Black Mirror: White Christmas - A Fable for the Future

It is hard to tell whether the first feature length instalment of Charlie Brooker’s satire series is a prophecy or a lesson in allegory. With Jon Hamm leading a talented cast, we are introduced to a winter fable which appears to be set in an already familiar future, packed full of metaphors which tackle the technological revolution head on.

The opening story features a tragic character and a posse of pick-up artists navigating one of the most notorious events on the social calendar – the work Christmas party. As he follows every precise instruction reeled out by Jon Hamm’s character (Matt), things appear to be going well with a mysterious brunette until a crucial misunderstanding causes a sudden turn for the worse. The optical cameras and other technology used in this scene may seem a few years away from our commercial grasp (at least until Google Glass finally gains momentum), however, this scene can easily be interpreted as a model for our current obsession with smart phones and social media. The ability to search through the history of complete strangers, who have chosen like most of us to document their lives on the web, is already a reality, and our level of connection to our friends has been heightened through applications like Facetime and Snapchat to the extent that in a situation like the one played out in this scene, it would be easy to see things through the virtual eyes of our friends.

As the second story unfolds, it becomes evident that the issues being tackled here are even more complex. In the past few years the entertainment industry has taken a keen interest in the topic of artificial intelligence. Some offerings have been brilliant in their handling of an esoteric area not wholly accessible to the general public, such as the critically acclaimed Her, which introduced us to the operating system “Samantha”, whilst other attempts like the Johnny Depp-led Transcendence faltered over the ambitious material. Black Mirror uses the establishing shot to hover over the operating table of an unidentified woman awaiting an unspecified medical procedure. It is only through a careful explanation, which is just one example of the stellar writing here, that it becomes apparent that essentially the operation involved creating a clone of the character and inserting it into a computer system, slowing wearing the clone down until they are rendered eternally subservient to their original self.

Whilst this concept may seem grandiose and bold, the premise is not dissimilar to that which is presented in the aforementioned movies. With our computerised experiences becoming more and more personalised thanks to Siri, algorithms and cookies (which is even referenced in this scene), it is not absurd to suggest that our online personas are already miniature versions of ourselves. The allusion to Twitter found in the unsettling egg-shaped modem used to contain the clones calls to mind the way in which our web-based facades are avatars for which we are increasingly accountable, evident in recent changes to cyberlaw. In Her, Samantha was happy to acquiesce to Joaquin Phoenix’s character, but swap the sultry voice of Scarlet Johannson for Joaquin Phoenix’s and the scenario is essentially the same, though here the depiction is even more striking because the idea that we would be happy to terrorise A.I. that has the capacity to feel emotion is a troubling thought. The relationship between humans and rising technology has recently been addressed with caution by Stephen Hawking, and is an area at the centre of discussions regarding the concept of singularity and the rights of computers (issues which would require their own posts to even begin to explore).

Finding ourselves back at the ambiguous cabin within which Matt and Rafe Spall’s character (Joe) are recounting each tale, the final section of the narrative builds upon the concepts we have so far been introduced to and places them against the backdrop of a young couple and the trouble they encounter in their relationship. Arguably the most emotive moment of the special comes at the culmination of Joe’s enduring quest to form a connection with the child his girlfriend was expecting before she decided to “block” him – visualised here as the presence of a muted, pixelated silhouette in place of where the person could usually be seen. It is a stark visual device, and once the block is lifted and Joe is met with a major revelation, we quickly learn why Christmas holds such dark connotations for this character.

Once all the stories are neatly tied together at the episode’s conclusion, and Matt is left to face a world of people with which he cannot interact, isolation appears to be the enduring theme of White Christmas. Whether this is the isolation that can stem directly from our preoccupation with technology that isolates us from our immediate surroundings, or the many ways we can isolate people from our lives, Black Mirror is once again powerful and thought-provoking in dealing with modern issues, handling each one with wit and perfectly placed humour. It seems that where Aesop famously used personified animals to convey the messages in his stories, instead Charlie Brooker uses the technology around us to give his warning, just in time for the holidays.