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.

Surrogates

Surrogates movie poster

 

Sur­ro­gates is an ele­gantly lit­eral twist on the clas­sic sci-fi theme of liv­ing through avatars. Cyber­punk writ­ers William Gib­son and Neal Stephen­son pio­neered vir­tual real­ity as a set­ting for the dra­matic exag­ger­a­tion of issues first sparked by the very begin­nings of inter­net chat rooms. Their pre­dic­tions have already come true, in part, in the form of social net­work­ing and immer­sive games like Sec­ond Life and World of War­craft. Sur­ro­gates takes this con­ceit one step fur­ther, but fails to address moss of the ques­tions it raises. To look deeper than I think the film sup­ports, you might start to think about the per­sonas we craft for our­selves in dif­fer­ent con­texts, how we dress and behave in the pri­vacy of our homes ver­sus how we do at work or play.

Rosamund Pike in Surrogates

Directed by Jonathan Mostow (of the excel­lent nail-biter Break­down, but also the dud Ter­mi­na­tor 3: Rise of the Machines), the film is based on the comic book The Sur­ro­gates by Robert Ven­ditti and Brett Weldele. The premise requires a long, involved pro­logue nec­es­sary just to explain it. This very near future is defined by the tech­nol­ogy for remote-controlled androids, which are not unlike cars: afford­able enough for the major­ity of the pop­u­la­tion to own one, avail­able in tiered mod­els that reflect your income and taste, and a way of life ingrained into soci­ety just as much as cars have shaped cities and the high­ways that net­work them together.

Taken to its log­i­cal extreme, a world pop­u­lated by remote con­trolled robots affects every­thing from the work­place to war­fare. Beauty par­lors have mor­phed into some­thing like hi-tech auto repair shops, where peo­ple trick their sur­ro­gates out with new rub­ber faces and super-strong limbs. Patriot Act-like mass sur­veil­lance is con­ducted through the robots’ very eyes, with­out their own­ers’ per­mis­sion, in an impossible-to-miss metaphor for Bush-era war­rant­less wire­taps. War is now a death­less abstract resem­bling a com­puter game: face­less drones teem dis­tant bat­tle­grounds in a sick par­ody of today’s air­borne Preda­tor drones and precision-guided mis­siles. Notice also the spot­less art direc­tion: every­thing is clean because robots don’t eat or litter.

When so much of the fic­tional ram­i­fi­ca­tions are thought out, it’s dis­ap­point­ing when so many other obvi­ous impli­ca­tions are left unclear. We’re told the crime rate has fallen dra­mat­i­cally since most peo­ple started liv­ing through robot sur­ro­gates, but why, nec­es­sar­ily? Per­haps because there’s no such thing as rap­ing or mur­der­ing a robot. But why do FBI agents have such lux­u­ri­ous homes, if their jobs are less nec­es­sary in this utopia?

Radha Mitchell and Bruce Willis in Surrogates

One inter­est­ing wrin­kle barely touched upon is that some char­ac­ters, includ­ing Greer (Bruce Willis) and his wife Mag­gie (Rosamund Pike), have selected sur­ro­gates mod­eled on their own nat­ural phys­i­cal appear­ances. Younger, stronger, and more vir­ile, per­haps, but rec­og­niz­ably their ide­al­ized like­nesses. There are only a few exam­ples of users that opt to mix race and/or gen­ders, let alone go to fur­ther extremes. The most out­wardly unusual look­ing sur­ro­gates we see merely have impos­si­ble com­plex­ions. Per­haps the Greers are not fully com­mit­ted to liv­ing this way. Why not explore this point more? A fail­ure of the imagination.

But by far the biggest absur­dity is the claim that 98% of the pop­u­la­tion lives through sur­ro­gates. The film would have been bet­ter off by side­step­ping the ques­tion of whether or not much of the pop­u­la­tion could afford state-of-the-art con­sumer elec­tron­ics. If only a por­tion of the pop­u­la­tion in 2010 has access to things like health care and broad­band, it’s cer­tainly absurd to pre­tend for even a silly sci-fi movie that we all might some day be able to afford per­sonal robots. But then again, there are hun­dreds of mil­lions of cars in use world­wide today, so per­haps it is not that out­ra­geous to hypoth­e­size that some­day we all might be remotely pilot­ing some kind of robot around all day every day.

While many other peo­ple, includ­ing his wife, choose to live life through their sur­ro­gates, FBI agents are given tur­bocharged loaner mod­els in some kind of perk akin to today’s com­pany cars. Greer behaves dif­fer­ently as him­self or when work­ing through his sur­ro­gate. He spouts tough, sar­cas­tic, noir-ish detec­tive dia­logue when work­ing, but turns meek and emo­tional when liv­ing as a “meatball.”

Ving Rhames and James Cromwell appear in dis­ap­point­ing fleet­ing roles. Rosamund Pike is obvi­ously very beau­ti­ful, but her wide cir­cu­lar glassy eyes frankly look slightly odd from cer­tain angles, mak­ing her an excel­lent cast­ing choice.

There are fewer android-related spe­cial effects than you might imag­ine, espe­cially when com­pared to West­world (read The Dork Report review), The Step­ford Wives, Alien, and A.I., all of which revel in reveal­ing robotic guts beneath rub­ber skin (images one might even fetishize as a lit­eral “cyber­porn”). Rather, the film’s best spe­cial effect is when a sur­ro­gate deac­ti­vates and comes to a com­plete halt. I can’t guess how it was done, but it’s clearly more com­pli­cated than sim­ply freez­ing the frame. It’s very eerie to see a per­son, how­ever artificial-seeming, sim­ply and silently freeze as the light of life goes out of their eyes.

A osten­ta­tious dan­gling plot thread about Greer’s dead son goes nowhere. Even the rev­e­la­tion of what caused his death is a mis­fire, and has no impact upon the story. Why would a painful loss in the fam­ily com­pel the Greers to live vir­tual lives? Every­one else is only doing it because they want to appear attractive.

The final moments are lame and non-dramatic, rely­ing on unseen news­cast­ers to explic­itly out­line the themes of the movie, for the slower mem­bers of the audi­ence, perhaps.


Offi­cial movie site: www.chooseyoursurrogate.com

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

Westworld

Westworld movie poster

 

The late Michael Crich­ton is pri­mar­ily known as a best­selling nov­el­ist, but some­what less so as a screen­writer, fea­ture film direc­tor, and tele­vi­sion pro­ducer (he was one of the co-creators of the block­buster series E.R.). Char­ac­ter­is­tic nov­els Juras­sic Park and The Androm­eda Strain are built upon fas­ci­nat­ing spec­u­la­tive sci­ence with thrilling story poten­tial, spoiled by wafer-thin char­ac­ters and sim­plis­tic plots. His 1973 thriller West­world suf­fers from the same syn­drome. Despite its high-minded ori­gins in spec­u­la­tive sci­ence, the movie is sim­ple in struc­ture and theme. It’s not unusual for sci­ence fic­tion films to be overtly based on West­ern tropes (the best exam­ple that comes to mind is Out­land), but West­world is a hybrid with equal parts of each. The sec­ond half is basi­cally an extended chase sequence, punc­tu­ated by a few clas­sic hor­ror movie tropes.

Yul Brynner in WestworldThere’s a face off in the corner

West­world posits a future in which robot­ics and arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence have advanced enough to enable a new mar­ket for enter­tain­ment and leisure. The futur­is­tic vaca­tion resort Delos is a fore­run­ner to Juras­sic Park: an expe­ri­ence adven­ture for the afflu­ent, pow­ered by untested advanced tech­nol­ogy. Imag­ine Dis­ney World-like ani­ma­tron­ics taken to the next level: semi­au­tonomous robots roam an immer­sive envi­ron­ment to serve as inter­ac­tive ser­vants, sex toys, and tar­get practice.

Crich­ton skips over the entire issue of how these machines achieve con­scious­ness, mak­ing the com­mon movie fal­lacy that robots = arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. If they are basi­cally ani­ma­tronic machines, how did they evolve an instinct for self-preservation? If these droids are not feel­ing actual rebel­lion and mur­der­ous vin­dic­tive­ness, is it a virus or mal­func­tion? On a more prac­ti­cal level, there appears to be a plot hole in how all robots but The Gun­slinger (Yul Bryn­ner) appear to com­pletely van­ish after mur­der­ing the Delos’ staff and visitors.

Richard Benjamin and James Brolin in WestworldJames Brolin & Richard Ben­jamin take the vaca­tion of the future, today

Brynner’s may wear the same cos­tume as in The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven (read The Dork Report review), but The Gunslinger’s true ana­log is closer to Jaws and Moby Dick. He pops up again and again, seem­ingly unkil­l­able, pos­sessed of an unex­pressed, inex­plic­a­ble moti­va­tion to hunt one sin­gle man. He fix­ates on tourist John Blane (James Brolin) and remorse­lessly pur­sues him to the death, not unlike the implaca­ble demons that haunt Cor­mac McCarthy’s No Coun­try for Old Men, All the Pretty Horses, and Blood Merid­ian. Bryn­ner isn’t given much in the way of dia­log or char­ac­ter, but you can see he worked very hard on his phys­i­cal per­for­mance. His bear­ing, pos­ture, gait, and gaze are all unset­tling. Far from a car­toon­ish robot fig­ure, The Gun­slinger is really inhu­man, weird, and creepy.

West­world, like Juras­sic Park, seems to be a vague cau­tion­ary tale against toy­ing with advanced sci­ence. The famously science-minded Crich­ton (an M.D.) is not sim­ply demo­niz­ing sci­ence itself, but rather its arro­gant mis­use. If the first mis­take is to build machines more com­plex than the human mind can under­stand, the sec­ond is to bet our lives upon them.

Delos is a fan­tasy world where peo­ple can kill or fuck any­thing they want. In other words, a recipe for dis­as­ter. Later sci­ence fic­tion sto­ries like Tron, The Matrix, and Caprica (read The Dork Report review) would typ­i­cally stage sim­i­lar moral­ity plays in vir­tual real­ity. But I don’t get the sense that West­world is crit­i­ciz­ing the indul­gence of humanity’s worst ten­den­cies. Is it instead focus­ing on the mis­treat­ment of semi-sentient beings as slaves? When the park is in work­ing con­di­tion, the robots are pros­ti­tuted and mur­dered over and over for humans’ enter­tain­ment. After they become con­scious, we see one “female” robot reject a human’s sex­ual advances, while another is cru­elly chained up in a dun­geon. Nei­ther seems to be express­ing much in the way of grief or resent­ment. Instead, we are per­haps meant to see them as inno­cents that are sim­ply seek­ing a lit­tle dignity.

Stray obser­va­tions:

  • The sequel movie Future­world (1976) and TV series Beyond West­world (1980) are not avail­able on DVD or online at this time of writing.
  • Young James Brolin looks so much at times like Chris­t­ian Bale does today that it’s almost creepy.
  • Even Delos’ ani­mals are robotic, per­haps allud­ing to the moral tests regard­ing the treat­ment of ani­mals (robotic or real) in Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Elec­tric Sheep. Even more on the nose, Blane finds a robot snake in the desert, fore­shad­ow­ing the ones we see for sale in Blade Runner.

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

Design is how it works: Gary Hustwit’s Objectified

Objectified movie poster

 

Objec­ti­fied finds its the­sis in a quo­ta­tion from one of history’s prime indus­tri­al­ists, Henry Ford: “Every object, whether inten­tional or not, speaks to who­ever put it there.” In other words, every­thing we select, pur­chase, and inter­act with, was first designed and man­u­fac­tured by a skilled arti­san. That person’s job is to obsess about you, your body, needs and habits, and how their prod­uct might become a part of your life. Direc­tor Gary Hustwit’s pre­vi­ous doc­u­men­tary fea­ture Hel­vetica (read The Dork Report review) was a cel­e­bra­tion of typog­ra­phers and graphic design­ers, and inspired laypeo­ple to rec­og­nize the long his­tory and great labor that went into the type­faces they use every day on their com­puter screens. Sim­i­larly, Objec­ti­fied pro­files the often unknown indus­trial design­ers behind the stuff we buy.

Jonathan Ives in ObjectifiedJonathan Ives’ inner sanc­tum. After con­duct­ing this inter­view, Apple had the film­mak­ers shot.

Apple’s res­i­dent guru Jonathan Ive is per­haps the most famous design auteur fea­tured. Ive is prob­a­bly the sec­ond most famous per­son at Apple, justly acclaimed for his sin­gu­lar design aes­thetic that first caught the pub­lic imag­i­na­tion with the bondi Blue iMac and then the stark, white, decep­tively “sim­ple” iPod. Ive’s boss Steve Jobs famously said that design is “not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works,” a prin­ci­ple born out in Ive’s work. Know­ing inside and out the par­tic­u­lars of dif­fer­ent mate­ri­als and man­u­fac­tur­ing is just part of design­ing a product’s exter­nals. Ive bran­dishes precision-tooled parts from a dis­as­sem­bled Mac­Book Pro to illus­trate that Apple spends an enor­mous amount of time and resources not just design­ing their prod­ucts, but also the cus­tom machines and processes nec­es­sary to mass pro­duce them.

Naoto Fukasawa in ObjectifiedNaoto Fuka­sawa rethinks the CD player.

Objec­ti­fied spends some con­sid­er­able time on the topic of sus­tain­abil­ity, a respon­si­bil­ity that regret­tably only recently entered the indus­trial designer’s job descrip­tion. Valerie Casey of IDEO relates the incred­i­ble anec­dote of the dif­fi­cult process of devel­op­ing a new tooth­brush. When the prod­uct is finally ready and in stores, she embarks on a much-needed vaca­tion to Fiji. If you didn’t already guess where this story was going, she finds a dis­carded IDEO tooth­brush washed up on a beach halfway around the world. In less than a week, her prod­uct had become pollution.

Objec­ti­fied nec­es­sar­ily makes a brief detour into inter­ac­tion design (this brief digres­sion would be wor­thy of a film unto itself, but in the mean­time, the curi­ous can refer to Steven John­son’s 1997 book Inter­face Cul­ture: How New Tech­nol­ogy Trans­forms the Way We Cre­ate and Com­mu­ni­cate). When we inter­act with most ana­log prod­ucts, their form fol­lows their func­tion. As a thought exper­i­ment, would an alien from outer space (or a Tarzan raised in the wild) be able to infer an object’s func­tion sim­ply by look­ing at it? That is likely the case with a spoon or chair, but not so much with an iPhone. For many prod­ucts of the dig­i­tal age, the out­ward form fac­tor gives no clues as to the func­tion. Thus, inter­ac­tion design was born with the Xerox PARC graph­i­cal user inter­face. Many of our daily tasks are now abstracted onto a two-dimensional screen. The Apple iPhone and iPad have pop­u­lar­ized the touch­screen, which likely sig­nals the begin­ning of another sea change when periph­er­als like key­boards and mice will be revealed to have been a tem­po­rary evo­lu­tion­ary bump, now marked for extinction.

still from ObjectifiedAwww yeah, design­ers know what time it is.

The last images we see are of the devices used to make the movie itself: a com­puter, hard drive, and cam­era. Tellingly, the Objec­ti­fied Blu-ray edi­tion has no menu struc­ture at all. You put it in, it plays, and the sup­ple­men­tary fea­tures fol­low imme­di­ately after the clos­ing cred­its. It’s a com­pletely guided, lin­ear expe­ri­ence that speaks to the film’s ele­va­tion of the cre­ator over the consumer.


Offi­cial movie site: www.objectifiedfilm.com

Must read: A Hur­ri­cane of Con­sumer Val­ues by Alissa Walker

Buy any of these fine prod­ucts from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report:

 

Scratching in the Dirt: Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back

Peter Gabriel Scratch My Back

 

As a Peter Gabriel fan for over two decades, it’s dif­fi­cult to admit that I find myself strug­gling to appre­ci­ate his first new album in years.

There have always been three core things to love about Gabriel’s work: his lit­er­ate song­writ­ing, metic­u­lous sound­scapes, and emo­tion­ally expres­sive voice. Behind the creep­ily organic album art, Scratch My Back is an exper­i­ment in sub­trac­tion. It finds Gabriel cov­er­ing other artists’ songs, accom­pa­nied only by solo piano or orches­tra (the oddly defen­sive mar­ket­ing pitch “No drums, no gui­tars” says it all). That leaves only the voice. Soul­ful and grav­elly even as a teenage cofounder of Gen­e­sis in 1967, Gabriel’s voice should be more than enough to jus­tify any­thing, so my pat reduc­tion here is not totally fair. Gabriel and John Met­calfe clearly labored over these orches­tral arrange­ments, but I miss the com­plex son­ics of the rock and world music instru­men­ta­tion that has char­ac­ter­ized most of his music for over 40 years.

Gabriel did very nearly the oppo­site a decade ago, when his high-concept mil­len­nium project Ovo made a point of cast­ing Paul Buchanan and The Cocteau Twins’ Eliz­a­beth Fraser to sing his songs. The most recent col­lec­tion of his own songs was 2002’s Up, fol­lowed in 2009 by the col­lab­o­ra­tive project Big Blue Ball. Casual fans of his music might not be aware that Gabriel is an active human­i­tar­ian, par­tic­u­larly as cofounder of Wit­ness and The Elders, so the tem­po­ral gap between his musi­cal ven­tures is not entirely explained by chronic pro­cras­ti­na­tion (although he would prob­a­bly be the first to admit he’s eas­ily dis­tracted). Gabriel has stated that he hopes to work on more song-swap projects in the future, but first plans to work on some of his own songs. How long until he pre­pares a new album over which he can claim sole authorship?

Peter Gabriel Scratch My Back

Gabriel told the New York Times:

I was try­ing to make a grown-up record […] This is treat­ing peo­ple as if they can han­dle dif­fi­cult music and words. Not that I’ve courted the low­est com­mon denom­i­na­tor before, but there’s a play­ful­ness and child­ish­ness in some of my older work that isn’t present on this record.”

He is pre­sum­ably refer­ring to the media satire of “Games With­out Fron­tiers” and “The Barry Williams Show”, the randy sex romps “Sledge­ham­mer” and “Kiss That Frog”, and the vaude­ville silli­ness of “Excuse Me” and “Big Time”. Gabriel is one of the few musi­cians that I first lis­tened to as a teenager, but whose music has aged with me. So I would have expected myself to appre­ci­ate an album of him cov­er­ing many songs that I know and love well (par­tic­u­larly David Bowie, Lou Reed, Elbow, and Talk­ing Heads), but I find that I don’t know what to make of Scratch my Back even after repeated listening.

Many song­writ­ers lose their dark edge as they age (case in point: Pink Floyd’s once tor­tured, prickly Roger Waters is now a big smi­ley softie), and by all accounts Gabriel should have been fol­low­ing that track too. After leav­ing Gen­e­sis in 1975 to deal with fam­ily issues, his first four solo albums were increas­ingly dark and sin­is­ter. But 1986’s So marked a notice­able turn­around in tone and an appar­ent psy­chic heal­ing. Now report­edly still pals with his old Gen­e­sis cohorts, aging grace­fully into a pot­belly and gnomish goa­tee, remar­ry­ing, father­ing two new sons, and rec­on­cil­ing with his two daugh­ters from a pre­vi­ous mar­riage, he seemed to be trans­form­ing into a cud­dly grand­fa­ther fig­ure. A trickle of releases over the past decade showed him favor­ing directly-worded songs for chil­dren, includ­ing the Oscar-nominated “That’ll Do” (from the movie Babe), the unsub­tle “Ani­mal Nation” (from The The Wild Thorn­ber­rys Movie), and “Down to Earth” (from Wall-E).

Sud­denly, he appears to have reversed back into depres­sive ter­ri­tory. Nearly every song cho­sen for Scratch My Back has been trans­formed into a mourn­ful dirge. Espe­cially when lis­tened to in one sit­ting, I find many of the inter­pre­ta­tions to be too depress­ing, and I actu­ally like depress­ing music. My favorite exam­ples along these lines are Michael Andrews and Gary Jules’ cry-your-guts-out cover of Tears for Fears’ “Mad World” (from the movie Don­nie Darko), and Elbow’s ago­niz­ingly heartrend­ing ver­sion of U2’s “Run­ning to Stand Still” (from the War Child ben­e­fit album Heroes).

Peter Gabriel Scratch My Back

Gabriel’s ver­sion of The Mag­netic Fields’ “Book of Love” has appar­ently become some­thing of a sen­sa­tion on YouTube, licensed in tele­vi­sion shows, and played at celebrity wed­dings. Per­haps I’m cold­hearted, but it does absolutely noth­ing for me. Song­writer Stephin Mer­ritt says his ver­sion was sar­cas­tic, while Gabriel’s is deadly serious:

At first I thought, How hilar­i­ous, he’s got a com­pletely dif­fer­ent take on the song. But after a few lis­tens I find it quite sweet. My ver­sion of the song focuses on the humor, and his focuses on the pathos. Of course, if I could sing like him I wouldn’t have to be a humorist.

Did Gabriel just plain miss Merritt’s point, or did he inten­tion­ally trans­form it into some­thing sen­ti­men­tal, singing the same words but alter­ing the instru­men­ta­tion and deliv­ery? All that said, some­thing to cher­ish in Gabriel’s cover is the pres­ence of his daugh­ter Melanie on back­ing vocals.

Elbow’s “Mir­ror­ball” is one of the most rav­ish­ing love songs I’ve heard. Elbow remixed Gabriel’s “More Than This” in 2002, pro­vid­ing a more organic rock struc­ture to Gabriel’s per­haps over-processed stu­dio orig­i­nal. But Gabriel does not return the favor here, turn­ing their gor­geous love song into a depres­sive bummer.

The once case where Gabriel’s bummer-o-vision may have actu­ally been appro­pri­ate is with Paul Simon’s “Boy in the Bub­ble”, which actu­ally does have very dark lyrics.

The orig­i­nal record­ing of David Bowie’s “Heroes” boasts an unfor­get­table lead gui­tar line from Robert Fripp, which by his own rules Gabriel must sub­tract. He sings Bowie’s Berlin-inspired lyrics in cracked, anguished tones, not an emo­tion I asso­ciate with the song.

The one song I liked imme­di­ately was “Lis­ten­ing Wind”. The orig­i­nal is one of the odder tracks on Talk­ing Heads’ Remain in Light, and Gabriel rather amaz­ingly draws out a catchy melody embed­ded in the exper­i­men­tal song.

The Spe­cial Edi­tion includes a sec­ond cd with four bonus tracks: a cover of The Kinks’ “Water­loo Sun­set” and alter­nate ver­sions of “The Book of Love”, “My Body is a Cage”, and “Heroes”. It might have been inter­est­ing to also include some of Gabriel’s past cov­ers, includ­ing The Bea­t­les’ “Straw­berry Fields”, Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne”, and Joseph Arthur’s “In the Sun”. I would have also very much liked to hear instru­men­tal mixes of some of Metcalfe’s orches­tral arrangements.


Offi­cial Peter Gabriel site: www.petergabriel.com

Buy the Scratch My Back Spe­cial Edi­tion from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Dennis Hopper’s Colors

Colors movie poster

 

Den­nis Hopper’s Col­ors may be a buddy cop flick on the sur­face, but it’s hardly typ­i­cal high-concept Hol­ly­wood mate­r­ial. It does have a token over­ar­ch­ing plot (involv­ing a mis­matched pair of cops trac­ing the per­pe­tra­tors of a drive-by shoot­ing), but it’s merely a loose thread to hold the movie together. If nei­ther a char­ac­ter study nor a plot-driven thriller, Col­ors is a por­trait of an issue, a set­ting, a problem.

A pro­to­type for the HBO series The Wire, Col­ors is actu­ally a por­trait of the dete­ri­o­rated, hope­less sit­u­a­tion in a failed Amer­i­can city lost to gangs and the drug trade. But unlike The Wire, which deeply explores the eco­nom­ics of how and why gangs func­tion as orga­ni­za­tions, Col­ors doesn’t offer much detail on how they oper­ate and what they do. How­ever sen­si­tive and bal­anced Col­ors may be, it still takes the point of view of pre­dom­i­nantly white law enforce­ment. As such, it’s easy to see why film­mak­ers shortly turned to films like Men­ace II Soci­ety (read The Dork Report review) and Boyz N the Hood (read The Dork Report review), which would look at some of the same issues from the other side of the milieu.

Sean Penn in ColorsSean Penn in Col­ors: “You don’t wanna get laid, man. It leads to kiss­ing and pretty soon you gotta talk to ‘em.”

The inter­est­ing title most obvi­ously refers to the term for a nation’s flag(tying in with the themes of war and the insti­tu­tion that wage it) or the sig­na­ture col­ors of three major war­ring L.A. gangs: the Bloods (red), Crips (blue), and a Latino gang (white). The real col­ors that divide these groups are, of course, race. The one sign of equal­ity in late 80s L.A. is that nearly every­one calls each other Holmes.

The nar­ra­tive is loosely hung on sev­eral cliches, most notably the trope of vet­eran cop sad­dled with rookie part­ner. Offi­cer Hodges (Duvall) is bit­ter at being drafted into the L.A.P.D. C.R.A.S.H. anti-gang pro­gram, after a life­time of ser­vice that ought to have qual­i­fied him for sen­si­ble hours, a safe desk job, and more time with his fam­ily. Offi­cer McGavin (Penn) is an aggres­sive, preen­ing dandy, eager to attack the gang prob­lem with the blunt tool of incarceration.

Robert Duvall in ColorsRobert Duvall in Col­ors: “you got a prob­lem with the whole fuckin’ world, and I’m in it.”

But it’s not long after the movie sets up these cliches that it begins to knock them down. The osten­si­bly wiz­ened Hodges makes a crit­i­cal mis­take, set­ting free a young gang­banger on the assump­tion that a brush with the law would scare him straight, while simul­ta­ne­ously intend­ing it to be a les­son to the head­strong book ‘em-type McGavin. The punk turns out to have been a major player in the shoot­ing. Another cliché short-circuited: McGavin romances a local girl from the bar­rio (Maria Con­chita Alonso), but she turns out to be far from the madonna he imag­ined. Not only that, she rejects him anyway.

Col­ors ends on a very down beat, not just the death of a sig­nif­i­cant char­ac­ter, but what comes after. McGavin is forced into the posi­tion of impart­ing wis­dom before he’s earned much him­self. The film ends with a long shot held on his face (echoed much later in the final shot of mind Michael Clay­ton — read The Dork Report review) as he most likely pon­ders his ineffectiveness.

Of note are early appear­ances by Don Chea­dle and Damon Wayans, the lat­ter fea­tur­ing in a stand-out sur­real sequence in which his char­ac­ter T-Bone is out of his mind on drugs. Her­bie Hancock’s score has not dated well, nor has the vin­tage rap sound­track, includ­ing the angry theme song by Ice-T. The open­ing cred­its are set to “One Time One Night” by the local L.A. band Los Lobos.


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

Where not to go for coffee in Manhattan: M. Rohrs’ House of Fine Teas & Coffees

M. Rohrs' House of Fine Teas & Coffees

 

M. Rohrs’ House of Fine Teas & Cof­fees has a com­plete and utter con­tempt of their pay­ing cus­tomers, and has lost my busi­ness, for­ever. Yes­ter­day after­noon, they kicked out myself and every other sin­gle cus­tomer, cit­ing a new pol­icy that accused us all of “loi­ter­ing.” I am not mak­ing this up.

M. Rohrs is one of the last remain­ing cof­fee houses on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. As oth­ers have noted on Yelp, they rou­tinely invent new poli­cies, such as chang­ing the terms of cus­tomer loy­alty cards (in fact, I think they sim­ply rescinded them alto­gether at one point). Until the very recent past, any cus­tomers that wished to sit down after 7PM must have ordered at least $10 from the menu. That pol­icy was not entirely unrea­son­able, but it was unfea­si­ble. M. Rohrs is not a restau­rant, and it is actu­ally dif­fi­cult to spend more than $10 at a cof­fee house. But as of yes­ter­day at least, that require­ment has now expanded to all hours, every day. It’s also worth not­ing that the new pol­icy did not seem to spec­ify a dol­lar amount, so I sup­pose they can arbi­trar­ily eject any­body they deem to have spent too little.

Here’s what hap­pened yes­ter­day after­noon at about 4-5PM: I bought a cof­fee and muf­fin, tipped, and sat down. About 10 min­utes later, the vol­ume of the music sud­denly got VERY LOUD (painfully, dis­tract­ingly so) for no appar­ent rea­son. Then one of their employ­ees vis­ited every cus­tomer in turn and pre­sented us with a long-worded sign explain­ing their new seat­ing pol­icy, which used the word “loi­ter” sev­eral times. I don’t think this employee speaks Eng­lish as a first lan­guage, so there was no oppor­tu­nity to dis­cuss it with him, even if the music had not been deaf­en­ing. He was not apolo­getic. Every sin­gle cus­tomer in the store at that time had only pur­chased cof­fee and pas­tries, so we all had to leave. There were only about a half-dozen cus­tomers at the time, so the man­age­ment can’t claim that we were hog­ging seats from hypo­thet­i­cal meal-eating cus­tomers (of which there were none). If the new pol­icy had been posted up front when I placed my order, I did not see it.

I used to like to go to M. Rohrs occa­sion­ally, some­times for a sand­wich or some­times just cof­fee. I would usu­ally sit and work or just read for about an hour or two, which I don’t think is unrea­son­able at any cof­fee shop, Star­bucks not excluded. All the other neg­a­tive com­ments on Yelp are true; the ser­vice is often rude and neglect­ful (I once had them com­pletely for­get to make my sand­wich — but at least they apol­o­gized), and they charge for wire­less access and for elec­tric­ity. Worse is their atti­tude; it would be one thing to sim­ply charge peo­ple to plug in their lap­tops, but the signs plas­tered about the place couch it in terms of “theft of util­i­ties,” essen­tially accus­ing cus­tomers of crim­i­nal behav­ior. After the clos­ing of the vastly supe­rior cof­fee shop DTUT a few years ago, M. Rohrs is pretty much the only place of its type in the neigh­bor­hood, so I used to patron­ize it any­way. No more.

The word “loi­ter­ing,” as any lit­er­ate per­son should know, has crim­i­nal con­no­ta­tions, and I sus­pect the man­age­ment of M. Rohrs knows this. I deeply, deeply resent being called a “loi­terer” despite hav­ing paid (and tipped!) for cof­fee and a pas­try. Upon leav­ing for the last time, I only regret­ted not demand­ing my tip back.

Per­haps they intend to tran­si­tion away from being a cof­fee house into a restau­rant with a take-out cof­fee bar. If so, they will have to hire more staff, improve the speed and accu­racy of their ser­vice, toss out the couches, and stop accus­ing their pay­ing cus­tomers of crim­i­nal behav­ior. Good luck with that. If any­one asso­ci­ated with the estab­lish­ment hap­pens to read this, I invite you to please com­ment below. I would love to hear your jus­ti­fi­ca­tions. I signed up for Yelp for the sole pur­pose of post­ing a copy of this review, and I sin­cerely hope lots of poten­tial cus­tomers read it.

So that you know where not to go get your cof­fee, M. Rohrs’ House of Fine Teas & Cof­fees is located in Manhattan’s Upper East Side, at 310 East 86th Street, between 1st and 2nd Avenues.

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.