, who put it there? Was it just the signal, or was it something growing all this time? Suppose the conspiracy of Videodrome is not an elaborate hallucination of Max's, and suppose he is caught in an ideological, technological tug-of-war between the organic proselytization and messiah-making of Max as an avatar of the cathode ray by Bianca O'Blivion (Sonja Smits) and Barry Convex and his mega-corporation with a predilection toward inorganic body modifications; what then? It speaks of a paranoid fear of media and propaganda, politics and religion, that is both wildly unsettling and yet not entirely unfounded. Max is us; and heaven help us all if our evolutionary development is left in the hands of amoral programmers...or any programmers for that matter. (The irony of this statement is not lost on me.)
David Cronenberg, the writer/director of Videodrome is widely regarded as the progenitor of modern "body horror" film, a kind of theme wherein the terror comes from the often disgusting and shocking transformation of a person into a monster over time, generally through the introduction of a foreign element. When Max pierces Nicki's ears in a bit of S&M foreplay, it is done as the Videodrome signal plays in the background, and is a fusion of the organic and inorganic, flesh and metal, one of the first to come. But Videodrome does not exclusively portray the transformative process as the horror, but also the rationale behind the existence of Videodrome, and the culture that fosters its unholy birth. Like many great social commentaries--something the best horror movies explore in tandem--Videodrome posits the idea that maybe hardcore media can warp its audience, turn them toward unsavory behavior. What it does is create an arena for others with even darker ambitions to exploit this audience by subversively introducing a (literally) toxic message into the feed. And after altering that audience thus considered to be so degenerate, so sick...well, frankly, who cares what happens to them after the introduction of that cancerous signal? Max just happens to be the uninvolved middle-man, who gets drawn into the gyre whether he likes it or not. Videodrome prefigures modern technological and social strides (as does much of Cronenberg's body of work). Consider our reliance on cell phones, computers that are touted as a necessity in modern life, cybernetic enhancements and biometric identifiers which are commonplace. And TV is still around, with multiple sets in every home; so when media personality--and the most literal kind of televangelist--Brian O'Blivion (Jack Creley) talks of only appearing on television on television, it is weird, but not impossible to achieve. There are more than a few instances where we see a character on TV before (or in lieu of) in person; life on TV is more real than reality, so why not? Brian O'Blivion talks of "special names" for people, pointing out that "Brian O'Blivion" was not his given name, and that people take on an alternate persona. How like screennames and other online interactions--such as Facebook or Twitter--where we adopt this new personality that is, to an extent, different than the one we present "in real life". For a world where we might believe that we are truly capable of independent thought, it is worth considering the shrines we build, and the possessions that we devote our time unto, and consider if they really have no say in our lives, no governance on how we perceive the world. That technology is as much a part of us as our right hand--long live the new flesh.
Recommended for: Fans of a philosophical take on often truly brutal horror, and audiences who aren't afraid to ask themselves how and if what we see makes us who we are, and vice versa.
David Cronenberg, the writer/director of Videodrome is widely regarded as the progenitor of modern "body horror" film, a kind of theme wherein the terror comes from the often disgusting and shocking transformation of a person into a monster over time, generally through the introduction of a foreign element. When Max pierces Nicki's ears in a bit of S&M foreplay, it is done as the Videodrome signal plays in the background, and is a fusion of the organic and inorganic, flesh and metal, one of the first to come. But Videodrome does not exclusively portray the transformative process as the horror, but also the rationale behind the existence of Videodrome, and the culture that fosters its unholy birth. Like many great social commentaries--something the best horror movies explore in tandem--Videodrome posits the idea that maybe hardcore media can warp its audience, turn them toward unsavory behavior. What it does is create an arena for others with even darker ambitions to exploit this audience by subversively introducing a (literally) toxic message into the feed. And after altering that audience thus considered to be so degenerate, so sick...well, frankly, who cares what happens to them after the introduction of that cancerous signal? Max just happens to be the uninvolved middle-man, who gets drawn into the gyre whether he likes it or not. Videodrome prefigures modern technological and social strides (as does much of Cronenberg's body of work). Consider our reliance on cell phones, computers that are touted as a necessity in modern life, cybernetic enhancements and biometric identifiers which are commonplace. And TV is still around, with multiple sets in every home; so when media personality--and the most literal kind of televangelist--Brian O'Blivion (Jack Creley) talks of only appearing on television on television, it is weird, but not impossible to achieve. There are more than a few instances where we see a character on TV before (or in lieu of) in person; life on TV is more real than reality, so why not? Brian O'Blivion talks of "special names" for people, pointing out that "Brian O'Blivion" was not his given name, and that people take on an alternate persona. How like screennames and other online interactions--such as Facebook or Twitter--where we adopt this new personality that is, to an extent, different than the one we present "in real life". For a world where we might believe that we are truly capable of independent thought, it is worth considering the shrines we build, and the possessions that we devote our time unto, and consider if they really have no say in our lives, no governance on how we perceive the world. That technology is as much a part of us as our right hand--long live the new flesh.
Recommended for: Fans of a philosophical take on often truly brutal horror, and audiences who aren't afraid to ask themselves how and if what we see makes us who we are, and vice versa.