Bits and Pieces

Last night, I received an expected phone call from my best friend summoning me to his apartment for a screening of his film titled "Bits." The main character suffers from a disapproving father, an adult life captured in his parents' home, and another easily-identifiable quality of a twenty-something: the crippling, inhibiting effects of technology.

In the search to prodcue closer relationships with his peers, "Steve" tinkers and toys with a vast array of electronic devices. His final creation is an over-wired device strapped to a bicycle helmet. Placing it on his head, one of the most captivating scenes takes place where he "interfaces" with his friend's girlfriend. Stretching out his hand to touch her forehead, he is stripped of his control and the film takes an odd turn.

After the screening, an English professor who was asked to furnish feedback began what I thought was a thoughtful but brutal analysis. I didn't help chiming in with supporting arguments, but as the professor noted, it was good enough to be criticized. My good friend, who also happened to be the main character "Steve" seemed to receive the analysis well noting that his fears had finally been realized and that perhaps now his cohorts would change their direction of the story.

Strangely, throughout the night that followed the screening, the conceit of the film followed me, the idea of our relationships suffering from new communication technologies, new technologies that create introspective focus instead of a desire to interact with others (like an iPod for example). How on earth can technology designed to bring us closer drive us so far apart?

I thought very hard about this as we sat at the bar in Northeast Minneapolis listening to country music as hordes of twenty-somethings kept drawing their phones, email devices, etc. from their pockets frantically checking the latest communication. Their focus only broken by an upset significant other shouting "put that away."

And I was then comforted. As I turned around, away from the obsessive text messaging folk, I found more of my peers in front of the band, dancing. Their devices all resting back at their respective place to sit. If only for a moment, they had disconnected and were enjoying the presence of another human being.

Thinking that this was perhaps a hopeful display of relational maturity, I produced my phone from my pocket to answer a call. I stopped.

I'll call 'em back later.