Archive and the Commodification of Death

The 2020 sci-fi film Archive explores the intersection of wealth, technology, and grief

by Konstantina Buhalis

Do you ever think about your death?

Your biological decay is inevitable, but what are your plans? Cremation? A traditional casket burial? Maybe a Tibetan Sky Burial is your preferred end. 

What about your mind, though? What will become of that? What if the masses could upload their consciousness to terminals that would retain their mental selves, allowing loved ones to continue to engage with and perceive the deceased long after they’ve perished? This is the future explored by the 2020 sci-fi film Archive, which examines the morality of mortality as we arrive on the threshold of the future. 

Written and directed by Gavin Rothery, Archive is a sci-fi thriller that asks us to consider whether the exploitation of grief needs to be digitized and re-commodified as immortality.

The film follows George, an incredibly talented and grieving computer engineer in the year 2038 who has been stationed in remote Japan. George lives in a technologically-controlled home that requires constant repair, while working on another project that must remain hidden at all costs: uploading his deceased wife’s mind into a new robotic body. In the meantime, he remain in periodic (and temporary) contact with her mind through an obelisk-like structure.

But George is not alone. He also cares for two other robots that he has created: one with the motor skills and mentality of a three-year-old, and another that is more refined (yet angsty and irritable) and has progressed to the level of a 15-year-old. Tension builds as George runs out of what little time left he has time to speak to his wife through the obelisk, while his strikingly human robot “children” grow jealous of his efforts. George eventually begins to crumble as we watch him come to terms with the end of his ability to defer his grief. 

George eventually begins to crumble as we watch him come to terms with the end of his ability to defer his grief.

Archive’s plot is more than just Ex Machina meets Blade Runner, though. Through George’s grief (and his avoidance thereof), it also explores the perpetual staving off of the reality of death through industry and monetization. This becomes the central focus of the film, as it meditates on the question of both how far we will go to avoid grief and the predatory nature of the funeral industry.

According to the National Funeral Directors Association, the median price in 2019 for viewing and cremation was $5150—if you include a traditional burial, the price increases to $7640. Funeral services are expensive, but are often paired with pre-need insurance plans and other services, another massive expense. When it comes time to plan a funeral, it can be easy for a grieving family to fall into the trap of overspending as a result of their emotional vulnerability and the desire to make the most beautiful service possible for the deceased, providing “what they would have wanted.” 

It’s certainly not getting cheaper to die, and Archive assures the audience that the future will only find new ones to inflate the cost of death. On top of the existing costs of death and dying, Archive adds the expense of keeping George’s wife’s consciousness alive in the machine post-mortem, further putting off his grief while adding new and excessive financial burden. 

As mortality rates continue to soar under the COVID-19 pandemic, the idea of live-streaming a funeral no longer seems like some bizarre or contrived sci-fi plot. Electronic eulogies are part of the future we have inherited, and within the final frontier of funerals there will undoubtedly come new and ever more inventive ways for people to stay present in the grieving process. For some, digital funerals will be a more accessible way for them to see their deceased loved ones—for others, it will be one more cost among money. It remains uncertain how this new economy of the funeral industry will play out. 

The funeral industry’s push for automation and technology follows the rest of the western death culture. Meanwhile, some legislature is fighting to retain ancient funerary rites. In an almost comical counterpoint, Maine lawmakers are currently trying to legalize Viking Funerals; while in the Orthodox Christian tradition, loved ones mourn the deceased and return to the church to host a 40 Days, a memorial to observe the time of death, burial, and grieving with the theory that the soul stays on earth for 40 days. Another attempt to venerate the ancient dead and bridge the gap between the archaic and the modern era was the recent Golden Parade in Cairo, Egypt, where 22 royal mummies were transferred from one museum to another in climate-controlled, nitrogen-filled vehicles, accompanied by a modern sound-and-light show.

In most western cultures, there is no longer any allocated time to grieve. We find ourselves thrown back into our daily lives encouraged to “move on” as fast as we can—and while we associate closure with the physical act of burial, we ignore or deny the emotional burden and trauma that accompanies death. 

Meanwhile, within the world of Archive‘ and its fictionalized future of funeral services, the deceased are kept on loan, their mental sanctity acting as collateral to ensure the industry is maintained and paid for, guaranteeing its own longevity even. 

Grief exists in the same capacity as accompanying emotions, yet it is one of the most profound feelings someone can experience and one of the few we actively avoid. When the denial and refusal of grief exist in modern society, we continue to advocate for solutions that repress these core emotions. Archive forces us to face the reality of death and how we survive in the wake of melancholia.

Healing can only exist when one faces the trauma of experiencing the grieving process. Using technology to control grief only forces the human emotions to be stifled. Within the death we experience, we die too.

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