“Long live the new flesh”
At one point, a vagina-like gash manifests on the belly of James Woods' character Max Renn. He pokes and prods and eventually thrusts his own hand (gun in tow) right into the wet slimy center of it. An expression of shock, discomfort, and pleasure waves across his face, almost as if he was masturbating for the first time. Fitting, given this new body of his.
And then in another moment of body horror eroticism, a sweating pulsating VHS tape is forcefully thrust into the same orifice, causing a similar series of emotions to strike Renn whilst simultaneously impregnating him with the dangerous ideologies of the Spectacular Optical Corporation. He is now inexorably linked, biologically, to Videodrome.
Say what you want about the underlying political and social commentary present in this (and other David Cronenberg) films. Its scathing, provocative, prophetical, and definitely on point. The reality of our plugged-in instant gratification world should make that more than apparent. But as awesome as it is on an intellectual level, as great as it is food for discourse, I can't stop myself from coming back to its more on-the-surface strengths. The assaulting visceral imagery speaks to me in ways few other films can, and it gets under my skin the way Videodrome should.
"Long live the new flesh" couldn't be a more fitting motto for David Cronenberg and his grotesque body of work.