Today I finished watching Mr. Robot. I don’t mean that I caught up completely on the show. What I mean is that I tossed it aside into the tomb of the other shows I dropped because they didn’t make the cut. Some people find it odd that I drop shows like yesterday’s garbage, but that has always been easy for me. I am very jealous of my time. Now Mr. Robot will rust away beside the ruined forms of Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, The Affair and all the other victims of my jealousy. Why would I do such a thing? Well, the short answer is that Mr. Robot is a badly written show. I don’t know how else to put it. It Is not very often that I am so repulsively driven away from something. If I must, then I will extrapolate a little.
Mr. Robot is a painfully laborious metaphor for adolescent angst and daddy issues that are felt strongly by this young generation. It’s simple and boring. The protagonist is robotically controlled by his father manifested as some kind of stress induced hallucination. We’re talking high school creative project level concepts here. Aside from that not a whole lot happens. A hacker group takes down society, but not really because most everything still functions. The entire plot (and I use that term very loosely) is framed by a character that is not simply an unreliable narrator but an incomprehensible one. Obviously that doesn’t make for good storytelling. A better name for the show would be maybe “Let’s Do Drugs and Mope Around Because Capitalism,” or “Screw the System with a System Reacting to the System”. Everything evolved is involved, and the writers of the show don’t seem to understand that basic reality. In fact Mr. Robot is only superficially involved and to an extent that watching it is like a never-ending car crash somehow spiraling into an infinite navel gaze because dad wanted me to get a job.
My final argument for why Mr. Robot did not make the cut will be made in the form of a simile: Mr. Robot is like a few high school boys got high while reading about Nietzsche and computer software before somehow finding a robotic replica of Bernie Sanders’ hand and using it to masturbate onto a bunch of strawmen.