(DISCLAIMER: Some spoilers and violent images ahead.)
With it being David Cronenberg’s birthday earlier this week, revisiting his bleak yet intriguing Videodrome is my token of admiration to the visionary auteur. First released in 1983, Videodrome entered the world at the apex of the home video revolution. Though in hindsight exceptionally relevant to its time, it is clear today that the film has transcended its literal 1983 world of Betamax tapes and clunky cathode-ray screens, establishing itself as a disturbingly accurate metaphor of the way in which instant telecommunication has dominated and transformed our lives in the modern world. While many other, more recent representations have beaten this idea to death to the point of cliché, often exploiting the trendy topic for sole entertainment value (nothing wrong with that if it’s genuinely entertaining, I suppose), Videodrome remains a prescient warning that raises important questions about the muddled landscape of our computerized, consolidated world. What was initially a dystopian and hyperbolically satirical prognostication in its own day has turned out to be a widespread reality as we rewatch the movie on our flatscreen TVs, tablets, computer screens, and/or cell phones in the infancy of the new millennium.
To summarize Videodrome’s complex and rather mystifying synopsis would be almost impossible; I’d hate to oversimplify the fascinating and subtle underpinnings of the film’s story that ultimately make it something to be experienced rather than just “seen.” I’ve sat through the film about three times by now, and each time I still discover new symbols or questions that I hadn’t noticed previously. I’ll still admit there are certain aspects of the film I have yet to uncover, and even truly comprehend–yet it’s this same, lingering sense of ambiguity that makes the film work on a deeply visceral level. Videodrome raises serious questions about the interplay between mass media, psychology, phylogeny, ethics, and technology, where multiple viewpoints can be derived based on one’s own interpretation of the film (within a reasonable framework, of course). The film is meant to be puzzling, portraying a dystopian vision of chaos, confusion, and corporate despotism in a world governed by technology.
That said, I’ll still treat you to the film’s premise if you’re not already familiar: we are first introduced Max Renn, the cool and callous president of Channel 83’s sleazy cable network CIVIC-TV, as he scrounges for increasingly lurid content that will keep the small TV station alive and edgy. He is then introduced to a pirated signal called Videodrome, a compilation of footage depicting torture, abuse, and murder. Drawn into its graphic nature, while assuming it’s all simulated, Max believes this is exactly the type of jolting programming that his station needs. However, from this moment on, the narrative takes a sudden and outlandish turn. As he becomes obsessed with this mysterious Videodrome signal and continues to expose himself to it, he begins to hallucinate intensely–a direct effect of the Videodrome signal–to the point where the line between real life and these altered states become not only blurred, but intertwined: videocassettes pulsate and throb with organic life, humans are turned into technological-biological hybrid weapons, and the figurative screen separating the video world from the real world shatters. At one point in the film, Max is warned that “whatever appears on the television screen emerges as raw experience for those who watch it. Therefore, television is reality, and reality is less than television.” As Videodrome continues to consume his life, this becomes his reality.
In addition to those individual transformations/mutations, Max is exposed to the underlying conspiracy behind Videodrome. Whereas its brutally tabloid snuff content is depraved enough, its true danger sprouts from its more “latent” motives. As our main character is warned about a third into the film, “it has something you don’t have, Max; it has a philosophy. And that’s what makes it dangerous.” This reflects a deeply overlooked yet essential concept in our mass media-infused world, one that was rapidly spreading on a scale never before throughout the early 1980s: while many people look to the media simply as entertainment without any sort of “philosophy” in mind, those in power controlling the airwaves are typically motivated by clear political/ideological motives, most of which its viewers mindlessly submit to without thinking twice about it. In the movie we see Max turn into a mindless android, constantly reprogrammed and used back and forth as a weapon for two ideologically opposed sides at war with each other. Sure–these two regimes represent the “good vs. evil” diametric, but regardless of their intent they both seek to brainwash and manipulate individuals toward serving a common goal and conforming to their specific needs.
This is literalized and completely hyperbolized in Videodrome as Max grows a vaginal-like slit on his stomach, into which tapes are inserted into like commands are into a computer. By the film’s end, Max has essentially been dehumanized into a killing machine, force-fed tasks which he obeys without question. We learn that originally this reality-altering technology was idealized by a philosopher named Brian Oblivion, as a means to help the human species evolve into its next stage dubbed as the “New Flesh”: a fusion of the biological with the technological, in which humans are merged with rapidly evolving technology that allows them to transcend their current physical limitations. According to Oblivion, “The television screen is the retina of the mind’s eye. Therefore, the television screen is part of the physical structure of the brain.” Videodrome literally depicts this concept as Max is deluded by his hallucinations and no longer sees the real world for what it is, which become increasingly bizarre as he continues to subject himself to Videodrome. Despite this transcension of body, however, it is at this stage where Max no longer exists as an autonomous individual; he is quite literally and physically programmed and “used” to meet the needs of those pulling the strings from behind.
In today’s world, the way in which we merge with technology couldn’t be more apparent. In 1983, videocassettes allowed people to record and distribute their thoughts, dreams, and darkest impulses in an affordable and wildly accessible way. Today, however, we use our cell phones like an extra appendage, and the Internet gives us access to information and all kinds of content like never before. Videodrome was certainly aware of the upcoming Information Age, asserting that there comes a point where there is no longer any boundary between physical reality and the internet/video-world. The “New Flesh” will essentially be the next step in mankind’s evolution.
Videodrome also warns us of the danger of corporate tyranny. In an age where media has become so consolidated, where the sensational is heightened dramatically over the substantive, the film epitomizes the battle between true free speech and the potentially manipulative power of the media to distort the truth. Much like how the Internet has rendered the filtration of the news through media outlets increasingly obsolete, Videodrome pits the anarchic ideology of the New Flesh against the manipulative/propagandizing schemes of streamlined, unaccountable corporate conglomerates.
On more filmic terms, Cronenberg definitely has a gift for tone. The way in which he utilizes sound, imagery, and symbolism in Videodrome is outstanding, and makes the intellectual message of the film have a much more visceral edge. Whereas other early “computer” movies like Tron (1982) revelled in the sleek, neon aesthetic of the early ‘80s technological revolution, Videodrome presents the flip side of it, where the fusion between flesh and technology leads to some gruesomely bizarre and violent scenes. This is all the more emphasized by the ominous soundtrack, which coalesces perfectly with the dreary, desaturated, and graphic nature of the visuals.
So make sure to check out Videodrome if it’s your type of thing. The movie definitely presents itself as an exaggerated, fiercely satirical and over-the-top science fiction bizarro that just gets weirder and weirder, but revisiting it today it’s clear that its ideas ring much truer than they did back in 1983. So treat yourself to this remarkably imaginative yet grounded masterpiece from the Cronenberg oeuvre, but just be warned, it hits a little closer to home than you might expect.