By Stephanie Scaife
In the words of John Carpenter, “Cronenberg is better than all the rest of us combined,” and arguably he may indeed be correct; but what is irrefutable is that Cronenberg is the founding father and grand master of body horror, with a singular vision that is quite unlike any other filmmaker. Starting out, perhaps unsurprisingly, as a student of biochemistry (with a particular enthusiasm for entomology), he became interested in film whilst at university and later founded the Toronto Film Co-op with Ivan Reitman, who would go on to serve as producer on his early films before moving to Hollywood and forging a career as a director himself. Cronenberg’s auspicious beginnings in science are apparent throughout his films, with their central themes of mad science and its relationship to and interference with the human body, which is more often than not manipulated into something monstrous.
From Shivers in 1975 to Dead Ringers in 1988, Cronenberg had perhaps one of the greatest runs of any director, making consistently impressive and significant films that would have a massive impact on the horror genre and which proved to be eerily prophetic. Seriously, this guy is like a slightly nerdy looking Canadian version of Leonardo Da Vinci with an obsession for Freudian imagery and the deterioration of the body. From the concept of “downloading” in Scanners to the idea that technology would become inseparable from real life (“Television is reality, and reality is less than television”) in Videodrome, he was way ahead of his time. During this period of Cronenberg’s career Videodrome sits in the middle, somewhere between his early schlockers and later more mature films, and although it would never quite garner the critical praise of The Dead Zone or The Fly, it is one of his most influential films as well as being one of my personal favourites along with The Brood.
For those not already in the know, James Woods stars as Max Renn (named after Cronenberg’s favourite motorcycle) who runs a small television network out of Toronto that specialises in cheap and salacious material. Always on the look out for a quick buck Max sees the potential in Videodrome, a show picked up by a pirate satellite dish that is essentially just torture and murder, set in a single room with no plot. Max starts a relationship with sadomasochistic radio host Nicki Brand (Debbie Harry) and embarks on a mission to uncover the source of Videodrome, gradually uncovering the conspiratorial layers of its intention and origin. Gradually he starts to experience violent hallucinations, losing touch with reality.
Cronenberg was a child when the television became a commonplace household item. At that time nobody knew the long term effects of exposure to such a device, and there was a definite sense of unease around new technology. This feeling was also exasperated by the fact that after Canadian broadcasting shut down in the evening, a young Cronenberg was able to pick up television signals for the US. In interviews he has said that at the time he felt unclear as to what he was seeing and where it was coming from, heightening this suspicion of the technology and giving him the inspiration needed to write Videodrome as an adult, also perhaps giving rise to Max’s increasingly hostile relationship with his own television in the film.
These childhood experiences combined with the furore surrounding the introduction of VHS and the lack of a regulatory system at the start of the 1980’s further informed the inspiration for Videodrome. Cronenberg wanted to explore if what the censors were claiming was indeed possible; that by viewing certain material it posed potential harm to the audience. In Videodrome, however morally ambiguous and opportunistic Max may be, he is still the voice of reason, and when asked, “But don’t you feel such shows contribute to a social climate of violence and sexual malaise? – and do you care?” he replies, “I care enough to give my viewers a harmless outlet for their fantasies and their frustrations. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a socially positive act.” What is interesting though, is that although much of the film could be an argument that watching violence does have a negative effect on the viewer, Cronenberg turns this on its head by revealing that in fact the signals can be transmitted through any television programme; it doesn’t have to be the sadomasochistic snuff films shown on Videodrome, meaning that just the act of watching television regardless of the content is potentially damaging. It is instead the plan of capitalist despot Barry Convex to purge the country of the viewers who would choose to watch such programmes. Much like Max, we as the audience begin to question exactly why we have an interest in watching something so horrific, and at one point Convex asks, “Why would anyone watch a scum show like Videodrome?” which may as well be a direct question to the audience as well as to Max.
Nicki Brand is a fascinating and somewhat contradictory character. On the one hand she is a no nonsense woman who embraces her sexuality, and although a masochist, she is clearly not a victim unless she chooses to be one. Max and Nicki’s burgeoning relationship becomes focussed on Videodrome, and although reluctant in the beginning Max soon starts to see the appeal of the violence and the destruction of the flesh and as a result of Nicki’s encouragement they push the boundaries of acceptable sexual behaviour. On the other hand however, there is something not quite human about her; she is mysterious and strangely monotonous and could very well be a projection of Max’s psyche. She disappears quickly after their initial meetings and subsequently only appears to Max in visions and through his television screen. She could be read as a precursor to the age of internet pornography that we currently inhabit, where sexual deviancies are readily available at the click of a mouse and are now changing the way in which we view and experience sex. Nicki is Max’s fantasy, someone to broaden his horizons and open new doors, much like the internet (for better and for worse) has done for the masses. We are no longer tuning into secret satellite frequencies to grasp a glimpse of something subversive, instead it is part of the mainstream and everyday life. The new flesh, as it were, is constantly on the surface and no longer a part of the underground, presenting new possibilities for pleasure and perception.
One of the most striking things about Videodrome is its troubled production and how little this noticeably affected the final outcome. There were constant re-writes and even after completing principal photography Cronenberg still had no clear idea of how the film would end, which resulted in having to go back to do pick-ups and essentially editing together an ending that made sense to him. In fact the first draft of the screenplay (originally titled Network of Blood) was considerably more outlandish than the finished product, supposedly including a scene involving Max, Nicki and Bianca all with invaginated stomach gashes having a sort of orgy whereby their hands transform into mutated sexual organs. Unfortunately for all of us, due to production running behind schedule and Cronenberg being unsure of whether he could successfully create the scene, it meant that it wasn’t to be. Also somewhat surprisingly it was this version of the screenplay that attracted all of the major talent including Woods, Harry and special effects maestro Rick Baker, but perhaps that’s just testament to Cronenberg and his unique vision as a writer and director.
Even 30 years on Videodrome has much to offer the viewer. It is an audacious piece of work even for Cronenberg, showcasing some truly spectacular visual effects along with some of his trademark obsessions and visual tics. At the time it was obviously satire, but it’s astonishing (and slightly terrifying) just how accurately he predicted our present relationship with technology. Surely it’s only a matter of time now, so in anticipation – long live the new flesh!