The Truman Show
With Jim Carrey, Laura Linney, Noah Emmerich, Natascha McElhone, Holland Taylor, and Ed Harris.
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So far so good, I suppose. But this cleverness starts to look dumb as soon as one tries to imagine the concept stretched any further than the movie stretches it. If for the past three decades millions of viewers across the globe have been following Truman’s life with some regularity–presumably taking time off to live their own lives–how many of them have stayed tuned to his dark bedroom during the hours he sleeps every night? (There’s a bit of dialogue to suggest that it’s hard to see much of his sex life in the darkness, but what about the rest of his time in bed?) We know there’s a camera planted behind his bathroom mirror at home, but do viewers get to see him whenever he takes a piss or a crap? And if not, what does the camera focus on in the meantime?
In other words, the concept starts to fall apart as soon as you stop to think about it–just as Truman’s 29-year fantasy that he’s living in the real world starts to fall apart as soon as he stops to think about it. However, if you decide to see this movie as an allegory rather than as an SF construction–and the respectful tone of many reviewers suggests that this is precisely how they see it, even if they don’t say so–then you might choose to overlook the flimsiness of the plot. After all, if The Truman Show is saying something about the phoniness of our lives and our culture–especially since few Hollywood movies ever broach such a topic–isn’t that reason enough to go along with the premise?
A logical conclusion, if you agree with Thomson and Esquire and this movie, is that our cultural options really are as threadbare as mass culture keeps saying they are–because we’re all blithering idiots. (The circular reasoning is always part of the message.) Around the same time that issue of Esquire appeared, the editorial that launched the New Yorker’s “Special Europe Issue” began as follows: “Europe, as any self-respecting American businessman will tell you, is history: a quaint place for a vacation (if you don’t mind a room without a shower), appetizing food (if you avoid Ireland), and the odd interesting little movie (if subtitles don’t bother you)–but that’s about it.” You might stop to wonder about all the European hotel rooms with showers, what the swipe at Irish food is supposed to mean, and why those “odd interesting little” movies in Europe–the few not being crowded off the screens by Hollywood fare–are presumed to be subtitled even when the film’s shown in its native country. But the editorial writer isn’t saying that he necessarily believes any of this nonsense–only that “any self-respecting American businessman” does. (Presumably businessmen without self-respect and businesswomen of diverse persuasions are better off.) This same sort of underlying contempt for the American public can be found in most places where cultural decisions are being made. It’s the standard media position right now: don’t blame yourself or your editor or producer or agent or studio or network; blame the audience, which is supposedly calling all the shots. By this reasoning, Christof is a holy seer, and his flock consists of a planet full of jerks. It’s a characteristic form of contemporary doublethink: the public is disparaged for enjoying stupidity, and the media-savvy instigator of that stupidity is declared a genius.
