Netflix ‘Black Mirror’ Season 7 Review - The Good, The Bad, The Ugly Dimensions of AI

Streaming services have become such a normal part of our lives that it's not surprising that the new season of Black Mirror opens with an episode that mocks these services. But since this is Black Mirror, the target is attacked through freaky sci-fi tactics. The question that Episode 1 - Common People - asks is, "What would human existence look like if it's turned into a...streaming service?" Your life, basically, will be divided into three categories: Basic, Premium, and Gold packages. Mike (Chris O'Dowd), a factory worker, puts his wife, Amanda (Rashida Jones), under the care of a high-tech company called Rivermind when she ends up suffering from a serious health complication. After surgery, Amanda regains consciousness, and all Mike has to do is keep some things in mind. First, Amanda will sleep for two or three hours more in the morning, and second, she must stay within the "network range." That sounds simple enough, right? The only problem is that the subscription requires a payment of $300 per month, which is just too much for this couple. So Mike starts working overtime to keep his wife alive, and as if he wasn't struggling enough, a few months later, he and his wife are informed about the upgrade. If Mike wants to take Amanda beyond the boundaries of his town, he needs to put her on the Rivermind Plus plan. Of course, he can continue with the current Basic plan, but he's forced to upgrade after Amanda, um, begins to "speak ads." The concept is amusing for a short film, and with a runtime of 57 minutes, Common People effectively achieves its aim. As a dark comedy, Common People is satisfying enough, but that shift toward tragedy didn't entirely work for this viewer.

But the seventh season of Black Mirror is mostly designed for the romantics - the dreamers who derive pleasure from tragic romances. This soppy sentimentality left a sour taste in my mouth because the methods applied for hitting a bittersweet note are too contrived and too laughably artificial. Take Episode 5 (Eulogy), for instance. It deals with a tech that allows the customer to "enter" any picture. Phillip (Paul Giamatti), with the help of an AI assistant (Patsy Ferran), remembers an old relationship through photographs. It's a terrific idea, and its potential is terrifically undermined by insane plot maneuvers. I started laughing as soon as Phillip found that letter - my reaction poked a hole in the mawkish bubble. Eulogy strains hard to send you down the "what if" scenarios. Hotel Reverie executes this "what if" notion somewhat better. How happy could Brandy (Issa Rae) and Dorothy (Emma Corrin) have been if they had lived in the same period? Brandy is an actor who lives in 2025, while Dorothy existed back in the 1940s. A company called ReDream merges the past with the present through AI. Meaning: Brandy is transported to one of Dorothy's films, and, well, I won't get into the complicated logic. There is so much happening under the surface of Hotel Reverie. History is redefined by casting a Black woman as a lead "in" the 1940s. Queer romance is placed in the mainstream Hollywood of the 1940s. If people had been open-minded about same-sex romance during Dorothy's time, she could probably have had a happier life. But thanks to ReDream, Dorothy gets to experience her paradise. There are other suggestions related to filmmaking, like how much physical and mental effort the actors put into their films and how every little detail is crucial in the script.

Nevertheless, the narrow ambitions of Hotel Reverie become apparent when Dorothy apparently repossesses all her memories related to her real life. When she reunites with Brandy, she teaches her how to play the piano, and we get a cute, warm montage that deepens the bond between the two actors. During these sweet, lovey-dovey transitions, did Dorothy ever talk about her visions? Did she ask Brandy about the future? Did they ever reach a common emotional ground after spending all those months together? We are left to assume that the conversations might have been generic in nature. So when the reset switch is pulled, we see the action but don't feel its effect.

The sentimental doses are injected to appeal to your heart so you can overlook the material's thinness. This is why the absurd, zany visions of Bête Noire, Plaything, and USS Callister: Into Infinity are much more bearable. I was quite tickled by the amateurish conception of Bête Noire. The episode, however, lacks a visual style to match the script's crude, trashy magnetism. The camera in Plaything seems to be on an acid trip, but the story feels half-baked. The ending isn't just anti-climactic; it's also a cop-out. The real fun, the real challenge, starts at the moment when the episode cuts to black. The most exciting thing is never shown to the audience. This leaves us with USS Callister, which is not an episode but a feature film - a sequel. The question it poses is enticing and straightforward: What's better than one Cristin Milioti? The answer: Two Cristin Miliotis. The actor has become so appealing, so likable, so brilliant that only she can confront her own performance. There is something hypnotic about her big eyes. They seem to be playfully winking at you as if you are already a part of an inside joke. USS Callister ranks the lowest on the scale of craziness and inventiveness (many of its images and ideas are heavily recycled). Still, it has one strong thing that raises it to the level of eminently watchable. I am, of course, referring to Milioti's performance. She is charming as hell.

Final Score- [4.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times