π is the Vivid, Paranoid Fantasy of the Modern Conspiracy Theorist

π could be the one-hit-wonder of some forgotten director, but Darren Aronofsky is now one of those filmmakers whose films are referred to as ‘events’. A lot more money elevated him to the polished Requiem for a Dream a couple of years later, but raw young talent marks π as the anomaly in his list of work, as well as a technical ingenuity that’s possible with a small budget. Still, the same balancing act of far-out ideas and accessibility is there, as much as, say, in mother! 

Max Cohen, π’s tragic hero, undeniably suffers from complex mental health issues, but the film is a far more interesting monument to the implosion caused by a combination of genius and obsession. Also, if we are to try to find a spot for π in the current climate, it most definitely flags as a familiar world where nothing is what it is and everything can be explained by the self-centered opinion that ‘they’ are always out to manipulate and control us, ‘they’ being the rich, powerful and/or Jewish.

The Conspiracy Theorist’s Mindset

The types of conspiracies that have dominated the current pandemic are ones usually confined to the web, but the crisis here is too pervasive, and the theorists too opportunist. In a way, conspiracies are easy to understand, because the rational idea that we are in control of nothing is overwhelming even in the best of moods. That Covid-19 is the work of Bill Gates or 5G networks, however, it is not rational.

These online activists like to think of themselves as being in the same situation as Max: in possession of a piece of knowledge that both gives them power but also exposes them to malign, powerful interest groups. Max is a mathematician who over the course of the film comes closer and closer to being called a numerologist, as his old professor and only voice of reason states when Max is already too far gone.

He is working at a way to predict the stock market, but this is only a tool for the much larger, more profound theory of numbers he is lost in. “12:45 – Restate my assumptions. Mathematics is the language of nature.” If literally everything can be graphed, however complex, in numbers, and then patterns discerned through rigorous, brain-melting analysis, then why not the stock market? From what we can tell, Max is pretty close to getting what he wants: confirmation of this theory. Sol, Max’s old professor, likes to name his fish after figures of ancient history or mythology, such as Icarus and Archimedes, which proves handy when he wants to warn Max of his dangerous preoccupations.

But there is a crucial difference between Max and the modern conspiracy theorist. If we take the film at face value, then Max is genuinely on to something. The conspiracy theorist thrives off of the idea that they alone have access to the real truth. There is also this assumption, similar to Max’s theory, that if you look close enough you will find patterns and evidence of a system of control, either global or specific to certain industries, like Hollywood. It’s more convincing, however, that this level of ‘truth’ would cause you to have a psychotic breakdown, like Max, rather than have you shout at someone in a Hi-Viz jacket because you think it means they are installing 5G infrastructure.

They

The international elite responsible for gaping inequalities of wealth across the world are real people. And if you cannot find them standing behind or on the podium at press conferences or daily briefings, you can go far with a bit of competent Googling. ‘They’, however, a specific construct of rich and powerful people, are an abstract, elusive group that behaves in much the same way as the Wall Street goons in π.

We first hear their slick voice when Max is on the phone, as he stumbles about a small New York apartment, one dripping in wires and buried in computers. This is not a home but a den to hide away with the only things he understands. They are desperate to meet, to “talk”, but after a few failed calls they decide to make their surveillance of Max more obvious, stepping out of limos as he comes out of Sol’s apartment building, or meeting him halfway on dark streets.

They offer him a government classified computer chip to aid his stock market project, which when Max accepts, is him signing on the dotted line of a contract he hasn’t read. When he still hasn’t produced the goods, the goons reach their sinister peak, telling Max that he is only a source of information, that as a vessel he is superfluous. There is a chase scene where the camera bends through and around the aisles of a grocery shop, and when they take to the streets, trailing behind Max the camera swings up to face the streetlights, or across the blinding light of shop windows. These visual motions, in a beautiful, grainy high contrast black and white, are twisted and turned by the copper wires of this paranoiac’s New York.

‘They’ know everything about you, and ‘they’ want to get hold of you through an elaborate network of collaborators. Dive into any well-known conspiracy hotspot online, and through the rages and truth bombs, you can determine which of them feel they need to stretch before leaving the house, just in case they have to outrun the men in black on their way to the internet café.

In the Name of God

In the same way ‘They’ have been following Max, we know he is being stalked by another organisation. When this second group saves him from the Wall Street crowd, after the discussed chase scene, by this point we are only vaguely aware of their motives from Max’s discussions with Lenny, their scout, earlier in the film. The information that Lenny and his pals are interested in, however, is far more precious than money.

No good conspiracy theory is without the malevolence of an abstract Jewish elite. This is one of the oldest and most common fixations of conspiracy theorists, and a less offensive version of this narrative is used in π. During one of Max’s failed experiments a random 216-digit number is spat out, and the number, we are told by the group of Hasidic Jews/mathematicians, is the name of God.

They demand that Max hand over the full 216 digits; he is not equipped to bring about the messianic age, which is what they believe having the name of God will allow them to do. A number of contradictions, both intentional and unavoidable, are present in this scene. Firstly, as Max rightly states, if this number is truly a message from God then why give it to him, when, as the head Rabbi suggests, he is not worthy of it? Secondly, this is the film’s most radical and exciting idea, but once it has been stripped of any ambiguity and is discussed plainly between characters, it loses a lot of its impact and the dialogue feels clumsy.

Lastly, Max is the most uncomfortable with his gift when he is being interrogated by the Rabbi. He is both possessive of what he knows and resentful. The contradiction – and this applies to our conspiracy theorists too – is that he wants all this to stop, at the same time believing that this burden is his responsibility. His duty is to protect himself from those who want to steal it and manipulate it. So, Max (and the conspiracy theorist) is a prophet, and with that comes a certain self-righteousness that makes the whole arduous nature of being the chosen one a lot easier to manage.

The Amen Break

π’s opening credits sequence would be a love song to the 1990s if it was cut together today, as part of this era’s exhaustive cultural nostalgia trip. Instead, having been released close to the new millennium, it was a genuine sampling of two of the decade’s most defining imprints: impressively inadequate animations of mathematical graphs, and electronic music at a peak – commercially and as an artistic experiment – the Amen Break hitting especially hard in Clint Mansell’s junglist anthem πr².

The film’s soundtrack is a righteous compilation of ’90s gems. The squelching synth tones of Kalpol Introl, which open Autechre’s seminal album Incunabula, sound like the groans of a fatally damaged computer, and are used perfectly to accompany π’s horrifying show of how Max’s burden is swelling as a worm-like tumour on his head. He stares at his new friend in the mirror, poking it and screaming when it stings back. During the panic attack that ensues, his screams echo through his computers as they turn out the name of God.

And what’s significant is that this attack is also triggered by uncharacteristically emotional pain. Max is too far down the hole to be able to welcome healthy human connections, even though there is a romantic element to the unrequited affection he receives from a kind neighbour. Being next door, he can hear everything in her apartment, and when gradually the sound of her making love seeps through, adding to his anxieties, he overloads. Mid-attack, he stabs at the tumour on his head with the injection gun he uses to administer anti-anxiety medication, a precursor to the final violent solution which will eventually set Max free.

Conclusion

When we are at the mercy of Max’s electric, claustrophobic mind, the film resembles Shinya Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo: The Iron Man, which Aronofsky has stated was an influence. The parallels to this Japanese body-horror classic are stylistic, but like the ill-fated salaryman who becomes a literal iron man, Max has fused with his computers. The assimilation, however, is not physical, but cerebral.

Max repeats a story throughout the film, which we hear through his scattered voice-overs. As a kid, his parents told him not to stare at the sun. He did anyway – his first experiment – and there was a moment, he says, when the sun came into focus and everything made sense. He was temporarily blinded by it, and as he recovered the “headaches” began. Is this experience responsible for Max’s psychotic journey into the theory of everything?

Conspiracy theorists will not trust or consider anything which breaks from their sources, regardless of whether the facts stack higher on the opposite side. They prefer to believe something which has the illusion of being the ultimate truth, giving them a sense of worth or power over others. A similar delusion affects the characters in π. Although each group, including Max, is after the same thing, this ‘truth’ becomes something completely different depending on who wants it. As a piece of knowledge or power, it is worth nothing beyond the perimeters of their obsession. While extreme, the film’s ending is grimly optimistic because it shows there is a way out.

Am I making too many generalisations? Am I wrong about the name of God aspect of the story? Please let me know in the comments below. 

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