When the Stanley Kubrick film 2001: A Space Odyssey first came out in 1968, viewers experienced the real fear that giant computers like Hal could start telling us what to do, spying on us, murdering us while they spoke in soothing voices like psychotherapists. Oddly, though, it was 2001 that provided the inspiration for the name iPod.
According to iPodpedia: The Ultimate iPod and iTunes Resource (2007), a freelance copywriter hired by Apple thought of the film when he first saw the white iPod prototype. To him, the small appliances seemed like spaceships returning to the mothership to refuel: "Open the pod bay door, Hal."
But as computers and their electronic relatives — iPods, iPhones, Bluetooths — become tinier all the time, and the avenues through which people can escape from their immediate physical environment multiply, I've begun to think more and more of an earlier sci-fi classic: The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), recently remade for the third time.
In the original, the vegetable-like pods turn into humanoid creatures that are replicas of real people — just without the emotion. Their only passion is replication and the survival of the herd. In the 2007 version, The Invasion, the pods replicate when infected people vomit on others. Soon Washington is a police state, its conforming populace marked by a propensity to form lines and, weirdly, start taking about world peace. It is cell phone technology that saves the day, providing a way for Nicole Kidman's character to rescue her son.
Either way, the pods win. They're taking over. These days in airports you see lone passengers in the company of their cell phones and MP3 players, like children in playpens buttressed by toys that somehow don't satisfy. Folks caress their Blackberries, checking them compulsively the way a cook checks the hollandaise sauce.
And even though iPods don't sprout, they do seem to propagate — at that temple of things technological, the Apple Store. (Apple: The company's very name suggests fruit from The Tree of Knowledge and exile from Eden.) Last year saw the development of the postage stamp-sized Shuffle. In June folks camped out at Apple Stores to be among the first to get their iPhones, having been carefully programmed by a six-month publicity blitz and 11,000 print articles. Then, just in time for holiday shopping, Apple brought us the iPod Touch (like the iPhone, but without the phone) and the video version of the Nano iPod.
People making the pilgrimage to the Apple Store to get their iPod fix resemble the townsfolk in Body Snatchers, who flock to the town square to get their ration of pods. More importantly, people listening to iPods on the street and in the gym have the same tuned-out expression as the drones in the film. People with iPhones try to conduct as much of their lives as they can on these pocket-sized black slabs, which will no doubt soon be getting smaller until the current version begins to look like a discarded pizza box. Armed with a new pod phone, folks can wake up to its alarm, take photos, play videos, organize their days and browse the web and email.
It's telling that PR-savvy Apple has named their products with a small "i" and a big "Pod."
And it's not just Apple that's propagating pods. For those who want to tune out in a high-tech Nirvana, there's now a pod of human proportions. Las Vegas architect Alberto Frias has designed the Transport, a concave shell that has a waterbed, subwoofer speakers and L.E.D. lights. The base model is $10,000. Too plugged in to the world around you? Tired of civilization but not ashram inclined? Recline in celestial splendor inside your own private planet.
Or perhaps you need a new-fashioned pod for a "power nap." In Manhattan you can rent one at Yelo, a salon with private, hexagonal pods for napping. It's $12 for 20 minutes, more if you want a foot massage. These pods have leather recliners, blankets from Nepal and sound systems. According to the company website, "Yelo provides the deeper experience of giving you back your time and space when you need it most. It's about you. It's about time."
Like they say about the baby in Body Snatchers, there'll be no more crying.
Rather than Hal-like machines bossing humans around, humans are becoming machines themselves. Nothing epitomizes this more than the popularity of Bluetooth headset phones and their ilk. People attached to these phones resemble the Borg of Star Trek: The Next Generation, those cybernetic drones that consume technology and individuals. These shiny ears appear to advertise their owners' important relationship to some other place, not the mundane checkout line they're standing in, surrounded by mere strangers.
The need to conduct life on a private pod or to have 10,000 of your favorite songs preprogrammed is fueled by our overly stimulating, nerve-wracking world and by a belief that a highly controlled environment can fulfill us. Of course, when you emerge from your pod, you'll still have to deal with family and co-workers. And you can only listen to one song at a time. Apple's Shuffle capitalized on the yearning for a break from a completely programmed world and a desire for some spontaneity — even if the device makes the choices for us.
The techno beat of our budding pod-culture hive is a modern invasion by a self-replicating plague. We are creating personal spheres, private planets dependent on an ever-dwindling supply of electricity, where we march only to the voices we want to hear.
This article appears in Dec 26, 2007 – Jan 1, 2008.