Bonsoir, Mr. Robot

         

"The intertitle of the TV show." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 5 Jun. 2015.

          USA’s new series Mr. Robot is a study in contrasts. At its worst it paints by the broadest, ugliest, crudest strokes. Characters utter drivel like comparing a computer virus to “a serial rapist” with a large penis. Several members of the principle cast have been liberally smeared with a Lisbeth Salander-esque hacker grunge. The leader of an extreme “hacktivist” Anonymous-like group called “fsociety” dresses up like the Monopoly Man to issue an ultimatum against “Evil Corp,” complete with a threat about chopping off tentacles and imagery of an octopus mixed in with a montage of clouds and cityscapes. It’s a heavy-handed use of the Anonymous shtick that comes off as almost parodic (the Monopoly Man definitely lacks the sly menace of the Guy Fawkes mask), but the show seems to take it all very seriously.

            This is a drama that sometimes soars to glorious heights—the opening sequence of the second episode mixes composition and music in ways that make it feel almost operatic—and occasionally aspires to the erudite conversational weirdness of the likes of True Detective by committing to an extended conversation between two characters like gifted hacker Elliot and his drug dealer’s supplier (also in episode two). Mr. Robot has managed to hold my attention only by catching me with a nice ’80s sci-fi flick style music track or interesting twist just as I was about to give up on it. At this point, I still do not know whether I consider it good or bad TV. All I have right now are a series of short notes and one serious thematic gripe.

            First, I am still trying to decide how I feel about Elliot himself. The character is obviously meant to have an anxiety disorder of some kind (in addition to schizophrenia), but his struggle to understand people frequently takes a backseat to the rest of the drama going on around him. It feels less like a central part of the character’s identity than in the case of, say, The Bridge’s Sonya Cross. This can be a good thing, however. Although it is nice to see characters represent a diverse range of human experiences (including mental illness), anyone who actually has or struggles with anxiety or depression or the like is probably tired of seeing that be the defining aspect of a character. Elliot has problems socializing and interacting with other people, but thus far the show’s creators have avoided turning him into a caricature. He has other facets to his character, though anyone watching the show has probably noted the troubling connection between the way that Elliot keeps a CD for each of his “victims” the way that serial killers keep trophies. Elliot is ostensibly out for justice, but we already know two episodes in that he can be selective about administering it. He allows his friend Angela to continue dating an inconstant partner because he does not want to see what her next boyfriend will be like given her bad taste in men.

            The fact that the writers have committed to having everyone use Elliot’s pet name for E-Corp (“Evil Corp”) is a subtle touch that reinforces the fact we are experiencing events from the point of view of a subjective and unreliable narrator. There is also a nice moment in episode two when one of Elliot’s hacker allies pulls him suddenly onto a subway because, she tells us, she likes to stay on her toes. What Elliot wonders but does not outright ask is whether she saw the same suited men in black moving toward them that he did. Although it would feel like a huge cop-out and cheat to have Christian Slater and his merry band of “fsociety” folks ultimately turn out to be nothing but delusion and hallucination, I do like that the show is reminding us in little ways that Elliot is compromised. Of course, it does give in at the end of the second episode and have his therapist make explicit the fact that he is backsliding.

            Unfortunately, the more inventive look from the beginning of episode two does not stick around. I cannot go in expecting every series to deliver the visual experimentation and diversity of Hannibal, but I was hoping for a little more than the usual thriller cinematography, give or take the occasional wide shot framing a character or two standing or conversing in the midst of a busy crowd or cityscape. On one hand, I understand that the swelling soundtrack and emphasis on making the space of the E-Corp building feel enormous and airy at the start of episode two is all about establishing an atmosphere for that space—something grand, operatic, and nearly Olympian. On the other hand, I am a sucker for a show that consistently gives me something different or unexpected to look at.

            The biggest problem with Mr. Robot, however, is that its primary themes of rebellion against financial institutions and our homogenization by social media is that this is a TV series airing on a channel that costs money to see. The entire time Mr. Robot is on, the network encourages you to tweet using #MrRobot. The way that it preaches against capitalist excess sounds nice, but it is a critique invested with little real bite owing to the fact that there will one day be Mr. Robot DVDs and a Mr. Robot soundtrack, and that money all goes back into the pockets of the media conglomerates. Maybe the folks behind Mr. Robot really buy this stuff, but if they do they have fallen into the same postmodern pit as other stories with a social axe to grind. Can you really critique from within the very systems that you intend to criticize? How do we tell the difference between a genuine critique and complacency disguised as rebellion? Case in point, the first episode of Mr. Robot draws particular attention to The Hunger Games as part of the media machine that is consuming us, and that story is another one that makes a point that is much blunted by the fact that it is a film to be viewed for pleasure.

            In short, The Hunger Games calls attention to the fact that our insatiable appetite for people doing dumb things onscreen may one day reach a point where we are calling the murder of actual human beings quality entertainment. The problem with this message is that The Hunger Games is a piece of media meant to be enjoyed. In reading the books or watching the films, we automatically take part in the same voyeuristic celebration of violence and murder the story purports to critique. We root for the heroes to triumph over the villains, and that triumph requires murder. We are the Capitol audience cheering on the violence. Similarly, when we pay to watch Mr. Robot and go out and tweet (or blog…) about it and provide free advertising to the companies with a vested interest in seeing it succeed, we become part of the same “evil” ubiquitous system. We appreciate it when Tyler Durden blows up the credit card companies, but since we paid to watch Fight Club using our credit cards in a world where those company buildings still stand, where does that leave us?

            We are participants in those systems even as we cheer their downfall. They are the ones who authorize, finance, and profit from the content depicting their downfall. At worst we are passive participants in our own exploitation. At best we are watching and buying and tweeting ironically, and we all know that our mindset going in means little in the long run. As Mr. Robot would point out, what matters is that it all comes back to money. We put it down, we watch, we rebel in thought alone and those we rebel against still get paid.