Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970)
Appearing in theaters just a few months after the first ARPANET computer-to-computer connection occurred between UCLA and Stanford, Colossus: The Forbin Project offers a prototypical glimpse of the cultural anxieties surrounding the networking of "electronic brains" in the 1970s. In a protracted wordless opening sequence, the computer's creator Dr. Charles Forbin (the German-accented scientist played by Eric Braeden) personally switches on the computer system and irrevocably gives it control of the US missile defense system. This scene, partially filmed at UC Berkeley's newly opened Lawrence Hall of Science (which also provided some of the dystopian futuristic settings for George Lucas' studio remake of THX 1138), inspires both awe and foreboding, as the film's interior of a supercomputing facility is envisioned as part sterile science lab and part nuclear reactor. Forbin wears a white synthetic jumpsuit that would be at home on a 1960s spaceship and he is photographed from extreme angles that emphasize his diminutive, human stature in comparison with the grandeur of the computing facility. The final action of the bootup sequence is to flip a switch marked "Danger Radiation" on a wireless remote.
Soon after this initial deployment is complete, the American supercomputer "Colossus" (whose name is presumably an homage to the WWII-era British code-breaking computer developed at Bletchley Park), establishes a connection to its Soviet counterpart named "Guardian." Beginning with simple mathematical calculations and extending through advanced calculus, the two computer systems proceed to develop an "intersystem language" that only they can understand, effectively overcoming the prevailing (though inexplicably dormant) Cold War hostilities between the two countries. The two computers' development of a new language also resonates with generational anxieties of the late 1960s. Products of a post-WWII generation of science and technology, the computers themselves may be understood as rebelling against their respective "parents" and undertaking to solve the problems of the Cold War on their own terms. Shortly after the two computers' data banks have been merged, the American computer Colossus destroys the Soviet machine and assumes full control of both nations' nuclear weapons.
The narrative premise of the film requires audiences to accept that both supercomputers have been given irrevocable control over the superpowers' missile defense systems. The threat of nuclear destruction is then used to coerce human compliance with Colossus' plan for world domination in the name of the "peace" for which they were created. The American president, who bears a striking resemblance to JFK, seems bizarrely complacent about a computer taking control of the national defense system, and any doubts about the advisability of leaving everything in the hands of well-intentioned, German-accented scientists are strangely absent, even after the computer begins ordering the summary execution of anyone deemed unnecessary or disobedient.
In still another remarkable plot twist, the computer scientist and his creation negotiate the number of times per week he will be allowed to have sex with his "mistress" and under what precise terms the computer will be allowed to observe their foreplay. Although it is played for narrative titillation as seen in the deep-focus shots of a naked Susan Clark barely concealed by a carefully placed wine glass, the film's nascent vision of the interconnections of sex and technology bears additional analysis. The sentience exhibited by Colossus, which motivates its drive for power and self-preservation, is ambiguously extended to a protracted sequence in which the computer oversees the disrobing of the female human, suggesting that the male-coded Colossus is learning to appreciate and perhaps experience sexual desire.
The deliberate gender and ethnic diversity of the team responsible for running Colossus is nearly unique among technology films of this era. Although gender "equality" was often used by Hollywood as a signfier of futuristic or utopian societies, the mere presence of women and people of color in the system control room is only part of the picture. A balanced array of White, Asian, and African American computer scientists occupy key roles in the operation of Colossus; while women occupy roles ranging from historically accurate programmers to PhDs, including Dr. Cleo Markham (Clark). While the female operators engage in decision making related to the programming and troubleshooting of Colossus (although their advice is rarely followed), Dr. Markham is removed from any operational responsibility for the machine, serving instead as little more than a message carrier between Forbin and the team by posing as his mistress, enjoying wine and candlelight dinners before undressing and retiring to the bedroom. Clark's character, who could have been a figure of progressive gender advocacy and equality is instead reduced to a sex object to be visually surveilled by audiences via a computational surrogate.
At the end of the day, Colossus: The Forbin Project is a technological anxiety film, but one with a critique so obvious and implausible at its center as to be disarmingly ineffectual. Its nightmare scenario posits a narrative that would hardly have seemed near to the technological horizon of 1970: if computers become too smart and are given too much power, they will dominate or destroy humanity. But the computer scientists who conceived and created Colossus–especially Forbin himself–remain markedly immune from punishment or blame. The fault of this particular instance of rogue computer megalomania is more or less taken in stride, a necessary outgrowth of the same logics of automation and control that kept the US war machine operating in Vietnam. The film's bitterly ambiguous ending suggests a weary defeatism for all of humanity as the computer issues a worldwide announcement about the immediate subjugation of the human race to a totalitarian plan for peace and prosperity. In order to save humanity, Colossus had first to destroy it.
Soon after this initial deployment is complete, the American supercomputer "Colossus" (whose name is presumably an homage to the WWII-era British code-breaking computer developed at Bletchley Park), establishes a connection to its Soviet counterpart named "Guardian." Beginning with simple mathematical calculations and extending through advanced calculus, the two computer systems proceed to develop an "intersystem language" that only they can understand, effectively overcoming the prevailing (though inexplicably dormant) Cold War hostilities between the two countries. The two computers' development of a new language also resonates with generational anxieties of the late 1960s. Products of a post-WWII generation of science and technology, the computers themselves may be understood as rebelling against their respective "parents" and undertaking to solve the problems of the Cold War on their own terms. Shortly after the two computers' data banks have been merged, the American computer Colossus destroys the Soviet machine and assumes full control of both nations' nuclear weapons.
The narrative premise of the film requires audiences to accept that both supercomputers have been given irrevocable control over the superpowers' missile defense systems. The threat of nuclear destruction is then used to coerce human compliance with Colossus' plan for world domination in the name of the "peace" for which they were created. The American president, who bears a striking resemblance to JFK, seems bizarrely complacent about a computer taking control of the national defense system, and any doubts about the advisability of leaving everything in the hands of well-intentioned, German-accented scientists are strangely absent, even after the computer begins ordering the summary execution of anyone deemed unnecessary or disobedient.
In still another remarkable plot twist, the computer scientist and his creation negotiate the number of times per week he will be allowed to have sex with his "mistress" and under what precise terms the computer will be allowed to observe their foreplay. Although it is played for narrative titillation as seen in the deep-focus shots of a naked Susan Clark barely concealed by a carefully placed wine glass, the film's nascent vision of the interconnections of sex and technology bears additional analysis. The sentience exhibited by Colossus, which motivates its drive for power and self-preservation, is ambiguously extended to a protracted sequence in which the computer oversees the disrobing of the female human, suggesting that the male-coded Colossus is learning to appreciate and perhaps experience sexual desire.
The deliberate gender and ethnic diversity of the team responsible for running Colossus is nearly unique among technology films of this era. Although gender "equality" was often used by Hollywood as a signfier of futuristic or utopian societies, the mere presence of women and people of color in the system control room is only part of the picture. A balanced array of White, Asian, and African American computer scientists occupy key roles in the operation of Colossus; while women occupy roles ranging from historically accurate programmers to PhDs, including Dr. Cleo Markham (Clark). While the female operators engage in decision making related to the programming and troubleshooting of Colossus (although their advice is rarely followed), Dr. Markham is removed from any operational responsibility for the machine, serving instead as little more than a message carrier between Forbin and the team by posing as his mistress, enjoying wine and candlelight dinners before undressing and retiring to the bedroom. Clark's character, who could have been a figure of progressive gender advocacy and equality is instead reduced to a sex object to be visually surveilled by audiences via a computational surrogate.
At the end of the day, Colossus: The Forbin Project is a technological anxiety film, but one with a critique so obvious and implausible at its center as to be disarmingly ineffectual. Its nightmare scenario posits a narrative that would hardly have seemed near to the technological horizon of 1970: if computers become too smart and are given too much power, they will dominate or destroy humanity. But the computer scientists who conceived and created Colossus–especially Forbin himself–remain markedly immune from punishment or blame. The fault of this particular instance of rogue computer megalomania is more or less taken in stride, a necessary outgrowth of the same logics of automation and control that kept the US war machine operating in Vietnam. The film's bitterly ambiguous ending suggests a weary defeatism for all of humanity as the computer issues a worldwide announcement about the immediate subjugation of the human race to a totalitarian plan for peace and prosperity. In order to save humanity, Colossus had first to destroy it.
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