Since the inception of the motion picture, film has found a way to represent the deepest and most integral parts of our souls. It helps us connect with the world around us, expressing true emotion through art, but what about the parts of us we cannot express? What about the secret truths to our humanity we long to keep hidden for fear of judgment, for fear of change, for fear of ourselves?

The hype surrounding Jane Schoenbrun's I Saw the TV Glow encapsulated parts of the summer of 2024, begging us to ask ourselves when we saw our own TVs glow and what we decided to do with that information. Some of us embraced its light, while others kept it off, but still plugged in for potential rediscovery. Many of us have those inner parts of ourselves that we long to “turn off,” whether it’s an inherent characteristic that makes us unique, or our own gender and sexual expression, like the portrayal of Owen in the film. Some of us hold those traits close, though they beg to be let out, while others decide to unplug the TV entirely, pushing everything we feel under the rug for fear of judgment. Schoenbrun’s epic warns us that if we dare to unplug our TVs, whatever parts of our souls they may allude to, we lose ourselves in the process. We instead live our lives on autopilot, begging to crawl outside a skin that won’t let us out.

And then there’s the idea of self-loathing, which becomes significant within common cinematic themes. Films like Black Swan and Whiplash delve into the lives of those striving for perfection, and while the depictions within these films may seem exaggerated, people find themselves relating to them more and more as the years go on. Despite their thrilling natures, these films are inherently human. They take the ugliest parts of us and put them on display for the world to see.

While these two films present a self-loathing aspect, they lack one key detail that makes them both human and inhuman at the same time: There is no point of self-actualization. Yes, people can relate to themes of struggling and perfectionism, but both films end with a sense of accomplishment, whether destructive or not. Their internal hostilities end in an ultimate goal reached; Schoenbrun’s narrative tackles the opposite approach.

As the main character, Owen, fights against the workings of their mind, “turning their TV off,” they descend into madness. They live the rest of their life wondering what was missing, and in turn live with a void in their soul as a result of not living truthfully. The difference between a film like I Saw the TV Glow and others with a narrative stemming from internal hostility and self-loathing is ultimately the character’s journey overall. On the inside, Owen begged to be able to express their gender fluidly yet believed the societal propaganda that screamed at them to shut all of that away. Owen fought against their own soul, and in turn faced the consequences of living without virtue.

So, what happens when we turn our own TVs off? How do we justify to ourselves that the glow was coming from another room? The career you decided to neglect in exchange for financial security; the part of your personality that others found annoying, yet made you whole; the life you will never be able to lead, but still wonder what would happen if you could run off and lead it. Sometimes, we don’t even realize when we trip over the cord and unplug it ourselves, but late at night find ourselves with that feeling that something is missing. I don’t know, maybe I should get some sleep.