Stephen Lack

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Released at a time when tech nerds were emerging from their garages and dorms to reengineer the world as we watched with shock and awe, David Cronenberg’s 1981 sci-fi mindblower about bioengineered telepaths, Scanners, could be read as an analogue to the rise of the machines and those who built them. Scanners and digital revolutionaries who began their ascent in the late 1970s can be described alike: born with special gifts, could see the future before others, desired to upset the accepted order and create a new society in which the mind and its powers would be predominant. “They’re pathetic social misfits,” says one character of the tortured titular telepaths but might as well be describing those responsible for technology’s migration from the monolith to the individual. “They want to destroy the society that created them.” And so they did, more or less.

In Cronenberg’s world, Scanners are misbegotten men and women who were born telepaths with terrible talents. They cannot only read your mind but can also use mere concentration to blow up your brain. In order to keep them from using this talent, Scanners are monitored and sometimes hunted. It seems that their strange skills are the result of their pregnant mothers being prescribed an experimental tranquilizer that was discontinued in the 1940s after a brief trial run. While the drug soon disappeared, the children have grown up with extraordinary powers, unbeknownst to most of the world.

The scientist who created the drug, Dr. Paul Ruth (Patrick McGoohan), a pioneering biochemist with a patchy past, has made it his life’s work to monitor the Scanners for the ConSec corporation. Ruth reintroduces into society a Scanner named Cameron Vale (Stephen Lack), who he has kept “on ice,” to glean information about the machinations of a fellow Scanner, Darryl Revok (Michael Ironside). The latter has apparently hatched a plan with a confedrate inside ConSec to create a new breed of Scanners that he can use as his army. Cameron and Revok, who have some sort of mysterious link to one another, engage in a battle of terrifying, combustible wills.

Changing the world, or at least the way we interact with it and one another, requires getting others to see reality in a whole new way, whether you’re hoping to grow scanners or consumers, a fact which has become ever clearer as we now live in a world in which a small band of Silicon Valley superstars have commandeered the means of communication. As Revok says, while sounding not unlike a titan of technology preparing for an IPO: “We’ll bring the normals to their knees. We’ll have an empire so brilliant, so glorious that it will be the envy of the whole planet.”•

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From the time it was called New Amsterdam and controlled by the Dutch, New York has always been about money. But there was a sea change during the 1980s when speculation came to be treated like a sure thing, junk bonds like treasure and art frauds like the real deal. It was only the beginning of Manhattan transforming into a playground for tourists and the wealthy, but what a bracing start it was. Jan Jost’s discomfiting 1989 indie, All the Vermeers in New York, is a bitter, withering takedown of such vapid plastic-and-cash culture.

Mark (played by artist Stephen Lack) can only vaguely describe his Wall Street job as “money mover” and he’s even more at a loss for words when he spies aspiring French actress Anna (Emmanuelle Chaulet) in the Vermeer room at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. From the start, their courtship feels like a negotiation. Mark is looking to acquire some kind of beauty to gird him from the terror of faltering stock markets and Anna is looking for…well, it’s not really clear, but it probably has something to do with cold, hard cash.

Jost had said at the time of the film’s release that he chose Vermeer’s work because during the artist’s life a Dutch speculative market for tulip bulbs crashed and the filmmaker recognized similarities between the absurdity of old-time bulb traders and modern junk bond kings and art-world hustlers. Jost was spot-on about these parallels, but he was wrong about one vital aspect: The director thought he was making a dirge for a decade of greed, but sadly it was less elegy than prelude.•

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An interview with Jost at the time of Vermeers:

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