Tag: Film

“Primer” and the Impossibility of Time Travel
Whoever cannot seek
the unforeseen sees nothing
for the known way
is an impasse.

—Heraclitus

In his Grundrisse, Karl Marx noted the capitalist tendency to “annihilate space by time,” to shrink temporal distance with rail, telegraph and the like.¹ Since time and distance are both barriers to capital circulation and the realization of exchange value, the capitalist mode of production has always made time-space compression a top priority of innovation. It is within this economic context that time travel emerged as a cultural fantasy, first popularized by H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine in 1895. If shrinking temporal distance is so valuable to the modern world, manipulating the entire space-time continuum would have to be endlessly more powerful.

The force of time is colossal and its hypothetical manipulation lends well to fantastical storytelling, sometimes verging on the comic disbelief. What makes Shane Carruth’s Primer stand out from other time travelling tales is its realistic presentation. The early 2000s was when the “tech bros” were only just emerging from the garages where they had cooked up personal computers, digital search engines and online retail. Primer captures this suburban zeitgeist with Aaron and Abe, two engineers working on an atomic mass reduction machine in Aaron’s garage. The technical aspects are a bit of a witch’s brew—some electromagnetic plates here, a lead-acid battery there, a dash of argon gas—but they are ultimately successful at reducing the mass of an object. With a twist.

The pair discover that their mass reduction box creates a time loop between the point when the machine is turned on and the present point in time. Therefore, if the machine was turned on one hour prior to the present, the energy field within the box enables an object to loop back one hour and exit at the point when the box was activated. If the machine was turned on one day or one week prior, the loop then extends that far. There are hard limitations to the time travel that the box offers and also a paradox: any object travelling to the past will exist alongside a double for the amount of time travelled. Although Abe admits there is “no way in which this thing could be considered anywhere remotely close to safe,” curiosity gets the better of the two friends and they enter the box anyway.

Image: Wikimedia Commons

Concerning mortality, Marx wrote that “death appears as the harsh victory of the species over the particular individual.” By travelling backward in time, Abe and Aaron appear to have reversed this power; they have gained a victory over the species. They know which stocks will perform in the market, which sports teams win their games, what their doubles will eat for breakfast, when to expect a gunman at a house party. In the words of Aaron: “We know everything, okay? We’re prescient.”

Narcissistic Knowing

The real paradox of Primer is that, in the process of gaining prescience, Abe and Aaron actually see less. They are engineers but what they really needed was philosophy—any dialectician could have told them that “the future is an essential moment in the present” and “whatever happens in the future exists in the present, as potential.”² They have knowledge of a present only as it was, unaware that, all along, they were busy constructing a new present moment by directly looping it with a future point in time. So, the plot unravels.

Thomas Granger, one of their potential investors, gains access to the box and his double begins stalking Abe and Aaron in a dishevelled state. Their bodies collapse from fatigue, ears bleeding and shaky hands unable to write. Future versions of themselves show up to attack and detain their past selves, taking the place of their doubles. Aaron becomes mired in an addictive cycle of time travel, eventually fleeing to Europe in order to build an industrial-sized box. The film ends with at least two Abes and three Aarons wreaking havoc on the timeline.

In psychoanalytic terms Lacan has said: “What is profoundly unsatisfying and always missing is that you never look at me from the place from which I see you.”³ When future versions of Aaron and Abe invade the past, they see a world in which they are uniquely clairvoyant. But that same world does not submit—it looks at them as the unwelcome intruders that they truly are. This is why they must shroud themselves from it, hole away in hotel rooms and use violence against their doubles. Unable to “seek the unforeseen” they actually “see nothing,” not even themselves.⁴ Put another way, thinking you know the future is far worse than knowing you do not know it.

The misdeeds of Abe and Aaron upon stumbling into time travel bring to the fore the impossibility of the proposition. Who among us wouldn’t be tempted by the prospect of a do-over to correct past mistakes? But if this were a real option that people could exercise then the existing chaos of the world, held together in a delicate flux, would rupture into endless permutation. Reality would become blurred by the thousands—millions—of alternate individuals, transported by time-portals laying open like festering wounds.

Humanity, as a species-being, already has the capacity to pursue a multitude of individual, contradictory aims without reference to any universal concept of human nature. The aggregate disorder of human societies, the unpredictable events and contrary effects of our actions is, ironically, the product of individual efforts to exert control over their slice of the social pie. Primer is a story not unlike Jurassic Park or Westworld: it is the presumption of control that leads to total chaos.

Exiting the Multiverse

The futility of prediction is recognized by Epicurus with his concept of clinamen which says that atomic particles will swerve in uncaused motions.⁵ The associated disorders of time travel go even further than the clinamen: instead of unpredictable motion, time travel causes the unpredictable appearance of matter into the void.

To leap backward or forward in time posits an existence on a timeline owing solely to the leap itself, ignoring the causal mechanics of existence. It would be something like trying to visit Earth after it is swallowed by the Sun. The past cannot embed a future which leads back to its own alteration, as the alteration would inevitably deny a pathway back to that same future. For this reason comprehending time travel can never be more than an exercise of mind-bending.

Due to the paradoxes of time travel and the non-linearity necessarily contained in its process, Primer requires multiple viewings in order to digest the plot sequence. But it is a testament to the medium that a $7,000 film can so forcefully wade into the most speculative of scientific subjects.

Thanks for reading!

Footnotes:
1. Karl Marx, Grundrisse (Penguin, 2005): 530. ↩︎
2. Bertell Ollman, Dance of the Dialectic: Steps in Marx’s Method (University of Illinois Press, 2003): 121. ↩︎
3. Jacques Lacan, Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis (WW Norton, 1998): 103. See Slavoj Žižek, Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan through Popular Culture (The MIT Press, 1992): 125-6 for a more detailed interpretation of this concept. ↩︎
4. Heraclitus, Fragments (Penguin, 2003): 7. ↩︎
5. Pierre-Marie Morel, “Epicurean atomism” in The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism (Cambridge University Press, 2013): 76-7. ↩︎
20 Nov 25
25 years of “Requiem For A Dream”
Entering the year 2000, America was at its peak power. The economy was roaring, the global economy fell in line with U.S. designs, military alliances were swelling, barriers to trade were falling. The American Dream was coming true for many.¹ It was from this summit of American prosperity where Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream broke loose and tumbled down to the harried masses. It is an artifact of western capitalism that evokes Ozymandias: “Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”²

Requiem for a Dream is a novel by Hubert Selby Jr. that was adapted into one of the most lachrymose films ever made, revolving around four characters in Coney Island. There is Sara Goldfarb, a lonely widow with an offer to appear as a contestant on some junk gameshow. Her son Harry is a heroin addict who feeds his habit by repetitively pawning his mother’s television set. His girlfriend, Marion Silver, has a talent for artistic textile designs but gradually becomes hooked on heroin herself. Their friend is the orphaned Tyrone C. Love, fumbling at some misguided effort to find acceptance in the low-level world of organized crime.

Predestination

The psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan said in no uncertain terms: “A letter always arrives at its destination.” The present moment manifests itself by way of a material reality and psychological being that have already crystallized.³ The chance encounter with your future partner; the bus you miss for the first time; the promotion you just got at work—these are the letters that arriving from addresses we have occupied in the past. In the film, this is symbolized quite literally with anxiety-inducing violins thrumming as Sara pushes her contestant form into the mailbox and Tyrone leaves the apartment to pick up a “pound of pure.” Their dreams are set in motion, their letters are out for delivery: Sara will get her 15 minutes of fame after years of invisibility, Marion will get her own artisanal clothing shop, Harry and Tyrone will prove they can earn the serious cash that nobody in their family ever had.

A letter always arrives at its destination but that place isn’t always intended by the sender. Dreams can turn into nightmares. Sara needs diet pills—amphetamines—from a quack doctor so that she will lose weight and fit into her favourite red dress. Harry and Tyrone need just “a little taste” to know how much to cut their product with. Marion needs to keep her creative energy up. We see a cotton ball swell with moisture. We see a syringe barrel boiling and a vein of blood pumping. And the dilated eyes—that eye—a vacant gaze into the abyss:

This is the Night, the interior of human being, existing here in phantasmagoric representations: here a bloody head suddenly shoots up and there another white shape, only to disappear as suddenly. We see this Night when we look a human being in the eye, looking into a Night which turns terrifying. From his eye the night of the world hangs out toward us.⁴

Image: Alamy

When the film reaches its climax, we see horrific scenes of Sara convulsing under electroshock therapy, Tyrone taunted by racist prison guards, the bloodspray from Harry’s infected arm being amputated and Marion’s grotesque humiliation as a prostitute before a perverted group of johns. Their letters had arrived.

American Dream

This film disturbed a generation of viewers because it is so much more than a cautionary tale about drugs. In fact, the shadow that Requiem casts over audiences does not even belong to drugs; it belongs to the American Dream. Selby writes in the preface to the novel:

I believe to pursue the American Dream is not only futile but self-destructive because ultimately it destroys everything and everyone involved with it. By definition it must, because it nurtures everything except those things that are important: integrity, ethics, truth, our very heart and soul.⁵

Whatever lofty ideals the phrase may have originally held, the American Dream was always destined to become entangled with notions of wealth and class in a capitalist society like the United States. At the outset of the film, vapid materialism had already hollowed out the lives of our characters and this made them vulnerable to toxic escapism in the form of television, drugs and junk food. Karl Marx:

In all forms of society there is one specific kind of production which predominates over the rest, whose relations thus assign rank and influence to the others. It is a general illumination which bathes all the other colours and modifies their particularity. It is a particular ether which determines the specific gravity of every being which has materialized within it.⁶

Like the audience, the characters of Requiem are children of capitalism and this is why it haunts us. The American Dream is a capitalist construction that preaches richness in consumption. What Sara, Harry, Marion and Tyrone expose is our collective inability to find richness in “our very heart and soul,” to use Selby’s phrase.

The Gravity of Capitalism

Sara’s pre-standing addiction to television, specifically a self-improvement game show, reveals a person yearning for meaning in her life as a widow and mother to an emotionally absent drug addicted son. The sweets are making her fat. The game show sells a self-help program for $39.95. In a revelatory hallucination, a film crew takes down the walls of her apartment and reveal that her living room has been the TV studio all along. There is no product for Sara; Sara is the product.

Harry appears to have fallen wayward sometime after his father passed away. He does not ask his mother for money to directly feed his drug habit. Instead he has constructed a ritual whereby he barges into her apartment and takes her television set only for her to retrieve it later at the pawnshop. The pawnbroker facilitates the monetary transaction between Harry and Sara, giving Harry the requisite emotional distance to lead such a tormented life. The first thing he does when he scores some cash is purchase his mother a new television set from Macy’s. After extending this material gesture to his mother he can brave to sit down and talk with her. Sara tells him that she does not want commodities; she wants a grandchild. Harry falls to tears upon realizing the void his mother is facing—and the bodies of Marion and himself are too polluted to build the family she asks for. Dazzling cash stacks and getting high have estranged him from his true dreams in life: happiness for his mother and Marion on the pier.

Mirrors hold a significant register in psychoanalysis because it is at the mirror stage when we become cognizant of ourselves as autonomous beings and individuate from our mothers. As Tyrone regards his sliding mirror, his business is doing well and a beautiful woman awaits him in bed. The film flashes back to a young Tyrone running to his mother and jumping up on her lap. “I told you, mom, one day I’d make it,” he whispers. She replies: “You don’t have to make anything, my sweet. You just have to love your mama.” His face belies bewilderment at this recollection: while he has learned to “make it” by a material standard, he has never learned how to love another person. His girlfriend disappears from the plot after this scene.

Marion must have the steepest fall from grace of all four characters: from a comfortable upper middle class family to a drug addicted prostitute. We learn that she resents the emotional coldness of her parents who only care about money and appearances. For this, she defies them by exchanging sex for drugs with her shrink and slumming it with Harry in a decrepit apartment. But we learn that she is not much different from her money-minded folks after all. At the same time she rejects her parents fixation with their textile business, she aspires to have one herself. The warmth and comfort of her relationship with Harry turns cold and transactional as they spiral into addiction. It is this narrow view of human beings as objects of exchange that ultimately makes her addiction vulnerable to exploitation by wealthy predators.

In his Paris Manuscripts, Marx wrote: “Private property has made us so one-sided that an object is only ours when it exists for us as capital, or when it is directly possessed, eaten, drunk, worn, inhabited, etc. In the place of all physical and mental senses there has therefore come the sheer estrangement of all these senses, the sense of having.”⁷ As our labour and means of life have become saleable commodities, our existence is reduced to that of a spiritually-barren market participant. Community is dissolved, friendships are transactional and familial bonds are strained. So long as this alienated world exists, Requiem will shuffle in its shadows.

Thanks for reading!

Footnotes:
1. Noted by Hubert Selby Jr. in his Preface to Requiem for a Dream (De Capo Press, 2000): v. ↩︎
2. Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias. ↩︎
3. See Jacques Lacan, Écrits (W.W. Norton, 2006): 28-29 and Slavoj Žižek, Enjoy Your Symptom! (Routledge, 1992): 1-27 for more on Lacan’s purloined letter and future anteriors. ↩︎
4. G.W.F. Hegel, Jena Lectures. ↩︎
5. Selby, Requiem for a Dream, v. ↩︎
6. Karl Marx, Grundrisse (Penguin, 1993): 106-7. ↩︎
7. Karl Marx, Economic & Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844. ↩︎
23 Oct 25
Ask the Editor: “What is Postmodernism?”
Dear editor,

Here’s something I’ve heard applied to Donald Trump, woke liberal activists and everyone Jordan Peterson doesn’t like: postmodern. It’s also a label placed onto some of my favourite films, buildings and artwork, like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, the Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur and Andy Warhol prints.

What is postmodernism? Is it good or bad?

Cheers,

Sora.

Dear Sora,

In his 1991 book Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Fredric Jameson argued presciently that the radical structural changes to the economy underway in the 1980s created a western culture disillusioned by progress, marking a break with modernity in the process.¹ 33 years later, the disillusionment has deepened and postmodernism rules the public sphere

After the medieval period was destroyed by the riches of exploited labour and resources from the Americas, modernity followed in its wake. Modernity is characterized by Enlightenment philosophy, secularization and science, liberal democracy, romantic and realist artwork and International Style architecture. It is debatable whether we have truly exited modernity but postmodernism can at least describe its latest evolution.

The most consequential casualty of the postmodern turn is the belief in progress. This has given space for right wing populists around the world to lash out at the previous order and ruling institutions. Lacking any philosophical grounding, there has been a tidal wave of contradictory political expressions coming in from the right: nostalgia for past glory while undermining the institutions that facilitated it; trickle down tax policies and trade protectionism; conspiracy theories and “alternative facts;” religious affirmations and hedonistic menageries of drugs and sex. Anything goes, and this is the hallmark of postmodernism. Because there is no grand narrative of history or final destination for humanity, nothing has to make sense beyond the present moment. Postmodernism did not produce identity politics; on the contrary, identity politics relied on the modernist narrative of a society gradually abolishing social prejudices. The triumphalism of postmodern politics has destroyed the “woke” idea, and liberals abandon it as rats flee a sinking ship.

Many of the postmodern elements seen lately in politics have existed for years in the realm of culture. The parade of cinematic reboots and remakes, nonlinear story structures, imitation of past styles without context and a fusion of high and low art are a few postmodern characteristics that Jameson identified. Postmodernist culture like film, music, artwork or architecture, relies on extensive reference to the past because of an inability to apprehend the future.

Postmodernism isn’t good or bad. It is simply the cultural analog to our current economic structure and material life. Finding resonance with postmodern culture is expected as we, too, are products of late capitalism. Just as we see postmodernism dominate the society of a nihilistic West, futurism dominates the society of an optimistic China. Only when the West has consciously apprehended its economic levers will it be able to determine its future and set foot to a new era yet again.

In sols,

Your editor.

Send your questions to the Reclamation: editor@thereclamation.co

Footnotes:
1. Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Duke University Press, 1991). ↩︎
15 Oct 25