Here's an idea.
There seem to be a lot of stories about telekinetics,
and maybe that has something to do with technology.
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Previously we've talked about what
the horror and sci-fi movie baddies of some age
say about that age-- you know, like, whether zombies represent
capitalism, or technology, or both, or how the sorts of lines
grotesque film monsters can cross
indicate what cultural or political transgressions are
thought particularly heinous.
A man crossed with a fly?
Has science gone too far?
In this episode, we're going to do
something a little different.
Instead of asking about the bad guys,
we're going to ask about what the good guys may
say about today, and we're going to ask about one
particular type of film and TV protagonist
that isn't quite at zombie or sexy vampire ubiquity yet,
but seems increasingly common nonetheless-- the telekinetic.
If you've turned on your digital device that
imitates a television lately, it is
likely you've seen someone move stuff with their mind.
David Haller in Marvel's "Legion"
and Eleven in Netflix's "Stranger Things,"
for instance.
If the force is telekinesis-- and I think it is--
we were recently introduced to Rey and Kylo Ren, who's
not exactly a good guy, I know.
You've got the kid in "Looper," Scarlett Johansson in "Lucy,"
this jerk from "The Misfits," Professor X in, well,
everything Professor X has been in, but most recently, "Logan,"
not to mention Jean Grey then, Cable soon,
and if we include sorcery, which is really
just telekinesis with more hand motions,
we have Doctor Strange and The Scarlet Witch to boot.
Telekinetics are imagined as powerful figures,
so we may ask what these stories tell us about ourselves.
What secret desire or fear inspires characters
which, you know, don't believe in spoons.
This question is an example of allegorical thinking.
Literary theorist Angus Fletcher describes it
as saying one thing to mean something
beyond that one thing.
It's kind of "Idea Channel's" bread and butter,
and today we're going to do it with telekinetics.
And yes, I know that the spoon bending
isn't exactly telekinesis.
We're going to get there.
Just wait.
I also know that telepathy isn't telekinesis.
Give me a break.
There's a big range of telekinetic characters--
superheroes, lab experiments, people with haircuts,
but there's one plot device more common
than any other-- the risk of them
losing control and hurting themselves or others.
I'm willing to stake a claim that this common trope
of losing control has to do with the allegory
of telekinesis-- something to do with the fact
that these stories aren't really about levitation or mind
bullets.
To figure out what they might really be about,
we're going to look at the 20th century Western history
of stories that put mind over matter
and how or why loss of TK control happens.
For example, reading Charles Fort's 1932 account
of unexplained phenomenon, "Wile Talents,"
we can see at the beginning of the century
the most common explanation for explanationless events-- things
like flying silverware, slamming cupboards--
wasn't people with powers, but poltergeists with problems.
Unlike Eleven, who has lab grown nose bleed powers,
the poltergeist girls of the 1930s simply had the bad
fortune of being blamed or sometimes even taking credit
for the paranormal machinations of your run-of-the-mill ghosty.
Fort obsessed over one explanation in particular.
"I now have a theory," he writes,
"the our existence as a whole is an organism
that is very old, a globular thing within a starry shell,
a float in a super existence in which there
may be countless other organisms and that we, as cells
in its composition, partake of and are ruled
by its permeating senility."
This sense of universal connection,
the underlying oneness of all things as Fort put it,
persisted as telekinesis moved from paranormal to sci-fi.
An early sci-fi example comes from Jack Vance,
whose 1952 short story "Telek" is
a dystopian look at life under a ruling telekinetic class.
One character describes what using telekinesis
feels like and says they feel connected to the center,
the hub, everything as far as I can see.
I won't spoil the story for you.
It's worth a read.
We'll put some links in the doobly do,
but more than anything, Vance's story
is about power in the sense defined by sociologists
and political theorists.
For members of the telekinetic class,
there is both awe and horror at just how much violence
they can cause with the flick of a brain stem.
The "Wild Talents" style poltergeist model features
in a bunch of popular media from the mid 20th century.
In 1936's "The Man who Could Work Miracles,"
the main character receives powers
by being filled with angels.
In 1957, in "The Brain from the Planet Arous,"
the protagonist is possessed by an alien intelligence.
And mostly up through the '60s and '70s,
when telekinesis appears in motion media,
it's humans struggling to survive
the effects of its terrifying otherworldly source.
Vance's story, "Telek," then marks
the start of a shift from the poltergeist model
of telekinesis to something else,
where the human brain is the source of both power
and threat.
Modern telekinesis no longer fears the other, the ghost,
the spirit, the alien, but the self
as a telekinetic that might lose control.
Though this transition begins in the '50s with Vance,
the best illustration of the swap to modern telekinetics is
in the comparison of two horror movie classics from the '70s--
"The Exorcist" in 1973 and "Carrie" in 1976.
"The Exorcist" couldn't be any clearer
in its message of external threat.
Reagan isn't using her own powers.
She is possessed by the demon Pazuzu,
which is up there with Zuul as far as demon names go.
Also, why do demon names always have
to lurk at the end of the alphabet?
Are those the scary letters?
Anyway, in contrast to poltergeist,
Carrie isn't possessed, but she certainly isn't in control
either, and people get hurt.
The year after Carrie, "Star Wars" is released,
and the movement of telekinesis into the mainstream
incarnated as the force is complete,
and here our two themes join again.
Yoda explains that the force comes
from the super connectedness of all living things,
and the Jedi must both wrestle with controlling their power
and contemplate the consequences of telekinetic violence.
The good guys are simply good, while the bad guys
have lost control and given in to the dark side.
And yes, also many midichlorians are a thing.
I mean, we could spend a whole other episode
on the relationship between explanations
for telekinesis developing alongside contemporary science.
We can't really do that here.
Also, we're still working our way towards "The Matrix."
I promise.
Recently in "Legion," protagonist David
tries to do the right thing, but is
worried his confusion will end up hurting someone.
The scariest moment in "Stranger Things"
is when Eleven lashes out at her own friends
not because kids shouldn't lose their temper,
but because when kids lose their temper,
it's a particular kind of loss of control.
Paired with powers, it feels indomitable.
Similarly, a driving force--
ha ha-- in "Logan" is Professor Chuck Xavier's seizures,
which calls square miles of physical and mental
devastation, but OK.
We've gone from poltergeists to the telekinesis is coming
from inside the brain building.
What does this allegory resolve to in the late 20-aughts?
I think there's an argument to be made that stories
about telekinesis--
doing stuff with your mind--
are really just allegories for doing stuff, generally.
Eleven can crash a car just by thinking about it,
but, like, we're all capable of crashing cars, just
with a little help from our feet and hands.
And while having a temper tantrum
might not rewrite the fabric of reality,
we're all capable of saying or doing
things in moments of lost emotional control that
change us, the world, and our relationships.
This is part of the significance of the we
are all connected theory of telekinesis,
not because it's a scientific explanation of how it works,
but because it's a reminder that every action we take from idea
in our brain to change in the world
will affect the people around us at wildly varying scales
from immediate to global.
Being able to control our minds and our actions
is important precisely because we
are connected to other people, which brings us finally
to "The Matrix."
I know kung fu.
"The Matrix" helps explain why stories about telekinetics
may be more relevant now than ever.
In short, "The Matrix--" and in particular,
the no spoon scene--
makes the direct argument that in its own universe stuff
that looks like telekinesis is the result of computers.
In "The Matrix," all of experience and humanity
is connected-- like, literally connected via back of the head
USB cable, not Fort's globular thing.
And it's the nature of this connection
plus the strength of Neo, Trinity,
and Morpheus' minds that allow the trench coat and sunglasses
crew to conjure guns, fly through space,
and do that one thing where it's like woosh.
You know, the bullet thing.
Taking this premise from "The Matrix,"
can we make the case that using networked computers
is like having telekinetic powers?
That doing things while interconnected
with one's surroundings and struggling
to keep control of your power is particularly
relevant to using technology or maybe even specifically
the internet?
A lot of people are quick to deride
doing things online as being specifically ineffective?
This is the type of critique that's
implicit in clicktivisim, but we also
have to consider the opposite-- that sometimes
what we do with technology is too effective.
Just think of all the stories of single tweets or Facebook
posts that escaped their author's control
and made them famous, or got them fired, or both.
Or consider the consequences of large scale hacks or takedowns
of corporations, governments, or their agents, many of which
are accomplished by a single person and their army
of interconnected bots.
The point is, though, that from "Carrie" to "Akira"
to Charles Xavier, we are regularly telling ourselves
stories about how people run the risk of losing control,
and because these people all have something that lowers
the barrier between their thoughts
and impacting the world, the stakes
of them losing control of their emotions
is incredibly high, especially given
how deeply connected with the world and their environment
they are.
It may also be worth noting that not all,
but many modern telekinetics are also
telepaths, or at the very least, empaths deeply in tune
with the interior experiences of the people
and sometimes objects around them.
Often this causes them suffering.
There may be something to say about the difficulty
in understanding others and that,
while pushing them away literally
may be within one's power, it might not be wise.
So if we talk about how David from "Legion"
can craft his own reality, or how
Eleven can repurpose her weaponized abilities
for altruistic ends, or Xavier can pause a whole city,
are we're talking about people taking mental action
to influence their world that may nonetheless
have physical effects?
And does that fit allegorically onto an increasingly networked
environment?
Now, admittedly the allegory is not perfect.
Almost all telekinetics are lone actors
struggling with isolation in the face of their great power,
while using the internet is what it is precisely because lots
of people are there.
Also, we've talked mostly about telekinetic heroes
and anti-heroes, but what about TK baddies
like Apocalypse or Sylar from "Heroes."
In some ways, they fit, but in other ways
they break this system, but hey, it's allegory.
There are going to be some rough edges,
and sanding down those rough edges is part of the fun.
And what's more, we can do it with our minds.
What do you all think?
Is there some allegory that explains
the recent influx of telekinetics in sci-fi stories?
Let us know in the comments, and I'll respond to some of them
in next week's comment response video.
In this week's comment response video,
we talk about your thoughts regarding everything
being interconnected.
If you want to watch that one, you can wait for the end screen
to show up or find a link in the doobly do.
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