Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The virtues of a reboot
But what I want to talk about is the idea of the reboot itself, and what this reimagine, forty years later, says about changes in our culture. (Note that in some ways George Lucas was trying to do this sort of reboot with the Star Wars prequels, but he's lost touch with his audience. That post is coming) The original Star Trek was bursting with promise, the idea that humanity were the great explorers, the great nation-builders. After all, the very idea of a Federation of Planets, a hugely diverse group that could nevertheless work together to do great things, was revolutionary in the age of Martin Luther King. Sure, there were enemies, conflicts, but there was also plenty of barter of goods and knowledge, and of course sexual openness. Nearly any problem could be solved with either ultra-modern technology or good old-fashioned diplomacy (whether it WAS solved that way is another question). And they were always learning new and interesting things about the universe! A strong metaphor for JFK's America...
In the reboot, we have a diverse group that works together a little uneasily (the Vulcan children certainly consider Vulcans as better than humans), but still fairly well. They face an opponent who saw, granted, a terrible tragedy, but he has vowed to retailiate with ten times the force, killing a dozen worlds for the one he lost. (Never mind that with the time travel/dimension hopping/whatever he's done, he could just SAVE his own planet and family.) He will not be reasoned with, he just wants vengance. While the bridge (and the rest) of the Enterprise herself is shiny and gleaming and ultra-modern, we also see plenty of areas that are grimy, run-down, or ill-kempt. The sexuality does ring very true to modern relative-openness, and they even managed to make Kirk's womanizing both realistic and central to the plot, which is impressive. A strong metaphor, overall, for the Bush years (since that's when it was written) and the Information Age.
I saw an episode of CSI recently (I believe it was from the new season) in which the victim of the week was a writer/producer who had done something similar, rebooted a favorite old chrome-future show with a darker and grittier theme. However, in that the fans of the original hated the reboot because the main character was confident and positive and diplomatic in the original, and in the reboot he was whiny and defeatist. The writer claimed this was more realistic, but it really went too far in the other direction. Abrams has avoided this by making all of his characters flawed but still likable, true to the originals but more realistically drawn. (Original Kirk was brash and remarkably charismatic, the new one charming but obviously reckless; original Spock the epitome of the cool-headed scientist [generally], the new one reaching for the ideal of perfect, cool logic, but falling short at times.)
I must admit myself disappointed on one front. The first time we see the space battle from outside a ship, there is silence, and I found myself excited that Abrams was aiming for realism. However, in later battles, the shots from outside the ships have the sounds of proton torpedoes and such firing. The silence was instead repeated inside, for a dramatic moment, and I realized he was using it as a dramatic device, not adhering to actual physics. I'm a little let down. We should require our science fiction to have better science, in this the Information Age.
The original Star Trek was full of hope and starry-eyed wonder. The new one is practical, but still positive and proactive. I say bring on the franchise, we could use more of that sort of hope.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Something to tide us all over
gretachristina.typepad.com/greta_christinas_weblog/2006/06/why_i_like_harr.html
Friday, October 24, 2008
The Spike, the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart
Friday, October 3, 2008
Nature or Nurture (or, the inevitablity of destiny)
Next, of course, is the twists and turns of Gabriel's life. Is he still Sylar? Will he be Sylar four years from now? He will have a child, for whom he will care very deeply, but who is the boy's mother? And why has Gabriel named the boy Noah? Never mind all the convolutions that claim Gabriel is another Petrelli, which seems like something of a cop-out on the part of the writers, frankly.
In an interesting twist, we now have four individuals who are effectively immortal. What that will mean for the continuing story is an interesting point to debate, but there are more immediate concerns. For instance, we have seen both Claire's and Peter's blood restore someone from the dead- if they/someone makes this public knowledge, there will be rioting and mass hysteria. On the other hand, at the moment the Company is keeping this very hush-hush, which suggests that they have nefarious uses for heal-all blood. Well, of course they have nefarious plans- they do have Level 5, with all that implies.
I am a little irked that the writers are continuing the trend of more male characters than female, and the males having more volition than the females. Maya, for instance, took the huge step of seeking out Mohinder so he could help her, but to get there she needed her brother, then she turned to Sylar for help, and now that she has found Mohinder, she has completely submitted to him. She may yet kick him to the curb, but only if she notices that he is being abusive, which, with her history, seems highly unlikely. Claire keeps going back and forth on how active she is (though she's getting more and more dangerous), while her grandmother is just a terrible, manipulative bitch.
Ah, and then there's this formula business... It's possible that, like Mohinder, the Company started with someone with abilities (maybe Adam Monroe? or is there time trickery there?). Equally likely, they decided that they wanted abilities, figured out the formula, and tested it on themselves. We know they found the formula too dangerous for general use, officially for the reasons Hiro saw, but likely for more personal (ie, retaining secular power) reasons, too. Now I just wonder how close Mohinder's formula is to the one the Company created, and how far each of them will spread in the coming months.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
More of a placeholder than anything
I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, but my motherboard fried, and it's taking me a while to get a new one. I'm using my roommate's computer right now, but I don't write on it. Trust me, this is impeding more than just blogging- I have a TV show I should be working on. However, I have started a campaign to watch every possible Dr Who episode, so I may be discussing some of that at some point soon. Love to hear from anyone who reads this!
Monday, April 7, 2008
They're Three Laws Safe... really
I was reminded today of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics (I knew them in general, it’s been years since I actually read them) and I got to thinking about the recent Will Smith movie I, Robot, which is based loosely off an Asimov story by the same name, with elements of other stories. It occurred to me that there is a fatal flaw in the main character’s dislike of robots, the origins of which are explored in flashback.
First, the Laws:
1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
There’s also the Zeroth Law, which comes into play in the movie, but has nothing to do with this discussion.
Next, the flashback scene: Will Smith was in a multi-car accident. His car and another were forced off a bridge into deep water. In the other vehicle were a dead-on-impact father and a trapped, aware twelve year old daughter. A robot goes into the water after the cars, and elects to save Will instead of the girl, despite Will’s orders to save her. In the return to Will’s ‘present’, he finishes by saying the robot calculated his odds of survival as better than hers, and that’s why it saved him and not her.
Now, my issue: this robot was violating the Second Law, and by extension the First. In this case, with two humans in essentially equal danger, with A possibly able to save himself and B definitely not, the robot should be going for B. Add in A’s orders to go for B, and the evidence afterwards that A was in fact harmed in the rescue attempt*, and the whole situation doesn’t make any sense at all.
The Zeroth Law and Will’s dislike of and distrust for robots collide, leading to a deep philosophical question about the nature of free will and the choices we as humans make, which is the subject of its own post, but in a movie otherwise decently well adapted and thought out, this moment stands out glaringly.
*This injury the visible reminder of the incident and his new distaste for robots.
Monday, March 31, 2008
What is the measure of Man?
Torchwood is meant to be darker and edgier than the show it spins off of, Doctor Who, and it certainly is that. But it also says things about the human condition that the good Doctor cannot illustrate. One of these is the notion of family, a team. The Doctor might have a Companion or two, but he always knows that he will lose them, either to misadventure or to an excess of adventure that burns them out and makes them long for home. The current Torchwood group, on the other hand, consciously battle incredible odds to stay together, and there have been many circumstances which nearly tore them apart, but in the end, those experiences only draw them closer. This is an idea that recurs again and again in science fiction, the notion that one of the things that makes us human is the impulse, the drive to band together and create teams and communities. We are social creatures, and most of us work better with others around to back us up, to share and expand on our ideas, to be emotional support. The Doctor seems to feel some of this instinct towards group building, but his circumstances are unique, and he often focuses more on that than the people sharing it with him, which can highlight his inhumanity more than any overt action. After all, deciding whether or not to save a thousand humans from Certain Death doesn’t mean as much when you don’t have a grasp on who they would be leaving behind, the bonds that would be broken without those people.
Another poignant aspect of being human is the knowledge of mortality. This was accentuated in the recent Torchwood arc featuring Martha Jones. Owen, the team doctor, is shot, but Torchwood has the Resurrection Glove, which can bring a person back for a minute or two. However, this is the Mark II, and Owen’s resurrection becomes more long-term. It may only be a few weeks or months (or it could be several decades) before it fails again, but in the meantime, he cannot process food or drink, bruises and bone breaks do not mend, and he has no heartbeat. He and Jack have had several mournful conversations about the dichotomy of their situations, one painfully aware that he might fall and die at any moment, the other just as painfully aware that he will never die, no matter what. One missing the food and the love he can no longer fully appreciate, the other missing the spice of subconscious knowledge that all this could be snatched away. They do not come to an conclusions, for what resolution is there for either of them? But they both become just a little more human to us in that moment.
As a minor side note: is Spike a Whovian? We know he likes Monty Python; he makes reference to ‘The Holy Hand-grenade of