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four artifacts from four David Cronenberg films:

Gristle Gun from Existenz, 1999 Harness from Crash, 1996 Instruments for Operating on Mutant Women from Dead Ringers, 1988 Gut Insertion Prosthetic from Videodrome, 1983

Japanese poster for "Videodrome" (1983)

Steven Shaviro, “Bodies of Fear: David Cronenberg”, in The Cinematic Body

Videodrome (1983)

“Videodrome” and Humanity’s Technological Evolution

I think that massive doses of Videodrome signal will ultimately create a new outgrowth of the brain that will produce and control hallucination to the point that it will change human reality. After all, there is nothing real outside of our perception of reality, is there?

In 2020, many people saw their daily activities rapidly shift from in person to, suddenly, being mediated by a screen: not only meetings with coworkers, but holidays, education, concerts and even grocery shopping. This has been shocking to many, and it should be, since it represents a new way of interacting with the world being grafted onto humanity, almost like a brand new digital organ. A decade ago, you could get along fine without a cellphone, but now, everything from our friendships to our money seems to be moving towards the technological. These frightening observations may seem better suited to a science fiction novel, but they have been around much longer than the iPhone: I found them at the forefront of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983)!

Videodrome is a movie about augmenting our humanity and our reality using technology. Sound familiar? This film came out almost forty years ago, and it shows - the accepted medium for sharing videos is VHS - yet it still has much to say about the age of the internet, and our relationships with our devices. The audience follows Max Renn, the CEO of a small, smutty television station, as he searches for new, shocking programs to air that will attract viewers. With the help of a “pirate” (no, this isn’t thepiratebay) who uses a satellite dish to lock onto and record television broadcasts from all over the world, Renn becomes familiar with a show called “Videodrome”: a plotless exhibition of torture and muder. 

What is unclear, and here is where Videodrome becomes conceptually fascinating, is whether or not the depictions of death in this program are simulated or not, and whether or not this matters. Renn is advised to seek out Professor Brian O’Blivion about his inquiries into Videodrome, and finds that the man only appears on television - never in person. O’Blivion’s daughter gives Renn a VHS tape to watch in which the professor pontificates thus: “The television screen is the retina of the mind’s eye. Therefore, the television is part of the physical structure of the brain. Therefore, 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.” Renn scoffs at these statements, as many audience members might, yet this line of reasoning is both provocative and valid. 

What is experienced by characters in television programs is experienced vicariously by viewers, although differently. This fact creates within viewers a novel and unique reality that exists both on the screen and within their minds. This concept isn’t specific to television; books can have a similar effect, but we interact with words on a page much differently than we do real-life images on a screen. Hearing people speak, seeing them smile, watching them die, all have a much heightened level of reality in comparison with staring at text. But to what extent is Professor O’Blivion correct when he says that television is more real than reality?

Technology allows its users to exercise a heightened level of control over their own identities. It is revealed that Professor O’Blivion is dead, and has been for almost a year, but he lives on through his tapes. He still makes television appearances, and has conversations with people. His daughter remarks that “at the end he was convinced that public life on television was more real than private life in the flesh.” O’Blivion died of a brain tumor, that he claimed were caused by “video hallucinations” - a product of watching Videodrome. Max is informed that, since he has seen Videodrome, he is also growing a brain tumor caused by his hallucinations. These visions are what allow Brian O’Blivion to communicate directly with Max - he refers to him by name, and advises him on his specific problem. He has literally been able to transfer his being to the television realm, and continue to exist beyond death. 

The internet does not allow us to exert this amount of control over our existences - not yet, that is - but people are able to present certain sides of themselves online that they may not show in person. The television show Catfish brought this particular trend to the public’s attention: there are plenty of people out there that are manipulating their internet presences, and sometimes straight-up lying about who they are, all while creating relationships with people who are ignorant of the “truth.” This is where Professor O’Blivion would tell us that other people’s perceptions of a fabricated identity online were just as real as a person in the flesh. Most people don’t abide by this logic, and are hurt when they feel that others are lying to them; O’Blivion’s perspective points to a new era of humanity that would exist entirely within screens, and be dominated by hallucinations. In other words, this new existence would allow humans to control what they saw, and how others saw them: controlled hallucinations, or, simply a manipulation of reality.

When reality is this malleable, there enters the concern of who is in control? Brian O’Blivion’s old business partners who sabotaged him enter the narrative as the antagonists, who have an evil scheme to use Videodrome as a destructive force. Of course, this is Cronenberg, and with augmented reality comes augmented physicality; Max Renn is able to open up his stomach and store things inside of himself, additionally allowing VHS tapes to be inserted in him like a video player, controlling his actions. “They can program you. They can play you like a video-tape recorder,” O’Blivion’s daughter (Bianca) tells Renn. Luckily, Bianca is able to help Max de-program himself (in an awesome scene where a television screen literally mirrors his torso), giving him a new objective and catchy tagline: “Death to Videodrome. Love live the new flesh!”

Renn’s triumph over those who would wish to make a robot assassin out of him is an encouraging look at the new age for the modern viewer. Things aren’t as cut in dry in a world where physical media has become virtually obsolete. How can I know if I’m being controlled by my devices, and to what end? To what extent have my devices become an outgrowth of myself, in the same way that video hallucinations cause brain outgrowths in Videodrome? As we spend more and more time interacting with screens, it may become necessary to step back and ask ourselves where this relationship is headed, and whether or not it’s positive. Brian O’Blivion was incredibly optimistic about “the next phase of man as a technological animal,” that is, until the wrong people took over for the wrong reasons. Maybe the question we should be asking in addition to “Do I want to see human evolution continue down this path?” is “Who is in control of this path, and why?”

“Death to Videdrome.” Dir. David Cronenberg

The television screen is the retina of the mind’s eye. Therefore, the television screen is part of the physical structure of the brain. Therefore, whatever appears on the television screen emerges as raw experience for those who watch it

Videodrome (1983), David Cronenberg

Audience note from test screening of VIDEODROME, 1983