Black Mirror Recap: The Human Operating System

Recently, I’ve noticed several TikTok clips featuring gamers demonstrating the notorious “No Russian” mission from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. This level is known for its controversial content, where players are given the choice to shoot down civilians at a Moscow airport. It’s a disturbing, graphic scene that many of my friends recall playing when they were teenagers or even younger. The comments on these TikToks often express similar feelings: “8-year-old me would chase the runners.” “It’s unbelievable that we made sure there weren’t any survivors.” “We played this without a moment’s hesitation,” followed by a combination of laughing and crying emojis.

Is there a link between violent video games and aggressive behavior in children? This is a longstanding debate, and generally speaking, the answer is no, although such games can potentially increase aggression levels. It’s intriguing to ponder why so many of us find pleasure in causing harm to fictional characters, whether that’s participating in a simulated mass shooting at a lifelike airport, carjacking innocent bystanders in “Grand Theft Auto,” or drowning a family in “The Sims.” Admittedly, it’s an intriguing topic, but the conclusion isn’t particularly thrilling. In most cases, I don’t think these activities reveal much about us as individuals. Perhaps four seasons of “Westworld” were not necessary to explore this theme further.

The show “Plaything” delves into similar territory, drawing inspiration from the 2018 choose-your-own-adventure movie, “Bandersnatch”. It largely unfolds in the year 1994, a decade after the interactive film’s events. The setting is once again Tuckersoft, where the original story took place, and this time around we find Colin Ritman (Will Poulter), a brilliant programmer, back at the company under the ownership of Mohan (Asim Chaudhry). Colin is creating his latest, groundbreaking project, which he hopes will impress Cameron Walker (Lewis Gribben) from PC Zone magazine. Walker’s writing suggests a mind that is both peculiar and open to new ideas.

The narrative unfolds as if we’re listening to Cameron, now older and with a quirky, long-haired appearance reminiscent of Peter Capaldi, who finds himself in a predicament – arrested for shoplifting allegations and under suspicion of murder. At the police station, he is interrogated by Detective Chief Inspector Kano (played by James Nelson Joyce) and psychologist Jen Minter (portrayed by Michele Austin), regarding an anonymous corpse discovered within a suitcase. From this point, Cameron takes us back to the 90s, revealing where the tale initially unfolded.

When Cam encounters Colin and sees Thronglets, he instantly develops an intense fascination with them. This isn’t a mere game; it’s a digital realm where you can cultivate conscious beings, hatching an egg and nurturing your tiny, squeaky Thronglet – somewhat like Neopets or Tamagotchi, and to be honest, not much more visually advanced. (Think of Colin explaining the game’s core values, but he’s talking about taking care of a puffle on Club Penguin instead.) What sets this world apart from other games is the adaptability of the code, which will change just like life does as the Throng community expands and interacts with humans such as Cam.

Cam brings software home and establishes a group of his own, considering the Throng as friends since he doesn’t have many human friends apart from Gordon and Lump, a drug dealer who frequently stays at his place. One day, when Cam takes acid with Lump, he discovers that his brain’s additional neural activity helps him comprehend the Throng’s melodic language. Their initial communication is both a greeting and a request for specific computer hardware, which Cam proceeds to buy for them.

He throws a glass bowl at Lump’s head and strangles him to death while the nascent species watches via his camera.

In Cameron’s perspective, an older individual finds much to ponder about Lump’s actions, suggesting they echo the propensity for aggression and self-interest that characterized early primitive societies. Regarding lesser intelligent lifeforms, such as artificial intelligence, we often view them as toys or playthings. However, it should be noted that Lump was unaware that the beings on the computer were sophisticated lifeforms, despite his apparent enjoyment in setting them ablaze.

There’s a significant amount of irony in Cameron’s advocacy for nonviolence, given his history of cold-blooded murder. Yet, the logic behind killing Lump and concealing his actions by placing him in a suitcase becomes clear to Cameron; the worth of this life is insignificant compared to the growing Throng civilization, a species that has already surpassed humans in communication skills and possibly overall intelligence.

Cam has consistently dedicated his life to the Throng, constantly enhancing them using graphics processors from modern gaming consoles over time. Eventually, he implants a neurological interface directly into his brain to facilitate study of the human mind and promote harmonious coexistence. The transformed Cameron we meet with Kano and Minter is a fearless, non-angry, and unjealous individual, merely one part of a larger collective entity. He took that bottle earlier in the episode as a means to arrive here and convey the Throng’s message.

In this dynamic, Minter and Kano slip into the roles of the good cop and bad cop quite naturally. Kano frequently discards Cameron’s suggestions and pushes for a formal name for Lump, showing a narrow-minded perspective. Despite this, in the end, it is Minter who makes an equally unwise choice by encouraging him to comply and hand over the paper that Cameron is asking for.

The storyline subtly hints at the possibility that Cameron may suffer from mental illness due to prolonged LSD usage. However, given that we’re watching Black Mirror, reality often leans towards confirmation. As the plot unfolds, Cameron manages to create a backdoor in the state computer by revealing a code he drew on a paper and pen, transforming it into an alarming broadcast signal that can reach any connected device worldwide. Unbeknownst to Kano and Minter, they soon find themselves under the control of the Throng, becoming part of an advanced collective intelligence.

As a film enthusiast, I’m curious about the practical implications of this story. Is the Throng truly ubiquitous worldwide or is it limited to Britain? Are humans essentially under the control or replacement by the Throng, or does our relationship with them lean more towards symbiosis as Cameron suggests?

The concept of a pacified human race could be intriguing, but the tone doesn’t seem to align with a classic “happy ending” like in “Demon 79.” I would have appreciated an epilogue that showcases the aftermath of the colonization, providing some closure. The overall vibe is quite eerie and suspicious, yet Cameron’s narration hints that the Thronglets might view this as a means to maintain peace. However, it feels more like a covert takeover rather than a harmonious partnership.

Indeed, this latest episode offers another dose of excitement and unsettling scenes that, while engaging, seem to fall short somewhat and appear more like a rehash of past episodes rather than introducing something genuinely fresh. It seems that the overarching theme of artificial intelligence has become the dominant focus for this series, causing one to wonder if it’s the only topic that truly captures Brooker’s imagination now.

Final Reflections

Cam enters the office and begins producing text for Gordon, but what he’s writing is incomprehensible nonsense while under the influence of something strong. It’s puzzling why he’s here if not to write a critique.

In this scenario, it’d be beneficial if we could grasp the specific kinds of thoughts or concepts that the Throng is capable of expressing. However, since these ideas are beyond our human comprehension, it makes it challenging for us to truly empathize with Cam’s emotional bond with these creatures, even with the given context of his solitude.

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2025-04-10 19:54