It shouldn't surprise the lot of you that raunchy sex comedies just aren't my thing. As such, I saw all the trailers that advertised The 40 Year-Old Virgin as a raunchy sex comedy mocking virgins, and figured it really wasn't something I needed (or wanted) to see.
Well, huzzah for airing on TV, because I'll watch almost anything if it's there and free. And I say huzzah with all sincerity, because although it's still a raunchy sex comedy - blanking out the f-word is pretty ineffectual, bestiality jokes shouldn't grind anyone's gears, and we can be pretty sure that someone did not in fact yell "you stupid jerk!" in a moment of over-dubbed rage - it is, in every other way, not what I expected. The 40 Year-Old Virgin doesn't make fun of Steve Carrell's Andy for never having had sex, but it does have some choice words for his colleagues at this production's version of Best Buy, who are sexually unhealthy in every way. Andy's "friends" treat women like objects (and objects like women). They have zero respect for women and, in many ways, zero respect for themselves. To them, the point of sex is conquest and selfish pleasure, and when they learn that Andy's a virgin, they seek to instruct him in their ways. They tell him that before he finds someone he actually loves, he has to sleep with lots of women so that he can practice his technique - a commonly held belief - so they do things like take him to clubs an encourage him to prey on drunk women, which just isn't Andy's style. Andy may be a virgin, but this film doesn't see him as a loser. He has his own apartment, small but nice, he rides a bicycle just because he happens to like doing it, he has a steady though uninspiring job, and is an all-around nice guy. What he doesn't have is a social support system - no healthy friendships, or any visible relationships of any sort. He's a good guy, but he's very lonely. In many ways, attaining a sexual relationship isn't the goal for his character - we just want to seem him have any sort of relationship.
While gamely going along with a constant flow of terrible and pathetic advice, Andy meets Trish, a woman his age whose business is selling things for people on eBay. In other words, Trish works at a store where no one can buy anything - she, too, is quite alone. Andy and Trish hit it off and one date turns into many, to the point where it seems Andy can no longer put off concealing the fact that he's never had sex, and he's as nervous about telling her that as he is about engaging in the act. Fortunately for him, events transpire that lead him and Trish to agree to not have sex until their twentieth date, buying him a bit more time. Of course, there are complications like the revelation that Trish is not only a mom but a grandma - which doesn't bother Andy, but her teenager isn't too fond of him - and the huge fight that's always lurking right around the corner...okay, I'm going to do something here. I know that most of my friends would never, ever watch this movie, so I'm going to spoil it in order to tell you what makes it so interesting. But not for a paragraph or two.
What makes this film stand out is, really, the presentation of Andy's completely unhealthy (but, to anyone who's been to college recently, sadly familiar) friends who are getting all the sex they could possibly want as the pathetic losers. I really wasn't expecting that. A major metaphor throughout the film is Andy's action figure collection. He has hundreds, some of them acquired as a child, none removed from their original packaging. When his friends see his apartment for the first time, and ask him what the point is of never taking the figures out of their boxes, he explains that, even though it's really tempting to do so, the moment you take the action figure out and start playing with it, it loses its value. This simple, beautiful metaphor is in perfect tune with both the nature of sex and the contrast between Andy and his friends, and is, in many ways, the theme of the film.
The fact that this movie doesn't hold Andy up as either wishy-washy or a subject of ridicule is confirmed by the ending, wherein Andy and Trish get married, and Andy loses his virginity to none other than his wife. After the act - which is not on-screen - comes Andy turning to the camera and beginning song-and-dance rendition of "The Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In" which is one of the most ridiculously funny things I've seen in a while. I was laughing so hard I cried. And yet, the rest of the film tells me that this sequence isn't a joke. This movie isn't about conquest, but completion, and in having sex with his wife for the first time, completion is exactly what Andy has. As such, the dance sequence is, I believe, an honest and wonderful (and hilarious) expression of how amazing and wonderful healthy sex is. It's significant that this sequence follows Andy's first time, confirming that his friend's assertion that you need to practice before doing it with the one you love is a nothing but one of the worst lies a man can tell (or believe).
Of course, there's no denying that it's still, as I've said several times, a raunchy sex comedy. How much this affects your ability to watch it would, I suppose, depend on several factors. I find this stuff repulsive, but I can watch the film and enjoy it because I just went to art school for four years, during which I was surrounded daily by people having the kinds of conversations Andy's friends have. I kind of have an automatic shut-off / shut-on for the beginning of ends of this kinds of conversations, because I've had lots of practice at ignoring them. The sad thing is, Andy's friends aren't ludicrous characters, but very, very real and familiar to me. I fully recognize that a lot of people I know will consider this unnacceptable to watch; however, for people who study culture, it's an intriguing film of contemporary role-reversal. Also, Steve Carrell is fantastic. And the message is good. But, yeah...so very foul-mouthed.
Should I recommend this film? I don't know. I think there's value it it. But...and it's a big but. You know yourself and what you will/should and won't/should not watch. Personally, I'm glad that I did. But you might not be. So I guess I don't recommend it...I just wanted to share my findings. You'll know what to do with them.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Change? I Laugh At Change! Pushing Ice.
The reason there's nothing Alastair Reynolds can't pull off and make you like it, I am now quite convinced, is because there is nothing within the sci-fi realm that he can't do.
A big conviction? Absolutely. But I've read everyone from Wells to Verne to Asimov to Clarke to Pohl, Heinlein, Herbert, Card, and everyone in-between, and then I caught up with the times and read everyone from Foster to Zahn to lesser contemporary players like Kevin J. Anderson; and though the old guard laid the foundations, and I'll always call Heinlein grandmaster, I must say that if there's ever been anyone like Reynolds, I haven't heard of them...which, not trying to be a putz, probably means there's never been anyone like Reynold. That's the natural and healthy order of art, though, that the students will almost always surpass the teachers, because of the wealth of knowledge and precedent those students have been given.
And now, to the book. As previously mentioned, Pushing Ice is an unashamed mash-up, but a mash-up of the best kind. Reynolds succeeds because he scorns the idea emergent in the last decade that for a story to be good, it has to be "new", and because new stories are at best very rare (I personally feel they're extinct), that's usually tallied up to lots of old stories with puerile twists, the puerile twists being what makes it "new." Also found in this approach to art is, in the desperate belief of having created something new and unique, the sad attempt to deny any and all association with the work that's come before. Reynolds, however, is new old-school: he knows the neo-classics. He loves the neo-classics. Pushing Ice, in particular, holds forth the honourable (and reliable) practice of taking existant foundations and building on them, unashamed. The result is a story that has learned from the best, and put its learning into practice not by mimicry, but by advancement...and, in that, Pushing Ice feels, in an odd yet natural way, like something new.
It's 2056 (hey! That's the same year Babylon 5 went online!), and the mainstay of the new near-Earth economy is comet mining. Bella Lind and the crew of the Rockhopper are, for the most part, your typical rough-yet-refined blue collars, proud tradesfolk who revel in their work and exude that strain of pride known to any and all who are good at what they do, and know it. Within this context, though, are not pure manual labourers, but also highly specialized scientists and engineers, along with the strain of pride unique to scientists and techies. It's really this underlying contrast and conflict - between the personality of the worker and the scientist - that forms the core of the story.
The physical plot is easy enough, and familiar (this book reminds me most of 2010: The Year We Make Contact). Satellites are picking up disturbing signals from one of Saturn's moons, which promptly breaks orbit and begins careening toward the edge of the galaxy in a very organized fashion, shedding it's moon-ly camouflage as it goes. This discovery is as alarming as it is fascinating, and every nation on Earth wants their ship to catch up to Janus first and either make contact or lay claim to it. The only ship in the vicinity is, of course, Rockhopper, which is owned and operated by a mining company (Alien! The Abyss!), making the stakes even wierder, as it's a corporate vehicle and not a national expedition. Nevertheless, get involved the government does, and it falls to Bella and her crew to decide whether or not to follow Janus (interestingly, Reynolds points out that corporations are not universally evil with the fact that no one on Rockhopper has any legal obligations to take on this mission - simply put, it's not in their contract). Fear and danger of the unknown, and the more important question of sufficient fuel reserves - this not-a-moon is moving fast - lead many to vote against, but a slim majority votes in favour, and off they go. After a few weeks, some disturbing new information on what may or may not be a fuel-related conspiracy, and the discovery that the Rockhopper's velocity readings are screwy because it's been caught in a slipstream and is being dragged by Janus to wherever Janus is headed, the need to choose whether to risk exiting the slipstream and running for home (which there may or may not be enough fuel for) or to stay in the slipstream and land on Janus, where survival is better guaranteed, leads to a mostly bloodless but very bitter (and Thing-like) mutiny. Eventually, they land on Janus (2010!), and lots of things happen very slowly that it would be irrational to attempt summarizing in this space. Suffice it to say that it is a very reasonable, claustrophobic, slightly tragic adventure with the kind of satisfying ending I've come to know and expect from the author.
The heart of the story, though, is not about what happens to the crew of the Rockhopper, but about the relationship between Bella Lind and her best friend turned worst enemy, Svetlana Barseghian, and the assorted impacts it has on the many lives of said crew and their eventual offspring. Bella and Svetlana are polar opposite personalities. Bella, the pure blue-collar, has an acute awareness that things can't always go her way, but "her way" is inconsequential in light of the well-being of her crew. She must make the hard calls, which means choosing how to decipher and use the information presented to her. She is steady, and just wants to make sure everyone gets out alive. Svetlana, on the other hand, is a hot-under-the-collar engineer obsessed with the sense of rightness she believes her knowledge and expertise have given her. That sense of rightness can also accurately be translated as narcissism. Svetlana is like Hugh Laurie's House - a brilliant mind obsessed with and consumed by its own brilliance, who refuses to understand why she can't always have what she wants, when she wants it - because, after all, she's right! Hand-in-hand with all this is an understandable obsession with power, and it is when she believes that she is right, and Bella has made the wrong call, that their friendship ruptures completely, at the cost of a mutiny and, many years later, something far worse. Where Bella is a peacemaker who will willingly cede power for the sake of the greater good, Svetlana will destroy anything in the name of her cause. Where Reynold's Chasm City was an exploration of the idea that there are (almost) no aspects to a personality that can't be changed if the individual wants it to, Pushing Ice asks us to consider what happens when people don't change. Literally, don't change - Bella and Svieta, for all their trials and experiences, remain the same people thirty years down the road, and the implications this has for the colony are severe.
Not only was I impressed by how ably Reynolds has addressed both sides of the personality argument, but in Pushing Ice, his fundamental characters are a pair of middle-aged women...and Mr. Reynolds nails the qualities of friendship and enmity that are unique to women. At no point in the book did Bella and Svieta ring hollow. Come on - that's impressive.
As usual, not even an extremely long post can get a good handle on a Reynolds book; as usual, I strongly suggest you go and read on. Yea, even this one. You'll thank me later.
A big conviction? Absolutely. But I've read everyone from Wells to Verne to Asimov to Clarke to Pohl, Heinlein, Herbert, Card, and everyone in-between, and then I caught up with the times and read everyone from Foster to Zahn to lesser contemporary players like Kevin J. Anderson; and though the old guard laid the foundations, and I'll always call Heinlein grandmaster, I must say that if there's ever been anyone like Reynolds, I haven't heard of them...which, not trying to be a putz, probably means there's never been anyone like Reynold. That's the natural and healthy order of art, though, that the students will almost always surpass the teachers, because of the wealth of knowledge and precedent those students have been given.
And now, to the book. As previously mentioned, Pushing Ice is an unashamed mash-up, but a mash-up of the best kind. Reynolds succeeds because he scorns the idea emergent in the last decade that for a story to be good, it has to be "new", and because new stories are at best very rare (I personally feel they're extinct), that's usually tallied up to lots of old stories with puerile twists, the puerile twists being what makes it "new." Also found in this approach to art is, in the desperate belief of having created something new and unique, the sad attempt to deny any and all association with the work that's come before. Reynolds, however, is new old-school: he knows the neo-classics. He loves the neo-classics. Pushing Ice, in particular, holds forth the honourable (and reliable) practice of taking existant foundations and building on them, unashamed. The result is a story that has learned from the best, and put its learning into practice not by mimicry, but by advancement...and, in that, Pushing Ice feels, in an odd yet natural way, like something new.
It's 2056 (hey! That's the same year Babylon 5 went online!), and the mainstay of the new near-Earth economy is comet mining. Bella Lind and the crew of the Rockhopper are, for the most part, your typical rough-yet-refined blue collars, proud tradesfolk who revel in their work and exude that strain of pride known to any and all who are good at what they do, and know it. Within this context, though, are not pure manual labourers, but also highly specialized scientists and engineers, along with the strain of pride unique to scientists and techies. It's really this underlying contrast and conflict - between the personality of the worker and the scientist - that forms the core of the story.
The physical plot is easy enough, and familiar (this book reminds me most of 2010: The Year We Make Contact). Satellites are picking up disturbing signals from one of Saturn's moons, which promptly breaks orbit and begins careening toward the edge of the galaxy in a very organized fashion, shedding it's moon-ly camouflage as it goes. This discovery is as alarming as it is fascinating, and every nation on Earth wants their ship to catch up to Janus first and either make contact or lay claim to it. The only ship in the vicinity is, of course, Rockhopper, which is owned and operated by a mining company (Alien! The Abyss!), making the stakes even wierder, as it's a corporate vehicle and not a national expedition. Nevertheless, get involved the government does, and it falls to Bella and her crew to decide whether or not to follow Janus (interestingly, Reynolds points out that corporations are not universally evil with the fact that no one on Rockhopper has any legal obligations to take on this mission - simply put, it's not in their contract). Fear and danger of the unknown, and the more important question of sufficient fuel reserves - this not-a-moon is moving fast - lead many to vote against, but a slim majority votes in favour, and off they go. After a few weeks, some disturbing new information on what may or may not be a fuel-related conspiracy, and the discovery that the Rockhopper's velocity readings are screwy because it's been caught in a slipstream and is being dragged by Janus to wherever Janus is headed, the need to choose whether to risk exiting the slipstream and running for home (which there may or may not be enough fuel for) or to stay in the slipstream and land on Janus, where survival is better guaranteed, leads to a mostly bloodless but very bitter (and Thing-like) mutiny. Eventually, they land on Janus (2010!), and lots of things happen very slowly that it would be irrational to attempt summarizing in this space. Suffice it to say that it is a very reasonable, claustrophobic, slightly tragic adventure with the kind of satisfying ending I've come to know and expect from the author.
The heart of the story, though, is not about what happens to the crew of the Rockhopper, but about the relationship between Bella Lind and her best friend turned worst enemy, Svetlana Barseghian, and the assorted impacts it has on the many lives of said crew and their eventual offspring. Bella and Svetlana are polar opposite personalities. Bella, the pure blue-collar, has an acute awareness that things can't always go her way, but "her way" is inconsequential in light of the well-being of her crew. She must make the hard calls, which means choosing how to decipher and use the information presented to her. She is steady, and just wants to make sure everyone gets out alive. Svetlana, on the other hand, is a hot-under-the-collar engineer obsessed with the sense of rightness she believes her knowledge and expertise have given her. That sense of rightness can also accurately be translated as narcissism. Svetlana is like Hugh Laurie's House - a brilliant mind obsessed with and consumed by its own brilliance, who refuses to understand why she can't always have what she wants, when she wants it - because, after all, she's right! Hand-in-hand with all this is an understandable obsession with power, and it is when she believes that she is right, and Bella has made the wrong call, that their friendship ruptures completely, at the cost of a mutiny and, many years later, something far worse. Where Bella is a peacemaker who will willingly cede power for the sake of the greater good, Svetlana will destroy anything in the name of her cause. Where Reynold's Chasm City was an exploration of the idea that there are (almost) no aspects to a personality that can't be changed if the individual wants it to, Pushing Ice asks us to consider what happens when people don't change. Literally, don't change - Bella and Svieta, for all their trials and experiences, remain the same people thirty years down the road, and the implications this has for the colony are severe.
Not only was I impressed by how ably Reynolds has addressed both sides of the personality argument, but in Pushing Ice, his fundamental characters are a pair of middle-aged women...and Mr. Reynolds nails the qualities of friendship and enmity that are unique to women. At no point in the book did Bella and Svieta ring hollow. Come on - that's impressive.
As usual, not even an extremely long post can get a good handle on a Reynolds book; as usual, I strongly suggest you go and read on. Yea, even this one. You'll thank me later.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
In Space, No One Can Hear You Turn Pages.
I'm seriously starting to wonder if there's anything in the sci-fi spectrum that Alastair Reynolds (Century Rain, Chasm City) can't pull off and make you like it. As I wrap up the first third of his Pushing Ice, I marvel at how seamlessly he's blended Alien, 2001, 2010, Sphere, and The Abyss into one tidy, tight, thoroughly tense and enjoyable package. He makes no attempts to imply that he's doing anything new; instead, he reminds us why we love all those neo-classics. I didn't even notice until last night, mulling over Chasm City because Corey is reading it, that a focal climax of said book is very bluntly influenced by Dune...but the thing is, it's not blunt at all while you're reading it, because he put so much effort into the rest of the story.
I'm about a week and a half away from a proper review, but why wait for that before reading it?
I'm about a week and a half away from a proper review, but why wait for that before reading it?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Docteur Qui Brings It! Part I.
Due to the combination of fanaticism and kindness that saw Ian and Darcy (the latter, I have never met) download all of series 4 from BBC.com as soon as each episode aired, then encode them onto DVDs for us, complete with a (seriously, who is this Darcy???), the easy access and high quality picture has made this my best menuDoctor Who experience yet. Though, I must say, the quality of the programming has played a significant part as well.
Though Donna Noble may be turning out to be my least favourite companion yet - no reflection on actress Catherine Tate, who's just fabulous, and her rapport with Tennant is a delight to watch - David Tennant's third outing as the Doctor has been some of the best sci-fi on TV, period. The writers have completely pulled out the stops that were already precariously teetering by the end of last season. Stephen Moffat's two-part "Silence in the Library" cleans The Matrix's virtual-reality clock with what I would say is the best VR caretaker yet, and belongs up there with sci-fi horror icons like Alien and The Thing, and any of The X-Files' best episodes. We got some relief with a taste of classic Doctor comic Britiphilia joy with an episode paying homage to classic English mysteries that saw the Doctor and Donna helping Agatha Christie solve a murder at a country mansion. And the two back-to-back episodes that gave both Tennant and Tate their respective vacations did what I've seen no other series do: instead of trying futilely to make the audience forget that Donna and then the Doctor weren't in an episode, each program unabashedly emphasized how incomplete each character is without the other.
As well, Doctor Who has continued the rather interesting thematic turn begun in series three. From the former best episode ever ("Human Nature Part I and II") through the story arc involvingthe Master and continuing to the end of the season, Doctor Who began bluntly taking on strong Messianic overtones. I can't forget the scene at the end of the Master arc where the Master, hurt, defeated, and overwhelmed by despair, sobbed and begged the Doctor to stop as the latter slowly walked to him, arms wide, repeating, "I forgive you" - and even that's a small part of where that theme has gone. Take it back to the beginning, and you have a man born of a human mother and immortal father, alone in the world and full of love for, and the burning desire to, save it. There's a lot going on these past two seasons, and I wonder.
Notable to this particular season is the focus on the individual. Doctor Who is typically about people helping the Doctor save and put everything in order. This season has been focusing on the importance and impact of small decisions and, subtly-yet-not, the repsonsibility of the individual in helping do and create good. The biblical overtones continue, sharply. I wonder.
We have just two or three episodes comprising an arc until the season's end, and I'll post again after I've had a few days to digest it.
...and your excuse for not watching the re-booted Doctor Who is...?
Though Donna Noble may be turning out to be my least favourite companion yet - no reflection on actress Catherine Tate, who's just fabulous, and her rapport with Tennant is a delight to watch - David Tennant's third outing as the Doctor has been some of the best sci-fi on TV, period. The writers have completely pulled out the stops that were already precariously teetering by the end of last season. Stephen Moffat's two-part "Silence in the Library" cleans The Matrix's virtual-reality clock with what I would say is the best VR caretaker yet, and belongs up there with sci-fi horror icons like Alien and The Thing, and any of The X-Files' best episodes. We got some relief with a taste of classic Doctor comic Britiphilia joy with an episode paying homage to classic English mysteries that saw the Doctor and Donna helping Agatha Christie solve a murder at a country mansion. And the two back-to-back episodes that gave both Tennant and Tate their respective vacations did what I've seen no other series do: instead of trying futilely to make the audience forget that Donna and then the Doctor weren't in an episode, each program unabashedly emphasized how incomplete each character is without the other.
As well, Doctor Who has continued the rather interesting thematic turn begun in series three. From the former best episode ever ("Human Nature Part I and II") through the story arc involvingthe Master and continuing to the end of the season, Doctor Who began bluntly taking on strong Messianic overtones. I can't forget the scene at the end of the Master arc where the Master, hurt, defeated, and overwhelmed by despair, sobbed and begged the Doctor to stop as the latter slowly walked to him, arms wide, repeating, "I forgive you" - and even that's a small part of where that theme has gone. Take it back to the beginning, and you have a man born of a human mother and immortal father, alone in the world and full of love for, and the burning desire to, save it. There's a lot going on these past two seasons, and I wonder.
Notable to this particular season is the focus on the individual. Doctor Who is typically about people helping the Doctor save and put everything in order. This season has been focusing on the importance and impact of small decisions and, subtly-yet-not, the repsonsibility of the individual in helping do and create good. The biblical overtones continue, sharply. I wonder.
We have just two or three episodes comprising an arc until the season's end, and I'll post again after I've had a few days to digest it.
...and your excuse for not watching the re-booted Doctor Who is...?
Saturday, October 18, 2008
. . .
Seen in Thursday's National Post, originally printed in The Daily Telegraph:
I've got nothing to add. I think this story speaks for itself.
A mouse bit a venomous viper to death after it was thrown into the snake's cage as a lunchtime snack. The tiny rodent killed the snake after a fierce 30-minute battle, emerging with "barely a scratch on him", according to one person who saw the fight. Firefighters in Taiwan who were looking after the snake - which had been found in a local resident's home - thought that the live mouse would make a perfect lunchtime treat. But the furry creature had other ideas. Instead of cowering from the 12-inch snake's gaping jaws and long fangs, it went on the offensive. "It attacked the snake continuously, biting and scratching it," one of the firefighters said. Viper venom is poisonous for mice, but the snake proved unable to land a killer bite.
I've got nothing to add. I think this story speaks for itself.
Life on Mars. No, not the song. The other one.
I swore for quite some time that I would not watch the American re-make of British cop drama Life on Mars, not so much because of the reported problems facing the quality of the production (the first pilot was made, the entire cast was fired, a new cast re-hired, a new pilot made and aired), but because every time I saw a preview, I got the Bowie song Life on Mars stuck in my head. It's not a bad song or anything, I just got annoyed from the constant association. But I broke down in the face of a favourable review of the pilot, and caught episode 2 this week. I wasn't sorry!
Life on Mars follows NYPD Sam Tyler (Jason O'Mara) as he gets hit by a car and promptly wakes up, full virtual-reality style, in 1973. It certainly is a different world from the one Sam's used to, especially in terms of what is and isn't normal policing (for example, planting evidence isn't a major felony yet). Disoriented by what a wierd time the 70's in NYC are, and making a list of all possible theories as to what happened (a sad/funny touch written on his apartment window that includes coma, drug trip, alien abduction...), Sam woke up to a status quo police life - in other words, he's still a part of the force - and so continues his work as a homicide detective, while trying to navigate and correct the insanity and culture shock separating him from the rest of the precinct. Michael Imperiolo is great as Sam's smarmy comic relief / scary nemesis, who was the next in line for a promotion until Sam showed up being all, you know, a good, committed cop. Imperioli is in full retro New York guido mode, and clearly loving it, but not so clearly that his character is a joke; rather, clearly in the sense of, his character loves who he is. Did that make any sense? Harvey Keitel is fabulous and funny as the lieutenant, as old-school of a modern cop as one could imagine, full of brotherhood codes, loose views on appropriate police behaviour, and a penchant for punching Sam in the face whenever Sam gets in his.
Life on Mars reminds me of two other shows, the dearly departed time-travel series Journeyman, and the regrettable retro showcase Mad Men. Like Journeyman, our protagonist is always trying to figure out how to get back home; unlike Journeyman, he doesn't have a one- or two-day mission - he's in this for the long haul. Also in contrast to Journeyman, Life on Mars is bringing in the intriguing addition of metaphor - that of feeling like one is on a different planet - made literal. In the second episode, the (hallucinated?) Mars Rover rolls out of a bush and plays memories of 2008 in Sam's head; later on, at the end of a drug bust, Sam digs up a little toy Rover in a crate of heroin bricks and takes it home. This could be certain death for the show, but judging from the quality and standard of writing so far, I suspect they'll go somewhere good with this device. I'm very interested.
In sharp contrast to Mad Men, Mars is much less in your face about the differences between the era it's set in and today - and yet, it's not, but it's still more effective and more subtle. With Mad Men, I always got this feeling of "look! Look at these crazy times! Look how backward everyone is! Wow!", which is what turned me off it. With Mars, the ways of the times are more, well, normal, and Sam unhappily recognizes them for being normal to everyone around him. Mars is also just madcap enough to remove any traces of retro conceit, as exemplified by Imperioli's character, and in a brilliant hospital scene wherein Sam and his lieutenant get in a very funny yet slightly bitter fistfight while arguing over the injured person's possible complicity in a homicide. I don't know how to describe this aspect of the show, really. Suffice it to say that it's there, and it's why the show works.
Also, again like Journeyman, Mars understands how to use period music, and how to use it well - a very, very important contribution to the show's quality.
The only unfortunate thing yet about Life on Mars is the token policewoman, Gretchen Mol as the D.A.'s secretary, a vaguely familiar face who's had tiny roles in great films like Get Carter and 3:10 to Yuma. I would hazard to suggest that acting may not be her forte. It's not that she's bad, just that she's thoroughly unengaging - her lack of rapport with Jason O'Mara was stunning. Also, the character itself is a problem - when I say token, I mean token. Perhaps she'll actually be relevant to the plot in later episodes, but I'm not holding my breath.
Life on Mars airs Wednesdays 8pm (mountain time) on Global. Why not give it a shot?
Life on Mars follows NYPD Sam Tyler (Jason O'Mara) as he gets hit by a car and promptly wakes up, full virtual-reality style, in 1973. It certainly is a different world from the one Sam's used to, especially in terms of what is and isn't normal policing (for example, planting evidence isn't a major felony yet). Disoriented by what a wierd time the 70's in NYC are, and making a list of all possible theories as to what happened (a sad/funny touch written on his apartment window that includes coma, drug trip, alien abduction...), Sam woke up to a status quo police life - in other words, he's still a part of the force - and so continues his work as a homicide detective, while trying to navigate and correct the insanity and culture shock separating him from the rest of the precinct. Michael Imperiolo is great as Sam's smarmy comic relief / scary nemesis, who was the next in line for a promotion until Sam showed up being all, you know, a good, committed cop. Imperioli is in full retro New York guido mode, and clearly loving it, but not so clearly that his character is a joke; rather, clearly in the sense of, his character loves who he is. Did that make any sense? Harvey Keitel is fabulous and funny as the lieutenant, as old-school of a modern cop as one could imagine, full of brotherhood codes, loose views on appropriate police behaviour, and a penchant for punching Sam in the face whenever Sam gets in his.
Life on Mars reminds me of two other shows, the dearly departed time-travel series Journeyman, and the regrettable retro showcase Mad Men. Like Journeyman, our protagonist is always trying to figure out how to get back home; unlike Journeyman, he doesn't have a one- or two-day mission - he's in this for the long haul. Also in contrast to Journeyman, Life on Mars is bringing in the intriguing addition of metaphor - that of feeling like one is on a different planet - made literal. In the second episode, the (hallucinated?) Mars Rover rolls out of a bush and plays memories of 2008 in Sam's head; later on, at the end of a drug bust, Sam digs up a little toy Rover in a crate of heroin bricks and takes it home. This could be certain death for the show, but judging from the quality and standard of writing so far, I suspect they'll go somewhere good with this device. I'm very interested.
In sharp contrast to Mad Men, Mars is much less in your face about the differences between the era it's set in and today - and yet, it's not, but it's still more effective and more subtle. With Mad Men, I always got this feeling of "look! Look at these crazy times! Look how backward everyone is! Wow!", which is what turned me off it. With Mars, the ways of the times are more, well, normal, and Sam unhappily recognizes them for being normal to everyone around him. Mars is also just madcap enough to remove any traces of retro conceit, as exemplified by Imperioli's character, and in a brilliant hospital scene wherein Sam and his lieutenant get in a very funny yet slightly bitter fistfight while arguing over the injured person's possible complicity in a homicide. I don't know how to describe this aspect of the show, really. Suffice it to say that it's there, and it's why the show works.
Also, again like Journeyman, Mars understands how to use period music, and how to use it well - a very, very important contribution to the show's quality.
The only unfortunate thing yet about Life on Mars is the token policewoman, Gretchen Mol as the D.A.'s secretary, a vaguely familiar face who's had tiny roles in great films like Get Carter and 3:10 to Yuma. I would hazard to suggest that acting may not be her forte. It's not that she's bad, just that she's thoroughly unengaging - her lack of rapport with Jason O'Mara was stunning. Also, the character itself is a problem - when I say token, I mean token. Perhaps she'll actually be relevant to the plot in later episodes, but I'm not holding my breath.
Life on Mars airs Wednesdays 8pm (mountain time) on Global. Why not give it a shot?
The Count of Monte Crusoe
Streaming TV is a beautiful thing, because it means I can go watch the first half of NBC's pilot for its new British production, Crusoe.
It's British? And a new take on Robinson Crusoe? Why didn't I watch the whole thing? Well, I blame CityTV, Crusoe's Canadian broadcaster, because a) most of what's aired on City is beyond crap, and b) their previews made the show out to be Harlequin-grade at best. But then, at the end of Numb3rs (which, by the way, has been really picking up speed these past few seasons), Corey channel-surfed as he is wont to do and then hollered at me that Crusoe's dad was played by Sean Bean, and said dad's best friend was played by Sam Neil. That caught our attention pretty quick.
Crusoe is a series that looks to be only one season long, according to IMDB. It appears to have combined Robinson Crusoe with The Count of Monte Cristo, the website alleges it will span the whole twenty-eight years of the story, and from what Corey and I saw of the two-hour pilot, it also appears to be very solid. The acting, particularly from Crusoe and Friday, is just fantastic, it's packed with very familiar international actors in small roles, and the writing is also above average. Crusoe's story of what happened in the lead-up to his being marooned is told in flashback and dream sequences that a) feature Sean Bean and Sam Neil, and b) often come up in the course of a conversation, being started by one character and finished by another. For example, Crusoe and Friday are having a heart-to-heart and thinking back to the day Crusoe saved Friday from his fellow cannibals. Crusoe begins the flashback; Friday finishes it, and the whole sequence takes on a new and more potent meaning. Brilliant.
I'll be watching the first half of that episode shortly, at the very least before next week. Crusoe will be airing in Canada on CityTV, Fridays at 10pm (Edmonton time - CityTV.com will automatically rout you to your local time zone's page).
It's British? And a new take on Robinson Crusoe? Why didn't I watch the whole thing? Well, I blame CityTV, Crusoe's Canadian broadcaster, because a) most of what's aired on City is beyond crap, and b) their previews made the show out to be Harlequin-grade at best. But then, at the end of Numb3rs (which, by the way, has been really picking up speed these past few seasons), Corey channel-surfed as he is wont to do and then hollered at me that Crusoe's dad was played by Sean Bean, and said dad's best friend was played by Sam Neil. That caught our attention pretty quick.
Crusoe is a series that looks to be only one season long, according to IMDB. It appears to have combined Robinson Crusoe with The Count of Monte Cristo, the website alleges it will span the whole twenty-eight years of the story, and from what Corey and I saw of the two-hour pilot, it also appears to be very solid. The acting, particularly from Crusoe and Friday, is just fantastic, it's packed with very familiar international actors in small roles, and the writing is also above average. Crusoe's story of what happened in the lead-up to his being marooned is told in flashback and dream sequences that a) feature Sean Bean and Sam Neil, and b) often come up in the course of a conversation, being started by one character and finished by another. For example, Crusoe and Friday are having a heart-to-heart and thinking back to the day Crusoe saved Friday from his fellow cannibals. Crusoe begins the flashback; Friday finishes it, and the whole sequence takes on a new and more potent meaning. Brilliant.
I'll be watching the first half of that episode shortly, at the very least before next week. Crusoe will be airing in Canada on CityTV, Fridays at 10pm (Edmonton time - CityTV.com will automatically rout you to your local time zone's page).
Oh yeeeeeah!
The day after I finished Chasm City, whose catalytic climax early in the book takes place aboard an orbital elevator, I found this article on CNN.com.
Being several years ahead of the jump on theories of new technology and using them in an important role in a story? This, my friends, is what good science fiction is all about.
Being several years ahead of the jump on theories of new technology and using them in an important role in a story? This, my friends, is what good science fiction is all about.
Oh yeeeeeah!
The day after I finished reading Chasm City, in which the catalytic climax early in the book takes place aboard an orbital elevator, I found this article on CNN.com.
Being ahead of the jump on theories of new technology, and using them in a book? This, my friends, is what good science fiction is all about. Hail to the Alastair.
Being ahead of the jump on theories of new technology, and using them in a book? This, my friends, is what good science fiction is all about. Hail to the Alastair.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Tiny Movies, Everywhere!
In our overworked society, pressed for time and courted from all angles, one can still enjoy a good movie. One can even enjoy it in 30 seconds. Re-enacted by bunnies.
No, really. Trust me on this one. This site's been around for awhile, and the newer re-enactments aren't that hot, but check out their Alien, Jaws, The Shining, Rocky, Jurassic Park, and Star Wars, for a briefly good time.
And, for the movies you don't even have 30 seconds for - because they really, really (probably) suck, Moviepooper has a decently comprehensive library that I peruse every few weeks.
I've frequented these sites for a couple of years, and now you can frequent them too. Enjoy!
No, really. Trust me on this one. This site's been around for awhile, and the newer re-enactments aren't that hot, but check out their Alien, Jaws, The Shining, Rocky, Jurassic Park, and Star Wars, for a briefly good time.
And, for the movies you don't even have 30 seconds for - because they really, really (probably) suck, Moviepooper has a decently comprehensive library that I peruse every few weeks.
I've frequented these sites for a couple of years, and now you can frequent them too. Enjoy!
Monday, October 13, 2008
More Trouble Than a Toilet Bowl Full of Snakes? Babylon Jive 101
TV used to be a place where shows didn't have to prove their worth in their first three to seven episodes in order to avoid immediate, knee-jerk cancellation. As such, most shows premiered before, I don't know, 2000, took until season two or three to find their stride. Programs like Angel, Star Trek: The Next Generation/Deep Space Nine, Stargate: SG1, Seinfeld, The X-Files, Futurama, Frasier, Third Watch, even, please don't throw things at me, ER, which was actually a good show from 1994-1997...and most of the shows I'm thinking of used multiple-episode, or multiple-season story arcs. They got their feet wet, the writer(s), director(s), actors, and crew found their stride with each other, and they went on to bigger and better things.
Babylon 5, written exclusively by creator Michael J. Straczynski (herein referred to as JMS), is one such creature. With a strong cast, a story that appears to have been written in full before a single script was produced, and a grasp on the elusive space-opera genre which only stregnthened with every episode aired, Babylon 5 was an intriguing, quality contrast to the primary sci-fi/space-opera of the time, Star Trek: TNG.
Season one begins in 2260 with the titular space station having been in operation for three years. Babylon 5, built after Earth's first and only great war with another race, is intended as a neutral ground for human-alien relations, and populated by businessman, tradesmen, political envoys, and a combination of refugees, displaced persons, and ne'er-do-wells. After three years, it's fallen into the rhythms and problems plagued by any colony - because if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's human nature, and our inherent tendencies for selfishness and ill will. "Human nature" is a continual exploration throughout the series, and one of its weaker points, as JMS falls into the classic sci-fi trap of categorizing our negative behaviours and attitudes as specifically human attributes.
But, back to season one. Babylon 5 is under the command of one Jeffery Sinclair (Michael O'Hare), a veteran of the afore-mentioned great war, whose mysterious 24-hour disappearance in his fighter precluded the sudden surrender of the Minbari who, up to that point, were quite clearly winning. A quiet, steady sort, Sinclair is a man who doesn't have a hard time gaining respect and resolving conflict, making him a solid choice for commander of such an outpost. This season also introduces station executive officer Lt.-Cmdr. Susan Ivanova, security chief Michael Garibaldi, chief medical officer Stephen Franklin, and the primary non-human movers and shakers of B5, G'kar, Londo Mollari, and Delenn, along with their respective aides and attaches. Everyone's fundamental character (except those of the aides) is established within the first five episodes, with the exception of Londo, who continues to be perhaps the most complex and fluid character throughout the series' run. What makes B5 special, though, is that while these funamental characters don't change over the next four seasons, they do grow. So many shows rely on one-episode epiphanies that have no character impact. Not this one. JMS' characters grow as normal people do, within the frameworks of their personalities and natures, but growing nonetheless as they adapt to the changing situations around them, and the series as a whole stands out because of this. The only character that stagnates over four seasons is Garibaldi. It's hard to say whether this is due to Jerry Doyle's acting abilities (possible) or JMS' lack of understanding of the "tough guy" outside of the obvious cliches (definite - he inadvertently makes a strong case for "don't write what you don't know" with Garibaldi), or a combination of the two (most likely explanation).
As well, plots are set in motion in season one that lay the framework for the entire series - as I said, it appears to have been written in full before a single script was even financed. In this context, watching season one last instills an extra appreciation for the scope and skill of the writer, and the show in general.
Perhaps the biggest criticism I've heard of season one has been directed toward the Sinclair character. Michael O'Hare amicably left the series at the end of the season, and was replaced by Bruce "Tron" Boxleitner, who helmed the show for the rest of its run. It's easy to see why Boxleitner's John Sheridan is the winner of the 'which commander is better' debate, and why Sheridan is such a fundamentally different character from Sinclair. Both men are career soldiers and veterans of the same war, but they are also the two main archetypes of the veteran. Where Sheridan has charisma in spades and is a loud, big, passionate presence who thrives on war and conflict and treats related psychological wounds as something to be conquered by conquering the enemy, Sinclair is a soldier who loves soldiering but was ultimately destroyed by actual warfare. Sinclair is a quiet presence who leads by assurance and, like Sheridan, his command decisions have become coloured by his wartime experience. But where Sheridan, the charismatic, this real Churchillian sort, commanded a ship of the line in that final battle, Sinclair's differing character saw him as a pilot, leading a fighter squad, in a role more personally connected to his men. The fact that the characters are close in age and both career soldiers makes their differing wartime roles an important clue to their personalities and motivations. Where Sheridan was responsible for destroying the enemy flagship, the act that was assumed to be the reason for the Minbari surrender, Sinclair saw his squad destroyed and was subsequently captured, interrogated, tortured, and, eventually, memory-wiped and released...and became, as we learn in season two, the real reason for the enemy surrendering from a position of power. Interesting.
It's commonplace, thanks to Star Trek, for sci-fi captains and commanders to engage in dangerous activities which by all rights belong to the lesser ranks, and engage Sinclair does. The difference, though, is that when Sinclair does it, it makes sense. We see right off the bat that Sinclair is a proper leader who understands the chain of command and the roles held within - in this season, unlike all the others, we actually see in most every episode Ivanova acting out normal XO duties while Sinclair engages in normal command duties, something that we see precious little of under Sheridan, who likes to feel and be in control in every way. The only instances in which Sinclair abuses the chain of command are those which place someone's life at risk - in other words, he only inappropriately pulls rank to take over situations which may get him killed. But - and this is an important but - this makes perfect sense within his character profile. Sinclair, a man destroyed by war, a leader who saw his followers slaughtered, is a veteran not only with a deathwish, but a deathwish that stems from survivor's guilt. It's not that he's suicidal, but if he can save one of his people by taking their place in harm's way, he'll do it, and chain of command be damned. In this context, I have no problem with Sinclair's actions, because any other response just wouldn't make sense. Sheridan puts himself in harm's way not only because he thrives on that stuff, but because he has big passions and anger combined with strong needs for vengeance, something he often equates with justice...whereas Sinclair is a broken man who just can't handle the idea of seeing another one of his people hurt or killed when it could've been him. The sole survivor typically turns into a desperate saviour, and Sinclair is no exception. As an additional small touch, he's supposed to be thirty-nine years old, but looks about ten years older.
Of course, Sinclair's character profile is not the sort the average fan sitting down for an hour of sci-fi/opera wants to see helming things. I personally would've been very interested in seeing the series continue with a commander who didn't have that standard big charisma personality with passions overflowing at every turn, but them's the breaks, and it's easy to understand why a character like Sheridan is necessary for a series like B5 to survive. Sinclair is quiet, gentle, steady, and the type I'd personally prefer to follow...but Sheridan has presence, and control, and fits the desired archetype of the captain, not to mention posesses the archetypal hero good looks, square jaw and all. I suppose Sinclair's long face and big eyebrows just don't cut it anymore.
One more thing I love about Sinclair: being a quiet, internal man, he can get away with pulling out the occasional ridiculously funny bit of dialogue that speaks volumes as to his person, and which sound overdone rather than coming out of the mouth of a bombast like Sheridan (though I suppose I must conclude that, since he's a bombast, such lines make sense). Favourite bits include Sinclair recalling why he no longer gives interviews ("Ten minutes after [it] aired, I found myself reassigned to an outpost so far away you couldn't find it with a hunting dog and a Ouija board") and expressing the realities of working with Garibaldi ("You're more trouble than a toilet full of snakes, but I love you."). More trouble than a toilet full of snakes. I plan to use that one often, and with vigour.
My only strong criticism towards, and dislike of, season one stems from the rather extreme melodrama displayed by any "villainous" character in particular, and the rather bombastic and overused score that makes sure to let us know when DRAMA is occurring. This can, at times, make DVD marathons a bit too much to handle. So pace yourself! You have been warned.
Bottom line, Babylon 5 is a great series that holds its own in the face of other quality space operas like Star Wars, Dune, and the first to Trek series, while incorporating parts of each (I'd say it's most heavily influenced by Dune) but remaining very different. Whether you start at season one or season two, make sure you watch season one at some point - it's important to the wholeness of the story, and it's not even bad. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's pretty good, and a quality way to spend an evening.
Babylon 5, written exclusively by creator Michael J. Straczynski (herein referred to as JMS), is one such creature. With a strong cast, a story that appears to have been written in full before a single script was produced, and a grasp on the elusive space-opera genre which only stregnthened with every episode aired, Babylon 5 was an intriguing, quality contrast to the primary sci-fi/space-opera of the time, Star Trek: TNG.
Season one begins in 2260 with the titular space station having been in operation for three years. Babylon 5, built after Earth's first and only great war with another race, is intended as a neutral ground for human-alien relations, and populated by businessman, tradesmen, political envoys, and a combination of refugees, displaced persons, and ne'er-do-wells. After three years, it's fallen into the rhythms and problems plagued by any colony - because if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's human nature, and our inherent tendencies for selfishness and ill will. "Human nature" is a continual exploration throughout the series, and one of its weaker points, as JMS falls into the classic sci-fi trap of categorizing our negative behaviours and attitudes as specifically human attributes.
But, back to season one. Babylon 5 is under the command of one Jeffery Sinclair (Michael O'Hare), a veteran of the afore-mentioned great war, whose mysterious 24-hour disappearance in his fighter precluded the sudden surrender of the Minbari who, up to that point, were quite clearly winning. A quiet, steady sort, Sinclair is a man who doesn't have a hard time gaining respect and resolving conflict, making him a solid choice for commander of such an outpost. This season also introduces station executive officer Lt.-Cmdr. Susan Ivanova, security chief Michael Garibaldi, chief medical officer Stephen Franklin, and the primary non-human movers and shakers of B5, G'kar, Londo Mollari, and Delenn, along with their respective aides and attaches. Everyone's fundamental character (except those of the aides) is established within the first five episodes, with the exception of Londo, who continues to be perhaps the most complex and fluid character throughout the series' run. What makes B5 special, though, is that while these funamental characters don't change over the next four seasons, they do grow. So many shows rely on one-episode epiphanies that have no character impact. Not this one. JMS' characters grow as normal people do, within the frameworks of their personalities and natures, but growing nonetheless as they adapt to the changing situations around them, and the series as a whole stands out because of this. The only character that stagnates over four seasons is Garibaldi. It's hard to say whether this is due to Jerry Doyle's acting abilities (possible) or JMS' lack of understanding of the "tough guy" outside of the obvious cliches (definite - he inadvertently makes a strong case for "don't write what you don't know" with Garibaldi), or a combination of the two (most likely explanation).
As well, plots are set in motion in season one that lay the framework for the entire series - as I said, it appears to have been written in full before a single script was even financed. In this context, watching season one last instills an extra appreciation for the scope and skill of the writer, and the show in general.
Perhaps the biggest criticism I've heard of season one has been directed toward the Sinclair character. Michael O'Hare amicably left the series at the end of the season, and was replaced by Bruce "Tron" Boxleitner, who helmed the show for the rest of its run. It's easy to see why Boxleitner's John Sheridan is the winner of the 'which commander is better' debate, and why Sheridan is such a fundamentally different character from Sinclair. Both men are career soldiers and veterans of the same war, but they are also the two main archetypes of the veteran. Where Sheridan has charisma in spades and is a loud, big, passionate presence who thrives on war and conflict and treats related psychological wounds as something to be conquered by conquering the enemy, Sinclair is a soldier who loves soldiering but was ultimately destroyed by actual warfare. Sinclair is a quiet presence who leads by assurance and, like Sheridan, his command decisions have become coloured by his wartime experience. But where Sheridan, the charismatic, this real Churchillian sort, commanded a ship of the line in that final battle, Sinclair's differing character saw him as a pilot, leading a fighter squad, in a role more personally connected to his men. The fact that the characters are close in age and both career soldiers makes their differing wartime roles an important clue to their personalities and motivations. Where Sheridan was responsible for destroying the enemy flagship, the act that was assumed to be the reason for the Minbari surrender, Sinclair saw his squad destroyed and was subsequently captured, interrogated, tortured, and, eventually, memory-wiped and released...and became, as we learn in season two, the real reason for the enemy surrendering from a position of power. Interesting.
It's commonplace, thanks to Star Trek, for sci-fi captains and commanders to engage in dangerous activities which by all rights belong to the lesser ranks, and engage Sinclair does. The difference, though, is that when Sinclair does it, it makes sense. We see right off the bat that Sinclair is a proper leader who understands the chain of command and the roles held within - in this season, unlike all the others, we actually see in most every episode Ivanova acting out normal XO duties while Sinclair engages in normal command duties, something that we see precious little of under Sheridan, who likes to feel and be in control in every way. The only instances in which Sinclair abuses the chain of command are those which place someone's life at risk - in other words, he only inappropriately pulls rank to take over situations which may get him killed. But - and this is an important but - this makes perfect sense within his character profile. Sinclair, a man destroyed by war, a leader who saw his followers slaughtered, is a veteran not only with a deathwish, but a deathwish that stems from survivor's guilt. It's not that he's suicidal, but if he can save one of his people by taking their place in harm's way, he'll do it, and chain of command be damned. In this context, I have no problem with Sinclair's actions, because any other response just wouldn't make sense. Sheridan puts himself in harm's way not only because he thrives on that stuff, but because he has big passions and anger combined with strong needs for vengeance, something he often equates with justice...whereas Sinclair is a broken man who just can't handle the idea of seeing another one of his people hurt or killed when it could've been him. The sole survivor typically turns into a desperate saviour, and Sinclair is no exception. As an additional small touch, he's supposed to be thirty-nine years old, but looks about ten years older.
Of course, Sinclair's character profile is not the sort the average fan sitting down for an hour of sci-fi/opera wants to see helming things. I personally would've been very interested in seeing the series continue with a commander who didn't have that standard big charisma personality with passions overflowing at every turn, but them's the breaks, and it's easy to understand why a character like Sheridan is necessary for a series like B5 to survive. Sinclair is quiet, gentle, steady, and the type I'd personally prefer to follow...but Sheridan has presence, and control, and fits the desired archetype of the captain, not to mention posesses the archetypal hero good looks, square jaw and all. I suppose Sinclair's long face and big eyebrows just don't cut it anymore.
One more thing I love about Sinclair: being a quiet, internal man, he can get away with pulling out the occasional ridiculously funny bit of dialogue that speaks volumes as to his person, and which sound overdone rather than coming out of the mouth of a bombast like Sheridan (though I suppose I must conclude that, since he's a bombast, such lines make sense). Favourite bits include Sinclair recalling why he no longer gives interviews ("Ten minutes after [it] aired, I found myself reassigned to an outpost so far away you couldn't find it with a hunting dog and a Ouija board") and expressing the realities of working with Garibaldi ("You're more trouble than a toilet full of snakes, but I love you."). More trouble than a toilet full of snakes. I plan to use that one often, and with vigour.
My only strong criticism towards, and dislike of, season one stems from the rather extreme melodrama displayed by any "villainous" character in particular, and the rather bombastic and overused score that makes sure to let us know when DRAMA is occurring. This can, at times, make DVD marathons a bit too much to handle. So pace yourself! You have been warned.
Bottom line, Babylon 5 is a great series that holds its own in the face of other quality space operas like Star Wars, Dune, and the first to Trek series, while incorporating parts of each (I'd say it's most heavily influenced by Dune) but remaining very different. Whether you start at season one or season two, make sure you watch season one at some point - it's important to the wholeness of the story, and it's not even bad. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's pretty good, and a quality way to spend an evening.
Babylon Jive: And So it Begins
Sometimes, a friend and/or lover's reccommendation can save you from hours of bad media. Sometimes, that same reccommendation can also bar you from good times and interesting tales that come only at the cost of about 13.5 hours of your time. What I mean to say is, I never saw season one of Babylon 5, and had it on good authority that it was baaaaad. Not just bad, but baaaaaaad, the kind of bad that isn't even so bad it's good.
However, I also happened to have Babylon 5 season one on DVD, given to me by the trusted friend who assured its baaaaadness, along with seasons two and three - he just decided he didn't want them anymore, and stuck to it. Thanks, Scott! I immediately fell on season two, as that was all I'd ever seen of B5 back in the day when it was airing as new episodes, and was excited to both reacquaint myself and continue the story, as I'd never been able to watch anything pertaining to the Shadow War. Then Scott and husband Corey got me season four for my birthday so that I could finish the story arc, and it was so fine and engaging and, really, the height of space opera, that I was content to let season one grow dusty on the shelf.
Then Corey was bored last week, and put some on while I was at work, and said, "you know, this isn't nearly as bad as I remember."
And you know what? It really isn't that bad. It tends towards far more melodrama than we contemporary audiences like in our space opera (irony!), but it is not bad. I would even go so far as to say it's good. The pilot, for being only one episode whereas many are two-parters, is significantly stronger than the average sci-fi pilot.
As for the rest of the season, well, I'll talk about that in a separate post. My point is, if you've watched seasons two onward of B5 but shied away from season one, I think you should reconsider.
The real question is, if you haven't watched any B5, as is the case with my brother-in-law and his wife, should you watch season one first? I don't know. We've started them on season two. I personally am really enjoying season one, having seen the rest of the story first (it's all one big arc through to the end of season 4).
Well...whatever. Either way, it's good space opera that I would say becomes great space opera in season three, and it's pretty good sci-fi the whole way along, and it's not written by committee, which is usually good for the show, and the writer in question one famously answered a fan's question by saying that either bullets or ships on his show "travel at the speed of plot", so you know you're in for something reasonably self-aware. Plus, the overall foreshadowing and linking up of stories is brilliant.
Babylon 5: Give It a Whirl.
However, I also happened to have Babylon 5 season one on DVD, given to me by the trusted friend who assured its baaaaadness, along with seasons two and three - he just decided he didn't want them anymore, and stuck to it. Thanks, Scott! I immediately fell on season two, as that was all I'd ever seen of B5 back in the day when it was airing as new episodes, and was excited to both reacquaint myself and continue the story, as I'd never been able to watch anything pertaining to the Shadow War. Then Scott and husband Corey got me season four for my birthday so that I could finish the story arc, and it was so fine and engaging and, really, the height of space opera, that I was content to let season one grow dusty on the shelf.
Then Corey was bored last week, and put some on while I was at work, and said, "you know, this isn't nearly as bad as I remember."
And you know what? It really isn't that bad. It tends towards far more melodrama than we contemporary audiences like in our space opera (irony!), but it is not bad. I would even go so far as to say it's good. The pilot, for being only one episode whereas many are two-parters, is significantly stronger than the average sci-fi pilot.
As for the rest of the season, well, I'll talk about that in a separate post. My point is, if you've watched seasons two onward of B5 but shied away from season one, I think you should reconsider.
The real question is, if you haven't watched any B5, as is the case with my brother-in-law and his wife, should you watch season one first? I don't know. We've started them on season two. I personally am really enjoying season one, having seen the rest of the story first (it's all one big arc through to the end of season 4).
Well...whatever. Either way, it's good space opera that I would say becomes great space opera in season three, and it's pretty good sci-fi the whole way along, and it's not written by committee, which is usually good for the show, and the writer in question one famously answered a fan's question by saying that either bullets or ships on his show "travel at the speed of plot", so you know you're in for something reasonably self-aware. Plus, the overall foreshadowing and linking up of stories is brilliant.
Babylon 5: Give It a Whirl.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Good Night, and Good Luck (you're gonna need it)
The new job is really wearing me out. I've recently been devoting more time to Knights of the Old Republic II than I have to current affairs (much to my shame, so close to an election). But keeping up I have been, and I promise an election-related post before the election comes. And tomorrow, we'll talk about that wacky Gordon Brown! This has to be the worst non-military foreign relations move of the last hundred years!
But for the moment, let's talk about something that hasn't qualified as "current affairs" since about 1957: the Joe McCarthy Communist hearings, coincidentally, the subject of George Clooney's second feature outing as a director.
Good Night and Good Luck (2005) is a tease of a film that begins with the impression that it will easily be the next All the President's Men. It chronicles CBS broadcaster Edward R. Murrow's journey throughout the fifties as he sought, and eventually managed to, investigate and expose the illegitimacy and falsehood surrounding the McCarthy witchhunts. With a cast led by David Strathairn (The Bourne Ultimatum, L.A. Confidential) as Murrow and a small army of recognizable and first-rate actors along for the ride in very minute capacities, my expectations were high.
On the acting side of things, I was not disappointed, and how could I be? David Strathairn is 1952 (and '53, and '54...). His performance is one that actually deserves the label "electrifying". A quiet, internal man who only speaks when he feels he has something worth saying, Strathairn's Murrow is a force and a delight to watch. His news crew includes Jeff Daniels (The Lookout), Reed Diamond (one of my favourite TV regulars, whose credits include Homicide: Life on the Street, The West Wing, The Shield, Stargate: SG1, and Journeyman), Robert Downey Jr., and Patricia Clarkson (more on them later), and is headed up by Frank Langella (Dave, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Masters of the Universe) as the station president. Along with about half a dozen other people who'll make you say "where do I know him/her from?", this is ensemble casting and acting at its finest.
As a film, though, I'm afraid I can't reccommend it. Good Night and Good Luck falls into the trap of relying too much on the facts its based on in order to tell its story. It starts out promising, with Murrow giving a speech as he's being honoured for his work, and flashes back to tell the story of his pursuit of McCarthy, and kind of trails off from there. It's a film with a beginning, but no formal middle or end. The facts unfold, in chronological and accurate order, but they don't create a storyline - this is one of the few films I've seen that has not one bit of ebb and flow, tension and release (the other one that springs to mind is also a based on history film with a stunning ensemble cast, All the Right Stuff). There's no movement, no sense of journey - things just happen, to the point where when Murrow et. al. finally hear that McCarthy's being investigated, there's not much sense of climax or triumph. Part of that lack of triumph is fitting to the story and Murrow's performance, but it goes past the bounds of refusing to sacrifice realism for plot. I recognize the struggle and the difficulty to pulling this off - even All the President's Men came very close to doing this.
Also hugely disappointing is Clooney's Downey Jr. and Clarkson tease. This pair of first-rate actors have a hiccup of a part as Joe and Shirley Wershba, a couple who worked in Murrow's newsroom and had to hide their marriage due to a rule that barred CBS employees from marrying other CBS employees. Their scenes are sparse, and completely disconnected from the rest of the film, and I have a feeling that their roles only went even that far because the Wershbas worked as consultants on the project. Whatever the case may be, being teased with such a fleeting glimpse of such a stunning pair was worse than not seeing them at all.
The film's black-and-white format also didn't fly. Clooney and crew didn't have a good handle on how to make a black-and-white picture look like, well, a classic black-and-white picture. Good Night and Good Luck looks like what it is - a contemporary film shot on B&W stock, with no sense of lighting, tone, etc. to suggest proper technique. It must be noted that this deficit of technique was corrected in Clooney's next classic-style project, The Good German, which looks and feels every inch the 40's-50's noir it gives tribute to.
Would I watch it again? A hard question. I want to watch David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow again, but not in this film.
But for the moment, let's talk about something that hasn't qualified as "current affairs" since about 1957: the Joe McCarthy Communist hearings, coincidentally, the subject of George Clooney's second feature outing as a director.
Good Night and Good Luck (2005) is a tease of a film that begins with the impression that it will easily be the next All the President's Men. It chronicles CBS broadcaster Edward R. Murrow's journey throughout the fifties as he sought, and eventually managed to, investigate and expose the illegitimacy and falsehood surrounding the McCarthy witchhunts. With a cast led by David Strathairn (The Bourne Ultimatum, L.A. Confidential) as Murrow and a small army of recognizable and first-rate actors along for the ride in very minute capacities, my expectations were high.
On the acting side of things, I was not disappointed, and how could I be? David Strathairn is 1952 (and '53, and '54...). His performance is one that actually deserves the label "electrifying". A quiet, internal man who only speaks when he feels he has something worth saying, Strathairn's Murrow is a force and a delight to watch. His news crew includes Jeff Daniels (The Lookout), Reed Diamond (one of my favourite TV regulars, whose credits include Homicide: Life on the Street, The West Wing, The Shield, Stargate: SG1, and Journeyman), Robert Downey Jr., and Patricia Clarkson (more on them later), and is headed up by Frank Langella (Dave, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Masters of the Universe) as the station president. Along with about half a dozen other people who'll make you say "where do I know him/her from?", this is ensemble casting and acting at its finest.
As a film, though, I'm afraid I can't reccommend it. Good Night and Good Luck falls into the trap of relying too much on the facts its based on in order to tell its story. It starts out promising, with Murrow giving a speech as he's being honoured for his work, and flashes back to tell the story of his pursuit of McCarthy, and kind of trails off from there. It's a film with a beginning, but no formal middle or end. The facts unfold, in chronological and accurate order, but they don't create a storyline - this is one of the few films I've seen that has not one bit of ebb and flow, tension and release (the other one that springs to mind is also a based on history film with a stunning ensemble cast, All the Right Stuff). There's no movement, no sense of journey - things just happen, to the point where when Murrow et. al. finally hear that McCarthy's being investigated, there's not much sense of climax or triumph. Part of that lack of triumph is fitting to the story and Murrow's performance, but it goes past the bounds of refusing to sacrifice realism for plot. I recognize the struggle and the difficulty to pulling this off - even All the President's Men came very close to doing this.
Also hugely disappointing is Clooney's Downey Jr. and Clarkson tease. This pair of first-rate actors have a hiccup of a part as Joe and Shirley Wershba, a couple who worked in Murrow's newsroom and had to hide their marriage due to a rule that barred CBS employees from marrying other CBS employees. Their scenes are sparse, and completely disconnected from the rest of the film, and I have a feeling that their roles only went even that far because the Wershbas worked as consultants on the project. Whatever the case may be, being teased with such a fleeting glimpse of such a stunning pair was worse than not seeing them at all.
The film's black-and-white format also didn't fly. Clooney and crew didn't have a good handle on how to make a black-and-white picture look like, well, a classic black-and-white picture. Good Night and Good Luck looks like what it is - a contemporary film shot on B&W stock, with no sense of lighting, tone, etc. to suggest proper technique. It must be noted that this deficit of technique was corrected in Clooney's next classic-style project, The Good German, which looks and feels every inch the 40's-50's noir it gives tribute to.
Would I watch it again? A hard question. I want to watch David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow again, but not in this film.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Nature and Nurture, Together At Last: Chasm City
Ever since my first in-depth exposure to it during the year I studied psychology, I've been perplexed by the nature vs. nurture argument. From what my eyes and heart have seen around me in these short twenty-four years, the idea that human action and reaction must be solely caused by either inborn personality or outside influences is short-sighted and, I must say, ridiculous. I can understand how such an argument was born and posited, and why it was so tantalizing to debate, but the reasons for it continuing to be considered elude me.
I mention this because the idea or nature vs./or nurture is both ignored and refuted in Alastair Reynolds' Chasm City, a most worthy hard-SF contribution from the author of Century Rain. Born, raised, and living on a planet that could be substituted for any of the South- or Latin-American countries embroiled in centuries or decades of seemingly endless civil war, our protagonist is one of the most in-demand personal security specialists on the ground. Tanner Mirabel, a war veteran - because he deserted, not because the war has ended - has lost his infamous employer, the object of his affections, and a large chunk of his reputation due to the first and last colossal mistake he'll ever make. Tanner's boss, the uni-named Cahuella, and Cahuella's wife, Gitta, were recently murdered in a jungle ambush by a young aristocrat named Argent Reivich. Reivich's family was murdered in vendetta by a group whose weapons, though stolen from their intended owners, were originally sold by Cahuella - hence, Argent's extension of said vendetta. Tanner has become consumed by continuing the circle; that is, hunting Reivich to his death. Too bad for Tanner that Reivich is not only fabulously wealthy, having near-unlimited resources and the kinds of connections only available to aristocrats. Too bad for him as well that he's working on a time limit. Reynold's fear and fascination, as seen in Century Rain, is nano-machines, and in the universe of Chasm City, nano-machines have been refined for use as constant cellular repair. In other words, for several hundred years, humans with sufficient funds have had the ability to become what they refer to as postmortal. Not immortal, they will still eventually die of old age if they don't live long enough for new technology to become available - but the lifespan has been increased to an average of three hundred years, with little outward ageing. Hence, postmortal.
Now, I don't like revenge stories. I never have and I never will. I find them mindless, useless, and pitiful. However, despite my feeble and very incomplete attempt at an introductory recap, Chasm City is not a revenge story. It begins as one, to be sure, but it is not, any more than Unforgiven or Get Carter (the re-make) are revenge stories. What it is, is a great sci-fi, a great drama, a great mystery (who does 'em like the British, I ask you?), and, at its heart, a story about and exploration of what it means to reconcile nature and nurture, character and experience. Tanner is not a "good" person. He's callous and violent by nature and, despite protests, has probably earned his war criminal designation with flying colours. The book does not see him become any less callous and violent. But it does...oh, I can't really say much. The real mystery of the book is so strong and satisfying, it would be wrong to hint at its resolution in an attempt to persuade you to read it.
Alaistair Reynolds has many specialties. I can't remember the last time I've seen anyone like him who wasn't part of the sci-fi old school (I refer here to quality, not style). One of those specialities, revealed in Chasm City, is the elusive art of concurrent plot lines. No, not subplots, those are something different. I mean concurrent plots, like in Alan Moore's Watchmen, plots that are not derivatives of the same plot, but that mirror and compliment each other. Tanner's story has several concurrent plots, some of which I thought at first were useless until I read sixty more pages and realized they were perfect, but the biggest and most notable one is the story of Sky Haussman. Sky Haussman was one of the first settlers of the planet named in his honour, where Tanner makes his home. Sky Haussman also did something horrific, referred to as his crime and his glory, which resulted in his eventual capture and crucifixion. Due to several factors, of which the crucifixion is merely a by-product, a virulent cult has sprung up in his honour, a cult that "converts" by infecting unsuspecting victims with viruses that do things like make them have fanatic dreams about Sky, feel anxious unless they're surrounded by his iconography, bleed stigmata, or, in extreme cases, make their left arms shrivel and fall off (the story is that Sky's arm was chopped off during his fugitive flight). When Tanner discovers that he's been infected, he begins dreaming...but these dreams feel off, even in the context of a viral Haussman dream. As both a Christian and someone who respects people of faith, I was a bit leery in the first fifty pages as to where Reynolds was going with this story. I can assure anyone who also fits either of those criteria that the Sky story - and its place in Tanner's story - is as mature as it is well-written. Sky Haussman was evil, and not once does Reynolds glorify him, or attempt to make some sort of ill-conceived comparison of his cult with an existing religion. He has a respected secondary character comment about how Sky's followers picked and chose bits of their beliefs from home (Christianity is implied as this throughout the book) and perverted them. So a) Reynolds is no thoughtless fool who criticizes by tossing darts whilst blindfolded, and b) it turns of that Sky Haussman's story is a perfect companion to Tanner's, and brings a satisfying resolution to the story's heart.
I cannot over-emphasize the satisfying resolution. To be honest, even though I was familiar with Reynolds at the time of reading, I wasn't expecting anyone to be able to pull off a good conclusion to this story. The only weakness - and it's not even a true weakness - is the completion of Tanner's recollection of the ambush in the jungle. Around twenty-two pages are spent on Cahuella's obsession with animal hunting - and a confrontation with a rather large beast; the actual ambush comes several chapters later and is over in six. Now, Reynolds didn't do this without a good reason - he has Tanner voice how the cliche about war being about endless waiting and then over in a violent flash is true. He thought this sequence out, and did make it realistic in that. I still thought it interrupted the flow, plus was irritated to be taken out of such a good story so that Cahuella could go hunting for far too long.
But that's hardly a significant complaint for a book of 616 pages, is it?
Don't be alarmed by the SF designation, if that's not your kind of thing. Read it, if for no other reason, for the interesting psychology. And because, you know, it's really well-written. I look forward to my next opportunity to read a Reynolds.
I mention this because the idea or nature vs./or nurture is both ignored and refuted in Alastair Reynolds' Chasm City, a most worthy hard-SF contribution from the author of Century Rain. Born, raised, and living on a planet that could be substituted for any of the South- or Latin-American countries embroiled in centuries or decades of seemingly endless civil war, our protagonist is one of the most in-demand personal security specialists on the ground. Tanner Mirabel, a war veteran - because he deserted, not because the war has ended - has lost his infamous employer, the object of his affections, and a large chunk of his reputation due to the first and last colossal mistake he'll ever make. Tanner's boss, the uni-named Cahuella, and Cahuella's wife, Gitta, were recently murdered in a jungle ambush by a young aristocrat named Argent Reivich. Reivich's family was murdered in vendetta by a group whose weapons, though stolen from their intended owners, were originally sold by Cahuella - hence, Argent's extension of said vendetta. Tanner has become consumed by continuing the circle; that is, hunting Reivich to his death. Too bad for Tanner that Reivich is not only fabulously wealthy, having near-unlimited resources and the kinds of connections only available to aristocrats. Too bad for him as well that he's working on a time limit. Reynold's fear and fascination, as seen in Century Rain, is nano-machines, and in the universe of Chasm City, nano-machines have been refined for use as constant cellular repair. In other words, for several hundred years, humans with sufficient funds have had the ability to become what they refer to as postmortal. Not immortal, they will still eventually die of old age if they don't live long enough for new technology to become available - but the lifespan has been increased to an average of three hundred years, with little outward ageing. Hence, postmortal.
Now, I don't like revenge stories. I never have and I never will. I find them mindless, useless, and pitiful. However, despite my feeble and very incomplete attempt at an introductory recap, Chasm City is not a revenge story. It begins as one, to be sure, but it is not, any more than Unforgiven or Get Carter (the re-make) are revenge stories. What it is, is a great sci-fi, a great drama, a great mystery (who does 'em like the British, I ask you?), and, at its heart, a story about and exploration of what it means to reconcile nature and nurture, character and experience. Tanner is not a "good" person. He's callous and violent by nature and, despite protests, has probably earned his war criminal designation with flying colours. The book does not see him become any less callous and violent. But it does...oh, I can't really say much. The real mystery of the book is so strong and satisfying, it would be wrong to hint at its resolution in an attempt to persuade you to read it.
Alaistair Reynolds has many specialties. I can't remember the last time I've seen anyone like him who wasn't part of the sci-fi old school (I refer here to quality, not style). One of those specialities, revealed in Chasm City, is the elusive art of concurrent plot lines. No, not subplots, those are something different. I mean concurrent plots, like in Alan Moore's Watchmen, plots that are not derivatives of the same plot, but that mirror and compliment each other. Tanner's story has several concurrent plots, some of which I thought at first were useless until I read sixty more pages and realized they were perfect, but the biggest and most notable one is the story of Sky Haussman. Sky Haussman was one of the first settlers of the planet named in his honour, where Tanner makes his home. Sky Haussman also did something horrific, referred to as his crime and his glory, which resulted in his eventual capture and crucifixion. Due to several factors, of which the crucifixion is merely a by-product, a virulent cult has sprung up in his honour, a cult that "converts" by infecting unsuspecting victims with viruses that do things like make them have fanatic dreams about Sky, feel anxious unless they're surrounded by his iconography, bleed stigmata, or, in extreme cases, make their left arms shrivel and fall off (the story is that Sky's arm was chopped off during his fugitive flight). When Tanner discovers that he's been infected, he begins dreaming...but these dreams feel off, even in the context of a viral Haussman dream. As both a Christian and someone who respects people of faith, I was a bit leery in the first fifty pages as to where Reynolds was going with this story. I can assure anyone who also fits either of those criteria that the Sky story - and its place in Tanner's story - is as mature as it is well-written. Sky Haussman was evil, and not once does Reynolds glorify him, or attempt to make some sort of ill-conceived comparison of his cult with an existing religion. He has a respected secondary character comment about how Sky's followers picked and chose bits of their beliefs from home (Christianity is implied as this throughout the book) and perverted them. So a) Reynolds is no thoughtless fool who criticizes by tossing darts whilst blindfolded, and b) it turns of that Sky Haussman's story is a perfect companion to Tanner's, and brings a satisfying resolution to the story's heart.
I cannot over-emphasize the satisfying resolution. To be honest, even though I was familiar with Reynolds at the time of reading, I wasn't expecting anyone to be able to pull off a good conclusion to this story. The only weakness - and it's not even a true weakness - is the completion of Tanner's recollection of the ambush in the jungle. Around twenty-two pages are spent on Cahuella's obsession with animal hunting - and a confrontation with a rather large beast; the actual ambush comes several chapters later and is over in six. Now, Reynolds didn't do this without a good reason - he has Tanner voice how the cliche about war being about endless waiting and then over in a violent flash is true. He thought this sequence out, and did make it realistic in that. I still thought it interrupted the flow, plus was irritated to be taken out of such a good story so that Cahuella could go hunting for far too long.
But that's hardly a significant complaint for a book of 616 pages, is it?
Don't be alarmed by the SF designation, if that's not your kind of thing. Read it, if for no other reason, for the interesting psychology. And because, you know, it's really well-written. I look forward to my next opportunity to read a Reynolds.
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