Dan Jacobson looks at what Danny Boyle’s vision of the apocalypse has us believe about London and lockdown. This article was written as part of the celebration of the Festival of the Moving Image, UCL’s only student run film festival, which was unfortunately canceled due to COVID-19. 

Like many of us, who have dutifully stayed at home and controlled the virus without any 260-mile trips to Durham, I have spent a significant amount of time thinking about how our society might change once we begin our “new normal”. This Covid-19 pandemic has forced us to ask difficult and pertinent questions about what we want our society to look like. The debate surrounding “unskilled migrants”, now risking their lives as key workers, has suddenly been drastically reframed, the mental health of the nation is finally being taken seriously, and the decrease in carbon emissions has displayed that, collaboratively, we are able to facilitate large-scale changes which were deemed unsustainable or unachievable just three months ago.

Identifying the key values of our society was the question at the centre of John Wyndham’s excellent 1951 novel The Day of the Triffids, which was one of screenwriter Alex Garland’s key inspirations behind 28 Days Later and also essential reading for me earlier in lockdown. After a cosmic event blinds everyone who sees it, and while the threat of carnivorous, locomotive plants known as ‘triffids’ grows, the remaining sighted individuals are forced to restart society in the image which they see fit. Through the protagonist Bill Masen, we see multiple alternatives – utilitarian polygamy, an attempt to retain Christian values, militaristic dictatorship – which, in turn, force us to ask what we might do, and what we would value, if everything we knew was suddenly obliterated.

28 Days Later, which was directed by Danny Boyle and released in 2002,  has since become one of the most iconic horror films ever made, and also forces us to ask how regular humans, devoid of authority, government, or a means of retaining order, would respond following the apocalypse. However, rather than presenting these alternatives implicitly, as Wyndham does, 28 Days Later is ostensibly pessimistic, asking us if human nature itself prevents an ideal society from being created at all.

In Boyle’s post-apocalyptic horror, the threat takes the form of a “rage virus” which causes those infected to develop a terrifying, unassailable blood lust. Unlike the typical presentation of a zombie, infected individuals are not lumbering masses, but instead are agile, responsive, and aggressive, which increases the stakes and threat of infected individuals to devastating effect. However, in its Frankensteinian twist, the final ‘monsters’ are not those who were infected, but instead are the humans who have become naturally consumed by the rage which drives their bloody actions. There’s an uneasy sense that this bloodlust exists within all of us, and just needs to be triggered in order to be released.

However, this is alluded to in the very opening scene, which shows that this virus is not natural but, instead, entirely man-made. The virus was synthesized by showing videos to chimpanzees containing newsreel footage of extreme violence by humans, causing them to become carriers of the novel virus. Once released by a group of animal rights activists, a chimp bites one of them, thus transmitting the virus to humans.  It is unclear where exactly this footage is taken from, but it’s a jarring collection of fundamentalism, reactions to genocide, and violent response to rebellion against authority. This lack of authority is a shock to Jim (Cillian Murphy) who, upon first meeting two uninfected individuals, says “Of course there’s a government! There’s always a government. They’re in a bunker or a plane.” Incidentally, the military blockade in North Manchester which Jim and the remaining London survivors flee to, initially taken to be the last vestige of upstanding civilization, turns out to be essentially the opposite.

This failure and mistrust in authority is, in my opinion, what makes the backdrop of London so pertinent. The city, despite a greying River Thames and scaffolding around Big Ben, is a glimmering display of what humans can achieve. Unfortunately, this is delivered with a terrifying dose of the incredible concentration of authority and influence which can be found behind the tolling bells and shining skyscrapers. This is what makes the image of Jim, unshaven and in hospital scrubs, standing in front of the Houses of Parliament as dawn comes, such a phenomenal piece of visual storytelling – a global powerhouse that has suddenly been rendered meaningless and ineffective.

In this respect, though, it is worth examining how London, and its image of authority, feeds into this “rage virus” which was shown in the film’s opening newsreel montage. Whilst 28 Days Later was written prior to 9/11, and filming began on September 1st 2001, there are clear parallels with the response at Ground Zero, or to the invasion of Iraq. These incidents triggered an intense feeling of rage, the repercussions of which are still heartbreakingly present today, and the causes of which could, arguably, be traced back to discussions had, and decisions made, within the walls of London.

Throughout this lockdown it seems that the overall public response, as seen on our news reports and social media feeds, has been decidedly dichotomous. On the one hand it has been heart-warmingly empathetic, characterised by clapping for carers, shopping for vulnerable neighbours, and checking in on those living alone. On the other hand, there has been an intense frustration, which would be expected after the senior government advisor flouts the very rules that he himself put in place, or the President of the free world casually encourages people to treat the virus by ingesting disinfectant.

I believe that both of these factors will lead to a change in the way we conduct ourselves once we enter into our new normal. However, it is paramount that the way we respond to our frustration with authority is not driven by the rage that is rightfully brewing. The central tenet of 28 Days Later is that anger begets greater anger. If we can somehow break this cycle which caused the rage virus to arise in the first place, we can hope to not just return society to normal, but to enhance it according to the positive values which we clearly collectively share.

Dan Jacobson demystifies epidemiological models through Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead.

It was only a matter of time before the outbreak of COVID-19 caused a worldwide shift towards armchair epidemiology. Whilst this outbreak has triggered an incredible global, collaborative, scientific response with regards to everything from vaccine development to nation-wide tracking (with significant contribution from UCL itself), we have also seen every type of pandemic misinformation come to fruition in the scariest of ways: from conspiracy theories about 5G networks to Didier Raoult’s highly criticised chloroquine study influencing US policymaking to the archetypal Silicon Valley trope “I’m not an epidemiologist, but…” offering the fake illusion of integrity and expertise when none exists.

Incidentally, you probably wouldn’t think that the best preparation for a pandemic would be a hypothetical zombie apocalypse; yet, many of the techniques and strategies which would be applied in this scenario are surprisingly similar. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta – probably the world leader in disease research and response – has been known to release “zombie warnings” as disease-preparedness stunts. The topic has even been debated in the Canadian Parliament.

The first-ever epidemiological model of zombie infection, known as the ‘Munz model’, was created by Philip Munz of Carleton University in 2009, and it’s incredibly simple. Essentially, you separate the population into three groups: susceptible individuals, zombies, and “removed” individuals, and then you use differential equations to model how individuals move between these groups. Susceptible individuals become zombies by being bitten by a zombie, zombies are removed by being killed by susceptible individuals, and removed individuals gradually become zombies again.

Figure 1: The Munz Model

The Munz model is also known as a “compartmental model”, which has been applied to real-life disease outbreaks and epidemics for almost a century. The models are intuitive, incredibly flexible, and can be adapted for any type of infectious disease. And now, they are forming the basis of the models used to predict and react to this year’s COVID-19 outbreak. I’ll come to that in a minute, but for now, let’s focus on zombies.

The Munz model suffers from one huge problem: it uses a terrible definition of a zombie outbreak. Assuming that a real zombie apocalypse would be similar to that which is seen in popular culture, there is not a single case where all removed individuals become zombies. In reality, the model applied will differ depending on which film you choose to watch.

Shaun of the Dead

The epidemiological model behind the zombie outbreak in Shaun of the Dead follows the same basic technique behind these compartmental models. This time, the population is split into four groups: susceptible individuals (S), infected individuals (I), zombies (Z), and “removed” individuals (R), or “dead zombies”. Susceptible individuals become infected by being bitten by a zombie. Infected individuals become zombies at a specified “zombification” rate. Zombies are then removed by being killed by a susceptible individual.

Figure 2: Shaun of the Dead: Model

In terms of population dynamics, this model – though incomplete – is fairly accurate. It is missing the regular population dynamics, such as births, deaths, and emigration, as well as any real intervention measures beyond “removing the head or destroying the brain”. However, as the large majority of Shaun of the Dead takes place over two days, with all “anti-zombie” measures only occurring during the second, these are not concerning. (The only anomaly of this model is Chris Martin, the lead singer of Coldplay, who appears as a zombie late in the film, and then as his human self in the final scene some months later. I will be ignoring this). I will also include only London (population in 2004 ~ 7.4 million) in this model. It is unclear how much the zombie outbreak has spread, but Morrissey declares that there is “Panic on the streets of London”, and motorways out of London are said to be blocked. So that’s encouraging.

However, in the case of Shuan of the Dead, the real challenge is not in identifying the dynamics of the outbreak, but rather correctly estimating the parameters of the model. These are the values used to describe the effect which each part of the model has on the population. In order to properly estimate these parameters, what you really need is data. Unfortunately, Shaun of the Dead doesn’t provide this. A previous study which presented a model of Shaun of the Dead used a nifty statistical technique called Markov Chain Monte-Carlo simulations. However, I cannot be bothered to do this, so instead, I will use a combination of common sense and the fact that I have seen this film far too many times.

The parameters of this model are:

1. The transmission rate of a single zombie: this can be roughly translated to mean the average number of susceptible individuals which a zombie will infect per day. I am assuming that this is a standard zombie feature and does not change over the course of the film. I have set this as 5.
2. The zombie-killing rate of a single susceptible individual: this is the average number of zombies which are killed by a single susceptible individual per day. As is suggested in the film, there seems to be a minimal response to the zombies until the second day, so this is initially set to zero. Once the second day begins, this is increased to 5, and later on in the day is increased to 10.
3. The “zombification rate”: this is the average rate with which infected individuals become zombies, which can be estimated as the reciprocal of the time spent infected. I have estimated this as 8 hours, as evidenced by Pete (late on Day 1 to early on Day 2), Philip (early on Day 2 to the middle of Day 2), and Barbara (middle of Day 2 to late on Day 2). Ed received multiple zombie bites, which likely explains why his symptoms escalate far quicker than the others.

Figure 3: Shaun of the Dead: Results

According to my model, the outbreak begins around 5 days after the initial infection. By the time Shaun and Ed begin killing the zombies, the zombie count is around 2.1 million. If we assume that infection is irreversible, the final number of susceptible individuals in London is 1.2 million, which seems accurate. Although, at this stage, “accuracy” is somewhat beside the point.

What does this have to do with the COVID-19 outbreak?

In the initial version of this article, written during the very beginning of the UK lockdown, I created my own model of the COVID-19 outbreak, using the exact same principles detailed above, in order to demonstrate how these models could describe a real-life pandemic. However, I decided to remove it, as to not add to the screaming online void of the feared aforementioned armchair epidemiologists. Fortunately, other far more knowledgeable and experienced researchers have done the work themselves.

In the case of the COVID-19 outbreak, its dynamics are far more difficult to ascertain. The best demonstration I have come across of the usefulness of these compartmental models in describing the COVID-19 outbreak was an interactive model developed by Dr Alison Lynn Hill, a Research Fellow at Harvard University, in which you can alter parameters and analyse for yourself the effects of various intervention measures. Hill makes two interesting alterations to the standard SIR model: the first is a latency period (E), during which the individual is carrying the disease, but is not yet infectious. The second is a separation of infectious individuals into mild, severe, and critical cases. Only mildly infectious individuals can infect others, and only critical cases can result in death. As a disclaimer, Hill clarifies that this simulation is for research and educational purposes, owing to the limitations of the model and uncertainties regarding COVID-19 infection. Another COVID-19 projection tool can be found here.

Another example is probably the most widely-circulated model of the COVID-19 outbreak, fronted by Professor Neil Ferguson as part of the Imperial College COVID-19 Response Team. Published on March 16th initially as an agent-based model, and then as a compartmental model, the report predicted, assuming zero-intervention measures, over half a million deaths in the UK and complete overwhelming of the NHS, and has been widely credited for triggering the lockdown measures implemented by the UK government beginning on March 23rd. The key underlying message of the report was the analysis of two intervention strategies: mitigation (slowing the epidemic to reduce the strain on the NHS, otherwise known as “flattening the curve) and suppression (reversing epidemic growth through “wide-scale intensive social distancing”).

It is worth clarifying that these epidemiological models are not predictions, but simulations of potential futures with the intent of influencing the choices we make as a society. Indeed Ferguson has since suggested that, given increased NHS ICU capacity and ventilator availability alongside current social distancing measures, the UK death count will likely stay below 20,000. But, as stressed in Zeynep Tufekci’s fantastic article for The Atlantic, “we have one simple, urgent goal: to ignore all the optimistic branches and that thick trunk in the middle representing the most likely outcomes. Instead, we need to focus on the branches representing the worst outcomes, and prune them with all our might.” With the flexibility of these compartmental models, we can ask a plethora of questions: what could happen if we lift the lockdown after three weeks? Six weeks? What if prior infection is not enough for immunity, and individuals become susceptible again? How long does immunity need to last to prevent a second outbreak before a vaccine is developed? Will there even be a second outbreak? 

Additionally, I would like to clarify that my own models could not be classified as predictions either, even if they weren’t describing a fictional zombie apocalypse. I am a first-year PhD student who wanted to learn how to encode differential equations in R because I haven’t left the flat in days. However, I think it is incredibly important that these models are used and discussed. They allow us to think about the effects of our policy decisions and, more importantly, what happens when Londoners do not follow them. The public should know what these “mysterious models” are and how they inform these decisions. So, for now, wash your hands, practice social distancing, and maybe just watch Shaun of the Dead again.

The code which I have used to model the zombie outbreak in Shaun of the Dead can be found on my GitHub.

COVID-19 is a global public health emergency and FilmSoc encourages all readers to follow their government’s advice closely. For UK-specific information, visit https://www.gov.uk/coronavirus.

Shaun of the Dead is available to rent and buy online. Watch the trailer below:

Dan Jacobson reviews the sequel to the Netflix smash hit.

In the very first scene of To All The Boys: P.S. I Still Love You, Kitty, the younger sister of main character Lara Jean, tells her that “It’s not the time to dream of being in an 80’s movie.” Lara Jean is about to go on her first date with her new boyfriend, the dreamy-yet-jock-yet-16-yet-emotionally-mature Peter Kavinsky, and she is dreaming of John Cusack with a boom box and Heath Ledger singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’. Kitty’s comment perfectly encapsulates the challenges Lara Jean is about to face, and the central ethos of the film itself.

To All The Boys I Loved Before – the 2018 predecessor to P.S. I Still Love You – was a smash hit. Over a single summer, alongside Set It Up and Crazy Rich Asians, the film managed (for an albeit brief time) to make romantic comedies relevant again. Atypically, the film did not do this by subverting or redefining the norms of the genre (although the visibility of Asian actors is undoubtedly praiseworthy). Instead, director Susan Johnson created a movie that – utilising the ‘Fake-Dating’ high school movie template – acted as a fresh and unapologetic homage to the films and stories which inspired it.

This inspiration is alluded to directly through Lara Jean’s love of John Hughes’ Sixteen Candles, despite the obscene stereotyping of the character Long Duk Dong. In fact, there are references to the past 30 years of romcom history everywhere; from Lara Jean’s impeccable fashion taste echoing Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’s Sloane Peterson and Clueless’ Cher Horowitz, to the vibrant pastels found in Legally Blonde and Grease. Whilst an inability to move away from the influences worn on a film’s sleeve can imply unoriginality (Joker, anyone?), To All The Boys managed to use these references in a way that produced a feel-good and heart-warming film. If the filmmakers had simply chosen to repeat the first film when making the sequel, that would have been more than enough for me.

I’m still not sure whether or not they tried to repeat themselves, but whatever happened, the spark has been buried. I hope it isn’t buried too far, because the third and final film in the franchise is in post-production. But I can’t find it.

At its centre, P.S. I Still Love You tells the story of a love triangle, one of the most popular romantic tropes of all time. After Lara Jean begins dating Peter, a crush from many years earlier – John Ambrose – comes back into her life when they both opt to volunteer at a retirement centre. The rest is self-explanatory. However, the sequel suffers from one key flaw: a juicy plot is favored over consistency and coherency. The entirety of the first film presented Peter as “perfect”; he is sensitive, respectful, and drinks kombucha at house parties. Now, to further the plot, the second movie has to undo all of that hard work. It’s an unfortunate crux that simultaneously reaffirms what made the first film so loveable, and the resulting sequel feels nothing but forced.

The contrived character development is evidenced in Peter’s brand new set of flaws, which pop up sporadically throughout the film’s first half. He is late to meet Lara Jean in a busy café. He always takes the last cupcake or slice of pizza. And, most importantly, he still seems to have feelings for his ex, Gen (this was also his sole flaw in the previous film, where we also learn that Lara Jean’s fears are unfounded). Additionally, John Ambrose is presented as flawlessly as Peter was. Maybe I, like most of the Internet, fell too easily under the spell of Peter, but I spent the entire film just waiting for Lara Jean to confirm that it is Peter who she loves after all.

Unfortunately, this laziness pervades too many aspects of P.S. I Still Love You. The film is driven almost entirely by voiceovers, giving the film an air of a 90-minute game of connect-the-dots, for which the final image is, somehow, exactly the same image as the one before. The soundtrack is boring and repetitive, anchored by soulless synth-pop ballads, whilst the previous film’s flawless blend of indie rock, electronic funk, and brooding dream pop – with ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ thrown in for very, very good measure – was intrinsic in its fresh tone and modern feel. Oh, and the final scene has snow. SNOW! From out of nowhere. Seriously, nobody is wearing a coat. As I have mentioned, I have nothing against pandering to beloved rom-com tropes, but this one takes the freshly baked, Valentine’s Day snickerdoodle.

Where I will defend P.S. I Still Love You is in its continuation of the legacy established by its predecessor as somewhat “post-critic.” At its centre, the To All The Boys films are about love; the representations of young romantic love, sisterhood, and father-daughter love displayed by the characters, and also a love of love evidenced by the filmmakers. This love extends to television and music as well. Jane the Virgin, for example, has developed a cult following and critical success based on a love of insane Latin American telenovelas, alongside episode-length odes to Sex and the City, Fifty Shades of Grey, and The Bachelorette, to name a few (a Bachelorette-themed episode is how you do a love triangle). Artists like Charli XCX and Carly Rae Jepsen, who began the 2010s being presented as tween-pop, radio-darling, computer-generated one-hit-wonders, are now (rightfully) hailed as the most innovative pop stars of their generation. This “love” is not the voyeuristic schadenfreude of Love Island, or the ironic camp-worship of The Room – this is genuine, unashamed love.

The ubiquity of social media means that not only is everyone given a platform to air their opinions of films and music, but that we are exposed to these opinions more than ever before. This has caused a paradigm shift away from the dated, male-centric art criticism of bygone years, where ‘prestige TV’ was immediately lauded and any female-led shows were glossed over as ‘guilty pleasures’ or ‘candy’. In an interview with Vox, TV critic Emily Nussbaum says, “If it’s pink or brightly colored, fun or funny, or related in some way to soap operas, it’s coded as female, whether it’s female or not.” As a straight man with a love for romantic comedies, my perception of shows and films like this has evolved from “I’ve never heard of it” to “I don’t watch it” to “I enjoyed it” to “This is excellent.” If a show or film truly is worthy of praise, its genre should be irrelevant.

We haven’t reached equal respect for all genres just yet, but films like To All The Boys I Loved Before are rectifying this. I don’t know whether P.S. I Still Love You will cause a positive or even negative response in this regard, but the public’s anticipation for the film is proof that we are at least heading in the right direction. Like Lara Jean, I say we don’t need to hide our love of 80’s movies anymore. Whilst I may come to regret these words, I cannot wait for the next one.

To All The Boys: P.S. I Still Love You is available to stream on Netflix worldwide. Check out the trailer below:

Daniel Jacobson takes an in-depth look at Noah Baumbach’s tender drama Marriage Story through game theory.

One of the most famous and widely researched thought experiments in game theory, the field of mathematics dedicated to studying strategy and decision-making, is called the Prisoner’s Dilemma, and it goes something like this:

You and your friend are being charged with bank robbery. You are separately interrogated by the police, who offer each of you the opportunity to testify against the other, or to remain silent. If you both remain silent, you each receive 2 years in prison. If you both testify against each other, you each receive 5 years. However, if one betrays the other, whilst the other remains silent, the person who remained silent receives 10 years in prison, and the betrayer walks away free. What do you do?

From the outsider’s perspective, the optimal result in this scenario is for both parties to cooperate, as this results in the least amount of shared jail time. However, if you remain silent, you are guaranteed either the same amount (2 years) or more jail time (10 years) than your friend. In this way, whilst cooperation is the optimal outcome for the ‘team’, individually, it is in your interest to betray your friend.

As a romance story addict who is just beginning a PhD in computational genetics, I have developed a fairly potent obsession with the application of mathematics to a variety of messy, real-life situations including, more cynically, love and relationships. In fact, I wrote a movie about it (Calculating Nora, the 2019/20 Term 1 Film, is coming soon!). Whilst people have tried, there are serious limitations to applying game theory to relationships because, at its centre, game theory is about conflict, and relationships, ideally, are not. You can’t win at love. But you can win at divorce, and the quicker you realise this, the better chance you have of doing so. This is the problem at the centre of Marriage Story, and by asking what happens to a relationship when a conflict becomes all-encompassing, its writer and director Noah Baumbach has created, in my opinion, one of the funniest, most moving, most thought-provoking, and most human films of the decade.

Marriage Story portrays the divorce between Nicole (Scarlett Johansson) and Charlie (Adam Driver), from couples’ therapy, through the proceedings, up to the two of them moving on with their lives. Both parties clarify from the beginning that they want a fair, equal, agreeable separation, mostly with reference to their son, Henry, and whilst they both carry their share of mistakes, admittedly skewed towards Charlie, the divorce is the finale of the simple realisation that, with Nicole taking a job in California and Charlie staying with his theatre company in New York, their marriage has, unfortunately, run its course. Neither side is thrilled by this, but if they can both just get through their 2 years in prison, they can begin moving on in the healthiest way possible.

The movement away from cooperation and towards conflict is best represented by their respective lawyers. Nicole’s transition into conflict is fairly understandable as, at least initially, she is more likely to be cast as the “victim”, whose life and work has become entirely intertwined with Charlie’s. It is fuelled, however, by her lawyer Nora, played by the astonishing Laura Dern, who coaxes Nicole’s insecurities to the surface during their phenomenal initial meeting, in which Nora all but seduces Nicole into viewing her divorce as a zero-sum game – if one person benefits, the other person must lose out. And Nicole is entitled to win.

This is clearly more difficult for Charlie who continues to convince himself that, despite hiring Nora and playing for favours with their son, Nicole is still dedicated to securing an equal settlement. His first lawyer (Alan Alda) is older and more modest, and instantly connects with Charlie on his own familiar, personal grounds. However, Charlie is forced to hire his own hot shot lawyer (Ray Liotta) once it becomes abundantly clear that by choosing to act cooperatively, he risks losing custody of his son. In their first meeting, Liotta tells him “If we start from a position of reasonable, and they start from a position of crazy, by the time we settle we will be somewhere between reasonable and crazy. Which is crazy.” He knows that when one side has chosen conflict, the other’s only option is to fight back.

This is what I personally found the most heart-breaking about Marriage Story. As we are aware from the beautiful opening montages, Charlie and Nicole love each other. However, they are led to believe that they are fighting a battle when, in fact, if they had chosen to settle out of court and without lawyers, as initially discussed, their separation may have gone more smoothly.

There are two gorgeous scenes of serious conflict, in a movie where Charlie and Nicole are often apart. One, the film’s most notorious scene, portrays their initial attempt to come to an agreement themselves, culminating in searing words and a hole in Charlie’s wall, indicative of the equally upsetting Before Midnight. Whilst they have the best intentions, both sides are still too wrapped up in their lawyer’s opinions to work through it maturely. The second, my favourite scene in the film, shows their court case, in which Charlie and Nicole sit quietly whilst their sides are presented almost entirely by their lawyers. Here, every moment in the film is twisted and subverted into ammunition against the other: a drink at dinner is presented as alcoholism, a dedication to work as negligence. Unfortunately, their eventual attempts to seek greatest payoff are alluded to during the introductory scenes where, amongst the endless references to being good parents and dedicated spouses, their only shared trait is to be “competitive”.

Of course, the incredible depth of character generated throughout this movie is testament to Noah Baumbach’s unbelievable script, which presents conflict in a far more nuanced way than any film I have seen in a long time. Baumbach is a filmmaker to whom I have, admittedly, not dedicated sufficient time. I enjoyed the first 25 minutes of The Meyerowitz Stories, before deciding that the film was long and I wanted a sandwich and it was on Netflix anyway so I could continue watching later. Additionally, my 16-year-old-self described The Squid and the Whale as “sanctimonious drivel”, albeit without a clear definition of “sanctimonious”. Yet he redeemed himself by writing these unbelievable articles for the New Yorker.

The richness in story and character created by Baumbach’s script arises from his focus on a dozen or so scenes from the divorce, as opposed to providing every event in the story. Similar to films such as Boyhood, many essential events throughout their story – the termination of Charlie’s Broadway show; the success of Nicole’s television show; even the final settlement – are glossed over in passing. This allows for the film as a whole to breathe and play out organically. It means that the audience has the time to acknowledge and comprehend Charlie’s desperation as he takes Henry trick-or-treating late at night. Nicole’s frustration and nervousness before handing over the divorce papers is palpable and hilarious. And when Charlie delivers a full rendition of Sondheim’s “Being Alive”,it is not a thematic titbit played momentarily in the background, but rather an opportunity for Charlie, and us, to reflect emotionally and critically on what has occurred and consequently, what we have learnt.

Interestingly, there is a solution for optimising your winnings during multiple consecutive applications of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, known as the “iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma”. In a series of tournaments created by the political scientist Robert Axelrod, hundreds of algorithms were pitted against each other to see which methods optimised the results of these games. The most consistently successful technique, as reported in his 1984 book The Evolution of Cooperation, was known as “tit-for-tat”. Introduced by the mathematical psychologist Anatol Rapoport, the technique dictates that one should begin by cooperating with the other person and continue to do so until they choose to betray you, at which point you simply copy them. This does make some logical sense. By applying tit-for-tat, one is able to benefit whilst the other is cooperating and retaliate when betrayed. Tit-for-tat is, incidentally, the general response during real-life applications of the Prisoner’s dilemma, notably the “Live and let live” non-aggressive trench warfare behaviour during World War One.

However, a key characteristic of tit-for-tat is that whilst it was the most successful technique applied in Axelrod’s tournaments, a player applying tit-for-tat can only ever do as well as its competitor, but never better. Instead, it optimises its own results by optimising those of its opponent. This is possible because the Prisoner’s dilemma is not a zero-sum game. In Marriage Story, when Nicole plays as the provocateur by meeting Nora, Charlie utilises tit-for-tat. As neither side is able to cease betraying, for fear of insurmountable losses in court, they enter a “death spiral”. It is only their agreement to relax their demands and begin cooperating again that allows them to reach the fair settlement they intended for in the first place.

My absolute favourite films, such as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Little Miss Sunshine, and Marriage Story, have either influenced the way I choose to live now, or emulate what I would like to see in myself in the future. Whilst I might not be able to say the same for Kermack-McKendrick models, the Central Limit Theorem, or, indeed, the Prisoner’s Dilemma, I was struck by game theory’s ability to wholly encompass a story as emotionally harrowing and deeply personal as a divorce, without detracting from its nuances. You still can’t win at love, but it is naïve to suggest that conflict resolution and relationships exist independently. Whether we want to admit it or not, conflict is at the centre of all of our relationships and interactions, from family to flatmates, from loved ones to lecture buddies. I loved Marriage Story because, from my perspective, it presented a healthy method for dealing with these conflicts, one where seeking personal victories causes misery, and the choice to cooperate is beneficial both for the group and the individual. All it required was for Baumbach to put it so eloquently.

Marriage Story is available to be streamed on Netflix now and you can watch the trailer below: