Why We Can't Change the World (Or Can We?) - A Reflection on Adam Curtis’ Documentaries

Adam Curtis’ documentaries are disorienting meditations on the complexity of the modern world. They have this distinctive hypnotic blend of obscure archival footage, evocative music, and a calm, authoritative narration weaving vast, often unsettling narratives about power, history, psychology, and how we perceive the world.

Although my first experience with Curtis was his documentary, "The century of the self" (which blew my mind back when I first came across it by turning me on to a rabbithole of anti-neoliberalism and anarchist media from whence I still have not crawled out), I recently went on a bit of a Curtis docuseries binge, diving into "All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace" (2011) and his more recent epic, "Can't Get You Out of My Head" (2021).

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

"Computers, far from liberating us, have actually simplified and distorted our view of reality."

In All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace, Curtis explores the history of cybernetics, the post-World War II movement that sought to create a scientific, automated model for managing human society. The documentary tracks the aspirations of thinkers like Norbert Wiener and the rise of Silicon Valley, painting a picture of an idealised, self-regulating world. The machines—algorithms and systems—were supposed to bring us closer to utopia, creating a harmonious, frictionless society where humans and technology could coexist in perfect equilibrium.

But Curtis doesn’t let us fall for the seductive promises of control. Instead, he shows how this vision of harmony was co-opted by powerful interests, including free-market ideologues like Friedrich Hayek and Ayn Rand, who saw the idea of systems control as an excuse to minimize government intervention and allow markets to regulate themselves. The documentary critiques the neoliberal agenda that arose from this ideal—one that envisions an ordered world governed by impersonal systems, where individual agency is subsumed by technological and market forces.

The problem, Curtis suggests, is that the dream of an automated utopia doesn't just fail; it actively creates new problems. The focus on self-regulation and decentralization, which seemed to promise freedom, instead eroded democratic structures and consolidated power in ways that were invisible and insidious. The idea of a "perfect system" became the perfect excuse for the dismantling of state structures, resulting in a chaotic, fragmented world where power is hidden in plain sight, maintained through a false sense of individual choice and self-determination.

In this way, the documentary is a meditation on how we are all trapped in feedback loops—systems that we created, but which now control us. The machine that was supposed to liberate us has instead boxed us in. What is left in the wake of this technological optimism is a society that is both hyperconnected and atomized, an Orwellian paradox where freedom is always one step away from full surveillance.

• Episode 1 (Love and Politics): He traces a line from Ayn Rand's Objectivism – the idea that one's own happiness is the highest moral purpose – through Alan Greenspan's influence on Clinton-era market deregulation, to the tech boom's promise of decentralisation. Your notes rightly point out the Rand connection to Silicon Valley's libertarian streak (though I find Rand's philosophy grating, albeit she is an impressive individual). Curtis argues that instead of decentralising power, technology often reconcentrated it, serving financial interests, as seen during the Asian Financial Crisis. Your thought about whether this is repeating with Web3 promises versus the reality of growing oligopolies is spot on – a classic Curtis-esque observation.

• Episode 2 (The Use and Abuse of Vegetational Concepts): This episode delves into the origins of "ecosystems" and systems theory, stemming from cybernetics and the idea that everything (nature, brains, society) operates on feedback loops. Figures like Jay Forrester modelled the world as self-stabilizing systems. Curtis critiques this, arguing the idea of a stable "balance of nature" is a Western myth mixed with machine logic, achieved by simplifying complexity. This led to utopian ideas (Buckminster Fuller, communes) but also potentially authoritarian ones. Forrester's "Limits to Growth" model predicted collapse by 2040 but crucially omitted human politics and change, treating us as mechanistic. The critique that "equilibrium" often just serves the status quo (like Smuts' racist "holism") feels sharp and relevant.

• Episode 3 (The Random Forest): Here, Curtis ties the rise of genetics (Von Neumann, George Price, the "selfish gene") to a reductionist view of humans as mere biological computers. We embrace this fatalism, he suggests, because it absolves us of responsibility for the complex, often damaging consequences of our actions (like the conflict minerals fueling our tech addictions in the Congo). The failure of internet-fueled revolutions (Iran 2009, etc.) and the commune movement highlights the limits of self-organizing models that ignore the dynamics of politics and power. Disillusioned with traditional politics, we adopted the machine's organizing principle, becoming components in a system, good at temporary rebellion but lacking a vision for what comes next, leaving us helpless against existing power structures.

Can't Get You Out of My Head

In Can’t Get You Out of My Head, Curtis shifts his focus to the psychological dimension of modern life. He explores the rise of emotional individualism and the ways in which our internal worlds have become battlegrounds for competing ideologies. This documentary is concerned with the politics of the self, a theme that echoes the rise of identity politics and the medicalisation of personal struggles. Curtis draws connections between the psychoanalytic theories of Freud, the rise of the therapeutic state, and the individualising discourse that has permeated Western culture.

What strikes me most about this documentary is how it traces the emergence of the "individual" as both the solution and the problem in contemporary society. The idea that we can find personal freedom through emotional self-expression and introspection is a seductive one. But Curtis argues that this emphasis on the self, while it promises liberation, often leads to a sense of isolation and anxiety. We are encouraged to look inward, to examine our traumas, and to make ourselves the center of our own worlds. But in doing so, we become trapped in the very narratives that are supposed to free us.

Curtis presents a disturbing portrait of a world in which personal empowerment and vulnerability are commodified. The rise of self-help culture, the proliferation of personal brands, and the increasing emphasis on mental health as a form of identity management are all symptoms of this pervasive self-focus. The question Curtis asks is: in the quest for authenticity, are we simply creating new forms of control? Is the pursuit of the "true self" another iteration of neoliberal individualism—one that is ultimately just as disempowering as the systems it seeks to challenge?

• Individualism's Burden: Starting with a David Graeber quote, Curtis explores the rise of individualism but also its dark side – the feeling of being alone and vulnerable (exploited by things like Valium, as per the Sackler story). He connects the American tendency towards conspiracy (Illuminati, Operation Mindfuck) to historical roots, amplified by the internet's pattern-seeking nature, making individuals feel powerless against hidden forces. MKUltra, ironically, demonstrated the fragility of the individual mind.

• The Limits of Rationality & The Rise of Management: Curtis contrasts the violent struggles against entrenched power (like Horst Mahler confronting Germany's Nazi past, leading him to see capitalism as mutated fascism) with behavioural science's conclusion (Kahneman) that humans are largely irrational, driven by stories, making rational persuasion difficult. The implication? If you can't change minds, manage the "dreamworld" – keep people safe and happy (or distracted) through surveillance and subtle nudges. Power structures shape our feelings more than we realize.

• Failed Revolutions & Cultural Simulation: Revolutions and dissent (China's Democracy Wall crushed at Tiananmen, the complexities of Live Aid's impact, Tupac's attempt to revive the Panthers with "knowledge") repeatedly fail or get co-opted. Anger and revolutionary fervor get channelled into culture, becoming simulations that don't change reality. Power shifts – to finance, to the military-industrial complex, which, as Morgenthau suggested and CIA coups demonstrated, often perpetuated instability rather than fostering democracy.

• Complexity, Chaos, and Control: The idea emerged, particularly from engineering and computer science, that the world is too complex and chaotic to be changed through grand political projects (Chaos Theory). However, this complexity could be managed by computers identifying underlying patterns (Complexity Theory). Your notes nail the critique: this approach focuses on existing patterns, ignoring why the system is the way it is or who benefits. It's the bedrock of AI and machine learning, creating black boxes that detach us further from reality, where patterns derived from data supersede logic or context.

• Modern Management: Emotion & Distrust: Curtis contrasts China's overt behaviourism (social credit, operant conditioning) with the West's manipulation through emotion. High-arousal feelings like outrage and suspicion are amplified by media/social media to keep users engaged and clicking, creating a "frozen world" of paralysis and distrust. Intriguingly, Curtis notes that the science behind some behavioural manipulation (like priming) is shaky (Kahneman's "train wreck" fears). Perhaps people are more resilient than assumed. Yet, the belief that we are being manipulated persists, feeding the cycle. Ultimately, Curtis leaves us with a powerful reminder: the world is something we collectively make, and we could make it differently.

  
  

Where Do We Go From Here?

Both documentaries converge around a central theme: the systems that shape our lives are both invisible and inescapable. Curtis is not interested in finding the singular villain behind these forces; instead, he shows how various systems—economic, psychological, and technological—interlock and reinforce each other, creating a feedback loop that reinforces their own existence. From the market forces that govern our work lives to the algorithms that track our every move, we are surrounded by systems that we cannot easily escape, and yet we are complicit in them.

The documentaries also touch on the idea of personal identity as a site of both liberation and control. As we increasingly identify ourselves by our individual psychological or emotional states, we become more vulnerable to systems of management and surveillance. Our identities, once fluid and collectively constructed, are now commodified and marketed back to us. The search for personal meaning, once a deeply social pursuit, has become an individual quest—a quest that, ironically, often leads us further into the grasp of the very systems we think we are rejecting.

Watching these documentaries back-to-back reveals recurring Curtis preoccupations: the gap between utopian ideals and messy reality; how powerful ideas (Objectivism, Cybernetics, Complexity Theory) shape society; the evolution of control from direct force to systems management and emotional nudging; and the pervasive sense of individual powerlessness amidst vast, complex systems. He consistently challenges simplistic narratives, forcing us to confront the uncomfortable, often paradoxical forces shaping our lives.

Curtis’ documentaries are unsettling not because they present a dystopian vision of the world, but because they reveal how little we understand the systems that control us. In a world that feels increasingly fragmented and chaotic, the idea that there is no single “enemy” to fight is both liberating and terrifying. Instead, we must contend with the fact that the systems we live within are not external forces imposed on us, but are part of the very fabric of our lives. They are us, and we are them. The question then becomes: how do we navigate a world where the systems are so deeply entrenched that they feel like part of our very being?

Curtis doesn’t offer answers, but perhaps that’s the point. In showing us the complexity of the world, he forces us to confront the uncertainty and ambiguity that define our reality. The challenge, then, is not to seek simple solutions, but to understand the systems we inhabit—both to understand ourselves and the world around us.