At its crux, Mr. Robot is a series full of realised potential and it shows as a Golden Globe winner for Best Television Drama. It artfully taps into a spectrum of socially relevant, sycophantic ubiquity that extends so far as to both provoke and numb the senses concurrently, making way for the intense, albeit meaningful social commentary that boils beneath its outer shell. The show stars Rami Malek, who plays Elliot, a socially anxious cyber-security expert turned hacker who is recruited by a mysterious anarchist known only as ‘Mr. Robot’. Along with the likes of Christian Slater, Portia Doubleday, Carly Chaikin, Franky Shaw and Gloria Rueben, we see a series of fully-fleshed, complicated personas shine and falter – all skilfully acted – as their respective relationships to Elliot begin to unfold.
Though originally meant to take form as a feature film, creator and writer Sam Esmail is an architect to a series so contrive and mysterious, separating it from what feels like a slew of fiercely unoriginal content airing today. Mr. Robot’s originality and 21st century existentialism seem to signal it as a beacon of something you might find in a Netflix original drama; an artistic risk. Yet, when we delve deeper, it doesn’t look to be risky at all. It is inherently intelligent, but never rambunctious or obnoxious in its relevancy, forcing the audience to feel alienated by holding a mirror to them.
Instead of pandering to the layman, or the ‘average’ audience with generalisations and inaccuracies, it holds true to its inspired roots; portraying one of the most precise depictions of hacking, perhaps ever. It’s also bold in its treatment of female characters and how it critiques and undermines the gender politics of the show’s real-world equivalence in the cyber-security, corporate and hacking industries’ unilateral adversity towards women. In doing so, it illustrates how – despite the complexity of the underlying computer science and defying gender normativity – by staying true to an idea and respecting an audience’s intelligence enough to not excessively simplify its concepts or reinforce stereotypes, a show can still garner an impressive, dedicated following.
Mr. Robot does a remarkable job of being hauntingly reflective thematically, whilst simultaneously proving its cinematographic worth. Though there are subtle allusions that respectfully reflect upon the same bleak, hacktivist subculture of today, with the presence of ‘fsociety,’ the timing of Mr. Robot is impeccable to a world that knows Anonymous, Julian Assange, and Edward Snowden all too well.
There is an air of darkness prominent throughout the series; an underlying sense of unease that can be pinned to the self-reflexivity of the show and similarly, our own self-awareness. We see a gloomy familiarity in Elliot, where the computer screens and his eyes are the brightest lights in the room – that same sleep-ruining glow from our phones that permeates our every day when we lie in bed. More than anything else, Mr. Robot is exceptional in its ability to depict the internalised wars that we face; the internal monologues, the brutality of justifying our own actions, the warring splinters of our personalities that fight for control, where fantasies, hallucinations and realities collide.
What’s perhaps most gripping is the show’s wonderfully fleshed out world, the uniquely poignant – and often melancholic – soundtrack by Mac Quayle, and ultimately, its characters who, so full of intrigue, force the viewer to re-evaluate the technologically drowned lives we lead. With this in mind, Esmail is no doubt successful in trapping the audience within the skin of Elliot, fully realising his vision of portraying an alienated figure detached from the society and culture of today. Mr. Robot shines a light on what hides on the outskirts of our vision; stirring the illusion of control and freedom in our own socio-political climate, and ultimately begs the question, “Do we want a revolution?”
Mr. Robot is out now on Blu-ray™ and DVD, courtesy of Universal Pictures (UK).
