Videodrome (1983)
David Cronenberg
"It ain't exactly sex."
"Says who?"
"Says who?"
On face value, Videodrome seems like a dated film. It's a story about the proliferation of toxic mass media, which is now a timeless theme, but the technology is firmly rooted in 1983. This probably hurts the longevity of Videodrome, because anybody younger than 25 would watch it with bemused interest at the archaic video cassettes and players that drive the plot. Even I'll admit that it was little quaint and distracting.
But it's ok for it to feel dated. Explorations on mass media is a theme that can be explored across generations, and not just in horror. Elements of this can be seen in films like Network, Natural Born Killers, Citizen Kane, and the true masterpiece: Robocop. In fact, I like to imagine that Channel 83, the network run by James Woods' TV executive Max Renn, is the station that provides us with the absurd nonsense on televisions in the Robocop universe.
I think both Paul Verhoeven and David Cronenberg that this kind of sleazy, cheap, lowest common denominator television would eventually replace true visual art. Both directors had a fascination with violence and sex, but not in the ways that were becoming popular on television. They wanted violence to be shocking and disgusting. Hyper-real to keep the audience disgusted by it, while also making a comment about how what you'll see on the nightly news will always be worse.
(I know this isn't Videodrome, but it's too awesome not to show...)
Videodrome is the story of a television executive who is looking for a new, cheaply made, but shocking television show for his sleazy UHF station (this was channel 83 before there was cable TV). A technician at the station introduces him to a bizarre pirated satellite broadcast of a show called Videodrome, a vile "show" of women being tortured in sadistic and highly violent ways. Immediately Max is fascinated and desires to see more.
I love the idea of television station pirating. When I was young, my dad owned a big metal satellite dish that would actually turn itself to catch new signals. If you fiddled with the settings and explored the different satellites at random, you could see all sorts of weird programs. Once we discovered the NBC News feed, which would allow us to watch Tom Brokaw get ready for the nightly news. There would be strange feeds from other countries that would make no sense. We could even get shows before they aired on network television. It felt a bit like hacking must feel: the ability to voyeuristically look in on things you were never meant to see.
After Videodrome came out, pirating television signals was kind of a thing. Several notable incidents occurred around the country as pranksters would hijack over-the-air television broadcasts and transmit truly bizarre videos to a bewildered audience. This one aired during an episode of Dr. Who:
Maybe Videodrome unlocked something in the subversive consciousness, to upset the soft and boring nature of mass media and inject a subversive element. And that's exactly what Max is trying to do. He's tired of the same old sleaze (the show he is pitched at the beginning of the film is called Samurai Dreams, a period piece featuring a young geisha masturbating wordlessly with a gigantic dildo), he wants to get the rights to Videodrome and make a quick buck with it.
He doesn't realize it right away, but Videodrome is arousing him sexually, because in his subconscious, violence is sex and sex is violence. This is where one of my all-time crushes, Debbie Harry enters as radio personality Nicki Brand. She entices Max into a sexual relationship, but is completely focused on violence rather than traditional physical pleasure. In fact, the first thing she asks to watch at his apartment is a porno, and is disappointed when Max says he doesn't have any.
Once Nicki sees Videodrome, she becomes obsessed with it, wanting to become the show's next "contestant," essentially so that she can be whipped, beaten, and shocked to her heart's content. She proves her devotion to Max by burning herself with a cigarette. The next day she departs for Pittsburgh, which is where Max hears Videodrome is produced.
During his quest to learn more about Videodrome, Max comes across a reclusive figure known as Mr. O'Blivion who will only converse via pre-recorded videotape. O'Blivion runs a strange homeless shelter known as Cathode Ray Mission where the homeless are sheltered and fed, but are seemingly made to watch televisions displaying everything from open heart surgery to goofy game shows. The cubicles where the homeless are stored look like livestock stalls, and they are herded into the mission like a line of cattle going into the slaughterhouse.
Max learns that the Videodrome signal is severely damaging, and just by watching it, you give yourself a brain tumor that causes hallucinations. O'Blivion is revealed to have succumbed to one of these tumors, but O'Blivion explains to Max in a videotape that he was not destroyed by it, but was made pure by it. The tumor was not a malignant cancer, but a new organ that allows him clearer insight and the ability to transcend his physical form and become digital media. This seems particularly prescient, especially as he mentions that O'Blivion is (obviously) not his real name, but a name he created for himself in the digital realm (sort of like a Twitter handle or a screen name). He also holds a "conversation" via monologue, uninterested in having a back-and-forth exchange of ideas. Also pretty common these days.
Another group, a corporation that is hilariously described by its CEO, Mr. Convex, as a manufacturer of "inexpensive eyeglasses for third world countries, and orbital targeting systems for NATO," approaches Max. Mr. Convex reveals that his company is the creator and originator of Videodrome, but is lacking a lot of specific details. The Convex wants Max's television station to publicly broadcast the Videodrome signal to the masses. But in order to do this, he wants Max to murder his fellow executives at the channel. Because why not?
He inserts this idea into Max in a truly disgusting and perfectly Cronenbergian way:
This is where the narrative becomes looser. The CEO makes Max wear a weird VR helmet that will supposedly unlock and monitor his hallucinations. You're left to interpret what's literally happening and what's happening in his sleazy, violence-obsessed mind, but it might as well be one in the same.
After watching another O'Blivion video, Max hallucinates (or maybe he doesn't) that Nicki is both on and has become the television. The screen bends and stretches like flesh, and he has a violent S&M encounter on the Videodrome set with the TV itself, while Nicki moans in pain and pleasure on the screen. It's really weird, really great, and the kind of special effects you'll never see again. Why spend the time and money and effort building a fleshy television set that pulses and breathes, when you can just pay a digital animator to make one over a weekend?
Without spoiling the ending, Max is pulled in multiple directions by both O'Blivion and Convex, and goes on a bit of a murder spree. While we're not sure if Videodrome is real, or if Max is just insane, he's definitely killing people. He starts repeating a bizarre new refrain: "Long live the new flesh."
He's ready to transcend his physical form and become part of the new digital reality.
This is the kind of narrative you'd expect from Cronenberg. It's not straightforward, and some of the message might only be clear to him, but it's a film that will stick with you because of the visuals and overall theme. James Woods is excellent, and Debbie Harry is impossibly hot. Also it's a Cronenberg movie. Just look at this awesome shit:
Of course you should see it!
But it's ok for it to feel dated. Explorations on mass media is a theme that can be explored across generations, and not just in horror. Elements of this can be seen in films like Network, Natural Born Killers, Citizen Kane, and the true masterpiece: Robocop. In fact, I like to imagine that Channel 83, the network run by James Woods' TV executive Max Renn, is the station that provides us with the absurd nonsense on televisions in the Robocop universe.
I think both Paul Verhoeven and David Cronenberg that this kind of sleazy, cheap, lowest common denominator television would eventually replace true visual art. Both directors had a fascination with violence and sex, but not in the ways that were becoming popular on television. They wanted violence to be shocking and disgusting. Hyper-real to keep the audience disgusted by it, while also making a comment about how what you'll see on the nightly news will always be worse.
(I know this isn't Videodrome, but it's too awesome not to show...)
Videodrome is the story of a television executive who is looking for a new, cheaply made, but shocking television show for his sleazy UHF station (this was channel 83 before there was cable TV). A technician at the station introduces him to a bizarre pirated satellite broadcast of a show called Videodrome, a vile "show" of women being tortured in sadistic and highly violent ways. Immediately Max is fascinated and desires to see more.
I love the idea of television station pirating. When I was young, my dad owned a big metal satellite dish that would actually turn itself to catch new signals. If you fiddled with the settings and explored the different satellites at random, you could see all sorts of weird programs. Once we discovered the NBC News feed, which would allow us to watch Tom Brokaw get ready for the nightly news. There would be strange feeds from other countries that would make no sense. We could even get shows before they aired on network television. It felt a bit like hacking must feel: the ability to voyeuristically look in on things you were never meant to see.
After Videodrome came out, pirating television signals was kind of a thing. Several notable incidents occurred around the country as pranksters would hijack over-the-air television broadcasts and transmit truly bizarre videos to a bewildered audience. This one aired during an episode of Dr. Who:
Maybe Videodrome unlocked something in the subversive consciousness, to upset the soft and boring nature of mass media and inject a subversive element. And that's exactly what Max is trying to do. He's tired of the same old sleaze (the show he is pitched at the beginning of the film is called Samurai Dreams, a period piece featuring a young geisha masturbating wordlessly with a gigantic dildo), he wants to get the rights to Videodrome and make a quick buck with it.
He doesn't realize it right away, but Videodrome is arousing him sexually, because in his subconscious, violence is sex and sex is violence. This is where one of my all-time crushes, Debbie Harry enters as radio personality Nicki Brand. She entices Max into a sexual relationship, but is completely focused on violence rather than traditional physical pleasure. In fact, the first thing she asks to watch at his apartment is a porno, and is disappointed when Max says he doesn't have any.
Once Nicki sees Videodrome, she becomes obsessed with it, wanting to become the show's next "contestant," essentially so that she can be whipped, beaten, and shocked to her heart's content. She proves her devotion to Max by burning herself with a cigarette. The next day she departs for Pittsburgh, which is where Max hears Videodrome is produced.
During his quest to learn more about Videodrome, Max comes across a reclusive figure known as Mr. O'Blivion who will only converse via pre-recorded videotape. O'Blivion runs a strange homeless shelter known as Cathode Ray Mission where the homeless are sheltered and fed, but are seemingly made to watch televisions displaying everything from open heart surgery to goofy game shows. The cubicles where the homeless are stored look like livestock stalls, and they are herded into the mission like a line of cattle going into the slaughterhouse.
Max learns that the Videodrome signal is severely damaging, and just by watching it, you give yourself a brain tumor that causes hallucinations. O'Blivion is revealed to have succumbed to one of these tumors, but O'Blivion explains to Max in a videotape that he was not destroyed by it, but was made pure by it. The tumor was not a malignant cancer, but a new organ that allows him clearer insight and the ability to transcend his physical form and become digital media. This seems particularly prescient, especially as he mentions that O'Blivion is (obviously) not his real name, but a name he created for himself in the digital realm (sort of like a Twitter handle or a screen name). He also holds a "conversation" via monologue, uninterested in having a back-and-forth exchange of ideas. Also pretty common these days.
Another group, a corporation that is hilariously described by its CEO, Mr. Convex, as a manufacturer of "inexpensive eyeglasses for third world countries, and orbital targeting systems for NATO," approaches Max. Mr. Convex reveals that his company is the creator and originator of Videodrome, but is lacking a lot of specific details. The Convex wants Max's television station to publicly broadcast the Videodrome signal to the masses. But in order to do this, he wants Max to murder his fellow executives at the channel. Because why not?
He inserts this idea into Max in a truly disgusting and perfectly Cronenbergian way:
This is where the narrative becomes looser. The CEO makes Max wear a weird VR helmet that will supposedly unlock and monitor his hallucinations. You're left to interpret what's literally happening and what's happening in his sleazy, violence-obsessed mind, but it might as well be one in the same.
After watching another O'Blivion video, Max hallucinates (or maybe he doesn't) that Nicki is both on and has become the television. The screen bends and stretches like flesh, and he has a violent S&M encounter on the Videodrome set with the TV itself, while Nicki moans in pain and pleasure on the screen. It's really weird, really great, and the kind of special effects you'll never see again. Why spend the time and money and effort building a fleshy television set that pulses and breathes, when you can just pay a digital animator to make one over a weekend?
Without spoiling the ending, Max is pulled in multiple directions by both O'Blivion and Convex, and goes on a bit of a murder spree. While we're not sure if Videodrome is real, or if Max is just insane, he's definitely killing people. He starts repeating a bizarre new refrain: "Long live the new flesh."
He's ready to transcend his physical form and become part of the new digital reality.
Summary:
This is the kind of narrative you'd expect from Cronenberg. It's not straightforward, and some of the message might only be clear to him, but it's a film that will stick with you because of the visuals and overall theme. James Woods is excellent, and Debbie Harry is impossibly hot. Also it's a Cronenberg movie. Just look at this awesome shit:
Of course you should see it!
No comments:
Post a Comment