Although analog technology has gone all but extinct in the 40 years since Videodrome first permeated viewers’ psyches, there’s no denying the prescience of its themes. Writer-director David Cronenberg, circa 1983, portended the exploitation of the internet age, virtual reality, and media manipulation. At its core, Videodrome confronts the viewer to examine their own relationship with entertainment.

As the head of Civic TV, Max Renn (James Woods, Casino) caters to the subterranean market, transmitting sex and violence into Toronto homes over UHF airwaves. His appetite for depravity no longer fulfilled by the likes of softcore pornography, Max’s interest is piqued by a mysterious pirated broadcast called Videodrome. As he describes it, “It’s just torture and murder. No plot, no characters. Very, very realistic. I think it’s what’s next.”

Max’s perception of reality is altered from the moment he’s first exposed to Videodrome, as devious hallucinations — from a cancerous flesh gun to a yonic orifice growing in his stomach — cloud his judgment. On his quest for answers about the mind-control program, Max crosses paths with enigmatic Professor Brian O’Blivion (Jack Creley, Dr. Strangelove) and daughter Bianca O’Blivion (Sonja Smits, American Gods) along with Videodrome producer Barry Convex (Leslie Carlson, Black Christmas).

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All of Cronenberg’s touchstones are on full display throughout the film: disturbing body horror, sci-fi-tinted philosophies, social commentary, subversive taboos, and practical special effects. The latter were created by all-time great Rick Baker (An American Werewolf in London, Men in Black), but the cumulative effort is the result of several effects units, including innovative visual effects supervised by Michael Lennick (The Dead Zone).

The film also finds Cronenberg working with many of his regular collaborators. Mirroring Max’s descent into madness, Howard Shore’s (The Lord of the Rings, The Fly) score starts with traditional orchestral music that becomes subtly overtaken by electronic elements. Similarly, director of photography Mark Irwin (Scream, The Fly) shifts between natural and stylized lighting to capture the unique atmosphere and striking imagery.

Woods has everyman relatability but brings an unassuming intensity to the role of Max. (That he turned out to be a far-right conspiracy pusher adds a meta layer to the film’s politics.) Blondie vocalist Debbie Harry shows that she’s capable of more than just her stage persona with a provocative performance as Max’s sadomasochistic girlfriend, Nicki Brand. Brian O’Blivion, inspired by media philosopher Marshall McLuhan, is perhaps the most intriguing character, becoming all the more fascinating upon the reveal of his altruistic, if misguided, intentions.

Videodrome first joined The Criterion Collection on DVD in 2004 then on Blu-ray in 2010, and at long last it has come to 4K Ultra HD. The unrated version of Videodrome has been restored in 4K from the original 35mm camera negative, approved by Cronenberg, with additional intermediate film elements sourced for the uncut sections. It’s presented with Dolby Vision HDR and the original, uncompressed monaural sound remastered from the 35mm magnetic tracks. The 4K presentation offers greater depth and detail, particularly in the shadows of the high-contrast picture.

Two commentaries from the 2004 release are ported over: one with Cronenberg and Irwin and another with Woods and Harry. Participants in both are recorded separately then edited together, and while Cronenberg and Woods dominate their respective tracks, it doesn’t come off as disjointed. Cronenberg’s soft-spoken delivery isn’t what one would expect from his oeuvre, but his cryptic comments are. Woods mentions that Rabid and Scanners instilled in him such faith in Cronenberg that he signed on for a script that didn’t have an ending.

The gem among the special features is “Fear on Film,” a 1982 roundtable with Cronenberg, John Carpenter, John Landis, hosted by then publicist and future filmmaker Mick Garris. It’s a treat to hear the masters of horror casually chat about their latest Universal productions (Videodrome, The Thing, and An American Werewolf in London, respectively) in the primes of their careers. 2004’s “Forging the New Flesh” is also noteworthy. Made by Lennick, it delves into the cutting-edge special effects with input from Baker, special effects artists Frank C. Carere and Bill Sturgeon, and location manager David Coatsworth.

Other extras include: the original making-of piece directed by Garris featuring Cronenberg, Woods, Harry, and Baker; an audio featurette with Baker and Lennick discussing their efforts;  the complete Samurai Dreams and Videodrome transmissions shot for the production with two optional commentaries: one from Cronenberg and another with Irwin and Lennick; helmet-cam test footage with optional commentary by Lennick; Camera, a six-minute short film from 2000 written and directed by Cronenberg and starring Carlson; an extensive gallery of photographs from Cinefantastique’s Videodrome set visit; three trailers; and a gallery with behind-the-scenes images, marketing materials, and more.

The included booklet has three essays written for the DVD in 2004: “Make Mine Cronenberg,” a revised version of a 1983 The Village Voice article by Carrie Rickey, “Medium Cruel: Reflections on Videodrome,” in which Tim Lucas explores the production and evolution of the film, and “That Slithery Sense of Unreality” by Gary Indiana.

Cronenberg’s quintessential masterpiece, Videodrome penetrates the viewer with a paradoxical balance of cerebral and visceral. Criterion has done the film justice yet again, continuing to raise the bar with each physical media format, but it’s hard to imagine anything coming along to replace the immaculate 4K UHD. Long live the new disc.

Videodrome is available now on 4K Ultra HD.