Lost in The Matrix

Now that the Lost fiasco finale has come and gone, and my blood pres­sure has dipped back down into safe lev­els, I am going to attempt to speak calmly about how the show let me down. Yes, I am aware that it is just a TV pro­gram, and there are a great many other things in the world worth being upset over (I’m look­ing at you, BP). But fol­low­ing a weekly TV show from the very begin­ning, for six years, earns you a lit­tle more than the often deroga­tory sobri­quet Fan. We afi­ciona­dos are not owed any­thing by any­body, but nev­er­the­less, our invest­ment of time and enthu­si­asm cre­ated an imbal­ance that was not sat­is­fied in the end.

Henry Ian Cusick in LostNeo Desmond enters Deus Ex MachinaThe Source

As my frus­tra­tion at being cheated sub­sides, another prob­lem­atic pop cul­tural touch­stone came to mind. Cer­tain par­al­lels between Lost and The Matrix tril­ogy now seem obvi­ous, and it’s not just that both hinge on a mys­te­ri­ous, glow­ing, ill-defined “Source.”

  1. Start out strong with a very sci­ence fiction-y, mostly plot-driven nar­ra­tive. The char­ac­ters are mar­gin­ally inter­est­ing, but the focus is on sce­nario and story. View­ers’ imag­i­na­tions are teased, spec­u­la­tion abounds, and sequels are demanded.
  2. Fol­low up with a sequel that reveals a loose frame­work of phi­los­o­phy sup­port­ing the sci­ence fic­tion con­ceit. Whether it gen­uinely inspired the orig­i­nal work or was bolted on after the fact is open to debate. Simul­ta­ne­ously amp up the soap-opera cheesi­ness con­cern­ing flat char­ac­ters that fans aren’t really invested in. (For what it’s worth, I con­tend that The Matrix Reloaded — the sec­ond in the tril­ogy — is not only under­rated, but in fact the best of the series, despite the nearly uni­ver­sal opin­ion that both sequels were failures)
  3. Con­trive a vio­lent, action-packed end­ing that A. strains to fit around the philo­soph­i­cal core (kinda sorta maybe) and B. focuses on char­ac­ter melo­drama (tragic deaths, roman­tic pin­ing, etc.). Myr­iad story issues are neglected and treated as merely periph­eral to the cre­ators’ pri­mary concerns.

In short, the cre­ative duos behind Lost and The Matrix mis­tak­enly assumed fans were more inter­ested in the philo­soph­i­cal angle and thin char­ac­ters than in the nar­ra­tive. And maybe, just maybe, some of us won­dered why we couldn’t have it both ways: a crack­ing good story with a strong sub­text of mys­ti­cism and phi­los­o­phy. As every high school cre­ative writ­ing teacher must explain to stu­dents that keep turn­ing in thinly veiled retellings of Bible sto­ries: just because an alle­gory fits (kinda sorta maybe), it doesn’t nec­es­sar­ily mean there’s any addi­tional mean­ing to be con­strued. For The Wachowski Broth­ers, it was Jean Baudrillard’s Sim­u­lacra and Sim­u­la­tion. For Carl­ton Cuse and Damon Lin­de­lof, it was John Locke, David Hume, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, etc. (to be fair, they also leaned heav­ily on writ­ers out­side the realm of phi­los­o­phy, includ­ing every­one from George Lucas to Stephen Hawking).

Keanu Reeves in The MatrixDesmond Neo enters The Source Deus Ex Machina

If, in the end, Cuse and Damon Lin­de­lof neglected their sto­ry­telling respon­si­bil­i­ties, they had already neatly set up two excuses for them to fall back upon:

  1. That Lost’s appeal was really the char­ac­ters, and fans ought to be pleased that they all lived hap­pily ever after, after a fashion.
  2. That Lost is really an alle­gory for a mélange of works of phi­los­o­phy, and that if you don’t get it, you’re a right-brainer too hung up on Star Trek-esque hard sci-fi to have your mind expanded, dude.

I don’t think I would be so upset if Cuse and Linedlof weren’t so out­ra­geously full of them­selves and self-congratulatory in inter­views (The Wachowskis are prob­a­bly right to refrain from pub­lic­ity). At least Lin­de­lof seemed con­scious of how their work might be received. He told Wired Mag­a­zine:

Locke is now the voice of a very large sub­set of the audi­ence who believes that when Lost is all said and done, we will have wasted six years of our lives, that we were mak­ing it up as we went along, and that there’s really no pur­pose. And Jack is now say­ing, “the only thing I have left to cling to is that there’s got to be some­thing really cool that’s going to hap­pen, because I have really, really fuck­ing suffered.”

Maybe Jack and Locke were both right; the show now appears to have been a head­long hur­dle into a faux-mystical conun­drum, leav­ing behind count­less aban­doned plot threads as so much nar­ra­tive shrap­nel. There is no short­age of blog posts clog­ging the inter­net with lists of unre­solved mys­ter­ies (includ­ing my own). Cuse dug him­self in deeper, in con­ver­sa­tion with the New York Times:

our goal is when we’re break­ing sto­ries, how are we going to really make each one of these com­mer­cial breaks really excit­ing. Those ques­tions led to a lot of really intense scenes and cool rever­sals and sur­prises, and I guess it must have been how Dick­ens would cliffhanger the end of his seri­als in the news­pa­per when he was writ­ing them to try to get peo­ple to show up the next day.

Cool like Dick­ens, eh? Wait, it gets bet­ter. In the recap spe­cial “The Final Jour­ney” that pre­ceded the final episode “The End,” they actu­ally had the balls to call their series “Shake­spearean,” which I think auto­mat­i­cally dis­qual­i­fies them from being taken seriously.

As for The Matrix, I think it’s telling that there’s lit­er­ally a char­ac­ter in the third film named “Deus Ex Machina.”


Must read: Phi­los­o­phy in Lost

Must read: The Matrix Explained

Offi­cial Lost site: abc.go.com/shows/lost

Buy the Lost Sea­son 6 DVD or Blu-ray from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Lost: The End

Lost Season 6 poster

 

I’ve always been a Lost apol­o­gist, at least lik­ing the show even dur­ing its weak points. Six years of good­will very nearly went out the win­dow along with my tele­vi­sion, thanks to its extremely frus­trat­ing final run of episodes. Close to the end, I attempted to resolve myself to the likely event that the finale would not answer every lit­tle nig­gling mys­tery. I hoped to shield myself from dis­ap­point­ment, and let the cre­ators fin­ish the story how they wished. Yet “The End” still failed to tell a sim­ple story. A story is not a string of dei ex machina, and every char­ac­ter arc need not end with a sud­den, bru­tal, arbi­trary death.

Carl­ton Cuse told Wired Mag­a­zine:

The great mys­ter­ies of life fun­da­men­tally can’t be addressed. We just have to tell a good story and let the chips fall where they may. We don’t know whether the res­o­lu­tion between the two time­lines is going to make peo­ple say, “Oh, that’s cool” or “Oh, fuck those guys, they belly-flopped at the end.”

The lat­ter, pretty much. What fol­lows is just a taste of my cat­a­logue of com­plaints, with no con­cern for spoilers.

Matthew Fox in Lost

SPINNING (DONKEY) WHEELS

For a show built atop a per­pet­u­ally com­pound­ing series of mys­ter­ies and conun­drums, it failed to legit­i­mately advance or resolve much of any­thing in the run-up to the polar­iz­ing finale. With so lit­tle time left, the penul­ti­mate episodes wasted time spin­ning wheels in clas­sic Lost fash­ion. Peo­ple get­ting locked in cages, escap­ing, get­ting locked up again. Groups split­ting up, hik­ing to oppo­site ends of the island(s), split­ting up into dif­fer­ent groups and hik­ing back. Board­ing water­craft and dis­em­bark­ing again. Mean­while, the sheer num­ber of aban­doned mys­ter­ies filled its own wiki, and as usual, Col­lege­Hu­mor said it best:

BOOM!

From the very begin­ning, one of Lost’s favorite con­ceits was the sud­den death of char­ac­ters. To be gen­er­ous, death is rarely “mean­ing­ful” in real life, but these plot twists also laid bare the prac­ti­cal­i­ties of ser­ial tele­vi­sion (actors quit, get fired, or age uncon­vinc­ingly). After the tenth or twen­ti­eth fatal­ity, I became sick of char­ac­ters get­ting sud­denly and arbi­trar­ily killed off for cheap shock. Past vic­tims included Eko, Libby, and Danielle, all vio­lently exit­ing the show before their sto­ry­lines reached any kind of res­o­lu­tion. In the final episodes, it hap­pened to Ilyana, Wid­more, Zoe, and (it seemed at first) Frank and Richard. We saw just enough of Zoe that I assumed she must be sig­nif­i­cant as some­thing more than just can­non fod­der, but appar­ently not. Sayid’s season-long arc (was he mys­ti­cally rein­car­nated as a soul­less killing machine, or was he merely con­vinced that he was essen­tially evil?) is short-circuited by his abrupt choice of self-sacrifice. How did he defeat his mys­ti­cal brain­wash­ing? Just killing off a char­ac­ter isn’t any kind of a res­o­lu­tion to a storyline.

A pos­i­tive exam­ple from the show’s past would be Char­lie, a char­ac­ter whose death fig­ured into the mythol­ogy in a big way. It had ram­i­fi­ca­tions, as opposed to: BOOM! Look, some­body just sud­denly blew them­selves up with dyna­mite, isn’t that HILARIOUS? Aren’t you SHOCKED? No? Well, let’s kill another char­ac­ter the same way!

I was never so sen­ti­men­tal for Lost that I felt the need for every char­ac­ter to live hap­pily ever after. But didn’t these cre­ations deserve a lit­tle better?

John Terry in Lost

ACROSS THE SEA

Lit­tle of the mythol­ogy Jacob finally revealed in the episode “Across the Sea” made any sense, and often directly con­tra­dicted my mem­o­ries of what went before. He tells Kate he scratched her off the list because she became a mother, but the job could still be hers if she wanted it. Does that mean his list is arbi­trary? It doesn’t mat­ter which of these last few sur­viv­ing can­di­dates will do it? And, for what­ever rea­son Jacob dis­qual­i­fies moms, is it related to why all women on the island die? Were all the other moth­ers also can­di­dates, for whom dis­qual­i­fi­ca­tion means death? If so, why didn’t he kill Kate? Because she assumed cus­tody of Claire’s baby rather than hav­ing her own bio­log­i­cal child, I sup­pose. But if the audi­ence is asked to make too many strained sup­po­si­tions like this, based on lit­tle evi­dence in the text of the show, we’ll begin to won­der if the writ­ers have any idea themselves.

In the ear­lier episode “Ab Aeterno”, Jacob told the Man in Black that he brings peo­ple to the island to prove a point to him about human­ity. But now he tells Jack & co. that he sim­ply wants to find a replace­ment. Which is it? Both?

Jacob’s list of sev­eral hun­dred names even­tu­ally nar­rowed to a mere hand­ful of sur­vivors. Did he know he had to rule them all out until he got to the last name? And that the Man in Black would hap­pen to be very near escape at that point in time? If so, why didn’t he just scratch all but one name off the list? And now that Jack has vol­un­teered, does that mean that the other few have to die?

Allison Janney in Lost

NARRATIVE CHEATING

It’s cheap to resolve a plot thread by intro­duc­ing a totally new ele­ment, like the adop­tive mother of Jacob & The Man in Black (an unnamed char­ac­ter played by Alli­son Jan­ney). Imag­ine a mur­der mys­tery, in which the mur­derer turns out to be… oh this guy right here, whom you’ve never seen before now. The answer to the mys­tery of Jacob and The Man in Black needed to already be there, in the form of shuf­fled puz­zle pieces the audi­ence hasn’t seen the solu­tion to yet. Not in a single-episode guest star.

Which brings me to the glow­ing cave. If it’s really the key moti­vat­ing force for Jacob and The Man in Black, it’s the ulti­mate MacGuf­fin of the entire series. To not even so much as men­tion it until near the very end of a six-year long series is cheat­ing to say the least.

Let me go back even fur­ther: I’m irri­tated alto­gether by the injec­tion of Jacob and the Man in Black into the story. I know that the Man in Black tech­ni­cally appeared in the very first episode (as the sound effect we would later asso­ciate with the Smoke Mon­ster), and we’ve been hear­ing the name Jacob for a few years now. But it does not feel organic at all that the core mys­tery of the show came down to a mys­ti­cal strug­gle between two char­ac­ters that have barely fea­tured on the show at all. It should be about the char­ac­ters already on the stage from the very begin­ning, not two cyphers intro­duced so late in the game.

And the final, cap­ping atroc­ity that would get any kid kicked out of high school cre­ative writ­ing class is, of course, the rev­e­la­tion that the final season’s mys­te­ri­ous “side­ways time­line” was actu­ally a kind of Limbo or Pur­ga­tory. That this is wildly unsat­is­fac­tory (the only thing worse could have been an end­ing in which it is revealed to be someone’s dream, à la St. Else­where or Newhart) is over­shad­owed by the true crime: it’s explained via expo­si­tion by a minor char­ac­ter we hadn’t seen for months (Jack’s father Chris­t­ian). Expo­si­tion! “Show don’t tell” is a clichéd rule, and rules ought to be bro­ken, but this case of telling not show­ing is evi­dence of con­tempt for the audience.

Com­pare and con­trast with the truly mind-blowing con­clu­sion to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Its word­less­ness is a sub­lime virtue, and its mys­ter­ies linger to pro­voke dis­cus­sion and fas­ci­na­tion decades later.

Michael Emmerson in Lost

BEN: A COMPLICATED GUY, OR LAZY WRITING?

I’m puz­zled by Ben’s appar­ent boomerang switcher from defeated and sort-of redeemed, to pure evil, and then back again. We’re left to sup­pose he real­ized some­thing in the penul­ti­mate episode that the audi­ence just didn’t know yet. We nat­u­rally expect to share his real­iza­tion in the final episode, but there doesn’t seem to be any­thing there to find. After the Man in Black is defeated, he’s not only for­given for his crimes (remem­ber, he is a mass mur­derer), but given a lead­er­ship role on the island. And, he gets to stay behind in Limbo and shag Rousseau (Mira Furlan, who, inci­den­tally, cleans up good, am I right?).

It bugs me that I had to repeat­edly ask this ques­tion at each plot turn: was it lazy writ­ing, or part of the mystery?

Henry Ian Cusick in Lost

THE DESMOND ZAP

I’m very con­fused about how much the side­ways char­ac­ters remem­ber about their alter­nate time­lines on the island after Desmond zaps them. Locke and Ben only seem to get a vague sense of déjà vu, but Hur­ley seems to have com­plete recall (for instance, he seems to know exactly who Ana Lucia is). By the finale, char­ac­ters need only touch each other for com­plete mem­o­ries to come flood­ing back. So why didn’t Jack & Juliet spark each other’s mem­o­ries dur­ing all the years were mar­ried, and not to put to fine a point on it, had sex and con­ceived a son? Again, part of the mys­tery, or sloppy writing?

CITING SOURCES

Some of the above is derived from a morning-after rant I shared with guest Dork Reporter Snark­bait.


Must read: Jason Kottke’s Lost finale roundup

Offi­cial Lost site: abc.go.com/shows/lost

Buy the Lost Sea­son 6 DVD or Blu-ray from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Battlestar Galactica: The Plan

Battlestar Galactica The Plan poster

 

Put sim­ply, Bat­tlestar Galac­tica: The Plan is a clip show done right, in dis­guise as an orig­i­nal movie for tele­vi­sion. What­ever else its intended pur­pose, it must also do double-duty as a kind of coda, appen­dix, or post­script to the cel­e­brated tele­vi­sion series (2004–2009). But is it one final cash-in, before the sets are struck and the cast scat­ters to the winds, or a noble attempt to address neglected aspects of the com­plex mythos that many fans felt weren’t justly served by the con­tro­ver­sial final episode? Which, for the record, I loved for its audac­ity, while still sym­pa­thiz­ing with the con­tin­gent of fans that felt it strained plau­si­bil­ity and raised more ques­tions than it answered.

The Plan incor­po­rates footage from across all four sea­sons, seam­lessly melded with new mate­r­ial writ­ten by Jane Espen­son, who wrote for the show dur­ing its fourth sea­son, and directed by Edward James Olmos, who starred in the series as Com­man­der Bill Adama and helmed sev­eral indi­vid­ual episodes. The DVD bonus fea­tures, while typ­i­cally hagio­graphic, rightly point out that Olmos obvi­ously had an inti­mate knowl­edge of the full story arc as well as a strong rela­tion­ship with the entire cast, so he was prob­a­bly the best choice to helm The Plan. Curi­ously, Exec­u­tive Pro­ducer Ronald D. Moore is missing-in-action from the cred­its and DVD bonus features.

Dean Stockwell in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanBrother Cavil (in hat) and Brother Cavil (not in hat) face their ends

In a nar­ra­tive con­ceit shared with the pre­vi­ous Bat­tlestar Galac­tica spe­cial movie Razor (2007), key por­tions of the show’s con­ti­nu­ity are retold from a dif­fer­ent per­spec­tive, in this case that of the Cylons, a frac­tious race of syn­thetic life­forms with a (shall we say) com­pli­cated rela­tion­ship with their human cre­ators. All but one of the actors por­tray­ing the twelve Cylon mod­els appear in new sequences here (Lucy Law­less being the sole hold­out), join­ing some of the orig­i­nal human char­ac­ters (miss­ing James Cal­lis, Mary McDon­nell, Katee Sack­hoff, Tah­moh Penikett, and Jamie Bam­ber). Oddly, Pres­i­dent Roslin (McDon­nell) is the only major char­ac­ter to not even appear in archival clips, being very con­spic­u­ous in her absence. Per­haps the actress objected to the script, or demanded too much money?

I per­son­ally don’t believe the series proper nec­es­sar­ily needed to tell more of the story than the writ­ers chose to before its final episode (which is off-limits any­way, tak­ing place chrono­log­i­cally after the events seen in The Plan). But if the goal of The Plan was to fill in some of the per­ceived gaps, it’s ulti­mately unsat­is­fy­ing for not address­ing some of the truly puz­zling mys­ter­ies, par­tic­u­larly the still-unseen thir­teenth Cylon called Daniel and the true nature of Starbuck’s (Sack­hoff) death, res­ur­rec­tion, and sub­se­quent visions. What new plot infor­ma­tion and char­ac­ter insights we do get are nice, but inessen­tial. We see more of the Cylon sur­prise attack, with the human colonies destroyed one by one, but how does this expand the story beyond indulging in some CGI apoc­a­lypse porn? But to The Plan’s credit, some of the most tan­ta­liz­ing mys­ter­ies are prob­a­bly best left up to our imag­i­na­tions. Not with­out rea­son, fans spent the final sea­son won­der­ing how Star­buck could be any­thing but a Cylon, only to find she was some­thing else entirely. I would argue the writ­ers chose to not drag the mys­tery down into mun­dan­ity, like the fatal mis­take George Lucas made by pro­vid­ing a pseudo-scientific def­i­n­i­tion of The Force in Star Wars Episode I: The Phan­tom Menace.

Grace Park in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanBoomer, true to her name, is a tick­ing time bomb

So what is the epony­mous Plan? As we saw in the first moments of the orig­i­nal series, the religiously-motivated Cylon race attempts to totally anni­hi­late human­ity in one fell swoop. A small fleet of human strag­glers escapes, with a small num­ber of Cylons unwill­ingly trapped among them (surely a frus­trat­ing sit­u­a­tion for crea­tures who expected to per­ish in the cat­a­clysm and be reborn in a heaven free of humans). The major rev­e­la­tion of The Plan is that much of the vio­lent con­flict we saw in the orig­i­nal series was actu­ally a des­per­ately impro­vised plan by this rag­tag cell of partly-unwilling sol­diers. Meet the new plan, same as the old plan: geno­cide. So we now under­stand these few Cylons to be a strug­gling ter­ror­ist cell.

The cen­tral char­ac­ters that drive the action are a pair of Ones/Cavils (Dean Stock­well), whose pend­ing exe­cu­tion pro­vides a fram­ing device to the entire movie. Also sig­nif­i­cantly expanded are Anders (Michael Trucco) and two very dif­fer­ent ver­sions of Four/Simon (Rick Wor­thy). We learn a lit­tle more about the hap­less Five/Aaron (Matthew Ben­nett), the expla­na­tion for his rel­a­tive insignif­i­cance in the show being that he is sim­ply a lit­tle dim, often serv­ing as an inept pawn of Cavil. We learn how the Eight that lived as Boomer actu­ally func­tioned (she was a sleeper agent who gen­uinely believed she was human, but was brought in and out of this illu­sion by Cavil — with her human side even­tu­ally win­ning over). We meet an addi­tional Six (Tri­cia Helfer) who worked under­cover as a pros­ti­tute, con­tribut­ing lit­tle to the story beyond more T&A. Speak­ing of, The Plan fea­tures a great deal of gra­tu­itous full-frontal male and female nudity, not moti­vated by plot or char­ac­ter, and seem­ingly only there for tit­il­la­tion and a faux sense of realism.

Tricia Helfer in Battlestar Galactica: The PlanEven the most diehard Bat­tlestar Galac­tica fan may have trou­ble remem­ber­ing which Six this is

Most of left-behind Cylons become con­t­a­m­i­nated, or at least influ­enced, by prox­im­ity with humans. Another Cavil is trapped on the post-apocalyptic Caprica with Anders, simul­ta­ne­ously rever­ing him as a father of the Cylon race while chal­leng­ing his empa­thetic lead­er­ship skills. How they all sur­vive radi­a­tion poi­son­ing isn’t explained. The Caprica-bound Cavil’s mind rapidly evolves to the point where he becomes worlds apart from his bit­ter, cruel twin in the fleet, who remains the sole Cylon purely ded­i­cated to the orig­i­nal plan.

Was the project mis­con­ceived? It is cer­tainly in keep­ing with the clas­si­cally bleak Bat­tlestar Galac­tica style and tone; a new char­ac­ter is a help­less lit­tle orphan kid, very out of keep­ing for a show that con­tin­u­ally rejects cute & cud­dly stereo­types, and I should have known that his fate would not be a good one. By design, The Plan is res­olutely intended for diehard Bat­tlestar Galac­tica fans with ency­clo­pe­dic knowl­edge of the show’s mythos. I con­sider myself a big fan, and have seen every episode, but there was much I hadn’t mem­o­rized, and about which I remain con­fused. For instance, I can’t recall if it was ever explained exactly why the so-called Final Five Cylons were implanted among human soci­ety to live as humans for sev­eral decades, and why only one incar­na­tion of Cavil knew of their exis­tence. It seems a mis­take to pro­duce a big-budget TV movie for a very nar­row audi­ence of super­fans that can remem­ber all this stuff, months after their favorite show stops air­ing. The Plan cer­tainly won’t attract vir­gin view­ers, as any­one inter­ested in the series would cer­tainly start with a DVD of the orig­i­nal 2004 minis­eries. I don’t even want to think about how The Plan must have seemed to any unfor­tu­nate view­ers who had never seen Bat­tlestar Galac­tica at all, let alone inter­nal­ized its mythos.

It’s hard to see how The Plan can be any­thing other than the true end of the series. Get­ting this much of the cast back together for one TV movie must have been a real feat, so doing it again in the future seems unlikely. The pre­quel series Caprica (read The Dork Report review of the pilot episode) is set far enough in Bat­tlestar Galactica’s past that much of the cast can­not log­i­cally guest star (although, upon reflec­tion, it might be pos­si­ble to see some of the Final Five, who might be liv­ing among humans at this point). So The Plan is most likely the end.


Offi­cial movie site: www.syfy.com/battlestar

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Caprica

Caprica poster Alessandra Toressani

 

The recently con­cluded series Bat­tlestar Galac­tica (2003–2009) was crit­i­cally acclaimed and much beloved by a rel­a­tively small group of fans and crit­ics that appre­ci­ated the brainy show’s bleak, pes­simistic view of human­ity. It will cer­tainly live for­ever as a clas­sic achieve­ment in tele­vi­sion, but the com­mon con­sen­sus is that it failed to reach the wide audi­ence it could have. Exec­u­tive Pro­ducer Ron Moore told Vari­ety “‘We had view­ers say that if they were able to trick their wives or girl­friends into watch­ing Galac­tica, they loved it. But with the name Bat­tlestar Galac­tica scream­ing sci­ence fic­tion,’ he adds, ‘there was just such a high hur­dle to get female view­ers to even try it.’” So comes Caprica, a pre­quel osten­si­bly engi­neered from the begin­ning for greater appeal.

In an orig­i­nal move, its unrated (read: blood ‘n’ boo­bies) movie-length pilot episode pre­miered day-and-date on DVD and dig­i­tal down­load in May 1999, nearly a year before the series proper. It pre­serves some of the sig­na­ture ver­nac­u­lar of its par­ent series, includ­ing tech­nob­a­b­ble like “Cylon” (a mar­ket­ing term short for, we finally learn, Cyber­netic Life­form Node), the trip-on-the-tongue “gods damn it,” the infa­mous euphemism “frak,” and even racial epi­thets like “dirt eater.” The char­ac­ter of Bill Adama (Edward James Olmos in Bat­tlestar Galac­tica) appears as a young boy, and one sup­poses we might later even see some of the “final five” Cylons from the orig­i­nal series (Michael Hogan, Kate Ver­non, Michael Trucco, Rekha Sharma, and Aaron Dou­glas), who ought to have been run­ning around in some form at this point in BSG chronol­ogy. Some of the same core themes are still present, par­tic­u­larly reli­gious intol­er­ance and fam­i­lies cop­ing with cat­a­strophic dis­as­ter. Even the spe­cial effects are up to par with Galactica’s ground­break­ing space­ship bat­tles, although applied to spec­tac­u­larly con­vinc­ing dig­i­tal cityscapes.

Eric Stoltz and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaCaprica, like Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, holds that there are no Sur­geon Gen­eral warn­ings in space

But there are sig­nif­i­cantly wor­ri­some signs that indi­cate a fatal mis­cal­cu­la­tion on The SyFy Channel’s part (worse than their aston­ish­ingly stu­pid rechris­ten­ing from “Sci-Fi”): Caprica hinges on two men and three annoy­ing teens, rel­e­gat­ing its only two adult female char­ac­ters to the side­lines. It may very well be the case that many women were dis­cour­aged from giv­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica a chance, but it’s also true that the show fea­tured a bevy of sig­nif­i­cant, com­plex women: self-destructive fire­brand Star­buck (Katee Sack­hoff), pres­i­dent of all human­ity Laura Roslin (Mary McDon­nell), Dick Cheney-esque war crim­i­nal Cap­tain Cain (Michelle Forbes), and con­flicted Cylons Three (Lucy Law­less), Six (Tri­cia Helfer), and Eight (Grace Park). So far, at least, Caprica includes only two lead female roles, nei­ther of whom fig­ures strongly in the pilot episode: Amanda Gray­stone (Paula Mal­com­son, from Dead­wood) and Sis­ter Clarice Wil­low (Polly Walker, from Rome).

But maybe this gen­der inequal­ity makes a kind of sense. The real core dynamic between the two male leads makes for clas­sic sto­ry­telling. Indus­tri­al­ist Daniel Gray­stone (Eric Stoltz) invented a vir­tual real­ity play­ground called the Holoband, and has since turned to devel­op­ing weaponized robot­ics. Joseph Adama (Esai Morales) is a crooked lawyer tied to an off­world orga­nized crime syn­di­cate that put him through law school, and fur­ther con­trol him with threats. A ter­ror­ist bomb­ing claims their daugh­ters (and Adama’s wife), and the two men later bond over mutual grief, cof­fee, and cig­a­rettes (like Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, doc­tors and nutri­tion­ists many thou­sands of years in our past haven’t yet warned peo­ple about the dan­gers of caf­feine and nico­tine). The two men may be of dif­fer­ent plan­ets, races, and reli­gions, but become bound by com­plic­ity in an act of indus­trial espi­onage that leads to a mur­der of an elected offi­cial (cast and cos­tumed in thick glasses to resem­ble Dr. Tyrell (Joe Turkel) from Blade Runner).

If one of the two had been female, the viewer might nat­u­rally expect a roman­tic sub­plot. Caprica’s cre­ators may have avoided this kind of dis­trac­tion, but the down­side is that the pri­mary nar­ra­tive con­flict is between two men, and the only two adult female char­ac­ters are solely defined by their rela­tion­ships with the men and/or kids in their lives. Daniel and Amanda’s daugh­ter Zoe (Alessan­dra Tores­sani) is killed in a ter­ror­ist attack, but we never see the icy Amanda mourn as we do Daniel. Her char­ac­ter is sim­ply Daniel’s wife, noth­ing more. Sis­ter Wil­low, at least, is revealed by the end to be more than she seems. Here’s hop­ing we see Amanda and Sis­ter Wil­low sig­nif­i­cantly expanded in future episodes.

Another thing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica got right was to side­step alto­gether the trap of annoy­ing child char­ac­ters. It was an adult show, for intel­li­gent adults. Caprica obvi­ously also didn’t learn from a les­son from Jeri­cho (2006–2008), a gen­er­ally smart show whose weak­est char­ac­ters were a pair of whiney teens that were thank­fully writ­ten out. Out of Caprica’s trio of kids, two die but unfor­tu­nately come back to a kind of immor­tal­ity (if you only counted one, check out the deleted scenes avail­able on the DVD edition).

Eric Stoltz, Paula Malcomson, and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaWait, there was a woman in Caprica? Let’s hope poor Paula Mal­com­son actu­ally gets some scenes in the full series

The first 10 min­utes pack in a mas­sive down­load of impor­tant infor­ma­tion, espe­cially tricky for any view­ers not already versed in the fic­tional Galac­tica uni­verse. Cer­tain key points are reit­er­ated once things slow down later, but a new viewer tun­ing in cold might get the sense they were sup­posed to be versed in all this stuff already, instead of just get­ting teased with a bar­rage of info to be unpacked later. When a title card reads “58 years before The Fall,” Galac­tica fans will catch the ref­er­ence to the sneak attack by the Cylons that nearly erad­i­cates their human cre­ators, the incit­ing inci­dent that moti­vated the entire story arc of the par­ent series.

We then cut directly to the deca­dent V Club, imply­ing this civilization’s late-Rome-like deca­dence to be one of the direct causes of the com­ing Fall. A fully immer­sive vir­tual real­ity sim­u­la­tion not unlike The Matrix, the V Club is full of teens danc­ing to dated techno, ogling hot les­bians, mak­ing sim­u­lated human sac­ri­fice, and squar­ing off in a fight club knock­off. Its banal­ity betrays a fail­ure of imag­i­na­tion not just on the part of Caprica’s teens, but also on the film­mak­ers. A rebel­lious gen­er­a­tion co-opts a vir­tual world in which they can do absolutely any­thing they want, and all they can come up with is a sin­gle night­club that only spins techno from Earth’s 1990s? No gay boys want to make out in pub­lic too? Nobody wants to fly? Nobody wants to enhance their vir­tual appear­ance, say, to make them­selves younger, more beau­ti­ful, cov­ered in fur or made of diamond?

The tit­u­lar Caprica is the cap­i­tal of twelve plan­ets col­o­nized by human­ity. We only caught glimpses of its future before it is dec­i­mated in the first episode of Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, so there is plenty of unex­plored ter­ri­tory for a new pre­quel series to fill in. Its fash­ions resem­ble 1950s Amer­ica, per­haps meant to cap­i­tal­ize on the pop­u­lar­ity of the Show­time series Mad Men. We’re sup­posed to agree that this is a cor­rupt, deca­dent soci­ety on the cusp of col­lapse. But how, exactly? They’re play­ing god(s) by delv­ing into dan­ger­ous tech­no­log­i­cal areas like robotic weapons and arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, or at least a means of record­ing a human individual’s con­scious­ness into a com­puter. They’ve designed vir­tual real­ity sys­tems capa­ble of sim­u­lat­ing any desire. The soci­ety is racist to the core; Tau­rans (from the sis­ter planet Tau­rus) are called “dirt eaters” and asso­ci­ated with orga­nized crime (although to be fair, the lat­ter actu­ally is true — they seem mod­eled on the immi­grant Sicil­ian mafia of 1920s Amer­ica). Like Michael Cor­leone in the God­fa­ther tril­ogy, Joseph is osten­si­bly an upstand­ing cit­i­zen forced to com­pro­mise with his her­itage. Unable to com­pletely extri­cate him­self from the mob, he tries to Capri­can­ize every­thing else is his life: chang­ing his sur­name to Adams and rais­ing his son as a Capri­can, all to the con­ster­na­tion of his mother.

Alessandra Toressani in Battlestar Galactica CapricaZoe, genius hacker, goes club­bing in The Matrix

This society’s most truly dan­ger­ous trait appears to be its ingrained reli­gious intol­er­ance. The pop­u­la­tion is almost uni­formly poly­the­is­tic, and intol­er­ant of the minor­ity monothe­ists. Under­ground mil­i­tants have formed the Sol­diers of the One, a cult that believes in a com­bi­na­tion of monothe­ism and anti-science. Their secret rep­re­sen­ta­tive Sis­ter Wil­low recruits teen stu­dents from her exclu­sive pri­vate school. Zeal­ous Ben (Avan Jogia), in turn, drafts Zoe and her friend Magda, and later stages the sui­cide bomb­ing that claims the Gray­stone and Adama fam­i­lies. Ben was pre­sum­ably being manip­u­lated by Sis­ter Wil­low (Polly Walker), who also had designs on Zoe’s bril­liant com­puter skills that didn’t nec­es­sar­ily hinge on her remain­ing alive.

The biggest addi­tion to the Bat­tlestar Galac­tica mythos is a deeper look into arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. Like the Ter­mi­na­tor fran­chise, I appre­ci­ate Caprica’s empha­sis that devel­op­ing arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is a sep­a­rate pur­suit than build­ing robots. Too many sci­ence fic­tion sto­ries seem to equate the two, includ­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica itself in its con­tro­ver­sial final episode (for the record, I loved its audac­ity). The Day the Earth Stood Still and For­bid­den Planet’s humanoid robots have minds of its own, but what about being robots makes them so, as opposed to immo­bile com­put­ers? Blade Runner’s repli­cants and A.I.‘s boy robots look human first, and it is never asked what exactly makes them sen­tient beings (unless the ques­tion is how we anthro­po­mor­phize things that out­wardly seem human). Arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is almost always auto­mat­i­cally evil in movies such as Ter­mi­na­tor and 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is rarely inher­ently inno­cent, as in A.I.: Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence. Caprica fea­tures two dis­turb­ing scenes of a human con­scious­ness wak­ing up trapped in a crude robot body. That’s called over-egging your pud­ding. Also creepy: the advances made by Zoe lead directly to Daniel’s clumsy war­rior robots becom­ing the effec­tive killing machines chris­tened Cylons.

Speak­ing of, how could a lumi­nary in the cyber­net­ics busi­ness not real­ize his own daugh­ter was a genius-level hacker? Appar­ently work­ing on her own, Zoe comes up with a means of pre­serv­ing the 100 ter­abytes of human data stored in the human brain, and com­ple­ment it with 300 MB of dig­i­tal detri­tus that per­son has left behind on Caprica’s equiv­a­lents of Google and Face­book: med­ical records, playlists, email, searches, social net­work­ing, etc. Her break­through allows Gray­stone to res­ur­rect Adama’s late daugh­ter as well (although we don’t see how he obtained her 100 ter­abytes of brain mat­ter). The resul­tant dupli­cate quickly goes insane, so Zoe is some­how spe­cial, the only dig­i­tal human mind that doesn’t go mad.

Some awfully big events are revealed in the DVD edition’s deleted scenes: Adama learns early on that Zoe was involved in the bomb­ing, adding an extra dimen­sion to his inter­ac­tions with her father. Also, boy bomber Ben’s mind was also suc­cess­fully uploaded into the V Club by Sis­ter Wil­low, sug­gest­ing that Zoe might not be so unique after all, and that her sci­en­tific break­throughs may have been in part devel­oped by the Sol­diers of the One. Both of these strike me as great lay­ers of com­plex­ity that would have only added to the story.

Note: the above is a revised, expended, and cor­rected ver­sion of The Dork Report’s orig­i­nal review of the DVD edi­tion, pub­lished on May 17, 2009.


Offi­cial movie site: syfy.com/caprica

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Generation Kill

Generation Kill poster

 

The HBO minis­eries Gen­er­a­tion Kill comes from David Simon and Ed Burns, the mas­ter­minds behind the superla­tive series The Wire. Simon him­self is a for­mer jour­nal­ist, the state thereof being a pri­mary pre­oc­cu­pa­tion of the fifth sea­son of the The Wire. So it makes sense that he would be drawn to a war story seen through the eyes of a fel­low writer. Gen­er­a­tion Kill is based on the non­fic­tion book by Evan Wright, a Rolling Stone reporter embed­ded in the US Marine Corps 1st Recon­nais­sance Bat­tal­ion, the first boots on the ground dur­ing the 2003 inva­sion of Iraq. Actor Lee Terge­sen plays Wright as a wide-eyed inno­cent among per­verse killers, delight­edly scrib­bling the marines’ col­or­ful boast­ings in his note­book, when not dodg­ing sniper fire. The most quotable is the manic dri­ver Cor­po­ral Josh Ray Per­son, well-cast as James Ran­sone, basi­cally repris­ing his char­ac­ter Ziggy Sobotka from The Wire sea­son two.

The marines’ lingo flashes back to pop cul­ture circa 2003, which already seems so very far away. A rumor spreads that J-Lo is dead, remind­ing us of the brief period when Jen­nifer Lopez was the most desired woman on the planet. Everyone’s a “dog” or “bra” (not as in the under­gar­ment but as in “bro”). In between har­row­ing bat­tles (which the war­riors long for but hate when they arrive), much of their expe­ri­ence is com­prised of long stretches of bore­dom. They sup­ply their own sound­track, rec­ol­lect­ing what lyrics they can and recre­at­ing every part of a song a cap­pella with great enthusiasm.

Generation KillCpl. Josh Ray Per­son: “When my band opened up for Limp Bizkit in Kansas City, we fuck­ing sucked. But then again, so did they. The only dif­fer­ence is that they became famous and I became a marine.”

After exhaust­ing the con­ver­sa­tional value of their bowel move­ments and each other’s alleged sex­ual ori­en­ta­tions, there’s noth­ing but time to talk about the ori­gins and moti­va­tions of the war. One pop­u­lar the­ory is that it is a noth­ing but another race war. As one sol­dier puts it, it’s “White man’s des­tiny to rule the world” and “White man won’t be denied.” Or is it to clear the ground for more Star­bucks fran­chises? Or maybe it’s a war over the scarcest resource of all: virgins.

Marines are trained to deper­son­al­ize and vil­ify the enemy, all with the aim of being effec­tive killers. So they are essen­tially ill-equipped for a 21st cen­tury war in which they are expected to request per­mis­sion before engag­ing any tar­get, and for sit­u­a­tions in which they must deal diplo­mat­i­cally with the civil­ian pop­u­la­tion — some of which may be threats in dis­guise, but most often are just peo­ple who either need their help or would rather they just leave. When the marines do wish to offer com­pas­sion, they are thwarted by their com­mand or by cold hard real­ity — often­times there’s noth­ing they can do. They’re also fatally under­equipped in a lit­eral sense: they’re issued less body armor than Wright was able to pur­chase on eBay, they have state-of-the-art nightvi­sion gog­gles but no bat­ter­ies, and as if they didn’t stand out enough, they’re clad in the wrong cam­ou­flage style. They sub­sist on only one M.R.E. (Meal, Ready to Eat) each day, sup­ple­mented with copi­ous caf­feine pills, Skit­tles, Hus­tler, and Skoal. But as one marine quips, “Sem­per Gumby — always flex­i­ble.” As char­ac­ter­ized here, these Marines never miss an oppor­tu­nity to bitch, but pride them­selves on being able to “make do.”

Generation KillLt. Col. Stephen ‘God­fa­ther’ Fer­rando: “What’s fore­most in Godfather’s mind? We’re still very much in the game, gentlemen.”

Aside from the frus­trat­ingly elu­sive Iraqi army or sui­cide bombers, there are few antag­o­nists marines hate more than Reservists, the Army, and their own incom­pe­tent com­mand. But they grad­u­ally learn that their supe­ri­ors are often far wiser than they real­ized. Lieu­tenant Colonel Stephen “God­fa­ther” Fer­rando (Chance Kelly) (so nick­named because of a hoarse voice derived from lung can­cer) nearly causes a mutiny by refus­ing to aid a fatally injured Iraqi boy. In a rare def­er­ence from a man that has no need to explain him­self to his sub­or­di­nates, he explains in detail why he made his deci­sion: it was lit­er­ally impos­si­ble to save the boy. Later, he reveals to the reporter that he is always fully con­scious of inef­fec­tive com­man­ders like the grossly incom­pe­tent Cap­tain Dave McGraw (Eric Nen­ninger), known to his detrac­tors as “Cap­tain Amer­ica.” God­fa­ther can’t always act on every sin­gle infrac­tion, lest polic­ing his peo­ple become his entire role in the mil­i­tary machine. Even the rep­re­hen­si­ble Sergeant Major John Sixta (Neal Jones) turns out to be more canny than any­one sus­pected; he knows his job is to make him­self into a car­toon vil­lain against which the men can direct their frus­tra­tions. His role is part of the time-tested marine tra­di­tion: a morale-building fig­ure. And for audi­ences of this series, a bit of comic relief (“That hel­met is the prop­pity of the Yoo-Ess-of-Ay!”).

I found the series to be dis­ap­point­ingly frac­tured, no rival at all to Simon and Burns’ mas­ter­piece the Wire. Only the sub­lime final scene rises to the vaulted heights The Wire reg­u­larly reached. One marine had spent weeks shoot­ing and edit­ing a home movie of the inva­sion. When the com­pany finally reaches Bagh­dad, they find they lit­er­ally can­not watch the com­pleted movie. Each walks away, in silence, one by one. In the tra­di­tion of The Wire, this clos­ing mon­tage is set to a per­fectly cho­sen piece of music (Johnny Cash’s apoc­a­lyp­tic “When the Man Comes Around”) and sends shiv­ers down the spine.


Offi­cial site: www.hbo.com/generationkill

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Cool Britannia: State of Play

State of Play movie poster

 

The 2003 BBC minis­eries State of Play is noth­ing less than six straight hours of intel­li­gent drama, lib­er­ally spiced with sus­pense, action, and tasty plot twists. The entire epic tale is deliv­ered by a ver­i­ta­ble plethora of British Isles telly & movie who’s who: writer Paul Abbot, direc­tor David Yates, and actors David Mor­ris­sey, John Simm, Kelly Mac­don­ald, Polly Walker, Bill Nighy, and James McAvoy. Abbot is appar­ently a super­star tele­vi­sion writer in the UK, and Yates directed the last two Harry Pot­ter films (as well as reunit­ing Nighy and Mac­don­ald in 2005 for The Girl in the Café — read The Dork Report review).

State of Play is an espe­cially good tonic after hap­pen­ing to recently watch the dour The Inter­na­tional (read The Dork Report review), which falls more or less into the same genre cat­e­gory. The key dif­fer­en­tial is a heathy dash of comic relief that never crosses over into farce, mostly sup­plied by the sub­limely quirky Bill Nighy. But more impor­tantly, the intri­cate tale of high-level polit­i­cal con­spir­acy feels per­ti­nent. The Inter­na­tional, although based on an actual bank­ing scan­dal (a topic that could not be more timely), sab­o­taged its plau­si­bil­ity by lim­it­ing the pro­tag­o­nists to two lone wolfs that take on a crooked multi­na­tional finan­cial con­glom­er­ate on their lone­some. Here, numer­ous fleshed-out cops and reporters alter­nately clash and col­lab­o­rate as they chase down a gar­gan­tuan story. State of Play is actu­ally both a clas­sic news­pa­per story (like All the President’s Men) and a police pro­ce­dural (like The French Con­nec­tion). It’s worth not­ing that each of these gen­res are about the piec­ing together of sto­ries, and the sus­pense comes from the audi­ence fol­lows along with them as the dis­cover the pieces of the nar­ra­tive. Granted, the lux­u­ri­ous six-hour run­ning time was a lux­ury The Inter­na­tional could not enjoy.

Bill Nighy, John Simm, Kelly Macdonald in State of PlayThe Her­ald news­room fol­lows the money in State of Play

The tele­vi­sion ser­ial was undoubt­edly timely in 2003 and con­tin­ues to be now, proven by its Amer­i­can fea­ture film remake in 2009. After suf­fer­ing through 8 years of a Bush/Cheney admin­is­tra­tion, Amer­i­cans can inti­mately relate to oil com­pa­nies med­dling in gov­ern­men­tal oper­a­tions. Although State of Play is fic­tional, the affair between a Mem­ber of Par­lia­ment and a staff mem­ber that winds up dead inescapably calls to mind US Rep­re­sen­ta­tive Gary Condit’s affair intern Chan­dra Levy, found mur­dered in 2001. A sub­plot involv­ing an MP’s com­pro­mised expense account now looks even more timely than Abbot could have pre­dicted in 2003, con­sid­er­ing the atro­cious wide­spread abuse that cur­rently threat­ens to remove Gor­don Brown and pos­si­bly even the Labour Party from power.

David Morrissey & John Simm in State of PlayThe Next Doc­tor faces off against The Mas­ter for the first time

Apart from the some­times over­en­thu­si­as­tic edit­ing (mak­ing the series feel a bit like the bril­liant satire Hot Fuzz), the only mis­step is Nicholas Hooper’s per­cus­sive, bom­bas­tic score, includ­ing an incon­gru­ous didgeridoo-infused theme sud­denly intro­duced in part six. But one of the series’ great­est plea­sures is to hear Kelly Mac­don­ald (a Dork Report crush ever since her unfor­get­table per­for­mance as the ulti­mate naughty school­girl in Trainspot­ting) pro­nounce “mur­der” with all the won­der­ful extra diph­thongs her Scot­tish accent provides.


Offi­cial site: www.bbc.co.uk/stateofplay

Must read: BBC’s State of Play Left Me in a State of Awe on Pop Cul­ture Nerd

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Battlestar Galactica: Caprica

Battlestar Galactica Caprica poster

 

UPDATE: Read our revised and expanded review of the Caprica pilot, writ­ten after the pilot aired on television.

The recently con­cluded series Bat­tlestar Galac­tica (2003–2009) was crit­i­cally acclaimed and much beloved by a rel­a­tively small group of fans and crit­ics that appre­ci­ated the sexy, brainy show’s bleak, pes­simistic view of human­ity. It will cer­tainly live for­ever as a clas­sic achieve­ment in tele­vi­sion, but the com­mon con­sen­sus is that it failed to reach the wide audi­ence it could have. Exec­u­tive Pro­ducer Ron Moore told Vari­ety “‘We had view­ers say that if they were able to trick their wives or girl­friends into watch­ing Galac­tica, they loved it. But with the name Bat­tlestar Galac­tica scream­ing sci­ence fic­tion,’ he adds, ‘there was just such a high hur­dle to get female view­ers to even try it.’” So comes Caprica, a pre­quel osten­si­bly engi­neered from the begin­ning for greater appeal.

The series proper will not air until early 2010, but in an orig­i­nal move, its unrated (read: blood ‘n’ boo­bies) movie-length pilot episode pre­miered day-and-date on DVD and dig­i­tal down­load. It pre­serves some of the sig­na­ture ver­nac­u­lar of its par­ent series: tech­nob­a­b­ble like “Cylon” (Cyber­netic Life­form Node), the trip-on-the-tongue “gods damn it,” the infa­mous euphemism “frak,” and even racial epi­thets like “dirt eater.” The char­ac­ter of Bill Adama (Edward James Olmos in Bat­tlestar Galac­tica) appears as a young boy. Some of the same core themes are still present, par­tic­u­larly reli­gious intol­er­ance and fam­i­lies cop­ing with cat­a­strophic dis­as­ter. But there are sig­nif­i­cantly wor­ri­some signs that indi­cate a fatal mis­cal­cu­la­tion on The SyFy Channel’s part (worse than their aston­ish­ingly stu­pid rechris­ten­ing from “Sci-Fi”): Caprica hinges on two men and three annoy­ing teens, rel­e­gat­ing its only two adult female char­ac­ters to the sidelines.

Eric Stoltz and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaCaprica, like Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, holds that there are no Sur­geon Gen­eral warn­ings in space

It may very well be the case that many women were dis­cour­aged from check­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica out, but it’s also true that the show fea­tured a bevy of sig­nif­i­cant, com­plex women: self-destructive fire­brand Star­buck (Katee Sack­hoff), pres­i­dent of all human­ity Laura Roslin (Mary McDon­nell), Dick Cheney-esque war crim­i­nal Cap­tain Cain (Michelle Forbes), and con­flicted Cylons Three (Lucy Law­less), Six (Tri­cia Helfer), and Eight (Grace Park). So far, at least, Caprica includes only two lead female roles, nei­ther of whom fig­ures strongly in the plot: Amanda Gray­stone (Paula Mal­com­son, from Dead­wood) and Sis­ter Clarice Wil­low (Polly Walker, from Rome). But maybe this makes a kind of sense. The core dynamic is clas­sic sto­ry­telling: indus­tri­al­ist Daniel Gray­stone (Eric Stoltz) and lawyer Joseph Adama (Esai Morales) become entan­gled in a plot, while com­ing from oppos­ing philo­soph­i­cal points of view. If one of them had been female, the viewer might nat­u­rally expect a roman­tic sub­plot. Caprica’s cre­ators may have avoided this kind of dis­trac­tion, but the down­side is that the pri­mary nar­ra­tive con­flict is between two men, and the only two female char­ac­ters are solely defined by their rela­tion­ships to their men and kids. Daniel and Amanda’s daugh­ter Zoe (Alessan­dra Tores­sani) is killed in a ter­ror­ist attack, but we never see the icy Amanda mourn as we do Daniel. Her char­ac­ter is sim­ply Daniel’s wife, noth­ing more. Sis­ter Wil­low, at least, is revealed by the end to be more than she seems. Here’s hop­ing we see Amanda and Sis­ter Wil­low sig­nif­i­cantly expanded in future episodes.

Another thing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica got right was to side­step alto­gether the trap of child char­ac­ters. It was an adult show, for intel­li­gent adults. Caprica obvi­ously also didn’t learn from a les­son from Jeri­cho (2006–2008), a gen­er­ally smart show whose weak­est char­ac­ters were a pair of teens that were thank­fully writ­ten out. Out of Caprica’s trio of incred­i­bly annoy­ing kids, at least two die but unfor­tu­nately come back.

Eric Stoltz, Paula Malcomson, and Esai Morales in Battlestar Galactica CapricaWait, there was a woman in Caprica? Let’s hope poor Paula Mal­com­son actu­ally gets some scenes in the full series

The first 10 min­utes pack in a huge down­load of infor­ma­tion, espe­cially for some­one not already versed in the fic­tional Galac­tica uni­verse. Cer­tain key points are reit­er­ated once things slow down later, but a new viewer tun­ing in cold might get the sense they were sup­posed to be versed in all this stuff already, instead of just get­ting teased with a bar­rage of info to be unpacked later. When a title card reads “58 years before The Fall,” Galac­tica fans will catch the ref­er­ence to the sneak attack by the Cylons that nearly erad­i­cates their human creators.

We then cut directly to the deca­dent V Club, imply­ing its late-Rome-like deca­dence to be one of the direct causes of the com­ing Fall. A fully immer­sive vir­tual real­ity sim­u­la­tion not unlike The Matrix, the V Club is full of teens danc­ing to dated techno, hot les­bians, sim­u­lated human sac­ri­fice, and a fight club. Its banal­ity betrays a fail­ure of imag­i­na­tion not just on the part of Caprica’s teens, but also on the film­mak­ers. A rebel­lious gen­er­a­tion cre­ates a vir­tual world in which they can do absolutely any­thing they want, and all they can come up with is a sin­gle night­club that only spins techno from Earth’s 1990s? No gay boys want to make out? Nobody wants to fly? Nobody wants a body made of jade?

The tit­u­lar Caprica is the cap­i­tal of twelve plan­ets col­o­nized by human­ity. We only caught glimpses of its future on Bat­tlestar Galac­tica, so there is plenty of unex­plored ter­ri­tory for a new series to fill in. Its fash­ions resem­ble 1950s Amer­ica, per­haps meant to cap­i­tal­ize on the pop­u­lar­ity of the Show­time series Mad Men. We’re sup­posed to agree that Caprica is a cor­rupt, deca­dent soci­ety on the cusp of col­lapse. But how, exactly? They’re play­ing god(s) by delv­ing into dan­ger­ous tech­no­log­i­cal areas like robotic weapons and arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence, or at least a means of record­ing a human individual’s con­scious­ness into a com­puter. They’ve designed vir­tual real­ity sys­tems capa­ble of sim­u­lat­ing any desire. The soci­ety is racist to the core; Tau­rans (from the colony Tau­rus) are called “dirt eaters” and asso­ci­ated with orga­nized crime (although to be fair, the lat­ter actu­ally is true — they seem sim­i­lar to the immi­grant Sicil­ian mafia in 1920s Amer­ica). Like Michael Cor­leone in the God­fa­ther tril­ogy, Joseph is osten­si­bly an upstand­ing cit­i­zen forced to com­pro­mise with his her­itage. Unable to com­pletely extri­cate him­self from the mob, he tries to raise his son as a Capri­can, to the con­ster­na­tion of his grandmother.

Alessandra Toressani in Battlestar Galactica CapricaZoe, genius hacker, goes club­bing in The Matrix

This society’s most dan­ger­ous trait is its ingrained reli­gious intol­er­ance. The pop­u­la­tion is almost uni­formly poly­the­is­tic, and intol­er­ant of the minor­ity monothe­ists. Under­ground mil­i­tants have formed the Sol­diers of the One, a cult that believes in a com­bi­na­tion of monothe­ism and anti-science. Their rep­re­sen­ta­tive Sis­ter Wil­low manip­u­lates ter­ror­ist tot Ben (Avan Jogia) to stage a bombing.

The biggest addi­tion to the Bat­tlestar Galac­tica mythos is a deeper look into arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. Like the Ter­mi­na­tor fran­chise, I appre­ci­ate Caprica’s empha­sis that devel­op­ing arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is a sep­a­rate pur­suit than build­ing robots. Too many sci­ence fic­tion sto­ries seem to equate the two, includ­ing Bat­tlestar Galac­tica itself in its final episode. The Day the Earth Stood Still and For­bid­den Planet’s humanoid robots have minds of its own, but what about being robots makes them so, as opposed to immo­bile com­put­ers? Blade Runner’s repli­cants and A.I.‘s boy robots look human first, and it is never asked what exactly makes them sen­tient beings (unless the ques­tion is how we anthro­po­mor­phize things that out­wardly seem human). Arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence is almost always auto­mat­i­cally evil in movies such as Ter­mi­na­tor and 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is rarely inher­ently inno­cent, as in A.I.: Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence. Caprica fea­tures two dis­turb­ing scenes of a human con­scious­ness wak­ing up trapped in a crude robot body. That’s called overeg­ging your pud­ding. Also creepy: the advances made by Zoe lead directly to Daniel’s clumsy war­rior robots becom­ing the effec­tive killing machines chris­tened Cylons.

Speak­ing of, how could a lumi­nary in the robot­ics busi­ness not know his own daugh­ter was a genius hacker? A par­tic­u­larly hard-to-swallow bit of tech­nob­a­b­ble is the repeated sta­tis­tic that the amount of data encoded in a human brain com­prises only 300 megabytes. Appar­ently work­ing on her own, Zoe comes up with the solu­tion to pre­serv­ing a human mind in a com­puter: sup­ple­ment that 300 MB of data with the dig­i­tal detri­tus that per­son has left behind: med­ical records, playlists, email, searches, etc. Her break­through allows Daniel to res­ur­rect Joseph’s late daugh­ter as well (although we don’t see how he obtained her 300 MB worth of brain mat­ter). The resul­tant dupli­cate quickly goes insane, so Zoe is some­how spe­cial, the only dig­i­tal human mind that doesn’t go mad.

Some awfully big events are revealed in the DVD edition’s deleted scenes: Adama learns early on that Zoe was involved in the bomb­ing, adding an extra dimen­sion to his inter­ac­tions with her father. Also, boy bomber Ben’s mind was also suc­cess­fully uploaded into the V Club by Sis­ter Wil­low, sug­gest­ing that Zoe might not be so unique after all, and that her sci­en­tic break­throughs may have been in part devel­oped by the Sol­diers of the One. Both of these strike me as great lay­ers of com­plex­ity that would have only added to the story.


Offi­cial movie site: www.scifi.com/caprica

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


John Adams

John Adams

 

The Dork Report cel­e­brates Inde­pen­dence Day 2008 in a New York City Star­bucks, tap­ping out a review of the HBO minis­eries John Adams. Believe it or not, the tim­ing is acci­den­tal, but July 4th has proven to be an aus­pi­cious date in Amer­i­can His­tory. On-and-off-again friends and foes Thomas Jef­fer­son and John Adams both died on the same date, exactly 50 years after the rat­i­fi­ca­tion of what they called The Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dency. The tale sounds too good to be true, and yet it is.

HBO is back on its game at last, after a period of appar­ent dor­mancy fol­low­ing the nat­ural con­clu­sion of flag­ship orig­i­nal pro­grams Sex and the City and The Sopra­nos, the pre­ma­ture can­cel­la­tion of Dead­wood and Rome, and the crim­i­nal abbre­vi­a­tion of the final sea­son of The Best Tele­vi­sion Show Ever Made (some­times referred to as The Wire). Finely pedi­greed, this lav­ish, over seven-hour minis­eries by his­tory buff Tom Hanks’ pro­duc­tion com­pany Play­tone is based on the biog­ra­phy by David McCul­lough. How­ever, it fails to reach the epic pro­fun­dity of The Wire and Dead­wood, which in the opin­ion of this Dork Reporter, pos­si­bly have more to say about the true nature of the Amer­ica we have actu­ally inher­ited from Adams and his contemporaries.

John AdamsAmerica’s sec­ond first couple

This Dork Reporter does not con­sider him­self a patriot, and is not espe­cially moved by sto­ries of early Amer­i­can his­tory. How­ever, the drama­ti­za­tion of these leg­endary events and the char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of dusty old Amer­i­can heroes were intrigu­ing enough to make me con­sider pick­ing up a copy of McCullough’s tome. The adult life of John Adams encom­passed such ele­men­tary school social stud­ies touch­stones as the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War, the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence, and the Con­sti­tu­tion. In short, Adams was not only present dur­ing many of the key points in early Amer­i­can his­tory, but a cru­cial par­tic­i­pant. Nev­er­the­less, his­tory has cho­sen other heroes. As Adams was a states­man and not a mil­i­tary man, and indeed spent most of the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War on a frus­trat­ing mis­sion abroad in Europe, we don’t see reen­act­ments of such key events as the Boston Tea Party, which one might have expected of a lav­ish big-budget HBO pro­duc­tion. It makes sense, but there is unin­ten­tional com­edy when a char­ac­ter remarks “Boy, how ’bout that Boston Tea Party last night, huh?” (OK, I admit I’m para­phras­ing, but the effect is the same.)

After the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War (waged in part by “god­less Hes­s­ian mer­ce­nar­ies,” includ­ing one of my ances­tors, Johannes Schwalm), Adams returned to the States United only to be turned right back around for his appoint­ment to the impos­si­ble, thank­less job of ambas­sador to for­mer mor­tal enemy Great Britain. There’s a bril­liantly tense scene in which Adams meets the slightly odd but clearly seething King George III for the first time. When Adams finally came home for good, he suf­fered per­sis­tent crit­i­cism at hav­ing been safe and cod­dled in Europe through­out the tur­moil at home (it also seems his weight was a favorite talk­ing point of the news­pa­pers). But the minis­eries makes clear that the biggest sac­ri­fice made for his duty was the effects of his absence on his fam­ily. He loses a son to alco­holism and a son-in-law to naïve invest­ments, but on the other hand, his son John Quincy Adams suc­ceeded him as the sixth president.

John AdamsIf I had a dollar…

As the sec­ond pres­i­dent of the States United, Adams and his veep Jef­fer­son both had the same aims: avoid war between France and Eng­land at all costs. Adams was stuck in the pecu­liarly ironic posi­tion of hav­ing a truce with Britain and antipa­thy with France, the exact oppo­site of the nation’s sit­u­a­tion dur­ing the Rev­o­lu­tion­ary War. His admin­is­tra­tion grap­pled for the first time with many issues that still res­onate today, includ­ing the con­cepts of free­dom of speech, a delib­er­ate national deficit (as espoused by Alexan­der Hamil­ton), and so-called “enemy com­bat­ants” (which were, at the time, specif­i­cally under­stood to be French refugees sus­pected of remain­ing loyal to an enemy monar­chy). Adams reluc­tantly sup­ported the Alien and Sedi­tion Acts, not because he believed in them (he didn’t) but that he nobly felt it was his duty to stand behind the wishes of the people’s rep­re­sen­ta­tives in Con­gress. Dur­ing his admin­is­tra­tion, he and Abi­gail moved into the par­tially com­pleted White House, which is shown to have been built by slaves. This Dork Reporter should per­haps not have been sur­prised by this rev­e­la­tion, and yet he was.

As Dork Report first lady Snark­bait opined, John Adams is a show­case for “Hey It’s That Guy“s, pro­vid­ing sub­stan­tial roles for a parade of famil­iar char­ac­ter actors. In many ways, Thomas Jef­fer­son (Stephen Dil­lane) is the most inter­est­ing, and sur­pris­ing char­ac­ter­i­za­tion. As por­trayed here, he kept his own coun­cil and was some­what shy, far from the loqua­cious and com­mand­ing per­son­al­i­ties of many of his con­tem­po­raries. Adams, how­ever, cor­rectly per­ceived the quiet man’s pow­er­ful opin­ions about inde­pen­dence, and drafted him to write the Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence. Jef­fer­son could also be proud, and his effron­tery is price­less as Ben­jamin Franklin (Tom Wilkin­son) quickly pro­duces a red pen to make amend­ments. Franklin was one of a kind, and indis­putably bril­liant, but a mas­sive ego­tist and hedo­nist. He was tech­ni­cally cor­rect about how to effec­tively oper­ate as ambas­sador to France, but it didn’t stop him from self­ishly enjoy­ing his job. He gamely played the role of “rus­tic” in coon­skin cap, took mis­tresses (although Wikipedia does point out he was a wid­ower at the time), lived a life of leisure, and knew when not to dis­cuss pol­i­tics (which was: most of the time). Orig­i­nally a friend and ally to Adams, Franklin became an antag­o­nist in France, and Adams appears never to have for­given him.

John AdamsAmerica’s First Ras­cal shows John around his crib

George Wash­ing­ton (David Morse) is por­trayed as gruff and humbly diplo­matic, but also quite intel­li­gent and per­cep­tive, not to men­tion phys­i­cally impos­ing. He was such a pop­u­lar hero after the Rev­o­lu­tion that his inau­gu­ra­tion was a for­gone con­clu­sion, but it was later alleged John Adams would have actu­ally won the elec­toral col­lege vote with­out a con­spir­acy to anoint Wash­ing­ton as America’s first hero. John’s cousin Samuel Adams (Danny Hus­ton) fig­ures sig­nif­i­cantly in the Early Con­ti­nen­tal Con­gress, and now we can finally see what Sam did to deserve hav­ing such a damn fine bev­er­age named after him (I kid; actu­ally he really was a brewer on top of all his other achieve­ments). One inter­est­ing fig­ure this Dork Reporter had never heard of was John Dick­in­son (Zelijko Ivanek). As the rep­re­sen­ta­tive from Penn­syl­va­nia, Dick­in­son argued pas­sion­ately against split­ting from Britain, and cor­rectly fore­saw the Civil War as an inevitable result. And finally, there’s a plum role for Laura LIn­ney as Abi­gail Adams, about as strong a woman as she could have been at the time. At one point, we see her scrub­bing the floor with no motion to help from her hus­band. But clearly it was not just lip ser­vice when John Adams late in life claims Abi­gail was his most trusted advisor.

John AdamsI apol­o­gize for fail­ing to men­tion Dork Report favorite Sarah Pol­ley in this article

In a great scene near the end, an aged Adams dresses down John Trum­bull, the painter of “The Dec­la­ra­tion of Inde­pen­dence” (now resid­ing in the Capi­tol build­ing — which was also, inci­den­tally, built by slaves), for his­tor­i­cal inac­cu­ra­cies. Iron­i­cally, the scene is an inven­tion, accord­ing to Wikipedia, but it seems to have been con­sis­tent with Adams’ beliefs and pre­oc­cu­pa­tions. In his retire­ment, he was con­cerned that the story of the Amer­i­can Rev­o­lu­tion and his own rep­u­ta­tion would (or even could) be reported accu­rately. He pre­dicted a roman­ti­cized ver­sion in which future Amer­i­cans would believe “Franklin smote the earth with his elec­tri­cal rod and out came Wash­ing­ton and Jef­fer­son.” It seems he may have been cor­rect; Franklin and Jef­fer­son are heroes to this day, while he remains rel­a­tively obscure. It is true that there isn’t much scan­dal or leg­end about his char­ac­ter and per­son­al­ity for school­child­ren to latch on to. Jef­fer­son had Mon­ti­cello and his inven­tions, and Franklin had his apho­risms and, well, inven­tions of his own. One other rea­son Adams is not exactly a pop­u­lar hero is that he first made him­self known for defend­ing Eng­lish sol­diers accused of per­pet­u­at­ing an unpro­voked mas­sacre. The defense attor­ney was never a much-loved pro­fes­sion, but set an early prece­dent for lawyers becom­ing presidents.

Finally, two smaller obser­va­tions: The minis­eries was par­tially filmed in Colo­nial Williams­burg, but many other loca­tions were real­ized with superla­tive spe­cial effects. Beyond the obvi­ous recre­ations of old Boston and Philadel­phia, the DVD bonus fea­tures reveal that cer­tain shots I never ques­tioned, such as Adams ascend­ing the stair­case to a impres­sive Euro­pean man­sion, were in fact part CG. Also of inter­est are the exam­ples of the med­i­cine of the day: exsan­guina­tion, inoc­u­la­tion, and mas­tec­tomy, all with­out anesthesia.


Offi­cial movie site: www.hbo.com/films/johnadams

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


The Andromeda Strain (2008)

The Andromeda Strain

 

Michael Crichton’s orig­i­nal novel The Androm­eda Strain was first adapted into a fea­ture film in 1971, and now into a tele­vi­sion minis­eries from exec­u­tive pro­duc­ers Rid­ley and Tony Scott. This 2008 incar­na­tion is part feel-bad thriller, part wish ful­fill­ment. As we thrill to the spec­u­la­tive illus­tra­tion of how civ­i­liza­tion might sud­denly come to an end, we also can only hope the gov­ern­ment does in fact have such an elab­o­rate and high-tech pro­ce­dure in place for iden­ti­fy­ing and con­tain­ing new con­ta­gious dis­ease outbreaks.

The Andromeda StrainGood times, good times

The orig­i­nal book is only nom­i­nally about a super­virus, evi­dently of extrater­res­trial ori­gin, that threat­ens the human race. It is actu­ally more about how intel­li­gent, well-meaning peo­ple can make sub­tle errors of judge­ment that may cas­cade into cat­a­stro­phe (Chrich­ton would also employ Chaos The­ory as a key theme in his Juras­sic Park nov­els). But the minis­eries com­pli­cates this inter­est­ing theme with added gov­ern­ment venal­ity (a basi­cally hon­or­able pres­i­dent is under­cut by a cor­rupt chief of staff), the media (a drug addicted reporter breaks the cover-up), and the envi­ron­ment (strip min­ing of the ocean floor leads to the cri­sis). To give but one exam­ple of the dimin­ish­ing returns: in the book, a sim­ple unno­ticed glitch in a sup­pos­edly per­fect com­puter sys­tem causes a dan­ger­ous com­mu­ni­ca­tion black­out at the worst pos­si­ble time. It’s both more plau­si­ble and more sus­pense­ful than the minis­eries ver­sion of events, in which Gen­eral Mancheck (Andre Braugher) delib­er­ately cre­ates the black­out, to everyone’s mild and tem­po­rary frustration.

The book is not with­out its flaws, par­tic­u­larly an undra­matic end­ing in which the con­tin­u­ously adapt­ing virus even­tu­ally mutates into harm­less­ness. But the minis­eries dis­ap­points by giv­ing the virus a defin­i­tive ori­gin, indi­cat­ing it is expressly tar­geted towards humans, and show­ing its defin­i­tive defeat.

The Andromeda StrainThe cast checks in for the long haul

Mis­cel­la­neous other thoughts:

• Mikael Salomon’s direc­tion is very bor­ing and staid, except for a wildly over-the-top decon­t­a­m­i­na­tion pro­ce­dure that is filmed in a styl­ized, almost erotic fashion.

• The minis­eries is prob­a­bly one of the talki­est sci-fi movies and/or TV shows I’ve ever seen. The bulk of the action is set in a sin­gle inte­rior loca­tion, and nearly every scene com­prises heated con­ver­sa­tions in lab­o­ra­to­ries or over teleconferences.

• The minis­eries is laden with even more pseu­do­sci­en­tific bull­shit than Crichton’s orig­i­nal novel: wormhole-enabled time travel and nan­otech buck­y­balls from the future are the order of the day. The whole thing ends in the kind of tem­po­ral para­dox that typ­i­cally makes a plot point in shows like Doc­tor Who and Star Trek.

• The minis­eries updates the book’s euphemism of “unmar­ried man” into “don’t ask don’t tell” ter­ri­tory. It seems fab­u­lous Major Keane (Rick Schroder) is a friend of Dorothy.

• Spot the homage to Hitchcock’s The Birds!

• Why does the under­ground facil­ity begin to dis­in­te­grate dur­ing the run-up to set­ting off an atom bomb? Wouldn’t there just be a count­down and then an explosion?

• This Dork Reporter, a long­time fan of the TV show Lost, is happy to see Daniel Dae Kim in a star­ring role. But the Korean actor is unfor­tu­nately cast as a Chi­nese stereotype.

• Ben­jamin Bratt is really ter­ri­ble, giv­ing the prover­bial phone-it-in per­for­mance. He deliv­ers every line with the same into­na­tion, whether it’s say­ing good­bye to his fam­ily for pos­si­bly the last time or announc­ing humanity’s first dis­cov­ery of an alien life form.


Offi­cial movie site: www.aetv.com/the-andromeda-strain

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


The Girl in the Café

The Girl in the Cafe movie poster

 

David Yate’s The Girl in the Café, a made-for-HBO movie, was incred­i­bly cute, and my heart­strings were indeed pulled, but I couldn’t shake the sense the love story was wrapped around the real pur­pose of the film: expli­cat­ing the issue of extreme poverty to help warm the pub­lic up for Live 8. Of course, I feel like a bas­tard for crit­i­ciz­ing this aspect of it. Plus, the age dif­fer­ence between Bill Nighy and Kelly Mac­don­ald was so icky that, for­get about dis­agree­ing over whether to bat­tle or defer to stub­born politi­cians, it’s an issue unto itself.

Actu­ally, it’s a per­fectly charm­ing and lovely movie, I’m sorry.

Reyk­javik should hereby pass an ordi­nance decree­ing its name shall hereto­forth be spo­ken only in a Scot­tish accent.