A Man Alone: Babylon A.D.

Babylon A.D. movie poster

 

Vin Diesel has made some­thing of a spe­cialty in dystopian sci­ence fic­tion movies pos­sessed of aston­ish­ing visu­als but hor­rif­i­cally bad scripts (I’m look­ing at you, Pitch Black and The Chron­i­cles of Rid­dick). Does he seek these kinds of projects out, or has he been type­cast as a weary but action-ready man of the future? Math­ieu Kassovitz’s Baby­lon A.D. is yet more sci-fi trash with an inter­na­tional feel, not just in the spirit of Diesel’s own oeu­vre, but also very much a direct descen­dent of Luc Besson’s The Fifth Ele­ment. The pres­ence of Michelle Yeoh promises mar­tial arts ass­kick­ing that never really mate­ri­al­izes, and the pro­ceed­ings are given a mea­sure of class by Ger­ard Depar­dieu and Char­lotte Rampling.

Vin Diesel in Babylon A.D.The gog­gles… they do nothing!

The movie pre­dicts an espe­cially bleak future for Europe, wracked by per­pet­ual war and ter­ror attacks that leave the urban land­scape look­ing like Chech­nya and Bosnia. Toorop (Diesel) is a reluc­tant mer­ce­nary war­rior, some­thing like a mas­ter­less ronin from old samu­rai movies. I was pre­pared to like his char­ac­ter until he shoots a dis­armed man in the face and makes a lame Die Hard-like quip. I watched the extended unrated cut on DVD, which may explain why a full 22 min­utes lapses before the hero finally under­takes his task: to escort the genet­i­cally engi­neered girl Aurora (Mélanie Thierry) from the war-torn waste­lands of “New Ser­bia” to New York. The per­sis­tent tone of a-man-alone cyn­i­cism is some­thing else Baby­lon A.D. shares with many of Besson’s anti-heroes, espe­cially the Trans­porter films: Toorop knows he’s being used, but not by whom or why.

Michelle Yeoh and Melanie Thierry in Babylon A.D.

Some of the gen­uinely incred­i­ble shots and sequences to watch for, none of which are reflected in the pro­mo­tional stills:

  • The open­ing sequence is an unbro­ken shot zoom­ing straight down on planet Earth, hom­ing in on Man­hat­tan and into Diesel’s eyeball
  • A 270-degree cam­era move incor­po­rat­ing a CGI heli­copter and an ancient con­vent carved into a stone cliff
  • An estab­lish­ing shot of an unspec­i­fied Russ­ian city built around a giant crater, its ori­gins unex­plained (but a likely allu­sion to the post-WWIII Neo-Tokyo of Kat­suhiro Otomo’s Akira)
  • The entire island of Man­hat­tan lit up with a grossly expanded Times Square and com­pleted Free­dom Towers

The Manhattan of the Future Babylon A.D.The Free­dom Tow­ers dom­i­nate the Man­hat­tan of the future

Movies like Baby­lon A.D. always fall apart at some point, and this one finally suc­cumbs when the refugee party arrives in New York City. Aurora’s father sud­denly mate­ri­al­izes, appar­ently solely to pro­vide a mas­sive info­dump of expo­si­tion. The long, com­pli­cated back­story was barely hinted at before, if at all: Aurora is the prod­uct of an incor­po­rated reli­gion whose CEO and High Priest­ess (Char­lotte Ram­pling) hopes to man­u­fac­ture a mirac­u­lous vir­gin birth. All of this is told, not shown, which only cre­ates frus­tra­tion and con­fu­sion, and lit­tle emo­tional response.


Offi­cial movie site: www.babylonadmovie.com

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


Apocalypse on Wheels: Death Race

Death Race movie poster

 

Death Race evi­dences a cyn­i­cal, shal­low, indis­crim­i­nate out­rage at… every­thing. In this future dystopia, the U.S. econ­omy col­lapsed in 2012, fol­lowed by soar­ing unem­ploy­ment, crime, and incar­cer­a­tion. Echo­ing Roller­ball and Run­ning Man, pro­fes­sional sport has merged with the penal sys­tem, pro­vid­ing both tele­vised enter­tain­ment and a jus­tice sys­tem in one neat, cost-saving package.

In the key inci­dent that illus­trates the extent of this fallen soci­ety, the gov­ern­ment man­u­fac­tures a riot by shut­ting down a man­u­fac­tur­ing plant and lay­ing off all its work­ers. The incited riot­ers make con­ve­nient scape­goats for society’s short­com­ings, ulti­mately ben­e­fit­ting the gov­ern­ment. One of these inno­cent blue-collar labor­ers is Jensen Ames (Jason Statham), a for­mer crook try­ing to make an hon­est liv­ing as a fam­ily man. Like his char­ac­ter Frank in the Trans­porter films, his crim­i­nal forte was dri­ving. Dri­ving very fast. Unjustly impris­oned at Ter­mi­nal Island Pen­i­ten­tiary, he’s made an offer he can’t refuse; die or be drafted into the role of Franken­stein, a masked fic­ti­tious racer in the tit­u­lar Death Race. As with pro­fes­sional wrest­ing vil­lains and the Yan­kees, Franken­stein is a vil­lain per­fectly designed for the pub­lic to root against, and they don’t need to know that the real Franken­stein died long ago.

Jason Statham and Natalie Martinez in Death RaceThis ain’t your daddy’s prison movie

Death Race was orig­i­nally con­ceived as a higher-budgeted vehi­cle for co-producer/star Tom Cruise, but was grad­u­ally down­graded to this video game pas­tiche helmed by Paul W.S. Ander­son. It’s a dubi­ous choice of source mate­r­ial, con­sid­er­ing that the orig­i­nal Death Race 2000 (1975), star­ring David Car­ra­dine and Sylvester Stal­lone, is one of the lesser-known apoc­a­lyp­tic sci-fis of its era. Peers Soy­lent Green, Roller­ball, Logan’s Run, and The Ωmega Man) are all better-known and most were in line to be remade ear­lier. Car­ra­dine makes a voice cameo as the pre­vi­ous bearer of the Franken­stein mantle.

Since The Dork Report is never above point­ing out the crush­ingly obvi­ous, Death Race the film is only a few degrees removed from the “Death Race” it depicts: both are escapist enter­tain­ments built upon bru­tal­ity, sex­ism, and shaky moral ambiva­lence. The osten­si­bly hell­ish Ter­mi­nal Island Pen­i­ten­tiary actu­ally appears rather chaste and peace­ful, mak­ing the sce­nario less dis­taste­ful to audi­ences. Rape is never a worry, and racially moti­vated con­flict is only faintly alluded to by the pres­ence of eth­nic gangs (white suprema­cists are obliquely referred to as “The Broth­er­hood”). The dri­vers’ copi­lots are “Nav­i­ga­tors” recruited from the neigh­bor­ing women’s prison. These stun­ning model-quality lovelies were cherry-picked to tit­il­late by the War­den (Joan Allen), in ser­vice of greater rat­ings. Speak­ing of, Ander­son misses an oppor­tu­nity to sat­i­rize tele­vised sport­ing events as well as The Wachowski Broth­ers’ Speed Racer or even Dodge­ball did.

Jason Statham and Joan Allen in Death RaceGrav­i­tas or Botox?

Death Race is mind­lessly enter­tain­ing enough, until we’re asked to for­give unre­pen­tant mur­derer Machine Gun Joe (Tyrese Gib­son) solely because he lends a hand to our hero Jensen. The logic is con­fused: given an unjust prison sys­tem that exploits the guilty and inno­cent alike, should the guilty also be allowed to walk free? If truly guilty pris­on­ers like Machine Gun Joe are so plen­ti­ful, why does the war­den have to go to the bother of fram­ing inno­cent peo­ple in the first place?

Statham sup­plies his usual per­sona of buff, terse, reluc­tant hero who has no time for girls (seri­ously, what is up with that? Trans­porter 2 even flirts with the notion his char­ac­ter Frank might be gay). Attempts are made to class up the joint with the bizarre mis­cast­ing of Joan Allen, a fine actor that here seems wooden and inex­pres­sive (lit­er­ally so — a case of too much Botox?). Worse is the crim­i­nal waste of the pow­er­fully impos­ing Ian McShane. He was noth­ing less than awe­some in Dead­wood, bring­ing to life a crime lord more inter­est­ing than even Tony Soprano. McShane also ele­vated the short-lived TV series Kings, play­ing his part like he was in Shake­speare while every­one else was trapped in an ele­men­tary school play. But even he can’t do any­thing to res­cue this mess.


Offi­cial movie site: www.deathracemovie.net

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


Solitary Confinement: Moon

Moon movie poster

 

Moon is a rare sci­ence fic­tion thriller that doesn’t derive its ten­sion solely from the spec­ta­cle of space­ships, robots, or off­world locale. Rather, it’s a psy­chodrama about para­noia, in the Philip K. Dick tra­di­tion of Blade Run­ner, Minor­ity Report, and A Scan­ner Darkly (not to men­tion the count­less movies Dick indi­rectly inspired, such as Dark City, 12 Mon­keys, and The Matrix). Moon’s futur­is­tic trap­pings hide sev­eral onion lay­ers of deeper themes: bioethics, tor­ture, labor exploita­tion, and ques­tion­ing the nature of the self and one’s per­cep­tion of reality.

Direc­tor Dun­can Jones (aka Zowie Bowie, son of David Bowie), shot Moon on an extra­or­di­nar­ily eco­nom­i­cal bud­get of $5 mil­lion, achieved largely by restrict­ing pro­duc­tion to sound­stages and sub­sti­tut­ing prac­ti­cal minia­tures for costly CGI. A ben­e­fi­cial side-effect is a pleas­ing tac­til­ity lack­ing in most con­tem­po­rary sci-fi films, where entire char­ac­ters and envi­ron­ments are now rou­tinely vir­tual. As a beat-up moon rover slowly trun­dles across the uneven lunar sur­face, kick­ing up dust, bump­ing and rat­tling all the way, it feels real because it is.

Duncan Jones' MoonOur circuit’s dead, there’s some­thing wrong

As his character’s name Sam Bell implies, Jones con­ceived the role with Sam Rock­well in mind. Rock­well was great in Con­fes­sions of a Dan­ger­ous Mind and Match­stick Men, and is great here. He must hold the screen vir­tu­ally alone for most of the film, and Jones was right to hype him for an Acad­emy Award nomination.

Sam is a blue-collar miner and the sole occu­pant of a par­tially auto­mated base ded­i­cated to strip-mining the dark side of the moon for a com­pound needed back on earth for clean power. It may sound like tech­nob­a­b­ble but in fact the sci­ence is sound: Helium-3 is a real ele­ment believed to be plen­ti­ful on the moon and the­o­ret­i­cally may some­day pro­vide a sus­tain­able source of energy. But in the true sci-fi dystopian tra­di­tion, Sam’s employer Lunar Indus­tries turns out to be as insid­i­ous as the Weylan-Utani cor­po­ra­tion that exploits the Nos­tromo min­ing plat­form crew in Rid­ley Scott’s Alien.

Lunar Indus­tries boasts of prof­itably sav­ing the Earth’s envi­ron­ment by pro­vid­ing clean power on the cheap, made pos­si­ble by engag­ing in prac­tices that are arguably immoral but com­monly accepted. The exploita­tion of cloned life is a direct par­al­lel to today’s out­sourc­ing of labor to devel­op­ing coun­tries with more lax human rights. If one won­ders how a future soci­ety might be so inured to cloning that they would con­done Sam’s servi­tude, media broad­casts over­heard at the end of the film spill the beans: no, they don’t (that is, if we’re opti­mistic and assume what he hear is real — it’s pos­si­ble they’re the fan­tasy of a dying man imag­in­ing his moral vic­tory). But per­haps it’s like how many in the west­ern world live now; we enjoy afford­able con­sumer elec­tron­ics and cloth­ing man­u­fac­tured by work­ers that lit­er­ally live inside their fac­to­ries, and don’t ask why our pur­chases don’t cost more. Jones told Sui­cide Girls that Moon is the first part in a pro­jected tril­ogy, so per­haps we will see pre­quels or sequels that flesh out a world where human cloning is a fact of life.

Kevin Spacey in Duncan Jones' MoonGERTY ROTFLMAO

Sam’s mad­ness and phys­i­cal dete­ri­o­ra­tion is par­tially explained within the sci­ence fic­tion con­text as a result of the inher­ent insta­bil­ity of cloned life. Appar­ently, like early exper­i­ments with ani­mals like Dolly the sheep in 1996, clones are more prone to dis­ease, organ fail­ure, and pre­ma­ture death (Dolly sur­vived about half the nor­mal lifes­pan for a sheep). Like the “repli­cants” in Blade Run­ner, these clones come with built-in expi­ra­tion dates. But then, don’t we all? While Blade Runner’s Dekker comes to terms with his true nature through escape, Sam instead chooses to confront.

Dis­cov­er­ing he is merely a com­mer­cial prod­uct with inbuilt obso­les­cence is just one of Sam’s prob­lems. His quar­ters and work­space look like they might have once been as clean and white as 2001: A Space Odyssey’s Dis­cov­ery One ves­sel (or the inside of an Apple Store), but have long since become stained and soiled with the filth and grit of the many Sams that came before him. Also like the Dis­cov­ery One astro­nauts, Sam peri­od­i­cally receives pre­re­corded video mes­sages beamed from earth. These asyn­chro­nous con­ver­sa­tions are not unlike email, and a poor sub­sti­tute for real human interaction.

You don’t have to look far for a metaphor: the com­mon prac­tice of soli­tary con­fine­ment is increas­ingly rec­og­nized as a form of tor­ture. The har­row­ing New Yorker arti­cle “Hell­hole” by Atul Gawande recounts how a psy­cho­log­i­cally sta­ble per­son can go mad in a mat­ter of weeks or even days with­out human con­tact. We first meet Sam three years into his tour of duty.

Sam Rockwell in Duncan Jones' MoonI am oblig­ated to make a lame “Sam I Am” joke some­where in this review, so here it is

Sam’s inter­ac­tions with the base’s com­puter GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey) are like­wise reduced to the rudi­ments of online com­mu­ni­ca­tion; its “face” is com­prised of happy/sad/neutral emoti­cons. GERTY is a rar­ity in sci­ence fic­tion: a com­pas­sion­ate exam­ple of arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence. Count­less movies (includ­ing 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Matrix, Wargames, The Ter­mi­na­tor, I Robot, et al.) have trained us to expect arti­fi­cial intel­li­gences to be inher­ently evil or, at least, dan­ger­ously unsta­ble. But GERTY is more like David (Haley Joel Osment) in A.I.: Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence, Robby the Robot in For­bid­den Planet, or Wall-E: an arti­fi­cial cre­ation that rigidly fol­lows its pro­gram­ming, but whose para­me­ters allow it to exhibit gen­uine com­pas­sion and car­ing for its charge.

I loved the movie over­all, but was dis­ap­pointed by the lack of ambi­gu­ity in its sto­ry­telling. The trailer reveals more than I would have liked to know if I had watched the movie cold, and the movie itself reveals its secrets very early by quickly drop­ping the word “clone.” Would it have been more inter­est­ing had there been hints of a pos­si­bil­ity that Sam might be delu­sional, hal­lu­ci­nat­ing a clone, and was in fact alone the whole time? Maybe I’ve been con­di­tioned by too many Twi­light Zone episodes, Fight Club, and M. Night Shya­malan movies, but I expected a twist end­ing that never came.

I’ve touched on sev­eral of Moon’s more obvi­ous inspi­ra­tions, but I’m also reminded of Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris remake, in which a clone-like crea­ture mur­ders his orig­i­nal. Cloning is just begin­ning to enter the zeit­geist, hav­ing recently fig­ured into the brain­dead actioner The Island but also the more con­tem­pla­tive Never Let Me Go, based on the highly regarded novel by Kazuo Ishig­uro. Clones may very well prove to be the next zom­bies or vampires.


Offi­cial movie site: www.moon-movie.com

Buy the Blu-ray, DVD, or Clint Mansell’s excel­lent sound­track CD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.


Christopher Nolan’s Fugue State: Inception

Inception movie poster

 

In his 1999 essay Cel­lu­loid Vs. Dig­i­tal, Roger Ebert cites stud­ies equat­ing the expe­ri­ence of watch­ing a movie to enter­ing a fugue state: “film cre­ates reverie, video cre­ates hyp­no­sis.” In other words, expe­ri­enc­ing a film in the tra­di­tional man­ner, pro­jected at 24 frames per sec­ond in a dark­ened the­ater, affects the brain in a way akin to dream­ing. Incep­tion is far from the first movie set in dreams, but it may be alone in attempt­ing to encode the expe­ri­ence into the archi­tec­ture of a film itself. Whether you com­pare it to onion skins or a puz­zle­box, the form fol­lows the content.

The bar has been set very low by the likes of Avatar, but Incep­tion is finally proof that movies with bud­gets in the hun­dreds of mil­lions need not be moronic and dis­pos­able. Yes, Incep­tion is a sci-fi action movie full of well-tailored out­laws, guns, fight sequences, and explod­ing moun­tain fortresses, but it’s also an intel­li­gent, com­plex expe­ri­ence for adults. If it took a weak remake and two movies about a vig­i­lante in a rub­ber bat cos­tume for Nolan to get here, then so be it.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt in Inception“It’s not, strictly speak­ing, legal.”

Incep­tion is the nat­ural pro­gres­sion from Fol­low­ing, Memento, and The Pres­tige, Christo­pher Nolan’s quar­tet of wholly orig­i­nal visions. Insom­nia, a safe remake of the far more incen­di­ary Nor­we­gian orig­i­nal, now seems like a detour, a pay­ing of dues to enter the main­stream. His pair of Bat­man fran­chise entries injected a mod­icum of psy­cho­log­i­cal real­ism into the pulp source mate­r­ial, but the grimly pon­der­ous weight of it all was per­haps more than it could bear. For my money, nobody other than Tim Bur­ton has man­aged to find the right mix­ture of camp and solem­nity that makes up Batman.

While Incep­tion may have some sur­face resem­blance to numer­ous heist, caper, long con, action, and sci­ence fic­tion films, it is nev­er­the­less a very wel­come New Thing. Its deep­est the­matic links are prob­a­bly to cere­bral sci-fi med­i­ta­tions Solaris and Until the End of the World. The night­mare planet in Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris haunted vis­i­tors with imper­fect rein­car­na­tions of their most emo­tion­ally sig­nif­i­cant oth­ers. When a griev­ing astro­naut is reunited with his ersatz wife, long dead of sui­cide, is it a bless­ing or a curse?

Inception“A sin­gle idea from the human mind can build cities. An idea can trans­form the world and rewrite all the rules.”

Wim Wen­ders’ Until the End of the World posits a future in which dream-reading tech­nol­ogy would be enor­mously addic­tive, psy­cho­log­i­cally dam­ag­ing, and per­ma­nently alter soci­ety. If a tech­nol­ogy is ever invented for a group of peo­ple to not only enter an individual’s dreams but also to con­struct the dream­world itself, how plau­si­ble it is that soci­ety would not be rad­i­cally trans­formed? In Incep­tion, Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a mas­ter at cor­po­rate espi­onage. His exper­tise is with a process nor­mally uti­lized for the “extrac­tion” of trade secrets, but inverted to incep­tion: to implant an idea, a task which proves to hold mas­sive sig­nif­i­cance to Cobb. Like a drug, we’re told, these machines grad­u­ally seep away users’ abil­ity to dream on his or her own. We glimpse a sort of opium den in which burned-out dream junkies go to re-experience the nor­mal­ity of not only dream­ing, but more impor­tantly, wak­ing up from dreams. Wen­ders’ The End of Vio­lence would sim­i­larly look at another dystopian future in which global sur­veil­lance is taken to its log­i­cal extreme.

Inception’s action sequences beg com­par­i­son to every­thing from James Bond, Jason Bourne, and Mis­sion: Impos­si­ble. Its cre­ative fight sequences, tak­ing place in vir­tual are­nas in which the laws of time and grav­ity are fluid, recall The Matrix. But the true nar­ra­tive and struc­tural tem­plate is much more along the lines of long-con tale much loved by David Mamet (par­tic­u­larly Homi­cide and Red­belt) and heist films Rififi, Thief, and Heat, in which a crack team of crim­i­nal experts work with a psy­cho­log­i­cally dam­aged leader on a high-stakes One Last Job.

The blood­less mas­sacre of hordes of armed thugs seems designed to resem­ble video games. The obliquely por­trayed vio­lence is partly explained by a PG-13 rat­ing that hyp­o­crit­i­cally per­mits dozens of onscreen shoot­ings, but dis­al­lows blood, and thus any sense of the reper­cus­sions and ram­i­fi­ca­tions of vio­lence. But in the world of the film, the thugs are explained to be man­i­fes­ta­tions of the sub­con­scious. A slight-of-hand moral­ity magic trick that makes it OK for our heroes to mow them down with machine guns and grenades (again, this flashes back to The Matrix, in which the good guys ratio­nal­ize away their mass killing of vir­tual avatars).

Marion Cotillard in Inception“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a lit­tle big­ger, darling.”

Incep­tion had already devel­oped a rep­u­ta­tion as a mind-bender even before release, but I found it to be sur­pris­ingly straight­for­ward if you pay a lit­tle bit of atten­tion. If you choose to take the film at face value, pretty much every­thing you need to know is spelled out for you, often in frankly lit­eral expo­si­tion (usu­ally in exchanges with Ellen Page’s inquis­i­tive char­ac­ter). The key ambi­gu­ity is a sim­ple but pro­found ques­tion raised in its final moments. Inter­preted one way, the film neatly wraps itself up in an air­tight box (which is extra­or­di­nary in and of itself, when most big-budget movies often fail to make log­i­cal sense). Inter­preted another way, it calls into ques­tion every­thing you’ve seen.

This moment hinges on Cobb’s totem, a per­sonal item that each dream-traveller must rely upon to detect whether or not they are awake. Both Cobb and Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) warn Ari­adne (Ellen Page) to never allow any­one else to touch hers. But Cobb also freely admits that his totem first belonged to his wife Mol (Mar­ion Cotil­lard). Com­pli­cat­ing mat­ters, unless I missed some­thing, we never see her with it out­side of the dream world. The top had sym­bolic mean­ing to Mol, for she locked it up in a metaphor­i­cal safe in her dreams. Cobb then uses it to plant the notion in her head that the dream world is not real, in order to encour­age her to break her addic­tion and wake up with him. If the top was real, would she not be able to test her­self with it when she woke up?

One fur­ther clue that sug­gests much of what we saw may be Cobb’s dream: if he and Mol lived the equiv­a­lent of 50 years in Limbo, sev­eral lev­els deep into their sub­con­scious, why do they seem to only wake up through one level of dream­ing? Is Cobb still trapped a few lev­els down?

Ellen Page in Inception“Dreams feel real while we’re in them. It’s only when we wake up that we real­ize some­thing was actu­ally strange.”

And one won­ders about the implau­si­ble dream tech­nol­ogy itself. It’s offhand­edly said to have been devel­oped by the mil­i­tary for train­ing pur­poses, but very lit­tle time is spent on the mechan­ics of the tech­nol­ogy. Some sort of IV is involved in the process of link­ing peo­ple together, but how exactly does an Archi­tect cre­ate and real­ize the world? We see Ari­adne fid­dle with papier-mâché mod­els, and ver­bally describe the world to the par­tic­i­pants, but we’re also told that the archi­tect need not nec­es­sar­ily enter the dream per­son­ally, so it’s not her men­tal map that makes things pos­si­ble. If the agents are able to con­jure things on the fly (Eames pro­duces a grenade launcher out of thin air, and Ari­adne folds a city in half), why do they not take more advan­tage of their effec­tively unlim­ited abil­i­ties dur­ing the heist? Cobb makes a big deal out of a prospec­tive archi­tect being able to devise labyrinths, some­thing like a video game level designer. But Ariadne’s work is lit­er­ally short-circuited and we never see a dra­matic pay­off to the theme of mazes.

Ray Brad­bury once said that he was not con­cerned with the mechan­ics of inter­stel­lar travel; if a story he wished to tell required a rocket ship to ferry char­ac­ters to another world, that was good enough for him. So is it pedes­trian of me to won­der about these prac­ti­cal­i­ties, or do these ques­tions actu­ally mat­ter a great deal? Is the lack of speci­ficity about how this mirac­u­lous tech­nol­ogy actu­ally works a clue? I believe it is linked to the trou­bling ambi­gu­ity of Cobb’s desire to “go home.” Does he sim­ply want to clear his name so he can re-enter his home coun­try, or does he want to plunge deeper into his fan­tasy? Is he actu­ally guilty of a crime like Roman Polan­ski, or merely obsessed with indi­rect cul­pa­bil­ity like Kelvin in Solaris or Teddy in Shut­ter Island? Either way, he may have the oppor­tu­nity to con­struct a false real­ity in which he can absolve himself.

I believe Incep­tion is one for the ages, and not just because it has been endorsed by Al Gore. Like 2001: A Space Odyssey and Blade Run­ner, it’s the rare sci­ence fic­tion film likely to remain well-regarded for years.

Ran­dom Observations:

  • How many heist movies have you seen in which the mas­ter thief attempts the myth­i­cal One Last Job before retiring?
  • Despite Leonardo DiCaprio sport­ing Nolan’s own hair­cut, Incep­tion might suf­fer in com­par­i­son to his some­what sim­i­lar char­ac­ter in his most recent film, Shut­ter Island. Two thrillers in a row about a man wracked with guilt over his dead spouse.
  • Wikipedia puts the bud­get at $160 mil­lion, plus a $100 mil­lion pub­lic­ity cam­paign. As usual, these num­bers make my head spin. But at least this time the result is a strong movie.
  • Like Paul Thomas Ander­son, Nolan has devel­oped his own per­sonal actors’ troupe. Incep­tion fea­tures return appear­ances by Michael Caine, Ken Watan­abe, Cil­lian Murphy.

Offi­cial movie site: www.inceptionmovie.com

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


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.


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.


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.


Avatar

Avatar movie poster

 

Avatar is the per­fect dis­til­la­tion of all of James Cameron’s worst ten­den­cies: an obses­sion with marines (while try­ing to have it both ways: wor­ship­ping the hard­ware and lingo, but cast­ing them as vil­lains), embar­rass­ingly heinous dia­logue (under­cut­ting every dra­matic moment with some­body dron­ing flat one-liners like “oh shit” or “this’ll ruin my day”), a token wise Latina avail­able for cleav­age and wise­cracks (Michelle Rodriguez, more wise than most of the white and/or blue peo­ple, any­way), a greater inter­est in tech­nol­ogy over peo­ple (both on screen and behind the scenes), and a core anti-war mes­sage con­tra­dicted by glo­ri­fied slaugh­ter and explosions.

If Cameron had a pur­pose in mind for Avatar other than as a showreel of the lat­est tech­no­log­i­cal break­throughs, it seems to be an endorse­ment of vio­lent protest. If so, the civil­ian pop­u­la­tion of Iran might find some­thing of inter­est here. More the pity the Na’vi didn’t hap­pen to be green, in which case crit­ics might be dis­cussing the film in terms of cur­rent events instead of being dis­tracted by the shiny spe­cial effects mask­ing the soul­less nar­ra­tive and blank act­ing (with the sig­nif­i­cant excep­tion of a very funny Gio­vanni Ribisi and espe­cially Zoe Sal­daña, who man­ages to make an impres­sion despite not tech­ni­cally appear­ing on screen, as a con­ven­tional pho­to­graph, anyway).

Yes YesStory Roger Dean AvatarDetail from Roger Dean’s sleeve for Yes’ YesStory on the left, scene from Avatar on the right.

The offi­cial Avatar talk­ing points require men­tion of the sundry tech­no­log­i­cal break­throughs that come teth­ered to every Cameron film, mostly hav­ing to do with com­put­ers. The Ter­mi­na­tor (1984) and Aliens (1986) were rel­a­tively quaint in their uti­liza­tion of mod­els and stop-motion ani­ma­tion, but The Abyss (1989), Ter­mi­na­tor 2: Judge­ment Day (1991), and Titanic (1997) debuted new com­puter ani­ma­tion tech­niques, for the first time fully inte­grated with live action pho­tog­ra­phy. I clearly recall watch­ing T2 with an audi­ence gasp­ing and applaud­ing in amaze­ment dur­ing a shot in which the liq­uid metal robot T-1000 (Robert Patrick) lit­er­ally turned itself inside out. There’s noth­ing in Avatar to com­pare to that com­mu­nal moment of delighted awe in 1991; my 2010 Avatar audi­ence oohed and aahed dur­ing the first 3D effects vis­i­ble in the attached trail­ers (mostly for dis­pos­able kid­die movies like Despi­ca­ble Me), but our eye­balls were already beaten into sub­mis­sion by the time the main fea­ture rolled, and the packed house sat silently through the 162 minute-long bar­rage of computer-processed flim-flam.

I’ll spend a para­graph on the pos­i­tive: Steven Soder­bergh, who pre­vi­ously col­lab­o­rated with Cameron on Solaris, report­edly said after see­ing the film that “There’s gonna be before that movie and after”. It is inar­guable that Avatar marks the tip­ping point in at least two key film­mak­ing tech­niques we’re cer­tain to see even more of in the imme­di­ate future: 3D pho­tog­ra­phy and vir­tual film­mak­ing (the con­gru­ence of pho­to­re­al­is­tic CGI with motion cap­ture, basi­cally a tur­bocharged update to the old prac­tice of roto­scop­ing). The superla­tive 3D is applied equally well to both the live-action and ani­mated sequences (indeed, most of the film is a meld­ing of the two). It’s more refined and sub­tle than any 3D film I’ve seen before, includ­ing U23D, Beowulf, and Cora­line, all of which resorted to in-your-face show­ing off com­mon since the early days of The Crea­ture From the Black Lagoon (1954) and Dial M for Mur­der (1954). Mean­while, the motion-captured CGI char­ac­ters are even more smoothly inte­grated with live-action pho­tog­ra­phy than pre­vi­ous high-water marks like the T-1000 in T2, Jar Jar Binks (Ahmed Best) in George Lucas’ Star Wars pre­quel tril­ogy, and Gol­lum (Andy Serkis) in Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings tril­ogy. And that’s not even to men­tion the star­tlingly detailed and immer­sive computer-generated back­grounds and environments.

Yes Keys to Ascension Roger Dean AvatarDetail from Roger Dean’s cover for Yes’ Keys to Ascen­sion on the left, Avatar on the right. As artist Dave McK­ean rightly opined on Twit­ter, “Roger Dean should sue!”

The other big talk­ing point is of course its stag­ger­ing expense. It’s hard to remem­ber now, years after Titanic’s box office receipts broke records world­wide, but its $200 mil­lion bud­get was orig­i­nally an object of ridicule and put the very exis­tence of two vast cor­po­ra­tions at stake (20th Cen­tury Fox and Para­mount). Avatar takes the account­ing to the insane level of circa $237 mil­lion, but Cameron’s instincts appear again to have been right; Avatar has already (at this time of writ­ing) earned a bil­lion dol­lars world­wide, a mere two weeks after release.

As guest Dork Reporter Snark­bait wisely pre­dicts, 10 years from now Avatar’s spe­cial effects will be laugh­able, and all that will be left is the story. And when that story is a warmed-over retelling of the Euro­pean con­quest of Amer­ica (more recently retold in Ter­rence Malick’s The New World and as Slash­Film notes, Disney’s Poc­a­hon­tas) set in a sci-fi world seem­ingly stolen from the paint­ings of Roger Dean, isn’t the hun­dreds of mil­lions of dol­lars worth of tech­nol­ogy and years of pro­duc­tion all for naught? It’s impos­si­ble not to com­pare this folly to the Star Wars pre­quels, made long after Lucas fell down the rab­bit hole of obses­sion with film­mak­ing tech­nol­ogy and no longer had any­one around him will­ing or capa­ble to say no. This Dork Reporter hap­pened to watch (500) Days of Sum­mer and Up in the Air right before and after Avatar, and can attest that there is no sub­sti­tute for good writ­ing and act­ing. Peo­ple will still be rewatch­ing films like those long after Avatar is forgotten.


Offi­cial site: www.avatarmovie.com

Must read: The blog Papyrus Watch catches the use of the cliched font in the movie logo and sub­ti­tles. Papyrus was designed in 1982 and is now com­monly found pre­in­stalled on most computers.