Your death trap rovers
Paralyse precocious kids
Their stolid utility fumes
Have bodies piled in grids
Least of all is cause
That acts as if a must
Towards a better purpose
That in our Lord we trust
To wrong all of these rights
What vulture ever bore you?
The end of my life raises yours
Oppressive sect, I implore you
Dwell in breeches til you cease
Nothing comes of mawkish legacy
The refuse of the sewer rat
Breeds true your turgid testimony
No Spoilers, just some brief thoughts from a shook mind.
There is nothing genius about anything Black Mirror entails. Stop. Pause for reflection. Uncontrollable petting of a cat, spoon in hand and five minutes to open a Detox sachet of Twining’s; the show has found it’s roots. Plus there is no need to supplement a cup of Twining’s with a spoon, yet you cannot rationalize the choice to either put it down or keep it with you.
Three episodes into season three and the nefarious, prurient ride that grants, unsympathetically, no catharsis whatsoever, has achieved it’s end goal. Thwarted society is the antiquated tool of any producer’s arsenal, and yet the incessant need it plays upon the mind dawns timelessly in a six-episode montage of Charlie Brooker’s finest collection of work; welcome to Gomorrah, it’s been here all along.
There was no new approach this time out; why change the script in a dialectical process that explores in theory what is being played out in reality? The machine was never at fault all along, just as human frailty and weakness has, and always will, hide among the rafters from the blame it narrowly alludes each and every day. Nothing genius, just torture of what we are, have been and always will be. Enough to turn any man into a blathering idiot!
At it’s core, Black Mirror has always given testament to the mundane truths about civilization and it’s with bated breath that each new exposure of something so morbidly familiar is anticipated. The polarization of life inside and out of social media, the Kafka-styled trap of paranoia at all in sundry around and the endemic fear that maybe, in the wildest of Confucius’ dreams, we were, all along, a butterfly dreaming a human’s life. Only this butterfly is coarse, and it’s wings have been severed leaving the grotesque atrium of matter in it’s place.
Brought down to brass tacks, the impeccable acting harnesses the power of each message. But that is not what is up for discussion. To evoke the surly matter of the maggot butterfly’s power at a basic level, Black Mirror is asking us, without interest in the answer, why on earth we do half of the twisted shit we do each day. It is not for the sake of humanity that the question is asked. There may be a Stoic love beyond our capacity that the show’s ultimate theme holds but somewhere in it’s cosmic mess, that has been repudiated. The autonomous power that brings about characters such as the nervous teenager Kenny with a dark secret in episode three are certainly on trial, but with all the conviction and power of a modern-day tribunal.
The augmented fear never cedes throughout the season and without wanting to dive into the details of any episode, each individual story encompasses a familiarity so surreal that it’s realism leaves the viewer physically shaken to their core. It goes without saying that once viewed, a lot of people shall never return to this vault that was perhaps best left shut; or was it?
Season Three of Black Mirror is now available in it’s entirety on Netflix.