It is 1976. A man in a rain-soaked trench coat stands before a television camera and tells the world he is going to blow his brains out on live TV. This isn't a leaked clip from a dark web stream or a desperate TikTok Live. It’s the inciting incident of Network, a movie that didn't just predict the future—it basically wrote the manual for it.
When Paddy Chayefsky sat down to write the screenplay, he was angry. He was fed up with the "idiot box" and how it was rotting the collective American brain. Honestly, if you watch it now, the film feels less like a period piece and more like a terrifyingly accurate prophecy of our current media ecosystem. You've probably seen the "I'm as mad as hell" clip a thousand times, but the movie is about so much more than one guy screaming into a lens. It’s about the exact moment that news stopped being a public service and started being a product.
The Howard Beale Phenomenon and the Birth of Rage-Bait
Howard Beale, played with a shaky, terrifying intensity by Peter Finch, is a failing news anchor. His ratings are in the toilet. He’s grieving his wife. He’s drinking too much. After he announces his impending suicide, the network—UBS—is ready to fire him. But then the numbers come in. People didn't just watch; they were obsessed.
Instead of getting Beale psychiatric help, the network executives realize they’ve stumbled onto a gold mine. They give him his own show. They brand him as the "Mad Prophet of the Airwaves." This is the first real example of what we now call "rage-baiting."
It’s easy to look at Beale and see the DNA of modern cable news pundits. Think about the way certain hosts on both sides of the aisle lean into the camera and tell you that the world is ending and only they can tell you the truth. Chayefsky saw this coming fifty years ago. He realized that if you can make people angry enough, they will keep watching, no matter how much it hurts them. Ratings aren't about information. They are about emotion.
Faye Dunaway and the Rise of the Content Creator
If Beale is the heart of Network, then Diana Christensen is the engine. Faye Dunaway won an Oscar for this role, and she earned every bit of it. She plays the head of programming at UBS, and she is arguably the most "modern" character in the entire film. She doesn't care about truth, politics, or even people. She only cares about the "overnights"—the ratings.
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There is a scene where Diana is having sex with Max Schumacher (William Holden), the aging head of the news division. While they are in the heat of the moment, she is literally talking about television schedules and share points. She is the human embodiment of an algorithm.
Diana represents the shift from journalism to "content." She doesn't want to report the news; she wants to produce it. She even goes so far as to negotiate with a domestic terrorist group, the Ecumenical Liberation Army, to get footage of their robberies for a prime-time show. Think about that for a second. In 1976, that was considered absurd satire. Today? We have entire YouTube channels and reality shows built on the back of real-life tragedy and sensationalized crime. Diana Christensen didn't want to be a journalist. She wanted to be a viral hit.
The Corporate God: Arthur Jensen’s Monologue
There is one scene in Network that stops the movie cold. It’s the speech delivered by Ned Beatty as Arthur Jensen, the chairman of the parent company that owns UBS. After Beale starts telling his audience to protest a merger with a Saudi Arabian conglomerate, Jensen brings him into a dark, cavernous boardroom.
The lighting is haunting. Jensen stands at the end of a long table and delivers a sermon. He tells Beale that there are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There is only "one vast and ecumenical holding company, for whom all men will work to serve a common profit."
"You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no Third Worlds. There is no West. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immanent, interwoven, theoretical, interdependent, objective, competitive, multi-national dominion of dollars."
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It is chilling. Jensen explains that the world is a business, and Beale has interfered with the "natural forces" of that business. This is the moment the movie shifts from a media satire to a critique of globalism. It suggests that even the "Mad Prophet" is just a cog in a much larger machine. Even your rebellion is something that can be bought, sold, and eventually liquidated if it stops being profitable.
Why We Keep Coming Back to This Film
Sidney Lumet, the director, was known for his "invisible" style. He didn't want the camera to distract from the performances or the words. In Network, this works perfectly because the words are so dense and lyrical. Chayefsky’s dialogue isn't how people actually talk—it’s how they would talk if they were incredibly eloquent and incredibly cynical.
The film won four Academy Awards, including a posthumous Best Actor win for Peter Finch. It was a massive hit because it captured a specific sense of malaise in the 1970s. America was reeling from Vietnam and Watergate. People felt like they had no control over their lives. Howard Beale gave them a voice, even if that voice was ultimately being used by the very people they were protesting against.
But why does it still rank so high on "must-watch" lists today? Honestly, it's because the world of the movie is the world we live in now. We have the "Vox Populi" segments that look like Twitter feeds. We have the blending of entertainment and news until you can't tell the difference. We have the corporate overlords who view the entire planet as a series of balance sheets.
What Most People Get Wrong About Howard Beale
A lot of people remember Beale as a hero. They wear the "Mad as Hell" t-shirts. They see him as a truth-teller. But if you watch the movie carefully, the ending is a tragedy. Beale isn't a savior; he’s a victim. He is a man having a genuine mental health crisis who is exploited by a corporation until he is no longer useful.
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When Beale’s ratings finally start to dip—because even the most shocking thing becomes boring after a while—the network doesn't just cancel his show. They assassinate him on air. It’s the ultimate "series finale." The movie tells us that the system doesn't care about your message. It only cares about your engagement metrics. If you can't get people to watch, you might as well not exist.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Viewer
If you're going to watch (or re-watch) Network this year, keep a few things in mind to get the most out of the experience.
- Watch the background characters. Look at how the junior staff and the tech crew react to Beale’s outbursts. They aren't shocked. They’re just doing their jobs. It highlights the banality of the "outrage industry."
- Compare it to current events. Watch a segment of modern political commentary after the film. You will see the exact same rhetorical tricks Chayefsky warned us about: the direct address to the camera, the manufactured urgency, the "prophetic" tone.
- Focus on Max Schumacher. He represents the "old guard" of journalism. His failure to stop Diana is the failure of traditional ethics in the face of raw profit. It's a sobering look at how easily "standards" can be dismantled.
To truly understand how we got to our current state of media fragmentation and digital noise, you have to start with this film. It’s the Rosetta Stone of modern entertainment.
Next Steps for Deepening Your Understanding:
- Read the Screenplay: Paddy Chayefsky’s writing is even more potent on the page. You can see the stage directions that emphasize the cold, clinical nature of the network offices versus the raw heat of the broadcast booth.
- Research the "Ecumenical Liberation Army": Chayefsky based this group on the real-life Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA), the group that kidnapped Patty Hearst. Understanding the real-world violence of the 70s adds a layer of grit to the movie's satire.
- Watch "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" alongside it: It might seem like an odd pairing, but MTM showed the "idealized" version of a 1970s newsroom. Watching them back-to-back shows the massive gulf between the dream of journalism and the reality of the business.