Dystopia on Demand: Technology, Digital Culture, and the Metamodern Quest in Complex Serial Dystopias E-Book
Laura Winter
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- Herausgeber: Narr Francke Attempto Verlag
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Serie: Mannheimer Beiträge zur Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
Serial storytelling has the advantage of unlocking rather than simplifying the complexities of digital culture. With their worldbuilding potential, TV series open up new artistic horizons, particularly for the dystopian genre. Situated at the nexus of dystopia, complex TV, and a metamodern cultural logic, Dystopia on Demand: Technology, Digital Culture, and the Metamodern Quest in Complex Serial Dystopias offers readers novel insights into the dynamics of serial dystopias in the contemporary streaming landscape. Introducing the term 'complex serial dystopias' to describe series that allow audiences to engage with the dystopian premise from multiple angles, the book examines four Anglo-American series, including Black Mirror, Mr. Robot, Westworld, and Kiss Me First. The in-depth analyses trace the variety of ways in which these series offer critical reflections on the human-technology entanglement in digital culture.
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Laura Winter
Dystopia on Demand:
Technology, Digital Culture, and the Metamodern Quest in Complex Serial Dystopias
Umschlagabbildung: https://www.istockphoto.com, Stock-ID: 1070015334, Marco_Piunti
Zugleich Dissertation an der Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Mannheim
Gedruckt mit freundlicher Unterstützung der Geschwister Boehringer Ingelheim Stiftung für Geisteswissenschaften in Ingelheim am Rhein.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.24053/9783381112227
© 2024 • Narr Francke Attempto Verlag GmbH + Co. KGDischingerweg 5 • D-72070 Tübingen
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Inhalt
Acknowledgements
I want to express my profound gratitude to all those who have played a key role in making my PhD experience an unforgettable and transformative one.
First and foremost, I am immensely grateful to my supervisor Prof. Dr. Caroline Lusin, whose expertise, guidance, and support have been instrumental in shaping my research. I am also indebted to the entire team of the Department of English Literature and Culture at the University of Mannheim for their critical input and constructive feedback. Your collective expertise has significantly enriched the quality of this work.
I would like to thank my family and friends for their patience, understanding, and encouragement throughout this demanding journey. My heartfelt thanks go to
… Stanley Reams, whose presence has been my anchor in the ups and downs of this research journey and whose countless encouragements to ‘accomplish greatness’ have enriched my growth as a scholar and individual.
… my father Johannes and my mother Andrea, Christl, Marcus, and my sisters Elena and Sofia, whose belief in me kept me going, even in the most challenging moments.
… Dr. Annika Gonnermann, whose camaraderie, shared experiences in numerous projects and conferences, and constructive feedback on hundreds of proofread pages have made this challenging path much more rewarding.
… countless others who have made a significant impact on the success of this journey through their support and insights, including Sina Schuhmaier, Lisa Schwander, Birke Gerold, Julia König, my colleagues from the M²OLIE Research Campus, the acadeMIA group, Dr. Susanna Layh, and the Utopian Studies Society.
I extend my gratitude to the Landesgraduiertenförderung by the Ministry of Science, Research and the Arts Baden-Württemberg for the research scholarship, the Geschwister Boehringer Ingelheim Stiftung für Geisteswissenschaften for the financial support in publishing this work, and the Narr Francke Attempto team for the support during the publication process.
“The bug forces the software to adapt, evolve into something new because of it. Work around it or work through it. No matter what, it changes. It becomes something new. The next version. The inevitable upgrade.”
– Elliot Alderson, Mr. Robot, S1/E3 0:33
“Metamodernism moves for the sake of moving, attempts in spite of its inevitable failure; it seeks forever for a truth that it never expects to find.”
– Timotheus Vermeulen andRobin van den Akker,
“Notes on Metamodernism”
Introduction: Serialising Dystopia
“Black Mirror –6th season. Live Now, everywhere.” This was the headline of a mock-style advertising poster displayed at a bus stop in Madrid during the first months of the COVID-19 pandemic.1 The poster, designed like a literal mirror, suggested to pedestrians that they were living in a world that might as well be an episode of the renowned dystopian TV series, which is particularly adept at channelling contemporary cultural anxieties. Unsurprisingly, the poster resonated widely with fans of the series. They posted selfies of their reflection on social media, perhaps in an attempt to find common ground with other viewers based on a shared sentiment of resignation.2 Dystopias are in vogue now more than ever, as evidenced by news headlines, literature, audio-visual culture, and the growing scholarly interest in exploring the contours of what constitutes a ‘bad place’ in the third decade of the 21st century. The poster and the kind of reactions it provoked illustrate both the social fascination with dystopia and the cultural power that TV series have assumed when it comes to offering a situated commentary on the challenging times the world is currently facing.
The unprecedented times of COVID-19 have catapulted dystopia – defined in the broadest sense of the word as “an imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one” (OED, “Dystopia”) – back to the centre of cultural discussions. With government-imposed lockdowns, curfews, social distancing, and the dependence on data-harvesting technologies for communication, reality seemed to be catching up with fictional imaginations. Admittedly, considering that in May 2020, Singapore authorities were testing the deployment of patrolling ‘robodogs’ called SPOT, programmed to remind joggers and cyclists via loudspeaker to keep social distance in local parks (Su), it comes as no surprise that fans of Black Mirror (2011–) immediately thought of the episode “Metalhead” (S4/E5), in which eerily similar canine robots relentlessly chase the protagonist across a post-apocalyptic landscape. Rather than offering an escape into other worlds, dystopian imaginations have always extrapolated emerging trends of their time and put them through their paces. The robodog example shows that the trust in technological solutions to human problems is often accompanied by fears of misuse, surveillance, and loss of control (cf. Khasawneh). Dystopias play a role in these cultural fears as they critically process the zeitgeist (cf. Kitzinger), encapsulating the advancing technological progress, the looming ecological crisis, the damaging imbalances of global capitalism, the challenges posed by ‘post-truth’ politics, ‘alternative facts,’ and the nostalgic utopias of right-wing politics. The perpetual crises of the 21st century provide more than enough reasons to investigate the notion of ‘serial dystopias,’ both in extratextual reality and in artistic forms of expression.
The audio-visual space lends itself to exploring vivid imaginations of dystopian futures. In addition to dystopia’s firm roots in the literary paradigm, the genre is well-established in the medium of film (albeit often in the form of literary adaptations, such as Children of Men (2006) or Cloud Atlas (2012)).3 However, “[s]ince the turn of the 21st century,” as Caroline Lusin and Ralf Haekel point out in Community, Seriality, and the State of the Nation: British and Irish Television Series in the 21st Century (2019), “the television series has replaced cinema as the paradigmatic filmic medium by developing a new and different form of narrative” (14).4 It is surprising, therefore, that few have explored the dynamics of serial narration, such as the advantage of “exploring society in its different layers” (ibid. 14), in the context of the utopian/dystopian paradigm. Barbara Klonowska and colleagues argue that “the shift from literature to audio-visual forms can be interpreted as an exploration of new possibilities in the artistic rendering of utopian and dystopian projects, and thus not merely a challenge but also a potential opening up of new artistic horizons” (“Reconfigurations” 10). The fact that many scholars remain interested in the literary dystopia (and classical dystopian fiction) speaks for the persistence of the genre throughout centuries. Yet, the growing presence of dystopias on the small screen and hence these “new artistic horizons” of the serial art form should not be overlooked. In 2018, Evan Kindley considered dystopian TV series a relatively new phenomenon:
It’s taken a surprisingly long time for dystopia to become a viable TV genre. Science-fiction stories, of course, have long been a staple of the medium, though the preferred genre has been the space opera, an essentially hopeful series of adventures […]. Meanwhile, dystopia has colonized virtually every other popular narrative medium, from feature films to young-adult novels. But rare, until recently, was the dystopian TV series.
Much has changed since Kindley wrote these lines. With the widespread popularity of films and TV series, reflected in over 221 million paid Netflix subscriptions at the end of 2021 (Stoll), dystopia finds itself in an audio-visual space of unprecedented scale to alert viewers to socio-political and cultural developments. Gloomy visions of the future have been flooding the digital libraries of streaming services, articulating the hopes and fears surrounding the challenges of the 21st century, such as unchecked technological progress, inequality, polarisation, rampant consumerism, and global warming.5 Extratextual reality offers a multitude of templates that fuel the rise of the dystopian TV genre – not least the ideology of then-US-president Donald Trump, who ironically considered each day in the office as “an episode in a television show in which he vanquishes rivals” (Poniewozik). The impetus for narrating dystopia always originates from a sense of unease with the world; the genre’s extrapolations contain warnings that the nightmarish depictions could actually become a possible chapter of reality if certain trends continue unchecked.6
Amidst the maze of dystopian worlds on screen, there is only a limited (yet growing) number of examples that seize the potential of the serial format and challenge the literary dystopias in their monopoly of issuing warnings. The most interesting examples for critical analysis all seem to employ a narrative complexity that supports the critical warning function of dystopia by drawing on a “set of textual attributes of high production values, serious themes, and connection to other more culturally legitimated, prestigious media such as literature and cinema” (Mittell 212). In his seminal work Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling (2015), Jason Mittell coins the term ‘complex TV’ to refer to “a storytelling mode and set of associated production and reception practices that span a wide range of programs across an array of genres” (233). This mode of storytelling, which emerged in the late 1990s (ibid. 17), seems inherent to those TV series that engage viewers critically without sacrificing their entertainment value. The poetics of complex TV, therefore, lend themselves to exploring the modus operandi of serial dystopias on the small screen.
In this book, self-reflexive serial narratives of the dystopian imagination that keep the critical spirit of the audience alive throughout an expanding audio-visual storyworld of the near future will be termed ‘complex serial dystopias.’ Through diligent worldbuilding, strong story arcs, and subtexts filled with details, complex serial dystopias offer virtual spaces that audiences can repeatedly enter and explore – spaces to engage with the dystopian premise from multiple angles. The advantage of seriality lies in exploring these worlds in depth by gradually mining what Timothy Morton refers to as ‘hyperobjects,’ that is, those human-induced phenomena that are massively distributed in time and space, entities that envelop us yet escape our grasp and that are, therefore, “necessarily uncanny” (55). Given that (emerging) technologies play a crucial role in the self-understanding and operating mechanisms of contemporary realities, this book will focus on complex serial dystopias that negotiate the omnipresence of technology and the good life in digital culture.7 Thus, with regard to their themes and the positioning of their artistic expressions within the broader cultural logic, the underlying concerns of this book will be: how does serial narration influence the dystopian imagination of technology and digital culture? What kind of ‘structure of feeling’ do complex serial dystopias subscribe to? It is assumed that it is precisely a complex serial storytelling mode that allows dystopias to unravel the complexities and paradoxes of digital culture by reworking one-dimensional imaginations of technology and thus making a valuable contribution to cultural conversations about the future.8
The British and American TV series covered in this book epitomise the cultural power that complex serial dystopias radiate by narrowing the “dystopian distance” (P. Murphy 25) between fictional world and possible world in ways that engage audiences and provoke contemplation.9 Dystopian and utopian imaginations of technology reside at the heart of their narrative investigations: Black Mirror (2011–) deals with the collective discomfort that accompanies advancing digitalisation in Western capitalist society. As will be shown, the British anthology negotiates human agency versus technology as a treadmill for undesirable outcomes, skilfully placing viewers in the role of complicit spectators rather than passive bystanders. Like the other TV series in question, Black Mirror demonstrates, as Olivia Bina and colleagues argue, that fiction is crucial to ethical considerations “because it presents imaginary and plausible situations in which we can imagine ourselves facing dilemmas, options, having to envision possible solutions in adverse scenarios” (168-69). In contrast to the kaleidoscopic insights of Black Mirror, the American series Mr. Robot (2015–2019) revolves around a single protagonist and his struggle to come to terms with the mechanisms of late capitalist society. The series excels at constructing a relatable fictional world that convincingly traces the growing alienation in society along with cultural anxieties about transparency, data leaks, and vulnerability. The American HBO series Westworld (2016–) addresses the opportunities and dangers of technologically advanced entertainment culture. The complex narrative promises fruitful ethical considerations of lifelike robots, anthropocentrism, and the idea of utopia as a posthuman space. The fourth object of analysis is the British series Kiss Me First (2018–), which has largely escaped scholarly attention but offers a critical commentary on the virtual sphere and its social function for young adults in digital culture. By conflating real-life sequences with computer-generated imagery, the complex serial dystopia aesthetically processes the themes it portrays in a self-reflexive manner.
Overall, this book is situated at the intersection of dystopia, TV, and digital culture, and thus interested in serial narratives that stand out from what Ed Cumming refers to as “colourful, people-pleasing TV.” Committed to both complex themes and complex modes of storytelling, these series serve as examples of complex serial dystopias that critically engage viewers without losing their entertainment value. The creative interplay of form and content shows an effect at the reception level, namely an active involvement of the audience and hence viewing experiences that evoke responsibility and response-ability rather than resigned pessimism and passivity. Before diving into the more detailed discussions about complex serial dystopias, the following pages will outline the key premises covered in this book in order to generate a better understanding of the nexus between dystopia, TV, and representations of digital culture.
On Demand: Serialising Dystopia in the Age of Streaming Providers
Because the sense of unease with the world is historically contingent, dystopia is often called “literature’s genre-of-the-moment” (Shiau), which, however, contains a frequently overlooked utopian core. As Joss Hands highlights, “the dystopian and the utopian are not opposites or equivalents; rather, the dystopian is a dialectical moment in utopian thought” (148). Despite the temptation to use dystopia as an ‘adjective’ to describe paralysing world affairs (Moylan, “Necessity” 175), dystopia is, first and foremost, a literary phenomenon that is situated within the tradition of utopianism.1 In his seminal work “The Three Faces of Utopianism Revisited” (1994), Lyman Tower Sargent conceptualised the triad of utopianism: utopia as a literary genre, utopia as a practical form (as in intentional communities), and utopia as a social theory (including humanity’s aspiration to progress and perfection).2 The term ‘utopia’ was first coined in Thomas More’s eponymous socio-political satire published in 1516 as a fictional travel report, conjuring up the ambivalence between utopia as a ‘good place’ and ‘no place.’3
Given its kinship with utopia, which harbours “the affirmation of a possibility and the negation of its fulfilment” (Vieira 6), the dystopian genre is ready-made to flourish in serial formats due to its versatility. However, serialising dystopia in today’s most popular medium is as much an opportunity as it is a challenge. The commercialisation of TV dystopias threatens to transform visions of the future into a ‘lean-back’ viewing experience (see Gerber; Andersen and Gray 511). Utopian scholars like Zsolt Czigányik express their concern about the ubiquity of dystopia, arguing that “[d]ystopian themes have become so popular that nowadays it is almost taken for granted that when a movie or a novel takes place in the future, its plot is defined by an undesirable social or political structure” (“Afterword” 245). Indeed, if the arbitrary connotation of dystopia with anything deemed ‘bad’ prevails (cf. Shames and Atchison), then the genre might be on the brink of becoming a purely ‘aesthetic category’ in audio-visual culture (Czigányik, “Utopia” 34).4 Dystopian imaginations are crucial because they offer a vehicle to make sense of complexities, but the proliferation of undesirable future scenarios on screen could jeopardise the warning function of the genre.
Dystopias face particular challenges when transitioning to a serial format – provided viewers are to be jolted awake from their slumber in front of the screens. One could argue that the serial TV format offers the opportunity to disentangle complexities that plainly require more screen time than a regular 90-minute film and to provoke transformative action by involving audiences in ever-expanding dystopian storyworlds. However, as Kindley argues, dystopias tend to be “rarely character-oriented and don’t lend themselves to the kind of lively ensemble casts that TV shows usually feature” – and “[t]rickiest of all is finding a way to tell an ongoing serialized story set in a dystopian world that’s not unremittingly depressing or, worse, didactic.” While Kindley correctly points to dystopia’s challenges in the serial format, such as working out the depth of characters, he also seems to suggest that dystopia’s inherently ‘depressing’ and ‘didactic’ qualities are incompatible with a medium that is traditionally associated with ‘light entertainment.’ Although the ‘golden age of TV’ has thoroughly challenged television’s association with a ‘lean-back’ mass medium and creative expressions in this arena are flourishing, the serial format – particularly for the dystopian genre – merely provides a framework to be filled with careful consideration. When it comes to creating dystopian worlds that are more than just bleak and moralising, and, above all, storyworlds that are thought-provoking rather than merely entertaining, then this balancing act points to fundamental tensions of dystopia on TV that boil down to the important enquiry of how the dystopian genre can maintain its cautionary function in an arena that typically offers immersive rather than critical viewing experiences. Exploring the dynamics of the serial dystopia in the TV and streaming landscape shall thus be the overarching focus of this book.
As the dystopia breaks out of ‘closed’ narrative forms such as novels and films, the TV medium needs to be closely examined.5 While dystopias in audio-visual and interactive formats like video games are receiving increasing scholarly attention,6 the form and function of serial dystopias on TV lack terminological and analytical clarity. Against the backdrop of a mass medium for entertainment that is breaking with old conventions and successfully challenging other art forms through ‘high-end’ productions, Miłosz Wojtyna is one of the few scholars to explicitly emphasise that “we need to learn to watch the TV series as attentively as we read literary dystopias” (179). Viewing ‘attentively’ here means not only to engage hermeneutically with the themes presented but also to look more closely at the ways in which the peculiarities of serial storytelling influence the operating mechanisms of the dystopian form. Wojtyna highlights that the popularity of dystopia coincides with the maturing of television itself:
The radical increase of ambitions of the TV series form is reflected in a ‘dystopian turn’ that could be observed in the most significant series of the last five years. Such a turn is a logical part of the developments of the form; with more and more ambitious artistic, narrative, visual and thematic preoccupations of the TV series, it seems only natural that one of the most structurally complex and prominent cultural paradigms – the utopian/dystopian model – has become an important ambition for creators of the form. (171)
Wojtyna correctly observes that the dystopian genre resonates particularly well with series creators interested in testing the limits of conventional TV storytelling. Simply put, through dystopia, “the TV form has found its own way of addressing an ambitious critical agenda without forsaking its entertainment value” (ibid. 179). The evolution of the TV format, then, does not just happen to coincide with the popularity of dystopia, but it also sheds light on the versatility of the genre due to its inherent complexity, culminating in a symbiotic relationship in which both thematic and formal complexity can produce a novel canvas for expressing hopes and fears about the future.
The proliferation of dystopias on streaming platforms like Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime Video indicates that the genre is keeping up with changing preferences for serial formats.7 While dystopian themes are usually quick to capture the audience’s attention due to their haunting commentary on the zeitgeist, it is also the medium that accommodates changing viewing behaviours in digital culture.8 While TV programmes (the name speaks for itself) used to be highly regulated in terms of variety and accessibility, today, any story is constantly available and easily accessible through various devices, including tablets and smartphones. In light of TV’s problematic ontology in the age of streaming providers, some critics herald the end of traditional TV. However, M. King Adkins maintains that TV is not defined “by its container, the means through which it is conveyed, or the device on which it appears” (139). In this line of thought, streaming platforms are merely another “technology for telling stories” (ibid. 137). The technological interface of this medium offers a highly individualised digital library that invites viewers to choose from a plethora of entertainment options.
Interestingly, streaming providers use recommendation algorithms that continuously monitor viewing behaviours and update preferences on the dashboard based on previous choices. This algorithmic customisation can be dangerous, as Kyle Chayka points out, because it is easy to “stay ensconced in our soothing aesthetic bubbles.” Netflix, for example, even applies algorithms to personalise the artwork of cover pictures of films and series to appeal to viewers’ preferences, increasing the likelihood that viewers will click on the suggested content (Chandrashekar et al.). Selling the illusion of choice, these elaborate marketing strategies not only increasingly call into question the idea of ‘freely’ choosing content but also, by metaphorical extension, conjure up questions with regard to the overall autonomy and control of individuals in consumer societies. It is within this arena of customised digital media that dystopian fiction currently thrives. Serial dystopias that explore themes of digital technology and entertainment point to themselves as consumer products and are therefore particularly well suited for conducting meta-analyses of digital culture.
The fact that dystopia is migrating to a technological medium of storytelling is not new, given the popularity of the genre in cinema, but the way the serial form shapes the dystopian expression makes TV series worth a closer look. At first glance, the task at hand seems simple: to reach contemporary audiences, dystopia should be able to easily ‘translate’ its settings, motifs, and plot devices and extend them to the space and time offered by seriality. However, a simple copy/paste of the generic hallmarks to the serial form may not be enough to ensure that its cautionary tales find resonance. In other words, simply putting dystopia into a popular format might attract contemporary audiences but does not automatically preserve dystopia’s critical impulse. At worst, the serial form may inadvertently even undermine the cautionary function of the genre. “The fact that television has discovered this unique ability to offer ever-expanding landscapes,” as Adkins argues, “doesn’t necessarily mean it always uses this ability effectively” (95). Similarly, although dystopian worlds seem ideal for storytelling in expanding narratives, not all serial dystopias use the serial potential to process the complexities of digital culture in a way that leaves a lasting impression on the viewers beyond screen time. When TV series use dystopia as a portal of entry to conventional drama that essentially would not need a dystopian context, they catapult the genre into the arena of ‘lean-back’ viewing experiences (see Andersen and Gray 511; Chan-Olmsted et al. 165). Serial dystopias run the risk of reproducing what they seek to criticise, namely the surrender of viewers to ambient technology through familiar, easily digestible stories.
Considering the abundance of dystopian TV series in audio-visual culture, it might be useful to refine the umbrella term of serial dystopias further and roughly distinguish between ‘complex serial dystopias’ (generically as the televisual pendant to the ‘critical dystopia’ in literature and formally linked to Mittell’s ‘complex TV’) and ‘simple serial dystopias,’ which are more in line with what utopian scholars have recently described as ‘commercial dystopias’ – “mainstream dystopias with a tendency to close the stories with ‘happy’ endings, where hope is not maintained ambiguously but is substituted by a conformist happiness” (Baccolini, “Appropriation” 44; see also Gerber).9 Simple serial dystopias do little to engage viewers critically, thereby continuing a cannibalising trend within the genre that started with its popularity in the 2000s, a phase when the commodification of dystopia gained momentum. Most often found in young-adult (YA) fiction, these dystopias usually comfort audiences with a sense of closure and the reconciliation of the story’s conflict for the sake of harmony.10 In so doing, these ‘feel-good’ dystopias are at risk of reproducing static values and belief systems and usually encapsulate little progressive spirit to the dystopian expression (cf. Morrison). Damien Walter, for example, already denounces dystopia as “just another category of light entertainment, a marketing niche for ebooks which even has its own channel on Netflix.” This ‘t-shirt-making ability’ of the genre implies that dystopia’s cautionary function is at stake when it joins the ranks of escapist entertainment.11
Overall, more screen time for dystopia is not necessarily a blessing. Kindley, for example, argues that “[t]he idea of spending weeks or years exploring a dystopian world is unappealing on its face, not only because these worlds are bleak but because, after a while, you get the point already.” At the risk of indulging in some sort of “dystopia-porn, the easy techno-fix, or the escape-to-another-planet” (Singh), serial dystopias that replicate the same premises in different constellations merely use the genre’s hallmarks to unravel conventional dramas that aim to please viewers rather than pay homage to the intrinsic complexity and didactic function of the genre. In order to do justice to their core function as vessels of critique, serial dystopias seem intrinsically dependent on a complex approach to serial storytelling. Precisely because dystopias are mushrooming across the TV and streaming landscape, it is important to examine those examples in which serial narration is effectively used to negotiate the complexities and paradoxical developments of contemporary society.
Complex Serial Dystopias and Critical Representations of Digital Culture
The TV series discussed in this book each exhibit their own approaches to narrative complexity, but they share features that allow us to situate them in the ‘fuzzy set’ (cf. Attebery 12-3) of complex serial dystopias. Thematically, they all discursively revolve around the potentials and dangers of emerging technologies, thus explicitly reflecting and commenting on the manifestations of a digital culture which Vincent Miller describes as everyday life shaped by the continuous emergence and use of digital technologies “including mobile communication technologies, surveillance, algorithms, ambient intelligence, gaming, big data and technological bodies […] within and beyond the internet” (1-2).1 These dystopias abandon classical science-fiction imaginations of distant futures and instead deliberately speculate about the near future. Fictional worlds steered by algorithms or robotic assistance are settings not too far removed from an empirical reality that celebrates the continued progress of artificial intelligence (AI). While Westworld, for example, investigates the human-machine interaction in live-action entertainment, Black Mirror explores what happens when we relinquish control of problem-solving to AI.
In their depiction of rather familiar settings, the TV series in question lean toward what Margaret Atwood coined as ‘speculative fiction’: a strand of science fiction in which the discrepancy between fiction and reality shrinks. Such fiction, in Atwood’s words, addresses “things that really could happen but just hadn’t completely happened when the authors wrote the books” (“Ustopia”). Speculative dystopian scenarios not only magnify the potential and threats of these technological innovations in the near future but also draw attention to possible implications for the social mechanisms of digital culture – when analogue values are subjected to binary systems of digital ones and zeros. By reinforcing the “mimetic function of the narrative” (Wojtyna 179) and resembling a world of our own – only slightly advanced in technology – the symbolic environment of complex serial dystopias speaks to us in an intrusive way.2 We are invited to “judge the storyworld, its characters, and their actions on a metric of plausibility, with success measured by how much the fiction represents society as we know it” (Mittell 221). The complex serial dystopias discussed in this book harbour a high degree of realism, following consistently the internal logic of an alternate reality. However, as Mittell points out, this kind of television realism “is not a marker of accurate representation of the real world but rather is an attempt to render a fictional world that creates the representational illusion of accuracy – a program is seen as realist when it feels authentic, even though no media text comes close to a truly accurate representation of the complex world” (221). The result is that it is much easier to talk about ‘living in a Black Mirror episode’ than, for example, in the world of the iconic film Blade Runner (1982).
Complex serial dystopias are not dependent on elaborate designs of distant futures to capture the audience’s interest and provoke discussions. On the contrary, perhaps it is precisely a near, plausible, and comprehensible future that resonates with viewers because they can relate to the problems and dilemmas first-hand. For example, the TV series discussed in this book render ‘Big Brother’ an increasingly outdated metaphor to describe the fears associated with the mechanisms of a digital culture that is shaped by decentralised databases and powerful algorithms. Technological advances have contributed to the weakening of state structures – the rise of the internet, for instance, has enabled the emergence of an “ungoverned space” (Hewitt-Page), while Google and Facebook have taken over “functions previously associated with the state” (Dasgupta). Today, the dystopian citizen no longer struggles with coercive state power but with “powerlessness and vulnerability” (Solove 47), especially when it comes to personal data (see Zuboff, ‘surveillance capitalism’). Given the power of Big Data corporations to control and influence consumer behaviours and desires, the idea of ‘many little brothers’ monitoring us “as inconspicuously as possible” (Solove 7) actually seems more accurate.3Mr. Robot explores these interstices of a society in which data is labelled “the oil of the 21st century” – at least for those “who can most effectively extract and refine it” (Dance; see also Striphas 396). The series’ negotiation of ‘tech giants’ abusing their power as “the primary gatekeepers of social reality” (Dasgupta) plays out in an alternate reality that offers timely investigations into the fears and hopes of our own digital culture.4
With their interest in what Raymond Williams calls ‘the technological transformation’ of society (“Utopia” 203), the TV series in question are still situated closely at the border of science fiction. Yet, while the ‘mother-genre’ cognitively estranges audiences by prompting a ‘sense of wonder’ about the imaginations of the ‘impossible’ (Suvin, Metamorphoses 15), these grounded narratives evoke more of what Regina Schober calls a “‘strange recognition’ in view of the relevance and accuracy of the storyworlds depicted” (362). These dystopias address the ‘possible,’ reflecting and magnifying tendencies of current affairs that may not yet be distinct enough to be seriously considered in extratextual reality. They draw on, as Peter Fitting puts it, “[s]cience fiction’s specific ability […] to show our own present through a particularly effective distorting lens” (“Utopia” 144) – but only to an extent. Complex serial dystopias are aware that alternate realities provoke and require a different kind of response and engagement than worlds of distant futures. The patrolling robodogs in Singapore (cf. Black Mirror’s “Metalhead” (S4/E5)), the social-credit system in China (cf. Black Mirror’s “Nosedive” (S3/E1)), or the fact that the Mr. Robot finale had to be postponed in consideration of the victims of an actual event are examples that demonstrate an undeniable immediacy between reality and fiction.5
With complex serial dystopias’ tendency to portray alternative versions of contemporary reality, they also seem to move away from the basic description of classical dystopias. Most scholars refer to Lyman Tower Sargent’s definition of dystopia as “a non-existent society described in considerable detail and normally located in time and space that the author intended a contemporaneous reader to view as considerably worse than the society in which that reader lived” (“Three Faces” 9). Considering that reality and fiction increasingly seem to overlap, one might conclude that recent audio-visual renderings challenge the description of dystopia as “a non-existent society” (ibid., emphasis added). Especially the speculative settings no longer seem “considerably worse” (ibid., emphasis added) than contemporary reality. The reduced “dystopian distance” (P. Murphy 25) between text and fictional world allows dystopia to encroach on the mundane, making it easy to forget that it always refers to a fictional imagination of an undesirable status quo and not a description of extratextual reality.6
In Dark Horizons: Science Fiction and the Dystopian Imagination (2003), Raffaella Baccolini and Tom Moylan contextualised the literary paradigm shift from the classical dystopia to the critical dystopia against the backdrop of rising global capitalism (see also Moylan, Scraps 318). With regard to the role of technology, critical dystopias flesh out the conjunction of technology and capitalism rather than technology as a tool of a totalitarian government and its unchecked influence on the individual’s freedom. The monolithic state apparatus yields to the “more pervasive tyranny of the corporation” (Moylan, “Moment” 135), which bears opaque systemic pressures on the individual and society: “the corporation rules, and does so more effectively than any state, as its exploitive tentacles reach into the cultures and bodies of the people who serve it and who are cast aside by it” (ibid. 136). Unlike classical dystopias, critical dystopias tend to “deliver a causal rather than symptomatic analysis” (Moylan, Scraps 193) of the dystopian status quo.7 Complex serial dystopias follow suit, exploring the background mechanisms of the undesirable fictional society rather than dwelling on the spectacle in the heat of the dystopian moment. As Moylan puts it, “[e]veryday life in the new dystopias is still observed, ruled, and controlled; but now it is also reified, exploited, and commodified” (“Moment” 135-36). The worlds imagined by the TV series in question echo the critical dystopia’s self-reflexive stance on consumerist digital cultures.
An important aspect of the complex serial dystopias discussed in this book is worldbuilding. The TV series are devoted to tackling abstract complexities of socio-cultural reality with the help of “comprehensively organized fictional worlds” (Wojtyna 168). In disentangling abstract concepts, they borrow from the advantages associated with science fiction. As Steven Shaviro points out, “[b]oth in its large-scale world-building and in its small-scale attention to the particular ways in which social and technical innovations affect our lives, science fiction comes to grips with abstractions like economies, social formations, technological infrastructures, and climate perturbations” (4). Complex serial dystopias demonstrate that worldbuilding is possible and effective in an alternate reality framework. They leverage serial storytelling to render socio-cultural problems and character psychologies in a sufficiently complex way, skilfully switching between macro- and micro-perspectives.
Worldbuilding, first and foremost, entails the idea of utilising the audio-visual space to create a coherent, detailed dystopian framework. In Television Storyworlds as Virtual Space (2018), M. King Adkins reads TV series in terms of spatiality – virtual spaces into which viewers dive in and out over a long period of time (2). In this virtual space, complex serial dystopias offer what Fredric Jameson calls ‘cognitive mapping’ of hyperobjects, such as technology and capitalism.8 In so doing, they find a language to articulate the complexities of the viewers’ extratextual reality and even leave room for the emergence of utopian enclaves within the narrative, however trivial they may seem.9 Whether they push their spatial boundaries centrifugally by expanding their social spaces or centripetally by focusing on the psychological depth of the protagonists, the TV series covered in this book are “raising a whole series of questions and from numerous perspectives” (Adkins 85). These rich worlds, often constructed as a ludic narrative form in that they produce meaning playfully (e.g., through enigmas), do not reduce complexities but embrace them instead, inviting viewers to enter and explore these critical spaces repeatedly and thus encouraging them to formulate their own responses.10
The characteristics of complex serial dystopias afford a much-needed nuanced negotiation of technology in digital culture.11 The TV series acknowledge, as Dirk Postma puts it, that “[h]umans cannot disentangle themselves any more from various kinds of technological devices in order to gain a distant critical perspective” (2). Their ambition is to zero in on the way people communicate, entertain, and experience themselves, exploring the interstices between digital connectivity and analogue distance and the allure of the virtual sphere. Rather than demonising technology as an external force – as an impact (speaking of an ‘impact’ of technology, in fact, can be considered an outdated mode of critique, as technology does not impose itself on an ‘untouched culture’ (Roderick 1; Voinea 77)), complex serial dystopias focus on deciphering the human-technology entanglement and prompt topical questions about the good life in digital culture.12
For these reasons, the TV series covered in this book are often labelled ‘original,’ ‘unconventional,’ or ‘unique,’ and thus exhibit characteristics generally associated with ‘quality TV.’13 Indeed, the notion of complexity evokes a sense of sophistication in contrast to other entertainment options. However, instead of reading complexity as a criterion of value, Mittell stresses that complex TV is not synonymous with quality TV. The poetics of complex TV help to circumvent the “loaded and misleading category of quality television” (212), and this book follows this mode of thought, reading the complexity of serial dystopias as a marker that “helps shine light on how serial television can reach aesthetic achievements” (ibid. 216). The objects of analysis in this book negotiate serious, culturally relevant themes along with “cinematic style, and convention-breaking innovations that reflect well on viewers who embrace such programming” (ibid. 211). Hence the distinction between simple and complex serial dystopias is not to degrade the former as cultural artefacts to be dismissed. Although simple serial dystopias should be viewed critically when it comes to the warning function of the genre, they certainly have their place. Like other, less confrontational narrative frameworks, they offer viewers, in Moylan’s words, a “cultural and political break from the contemporary world” (“Necessity” 182). Rather than forming a space for critical reflection on the status quo, they perhaps even provide a much-needed regenerative experience precisely through the immersion in other worlds.
With regard to their embeddedness in the broader cultural logic, the TV series in question seem to subscribe to a ‘structure of feeling’ (Williams, Marxism 132-35) that coincides with key aspects of what Robin van den Akker and Timotheus Vermeulen have coined as metamodernism.14 One of the core features of metamodernism is the “oscillating in-betweenness or, rather, a dialectical movement that identifies with and negates – and hence, overcomes and undermines – conflicting positions, while never being congruent with these positions” (“Periodising” 10). The TV series discussed in this book strategically employ this ‘both-neither’ dynamic to reinforce that “[t]echnology is neither good nor bad; nor […] neutral” (Kranzberg 545) and that “technology is a very human activity” (ibid. 557). The cultural sentiment thus emerges as these narratives challenge deterministic views of technology and endow their themes with a certain ‘depthiness.’ They negotiate the tension between utopia and dystopia without prescribing a solution; they remain in a state of limbo that ultimately subscribes to neither modern enthusiasm nor postmodern cynicism as a response. Instead, they stimulate a dialogue about human agency in digital culture that engages with the ethics of complexity of the contemporary moment.
The themes, aesthetics, and functions of complex serial dystopias refer to metamodernism in terms of the critique of technology they offer, the level of engagement they promote, and the utopian horizon they (implicitly) seek to restore. They resist simplistic representations of digital culture and embrace “a pluralist understanding of the world in all its paradoxes” (Goldoni). As bleak as some of their episodes may be, the TV series ultimately seem to contain a metamodern optimism that arises from viewer engagement and from the utopian spaces in which discussions about the future take place. Just like “dystopian social relations inherent in the reality represented in films or computer games,” as Klonowska and colleagues point out, it is now also TV series that “provide an occasion for the rise of an actual utopian community of fans, viewers, players and supporters” (“Reconfigurations” 9). While literary dystopias – notwithstanding their cultural power – invite readers to form their individual imaginations of the proposed future, audio-visual renderings of dystopia offer viewers concrete scenarios that kindle discussions based on mutual reference points, generating, more often than not, what Mittell calls “forensic fandom” (52). Complex serial dystopias touch upon utopianism as a real-life practice, restoring a horizon of hope by fostering a sense of community at the reception level. By illuminating the nexus of dystopias, complex serial storytelling, and a metamodern cultural logic oscillating between techno-dystopianism and techno-utopianism, this book hopes to start a discussion about the cultural power of serial dystopias in terms of form, content, and function.
Chapter Outline
The following chapters will elaborate on these preliminary remarks in more detail. The first part of the section “Dystopia, Complex TV, and Metamodernism” contextualises representations and critiques of technology in dystopian fiction and outlines notions of the good life in digital culture. The second part of this section focuses on complex TV and its main characteristics, which helps to conceptualise the modus operandi of serial dystopias, while the third part discusses complex serial dystopias and seriality against the backdrop of a metamodern structure of feeling. The heart of this book, the analysis section “Complex Serial Dystopias and the Human-Technology Entanglement,” discusses the four TV series Black Mirror, Mr. Robot, Westworld, and Kiss Me First in terms of how seriality and formal-aesthetic choices shape the dystopian expression of technology and digital culture.1 The analysis of these TV series, which are considered paradigmatic examples of complex serial dystopias, will focus on carefully selected key episodes and explore how the formal devices of the televisual texts play together to reinforce their thematic concerns and foster audience engagement. It will be demonstrated that the selected series tap the full potential of seriality to create space – “an alternative reality in which to exist” (Adkins 19) – thereby offering eudemonic viewing experiences (i.e., stimulating reflection processes and the critical mindset of the viewer) through expanding fictional worlds. This book concludes with a recontextualization of dystopia, complex TV, and hope against the backdrop of contemporary world affairs.
Dystopia, Complex TV, and Metamodernism
Complex serial dystopias, as understood in this book, are multi-layered TV series that shed critical light on prevailing and emerging social-cultural discourses in digital culture by building worlds of the near future that resonate with contemporary audiences beyond screen time. They harbour complex modes of storytelling that reinforce both the intensity of their ‘grand lessons’ and the level of viewer engagement,1 kindling discussions about the trajectory of digital culture. This three-part section outlines the key characteristics of complex serial dystopias from a theoretical perspective.
The TV series in question share a pronounced interest in (emerging) technologies and the interstices of digital culture while insightfully oscillating between the utopian and dystopian paradigm. Therefore, the first part of this section (“Technology and the Dystopian Imagination”) will take a close look at the cultural expressions of technological dystopias, trace different approaches to criticising technology, and contextualise them against notions of the good life in digital culture. The insights will support the thesis that complex serial dystopias typically move beyond one-dimensional representations that would negotiate technology as a force external to culture and instead explore the interstices and consequences of the interdependence of technology and society, both from a macro- and micro-perspective and in concrete speculative settings. Complex serial dystopias characteristically oscillate between technological utopianism and technological dystopianism, wavering between the hopes and fears associated with technological progress (see Khasawneh).
The fact that TV series today have a strong impact on cultural conversations about the present and the future is reason alone to take a closer look at the medium itself. The widespread appeal of TV series also catapults “utopian and dystopian fictions towards more accessible and thus more persuasively effective forms of communication” (Klonowska et al., “Reconfigurations” 10).2 The second part of this section (“Serialising Dystopia in Audio-Visual Culture”) thus focuses on the televisual medium and investigates how the serial format facilitates lasting impressions through long story arcs, subtexts filled with detail, and encourages an engagement of viewers “who fill the gaps between episodes analyzing and theorizing” (Mittell 46). The intensified viewer engagement comes in handy for dystopia’s warning function, as audiences are invited to critically engage with cultural discourses even after the closing credits appear on the screen. In addition, seriality enables worldbuilding and provides an unprecedented audio-visual space to vividly portray the macro- and micro-perspectives of the human-technology entanglement. The second part thus contextualises the impact of serial storytelling on dystopian renderings, drawing closely on Jason Mittell’s insights into the operating mechanisms of serial narratives that have shaped the TV landscape since the 1990s.3 The scholar’s outline serves as a fruitful template for investigating how dystopias respond to the ever-increasing complexities of the empirical world outside of the literary and cinematic paradigm.4
The third part of this section (“Dystopia and Complex TV: A Metamodern Quest”) concludes with a contextualisation of complex serial dystopias against the backdrop of an emerging cultural sentiment that Robin van den Akker and colleagues call metamodernism (“Periodising” 5), which is characterised by oscillation and sincerity and, in this case particularly, involves an aesthetic of hope through increased audience engagement. The sincere reflection of cultural discourses, the oscillation between dystopia and utopia, the intensified cautionary function, and the temporal dimension of seriality itself render complex serial dystopias cultural products of metamodern times.
1Technology and the Dystopian Imagination
Few other genres are as deeply informed by their empirical socio-political blueprints as the dystopia, which renders it a genre in continuous flux and adaptation. Lars Schmeink, for example, maintains that utopian/dystopian fiction is “the epitome of a creative intervention into central socio-political discourses that are negotiated in a given society” (65). It is, therefore, less surprising that the latest dystopian expressions focus on the collateral effects of emerging technologies in society and illuminate the fictive underside of modernity’s principle of progress. Most visions of technology in the dystopian canon appear utterly bleak, portraying society and the individual as arbitrarily exposed to technology’s inherent dynamics of rationality and efficiency. However, such deterministic views are increasingly outdated in a tech-saturated empirical reality. For example, Ian Roderick underscores how the “discourse of technological determinism means casting ourselves in the role of bystanders or benefactors of either good fortune or ill fortune depending upon the effects of the technology” (119). Instead of focusing on the individual’s role as a bystander, complex serial dystopias point to the mutual shaping of technology and society, updating their negotiations of technology to provide a grounded snapshot of digital culture. In this respect, Yu-Xiao Dai and Su-Tong Hao argue:
As technology and our understanding evolve over time, the original opposition between techno-utopianism and techno-dystopianism starts to lose its significance, especially at a time when many of us are represented through and even defined by technology like smart phones and social media on a daily basis, and human-machine systems such as wearable robotic technologies, neural interfaces and powered prostheses and exoskeletons are reckoned to be extensions of our own bodies. (12)
As the scholars make clear, the strict opposition between “techno-utopianism” and “techno-dystopianism” no longer holds in times when humans and technology are inextricably intertwined (see also Lupton). The task of serial dystopias, then, is to explore the interstices of the human-technology entanglement, to articulate both the hopes and fears inherent in digital culture and, at best, to restore a sense of agency by cultivating a healthy scepticism towards technologies rather than a ‘resigned pessimism’ (see Moylan, Scraps 153). Instead of suggesting or possibly even imposing a preconceived critique on the viewer, complex serial dystopias offer viewers the opportunity to ponder their own engagement with technology. In so doing, they depart from the clear didactic agenda of the classical dystopia and opt for a ‘relational positioning’ (Gibbons) of the audience. By abandoning one-dimensional views of technology – e.g., ‘the evil machine’ or ‘the abusive user’ – and solidifying the logic that society and technology are no separate domains but a complex assemblage, complex serial dystopias become timely and powerful investigations of the good life in digital culture.
1.1Tracing the Human-Technology Entanglement
The technological focus of serial dystopias revisits the kinship of dystopia with its ‘mother-genre’ science fiction.1 Indeed, scholars have pointed out that science fiction and dystopia have not only converged but merged (Ferns, “Utopia” 55). While not all science-fiction narratives are dystopian, most dystopias today are rooted in science fiction, with a particular interest in the problems and solutions associated with novel scientific and technological processes. Particularly science fiction, as Raffaella Baccolini notes, has “the potential to envision different worlds that can work as purely imaginative (at worst) or a critical (at best) exploration of our society” (“Persistence” 519). Complex serial dystopias strive for the latter: their visions are no longer built on the ‘radically different’ world principle (Suvin, “Theses” 188) but on familiar settings and the plausible extrapolation of given and emerging technological standards in contemporary society.
Throughout history, technology has appeared as a “double-edged sword” (Roderick 70). On the one hand, the catch-all term is associated with social progress, convenience, and efficiency; on the other hand, it is linked to social alienation and the interference with human (physical and mental) well-being.2 The ambivalence of technology thus lends itself particularly well to explorations in a utopian/dystopian context. Raymond Williams, for example, points out how crucial the dimension of the ‘technological transformation’ of society is for both the utopian and dystopian expression (“Utopia” 204), and Juliana Lopes postulates that technology is even “intrinsically related to dystopias” (88).3 The prevailing tendency towards optimism in political rhetoric when it comes to the individual and social benefits of technological progress is at odds with overtly bleak fictional representations of technology.
The kinship between dystopia and technology evolved from literary works that were initially read as utopian satire. For example, Samuel Butler’s Erewhon (1872) scrutinised anthropocentrism along with the encroaching mechanisation of society by satirising the cultural and political practices of Victorian England and offering critical commentary on how technology was on the rise to influence society on a large scale. It is here where dystopia surfaced as the “literary utopia’s shadow” (Moylan, Scraps 111). E. M. Forster’s The Machine Stops (1909) then became widely regarded as the first canonical example of the 20th-century literary dystopia.4 With its vivid description of an underground hive-like population in which individuals live isolated in cocoons and whose experiences and connections are mediated by the omnipotent ‘machine,’ the novel provided prototypical motifs that still crop up frequently in dystopian fiction today. Similarly, Fritz Lang’s influential Metropolis (1927) was one of the first films to express both the fascination and fear of technological progress and ‘mechanomorphism’ (i.e., “the technological conversion of organism into mechanism” (Beauchamp, “Technology” 61)). Early dystopias voiced criticism of the principle of radical progress and reminded readers that “technical developments frequently have environmental, social, and human consequences that go far beyond the immediate purposes of the technical devices and practices themselves” (Kranzberg 545). Today, dystopias still often allude to what Zygmunt Bauman bleakly describes, namely that “‘[p]rogress’, once the most extreme manifestation of radical optimism and a promise of universally shared and lasting happiness, has moved all the way to the opposite, dystopian and fatalistic pole of anticipation” (Life 68). Complex serial dystopias, however, increasingly defuse this fundamental juxtaposition and focus more on the situationally specific ambivalences of technology.
Early dystopias tended to portray technology as either “a tool or object that is controlled by the active subject” (Samuels, “Auto-Modernity” 235) or as an “autonomous force that dictates the ideology of the future” (Beauchamp, “Technology” 57). They fuelled fears that humanity will either lose control of its own creation, use technology for the ‘wrong’ purposes, or that technological achievement will only benefit a select few. By framing progress as a “promising salvation for chosen people” (Roderick 190), classical dystopias mapped out visions of environmental destruction, nuclear disasters, bioengineering, totalitarian governments, and state surveillance. The “big three” (cf. Beauchamp, “Themes” 58) dystopian novels by Russian novelist Yevgeny Zamyatin (We (1924)), English writer and philosopher Aldous Huxley (Brave New World (1932)) and English novelist George Orwell (Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949)) remain influential warnings against possible future societies in which the potentials and dangers of technology intersect with political purposes.5
Although both authors offer a critical commentary on technology, Huxley and Orwell portray two different kinds of dystopias. While the Orwellian dystopia warns against state-enforced suppression of individual freedom, the Huxleyan dystopia describes a biologically engineered society characterised by hedonistic promiscuity and tranquilisers to ensure that citizens remain in their casts.6 These prototypes of dystopia laid the groundwork for the conception of technology as “some mechanism that controls the masses” (Lopes 88). Dystopias today still feed on both Huxley’s vision of a consumerist technoculture and Orwell’s metaphor of ‘Big Brother,’ which has entered the lexicon as a synonym for mass surveillance.
On screen, visions of technology’s destructive potential still trump visions of technology’s transformative capacity in a positive sense. In his analysis of a variety of films since 1920, Steven L. Goldman concludes that “science-fiction films are overwhelmingly dystopian, projecting the consequences of science and technology as politically or environmentally disastrous, or as inevitably co-opted by antidemocratic vested interests” (278). Although Goldman’s observation dates back to 1989, it still proves pertinent to the way science fiction represents technology in the TV landscape to this day. One reason for the prevalence of gloomy visions could be the general assumption that utopian expressions (as in harmonious relationships between society and technology) are not as compelling to audiences as conflict-ridden dystopias.7 As Joseph F. Coates notes, “modern movies remain virtually free of positive imagery about the future. The dystopian images in films have made it almost impossible for us or our most talented thinkers to conceptualize in positive imagery about the future, with clarity and details comparable to dystopian imagery” (111). Indeed, popular culture seems to embrace some sort of absence of utopia and nurture a simplistic and pessimistic stance towards the trajectory of digital culture (see Hands 146).
Nevertheless, critical projections of how things might go wrong rather than right can offer characters and/or viewers (both at best) the opportunity to reflect on the status quo and conceive of alternatives. It is important that engaging with dystopias offers, as Joss Hands puts it, “some window of hope by pointing us in a different direction – or at least leaving some space for this” (147). Serial dystopian imaginations should thus constitute a necessary steppingstone for conceptualising more sustainable, ethical maps of the future in which technology benefits society at large (cf. Spence). Precisely because technology is so central to the self-understanding of contemporary culture, its representation plays a decisive role in the extent to which utopian impulses are transported beyond the screen. In Imagining Surveillance: Eutopian and Dystopian Literature and Film (2015), Peter Marks outlines how popular conceptions of technologies can obscure their actual potential to create better conditions in society:
In many of the instances[,] technology gets depicted primarily as a malevolent force, and this perhaps speaks to a great ambivalence people display towards the undoubted potential technology has to control rather than to enable our lives. Rather than seeing these negative depictions as a collective denial of the value of technology, however, we might read them merely as proposing necessary and sensible warnings about the dangers of excessive reliance upon technology in the absence of some forms of human control. Technology generally, and surveillance technology in particular, has the capacity to make life more secure, to enable the distribution and services, and to connect us to other humans. (154)
Marks highlights how surveillance technology exhibits ambivalent properties that can be construed both in dystopian and utopian contexts. In real life, technology tends to be less problematic and invasive – its fictional projections are usually far from real-world plausibility. Nevertheless, science fiction fundamentally relies on extrapolating given technological standards to help viewers adopt an estranged perspective of their own socio-political and cultural reality.8 Especially dystopian fiction, as Chris Ferns points out, presents the “nightmare future as a possible destination of present society, as if dystopia were no more than a logical conclusion derived from the premises of the existing order” (Narrating Utopia 107). Particularly in the case of technology, these hyperbolisations run the risk of triggering simplistic readings by magnifying the alleged impact of technology on society.
Gorman Beauchamp argued as early as 1986 that “technological determinism is the dominant philosophy of history found in the dystopian novel and that dystopists are generally technophobic, viewing the technology of dystopia not as a neutral tool misused by totalitarian rulers but as intrinsically totalitarian in itself
