Videodrome (1983)

I knew there was something weird about James Woods: that bastard is a walking, talking Betamax player! But seriously folks, before we get started, I have to tell you something. Hear me now and listen to me later: this movie is weird. It’s not weird like Lair of the White Worm or Motel Hell, but stylized weird. You can wonder—as I did—what Lair of the White Worm, Motel Hell, or Videodrome are about, but only with the latter are you somehow certain that it does mean something. You can bet that if you think you’re missing something in this film, you probably are. In any case, with the previous two flicks, I don’t think there’s anything under the surface to miss. There simply are no deeper levels to interpret.

Videodrome, however, is different. If you read other reviews, you’ll notice that most talk about how prescient this movie was about television, and for once I agree with most of the other reviewers out there. It really is—especially considering the wave of “reality” TV we’ve been inundated with since the Real World started in the mid 90s. But what I liked about this movie was less its overall status as a film or the narrative arc it presented, but the different details and aspects that seem to beg to be analyzed and explored. For instance, there’s a great scene in which Nikki Brand is on the TV seducing Max (also note the Atari joysticks and Betamax cassettes on top of the TV).

What is really interesting is that as the scene progresses, it is no longer Nikki that Max is interacting with; instead, the TV becomes an actual partner in the erotic experience (or is it a cancer-induced hallucination?). Also, the idea that subliminal signals broadcast over TV airwaves intentionally damage the brains of victims/viewers and cause hallucinations is incredibly original—terrific considering it was conceived of in the early 80s when TV was becoming ubiquitous in the American home. The one thing that I find most fascinating is that O’Blivion—Wizard of Oz-like in his glory—exists only on tape now instead of in “real life.” It’s a wonderful example of Baudrillard’s simulacra idea—especially when he feels the need to point out which head he’s talking about (because there is copy upon copy of his head in the form of tape recordings).

Now I admit that the movie can be off-putting because it has a Lynch-like internal logic; the shifting sands and nightmare-like narrative progression are confusing, but I think that’s the point. You have no idea which is The Real and which is a hallucination (or copy)—and neither does Max. The scene in which Max is hallucinating for the Videodrome guy and is whipping Masha-as-a-fleshy-television is also a terrific visual representation of Baudrillard’s theory—which one is the “real” Masha at this point? (Speaking of, that “flesh TV” toward the end of the film freaked me out because it looked like my parents’ Zenith console that I busted my head open on when I was a kid.)

In fact, the only negative that I can think of is the belly-vagina scene. Until Woods stands up, most of the belly-vagina shots—especially when he sticks his hand in it—look pretty realistic, especially for 1983. Then they ruin it by having him stand, and when he does, his right arm is obviously fake (smaller and a different color). There’s no reason he has to stand, so they screwed up the effects of a whole scene for no real reason.