Videodrome, Trauma, and Terrorism: an Examination of Organzational and Emotional Dynamics David Arroyo

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2006 Videodrome, Trauma, and Terrorism: An Examination of Organzational and Emotional Dynamics David Arroyo

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COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

VIDEODROME, TRAUMA, AND TERRORISM:

AN EXAMINATION OF ORGANZATIONAL AND

EMOTIONAL DYNAMICS

David Arroyo

A Thesis submitted to the Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Art

Degree Awarded: Summer Semester, 2006

The members of the Committee approve the thesis of David Arroyo defended on April 2, 2006.

______Kay Picart Professor Directing Thesis

______Barry Faulk Committee Member

______Virgil Suarez Committee Member

Approved:

______Hunt Hawkins, Chair, Department of English

The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract vi Introduction 1 Thesis 3 Defining Religious Terrorism 6 Corporate and Religious Institutions as Terrorist Cells 9 Trauma Theory and the Horror Film 23 When Victims Become Terrorists 26 Conclusion 35 Bibliography 36 Filmography 37 Biographical Sketch 38

iii

ABSTRACT

This thesis is an examination of David Cronenberg’s Videodrome. In the course of this thesis I compare a fictional account of terrorist activity to the behaviors and organizational machinery of genuine terrorist organizations such as the Army of God and Al-Qaeda. This is important in establishing the veracity of the film as an expression of terrorism, while allowing consideration for the emotional trauma of 9/11. Although the film was made in 1983 in the waning years of the cold war, Videodrome is surprisingly in tune with the traumas of the post 9/11 audience.

INTRODUCTION

It would be disingenuous to say this paper has nothing to do with 9/11. If 9/11 taught me anything it was that everything has something to do with 9/11. The first year following it was truly a monster. It followed us everywhere. Every article, every essay, every vapid counterfeit piece of soul searching began with “Ever since 9/11…” or “If 9/11 has taught....” 9/11 was ubiquitous. People didn’t just talk about it. They watched it over and over and over. We didn’t have televised coverage per say, we had a Mobius strip curling through the great white noise that is popular culture. And when that appeared to run its course people began making documentaries about it, a mere six months later. After that all dissenting voices were with the terrorists and it was time to go to war. No waiting period. No reflection. No pauses. For a solid year, every day was 9/11. Did we learn anything? Did we pause to consider what would drive a small band of men to treat the lives of over three thousand people (themselves included) as disposable? If we kept living 9/11 every day were we, as a society, really prepared to wage a war on terror? Did we even know what it meant to wage war on an idea, hurling ourselves at dictators and oppressive regimes rooted in nation-states that clearly weren’t Osama Bin Laden Inc.? Without sobriety, without any consideration for what we were about to inflict upon the world and ourselves we had taken the myth of the ugly American, given it steroids, a pair of electrodes in its neck, performed some black magic, and let it loose upon the world: a creature born of genuine trauma animated by callous political opportunism and an abnormal brain straight from a little man living on a ranch in Crawford, Texas. It’s made quite a mess for everyone, and it won’t be slowing down anytime soon. This is the perfect time to do what we didn’t do a few years earlier: breathe, pause, reflect. It’s time to consider what went wrong with both the terrorists and us. Of course, this is easier said than done. What do we look at and what can it show? There is a clear element of horror to 9/11 and our response to it. Media and machinery converge with the irrational. The Mobius structure of the media is reminiscent of the mesmerized victim. 9/11 froze American culture like the vampire freezes his victim with dead seductive eyes. Faced with the shape of horror we were made immobile. Contemporary horror, at least superficially, is about the defeat of reason: the invincible slasher, a monster that will not die. More importantly, it represents our failure to understand ideas: motives and emotional states. The common is rendered alien and the alien is rendered common. Clearly, the 9/11 terrorists had motives, they had reasons for what they did, but the monstrosity of it all presents a challenge to both logic and empathy. The act itself seems something that human beings wouldn’t do, even though the act itself is not unique in scope or strategy, but to the American experience, the hive mind of popular culture, it does appear to be exactly that, unique. The failure to come to terms with the event, to understand the motive, is significant in the shaping of the trauma itself.

The American public knows as little about terrorism after 9/11 as it did prior to it. The only difference now is we have a few names to go with the figures on the margins. Contemporary horror is also about the failure and/or betrayal of technology. In the 19th century technology was our friend. For pre-contemporary monsters, tools like the cross (a distinctly religious technology) protected man from vampires; the cross represented a harnessing of spiritual power. The Frankenstein myth though, provided an alternative narrative, the ability of science and technology to birth the monstrous. I’m not interested in arguing which narrative is dominant nor do I particularly care to ascribe a particular politics to them. It is in the case of 9/11, the largest terrorist disaster in American history, that the latter narrative clearly dominates. Terrorism and technology are significant factors in the shaping of an American tragedy. Bearing this in mind it should come as no surprise that the genre of horror can broaden our understanding of this event. Currently, horror is enjoying a quiet renaissance. The television show Lost, loaded with paranoia and a kind of island gothic atmosphere, is a commercial and critical success. Torture scandals have given rise to a rebirth of grindhouse filmmaking with movies such as Hostel (2005) and the Saw franchise. But the focus of this essay has less to do with the current trends in horror film and much more to do with a horror film made well over twenty years ago, David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983). This is a horror film operating in the modes of science fiction and the conspiracy thriller. Following its initial release much was said about the gender politics of the film and its placement on the political spectrum. Like The Thing (1984), it was made in the twilight years of the cold war. A stifling paranoia pervades it, but the enemy isn’t a giant spider or an unseen enemy from another planet. No, the film was received as being more about mental boundaries. Although there is an unseen enemy, it is homegrown, birthed in the machinery of the North American media. As far as trauma and terrorism are concerned though, there is a legitimate reading of the film as a form of deferred action. Videodrome allows us to engage “experiences impossible for the subject to integrate in a meaningful way at the time of their occurrence” (Lowenstein, Land of the Dead 2). If 9/11 is the initial traumatic event then Videodrome provides a layer of metaphor, allowing us to speak about a trauma we have failed to articulate directly. 9/11 is a core trauma that may be triggered or experienced at a later point in time by a similar event; an investigation of Videodrome in this framework is an investigation of “two linked memories that only become fully comprehensible as traumatic through their deferred distribution across” two “different temporalities” (7). It is through the convergence of terrorism, technology, and terrorism in Videodrome, which is not recognized in the critical discourse surrounding the film, that one can, reflexively, engage the same topics that surround 9/111.

1 The critical discourse surrounding the film was preoccupied with political ideology. Was the film rightist or leftist in nature? Of all critics Robin Wood remains the one most openly hostile to Cronenberg’s work. There is a tinge of irony here as Wood is largely responsible for setting the tone and parameters of the Cronenberg conversation. In his essay “Cronenberg: A Dissenting

THESIS

Videodrome is a multifaceted work. Despite the fact it was made in 1983, its construction of terrorist mechanisms, organizational models, leadership roles, military strategies, and goals is surprisingly accurate; this itself suggests the film can be viewed outside of its original cold war context because understanding terrorism from a structural standpoint, challenges the misconception that terrorism is rooted in the other and that it exists exclusively in the province of Middle Eastern renegades. Religious terrorism can be institutionalized within liberal democracies by co-opting institutional circuits of power, specifically, the television medium. This objective analysis provides the opportunity to discuss the emotional consequences of terrorism. For the purpose of this paper, terrorism adheres to Stern’s definition: a combat strategy that is both theatrical and focused on the noncombatant. This allows for movement into the realm of trauma theory and idea of deferred action. According to Adam Lowenstein, deferred action is a psychic device that allows for the reimagining of memory over time, usually in a way that benefits from experience. Deferred action is normally reserved for trauma. Treating the film as a work of deferred action reveals that terrorism is motivated by feelings of shame, emasculation, reified suffering, oppression--trauma. This initiates an identity crisis intertwining personal and national narratives. The identity of religious terrorists is the intersection between trauma and identity and the reaction to this intersection. This removes them from a strictly othered context, demonstrating that psychological states can impact politics and ethics. Before discussing trauma theory though, it is necessary to discuss and define terrorism because it is the ideology or collection of ideologies, responsible for initiating the 9/11 trauma. Terrorism is a politically malleable term. One used to describe enemies without acknowledging any genuine grievances or the pragmatism of their military strategy. It can be applied recklessly. Currently, terrorism is conflated with insurgency, which itself can be another way of saying “freedom fighter.” In order to advance any argument including terrorism, it is wise to formulate a definition of terrorism that is open ended, allowing for emerging forms, but stable enough so that it is recognizable in so far as we can separate a terrorist act from traditional warfare. Traditionally, terrorism is thought of as a species of warfare; however, the malleable nature of the term may itself arise from a misunderstanding of warfare. Warfare, or traditional warfare as we know it, may be a species of terrorism, but the paper is not primarily concerned with this distinction. Also, it is not enough to define terrorism alone,

View,” Wood labels Cronenberg’s work as reactionary as opposed to radical. What do these terms mean for Wood? Reactionary films mean those “committed to the continuance of the present economic/social/sexual organization,” while radical refers, obtusely, to “those who are not” (121).

as this thesis is interested in religious terrorism. Videodrome is a film about religious terrorism, which suggests a preoccupation with good and evil. Jessica Stern’s work provides ample consideration of terrorism as a whole and religious terrorism as a special case. In discussing terrorism and Videodrome, an intersection between terrorism and corporations emerges. This in turn ties notions of good and evil, of religiosity, with popular conceptions of corporations. Videodrome speaks to the political climate of the early twenty-first century. One in which terrorism has--or is at least perceived to have--run amok, while the corporation has become “the dominant institution of our time” (The Corporation 2004). That the former is viewed as a threat to liberal democracy, while the latter is seen by some as its backbone is ironic considering that, historically, corporations have proven far more successful at wreaking havoc and sowing the seeds of human misery, be it testing insecticides on children or dumping massive numbers of pollutants into the environment; but corporate crime lacks the showmanship of terrorism. It lacks its potency. Corporate evil is banal. Terrorism is exciting, but the two are not mutually exclusive. Although the general public recognizes a convergence between religion and terrorism, what is not clear is the potential for corporate terrorism, nor is there any recognition in popular discourse that terrorism and religion can be magnified by corporate synergy. The implications of a religious-corporate terrorism are incredible. Religious terrorism is concerned with replacing a secular space with a religious one, while the nature of a corporation is to replace public space with privatized spheres. Videodrome allows the viewer to speculate the shape of a religious-corporate terrorist entity. This is no simple task as the fusion of the two requires ideological sympathy: strong fascist tendencies. The corporation becomes a sacred institution, one that can do no wrong. Although religious in character, Spectacular Optical and Cathode Ray highlight troublesome issues in the structure of strictly secular corporations. For the most strident of capitalists, the divinity of corporation appears to be self-evident. Often, adherence to the bottom line and a responsibility to the shareholders are used to excuse unethical and destructive behavior. A religious corporate terrorism may be born out of a refusal to critique capitalism honestly, on its virtues and vices, as well as the legally questionable status of the corporation as individual. In the chapter, Corporate terrorism, I demonstrate corporations, religion, and terrorism intersect in Videodrome and it does so by examining how actual terrorist organizations function. Having discussed the mechanics of terrorism the discussion turns to trauma theory and emotional substance: the trauma of terrorism and its impact on the victim. This can’t be quantified by comparing organizational models, although a comparison of Max’s behavior to that of another terrorist proves useful. However, it is necessary to employ a theory that examines the mental/emotional life of the subject without degrading the experience. Although criticism is focused on a fictional character, the thesis assumes that this criticism has practical ramifications; therefore a discussion of trauma must treat all subjects humanely, even if the subject is simulated.

Moreover, reference is made to actual former terrorist and cult member, Kerry Noble, which strengthens the need for a criticism that treats the subject as a person not an object. In conclusion, an analysis of terrorism in Videodrome will demonstrate the malleability of identity, on both a persona and institutional level. Terrorist adherents in their quest for absolutism demonstrate the subjectivity of the world. They are trying to change narratives without admitting there are any narratives to change. The notion of purity, which reduces the world to good or evil, circumvents discussions of the ubiquity of suffering. Religious terrorists would have us believe that only the pure or chosen can suffer, that suffering is easily quantified. Exceptionalism allows terrorists to justify the use of violence to inflict suffering upon others. Exceptionalism is not limited to the study of terrorists and their victims; it is frequently applied to corporations and nationalism. Exceptionalism frustrates attempts to respond to terrorist attacks as it overlooks terrorist motives— including genuine grievances—and justifies formulating a response to terrorism that is, in and of itself, an example of terrorism. It follows then that the function of Videodrome can be interpreted as one of instruction and emotional examination. It instructs the viewer, with surprising accuracy, in the nature and structure of terrorist organizations. Simultaneously, it is an emotional examination of the suffering of Max Renn. Like those of us living in the aftermath of 9/11, Max lives with paranoia. He is a victim of terrorism, transformed against his will, into an agent of a terrorist organization. Those who have dissented against the war are in a similar situation. We did not will the monster to life, but we are a part of it, bound by culture and government to those who trample across the Middle East willfully. Victims, Videodrome suggests, are likely terrorists.

DEFINING RELIGIOUS TERRORISM

Terrorism, though, is an ambiguous definition with various forms and philosophies. Jessica Stern offers substantial observations on the nature and definition of terrorism. Terrorism has “two characteristics” that “are critical for distinguishing it from other forms of violence” (Stern xx). First, the violence of terrorism is “aimed at noncombatants” (xx). Second, the violence itself is fashioned for “dramatic purpose: instilling fear in the target audience is often more important than the physical result” (xx). Moreover, it is “defined as an act or threat of violence against noncombatants with the objective of exacting, intimidating, or otherwise influencing an audience. This definition avoids limiting perpetrator or purpose” (xx). Stern is concerned with maintaining an open definition of terrorism, one that is not concerned with minutia such as structure of the organization or ideological inspiration. Her reticence stems from an abundance of x-factors present in applying a working theory of terrorism to real world situations. Noncombatants, Stern observes, is a highly subjective term. Although a soldier “on a battlefield is unquestionably a combatant,” the accuracy of the term becomes morally ambiguous once a soldier is removed from active combat (xx). What if his job is to monitor “civilians” susceptible to an attack from a “suicide bomber” or perhaps the solider is on a “humanitarian mission,” but is “perceived” as “partisan” (xx- xxi)? These questions point both to the moral dilemmas of military action and suggest that the idea of a soldier or of being a soldier is in and of itself morally ambiguous. But a noncombatant is easily a civilian, a child, an artist, or a government official (and if the government official has military oversight one can find himself on thin ice all over again). Noncombatant is also a definition closely tied to various state and substate actors. In other words, Stern does not limit terrorist aggression by institutional origins, “states can and do unleash terrorist violence against their own civilians, as Saddam Hussein did with chemical weapons against Iraqi Kurds” (xxi). Stern’s primary concern, though, is still substate actors, by which she means organizations such as Hamas and Al-Qaeda. However, one wonders where corporate entities fit into her scheme. She does not mention them, so theoretically they could have no place in her theoretical scheme. Nevertheless, if one treats a corporation as a substate entity then corporate entities clearly fit into her theoretical framework. Alternately, most major corporations are multi-state or multi-national (or even trans-national). This doesn’t provide any friction with Stern’s premise because organizational size and structure are irrelevant to her definitions. She is concerned with actions. It is important to mention the potential for terrorist corporations because Videodrome appears ready to embrace this variation of the terrorist theme. More importantly though Stern is concerned with religious terrorism, which is advantageous since both 9/11 and Videodrome are preoccupied with this very thing. Religious terrorism is preoccupied with the question of evil, and how to confront it. The meaning of evil itself is at stake. For the religious terrorist evil is most likely biblical in nature: people engage in evil behavior knowingly. His

enemies are the other, less than human, while he is a holy warrior righting wrongs. For the rest of us evil isn’t quite so cut and dry. By engaging in any analysis of terrorism, it is important to remember that the terrorist is still human. Often his behavior is an outgrowth of genuine suffering. There are a variety of definitions for evil. Stern says, “all of these approaches to evil seem to me to be important, not only for understanding terrorism, but also for developing an effective response” (xxvi). For the purpose of this paper two theories seem particularly important. The first theory or phrase is the banality of evil. Paraphrasing Hannah Arendt, Stern explains that the banality of evil refers to people who “comply, unthinkingly, with evil rulers, regulations, or unfair systems,” which leads them to perpetrate “unspeakably cruel acts…perpetrators shut off the knowledge that their victims are human beings. It is this kind of evil that I observe in the terrorists described” in her book because “they have lost the ability to emphasize with their victims” (xxiii-xxiv). Those operating in the mold of banal evil “will become accustomed to inflicting pain. They may even begin to take pleasure from atrocity in the name of ‘purification’” (xxiv). Equally important is the idea that “evil arises from trauma,” which has its origins in psychoanalysis (xxiv). Since 9/11 is clearly a traumatic event and the character of Max Renn is traumatized, this definition has particular meaning in exploring the emotional impact of evil in its relation to suffering. “When the pain of trauma is so great that the victim cannot sustain feeling, he too becomes susceptible to propagating further evil, and evil thus proliferates” (xxiv). According to this theory trauma is the disease and evil is the symptom. The proliferation of evil spreads the infection of trauma. Trauma becomes radioactive: the spread of trauma (and of evil) need not be linear. I do not need to be the intended victim to experience trauma. By varying degrees 9/11was a trauma experienced by millions, the effect, experienced first hand by those in New York and second hand by those observing television, radio, etc. was nearly instantaneous. Keeping these theories in mind, Stern offers a few reminders about religious terrorism that will serve useful for any attempt at recognizing terrorist behavior and its consequences. Religious terrorists fixate on a “single value to the exclusion of others to use morally unacceptable means to address genuine grievances or achieve defensible goals,” foregoing diplomacy and turning “to violence when other means are available for achieving the same goal (even if more slowly) are common among religious terrorists all over the world” (xxvi- xxvii). As a rule of thumb religious fundamentalism doesn’t tolerate modernity, postmodernism, or any idea that questions or rejects dualism and cultural assumptions woven into the fabric of a particular religion. “Religious terrorism attempts to destroy moral ambiguities” (xxvii). This does not make them any less human or render the cause of their trauma to be disingenuous. “We should be wary of succumbing to the extreme dualist view that the perpetrator is a manifestation of pure evil, rather than a suffering human beleaguered, as we are, by unmet aspirations, negation, and despair” (xxvii). It is easy to dismiss them as megalomaniacs with delusions of grandeur, but this is a gross underestimation

and misreading of the causes of terrorists and their relationship with their victims. True, one will find a few of the Hollywood stereotypes running about that “view themselves as saints and martyrs” but the issues at stake are “more than” the state of religious terrorism as “a threat to national security” (xxviii). More so, religious terrorism is a form of “psychological and spiritual warfare, requiring a psychologically and spiritually informed response” by those who would seek to diffuse religious terrorism as a form of violent oppression and resistance (xxviii). Therefore, it is necessary to understand the human dimension of terrorism as the mechanics and structure of terrorist organizations.

CORPORATE AND RELIGIOUS INSTITUTIONS AS TERRORIST CELLS

Boetig’s study of Al-Qaeda and the Army of God offers an objective standard for judging the character and behavior of religious terrorist organizations. Al-Qaeda, of course, is the Islamic fundamentalist group responsible for the World Trade Center bombings, while The Army of God is a far-right Christian group responsible for the killings of doctors and others employed at abortion clinics in the United States. Obviously, there are some differences between the two groups. They have different targets. Al-Qaeda is focused on the United States government, while Army of God is preoccupied with abortion clinics, although it views the U.S. government as an accomplice. There is some variation in weaponry. Army of God takes a Swiss army knife approach: assassination, arson, bombings, and pseudo-anthrax. On the other hand, Al- Qaeda, while preferring simple explosives, has taken a guerrilla approach to terrorism as evidenced by their choice of weaponry (airplanes) for the World Trade Center bombings. Although the former is Islamic and the latter Christian in character, they both evolved from a western religious tradition. Monotheistic, they share philosophical and mythological connections with Judaism and consequently one another. Their religious character in and of itself does not translate into violent behavior. Although, it is clear that “religion is clearly an ideology...involving the individual in a unique commitment and in a unique network of relationships, real and imagined:” furthermore, it’s a “system of beliefs in divine or superhuman power, and practices of worship or other rituals directed towards such a power” (Weinberg and Pedahzur 14). With the conditional we’re speaking exclusively of western religions. Religion is an individual and communal experience; it is practiced internally, in the mind of the individual, as well as externally, by influencing the shape of culture. One can switch religions or reject the concept outright (though the consequences of these decisions vary). However, all western “religions have created sacred space and time, structuring day-to-day life, and connecting secular activities with gradations of sacrality…what unites all [western] religions in practical terms is the creation of sacred space on earth” (16). In contemporary times this sacred space is hardly monolithic. Perhaps as an aftermath of the post-modern moment and the development of liberal democracies, religion, like poetry, music, philosophy, and forms of media, continually splinters. “Heterogeneity...and fragmentation are all aspects of secularization in most Western countries. In this continuing process, historical belief systems are becoming fragmented, privatized and reinterpreted in more symbolic... ways” (21). Life becomes compartmentalized, sometimes contradictory and paradoxical. Secularization has allowed (most of) us to move among spheres. We do not have to live in one sphere exclusively. We can participate in a variety of subcultures as well as mainstream culture (whatever that may be). “Religious organizations are becoming divided and pluralistic. Secularization appears together with the awareness that social institutions are

mutable... Culture is desacralised, as many (or most) people are no longer ready to live, or die, for religion” (21). This does not apply to all religious factions (it doesn’t even apply to all secular belief systems). There are still a few who are willing to live and die for their religious beliefs. “Any religion which requires a level of high involvement is an invasion of secularized space and on a collision course. It is also a threat to modern sensibilities, and is perceived as a symptom of stress and distress” (26- 27). Certainly, the American anxiety towards terrorism supports this, but we’re also living in a time when explicitly religious political groups are exerting massive influence on the American cultural landscape. This tension is indicative of the militarization of certain religious groups (For the American public this is mostly focused on Al-Qaeda, not any domestic group). This is not to say that a movement towards activism—and arguably militancy—is without some justification, but shaping political discourse with language that is both religious and warlike language transforms politics from an art of negotiation to one of elimination. In this “kill or be killed” political rhetoric, dissent is a casualty and group speak overrides independent critical thought. Religious language polarizes discourse. There is black. There is white. But there is no gray, and without any gray area, without any uncertainty there is no reason to give pause and question one’s actions. Although the politics of polarization is commonplace in the year 2006, chastising the evils of such becomes empty moralizing without recognizing that “those who feel oppressed might not consider violence as terrorism but rather as” as a rebellion against a long standing pattern of exploitation (Boetig 22). Also, as a rule “the perpetrators of religious terrorism are generally not mentally unstable psychologically but rather normal, socially adept people” (22). Members of Spectacular Optical are not depicted as lunatics, but as businessmen (Barry Convex) and working class stiffs (Harlan) who are articulate in their reasons for reprogramming Max. They view themselves as victims of a parasite they call moral depravity; moreover, they see North America as the victim of moral depravity. Anger is clearly a motivating factor but for most of the film, these characters subsume their anger with smiles and wit. They do not fit into the stereotyped image of the mad Arab common to Fox News and CNN. Al-Qaeda uses “religion as motivation and justification for international terrorism” (22). What separates Al-Qaeda from an organization concerned about preserving Islam and Arab culture is that religious language is used to extend their ideological shape from one of self-defense and preservation to a battle “between good and evil” (23). As a result, “this cosmic component propelled the plight of the extremist from more than just a political strategy, to a divine and spiritual status. Al-Qaeda and other related groups are fighting for the preservation of a holy cause, not just sacred places” (23). They adopt an aggressive strategy that is not satisfied with carving out a quiet space for themselves and their community. Instead of establishing a sphere that exists harmoniously with the rest of the world, they are striving to remake the world by establishing their beliefs—in this case Islam—as an absolute hegemony. In the case of Spectacular Optical it is clear their goal is not to create a moral television

network but to use the medium of television to create a new hegemony in North America through violent means: a power structure that is explicitly corporate, Christian, isolationist, and rightist. Boetig notes “the spiritual nature” of extremism motivates terrorists “to take actions that are more than just practical; they must also be meaningful and sensational” (23). An established pattern among religious terrorists are “theatrical forms of violence” (Juergensmyer qtd in Boetig 23). They make “strong claims of moral justification characterized by a commitment to religion and warrior-like power” (23). Harlan’s monologue continually references the need for directness, purity, and toughness as necessary for victory in a time of savagery: fighting words. Afterwards, Max is programmed to kill his partners so that Spectacular Optical can take over the station. It is never explained exactly how this double murder allows Spectacular Optical to gain control of the station. The killings would appear to prevent any formal transition of ownership from Max to Spectacular Optical. In the context of terrorism the killings may be “more expressive than instrumental. The aim is to convey rage or to exact revenge with little thought to long term consequences” (Stern 7). Admittedly, this is hardly a satisfying answer. However, if the film had explained the reason, it would actually damage my critique of Spectacular Optical as a terrorist organization. The assassinations would lose their grandiosity, their mystery; in short, they would cease to be theatrical. Spectacular Optical’s predisposition for dramatics extends into the actual realm of theatre. Obviously, the eye glass convention itself is theatre, with the dancers and giant eye glasses and Convex’s speech, a dedication to Medici. To Spectacular Optical’s chagrin the theatrical elements escape their control when a newly reprogrammed Max kills Barry Convex on stage in front of a live audience. As Max escapes Convex dies in graphic fashion oozing pus from various orifices. In addition to this, the fashioning of the Videodrome signal fashioned into the hardcore torture/snuff television show—appropriately titled—Videodrome cements theatrics as Spectacular Optical preferred method of destruction. As previously mentioned Spectacular Optical has no visible headquarters, Harlan and Convex act as agents not men in charge. There is no indication of anyone, other than Spectacular Optical, a corporate entity being charge. In contrast Cathode Ray, as far as the viewer knows, has one mission in a fairly seedy side of town. There are architectural similarities to a church, specifically the high ceilings. In addition, unlike Spectacular Optical there is an identifiable founder Dr. Brian O’Blivion, but his presence is virtual, sealed away in a library of videotapes. His daughter, Bianca, runs the day to day operations. What is most remarkable though is the juxtaposition of the high ceiling mission with a series of interlocking cubicles covering the floor space, each one complete with a television; most of them peopled with bums quietly watching TV. The cubicles are a clear reference to corporate office space, which, unless you’re a high ranking executive, are a series of boxes and pathways. The possibility that other missions exist is never discussed. Cathode Ray uses the television medium rather than the building as its medium for

proselytizing. As each cubicle focuses on one person, the mission itself is focused on rehabilitation. In the ideology of Cathode Ray people are homeless because they are out of synch with popular culture. They are divorced from a mainstream group consciousness. The only way to rejoin this community is through intensive one-on-one isolation with television. Each cubicle then becomes rhisomatic, an independently operating cell in a larger network. There is leadership, but their participation is secondary, and Cathode Ray isn’t dependent on Bianca or her deceased father. This positions Cathode Ray as a form of leaderless resistance. “A leaderless resistance network—with no central known leaders involved in planning operations—is almost impossible for law enforcement authorities to penetrate and stop” however, the “network is not actually leaderless” (Stern 150). In an age of increased surveillance traditional leadership models are a liability for terrorist organizations. Leaderless resistance provides plausible deniability. A leader cannot be indicted on conspiracy charges if there’s no proof he participated in a conspiracy. Instead the rise of electronic surveillance has in turn given rise to inspirational leadership. Stern identifies Michael Bray as the inspirational leader of the Army of God, noting that he and other inspirational leaders “mobilize rather than supervise their followers. They do not get involved in day-to-day management issues,” nor do they offer “tangible rewards such as salaries to their followers,” resulting in a reciprocal rather than top-down relationship where followers become leaders and leaders may become moral agents (148). This explains the difficulty in ascribing a position of leadership to Brian O’Blivion. He cannot be directly implicated in the actions of Cathode Ray but he is clearly a source of ideas, a moral agent influencing the decisions of his daughter, Bianca O’Blivion. The virtual leadership then of Cathode Ray isn’t so different from that of Spectacular Optical. Dr. O’Blivion is more idea than person as is Spectacular Optical. If this were not so, Max’s assassinations of Harlan and Barry Convex would have meant the end of Spectacular Optical. It does not. Terrorist organizations tend to employ decentralized power structures2. They are cell based and capable of working independently of other cells. “Army of God members have described their organization as amorphous” (Boetig 37). This is not by accident. A rhisomatic structure allows terrorist organizations “to hide organizational operations and structure from investigating authorities to prevent detection, analysis, and dismantlement” (37). This establishes a “leaderless resistance” (37). The Army of God uses the Internet for its communications, a virtual cubicle system. This should not be mistaken for a lack of structure, although it is “lacking obvious linear organization” (37). It is not a hierarchy in any recognizable sense. However, it does offer the impression/illusion of being a hierarchy. The Army of God believes that “God is the highest member,” the only official commanding officer of the organization

2 But they are not limited by them. As a rule, terrorists groups are capable of emulating any non- government organization or NGO (Stern 142). Potentially, inspirational leadership can be integrated into any NGO.

(37). This “provides secrecy and disassociation” among the membership which provides an alibi for “conspiracy allegations” (37). In the case of Cathode Ray, Dr. O’Blivion is an idea, his leadership is figurative. It works in an explicitly symbolic capacity. The real leader of Cathode Ray is the ideology that O’Blivion represents: The New Flesh. His videotapes are his scriptures. For the Army of God, the Christian notion of God may be a living being, but he is also an ideological construct born out of biblical scriptures, a being not tied to the physical world, very much like Dr. O’Blivion. Likewise, Spectacular Optical is leaderless. Membership in Optical is tied an authoritarian revolution with fascist goals. Videodrome, the show and the signal, become its own twisted form of scripture. For terrorist organizations it is not enough to sympathetic to some aspects of their cause, while seriously doubting others. “Regarding Islam, the AL-Qaeda Manual requires that members be Moslem because” unbelievers cannot be trusted (45). The Army of God believes in a “living Christianity” that is not relegated to a particular space, but one that encompasses all institutions, including government (45). “There is an expectation of conflict between Christianity” and a societal system with Christian morality. These religious groups resist the notion of a secular society:

Al-Qaeda seeks to establish a religious state in which Islam can be lived. The Islamic state is already present in several Middle Eastern countries such as Saudi Arabia (notably the home of Al- Qaeda’s leader Osama Bin Laden). Living Christianity in the anti- abortion movement can similarly be seen as an inner-worldly effort that is bringing God’s kingdom to earth (45-46).

This is reflected in the expansive tendencies of Spectacular Optical, Al-Qaeda, and The Army of God. There is a desire to replace secular institutions, eliminating intellectual discourse, alternative religious and secular belief systems, and the sovereignty of the self over the body. Throughout the film Optical and Cathode Ray display complete disregard for Max’s mind and body, and are in fact waging war both with one another and secular society. This demonstrates that their intolerance is not limited to secular institutions but other religious belief systems. This level of intolerance propels these organizations into the realm of fascism:

The language of fascism could…be highly religious in tone. Italian Fascism was replete with references to ‘faith’, ‘martyrdom’ and ‘sacrifice’. Hitler’s language included words like ‘mission’, ‘salvation’ and ‘redemption’. Leading Nazis specifically sought to fit Hitler into the Protestant tradition through the doctrine of Providence…. (Weinberg and Pedahzur 156).

Spectacular Optical is on a mission to redeem North America. To make it tough for some unstated reckoning with the rest of the world (imperial aspirations?). For them sacrifice is a more applicable term than martyrdom as Max is a pawn who sacrifices his career, but does so under duress: he is brainwashed. Classifying Cathode Ray is a bit more elusive as they are not as forthcoming with their motives as Spectacular Optical, but it is clear that their dogma of the New Flesh is anti-body as Max is encouraged to commit suicide. He is promised rebirth, one that is an evolutionary step forward, when merely it just another version of the afterlife. Since the film operates in a conspiracy mode it is artistically economic to reveal as little about these organizations as possible. Postmodern paranoia, like any paranoia, depends on ignorance for effect. If the audience knows too much about these organizations they lose their power; their monstrous status is endangered; moreover, Cronenberg has never revealed himself to be an expert in terrorism. The film approximates the power and dangers of terrorism without the machinery, but in order to judge the film as a faithful rendition of terrorist organizations it is important to evaluate what methods/tendencies are not discussed. It is really a matter of detail more than anything else. Although the film gives intimations of a cell structure, the cells are simple. Al-Qaeda has evolved one that is far more complex:

Al-Qaeda considers itself as engaged in a holy war and therefore uses military organization. The two core components of the military structure are the commander and advisory council along with the soldiers…Further stated in the manual under an explanation of the importance of the military organization is the achievement of discipline in secrecy. The cell structure facilitates this secrecy. Cell structure is the desired method of operation as described in the Al- Qaeda Manual. The entire fifth lesson of the Al- Qaeda Manual provides explicit instructions on the methods of communication to be used between members (50).

The Army of God isn’t as strict:

Unlike the Al-Qaeda Manual, the Army of God manual does not provide explicit instructions on secretly operating within a military organization or cell structure. It does imply that the use of cells is necessary in order to operate successfully (51).

A cell structure isn’t necessary, but in order to be successful (carry out more than one mission) it is advantageous, providing cover for members. What separates Army of God from Al-Qaeda is the requirement for a cell structure and the level of complexity that cell structure should provide. Unlike Army of God, Spectacular Optical, and Cathode Ray, there is an additional hierarchy working in conjunction with the cell structure. In the case of Al-Qaeda hierarchy is more than symbolic;

it is a functional part of the organization. In contrast, Cathode Ray may have a hierarchy but it is a symbolic one. In this case the difference between Army of God and Al-Qaeda illustrates that a terrorist organization need not follow a cookie cutter approach. In reference to the film this is advantageous as the imaginary terrorist organizations need not be identical to their real world counter parts, only similar. In establishing a terrorist organization broad strokes are more important that fine details. Also, despite the theatrics in which Optical and Cathode engage in they are not sensationalized or the product of stereotype. Their behavior is as close to genuine as artistically possible. Minor structural differences are eclipsed by what may be the most important similarity among the organizations. Boetig emphasizes the long term goal of both Al-Qaeda and the Army of God is holy war (55). This is a “central ideological foundation” for these groups (55). As an idea holy war has a profound psychological effect on the membership:

It encourages the leadership, motivates the members and drives the belief that violence is an acceptable method of operation. Both the Army of God and Al-Qaeda’s actions are perceived as battle maneuvers within an ongoing war. Both the Al-Qaeda and the Army of God are seeking to replace secular governments with theocracies, Christian and Islamic respectively (55).

Holy War galvanizes terrorist organizations. It gives them purpose and focus. War vitalizes Al-Qaeda and the Army of God. Note that winning the war is secondary at best. The conflict supersedes all possible outcomes. These are apocalyptic organizations that are fighting a war they cannot win. War itself is a way of thinking:

The Army of God uses terminology consistent with their belief of being engaged in a holy war. The use of title Army of God by anti-abortion extremists indicates its religious cause… The Army of God website’s continuous use of words such as defensive force, soldier and civil war conjures up images of militaristic actions. References to themselves as soldiers and anti-abortion terrorists - as Clayton Wagner did while a fugitive - support their ideological justification that they are fighting a holy war (55).

The notion of holy war provides the terrorists with a moral justification to engage their victim/opponents in guerrilla warfare. Holy War provides the rules of engagement with little thought or analysis: those allied with the terrorists are good; those who are not are evil. Being religious in character, holy war is used to identify evil-doers as members of secular society. There is a desire among religious terrorists to replace secular governments with theocracies, that this goal

is highly unlikely does not dissuade them. They are driven not by likelihood but the supposed righteousness of their cause. Although it is unclear that any terrorist organization recognizes such, there is an internal tension between the fantasy of apocalypse and the construction of a new social order. Boetig’s characterization shows that these organizations believe that through holy war they can replace secular liberal democracies with theocracies. Often though, these organizations are more successful at damaging themselves than delivering a new world order. It is quite possible that despite— or more likely because—of the physical and psychic torment wreaked by organizations like Al-Qaeda that they are doomed to fail; in fact, they are programmed to fail. Holy War may be their stated goal, but self-destruction seems far more likely than a complete transformation of secular governments into theocracies. Holy War as an idea becomes a method for reclaiming or expanding sacred space, “purifying the world through holy war is addictive. Holy war intensifies the boundaries between Us and Them, satisfying the inherently human longing for a clear identity and definite purpose in life, creating a seductive state of bliss” (Stern 137). Religious terrorists yearn for a clear cut winner but this desire pollutes their reasoning, rather than create a paradise, they annihilate the very space they wish to sanctify. Parallels to this broken logic and self-defeating behavior are clear. As mentioned earlier by Cronenberg, being correct in a factual sense is secondary to Spectacular Optical. Ideology replaces reality. Justification for war is not as important as the war itself. Their blindness leaves them vulnerable. For all their talk of retribution and getting tough, they do not consider the possibility that the world will not merely roll over and play dead. The assassination of Barry Convex is a complete surprise (not for the viewer but for Convex and the convention attendees). Despite all the talk of vision Spectacular Optical cannot see the threat closest to them. This limits their effectiveness as an organization. Also, it demonstrates that Optical and Cathode Ray are unable to coexist. These are two similar organizations: mixing religion and corporatism, willing to manipulate individuals, willing to engage in theatrical assassinations, and have revolutionary aspirations. It is their dogma, their inflexible worldviews that make them just as much a threat to themselves as to secular societies. How much should we fear an organization whose ammunition is its own membership, when that ammunition is far smaller than society at large? This question doesn’t take ingenuity into account. As the world trade bombers demonstrated a handful of people can do a great deal of damage. It is their potential for destruction that terrorist organizations trade on. Instead of asking a question that empowers the terrorists by playing into their theatrical sideshow, questions concerning terrorism should be framed with maximum sobriety, using statistics and established patterns of behavior to handle terrorists. Although the goal of religious terrorism, as illustrated by the Al-Qaeda etc, is theocratic, one cannot merely state the proper response is to protect civil (and secular) liberties. This is truly important; nevertheless, it has been politically abused (You have to give up your liberties to have them! Freedom isn’t free!

War is peace! And other absurd pieces of sloganeering). This is a hegemonic and cultural problem. Although civilian casualties are a part of terrorism—and often intended to be so—these organizations are attempting to change power structures. This requires changing cultures. In order to address terrorism successfully a society must have a culture that values thought over fear, and cooperation over authoritarianism. Unfortunately, this is not the way of things, particularly in North America. In the aftermath of the post-structural moment, when ideas and populations are continually fragmenting, and identity itself is subjective, the process of learning to hold without a center is slow and clumsy, providing the contemporary terrorist organization, which is quick and theatrical, an opportunity to influence the cultural landscape. Since the current political climate in North America favors authoritarianism and fear a remedy to contemporary terrorism won’t be available any time soon. Until such a time there are plenty of questions to ask about the current nature of terrorism in film and culture. In Videodrome paranoia is disseminated through institutional means, a hegemonic strategy for Spectacular Optical and Cathode Ray. Their use of the television media further decentralizes, and thereby increasing the effectiveness of the signal because smashing a few televisions won’t stop the signal broadcast. But paranoia is as much a structural part of the film as it is part of the plot. Clearly, Cronenberg’s decision to tell the story from Max’s perspective limits what the viewer knows. Spectacular Optical has no identifiable corporate offices, just an outlet store; moreover, the origins of the dispute between Cathode Ray and Spectacular Optical are unknown. This also is a decentralizing agent, but instead of decentralizing paranoia and its medium Cronenberg decentralizes a corporate entity. The only certain facts are the two entities are at war and both have working knowledge of the Videodrome effect. The viewer is unfamiliar with the inner workings of Spectacular Optical and Cathode Ray. What is known about them is philosophical in nature: corporate and religious ideologies. As far as these institutions are concerned paranoia is a tool applied to their guinea pig, Max. Cultural hegemony is their ultimate goal. Cronenberg amplifies the paranoia in order to evoke impotence from within the viewer. What then is the relationship between terrorism and impotence, and can institutions be explicitly terrorist? The corporate and religious institutions, Spectacular Optical and The Cathode Ray Mission expand terrorism beyond a purely individual sphere. In this section comparisons between these institutions and Al-Qaeda and The Army of God will demonstrate how these fictional institutions are terrorist in nature or at the very least, explicitly fascist. Moreover, their ability to manipulate Max, a further extension of postmodern paranoia, demonstrates the ability of institutions to affect the individual. In effect, Max is branded. This is an ideological branding more so than a literal one, and one that tests the limits of a terrorist inspired reading of the film. When dealing with Spectacular Optical and Cathode Ray we are dealing with institutions that are corporate and religious in character. McLarty notes Spectacular Optical “has appropriated the Videodrome technology for its own

moralistic ends…echoing the New Right” (239). By New Right McLarty is referring to a strain of conservatism that mixes corporatism with a hard-line Christian conservatism which itself has theocratic tendencies. Since the 1980s this movement has become entrenched not only within the Republican establishment but in the branches of the federal government as well as traditional media. Senator Rick Santorum, Pat Robertson, and Jerry Falwell all qualify as movement luminaries. Spectacular Optical’s ideology is best encapsulated by this monologue given by the character, Harlan:

North America’s getting soft, patron, and the rest of the world is getting tough…we’re entering savage new times, and we’re going to have to be pure and direct and strong if we’re going to survive them…you and this cesspool…your viewers …are rotting us away from the inside…we intend to stop that rot3 (Videodrome 1984).

There is a definite religious undertone at work here; the language is not overtly religious insofar as it is devoid of the fire-and-brimstone/ Sodom and Gomorrah clichés in the literal sense. However, the cesspool and rot imagery is not so far removed. In the monologue, as is often the case with religious terrorists, a preoccupation with purification. The notion that a society/man can be cleansed of its sins is an idea perpetuated by the (Christian) myths of hell and apocalypse. Intense heat and massive destruction eliminate the sinner, who is seen as a source of societal decay. For some, particularly the New Right, one is given the distinct impression that these myths are more than fantasy; they are a desired goal. Beyond apocalyptic implications there are clear overtones of Darwinism at play. The world, Harlan tells us, is evolving, and in order to stay ahead of the curb, to “survive” these “savage new times,” North Americans must eliminate all signs of moral weakness. Moral weakness, being located within humans, means that those who display moral weakness must be eliminated in order to make humanity “pure and direct and strong.” Of course, this also constructs an us/other dichotomy; either you are part of the New Right/Spectacular Optical, or you are either. This Social Darwinist argument is overflowing with irony. Various strains of Christianity have either held an uneasy peace with the theory of evolution or have rejected it outright. The invention of so-called Intelligent Design has been constructed specifically to discredit the theory of evolution (and science in general) without actually practicing science itself. It has been argued by members of the Christian Right that the theory of evolution leads to Social Darwinism. This results in a world of might makes right, where the weak do not inherit the earth. They are made to suffer senselessly when humanity has

3 “Terrorists frequently invoke the notion that they are protecting the ingroup from pollution by impure outsiders,” fostering community and “make members feel strong” (Stern 19).

capability of raising them out of their suffering, or at least minimize their suffering. Social Darwinism would maximize suffering. Earlier in the film, Max and his partners are watching an Asian porn, evaluating it for the purposes of their underground television station. Max, unimpressed, says they need something “tough” not “soft.” Returning to the monologue, Harlan uses “soft” to describe North America, and “tough” for the rest of the world, thus tying together an analysis of a porno and a religious monologue. The effect may be influenced by one’s opinion of pornography and religion in general, but the film is clear on a few points. The monologue, unbeknownst to Harlan, lays bare the hypocrisy of the movement. The supposedly moral members of Spectacular Optical have created a sphere of exceptionalism allowing them to disregard their own morality. Supposedly anti- porn, they have no problem using porn as a medium to promote their political agenda. Moreover, the contemporary notions of hell and apocalypse are themselves Social Darwinism, eliminating the weak to promote the strong, which are defined, in this case by ideology. This hypocrisy is itself corrosive to society, while the ideological stance of Spectacular Optical, having been equated with porn, becomes obscene. Its practitioners—including Spectacular Optical itself— are rendered monstrous. In The Philosophy of Horror, Noel Carroll claims people engage monstrous figures “as abnormal, as disturbances of the natural order” (Carroll 16). Carroll defines monsters as “threatening and impure” (28). Monsters appear dangerous, which itself conveys their impurity. “Many monsters are interstitial and/or contradictory in terms of being both living and dead,” but the characteristic is not limited by undeath. It is about the failure of dichotomy or groups of dichotomies (male/female, mind/body, etc.) to reconcile themselves within one or more entities (32). Also, “monsters fit neither the conceptual scheme of the characters nor, more importantly, that of the reader,” monsters of horror are notable for their “categorical incompleteness4” (33). Spectacular Optical fits the Carroll definition of monstrous. It is a combination of supposedly incompatible ideas, Social Darwinism and Christianity; and it remains categorically incomplete. It is always amorphous, the advantage of being a corporate entity. Harlan’s use of the nickname “patron” (Italian for “boss”) is indicative of another pattern that intersects with religion, a parody of rebirth modeled after the Middle Ages and Italian Renaissance. Max Renn’s name is a riff on the word “Renaissance” (Lucas 157). Cronenberg himself acknowledges that “[Brian] O’Blivion’s milieu was rather Medieval,” referring to the enormous throne which

4 The assumption here is that Videodrome is a work of horror. John Harkness asserts that Videodrome is a work of science fiction. He is insistent that the science “element” present in Cronenberg’s work raises it “above the level of exploitation horror film” (Harkness 89). Carroll notes the boundary between science fiction and horror is often blurred. Both genres are a species of the fantastic, but “much of what we pretheoretically call science fiction is really a species of horror, substituting futuristic technologies for supernatural forces” (Carroll 14). Harkness’ attempt to position Cronenberg in the realm of science fiction is representative of a “putative distinction” that “is often advanced by connoisseurs of science fiction at the expense of horror” (13).

Brian occupies (Croneberg qtd in Lucas 157). This is coupled with O’Blivion’s own hooded executioner (who reveals herself as Nikki Brand). Cronenberg believes there was a misconception that the Middle Ages was a desolate time and place “but later it was realized that there was much that was rich and sustaining in the Middle Ages” (157). He adds “it probably pleases Convex and his people to view their actions as a Renaissance…of the world’s moral rearmament” which will foster a new world order of “harmony and goodness” ruled by “Spectacular Optical” (157). The Renaissance attitude of Spectacular Optical is distinctly religious in character, further demonstrating the melding of corporatism and right wing Christianity:

The neoreligious atmosphere of the Spectacular Optical convention’s décor emphasizes the organization’s piety, and their adoption of Lorenzo de Medici as patron figure and use of his two quotations—“The eye is the window of the soul” and “Love comes in at the eye”—underline their radical misinformation. The first quotation actually comes from Leonardo de Vinci, and the second—to get really radical—is the second line of W.B. Yeat’s poem “A Drinking Song.” “They’re misinformed and don’t really care,” Cronenberg explained. “They’re very cynical about using whatever suits them” (157).

Besides the high ceilings and grandiose costumes of the convention, Spectacular Optical is unveiling its line of Medici glasses, complete with a giant pair of glasses to fill the stage. Coupled with the misattributed quotations, this exposes their willful ignorance. Despite their focus on the eyes, they are blind to their own hypocrisy. It is this overarching ignorance that renders the theme of rebirth as parody. “Harlan’s affected nickname for Renn…is reflected in Medici’s described nature as...a patron of the arts” (157-158). Tim Lucas asserts that the “Renaissance motif is resolved with Max’s suicide that will result in his own spiritual rebirth: ‘I’ve learned that death isn’t the end,’ she promises (158). Lucas sites “O’Blivion’s rebirth in videotoape, machine’s rebirth into man, man’s rebirth into machine, Harlan’s rebirth in Max’s perception of him from comrade to villain” (158) Lucas states makes it “evident” that “rebirth” is “everywhere” in the film (158). However, Lucas treats these instances of rebirths as positive, as if being reborn as a brainwashed assassin with a fleshgun is a good thing. What separates the rebirths of Videodrome from those of the Renaissance is the latter promoted cultural development and nourished the intellectual growth of the individual, in the case of the former these are rebirths in name only, in truth they are twisted abortions, parodies of rebirth. Brian O’Blivion’s name, his television name, is grandiose and over the top. There is a definite satirical quality to it. As a cocreator of the Videodrome signal, and its first victim, his death, the death of his television body, can be played repeatedly on videocassette. Harlan’s rebirth

is one facilitated by betrayal, like the rebirth of Darth Vader. It furthers an extremist cause, one that damages humanity, not one that promotes its development. The merging of man and machine is depicted not merely as painful and violent, but destructive. Society doesn’t benefit from Max’s killing spree; moreover, that monstrous institutions benefit enhances the perversion, rebirth as tool of a political power struggle between terrorist organizations. The still-born nature of these so-called rebirths echoes the wasteland myth. For the post 9/11 observer the wasteland myth points to a spiritual desolation present in religious terrorism. Religious terrorists seem vaguely aware of this desolation, but they misunderstand the terms of the situation. That their violence is rooted in suffering is without question. Also, it’s clear their violence is a response to suffering. They are acting out, but they articulate this response in religious language. For them this is a problem of purification. Their violent outbursts, instead of ending their suffering, serve to exacerbate it. They seek spiritual rebirth through violence, but the only result is more violence. In speaking about the objective dimensions of terrorism, I’ve spoken primarily about systems of organization as tools to further terrorist goals. They become a form of technology. In the Cronenberg oeuvre, technology is particularly important. Often technology merges with the organic, as in the talking cockroach typewriters of Naked Lunch (1991) and the bizarre phallic and vaginal surgical instruments of Dead Ringers (1988). Also, technology is explicitly tied to scientific institutions5. In Rabid (1977) scientific advancement is tied to mortality and sexual liberation. The doctors of the film believe advancements in plastic surgery will mean new hope for the victims of severe burns and car crashes, but it is the kind of starry eyed optimism that simply will not be tolerated in a horror film. This idea of morality is connected to religion. Life, death, and sex as religious issues are best represented in Dead Ringers. This is best illustrated in medium framed shots of doctors preparing for surgery. Instead of the traditional green-gray surgical gowns, they wear red. Moreover, the cut of the gowns resembles the robes of Roman Catholic cardinals. In the context of horror and science fiction, the juxtaposition of religion and technology (as the agent of science) is usually intended to generate fear and repulsion. Also, there is an implicit critique, warning against transforming science into a religion or replacing science as a source of spiritual development. It also vocalizes anxieties societies may experience when scientific advancement collides with religious assumptions that have been accepted as true for millennia. However, Stern reminds us that “religion” is also “a kind of technology” (xxvii). It is a way of engaging the world, an ideology providing the means with which to grapple issues of spiritual import. If technology is thought of as a tool, rather than an explicit and exclusive manifestation of science, then religion becomes a system of tools. Obviously, it is a mental tool, a way of focusing the mind. Also, religion has explicitly physical tools. Churches—places of worship—are thought of as sacred spaces that bring one closer to the spiritual realm. It is adorned with stories, such as the representations of Jesus on stained glass windows.

5 The representation of science in the Croneberg oeuvre is particularly bothersome for Robin Wood, citing it as further evidence that Cronenberg is a conservative filmmaker.

Particularly significant to the horror genre is the cross. In vampire stories the crosses and holy water are used to repel the undead. They are tools that are meant to focus and channel spiritual energy. The entire system of representation seems designed to bolster faith. As long as this system is open, it is capable of absorbing and interacting with other technologies—those that are explicitly scientific and otherwise— religion remains healthy. It is when religious fundamentalism is unable to reconcile itself with cultural and scientific growth that the trouble begins. At the heart of many horror films lies an anxiety over the inherent goodness and evil of the institutions of science and religion. Although it is beneficial to acknowledge this anxiety, explicitly labeling them as such place the origins of good and evil in ideology rather than the actions of humanity or trauma. Recalling a childhood memory Stern says, “convents such as the one I visited as a child may make good people better, but they don’t necessarily make bad people good. They might even make bad people worse” (xxviii). The notion that particular systems of thought are intrinsically evil is a seductive one, and I find it particularly difficult to argue that religious fundamentalism isn’t evil. In the second half though, the focus will remain on the idea that trauma causes human suffering. This is not to say that there is one cause of evil, rather by giving trauma primacy I hope to avoid digressive arguments into the nature of evil as this has already been covered in “Defining Religious Terrorism.”

TRAUMA THEORY AND THE HORROR FILM

Trauma theory is frustrating. It is noble in its pursuit to grapple with historical moments of personal and culture suffering but is forever complicated by the limits of representation. This presupposes there is a correct way to represent trauma and a wrong way to represent trauma. This is difficult to refute. The massive amount of documentary evidence and witness testimony surrounding the Holocaust is irrefutable, but this has not stopped the emergence of Holocaust denial as a rhetorical tool of the far right6. Any text that purports to represent the discourse of Holocaust denial by its very nature disrespects the suffering of the victims and the historical importance of the event. This gave rise to a desire to speak for those who cannot speak, to defend the dead, by claiming that certain trauma are paradoxically unrepresentable and unspeakable. This is a political and ethical maneuver to shape the terms of discourse. This claim is not meant as a disparaging remark. Political, in so far as it is a rhetorical strategy to circumvent idioms that refuse to engage in debate honestly. There is an expectation that fact should trump belief and ideology. The maneuver is ethical because it is born of a sincere desire to respect the depth of pain and suffering of the victims even when one lacks both the raw intellect and the necessary empathy to comprehend the meaning of that pain and suffering. In its desire to shield victims though, trauma theory takes on its own ideological shape. The impulse to protect victims can go too far, “when this desire reaches its extremes…when traumatic experience becomes equated solely with the ‘unrepresentable,’ then this respect for victims/survivors transforms…into a silencing of both experience and representation” (Lowenstein, Shocking Representation 5). Protective urges yield oppressive effects. There becomes within Trauma Theory a danger in rendering trauma sacred. By doing so the trauma becomes impenetrable, beyond the touch of humanity. Following this line of thought renders trauma theory obsolete. It ceases to be a critical theory and becomes a moral dictum. “What is preserved in such a move is the unquestionable authenticity of survivor experience,” but it loses “the full possibility of that experience shaping our contemporary world” (5). Unless rehabilitative efforts are made, any attempt to examine 9/11 through the lens of trauma theory is then in jeopardy. If trauma theory is concerned with ethics and suffering then it must acknowledge that a total disavowal of meaning and representation could have catastrophic effects. Deferred action becomes a broken process. Similar traumas can occur but if they are rendered unspeakable then they not only lack meaning to society at large but they can’t inform our understanding of other traumas and the psychic discourse among those traumas. By accepting the risks involved with the unspeakable, one allows representation a little breathing room. For example historical accuracy has its uses, but it no longer needs an iron grip on narrative. Temporality itself becomes secondary. Also, this allows the critic to acknowledge that art, as form of

6 This bares a striking similarity to its spiritual sibling, Intelligent Design. Although Intelligent Design is not the denial of a trauma, it is a politically motivated rhetoric that denies two centuries of scientific evidence.

representation, “stubbornly resists legislation” (6). Filmic works will not adhere to a strict notion of representation simply because trauma theorists demand that it be so. Adam Lowenstein argues this allows for a more open-minded approach to Hollywood films, genre films, etc. Instead of vilifying the films, trauma theorists can treat them as different forms of representation vying for space (6). This is achieved by emphasizing the allegorical moment. The allegorical moment is a “shocking collision of film, spectator, and history where registers of bodily space and historical time are disrupted, confronted, and intertwined (2). This makes it particularly useful when treating horror films, or sequences within horror films, as works of trauma. Horror employs disorientation, fear, and paranoia. Psychological states which are produced by combining seemingly incompatible ideas, which give shape to the monstrous. That the monstrous is inchoate (and because it is a species of the fantastic) allows it to play with collisions, disruptions, and temporality. The function of the allegorical moment then is dependent on an awareness of binary oppositions. Often the monstrous is interrogating the dynamic of those oppositions. It may reaffirm them; it may scoff at them. But it exploits them in order to manipulate the emotional state of the viewer. Any analysis of the monstrous, and by extension the binary oppositions it represents, must be ready to question them irrespective of whether or not the film it self fulfills the function, even if it does so, the way in which the opposition is questioned can be examined. “Trauma studies,” Lowenstein states, “tends to reproduce these oppositions rather than maintain (as the allegorical moment insists) a productive tension between them” (3). The allegorical moment is designed as a rehabilitative device to prevent trauma theory from indulging in assumed binary oppositions. Allegory as a means of representation is not without its critics. Noel Carroll maintains that works of horror are in some sense both attractive and repulsive,” and this “is essential to understanding the genre” (160). It is a common error that “defenders of the horror genre or of a specific example of it will often indulge in allegorical readings that make their subject appear wholly appealing,” ignoring the repulsive dimensions7 (161). As a result Carroll posits that all horror films contain an attraction/repulsion dynamic. The implication trauma theory is reductive is a criticism any proponent of trauma theory has to answer; in fact, it is a challenge thrown down to any critical school that takes aim at the horror genre. Clearly, there are allegorical aspects to trauma theory. By employing deferred action the film or films can be interpreted as Freudian fantasies or metaphors. It is the explicit intent of the critic

7 Carroll singles out Robin Wood, stating “the dangers of this allegorizing/valorizing tendency can be seen in ” a portion of his “work” (161). The reactionary/radical dualism allows Wood to treat horror films like fables, but Wood has, erroneously developed two categories of horror film that split the attractive/repulsive dynamic. Only radical films are attractive, while reactionary films are repulsive. In the case of radical films Carroll might suggest that “Wood’s strategy is to characterize monsters as heroic because, for him, they represent what society, in the name of normality…unconsciously represses” (160).

to read the films as metaphors for traumatic experience and, obviously allegory is itself implied in allegorical moments. Carroll is using allegory in its common usage: a short moral story. In criticism moralizing is a possibility; in fact, one often gets the impression that interpretive readings have a way of conforming to the world view of any given critical school. This is largely an issue of framing: the idiom’s ability to control debate by controlling language. This requires critics to be self-conscious about the strategies they employ in a work of analysis. Carroll though is actually in agreement with Lowenstein. Although Carroll’s notion of attraction/repulsion may be mislabeled as a binary opposition, Carroll’s position is that the attractive/repulsive dynamic is not a binary opposition, rather it is a dialectic: two ideas locked in a state of tense reciprocal interrogation. The attractive/repulsive dynamic challenges the notion of binary oppositions. They are not separate and autonomous but interdependent ideas. As for suspicions surrounding allegorical moments, they are that, moments. Instead of treating an entire film as allegory it acknowledges that the possibility for allegory exists in works that are not necessarily intended or best read as allegories. It assumes that trauma can manifest organically in creative texts even if the film is not explicitly interested in a particular trauma. Intent becomes a non-issue. Moreover, this is not an idea of allegory based on binary oppositions. It is a device used because the critic is conscious of the pitfalls of binary oppositions. Allegory can grow out of the collision of ideas usually found in a horror film. In relation to the horror film and trauma theory Lowenstein says “allegory insists on literalizing cruelty, anguish,” and “beheadings, dismemberments, and cannibalism” (Shocking 13). Allegorical moments are reflective rather than reductive. They allow the critic to engage a text coded as deferred action without reducing meaning or sanctifying trauma. Deferred action acknowledges the possibility that a text holds usefulness as the study of a traumatic event, while the allegorical moment manifests in a text noted as an example of deferred action. With this in mind the various hallucinations of Videodrome succeed as allegorical moments. They reflect both the immediate context of the hallucinations as well as express the anxiety released by deferred action. As part of the Cronenberg oeuvre further analysis of these hallucinations maintains that Videodrome “reimagines the corporeal itself, depicting the body not as a site for selfhood but for meaning as a state of violent transformation” (16). Although trauma theory is not preoccupied with intent, intent is useful to this project in so far as Cronenberg’s intent as a filmmaker is “to show the unshowable, to speak the unspeakable” (Cronenberg qtd in Piers 159). His goals as a film maker are explicitly conducive to the exercise of trauma theory as both are concerned with the power to speak.

WHEN VICTIMS BECOME TERRORISTS

If the first half of the paper places great distance between the critic and the terrorist, treating them and their organizations as objects, this section seeks to recognize their humanity, without disregarding the humanity of their victims. Suffering is a defining characteristic for both groups. It is an emotional bond shared between terrorists and victims, even if they fail to recognize the connection; in fact, suffering can drive a victim to become a terrorist. Recognizing organizational structures is useful but it does not address the root causes of terrorism or offer victims suitable catharsis. A close study of Max Renn, paralleled with former cult member (and Stern interviewee) Kerry Noble, illustrates how behavior can be shaped by trauma; moreover, it demonstrates that the nature of the trauma speaks to the post 9/11 survivor on both a personal and national level. The body horror of Videodrome is one driven by transformation. For the post 9/11 viewer the transformation of Max Renn speaks to social and culture changes in the American consciousness. The transformation begins in earnest as Max watches the closing moments of a message from Dr. Brian O’Blivion. In close-up, there is a thin rash on Max’s torso. He scratches this with a gun. The recording ends with a rhetorical question from the good doctor, “After all there is nothing real outside our perception of reality, is there?” (Videodrome). Then the camera cuts to another close up, this time of Max’s head. Looking down momentarily, his face registers a mixture of shock mingled with disbelief and fear. The camera cuts to Max’s torso, again in close-up, which is now home to a large vaginal opening (it has replaced the rash). The slit begins to throb. The camera cuts to a medium-long shot of Max probing the slit. He is dead center of the screen. He is the only focus. The camera then cuts to a close-up of Max’s arm, which—along with the gun—is now inside the vagina. There is a reaction shot of Max who realizes he cannot remove his arm from the vagina. He struggles to pull his hand out sans gun. The camera tilts downward from head to slit. The vagina is gone. Incredulously, Max searches his sofa for the gun, unwilling to admit what has just happened, perhaps the audience is unwilling too, but the truth is that the gun has disappeared into the vagina. Even without comparisons with terrorism and 9/11 this is a loaded scene. By itself the audience is watching a scene of classic vagina dentata. Granted there are no actual teeth, but the Freudian nature of the scene is fairly straightforward. A large vaginal opening appears where it shouldn’t be, on a man’s torso. Moreover, the vagina can be read as an explicitly hostile entity. Not only does Max have trouble retrieving his hand but he loses his gun, a clearly phallic symbol. The predominantly intimate nature of the shot selection, mostly close-ups, signals that the viewer is not supposed to watch this objectively. The viewer is supposed to feel shock and revulsion with Max. As if it was the viewer who had grown a giant vagina. By losing his gun within a vagina, Max is emasculated and the viewer experiences that emasculation with Max. By comparison the experiences of Kerry Noble are remarkably similar. An intelligent but unfulfilled man, Kerry claims to have seen God after smoking pot.

This began a spiritual quest, one in which the answers never satisfied. Eventually, his dissatisfaction leads him to demagogue James Ellison. “Ellison liked to recruit people who were young and vulnerable…he was good at figuring out what they needed” (Stern 24). As a child Noble “suffered from chronic bronchitis…he was weak…with little endurance” (25). This physical limitation was severe enough to affect his standing the cruel world of childhood politics. As a youngster he attended P.E. class with the girls. As a result “boys often picked on me or hit me. But I never fought back. My mother taught me that violence and fighting never solved anything” (26). His humiliation was multiplied ten fold because “his sister was more willing to fight the neighborhood bullies than Kerry was” (26). Like Max, Kerry endures emasculation. Both Max and Kerry experience a lack. Kerry was unable to conform to traditional notions of masculinity. Max’s emasculation is stylized and symbolic. His identity is being mentally stripped away by the Videodrome signal. Kerry though actively searches out a way to compensate for perceived lack. He desires to be more masculine. In Kerry’s case it is also notable that nonviolence is associated with the feminine, but if nonviolence is feminine then both are dangerous insofar as Kerry perceived them as contributing to his humiliation. If feelings of emasculation or powerlessness can initiate involvement in terrorism, then how does this inform our reading of Videodrome as deferred action? The words of Dr. O’Blivion may have as much to do with the affect of the trauma as the actual hallucination itself. If nothing real exists outside our perceptions then how do new objects enter our perceptions? The egotism of the logic demonstrates an inability to anticipate or prepare or even accept the unknown. Between the cold war and 9/11 American was acknowledged as the lone superpower. What did this country have to fear? Nothing existed possessing the military power, economic strength, and all around political capital of the United States of America. The emasculation of Max, the stripping of his identity, is also a stripping of his perceptions. This is no different from the immediate affect of 9/11. “The United States has been humiliated by the brilliance of the terrorists’ imaginations, and their ability to make happen what they had imagined (or perhaps what we had also imagined at least in our movies). And yet, once the event happened as lived experience it still felt ‘unimaginable’” (Kaplan 16). The inability to accept not merely a transformation in reality, but that a preconceived notion of reality was wrong provides a challenge to both Max and the United States. The experience proper is overwhelming. There is no opportunity to work through the event, but what would such an opportunity look like? Although there is the impression that, psychologically, both America and Max come to a stand still, the world continues to move on with or without them. Do the continued hallucinations of Max offer insight in how America is coping with the 9/11 trauma? Later in the film Max finds himself at the mercy of Barry Convex and betrayed by Harlan. After Harlan delivers his monologue on moral depravity, Convex reveals a throbbing videocassette. The camera zooms in on Max’s torso

as the vagina literally pops out, shirt buttons fly. Convex inserts the cassette. Convex and Harlan leave. The camera cuts to a close-up of the slit. Max reaches in and pulls out his gun. It is glistening with what appears to be amniotic fluid, signaling a rebirth. In more close-ups the viewer watches the gun merge with Max’s hand. Thick metal umbilical cords pierce his palm, then dig through his flesh, moving from hand to forearm. He can hear Convex telling him to kill his partners. The sequence continues the pattern of tight close-ups. If the first sequence was about emasculation, then this sequence furthers the pattern, exploiting his physical destabilization. “Max is explicitly…as a videocassette is inserted into the vaginal slit that seems to have replaced his penis…rendering him passive and receptive” (Badley 126). The sequence is not merely a furthering of Max as impotent. Max’s identity is being rewritten:

Max’s hallucinations provide him with a vagina; but they also provide him with a ‘new’ penis. This is the Fleshgun, tool of assassination and finally suicide… If the slit is invaginating and enfemaling, the handgun is a masculine and phallic aggressor—an emblem, in its ugly promise of violence, of transgressive maleness. Its act of penetration is a sadistic one, if only because it is a pistol, not a penis. And thus it realizes its role in the film as symbol of the sadistic desires that Max wishes to realize, and that are realized upon him (Beard 147).

In these hallucinations gender is tied to identity. The first hallucination renders Max impotent. Through the process of enfemaling Max is stripped of his old masculine identity, and is prepped for a new hyper-masculine identity. Masculinity becomes tied to machinery. The gun not only illustrates a phallic purpose, but a technological one too. Max has become a tool, a cog in the machine so to speak. He is now the instrument of Spectacular Optical, co-opted by the ideological contents of the videotape. The gun manifests the violent nature of the ideology, while the cords demonstrate the perversion of the birth. Max may have given birth to the gun, but the gun is in control. Max becomes the instrument of terror for Spectacular Optical. At first glance, it appears counter-intuitive to claim the banality of evil is in effect. The scene, like all the hallucinations is highly theatrical. They are set pieces, and as such reflect the theatrical nature of terrorism. This does not mean though that a terrorist organization cannot be both banal and theatrical. While the hallucinations are highly theatrical, the behavior of Convex and Harlan is with minimal emotion. They deliver their lines in a deadpan style. Harlan registers a tinge of regret, but the fact that he does not act on this impulse further demonstrates the power of a nefarious system. As an allegorical moment the sequence demonstrates a discourse between the banal and the theatrical. Instead of siding with Max, Harlan remains loyal to Spectacular Optical. They are oblivious to the moral hypocrisy or are

unwilling to admit it. As a result they have sublimated Max in a banal fashion. Banal thinking can have theatrical consequences. There is a literal movement from the logic of Harlan’s monologue—preoccupied with purity, depravity, xenophobia—to the violence committed against Max which results in Max’s hallucinations. Max becomes captive to their ideology. He is prisoner to their ideology him a tragic figure and a sympathetic monster. The experiences of Kerry Noble bare a striking resemblance to those Max. After years as the target of bullies he says “I had the fear of man in me. In the paramilitary, for the first time I felt as if I could protect myself” (Stern 25). Noble joined a hyper-masculine organization, one that participated in organized crime. Like Max there is a movement from the passive/feminine to the aggressive/masculine. In both cases there is an attraction to weapons. Guns and war become material compensations for a perceived loss of male identity. The only significant difference is Kerry chose to join The Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord, while Max is co-opted unwillingly. If terrorism is limited by free-will the hallucinations-as-allegorical-moments are flawed in this respect. Max remains a victim, but his terrorist status is questionable. Nevertheless, whether or not Max chooses to participate is secondary. Kerry Noble chose to join to the CSA, but he did not choose to commit actions he perceived as evil, even though the result is death and destruction. Noble believed he made virtuous decisions. In adhering to the idea that evil is banal participation supersedes choice, the behavior of Max and Kerry is banal because they operate within an ideological framework that dismisses the humanity of the enemy. The choice to participate in that system separates reality from film. It is significant as it demonstrates Videodrome is a work of fiction that provides insight into terrorist behavior and explicitly interested in the idea of brainwashing, but brainwashing does not block the legitimacy of the allegorical moments. Again, this is as much a mental transformation as one of gendering. The videocassette and the Fleshgun replace independent thought for Max, which represents the influence of the Videodrome signal, an ideology. The primary objective of the signal is to brainwash Max. The hallucinations represent how the brainwashing is executed. For Kerry independent thought is replaced by devotion to a charismatic leader, Ellison, who in turn represents the ideology of the Covenant, the Sword, and the Arm of the Lord. As leadership figures, neither Convex nor O’Blivion hold any real sway over Max. For Max inspirational leadership comes in the form of Nikki Brand. Brand’s image is used alternately between Spectacular Optical and The Cathode Ray Mission to manipulate Max in their secret war. The representation of Brand crosses the line from sex-object to monstrosity during the course of Max’s hallucinations. In one sequence a television screen is filled with Brand’s lips, the machine throbs and pulses. Max behaves as in a spell, pushing his head through the television screen. He is consumed by a device that is a merging of technology and the feminine, which makes the so-called passive feminine a threat to masculine identity.

That Max sticks his head in the television can certainly be read as overtly sexual, but there is also an interface with the television medium, which is both individualistic and collectivist. It is individualistic in so far as the experience of watching is mostly isolating in nature as supposed to communal, but it is collectivist in nature (as Cathode Ray would point out) as it is the disseminating agent for mass culture. Television as medium retains a tension between the individual and the institution. If we accept brainwashing as an inherently traumatic experience, then it holds that “trauma conflates or blurs the boundaries between the individual and the collective as seen in the case of 9/11” (Kaplan 19). Max then not only blurs the boundaries of gender he blurs the boundaries between human and medium, individual initiative and collective authoritarian dictates. This raises issues about the nature of identity. Max’s identity doesn’t exist as a static entity, but one that can be manipulated by outside forces, institutional forces. However, if this is true then human identity, located within the self is as much a threat as a source of pride. In contemporary (postmodern) horror, the threat is “located within the human us, rather than a distinct other (McLarty 233). Institutions (like the church and the military) that were once successful in containing the monster and restoring order are at best ineffectual (there is often a lack of closure) and at worst responsible for the monstrous” (233). Unstable subjectivity suggests the presence of a multiplicity that offers choice without growth. All roads lead to the joyless world intuited by the wasteland scenario and the holy war fantasy; while institutional collapse, in addition to promoting the apocalypse, illustrates a deeply paranoid fear of group think. If human beings are merely victims on their own, then collective impotence isn’t the solution. Of course, as in the case of Videodrome, institutions are not incompetent; they are vicious and calculating, using individuals to acquire further political capital and tangible physical influence on the people and environment around them, in a word, power. This is evident in the assassination of Max’s partners. This is a commentary on human impotence. As Max enters their office and reveals his gun (which appears as a normal gun) the camera cuts to a medium close-up of the first partner, who raises his hands to his head. This is an impotent gesture, but in a film that has emphasis on seeing and the power of visual mediums and technologies, it spares him bearing witness to his own death, although it does nothing else. After this execution Max turns to the second partner. The camera moves with a slow, deliberate zoom intended to ratchet up the drama and the man’s horror. His back against the wall, he slides down to the floor, cowering. The camera cuts to Max who pulls the trigger. Then, in close-up, the viewer sees blood splashed against the wall, as the body goes lifeless. The snug camera direction serves two purposes. One, it keeps the viewer close to Max, it maintains the pattern of keeping the film from his perspective. Two, it humanizes his partners. Max and the viewer experience their suffering. Now though, Max does not register horror or shame at what he has done. He has become like Convex and Harlan, registering no emotion in the face of atrocity. The death of his partners signifies a death in Max. With their death, he

becomes a criminal. He forfeits control of his station. With this act, the power of a corporate institution is exerted through terrorist means. This is a literal hostile takeover, demonstrating that ideologies of terrorism are compatible with even the most complex non governmental agencies. As a casualty of this war, he suffers trauma, but he suffers multiple trauma. If being brainwashed by Spectacular Optical is the first, and killing his partners is his second, then a third trauma would be his second brainwashing at the hands of Bianca O’Blivion. One might argue that Bianca has merely liberated Max from the Videodrome signal and that from this point on he acts of his own free will. Overall, free-will has little bearing in this analysis, but for the sake of meeting any unanticipated criticisms a few key points should be acknowledged. Max’s attempt to assassinate Bianca ends when Max is shot by a (for lack of a better term) tv-gun. A gun emerges from a television, shooting Max in the chest. Bianca tells Max is “always painful to remove the cassette, to change the program.” She tells him “you are the video word made flesh,” to which he replies “I am the video word made flesh.” The implication that the program has been changed means he is still programmed; the organization that controls him is the only real alteration in variables. Furthermore, he repeats what Bianca says in a monotone robotic fashion, still with very little emotion. Moreover, he continues to hallucinate afterwards. These facts undercut any argument based on Max’s free will. It is also noteworthy that the television medium, which was previously displayed as a feminine form in Max hallucinations, now becomes overtly masculine. In Videodrome identity is coded along gender lines. As the hallucinations progress the dominant gender attribute ascribed to Max is the opposite of whatever gender attribute ascribed to an object. If the vaginal slit appears Max is invaded by a throbbing videotape. If Max is positioned as the masculine entity then he is consumed by the television medium and consequently Spectacular Optical. In this hallucination Max is penetrated by a bullet, making him the feminine symbol. This not only calls the question of a fixed gender identity into question, it illustrates that gender as an aspect of identity is as malleable as the mind. Institutions can co-opt an aspect of identity to suit its needs, which in Videodrome means co-opting the individual, and incorporating him into the system. Technology becomes a method of control for terrorist organizations, allowing them to manipulate the individual and the environment. In a democratic society access to technology and the means to disseminate technology is advantageous in so far as it allows for the refinement of technology, which was first accelerated by television and then the internet, but this advancement is exploited by terrorists exactly because the United States is a liberal democracy. Digital media become an extension of guerrilla warfare, allowing violent dissenters to use publicly available information against the populace proper. Bianca’s success at turning Max against Spectacular Optical demonstrates that the conduits of power are not one-way channels. Unfortunately, Max is unable to exploit this weakness.

That American technology could be used against itself speaks directly to 9/11. The terrorist hijackers exploited American resources (airplanes) and used them to stage a catastrophe. That such a thing could happen again has been the impetus for American policy makers (particularly the executive branch) in shaping a response to terrorism on both domestic and international fronts. Max Renn is a television producer by trade; his emasculation is heightened by the means of his brainwashing: the television medium. He is sublimated by a technology that he is supposed to poses power over. Likewise, the American emasculation is heightened by the guerrilla tactics of Al-Qaeda. They not only used American technology against itself but did so on American soil. The final hallucination occurs after the assassinations of Harlan and Barry Convex. In a sequence of long shots Max walks to an abandoned ship yard. He enters a condemned vessel. It is dark, shadowy, dimly lit. On a broken television he witnesses his suicide play out. An image of Nikki Brand tells him “death is not the end,” and Max replies “I don’t know where I am now.” Nikki tells Max that he is the New Flesh but that he “must go all the way, total transformation.” In order “to become New Flesh” Max must “kill the old flesh.” The television explodes, and Max replicates the suicide he saw on the screen. He raises the gun to his head. There is an old barrel full of fire burning in front of him. The flames appear to lick his face. The camera slowly zooms in to a close-up. Max says, “Long live the New Flesh.” He shoots himself, and the camera instantly cuts to black. The film ends. The long shots combine with the ship yard to show a Max Renn on the fringe. He is now marginalized. His assassinations make him a social outcast. He is walking through a dead wasteland and into a cold, metal womb. He dies in the womb. Although Tim Lucas may consider this a rebirth, the stagnancy of the imagery says otherwise. The lure of transcendence is empty. “Terrorist leaders encourage operatives to participate in terrorist violence by holding out the promise of heavenly rewards or the threat of heavenly retribution” (Stern 4). The New Flesh is a heavenly reward; it is a higher consciousness merged with the promise of a life beyond the physical world. Max commits suicide, but is he a martyr? It is at this juncture that concerns over free will bear legitimacy. Max’s identity has been tampered with beyond the point of recognition. He is no longer the wise-cracking cynical business man at the beginning of the picture. He has become a believer. There is no going back for Max. Too many people have seen him kill. His life is effectively over. He killed for a cause and he died for it. It stands to reason then, that he is a martyr. “Martyrdom—the supreme act of heroism and worship— provides the ultimate escape from life’s dilemmas, especially for the individuals who feel deeply alienated and confused, humiliated or desperate” (6). Max’s death is a religious act, specifically, one of spiritual desperation. The visual cues illustrate that Max’s position on the fringe is as much an emotional one as it is a social one. The making of a terrorist is based on mental anguish. The refashioning of Max’s hand into a fleshgun, and the subsequent violence that ensues, represents a transformation of Max into a living weapon. This in turn furthers the theme of

religious ideology as technology. Religious ideology is used to exploit an unsuspecting Max Renn. Terrorism exploits the pain and suffering of its agents and its victims, so it is fitting that Max comes to function as representative of both groups. The distance created between Max and society, Lowenstein points out, speaks to the Cronenberg oeuvre. “Trauma…is narrated traditionally as enacting a shocking rupture between private self and public community, a rupture that must be healed by reintegrating the self with the community” (146). Unquestionably, Max fails in this endeavor. He acts out against society, and the more violently he acts out, the further he is pushed to the margins. As a terrorist agent, Max’s murder spree is self defeating. It turns suicide into the end result of a logical progression of behavior. Unable to reintegrate into society, Max chooses the New Flesh. The lure of the New Flesh is that it promises salvation from the physical world. The physical world though is constructed in terms of identity. Max has been defined by his physical body and social relationships. Spectacular Optical and Cathode Ray recognize the television medium is a device that exploits the interconnectedness of society; media becomes the veins of a social organism. Both organizations see television as a way to initiate a paradigm shift in North American cultures. This is a strange phrase, “North American.” Does it mean the United States? Canada? Both? Should the viewer assume Spectacular Optical hates Mexico and just won’t fess up? Spectacular Optical may have religious overtones, but it is explicitly nationalistic in so far as it subscribes to the purification of North America and its fortification against the world, that Harlan uses this term in and of itself indicates Spectacular Optical attaches a particular identity to North America. The naming of a thing gives it an identity. Religious identity and National identity can be intertwined and do not necessarily exist as separate entities, one can co-opt the other. Spectacular Optical’s infatuation with the idea of North America illustrates common assumptions about the function of national identity within a culture—and subcultures. “National identity is narrated traditionally as offering citizens the promise of connecting their private selves with a collective, invulnerable national body as well as an eternal, immemorial national time” (Lowenstein, Shocking 146). Nationalism becomes a spiritual and psychological state, not just an imagined geo-political space, but Videodrome isn’t a morality play. Max isn’t punished for having a feminine aspect or being in the pornography business, nor is the film really about the evils of mass media, which are merely conduits. The disruptive, malleable nature of ideas, many of which have been traditionally thought of as binary opposition is a disavowal of commonly held assumptions about the self and its relation to a collective identity. Max’s hallucinations question the dominant narratives of nationalism as empowerment. The ideological abyss of Videodrome and the New Flesh should provide him with a group identity; it should liberate him. Instead, it turns him into a social outcast. Videodrome maintains “that the traumatized body cannot be explained simply as a diseased self in need of reintegration with a healthy social public”

(146). Institutional forces are largely responsible for the trauma of the body. The film asserts:

mythologies of the self and the nation have never been natural…trauma unmasks the alienation, exclusion, and violence that were always part of the everyday exchanges between private and public that the self and the nation depend upon. Cronenberg muddies distinctions between private and public, disease and health, in order to critique the very conception of the self as split into discrete components of mind and body—a split which enables conventional understandings of identity, and by extension, of national identity, to persist in the face of traumatic experience that threatens their coherence (146-147).

The film isn’t questioning the existence of nationalism, the body, and the mind. It questions the understanding that these elements exist in independent vacuums. They depend on one another for nourishment. Max’s trauma forces the viewer to reexamine his own assumptions about these narratives. There is an assumption that alienation, exclusion, and violence are antithetical to the narratives of American nationalism and Christianity, but these forces have always been within our sphere of perception. They are integral parts of these narratives. As a trauma 9/11 forces us to re-examine cultural assumptions. How do American narratives of nationalism antagonize and marginalize? If these narratives are subjective, how can we reshape them? Can we make them more inclusive? Or is the concept of nationalism itself too limited? Does nationalism itself imply exclusion? Videodrome suggests that the answers to these questions are largely determined by the narratives we chose for ourselves—but not completely. In order to make these choices, we have to be aware of the trauma and the fact “natural” is itself a construct.

CONCLUSION

Identity then is not different from the formation of organizations. Both can be modified for a particular purpose. Both can change as a response to culture and technology. The difference appears to be that while both are constructed artificially, organizations have no morality in and of themselves. On the other hand, identity becomes moral insofar as it adheres to dominant narratives of behaviors. Participation in pornography is coded as deviant by Spectacular Optical because porn doesn’t adhere to an obliquely Christian ideology of behavior. Pornography challenges the dominant narrative in society and causes a schism, providing an alternative narrative that threatens the status of Christianity as absolute. This can have a destabilizing effect. It can result in both the affirmation of Christian values and/or the rejection of those values. In turn, the variety of choices as a consequence of that decision multiplies. There is an overarching theme of destabilization at work. In Videodrome the body is destabilized then reconstituted. Its transformation represents the trauma enacted upon the psyche of the individual and the national landscape. Trauma becomes the initiator of dramatic social and personal transformation. As deferred action Videodrome reveals the unresolved fears of the post- 9/11 viewer, fears over the uncertainty and unstable subjectivity of identity. The quick, brutal delivery of this revelation—that the static identity of the invulnerable United States existed only as myth—was startling. And what has emerged in the aftermath of 9/11? America, like Max, has been radicalized. Both entities became militaristic and openly aggressive, absorbed by the trauma itself. Identity is a kind of narrative, and trauma exposes the construction of the narrative, but in doing so the narrative is altered. Would it take another trauma to change the narrative again or is there a kinder, gentler way? Confronting the trauma seems the most plausible solution. 9/11 was a violent act met with violent responses. War. Civil unrest. An explosion in terrorist related activity. Terrorism is motivated by suffering, so is the response. Clearly, one can not just accept terrorism happens and go about his business. In order to formulate any response to terrorism, one has to set aside the reification of suffering. In Videodrome Spectacular Optical complains of suffering, Cathode Ray complains of suffering, and Max suffers and suffers violently. He suffers for himself and he suffers for the sins of institutions. Suffering is ubiquitous. The victims of 9/11 suffer and so do those in the Middle East who are the victims of neoliberalism, many of who turn to terrorism as a method of retaliation. In order to work through trauma conflict resolution becomes invaluable. Unfortunately, at this time, such limp-wristed “liberal” thinking isn’t vogue. It seems most of the working through will take place in the arts and mass culture, perhaps, globalization, an idea reviled by many, might actually make it easier to give voice to suffering. If terrorists can exploit mass media, then so can everyone else.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Badley, Linda. Film, Horror, and the Body Fantastic. West Port, CT: Greenwood Press, 1995. Beard, William. The Artist as Monster the Cinema of David Cronenberg. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2001. Beard, William and Piers Handling. “The Interview.” The Shape of Rage. Toronto: General Publishing Co. Limited, 1983. 159-198. Boetig, B. The anti-abortion extremist movement in the United States: Is it a terrorist network? Unpublished M.A.Thesis. Tallahassee, FL: Florida State University, 2004 Carroll, Noell. The Philosophy of Horror. New York: Routledge, 1990. Harkness, John. “The Word, The Flesh, and David Cronenberg.” The Shape of Rage. Toronto: General Publishing Co. Limited, 1983. 87-98. Kaplan, Ann. Trauma Culture: The Politics of Terror and Loss in Media and Literature. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005. Lowenstein, Adam. “America, Land of the Dead: Cinema, Trauma, And Temporality.” 2006 Film and Literature Conference. Florida State University, Tallahassee. 5 February 2006. ---. Shocking Representation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. Lucas, Tim. “The Image As Virus: The filming of Videodrome.” The Shape of Rage. Toronto: General Publishing Co. Limited, 1983. 149-158 McLarty, Lianne. “’Beyond the Veil of the New Flesh’: Cronenberg and the Disembodiment of Horror.” The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film. Austin: University of Texas Press. 1996. 231-252. Stern, Jessica. Terror in the Name of God: Why religious militants kill. New York: Ecco, 2003 Weinberg, Leonard and Ami Pedahzur Ed. Religious Fundamentalism And Political Extremism. London and Portland: Taylor and Francis Routledge, 2004. Wood, Robin. "Cronenberg: A Dissenting View." The Shape of Rage. Toronto: General Publishing Co. Limited, 1983. 115-135.

FILMOGRAPHY

Dead Ringers. Dir. David Cronenberg. Perf. Jeremy Irons. Morgan Creek, 1988. Naked Lunch. Dir. David Cronenberg. Perf. Peter Weller and Judy Davis. 20th Century Fox, 1991. Rabid. Dir. David Cronenberg. Perf. Marilyn Chambers and Frank Moore. New World Pictures, 1977. Shivers. Dir. David Cronenberg. Perf. Roger St Luc and Rollo Linski. CFDC, 1975. The Thing. Dir. John Carpenter. Perf. Kurt Russell and Keith David. Universal Pictures, 1982. Videodrome. Dir. David Cronenberg. Perf. James Woods and Deborah Harry. Universal Pictures, 1983.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

David Arroyo was born in Chicago, Illinois and grew up in Columbia, South Carolina. He has survived over eighteen years of religious education. He currently plans to attend film school