Crimes of the Future: Essential Cinema of Today
(Originally published May 11th, 2023)
“They’re saying “body is reality. I want to change my reality, that means I have to change my body.” And they’re being very brave and they’re investing a lot in these changes… I say go ahead. This is an artist giving their all to their art.”
- David Cronenberg, on the transgender rights movement.
Contains spoilers.
Cronenberg always seems to have his pulse on the cultural consciousness like few others. In 1969, the year the Stonewall riots launched LGBTQ+ politics into the limelight, Cronenberg debuted his first feature, Stereo. Framed as an educational video/documentary, it’s about a study into psychic abilities and, because it’s a Cronenberg film, focuses on the sexual applications of telepathic communication. The film isn’t particularly good, though it has value as a curiosity, but what did stand out to me is his point that homosexuality and bisexuality were psychologically no different than heterosexuality and shouldn’t be considered any more transgressive than heterosexuality. Nowadays, after over a half-century of cultural and political conflict, that’s not a revolutionary position. But this was in 1969. Even if it’s the bare minimum, he reached it before so many others. Later, in 1983 he released Videodrome, a timely look at humanity’s relationship to television that has evolved into a timeless look at humanity’s relationship with all media as we entered the internet age. Then, in 1999 he released eXistenZ, which hit theaters less than two months after The Matrix and dealt with similar themes to that film and Videodrome, his finger once again on humanity’s pulse as fear of technology clouded the future. And most recently, in 2022, as reproductive rights took an unconscionable blow and conservative politicians ramped up their targeting of transgender people, he released Crimes of the Future, a story of bodily autonomy, the suffocation of humanity under bureaucracy, and the evolution of man. Timely and timeless, as always.
Cronenberg’s films continued to contain queer material or subtext for the rest of his career. Though he’s not queer himself (as far as I could find, my research won’t hold up in court) homosexuality has always been relevant to his constant examination of sex and gender, while trans people have always been able to connect to his stories of identity in relation to our bodies/physical transformation’s relationship to psychological change. The influence of his works on modern queer horror is everywhere. Julia Ducornau, the modern queen of body horror, uses queerness and the grotesque to explore gender, sex, family, coming of age, and much more in her films, both of which show Cronenberg-esque trademarks. Though only a body horror film for one scene, Jane Schoenbrun’s We’re All Going to the World’s Fair could serve as a modern companion piece to Videodrome for the internet era and has also been widely interpreted as an at least partial allegory for gender dysphoria. Though these are unique films from unique artists, and I do not want to downplay the originality or brilliance in any of these voices, the influence of his style and the subjects he explores have become tools used for telling queer stories for years now. And the real treat is that he’s still around, better than ever. He’s not just an influence on these other directors, he’s their contemporary, and he’s absolutely keeping up with the new generation.
Crimes of the Future is my favorite Cronenberg film since The Fly and is rivaled only by A History of Violence for the position of his best film of the 21st century. His control of atmosphere is masterful; the way he films the human body perfectly complements Howard Shore’s hypnotic music, the makeup, sets, and visual effects creating this world, and the idiosyncratic acting. Just an absolute treat for the eyes and ears. To call the film body horror is misleading. The assumption among those going into it is that the mutations experienced by Saul Tenser, a series of new organs repeatedly removed and obsessively cataloged and monitored by Tenser and the National Organ Registry, are the horrors. No, the real horrors aren’t the mutations. That’s the future. That’s humanity. The real horror is the force opposing the future. The real horrors the body faces come at the hands of government bureaucracy taking your autonomy. Not coincidentally, this directly reflects Cronenberg’s own comments on abortion rights. Because the film’s not about the crimes of tomorrow, it’s about the crimes of today. The crime of existing on your own terms.
If you’ve seen the flag in my bio and have any knowledge of the discussion around this film, you probably know where I’m heading. In David Cronenberg’s grand tapestry of the human experience in relation to our own flesh, many of us found a potent and deeply personal portrait of what it’s like to be trans, especially trans artists, in an increasingly hostile political environment. Saul Tenser, be it through involuntary biology or subconscious will, is at the forefront of human evolution. But he keeps it in line, displaying it for others under strict rules. The art he creates with it should be a celebration of evolution yet is warped into a monument to its restriction. The resistance, those trying to embrace the future, tries to convince him to use his platform and artistry to showcase that the future they’re fighting for is real and to reveal the cruelty of the society that oppressed it. Those in the resistance had to change themselves to fit their future, but Brecken, the first child born with the changes, is murdered by his own mother for it. And when the resistance tries to expose this the establishment mutilates him. They frame the resistance, those who tried to protect him and give him a brighter future, for this mutilation and continue to shelter the narrow-mindedness that lead to his death.
It’s the most accurate and upsetting portrayal of the establishment’s treatment of trans children I’ve ever seen.
Shocked by this and knowing of the government’s involvement, Saul finally becomes radicalized, embraces the future, and in doing so eases the pain that overwhelmed him in his attempts to resist the future. The twitching and gagging are replaced by euphoria, and the film ends. I really can’t analyze it much beyond that. It’s just powerful. It means something to me. It’ll mean different things to different people, but it will always mean something. That’s just what art does.
“The cause? Sounds like you are becoming a believer.”
