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Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Algorithmic Anarchy

The NEET paper leak protests at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar should have remained a legitimate expression of student anger over the collapse of examination integrity. Instead, as the agitation escalated into clashes with the police, abusive sloganeering and an increasingly radical political campaign, Meta’s algorithms emerged as an invisible force multiplying the unrest. The controversy surrounding the brief removal of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s message to the youth in the aftermath of the...

Algorithmic Anarchy

The NEET paper leak protests at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar should have remained a legitimate expression of student anger over the collapse of examination integrity. Instead, as the agitation escalated into clashes with the police, abusive sloganeering and an increasingly radical political campaign, Meta’s algorithms emerged as an invisible force multiplying the unrest. The controversy surrounding the brief removal of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s message to the youth in the aftermath of the protests only reinforces that concern. Meta has attributed the takedown to a “technical glitch” and apologised. But when the world’s largest social media platform can temporarily suppress the message of the elected leader of the world’s largest democracy during a politically charged moments, the issue extends well beyond a single deleted post. Who decides what India sees? That question has become impossible to ignore during the Cockroach Janta Party’s protests. Across Instagram and Facebook, users have reported being inundated with CJP videos, reels and protest clips despite never following the organisation or engaging with similar political content. Whether this resulted from coordinated paid collaborations, recommendation algorithms or both deserves a thorough investigation. But the larger democratic concern is that public opinion is increasingly being mediated not by citizens, journalists or elected representatives, but by opaque algorithms designed in Silicon Valley and optimised for engagement rather than democratic responsibility. Meta’s recommendation engine is not a passive notice board. Every piece of political content that reaches millions has first been selected by an algorithm whose workings remain largely hidden from public scrutiny. This is hardly unique to India. Around the world, Meta has repeatedly been accused of amplifying polarisation, misinformation and political extremism because outrage keeps users engaged. From elections to ethnic conflicts and episodes of civil unrest, the company has faced persistent criticism that its commercial incentives reward divisive content over balanced discourse. Democracies cannot afford to outsource the architecture of public debate to corporations whose primary obligation is to shareholders rather than constitutional values. While citizens are entitled to challenge governments and demand accountability, there is an important distinction between a movement that expands because people are persuaded and one that appears to be algorithmically amplified into omnipresence. Equally disturbing has been the normalisation of abusive political language during the protests. When such content is repeatedly amplified through recommendation systems, platforms cease to be neutral intermediaries and become active participants in degrading democratic discourse. Platforms that influence elections, protests and public opinion must explain how political recommendations are generated and why particular narratives receive extraordinary amplification. Silicon Valley companies insist they are merely technology platforms. But their algorithms increasingly exercise editorial power. When software determines which protests dominate national conversations and whose voices disappear, technology has already become politics.

‘The Horror! The Horror!’ Why Conrad’s Novels Are a Filmmaker’s Nightmare

Updated: Mar 3, 2025

Conrad

Few novelists have eluded the grasp of cinema quite like Joseph Conrad (1857-1924). His works famously teem with psychological complexity, unreliable narrators, philosophical depth – all rendered in elliptical prose which fiercely resists the visual medium.


Though filmmakers have valiantly tried, Conrad’s novels, with their intricate moral quandaries and dreamlike ambiguity, have proven stubbornly unfilmable. Some adaptations, like Richard Brooks’s ‘Lord Jim’ (1965), offer a visually sumptuous but simplified take. Others, like the limp 1993 TV version of ‘Heart of Darkness,’ fall flat. And then there is ‘Apocalypse Now’ (1979), Francis Ford Coppola’s operatic transmutation of his classic novella ‘Heart of Darkness’ into the Vietnam War era, an adaptation in spirit rather than letter, and the only true triumph.


To be fair, Brooks’s ‘Lord Jim’, an adaptation of Conrad’s 1900 novel, is a deliciously rich and complex epic (leagues ahead of the junk to which we are treated nowadays). Lavishly shot, packed with adventure, and featuring delectable performances by a stellar cast led by Peter O’Toole at the peak of his career (fresh off his triumphs in ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ and ‘Becket’). The film boasted a dream ‘supporting’ cast, including James Mason as ‘Gentleman Brown,’ Eli Wallach, Curt Jurgens and Paul Lukas. But whilst visually dazzling, the film ultimately failed to capture Conrad’s intricate narrative structure and existential dilemmas.


The novel is a layered, unreliable account of a man haunted by one moment of cowardice and his lifelong struggle for redemption. Brooks opted for a more linear journey for his hero’s odyssey while Conrad’s Jim is a man consumed by his own mythology, forever trapped between his imagined self and his actual deeds. The film, in contrast, treats him as a misunderstood romantic hero. It is a case study in why Conrad’s elliptical prose and nested narratives resist straightforward cinematic treatment.


If ‘Lord Jim’ floundered in its attempt to be faithful to Conrad, ‘Apocalypse Now’ soared by precisely taking the opposite approach. Coppola’s film is not a direct adaptation of Heart of Darkness but a feverish reimagining of Conrad’s 1899 anti-colonial novella, transposing it from the Congo to the chaos of the Vietnam War. The film has Captain Willard (Martin Sheen) traveling upriver to Cambodia to assassinate the rogue Colonel Kurtz (Marlon Brando).


The film mirrors Conrad’s descent into madness with its own hallucinatory aesthetic. Vittorio Storaro’s stunning cinematography, from the surreal opening of napalm-drenched rice paddies to the ominous, mist-shrouded jungle, captures the psychological unravelling of its central characters. The soundtrack which features The Doors’ ‘The End’ and Richard Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ adds immeasurably to the film’s nightmarish quality.


Every character is compromised, every action tinged with madness. Sheen, Robert Duvall, Dennis Hopper (as the deranged photographer) are brilliant. And then there is Brando, delivering one of the most enigmatic cameo performances in film history, muttering the unforgettable final words: “The horror! The horror!”


By contrast, the 1993 made-for-TV Heart of Darkness is a lesson in how not to adapt Conrad. Starring Tim Roth as Marlow and John Malkovich as Kurtz, the film closely follows the novella’s plot but strips it of its hypnotic uncertainty. The talented Malkovich plays Kurtz as merely deranged rather than dangerously compelling. The film lacks the layered storytelling that makes Conrad’s work so haunting.


Perhaps the most tantalizing of all Conrad adaptations is the one that never happened. In the 1980s, David Lean had planned to make ‘Nostromo,’ Conrad’s epic 1904 classic of greed, revolution and betrayal in a fictional South American republic. Lean spent years developing the project, with a cast rumoured to include Marlon Brando, Peter o’ Toole, Paul Scofield, Anthony Quinn, Christopher Lambert among others. Unfortunately, Lean died six weeks before filming was due to commence.


‘Nostromo’ remains one of the great ‘what-ifs’ of film history. If any director could have translated Conrad’s sweeping narratives and philosophical concerns into cinematic form, it was Lean. Instead, we are left with some splendid storyboard artworks on the unrealized film – a fitting tribute, perhaps, to an author whose works thrive in the shadows of ambiguity.


The fundamental issue with filming Conrad is that his signature greatest themes - moral ambiguity, the limits of perception, the slipperiness of truth - clash with the way cinema typically operates.


Perhaps Conrad’s fiction is both a literal and metaphorical journey into the heart of darkness. And perhaps, like the jungle that swallowed Kurtz, it is meant to remain impenetrable, defying the camera.

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