Warning: Spoilers to episode two ahead.
It's weird to think about episodes of an anthology series being sequenced in a specific way. After all, creating stories that are enhanced by watching them in order defeats the purpose of an episodic anthology. The third season of Black Mirror certainly doesn't need to be viewed sequentially, but the experience of going from " Nosedive" to episode two, "Playtest," makes a strong case for doing so.
Black Mirror has always done darkly funny satires, like the debut episode "The National Anthem," and season two's "The Waldo Moment," which has gained terrifying new layers since Donald Trump's improbable ascent to the top of the Republican Party. But the show has never done anything quite as explicitly funny as "Nosedive," the episode that will go down in history as the Black Mirror installment that gave the audience permission to laugh. Because that permission has been granted, "Playtest" looks like another relatively lighthearted episode at first, which makes it all the more unsettling when it gets darker and crueler, leading to one of the most cynical endings in the show's history.
Wyatt Russell stars as Cooper, a well-intentioned but aimless American gamer following his wanderlust through Europe, crashing at hostels and working odd jobs to keep cash in his pocket. Cooper isn't quite ready to go home, since he came on the trip to take his mind off his father's death, which he can never quite forget about thanks to his mother's incessant phone calls. But he's prepared to force himself when he discovers his bank account has been drained, stranding him in London. He quickly makes a lovely friend in Sonja (returning Black Mirror guest Hannah John-Kamen) through a Tinder-like app and regales her with his tales of carefree exploring. Cooper shows Sonja the app he's been using to land his transient gigs, and she perks up when they discover a highly-compensated playtest for a mysterious new video game.
If not for the episode's wry tone, "Playtest" might have felt stale upon introducing its concept. Video-game and virtual-reality technology have improved tremendously, but the idea of the threat posed by interactive computers dates back to the earliest days of the sci-fi genre. The episode even directly mentions the technological singularity, a term that dates back to the early 80s and a concept that goes back as far as the mid-60s. Everyone grew up with at least one movie all about the theoretical terror of an interactive game that feels too real, adapts too quickly, or develops an agenda all its own.
But in those movies, the protagonists tend to be sympathetic. Cooper is a nice enough guy, and Charlie Brooker's script does well to point that out by showing Cooper soothing a scared child during a turbulent flight. He also typifies the "ugly American" trope and dresses like a hipster trying to mock frat bros. While Cooper is easier to love than, say, the predatory trio in Eli Roth's torture-porn opus Hostel, he's still a lamb led to the slaughter by virtue of being a dick.
When Cooper agrees to try to sneak a photo from inside the Saito facility to Sonja, he's trying to make some money and impress a girl, but there's also an impish quality to Cooper's quest. He wants to take a photo inside the top-secret headquarters of a major technology company just to see if he can. Cooper successfully sends Sonja a photo of the Saito equipment when his trusty guide Katie (Wunmi Mosaku) steps out of the room, ignoring her request to shut off his phone. He's passionate about gaming, but by flouting the rules, Cooper has already completed his heroic quest.
Cooper continues displaying his hubris when Katie takes him to the site of the real playtest, a cavernous mansion where he'll see realistic but harmless images created by the intracranial device Katie injected into him. Cooper thinks he's seen it all and can survive anything this survival horror game can throw at him. But, of course, this is not any ordinary video game; it's an immersive horror experience tailored specifically to his personal memories and deepest fears. Those start out mundane enough, with pixel-built spiders crawling around the house, but they become increasingly disturbing and specific. The most horrific image is of a giant spider with the face of Cooper's childhood tormentor and "dicks coming out of its mouth," as if the game operates as some kind of extreme form of Jungian dream analysis.
The horror becomes real when Sonja shows up, first expressing concern for Cooper's safety, and then becoming the threat to his life. He manages to fight her off, at which point he's able to resume audio contact with Katie, who vanished from his earpiece when shit got real. (Actually real, like the real pain Cooper feels when the allegedly artificial Sonja plunges a chef's knife deep into his shoulder.) Katie then agrees to rescue him from the scenario if he can get to the "access point" on the top floor of the house, pushing Cooper further out of his comfort zone as he climbs the stairs of the shadowy mansion. Her voice goes from calming to sinister as she explains that the device she implanted in his neck is gradually erasing his memories. By the time the real Katie and Shou Saito arrive, Cooper has already completely forgotten his identity, one last jolt based on the anxiety and trauma left behind after losing his father to early onset Alzheimer's.
The good news is that none of it was real. The bad news is that while it seems all along like Cooper might wake up to realize most of what happened after he arrived at Saito wasn't real, even less of it was real than initially appeared. In a twist worth of O. Henry, it turns out Cooper made it less than a second into the playtest due to his refusal to follow a simple instruction. Cooper naturally assumes Katie's concern over his phone was based on the tech industry's obsession with secrecy. Turns out it was a safety precaution. Another call from Cooper's mom—on the phone that was supposed to be off—interferes with the Saito equipment, scrambling Cooper's brain in the process. The last act of "Playtest" becomes too much of an existential nesting doll, much like the end of Vanilla Sky. But it continues Black Mirror's fascinating experiments with tone in what's shaping up to be an excellent third season.
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