WarGames: And how does that make you feel?

Having grown up in an age where computer operating systems have always been accessible and user-friendly – hell, where they’ve always existed -- I still find it difficult to wrap my head around the notion that in a time where computers were commercialized they could be as heavily mystified as they were in the early eighties. But having watched WarGames for the first time recently, and exposing myself to old technologies I hadn’t even known existed, I can certainly see the revelatory nature of this 1983 film, especially in as fragile of a period as the cold war’s twilight years.

Sure, the realm of computers and the depths of the internet have always been, and will continue to be, a bit mystifying because there is something inherently mysterious to a community with users that have greater capabilities, and potentially threatening ones, than oneself who are able to manipulate mountains without ever revealing their face. But, as informed by Stephanie Ricker Schulte’s essay “The WarGames Scenario,” general awareness regarding computers, their users, and their capabilities was at a dramatically lower point than it is today, and how could it not be when the internet is so quintessentially integrated into our modern society – it’s unfair to even compare the two. However, what is truly remarkable about these differing levels of awareness between 2014 and 1983 lies not in our societal value of the tool but in the varying degrees that we’ve empowered the government.

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Schultes contextualizes the circumstances of WarGames release (politically, technologically, socially), and she greatly details how the film had branded computers as a “teenaged technology.” On one hand, this established the stereotypes that have lasted even until today: the reclusive, socially inept, predominantly male, computer culture where teenaged boys live in their parents’ basement stabbing away at keyboards. More importantly, Schultes discusses the discourse constructed by the film; namely, the equation of “government internet regulation with parental guidance rather than with the suppression of democracy and innovation.” This exploitation of the public’s general anxiety was a brilliant move by policy makers and other governmental forces because they did not have to deal with the protests of powerful activists, whereas the only ones who may have complained about the violation of their rights and freedoms would have been those marked as “teenaged souls,” and thus negligible by “adult forces.”

I agree with Schultes’ observations, and I also think it’s worth noting that this rhetorical role of parental guidance is further substantiated by Matthew Broderick’s portrayal of the protagonist as he appears not only consistent in his teenaged shenanigans but in appearing psychologically impaired, too. This may just be a byproduct of Broderick being an arguably blank-faced actor, awkward in the delivery of his lines and interacting with people (though he will always be the lovable Ferris Bueller to me), but even if it is an indirect result, there is a pathological element to his role. But I don’t think I’m being generous in meriting Broderick’s capabilities because, my having a sister with Asperger syndrome, I see him staying fairly consistent with depicting the symptoms of a pervasive developmental disorder. His cognitive and language functions are entirely present, but his social interactions are seemingly distorted; he’s ignorant of many social customs throughout, he’s prone to stereotyped behavior, and he’s not always the most empathetic character as he does what he pleases. Of course, this gives the government more fodder for strengthening itself, but I’m also left wondering how radical this particular protagonist may have been in film and media at the time, if in fact it was a conscious decision.

If this representation is the case, then it further plays into the hands of a government deeming itself as a necessarily parental figure because not only is it guiding teenagers away from their antics but they are now being rendered as being pathologically unstable at times. Today, I think it is a more difficult for the government to stray away from its typical prescription as “Big Brother” and become a full-fledged parent because the internet has become so customary, but it is important to extract the meaningful discourse of reactions to cultural anxiety in previous eras because certain methods of scapegoating still apply to contemporary anxieties. Just look at the shift of blame to pathological instabilities and violent video games following a school shooting. The same reactionary principles of warping general awareness is still prevalent.

Blade Runner: Style As Substance

 Blade Runner is one of my favorite movies of all time and probably my favorite science-fiction movie. Alien, another Ridley Scott movie, is also in that running -- though I’d consider it horror more than science-fiction. Naturally, I was excited to see both in the syllabus. 

Anyways, Blade Runner: forerunner of the grimy dystopia, palpably atmospheric setting, haunting cinematography, deft performances from around the board, the most intact synthesized music to come out of the 80’s (see: minimalism) -- it has it all. More importantly, as has been well-established, Blade Runner is the poster-child of postmodernity in film. With its fusion of so many conflicting elements it’s easy to see why. Wet, muddled streets are crowded with transitory customers and dilapidated souls; above their heads, commercialism runs rampant with ads tracing the height of skyscrapers and zeppelins promoting off-world destinations; and even higher, the kings of industry like the Tyrell corporation with its regal ziggurat dominate the city scape. Yet these different classes are bound by perpetual deluge and by their confinement to an exasperated earth. 

And this is merely the blending of social and economic locales. The film has merged countless other incongruities, especially its anachronistic treatment of genre and technology. In his essay, “Building Blade Runner,” Norman M. Klein details a few of these fused elements. He says, “the construction of the blade runner look is very revealing… it is tangibly an old memory remodeled, a movie based on an old movie set about city life.” Furthermore, he stresses the importance of nostalgia in the film, emphasizing that it “replaces social reality.” And he’s right. The movie re-introduces traditional items, like film noir of the thirties and forties with a femme fatale Rachel and a Bogartesque Deckard, all with the intent of establishing viewer comfort with a disconcerting world.

Klein also reiterates that other critics had chastised Blade Runner at the time of its release as being an example of “style over substance.” While I don’t think that the early eighties were yet accustomed to this reversal, whereas today we are well acquainted with style’s ability to become substance, the bottom line is that the movie is purposefully “insubstantial.” It eschews a complex plot for intricate philosophy and a setting that effectively replaces the need for plot. The film is meant to be distant and seemingly hollow. The people are meant to seem aimless. Klein says, “I see a world where no one has time or place to sit longer than a few minutes, where the streets are endlessly milling.” Herein lies another facet of the movie’s postmodernity. This is a stagnant earth. People that can progress are gone; those that remain are rushing around without cause and, in some cases like J.F. Sebastian and his disease, they wither away without hope of improvement. This is why Roy’s emotional effulgence at the end is so climatic. It is the most energetic and most emotional display in the movie -- there is rage and laughter and love and pain and excitement and fear, all poured into his primal howls.

So what is the purpose of this postmodernity in Blade Runner? Does it go beyond constructing a fictional, alternate reality of our world in which we must change our ways to avoid? Here’s where I’m going to get loftily conjectural as I also feel the need to further investigate postmodernity whenever I try and understand its function, something that is quite incorporeal as postmodernity prides itself on its purposelessness.

Anyways, I think (as of right now -- this opinion is bound to change upon the completion of this overly long post) that the purpose of postmodernity is to reach a sort of post-postmodernity. If the main tenets of modernism revolve around the ideas of progression and objective truth; and we understand postmodernity to be the subversion of such tenets; but we consider progression to be inevitable, though perhaps varied in its degree of improvement, because by default it is a byproduct of the passage of time; then postmodernity is just a means of more closely examining possibilities for potential progress, be it through fragmentation or another postmodern device, so that when the time comes to consciously move forward (and that time will come because it is inevitable) we (society) will have a stronger idea of the more advantageous routes to follow for progression.

If this is the case, Blade Runner becomes even more of a standard-bearer for postmodernity. As mentioned before, it is a future that we can watch in relative safety and a future that we will not have reached by its prescribed date. There are similarities between our world and their’s, but in the end it is more dissimilar than not: it is stagnant and paradoxical and thus purposeless (what is the point of being human if we’re less human than an artificial man?). Perhaps this movie serves as a bridge, like other postmodern works, to get us to back to a point of purpose -- that post-postmodernity. If the critics with their claims of “style over substance” are right in saying that this movie is meaningless because reality will not occur according to Blade Runner, then the viewer is now able to extract a purpose from the movie’s philosophies, perhaps discerning the movie as a warning that we should appreciate being human and that we should not squander that opportunity.

Does the movie explicitly reveal this intention? Not really. It elongates our growing destitution, and travels a much drearier path than this cheerful ascertainment -- not to mention its ambiguous resolution with three or four different version makes this determination debatable. And that’s why this movie will remain relevant (philosophically, of course! Obviously, the movie is relevant for its varied scifi progenitorship). On the surface it is seemingly meaningless, but underneath lies a murky pool where answers can be plucked and molded into resolutions, or alternatively crafted to counter such resolutions. 

Lastly, I’m left questioning this movie’s place in the early 80’s. It seems antithetical to the affirmation of conservative values that we had discussed last week with E.T.. I find Blade Runner to be a counter argument directed at those growing values because the film rejects solidarity. Yes, the movie paints a crude rendition of an Asian take-over that probably would have affirmed certain political landscapes during that time, but it also paints capitalism in a negative picture with our industry having bled the world dry. That certainly doesn’t support the rhetoric of the Reagan-era. Moreover, this might explain its rather perverse representation of christianity, especially compared to E.T. In Blade Runner, man becomes God by creating new men and crafting new worlds, and these creations end up throwing down their God. Additionally, these creations that cast down their God are the most religious entities in the movie. Remember, Roy displays the most emotion of all and constantly retains his conscientiousness while Deckard is left helpless and bewildered with Ford at his finest. Also, add in the heavy-handed Christian motifs (dove, nail-in-the-hand) and the replicant really is your most devout character. How is a viewer to make sense of this artificial man being the most holy? Go-go postmodernity!

These rejections of Reagan-era policies aside, the movie does answer some of the cultural anxieties of that time, similar to E.T. of last week. Rather, it allows the viewer to determine a satisfying resolution of their own making, going back to that murky pool metaphor. The film channels American anxieties into a fictional world. As Klein touched on, “The bladerunner city, therefore is comforting in a strange way. We won’t live there. It is not our future. It is their future. But we will be allowed to visit.” No wonder Blade Runner fathered so many subsequent dystopias and post-apocalypses, even more prevalent today, with the genre's allure being its alleviation of cultural worries.

E.T.: The Allegoric-Terrestrial

Steven Spielberg’s E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial is a film that everyone has heard of, if not seen. It is not the film that first put Spielberg on the map,  but it is one that recognized his mastery as it set the threshold for all family-oriented adventure movies afterwards. It is also a film with consensually acknowledged themes of Christianity, and E.T. has often had these themes dissected and subsequently appropriated for political agendas.

The critic Frank P. Tomasulo details one such appropriation in his essay “The Gospel according to Spielberg in E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial.” In this essay, he asserts that “ostensibly apolitical movies” like E.T. “simultaneously interacted and collaborated with their immediate sociopolitical circumstances, while also drawing on the timeless… images… characters,  and themes in an effort to efface all contemporary ramifications to the New Right and the Moral Majority.”

It’s difficult to deny the argument that E.T. has Christian themes because the movie is quite blatantly allegorical, though it never lets its biblical DNA hinder its valued entertainment. In fact, it’s even difficult to counter Tomasulo’s observations because they are seemingly obvious and his explanations are quite compelling, such as his analysis of E.T.’s plot arc in line with Joseph Campbell’s delineation of Christ’s plot arc (“Separation,” “Victories of Initiation,” “Trials of Initiation,” and “Return”). Though I begin to disagree with Tomasulo when he gets to his application of these observations. As I mentioned before, Tomasulo is pointing out that E.T. is supporting the current political regime during the film’s release (The rise of the Religious Right in 1982). He draws this conclusion through a resemblance of children before a capitalist nation like children before God. More specifically, he notes that movies like E.T. strive for “the infantilization of the audience, making us all children of multinational corporate capitalism.”

While I don’t necessarily agree with Tomasulo’s main assertion, I’m not here to disagree. I’m here to point out that I am exhausted by the extraction of allegory and the appropriation of certain images for political agendas, like the Christian themes of E.T.. Too often are allegories forced from stories that are something greater, and too often are there stories praised for their literary complexity when they are merely simple allegories. I understand the need for historicism, that this was a time ripe for allegory because the political landscape was shifting and people didn’t know how to feel about the change, and that the first thing a culture does when it’s confused is explore its mediums of entertainment for secret meanings and hidden answers. I understand that allegory is a necessary tool that functions to wake up an ignorant audience in times of crisis, but E.T. is so much more because it is lasting.

Allegory is a transient item. Sure, certain motifs of Christianity will persist for a very long time, but the use of these motifs are trivial for two reasons. One, with enough effort, nearly anything can be used to extract a biblical reference of some sort. Two, these extractions can be easily moulded and rebranded to suit the rhetoric of an era’s political regime or cultural phenomenon. For these reasons, it is more important to look at E.T. for its other attributes, its more enduring characteristics: most notably, its mythology. When looking at the adventure-filled movies for families, filmmakers and movie-goers alike have, are, and will reference E.T.  as an exemplary template of that genre. Will they remember the movie because of its Christian-fueled ties to a certain political era? No, people will remember E.T. for its universally understood coming-of-age story.

I’m not denying the allegorical ties that people like Tomasulo have discerned from E.T.. I’m saying that they’re not as important in the long run. Yes, it’s important when looking at a film over three decades old to keep in mind the political landscape and general mentality at the time. But as a 21st century viewer, I can say that the Christian themes in E.T. are not its most valuable assets.

Who knows? Maybe Spielberg had a very distinct intention when he incorporated so many obvious Christian themes. I like to think that they are so obvious because he is making fun of our tendency to elongate allegory. How else do you explain an alien ship exhaling rainbow exhaust? Maybe I just want my movie-aliens to be chance-visitors, not some messiah or harbinger of judgment day, descended from the “heavens.”
(Picture courtesy of http://www.highdefdiscnews.com/)