Good afternoon, good evening and good night: The… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

Good after­noon, good evening and good night: The Tru­man Show at 20

03 Jun 2018

Words by Shane O’Reilly

Close-up of a man with blond hair and a thoughtful expression, set against a blue sky and red flowers.
Close-up of a man with blond hair and a thoughtful expression, set against a blue sky and red flowers.
Jim Carrey’s por­tray­al of a man trapped in his own real­i­ty TV show remains as cap­ti­vat­ing as ever.

We accept the real­i­ty of the world with which we’re pre­sent­ed. It’s as sim­ple as that.” Per­haps we didn’t know it in 1998 but Peter Weir’s mas­ter­ful media satire The Tru­man Show was on the cusp of some­thing huge, a sig­ni­fi­er of things to come, things that lay just around the cor­ner. A world of change; sur­veil­lance and the widescale broad­cast­ing of human and tech­no­log­i­cal inter­ac­tion on an unprece­dent­ed lev­el – a lev­el we may have pon­dered from time to time but rarely giv­en much heed to – was coming.

Tru­man Bur­bank became a totem of this change and the film became his mile­stone moment, one we may not have ful­ly appre­ci­at­ed then but one that has drawn us back on a wave of nos­tal­gia time and time again. Twen­ty years on from its ini­tial release, there’s no mis­tak­ing what the film was a pre­cur­sor to.

At the time, The Tru­man Show was a mas­sive world­wide hit. It made back its bud­get four times over, earned three Oscar nom­i­na­tions (for Best Direc­tor, Best Sup­port­ing Actor and Best Orig­i­nal Screen­play) and was one of the best reviewed films of the year. It was the peak of Weir’s career and, some would argue, Carrey’s too. The sto­ry of an aban­doned baby adopt­ed and raised by a cor­po­ra­tion only for his entire life, every sec­ond of it, cap­tured in a man­u­fac­tured dome-like world and broad­cast 247 to our own real world enrap­tured us all. Tru­man was the poor unwit­ting pro­tag­o­nist and like the movie inside the movie, we couldn’t take our eyes away either.

Tru­man arrived at the same time as Alex Proyas’ polar­is­ing sci-fi Dark City and a whole year before the likes of TV’s Big Broth­er, Cronenberg’s gam­ing satire eXis­tenZ, the infe­ri­or Tru­man-esque com­e­dy Edtv and, of course, the Wachowskis’ ground­break­ing The Matrix. Sud­den­ly, ter­ri­fy­ing visions of a not-too-dis­tant future were being beamed direct­ly into our homes. In hind­sight, this trend feels like a nat­ur­al pro­gres­sion of ear­li­er genre fare such as Fortress, Demo­li­tion Man, Sliv­er, Lost High­way, Ene­my of the State. In turn, all of these 90s films were byprod­ucts of the 1980s, heav­i­ly indebt­ed to Video­dromeSex, Lies, and Video­tape and others.

But why is it that The Tru­man Show feels espe­cial­ly rel­e­vant today? It’s a great film, sure, with its charis­mat­ic lead, humor­ous yet thought­ful script, and it looks great. The film even helped to coin a psy­cho­log­i­cal phe­nom­e­non, The Tru­man Show Delu­sion, and in Japan its influ­ence spawned a very unfor­tu­nate copy­cat TV pro­gramme called Nasubi.

The Tru­man Show tapped into our col­lec­tive anx­i­eties and played off our grow­ing obses­sion with real­i­ty tele­vi­sion and celebri­ty cul­ture. As the beat­ing heart of the sto­ry, Tru­man is the only real fig­ure in an oth­er­wise fake world. We can all relate to him on some lev­el. His pal­pa­ble sense of ennui, which draws him away from Sea­haven to explore the great beyond, is the same yearn­ing that entices us away from our own hum­drum lives. In 1998 Truman’s trau­mat­ic awak­en­ing resem­bled our own, as we came to terms with CCTV and the onset of mass surveillance.

Person in beige clothing carrying a red shopping basket, walking on a city street with white buildings and blue sky.

Back in 1978, inven­tor Steve Mann exper­i­ment­ed on him­self by wear­ing dif­fer­ent forms of what would become his Dig­i­tal Eye Glass – a pros­thet­ic device that func­tioned as both a cam­era and a tele­vi­sion dis­play. He honed his sousveil­lant’ tool over the pro­ceed­ing years, and by 1994 he was broad­cast­ing his life 24 hours a day.

The inter­net was still in its infan­cy when, in 1996, Jen­nifer Ring­ley became one of the first peo­ple to make use of a web­cam to life­cast’ her exis­tence through her now defunct web­site Jen­ni­Cam. By the late 90s, clip-on or exte­ri­or web­cams were out­mod­ed and com­put­er man­u­fac­tur­ers began build­ing bet­ter cam­eras direct­ly into the desk­top and lap­top screens. The pos­si­bil­i­ties seemed end­less, with long dis­tance human inter­fac­ing now wide­ly acces­si­ble. Cam­eras were every­where, and peo­ple began using them not only for secu­ri­ty but cre­ative­ly, often sim­ply to to alle­vi­ate boredom.

By the ear­ly 2000s advances in tech­nol­o­gy had caught up with our demand for more instant con­nec­tion. Com­put­ers were faster, wire­less Wi-Fi was com­mon­place and var­i­ous exper­i­ments like pseu​do​.com and Dot­ComGuy came and went. In 2005 YouTube was born and the rest, as they say, is history.

The Tru­man Show was undoubt­ed­ly a prod­uct of its time, and it res­onat­ed pre­cise­ly because it rep­re­sent­ed a brave new world, one which would be changed for­ev­er just a few years lat­er by 911 – an event which fur­ther com­pli­cat­ed our rela­tion­ship with tech­nol­o­gy and par­tic­u­lar­ly surveillance.

What would Tru­man Bur­bank make of 2018? Would he be able to assim­i­late into our world? Or would Sea­haven sud­den­ly not seem so bad? The inter­net is awash with fan the­o­ries explor­ing the var­i­ous themes with­in the film – the mar­riage of con­ve­nience, the lin­ger­ing pas­sion for a long lost love, and ques­tions of friend­ship and the morals of cor­po­rate pow­er – that keep us com­ing back 20 years on.

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