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Famed Teutonic incel Arthur Schopenhauer argued that the metaphysical need of man- his urge to make sense of meaningless struggle, through a narrative based around others- would always reign supreme. The Truman Show- a 1998 dramedy about an average, all-American bloke captured in infancy to live out his life before the gaze of a syndicated TV show- captured at least part of that impulse. Imagine a time where your every move is surveilled, tracked, dished up to a bevy of advertisers slinging the latest lifestyle gizmo tailored to your specific need. The Truman Show envisioned all this and more- yet it still had the optimism to envision a world where individuality actually mattered.
Everyone wants to feel special; it’s an impulse that has driven messianic nutcases from the dawn of human civilisation, with the ‘man as god’ channelling the ambitions of lesser people to achieve greatness in climes from Ancient Egypt to contemporary Europe. Maybe Iron Maiden put it best in Powerslave: “I don't wanna die, I'm a god/ Why can't I live on?” Truman’s twist- the process of coming to terms with unwitting godhood- puts a sad yet prescient spin on the raging thirst for authenticity in today’s media climate.
The Truman Show follows the titular Truman Burbank (Jim Carrey), the star of a reality TV program streamed 24/7- although, in a departure from the Kardashians, or even aughts prank show Punk’d, the show never intends to grant the camera reveal that exposes his tribulations as early-evening Nielsen fodder. Instead, Truman has lived a life of deep and strategic psychological scarification, hinging on the death of his dad in a sea storm and the constantly-broadcast dangers of travel, to create an ‘everyman’ who Middle America can coo over as he grows from infancy to unremarkable adulthood.
The film predicts the cornerstones of the modern influencer economy, from the product placement that drives revenue to the pillow-clutching plot points which keep its audience engaged for decades. And its premise- that of a baby snatched from obscurity to become a ‘main character’ for viewers of all ages- neatly circumvents the central concern of Truman’s modern heirs: the question of how to attain this ‘special’ status.
Truman’s fellow cast members- from his wife, Meryl (Laura Linney), perpetually brandishing her branded coffee-cans, to his ‘best friend’ Louis (Noah Emmerich)- have an in on the joke. Nimbly sidestepping the moral dilemmas of trapping an unwitting adult on the idyllic Seahaven Island, his supporting characters will apparently stop at nothing to keep the star on the set, and their careers on the up.
Truman gives us an amusing and deeply sad parallel to the ‘hyperreality’ of today’s media environment- a world where the Ukrainian president, having graduated to the real-life role from a TV show with a similar plotline, has to fend off thirst-traps on Twitter from people who treat him, and the conflict in his country, as yet another juicy real-life dramedy. How do we distinguish screened entertainment from real-life suffering? For those with a detachment from the consequences on the individual- from the fame-hungry cast of The Truman Show to the American twitterati- the question poses more challenges than one might hope.
The Truman Show’s villain is its producer Christof (Ed Harris), a Machiavellian , bespectacled type who orchestrates extreme weather, car crashes, and parental demise to keep his star in line. This central evil- an easily located presence with whom Truman can enter into direct dialogue as he starts to shake off his suburbanite shackles- offers yet another instance of unintended 90’s optimism. In today’s climate, we have no such luck: ‘Western’ efforts to centre, for instance, Putin as the cartoon villain of a potential Third World War find no such traction, as the undeniable failures of his counterweights on the world-political stage stumble over their own corruption and ineptitude.
We cannot instantaneously purge ourselves of our addiction to easy entertainment, no less than our addiction to Russian oil and gas. The Truman Show captured, or predicted, the voyeuristic, curtain-twitching tendency of the Western middle-class to salivate over the palatable suffering of those comparable, yet somehow subservient to, themselves. The film’s central premise- the exploitation of an unconsenting child- has played out to an equal degree in the antics of the younger Kardashian-Jenner children, raised on-screen to an inheritance of plastic surgery, lip-fillers, and public scrutiny- and no less in the fallout of the KimYe divorce, with its added tang of mixed-race digital parenting scandal. The Truman Show boldly centres a cadre of protestors, the Free Truman campaign, with a squadron of activists parachuting onto the set to wake the unwitting victim up to his exploitation. It’s a plot point notably absent from the output of the E! network. Truman’s ex-love interest, Sylvia (Natascha McElhone), ultimately proves key in his salvation, offering a shot of reality against the commercial storyboarding that keeps the protagonist imprisoned in his mundane utopia. So far, this organised public dissent is yet to materialise in the fate of any reality starlets, lab-grown in the same environment of stardom and fakeitude which keep them chasing the dragon of Instagram stardom, paired with pseudo-political conscience.
Perhaps that infamous white Bronco chase marked more of a turning point than any entertainment professional could have predicted- a point at which audiences simply stopped caring about the moral repercussions of a thirst for real-time titillation. At a point in time where ‘drama’ has fused with real fear-a point where Western audiences find themselves forced to confront the suffering of people who ‘look like them’, for once- The Truman Show’s vision of a world where suffering blends seamlessly into distraction seems both bleakly prescient and naively optimistic.
