Classic Film Revisited: Why ‘Network’ is More Relevant Today Than Ever

In 1976, a film erupted onto the screen with the raw, unsettling energy of a live nerve. Directed by the fiercely intelligent Sidney Lumet and written by the caustic, brilliant Paddy Chayefsky, Network was received as a masterwork of satire—a dark, exaggerated, and hysterically funny indictment of the television news industry. It told the story of Howard Beale, an aging news anchor who, upon being fired for low ratings, announces on live television that he will commit suicide on air. Instead of ending his career, this act catapults him into the stratosphere of celebrity, transforming him into a “mad prophet of the airwaves” and a ratings savior for the floundering UBS network.

The film was a critical and commercial success, winning four Academy Awards, including Best Actor for Peter Finch, Best Actress for Faye Dunaway, Best Supporting Actress for Beatrice Straight, and Best Original Screenplay for Chayefsky. At the time, its vision was seen as a sharp, cynical, but ultimately hyperbolic extension of trends already nascent in the mid-70s: the corporatization of news, the pursuit of sensationalism, and the blurring line between information and entertainment.

Nearly five decades later, the howl of Howard Beale—”I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”—no longer feels like a piece of clever satire. It feels like a documentary. The world Chayefsky imagined, a world where reality is manufactured, anger is monetized, and humanity is subsumed by corporate algorithms, is not our future. It is our present. Revisiting Network today is not merely an exercise in cinematic appreciation; it is a vital, almost terrifying diagnosis of the modern media ecosystem, the nature of our public discourse, and the very fabric of our reality. This article will argue that Network is more relevant than ever because it accurately predicted the rise of infotainment, the commodification of outrage, the corrosive power of corporate conglomerates over public discourse, and the existential crisis of the individual in a hyper-mediated world.

Part 1: The Architecture of a Prophecy – Deconstructing Network‘s World

To understand its modern relevance, we must first dissect the core pillars of the reality Chayefsky constructed.

1. The Corporatization of Truth: CCA and the Death of the News Division

The central conflict of Network is not between good and evil, but between journalistic integrity and corporate profit. The fictional UBS network is absorbed by the massive conglomerate, the Communications Corporation of America (CCA). The head of CCA, Arthur Jensen (a chilling Ned Beatty), delivers a monologue that serves as the film’s chilling ideological core. He explains to a bewildered Howard Beale that there is no America, no democracy, only a single, vast, “international system of currency” controlled by the corporate world.

“You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Beale, and I won’t have it!… There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today.”

In 1976, this was a terrifying, abstract concept. Today, it is a matter of public record. Major news networks are not independent entities; they are assets within vast corporate portfolios. CNN is part of Warner Bros. Discovery, MSNBC and NBC are owned by Comcast, and Fox News is a crown jewel of the Fox Corporation. These parent companies have vast interests in entertainment, telecommunications, sports, and more. The pressure for news divisions to be profitable, to deliver shareholder value, and to align with the broader corporate brand is immense. The idea of a news division operating at a loss for the sake of public service—a notion once held by figures like Edward R. Murrow—has been largely eradicated, just as Frank Hackett (Robert Duvall), the ruthless executive in Network, intended.

2. The Spectacle Over the Substance: The Howard Beale Show

When Howard Beale has his breakdown, the network’s first instinct is to fire him. But the ambitious, ratings-obsessed programming executive, Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway), sees something else: gold. She transforms his existential despair into a nightly spectacle, “The Howard Beale Show.” He is no longer a newsman; he is a “mad prophet,” a performer. His rants about the bleakness of modern life are packaged with a psychic fortune-teller, dramatic lighting, and a live audience.

This is the birth of what we now call “infotainment.” The line between a news broadcast and a variety show is completely erased. The goal is not to inform, but to captivate; not to educate, but to stimulate. Beale’s content is secondary to the emotional response it elicits. This is a direct precursor to the modern landscape of cable news punditry, where charismatic hosts blur commentary with news, and where segments are designed for viral potential rather than intellectual rigor. The sober, desk-based newscast of Walter Cronkite gave way to the theatrical, emotionally charged environment that Diana Christensen pioneered, a model that now dominates large swathes of our media.

3. The Monetization of Anger: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

The film’s most iconic scene is not just a dramatic high point; it is a blueprint for a new form of audience engagement. Beale, in a state of frenzied inspiration, instructs his viewers to go to their windows and yell, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!” And they do. Millions across the country participate in this cathartic, collective scream.

Diana Christensen doesn’t see this as a societal cry for help; she sees it as a successful pilot for a new form of programming. She immediately seeks to replicate this model by recruiting a radical left-wing terrorist group, the Ecumenical Liberation Army, to star in their own reality-style show. The logic is flawless within her warped worldview: anger and conflict drive engagement. Engagement drives ratings. Ratings drive profit.

This is perhaps Network‘s most prescient insight. Our current digital and media economy is fundamentally built on the monetization of outrage. Social media algorithms prioritize content that generates strong emotional reactions, and anger is the most potent and engaging emotion of all. Cable news panels are often structured as shouting matches. Online, “rage-bait” is a recognized content genre. The business model of countless platforms, from Twitter to YouTube to certain news sites, relies on keeping users in a state of perpetual, low-grade fury, because furious users click, share, and stay on the page. Chayefsky saw this engine being built in the 1970s television industry; today, it is the engine of the internet.

4. The Erosion of the Human: Diana Christensen and the Algorithmic Mind

Faye Dunaway’s Oscar-winning performance as Diana Christensen is a masterclass in portraying a new kind of human being, one shaped entirely by the logic of television. She is brilliant, driven, and utterly hollow. In one of the film’s most telling scenes, she tries to articulate her feelings for her lover, Max Schumacher (William Holden), the ousted head of the news division. Her confession of love is framed in the only language she knows: the language of television.

“I’m hungry for a great, passionate love affair,” she says, but it sounds like a bad movie pitch. Her emotions are secondhand, derived from the media she consumes. She is a human manifestation of a ratings algorithm before such a thing existed—constantly assessing emotional content for its market value, incapable of genuine, unmediated experience.

Diana is the proto-influencer, the archetype of the modern individual whose identity, relationships, and understanding of the world are curated, performative, and driven by metrics. Her tragic emptiness is a warning of what happens when we outsource our humanity to the logic of the market and the screen.

Part 2: The Prophecy Fulfilled – Network in the 21st Century

The genius of Network lies in how its fictional exaggerations have become our mundane realities. Let’s map the film’s predictions onto our current landscape.

The “Mad Prophet” as a Business Model:

Howard Beale was one man on one network. Today, he has countless avatars. The “mad prophet” archetype is now a staple of media. We see it in:

• The Shock Jock Pundit: Certain cable news and online personalities build their entire brand on performative anger and apocalyptic rhetoric. Their success is not in spite of their outrage, but because of it. They are the logical, distributed evolution of the Howard Beale show, each catering to a specific demographic niche in the outrage economy.
• The Anti-Establishment Influencer: Online, a new generation of Beales thrives on YouTube, Rumble, and other platforms, decrying the “system” and offering their own brand of radical truth, often monetized through subscriptions, donations, and advertising. Their business model is identical to UBS’s: identify a latent anger, give it a voice, and package it for profit.

The CCA is Everywhere:

Arthur Jensen’s CCA was a single, ominous entity. Today’s media landscape is a complex web of such entities, with even more profound influence.

• The Data Conglomerates: If CCA controlled the airwaves, companies like Meta (Facebook, Instagram) and Google (YouTube) control the digital public square. They are not merely broadcasters; they are architects of reality itself, using algorithms to curate what billions of people see, think, and feel. Their boardrooms, like Jensen’s, operate on a global, systemic level that is largely invisible to the average person. When Jensen tells Beale, “You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples,” he is dismissing the very concept of a national public that underpins democracy, in favor of a global market of consumers. This is the foundational logic of Silicon Valley.
• Vertical Integration: Modern conglomerates don’t just own news networks; they own the entire pipeline. Comcast owns the network (NBC), the cable systems that distribute it (Xfinity), and the film studios (Universal) that provide its content. This level of control over the information ecosystem makes the UBS-CCA relationship look simplistic.

Reality as a Programming Genre:

Diana Christensen’s deal with the Ecumenical Liberation Army was played as the height of absurdity. Today, it’s standard practice.

• Reality Television: The entire genre of reality TV is built on the premise of taking real people (or “characters”) and placing them in manufactured dramas for our entertainment. From The Real Housewives to Keeping Up with the Kardashians, we watch real-life conflicts, relationships, and breakdowns as sport.
• The Blurring of Lines: The most successful news-adjacent programs today are often hybrids. A show like The Daily Show pioneered the model of using real news clips for comedic and satirical purposes, creating a generation of viewers who get their news through an entertainment filter. Meanwhile, serious news programs increasingly adopt the visual grammar and pacing of entertainment to hold viewer attention.

Read more: The Unsung Heroes of Hollywood: A Day in the Life of a Stunt Coordinator

Part 3: Beyond Prediction – The Enduring Philosophical Crisis

Network’s relevance isn’t just in its accurate predictions of business models; it’s in its profound exploration of the human condition in a mediated age.

The Death of the Individual and the Rise of the Demographic:

The film relentlessly attacks the reduction of human beings to data points. Diana Christensen doesn’t see people; she sees “demographic cohorts,” “rating shares,” and “market penetration.” Her romantic relationship with Max is, for her, a piece of programming that has simply “concluded its run.” This dehumanization is the bedrock of the modern attention economy. We are not citizens to platforms like Facebook and Google; we are collections of data points to be packaged and sold to advertisers. Our identities, our political leanings, our fears, and our desires are all commodities. Network forces us to ask: in a world that sees us only as a market, how do we hold on to our individual, uncommodified humanity?

The Comfort of Anger and the Illusion of Revolution:

The most sinister aspect of the “mad as hell” phenomenon is that it is ultimately a release valve, not a catalyst for real change. The network wants people to be mad, but it also wants them to remain passive consumers of that anger. Beale’s viewers scream out their windows and then go back to their lives, having performed their rebellion without enacting it. This is eerily similar to modern “slacktivism” and the performance of politics online. Liking, sharing, and posting angry comments can create a sense of participation while requiring no real-world action or sacrifice. The system, much like CCA, is happy to sell us the feeling of rebellion as long as we don’t actually rebel against the system itself.

The Search for Authenticity in a Manufactured World:

At its heart, Network is a tragic love story between Max Schumacher and his wife, and to a lesser extent, between Max and Diana. Max represents the old world of integrity, nuance, and genuine human connection. His final, heartbreaking speech to Diana is the film’s moral core:

“You’re television incarnate, Diana: indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays.”

He is describing a soul-sickness that has only become more virulent. In an age of deepfakes, curated Instagram lives, and AI-generated content, the search for something “real” is a defining anxiety of our time. We are all, to some degree, struggling to maintain our own “Max Schumacher” in a world increasingly dominated by “Diana Christensens.”

Conclusion: Not a Prediction, but a Warning

Network was never a prediction; it was a warning. Paddy Chayefsky and Sidney Lumet saw the road we were on and projected its terrifying destination. To watch Network in the 21st century is to witness a warning we failed to heed. The corporate conglomerates are more powerful, the news is more sensationalized, our outrage is more efficiently packaged and sold, and the line between human emotion and market strategy is all but erased.

Yet, the film’s enduring power is that it is not a hopeless one. By holding up a mirror so stark and so accurate, it gives us the tools to understand our predicament. Recognizing the “Howard Beale” in our media diet, the “Diana Christensen” in our corporate structures, and the “Arthur Jensen” in the hidden architectures of power is the first step toward resisting them. The film’s message is not that we are doomed, but that we must refuse to be mere audience members in the spectacle of our own lives. We must, as Beale initially urged, see through the fiction. The challenge it leaves us with is the same today as it was in 1976: in a world screaming “mad as hell,” will we have the courage to turn down the noise, seek genuine connection, and reclaim our reality from the programmers and the profit-seekers? The answer to that question will determine whether our future is a continuation of Chayefsky’s satire or a return to something more human.

Read more: From Superhero Fatigue to Original Stories: Is Mainstream Cinema at a Turning Point?

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FAQ Section

Q1: I’ve never seen Network. Is it still accessible to a modern viewer, or does it feel too dated?
A: While the film’s aesthetic—the clothing, the technology, the film grain—is firmly planted in the 1970s, its themes and dialogue are startlingly contemporary. The pacing and style are that of a classic, intelligent drama, which may feel different from a modern, fast-cut film, but the power of the performances and the razor-sharp writing are timeless. Many first-time viewers are often shocked by how “modern” the ideas feel.

Q2: The film seems to criticize both the corporate right (Arthur Jensen) and the radical left (the ELA). Was Chayefsky attacking both sides equally?
A: Chayefsky was less interested in partisan politics than in attacking the systems and mentalities that corrupt genuine discourse. He saw the pursuit of ideology, whether for profit or for revolution, as a potential threat to nuanced, rational, and humane engagement. Jensen represents the dehumanizing force of corporatism, while the ELA represents the hollow, performative nature of radical chic. His critique was aimed at any force that reduces complex human beings to simplistic slogans or market shares.

Q3: Is there any hope or positive message in Network, or is it purely cynical?
A: While profoundly cynical about the media and corporate power, the film’s heart lies with the character of Max Schumacher. His journey—leaving his job and attempting to reconnect with his own humanity and his wife—represents a path out of the madness. His final speech to Diana is a powerful affirmation of love, sorrow, joy, and all the messy, un-telegenic emotions that make us human. The hope in Network is not for the system to change, but for the individual to escape its corrosive influence.

Q4: How does Network compare to modern satires like The Social Network or Don’t Look Up?
A: Network is the foundational text for this genre of institutional satire. While films like The Social Network critique the creation of a new, disruptive system (social media), and Don’t Look Up critiques the failure of media and politics in the face of crisis, Network provides the underlying philosophy that connects them all. It’s less about a specific event or company and more about the foundational sickness of a society that monetizes everything, including truth and emotion. It is the grand, tragic opera to which these other films are powerful, contemporary chapters.

Q5: The film ends with Howard Beale being assassinated by his own network for declining ratings. Is this meant to be taken literally?
A: On one level, yes, it’s the logical, horrifying conclusion of the film’s satire: when a human life is no longer profitable, it is “canceled.” Metaphorically, it represents the ultimate fate of any authentic voice in such a system. It will be co-opted, exploited, and when it is no longer useful, it will be eliminated—either literally or through cancellation, obscurity, or algorithmic suppression. The method is literal, but the theme is a profound commentary on the disposability of individuals within a purely economic framework.