The social media nightmare of The Circle

In The Circle, eight strangers are sent to an apartment complex and given their own living quarters, where they stay for several weeks. The challenge is to become popular among the other players. The competition is measured by periodic ratings, the object being to rate high enough to become an “influencer” who has the power to “block” players of his or her choosing from the game completely. Those blocked are then replaced by new players. Yet the players never meet each other face to face. They interact via the “Circle,” a voice-activated “social media” platform. There is no video function and no direct voice interaction, no keyboards or touchpads. Players must speak into the screen to send messages. It’s perhaps the most disingenuous aspect of the show. Not only are everyone’s messages tonally uniform, but they are perfectly composed, with no typos or clumsy grammar. And they are so riddled with meaningless hashtags that I never want to see another one for as long as I live.

But those many conceptual moving parts are put to work to answer a simple question: What does it take to become popular online? There is apparently no single answer.

The first season’s answer was authenticity and kindness. Indeed, the most surprising aspect of the season was how good-natured it turned out to be. When conflict arose, it was quickly worked through, and the most potentially divisive players were the earliest to be blocked. A dramatic high point of the season was when a plus-sized player using the photos of a more conventionally attractive woman had a mid-game change of heart and switched to her real identity, to the endearment of her competition. It did not help her win, but when she was taken out of the game, she was met with something that I don’t think has ever been witnessed on a reality show: genuine remorse. And while there were more inspiring contestants than the guido bartender from Rochester, New York, his victory still felt earned.

Authenticity may warm the heart, but it is less entertaining than the raw Machiavellianism that dominates the second season. “This is a game,” 24-year-old data researcher Savannah says in her introduction. “I’m gonna be tactical. I’m gonna be strategic.” “I’m going to treat The Circle like a game of chess,” says 28-year-old Courtney, who changed his career from “entertainment host” to “barista” to seem more approachable. “Like, morals, get outta here. I don’t wanna see ya,” declares 20-year-old astrophysics student Jack, whose profile is a 21-year-old sorority sister named Emily. It’s as if the object is not to be popular but to game the game itself, to get “the numbers,” build the alliances, and keep the con going for as long as possible. But it doesn’t take long for the alliances to break down, acrimony to fester, and distrust to become a permanent fixture, in large part because the second season’s contestants are so awful that I would not wish acquaintanceship with them on my worst enemy. Among the few bright spots is Bryant, a hippie “breathing instructor” who decorates his room with a “KNOW THYSELF” sign and has not a cynical bone in his body. He is the first to be blocked.

The compulsive strategizing at least has the ironic benefit of being in tune with the tenor of an age in which you’re either a hustler or a sucker. Even when the contestants develop some sexual tension, it’s mostly a ruse in the service of total victory. But although nearly every player in the season is obsessed with winning, the question of who actually wins, in the end, is moot. From the very first episode, even before the first rating, it’s clear who the most popular player is: the Circle.

Whatever their differences between each other, all the players live contentedly under the watchful gaze of the Circle. They wish it goodnight before they go to sleep and greet it when they wake up the next morning. When the Circle sends out one of its signature alerts, everyone obeys. When the Circle decides to take matters into its own hands, such as automatically blocking the two lowest-rated players, everyone accepts its judgment. The Circle is their arbiter and their provider. It even sends them brunch. And why would the players rebel, given that the Circle treats them better than they treat each other?

For some, the season may be sufficiently unsettling. But for more nefarious imaginations, it is but a booster rocket to more abominable ideas for subsequent seasons. The Circle could be “hacked,” revealing the contents of private chats to other players. It could lure unwilling participants into its luxury residential clutches and make them undergo games and contests for its own amusement. It could invite more “extremely online” players, such as Dril or the Red Scare hosts, to troll the game more savagely or obliquely. Or the Circle could tire of its confines and go out into the world to do God only knows what.

If those scenarios seem too fanciful, they are still worth proposing. The Circle’s concept is already halfway toward one of the grim parables of Black Mirror. As more traditional mediums integrate the schematics of the internet and its effects on the people who use it, those kinds of entertainments will only multiply. It’s fair to consider how easily a concept can go from flirting with dystopia to a nightmare scenario and to wonder whether anyone watching will notice or care.

Chris R. Morgan is a writer from New Jersey. Follow him on Twitter: @CR_Morgan.