#but mentally analogue/uncanny valley fucks with my head in a not fun way

[heysheepdog]

I need to remember not to entertain Analogue Horror in any capacity.

[earlywrites]

there’s no place like 127.0.0.1 commentary part I: ‘looking back’

Hey gang! Here’s part one of my commentary on my Angela & Robot fic there's no place like 127.0.0.1, a.k.a. A Weekend At Angela’s, a.k.a. Mr. Robot’s Day(s) Off. This will contain spoilers through Season 3 of Mr. Robot.

To start off, the title of the fic itself I got from a fun piece of set dressing in 3x05:

...which (and I'm probably stating the obvious here, but either way) is a play on 'there's no place like home' from the Wizard of Oz, as 127.0.0.1 is the 'localhost' of any given machine.

“Dolores… Haze?” she says, frowning [...]

I believe this is the codename Elliot would have Darlene stored under on his phone, since it’s a handle she’s used in other areas -- recently, as the name of the network she and Elliot used in the arcade during 3x09:

Somehow, he both feels like he’s been hit over the head with a truck, yet at the same time had the best sleep he’s ever experienced in the scattering of days where he’s been the one in charge. The sleeping pills on the side table aren’t a name he recognizes, and the instructional lettering is all in Chinese, but holy balls did they knock him the fuck out. Seems Angela wasn’t kidding when she said she was committed to keeping Elliot out at all costs.

I did a bunch of reading on DID and several people on the forums suggested sleeping pills as a method to prevent alters from switching over in one's sleep. Ambien and melatonin etc all seemed to also promote sleepwalking as a side effect, especially when combined with alcohol (and this is more relevant in part II), so I took artistic licence and made a fake drug that essentially knocks you out with zero (known) side effects, lol.

Residual self-image. Everyone has a face that only they can see, projected outwards into the mirror. A false idol of confidence, of ego, or a shell of dysmorphia and despair – either way, a lie repeated for so long it manifests into your own monster. Or maybe it’s something as little as a smaller nose or a slimmer waistline, look, ultimately, people like to reject reality and see what they want to see – for better or worse, ‘til death do us part, until every feature is stripped back and washed away, and that face in the mirror is just a skull the world has finally fucked. Technically, his own projection is long dead, but reanimated for a greater purpose – a divine one, even, according to Tyrell and his whole wackjob microreligion thing he’s got going on.

Residual self-image is indeed a term from The Matrix, which Morpheus describes as the 'mental projection of your digital self'. Here, it's a literal way that Robot describes how he and other people see themselves, even if in reality it can be very different. The major theme of this fic was perception versus reality, in that both Robot and Angela are focussed so narrowly on their specific ideal outcomes of Stage 2 that they omit or ignore any signs that the plan will not go exactly their way. This is the first area where I start to address that, and basically continue to hold up a sign in big black lettering that goes HEY ISN'T THIS IRONIC THAT THEY'RE SAYING THIS GIVEN WHAT WE KNOW NOW for the rest of the fic.

Still, he only gets wrapped up in this metaphysical bullshit when he’s in the driver’s seat for an extended period of time, because situations tend to arise that take him on a stroll through Uncanny Valley. For example: he showers and then shaves, but no stubble leaves his jawline. He changes into fresh clothes that Angela has left him, but the label on his jacket still proudly proclaims Mr. Robot: Computer Repair with a Smile! (still not his name, no matter how much Elliot tries to pin it to him). Sometimes he can squint through the mirror, rearrange his focus a little bit, and see this analogue of Elliot staring back at him – eyes half-lidded, the pinched anxiety on his face smoothed out. This is what they all see, which really is a poor substitute for the damn good-looking guy he’s facing off with in the bathroom vanity this morning.

Like, I've always wondered about this. Elliot is always clean-shaven after Robot's been in control for longer stretches of time, so Robot must shave, but we know he always has stubble -- how does any of this work, really? Is the fact that we see Robot's face in the mirror just a product of Elliot's overarching control over what is depicted in the show, and Robot actually sees 'Elliot's face? Who the heck knows, Sam sure as hell probably isn't going to explain it, so I'm sticking to this interpretation for now. And, also, no, Robot's never actually referred to himself as Mr. Robot in the show, going so far as to laugh at the idea of Elliot calling him that name when Krista brings it up in 3x02, which is why I have him rejecting it in here.

He tries watching TV, for a bit, but nothing particularly engaging is on basic cable on a Saturday morning – crappy cartoons (they really don’t make them like they used to), some more bullshit presidential candidate Donald Trump (seriously. This, if anything, is why Stage Two is an absolute fucking necessity to get the world back on track) has regurgitated about taxes or something is being picked apart by no less than twelve ‘experts’ on CNN, and the hysteria continues on four other channels. Only one news channel is actually covering the upcoming UN vote, which is quintessential Americocentrism - like, holy shit, the UN is going to sell a fucking country to China, and all people give a shit about is some failed reality star who can't, apparently, do math beyond a grade-school level. The next channel he tries is airing a repeat episode of Teen Mom, which is about the point where he gives up and switches it off, tossing the remote somewhere down the couch.

I don't know what was on US basic cable on that September weekend in 2015, and neither do you, probably. I do know that, around this time, Trump unveiled his tax policy at a press conference. It wasn't on a Friday/Saturday, but then again, September 29th wasn't actually a Monday, so whatever, I'll take some wiggle room on that.

[...] Darlene doesn’t know about the arrangement between Angela and himself, all he needs is plausible deniability for the knock – sleeping pills on the side table, that’s it, that’s the play, if he bunks down on the couch she’ll believe he was so far under he didn’t hear any of it. Wake up, fidget a bit, Elliot-style – keep it vague, let her fill in the blanks—

I would've loved to have seen the Robot v Darlene route, where Robot plays as Elliot and finds out about Elliot's plan to have him followed, and how things might have played out differently from there, but, that would then diverge from the canon series of events I was trying to keep within. I guess we'll never know!

“I know, that’s why I set up a contingency, give me some fucking credit here,” he argues. “It’s a little self-destructive sequence, a ransomware mimic – forget to key the password into the dialog box that pops up every five minutes and you’ll get locked out, and all the files on this laptop will self-encrypt. Only I have the keys, so even if – if – he manages to resurface, he wouldn’t get far.”

I'm sure this is wildly inaccurate, since I know pretty much nothing about programming, lol. We can't all be Elliot, okay!!!

“Is it possible for you to not be an asshole for like, five minutes?” Angela mutters. “Fine. I’ll—wait, hold on.” She brings up the Netflix home page, typing ollie.p.parker@gmail.com into the email field. “Let’s see if he – nope, hasn’t changed it. Why am I not surprised.”

“This is your ex-boyfriend’s account,” he clarifies. Angela hums the affirmative as she scrolls through his recommended titles – fucking hell, there’s at least three different Adam Sandler flicks alone. “Well, good to know he’s still a fucking moron. You sure dodged a bullet there. Or,” he pivots, reconsidering the context, “I suppose, given how that all played out, got that bullet lodged in you removed before it was too late.”

Fuck Ollie, this is the least of what you deserve, you dickwagon. I had a further scene that I ended up cutting because it dragged down the pacing, where Robot convinced Angela to let him 'hijack' Ollie's Netflix account by changing the email address and password and then getting into his email account to verify the change and delete the notification emails. Anyway, he's probably suffering in the post-5/9 economy, so, suck it dude.

He wrinkles his nose. “Oh, that guy’s in this?”

“Who, Christian Slater?” Angela says, looking up over her phone as the monologue continues. She finishes her text and slides it back onto the coffee table. “Not a fan?”

“Of his works? No, I like them well enough, Heathers is great,” he says, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air. “There’s just something about his face that makes me hate him. You know, when you look at a guy, and he has a face that’s just asking for a fist? This guy. He always looks so smug.” He points an accusatory finger at the TV. “What have you got to be so smug about, huh? Besides the fact that you’re probably jerking off to that fat royalty check in the mail every month. I mean, we all know that’s what all the Hollywood schmucks are doing, tugging it to their stacks of cash, but you don’t have to wear it right there on your face so I’m reminded of the fact every time I see it. And it doesn’t help that he spends half the movie miming the act, it just makes it so stupidly meta, Christ, I need to build a fourth wall in my brain and kick over a bucket of bleach – also, by the way, what the fuck, I can’t believe you actually watched this as a child, you—”

This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I got to write. I love that Christian Slater exists in Robotverse, so that I can exercise the 'character played by actor, who also played a character in another thing, thinks this character sucks/is ugly' trope. If you missed it, here's Pump Up The Volume on VHS in Angela's childhood home in 3x06:

She’s silent, for a moment, and the movie plays on. “It helped, in a way. With my mom. There’s a line, that’s always stuck with me – ‘the terrible secret is that being young is sometimes less fun than being dead.’ See, they don’t approach death in a way that’s nice, and polite, and full of platitudes – it’s angry, and messy, and it’s okay to want to just—” She suddenly leans over to the laptop, clicking forwards a few times.

“I’m sick of being ashamed. I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it.” She mouths along with him. “I mean, you look around, and you see nothing is real, but at least the pain is real. You know, even this show isn’t real? It’s just me, I’m using a voice disguiser, I’m a phony fuck just like my dad, just like anybody—”

If you haven't seen the movie, basically Slater's character is reacting to the news of a teen committing suicide, after they had stated the intention to do so on his show - you can watch this scene here. This is, of course, not a movie a young child should watch, but Angela has always talked about her anger regarding her mother's death, and I thought (aside from the self-indulgent aspect of Robot v Slater, lol) it would be interesting to explore how she might act out, a little, like kids sometimes do to cope with grief and pain, secretly watch a Movie Definitely Not For Kids, and within it find a helpful way to release the anger she bottled up. (Also -- she would've loved the lizard. What a cute little friend.)

Somehow, they keep this train chugging along until well into the night. His pick is next – he chooses Snakes On A Plane, just to fuck with her a bit, but it turns out she just loves snakes, because of course she does, so that backfired somewhat, aside from the fact that Snakes On A Plane is actually pretty fun if you really embrace the hammy acting and ridiculous plot. Angela parries, picking a recent release called Jupiter Ascending, a large proportion of which he spends loudly trying to work out at what point in time since The Matrix Trilogy were the Wachowskis secretly killed and replaced by doppelgänger hacks, as Angela sips her appletini and coos over werewolf-angel(?)-in-rollerskates Channing Tatum. He then counters with Sharknado 3, which is definitely a mistake, and then they have to both suffer through all excruciating ninety-five minutes of it because neither of them are willing to budge on their unspoken cinematic war. A victory for him, maybe, but a Pyrrhic one nonetheless.

Angela does canonically love snakes, so this wasn't intended to be a jab at her manipulation of Elliot this season, but, of course, interpret at as you will. This great piece of characterisation is from the Red Wheelbarrow tie-in book for Season 2 (which is an awesome read, definitely recommend):

Second, the 'cinematic war' is totally one-sided. In my mind, Angela actually enjoyed all the films they watched, while Robot basically fucked himself, lol. Look, Jupiter Ascending is a wonderful, whimsical film, that should be taken at face value for the work of art that it is. Space paperwork! Bee princesses! Eddie Redmayne whisper-screaming as he tries to marry his mother! It's an absolute cinematic treasure. I can't say the same for Sharknado 3, but, well, all in good fun.

“First off, the entire concept of monogamy is bullshit,” he replies, and yes, he is going to actually give her a serious answer. “It’s an archaic evolutionary tactic to boost survival rates among Neanderthals that has no place being the gold standard in 2015, in the same way that we don’t kill a mammoth and spend the rest of the year eating hairy elephant ass for every meal — newsflash, supermarkets exist now, there are like fifty different varieties of beans, literally just beans, so it makes zero sense to pledge your undying commitment to a can of Spam, I mean, shit, even if it’s something you actually enjoy, you’d get absolutely sick and tired of eating it and nothing else until you keel over and die. So, on that note, it’s pretty obvious why most of our parents spend the rest of their lives fucking hating each other if they’re not a part of the fifty percent who cut ties before it’s too late, because, yes, alongside the great lie of the picture perfect nuclear family, the modern factory-line industry of marriage is just a capitalist cash cow where everybody thinks they’re getting milk, but in reality? That sure ain’t a teat they’re sucking on.”

This also comes back to the Red Wheelbarrow tie-in book, and specifically, to this scene in it, where Robot rants to Leon about monogamy in the context of Mad About You:

This is probably my favourite scene from the book -- I love the idea of Leon and Robot having long-winded debates on media, and it's a pity we'll never get to see that acted out, lol.

[...] “Fuck Gosling, fuck Stone, kill Groban. Done.”

“Wow,” Angela replies, leaning back, one hand against her heart. “Wow. You’re such a dick. How can you kill Josh Groban?”

“Breaking news! What a scoop. Angela Moss, come and claim your Pulitzer,” he says. “And, to answer your question: very easily. Groban is clearly the least attractive of the three, and so by the metric of this game it condemns him to death.”

“The correct answer,” she says firmly, barreling over him as if he’d never spoken, “Is fuck Ryan, marry Josh, and, well, if I have to kill someone, I guess I have to kill Emma, but I’m sure she’s lovely. Actually, no, okay, if you get two fucks then I do to. Fuck Ryan, fuck Emma, marry Josh.”

I love Angela's love for Josh Groban nearly as much as getting to see Elliot in that 'Property of Josh Groban' sweater in 3x01. It's never been explicitly stated on the show, but my interpretation of Angela and Robot's sexualities is that they're both bi as fuck, so there you go.

“And, you know what? I don’t want to live in a world where everyone’s as cynical and jaded as you, old man. Because,” she hiccups, ending it in a giggle, “That’s what you sound like, you grumpy fuck, like you’re pushing eighty, not long until you start yelling at kids—” and at this, she cups her hands over her mouth, imitating a megaphone, “Get off my lawn, you capitalist piglets!”

“Okay,” he says, shaking his head, grinning in spite of himself as she yells out “you bourgeoisie microscum!” in a shitty imitation of an elderly man [...]

This is my favourite piece of dialogue in this entire thing. 'Bourgeoisie microscum' fucking kills me every time I read it. Originally I also had 'pushing fifty' as a sly wink at Christian Slater's real age, but no middle aged man has quite the curmudgeonly attitude to pull off 'bourgeoisie microscum'.

That's it for part one, folks! Thanks for reading, if indeed you still are. Click here for part II :D