Fans of Altered Carbon rejoiced when they heard it the gritty sci-fi show was renewed for a second season, which will see Anthony Mackie take on the lead of Takeshi Kovacs, and the AI hotel, Poe, will also return.
So while we await the release of season two, let’s have a look at season one and explore why it was so compelling and why you should watch it if you’re a lover of science fiction or detective stories.
The series is an adaptation of the book of the same name by Richard K Morgan (which, full disclosure, I have not read). The season description reads:
More than 300 years in the future, society has been transformed by new technology, leading to human bodies being interchangeable and death no longer being permanent. Takeshi Kovacs is the only surviving soldier of a group of elite interstellar warriors who were defeated in an uprising against the new world order. His mind was imprisoned for centuries until impossibly wealthy businessman Laurens Bancroft offers him the chance to live again. Kovacs will have to do something for Bancroft, though, if he wants to be resurrected. Bancroft’s request of Kovacs is to solve a murder — Bancroft’s.
However, I’d argue one of the season’s most significant themes is the exploitative treatment of women. I was discussing this with my sister (as the older one of us, she is the OG sci-fi nerd and trained me well), and she commented that she found the graphic, high-impact sexual violence which was often displayed over the course of the unfolding storyline, quite off-putting at times. I responded by arguing that was actually the point: as the mystery unfolds and we learn of this seedy practice which is justified and facilitated by the attitude that if a woman’s body is too badly injured, a new one can be acquired for her, so any mistreatment or violence is therefore acceptable.
It’s an interesting metacommentary about how prejudice can insidiously survive and be justified in its continuation by the introduction of new, supposedly liberating technology without consideration for how psychological trauma may endure; shown most clearly through the storyline of the Elliot family. Although, it’s not only women for whom the promise of a new body justifies violence or maltreatment; in episode three, we see the gruesome practice of watching two people battle to sleeve death for the enjoyment of a wealthy audience. As such, the disposability of people who have less power, and the veneer of protection offered by the technology of the cortical stack which preserves the human consciousness, is a really interestingly made point without being explicitly discussed by the characters. It’s not only a great portrayal of this behaviour, but it’s also a great example of show don’t tell, which makes my writer’s heart sing.
But the portrayal of these problematic behaviours and attitudes are only a facet of the show’s interest and storyline. The show delves into the question of identity and does an admirable job of covering quite a lot of related ground reasonably well. Through the translocating of a person’s consciousness (ie. their memories, personality, preferences) from one body to another, it prompts reflection of how much of our identity is related to the physical shell in which it is housed. Indeed, the society we see has a strong neo-Christian community who believe that the body in which they are born is the one God chose to give them and so being spun back up, even to testify against someone who kills them, is to send them to hell. The question of how these personal beliefs play out is given a nuanced and human face by Kristin Ortega who comes from a neo-Christian family but herself has renounced her religious coding, yet she is repeatedly asked to justify this by her mother.
Of course, the development of the cortical stack technology also raises questions about what someone with an enormously protracted lifetime would do with that extra time. The premise that it is only the ultra rich who would really be able to ensure access to a theoretically infinite number of new sleeves, is a very fair one to assume, and the behaviours and relationships which arise from such an extended lifetime are portrayed well.
Finally, I would like to present to you Joel Kinnaman. Kinnaman’s performance in Suicide Squad was reflective of the broader problems with the film: incoherent, confused, but his performance in House of Cards seasons 4 and 5 as Will Conway was quite superb. In Altered Carbon, Kinnaman’s acting really comes to the fore. Kovacs comes across as quite a subdued character, one who keeps his emotional reactions reasonably close; after all, he’s effectively in foreign territory for the entirety of the series, as well as being out of time 250 years after he is initially spun down.
That makes the nuances to his expressions and the moments when he does allow his emotions to weigh down upon him, all the more powerful. The despair he allows himself to occasionally feel as a man out of time and held captive by forces so much more powerful than himself, is entirely convincing. Watch out for one of the final scenes in the first episode as a great example of this.
Even though he is not reprising the role in season two, his performance established the difficulties of the world, and was perfectly mirrored in the performance of Will Yun Lee who played Kovacs in his original body.
This is by far not all of the reasons to watch Altered Carbon, nor is it reflective of the various nuanced storylines which comprise the series. To fully appreciate the various ideas and narrative threads which are woven into the first season, I encourage you to watch it. However, be weary the series does incorporate sexual violence, violence, and domestic abuse.
