May 05, 2014
Avril Lavigne's "Hello Kitty"
Over at Vox, Zack Beauchamp continues the proud, pontificating tradition of getting offended on behalf of people who don't know they've been offended. "Uncomfortable appropriation of Japanese culture," he calls the latest offense.
The terrible sin in question? Beauchamp thinks this is "Japanese culture" in the process of being "appropriated." And along the way, for reasons unknown to 127 million Japanese, somehow "offending" them.
Moe Lane recommends that Vox "find writers who are a little less provincial and a little more experienced with the culture in question." Though Tokyo resident Michael Cucek points out that the real problem with the video is that it's
Were I a cat with pretensions to singing grand opera, I might resent Lavigne for edging in on my territory. But, really? This is the kind of offense-taking that requires years of expensive education to hone to a meaningless edge.
Here's what Japan's far more watchable (and talented) pop culture ironists have to say about the subject: "Have a Nice Day" (in Akihabara) by World Order, a brief walking tour (literally) through every contemporary cliche about Japan.
The terrible sin in question? Beauchamp thinks this is "Japanese culture" in the process of being "appropriated." And along the way, for reasons unknown to 127 million Japanese, somehow "offending" them.
Moe Lane recommends that Vox "find writers who are a little less provincial and a little more experienced with the culture in question." Though Tokyo resident Michael Cucek points out that the real problem with the video is that it's
cringeworthingly, strap-Malcolm-McDowell-down-with-his-eyelids-pried-open bad.
Were I a cat with pretensions to singing grand opera, I might resent Lavigne for edging in on my territory. But, really? This is the kind of offense-taking that requires years of expensive education to hone to a meaningless edge.
Here's what Japan's far more watchable (and talented) pop culture ironists have to say about the subject: "Have a Nice Day" (in Akihabara) by World Order, a brief walking tour (literally) through every contemporary cliche about Japan.
Labels: annoying stuff, japanese culture, politics, social studies
November 05, 2012
Much ado
As I've noted before, I'm wary of the apocalyptic mindset. Once the province of the religious right, Matt Ridley recently documented in Wired magazine how it's been thoroughly embraced by the secular left. Doomsday economics is currently all the rage, with "fiscal cliffs" and monetary meltdowns in Europe and Japan, and the like.
In the wake of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, archeologists pointed to the numerous stone markers found in the coastal foothills of Japan, warning future generations not to build permanent dwellings below that elevation. Warnings that were forgotten in a generation or two. So much for learning from history. And yet Japan remains with us.
And so we gamely muddle on. As Michael Wood points out in The Story of England, many towns and cities across Europe took centuries to recover their pre-Black Death populations. And yet not only did they do so, but in the process relegated that cataclysmic event to the stuff of entertaining PBS documentaries.
Mother Nature could squash us like bugs. It's our job to scurry out of the way of her big feet like cockroaches. Which we've gotten very good at over the past 10,000 years of human civilization. If nothing else, human beings are the masters of muddling through. The Greeks will, the Japanese will. And so will the American voting public.
Regardless of what happens tomorrow. I'll just be glad when it's over. Though I can't complain too much. One advantage of living in a solidly Republican state like Utah is being spared most of the electioneering hubbub.
Only the newly-created 4th district is a close race, as it includes a big chunk of Salt Lake City and its liberal (!) enclaves. I switch the channel every time an ad from either side comes on the air. I can't imagine what it'd be like to live in a state like Ohio, where the voters are evenly split.
The local punditry has concluded that veteran Jim Matheson erred in switching from the 2nd to the 4th. He expected to run against a bland Republican newbie. Instead, Mia Love currently has even odds of riding Romney's coattails to Washington and becoming the first Republican African-Haitian-American woman in Congress. Change!
In the 3rd district, where I live, Chaffetz is leading his challenger 68 percent to 15 percent. Nobody wastes money campaigning with polls like that, for which I am very grateful.
One of my ideas for saving the Electoral College would be a quasi-parlimentary system that allocated Electoral College votes according to each House district. Winning the House would (usually but not necessarily) win the presidency. Of course, that would turn contests like Utah's 4th into scorched earth battlefields.
So, maybe not. In any case, on November 7th, the proper reaction to whatever happens on November 6th is to shrug and continue muddling through.
In the wake of the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, archeologists pointed to the numerous stone markers found in the coastal foothills of Japan, warning future generations not to build permanent dwellings below that elevation. Warnings that were forgotten in a generation or two. So much for learning from history. And yet Japan remains with us.
And so we gamely muddle on. As Michael Wood points out in The Story of England, many towns and cities across Europe took centuries to recover their pre-Black Death populations. And yet not only did they do so, but in the process relegated that cataclysmic event to the stuff of entertaining PBS documentaries.
Mother Nature could squash us like bugs. It's our job to scurry out of the way of her big feet like cockroaches. Which we've gotten very good at over the past 10,000 years of human civilization. If nothing else, human beings are the masters of muddling through. The Greeks will, the Japanese will. And so will the American voting public.
Regardless of what happens tomorrow. I'll just be glad when it's over. Though I can't complain too much. One advantage of living in a solidly Republican state like Utah is being spared most of the electioneering hubbub.
Only the newly-created 4th district is a close race, as it includes a big chunk of Salt Lake City and its liberal (!) enclaves. I switch the channel every time an ad from either side comes on the air. I can't imagine what it'd be like to live in a state like Ohio, where the voters are evenly split.
The local punditry has concluded that veteran Jim Matheson erred in switching from the 2nd to the 4th. He expected to run against a bland Republican newbie. Instead, Mia Love currently has even odds of riding Romney's coattails to Washington and becoming the first Republican African-Haitian-American woman in Congress. Change!
In the 3rd district, where I live, Chaffetz is leading his challenger 68 percent to 15 percent. Nobody wastes money campaigning with polls like that, for which I am very grateful.
One of my ideas for saving the Electoral College would be a quasi-parlimentary system that allocated Electoral College votes according to each House district. Winning the House would (usually but not necessarily) win the presidency. Of course, that would turn contests like Utah's 4th into scorched earth battlefields.
So, maybe not. In any case, on November 7th, the proper reaction to whatever happens on November 6th is to shrug and continue muddling through.
Labels: annoying stuff, deep thoughts, economics, environmentalism, politics
August 22, 2011
I'm being repressed!
I read this:
And after realizing it was not from The Onion, the first thing that popped into my mind was this:
A plague of professional offense-taking has been sweeping the nation for lo these many years. The antidote is to laugh it out of existence. The "MDL" is a good place to start.
(Frankly, practically every PR problem the Mormon church has is the result of trying solve its bad PR with more PR, instead of, you know, fixing the problem.)
Jewish people have the Anti-Defamation League "to stop the defamation of the Jewish people." Muslims have the Council on American-Islamic Relations "to enhance understanding of Islam." Now . . . the Foundation for Apologetic Information and Research is announcing the formation of the Mormon Defense League.
And after realizing it was not from The Onion, the first thing that popped into my mind was this:
Dennis: Come and see the violence inherent in the system. Help! Help! I'm being repressed!
King Arthur: Bloody peasant!
Dennis: Oh, what a giveaway! Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about! Did you see him repressing me? You saw him, didn't you?
A plague of professional offense-taking has been sweeping the nation for lo these many years. The antidote is to laugh it out of existence. The "MDL" is a good place to start.
(Frankly, practically every PR problem the Mormon church has is the result of trying solve its bad PR with more PR, instead of, you know, fixing the problem.)
Labels: annoying stuff, lds, religion
July 01, 2010
Attack of the Clones
Yes, it's back to the future again to beat up on poor George Lucas. Hence the dated references to Malcolm in the Middle (which, if you remember the show, I think hold up well). I really did write this before listening to the enlightened opinions of "Mike from Milwaukee, Wisconsin," so I guess demented minds think alike. But I haven't seen Revenge of the Sith and it's not in my Netflix queue.
One good thing I can now say about The Phantom Menace: it was crap, but it was endurable crap. Attack of the Clones is just crap. I asked myself over and over, scrunching down in my seat in empathic chagrin for those grossly overpaid SAG members: Have worse lines been uttered before in the history of talking pictures? I suppose so, but by actors being so handsomely rewarded to behave so pretentiously in the service of such bad directing while pretending otherwise? I doubt it.
In fact, Attack of the Clones pretty much settles the question of whether good acting can overcome a really bad script. It can't, not if everybody insists on keeping a straight face.
Unless, that is, if George Lucas is actually a Vogon, the speaking of whose words physically lobotomizes skilled thespians of talent and common sense. Had I not known that actors such as Natalie Portman and Ewan McGregor and Samuel L. Jackson had previously acquitted themselves is productions that didn't totally reek, I could have imagined that a bunch of George's drinking buddies showed up at the ranch one day to appear in one of them, you know, talking pictures, with the promise of cab fare and free beer in the offing.
Only Christopher Lee, the prince of B movies, manages not to embarrass himself. Maybe because he knows he's in a B movie and acts accordingly.
Granted, things do pick up once the shooting starts (after an initial chase sequence, you've got to wait a whole bloody hour), and the camera starts bouncing around so much you can't see anything and you realize you're not missing anything. The problem is, none of the action sequences make sense in the context of, you know, common sense. In the first chase scene we're dealing with a bunch of assassins who can't hit the broad side of a barn. And notice how our lady's Praetorian Guard goes galloping off after them, leaving their charge completely exposed.
Lucky for our dumb heros, the villains are even dumber. (And why don't the bad guys just shoot the good guys, for crying out loud? What is this, a James Bond flick?)
You quickly resign yourself to the dreadful realization that every strategic decision in the story will be executed with a complexity of thinking that wouldn't stump a seven year old. Proof: when Obi Wan needs to find the hidden planet, he asks a bunch of seven year olds. No kidding. So it's no surprise that World War III starts when the entire Jedi community takes stupid pills and decides to risk their collectives asses in order save their two brain-addled colleagues, one of whom, even if we didn't already know, we'd be better off without. (And, by the way, it's not Attack of the Clones; it's The Clones Come to the Rescue, Thank God!)
Okay, Natalie Portman does look quite fetching in a half torn off lycra body suit. Almost worth the mayhem. That doesn't explain Anakin Skywalker's behavior (played by Hayden Christensen, who left me puzzling whether he was a decent actor stuck with awful material, or whether he really is that big of a jerk in real life, which I don't think; is that praising with faint damns?). Well, it would explain it if he were fourteen. That's where things start getting creepy.
Bad art, even bad art that doesn't know how bad it is, is at best laughable, at worse (as in this case) painfully monotonous. What's creepy isn't what's on the screen but trying to imagine what's in George Lucas's mind. Not anything evil, but frighteningly juvenile. True love, according to Lucas, is the kind of thing normal women take out restraining orders against. Every scene featuring our two supposed lovebirds left me pondering in what possible alternate universe any romantic tension could be construed between them, that could actually lead to somebody getting pregnant.
Okay, let's posit that Anakin is one messed up kid with a mother complex, who thinks that the best way to win a girl's heart is by stalking her. What precisely does Padme (based on the previous installment, a dozen years his senior) see in him? And she declares her undying love in the last act on what possible evidence? There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of hack romance writers who could strike more sparks from a sponge than this. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, the very annoying and immature jerk with no social skills gets the babe. Is that what this is all about?
In the first Star Wars series, Han Solo gets the girl, not that whiny dweeb, Luke Skywalker (it runs in the family apparently). What, is Lucas regressing back to junior high school in his late middle age?
As usual, there was a good story in there, until George Lucas got the notion he was smart enough to write another installment of Isaac Asimov's Foundation. Nope, not by half. The story that would have worked would have required resetting the time line back at least five years and casting Justin Berfield (Reese from Malcolm in the Middle) as a young Anakin who's got A) "issues," and B) hormones, and C) a whole lot of barely-controlled power. And deals with A and B by bullying people and kicking butt (Justin Berfield masterfully accomplishes this without becoming totally unsympathetic or irredeemably). Obi Wan's job, then, is to sit on his head and keep him from ending up in a juvenile correctional institution.
We'll also posit that his mom is happily married, as is suggested at the end of Attack of the Clones (Lucas does way too much telling and no showing, like giving us any reason why Anakin is such a whiner), which would passably explain why Anakin hasn't given a damn about her for, like, ever. Better: Obi Wan has deliberately kept them apart (it's some monk/Jedi/cloistered life thing), more fuel for resentment. The movie begins with her being kidnapped. While Obi Wan is off looking for clones on invisible planets, Anakin and Padme run off to save her. Why? Because they're impulsive (and horny) teenagers (we're dumping the age differences in The Phantom Menace for the sake of continuity and believability).
And to drive the Freudian point home, Mom dies while Anakin is trying to rescue her, because of the way he went about it, and because teenagers are not smarter than adults simply because they think they are. Note: talk to Joss Whedon about how to write this type of sequence, how he takes a screwed up, teenage super hero, Faith, and turns her evil. And then redeems her.
But back to the real world. George Lucas needs to return to this galaxy and not so long ago, like the Renaissance, when wealthy patrons of the arts, themselves possessed of marginal talents, hired a Mozart or Da Vinci to bring their imaginations to life. Journeyman SF writers like Dave Wolverton have made a good living writing Star Wars novels. Mr. Lucas, hire one of them to write your next movie! (They owe you, big time.)
Related posts
The Force Awakens
The Phantom Menace
McKee meets the "Menace"
Labels: annoying stuff, movie reviews, science fiction, star wars
May 31, 2010
A shuttle by any other name
The name of the space shuttle Atlantis has always irked me, as NASA could surely come up with a better name for a space vehicle than that of an imaginary underwater city. But now, at the end of its operational life, thanks to APOD and Wikipedia, I've discovered that the source of my irk is largely misplaced.
Of course, the antecedent is still there, but I suppose it's like being given the goofy name of a venerable ancestor instead of your parents making it up out of whole cloth (though Frank Zappa did come up with some doozies: Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan and Diva Thin Muffin).
The first operation shuttle was going to be called Constitution, but was ultimately named for another fictitious creation: Enterprise. It flew as a glider but never into space, so maybe it makes for an appropriate metaphor.
I attended a lecture by Leonard Nimoy in the mid-70s (the dry spell before the first movie), and he was quite proud of the shuttle's designation. Deservedly so. Who could have imagined that three seasons of such campily earnest science fiction could have inspired so many (including me)?
Eight ships of the Continental and U.S. navies have shared the name. It currently belong to the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise (CVN-65).
And I have to admit that I entirely approve of naming the Apollo 10 Lunar Module Snoopy and the Command Module Charlie Brown.
The RV Atlantis was the first research vessel operated by the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. Several ships are named after it, as well as the space shuttle Atlantis.
Of course, the antecedent is still there, but I suppose it's like being given the goofy name of a venerable ancestor instead of your parents making it up out of whole cloth (though Frank Zappa did come up with some doozies: Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan and Diva Thin Muffin).
The first operation shuttle was going to be called Constitution, but was ultimately named for another fictitious creation: Enterprise. It flew as a glider but never into space, so maybe it makes for an appropriate metaphor.
I attended a lecture by Leonard Nimoy in the mid-70s (the dry spell before the first movie), and he was quite proud of the shuttle's designation. Deservedly so. Who could have imagined that three seasons of such campily earnest science fiction could have inspired so many (including me)?
Eight ships of the Continental and U.S. navies have shared the name. It currently belong to the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise (CVN-65).
And I have to admit that I entirely approve of naming the Apollo 10 Lunar Module Snoopy and the Command Module Charlie Brown.
Labels: annoying stuff, pop culture, science, space, star trek
January 04, 2010
McKee meets the "Menace"
"Some guy named Mike from Milwaukee, Wisconsin" deconstructs The Phantom Menace in seven YouTube videos (produced by Red Letter Media). And when I say "deconstructed," I mean he takes it apart and reduces it to artistic rubble.
As my brother notes, the criticism is so relentless that adopting the brain-damaged persona of Larry Flynt-meets-sociopathic fanboy (imagine Anthony Perkins from Psycho teaching a course in film criticism) makes it easier to digest the punishment he dishes out.
Even more unexpected, the incongruous psycho-killer segments add up to a story in the story that pays off at the end (if you enjoy very black humor). And though the seven-part series is edited to suggest an amateurish effort, it is expertly produced and written.
Star Trek producer Damon Lindelof reportedly calls it "astounding film making." He's not being hyperbolic.
I think the narrator is Robert McKee in disguise. Okay, not seriously. But after describing the hero in the monomyth story structure, he then lists directors capable of telling stories without following it. He could just as well be reading straight from McKee's Story.
And when he attempts to psychoanalyze how Lucas consciously created something so awful, he qualifies his observations in ways that you wouldn't expect from a disgruntled fan. But in ways you would expect from an objective critic.
In any case, if you don't want to wade through McKee's Story, set aside seventy minutes (first send the children out of the room) and watch of all the main ideas systematically illustrated here instead.
As my brother notes, the criticism is so relentless that adopting the brain-damaged persona of Larry Flynt-meets-sociopathic fanboy (imagine Anthony Perkins from Psycho teaching a course in film criticism) makes it easier to digest the punishment he dishes out.
Even more unexpected, the incongruous psycho-killer segments add up to a story in the story that pays off at the end (if you enjoy very black humor). And though the seven-part series is edited to suggest an amateurish effort, it is expertly produced and written.
Star Trek producer Damon Lindelof reportedly calls it "astounding film making." He's not being hyperbolic.
I think the narrator is Robert McKee in disguise. Okay, not seriously. But after describing the hero in the monomyth story structure, he then lists directors capable of telling stories without following it. He could just as well be reading straight from McKee's Story.
And when he attempts to psychoanalyze how Lucas consciously created something so awful, he qualifies his observations in ways that you wouldn't expect from a disgruntled fan. But in ways you would expect from an objective critic.
In any case, if you don't want to wade through McKee's Story, set aside seventy minutes (first send the children out of the room) and watch of all the main ideas systematically illustrated here instead.
Related posts
Attack of the Clones
The Force Awakens
The Phantom Menace
Labels: annoying stuff, criticism, movies, science fiction, star wars
December 29, 2009
Stupid on "Star Trek" stilts (3)
Star Trek (2009) works well despite its scientifically silly self because Abrams gets the human (and half-human) relationships right (in action flick terms). I just wish Abrams hadn't gotten Star Trek confused with Pirates of the Caribbean.
The most idiotic sequence in the movie has Spock throwing Kirk off the ship, the technical equivalent of making him walk the plank. Spock Senior doesn't need to instruct Kirk on how to relieve Spock Junior of command, because Spock Junior has just committed a court martial offense.
Even if the sailor is a worthless bum, no captain is not going to dump him in a lifeboat and wish him bon voyage. Forget about the value of human life, the military really does not like its officers wasting valuable military property. That's what the brig is for.
In the PBS documentary Carrier, a fighter pilot misjudges his fuel load, is forced to land at Balad Airbase, and blows a tire. In the Top Gun universe, they'd laugh about it over beers. In the real world, he's grounded and may be court-martialed for damaging Navy equipment.
Besides, the whole mutant polar bears and ice-covered planets thing is old. There's nothing here that wasn't done in The Empire Strikes Back and The Undiscovered Country.
A single line of dialogue earlier could have established that Scotty's outpost was due for a servicing mission--and now all the more so that Vulcan is toast--so Spock sends Kirk down with a shuttle and then takes off as soon as he's left, promising to come back and pick him up later.
The bonus here is that a series of totally unbelievable coincidences--Kirk just happening to run into Spock Senior and then just happening to run into Scotty--is avoided. And Spock Senior ends up with a shuttle.
Okay. I'm done. This horse is dead.
The most idiotic sequence in the movie has Spock throwing Kirk off the ship, the technical equivalent of making him walk the plank. Spock Senior doesn't need to instruct Kirk on how to relieve Spock Junior of command, because Spock Junior has just committed a court martial offense.
Even if the sailor is a worthless bum, no captain is not going to dump him in a lifeboat and wish him bon voyage. Forget about the value of human life, the military really does not like its officers wasting valuable military property. That's what the brig is for.
In the PBS documentary Carrier, a fighter pilot misjudges his fuel load, is forced to land at Balad Airbase, and blows a tire. In the Top Gun universe, they'd laugh about it over beers. In the real world, he's grounded and may be court-martialed for damaging Navy equipment.
Besides, the whole mutant polar bears and ice-covered planets thing is old. There's nothing here that wasn't done in The Empire Strikes Back and The Undiscovered Country.
A single line of dialogue earlier could have established that Scotty's outpost was due for a servicing mission--and now all the more so that Vulcan is toast--so Spock sends Kirk down with a shuttle and then takes off as soon as he's left, promising to come back and pick him up later.
The bonus here is that a series of totally unbelievable coincidences--Kirk just happening to run into Spock Senior and then just happening to run into Scotty--is avoided. And Spock Senior ends up with a shuttle.
Okay. I'm done. This horse is dead.
Related posts
Stupid on Star Trek stilts (1)
Stupid on Star Trek stilts (2)
The brave old world of Star Trek
Labels: annoying stuff, movies, science, star trek
December 21, 2009
Stupid on "Star Trek" stilts (2)
Bad science fiction isn't the fault of far-out science, which is why I can enjoy eye-rolling SF like The X-Files. I figure anything theorized in the past century is up for grabs. But when it comes to the basic laws of motion and thermodynamics, though strict compliance may be too much to ask for, the spirit of the law deserves at least a polite tip of the hat.
In too many cases, unfortunately, the hard-won gifts of the Enlightenment are taken for granted, and quite unnecessarily at that. I feel compelled to plead with Hollywood's right-brained creative genius to throw a little pocket change at a few left-brained Caltech grad students to bring their scripts into at least the same universe as the scientific method.
The most annoying scientific faux pas in space opera is treating orbiting spaceships like airplanes. Johannes Kepler figured out how planetary orbits worked four hundred years ago. Plenty of time to get up to speed on the subject.
The only space battle I've seen play out with any respect for orbital science occurs in anime series Infinite Ryvius. (Unfortunately, the series is also quite realistic about what would happen if a bunch of teenagers took over a starship--namely, you'd end up with Lord of the Flies in space, which I found too painful to keep watching.)
The most jarring scientific moment in Star Trek has Kirk and Sulu parachuting from orbit onto Nero's "drill platform." As Isaac Newton demonstrated back in 1728 with his cannonball analogy, an object in orbit is literally in free fall. You can't "fall" out of orbit without sharply decelerating, usually by a combination of thrusters and atmospheric drag.
What makes the scene so frustrating is that it could have easily been done right--or at least less wrong. Kirk and Sulu (and the other guy--was he wearing a red uniform?) would ride snowmobile-looking contraptions that combined a retro-rocket and heat shield. They'd arc out of orbit and intersect the platform on a near-horizontal vector.
The special effects would be just as cool, the science and technology would be in the realm of the possible, and you'd get a new action figure toy out of it to boot. Win-win-win!
One more minor note about that drill platform. It resembles a space elevator, which is theoretically possible. But the mother ship would have to be in geostationary orbit over the equator. Again, a minor tweak to the script would fix it.
In too many cases, unfortunately, the hard-won gifts of the Enlightenment are taken for granted, and quite unnecessarily at that. I feel compelled to plead with Hollywood's right-brained creative genius to throw a little pocket change at a few left-brained Caltech grad students to bring their scripts into at least the same universe as the scientific method.
The most annoying scientific faux pas in space opera is treating orbiting spaceships like airplanes. Johannes Kepler figured out how planetary orbits worked four hundred years ago. Plenty of time to get up to speed on the subject.
The only space battle I've seen play out with any respect for orbital science occurs in anime series Infinite Ryvius. (Unfortunately, the series is also quite realistic about what would happen if a bunch of teenagers took over a starship--namely, you'd end up with Lord of the Flies in space, which I found too painful to keep watching.)
The most jarring scientific moment in Star Trek has Kirk and Sulu parachuting from orbit onto Nero's "drill platform." As Isaac Newton demonstrated back in 1728 with his cannonball analogy, an object in orbit is literally in free fall. You can't "fall" out of orbit without sharply decelerating, usually by a combination of thrusters and atmospheric drag.
What makes the scene so frustrating is that it could have easily been done right--or at least less wrong. Kirk and Sulu (and the other guy--was he wearing a red uniform?) would ride snowmobile-looking contraptions that combined a retro-rocket and heat shield. They'd arc out of orbit and intersect the platform on a near-horizontal vector.
The special effects would be just as cool, the science and technology would be in the realm of the possible, and you'd get a new action figure toy out of it to boot. Win-win-win!
One more minor note about that drill platform. It resembles a space elevator, which is theoretically possible. But the mother ship would have to be in geostationary orbit over the equator. Again, a minor tweak to the script would fix it.
Related posts
Stupid on Star Trek stilts (1)
Stupid on Star Trek" stilts (3)
The brave old world of Star Trek
Labels: annoying stuff, movies, science, science fiction, star trek
December 18, 2009
Stupid on "Star Trek" stilts (1)
The latest iteration of Star Trek isn't so much SF as DF: "dumb fun." Along with movies like Independence Day and Live Free or Die Hard, the science isn't merely fictionized, it's a magic wand. A prop to be chewed on. And yet done in a way that the rest of the rational mind goes along for the ride and enjoys itself.
I'm not talking about the MacGuffins. In Star Trek, the whole "red matter" silliness belongs alongside other impossibilities like warp drives and transporters, far enough removed from reality to not disturb the integrity of any actual science. The problem here isn't the physics, but the logical implications of the physics as stipulated.
As in Star Wars, if you make blowing up stars and planets that easy (lining up a contractor and the budget), the arms race implications become horrifying. And if a Death Star can pulverize an entire planet, then the Mini-Me version should be able to vaporize a continent or two, which would obviate the whole first act of The Empire Strikes Back.
Which brings us to the favorite kamikaze tactic in Star Trek: ramming the bad guys with a starship. Because starship engines run on antimatter, rupturing the magnetic containment vessels would trigger an explosion more powerful than a hydrogen bomb. This actually qualifies as valid science.
One reason I give the dumber-than-dirt Independence Day a big pass (besides Bill Pullman's rah-rah Americanized version of the St. Crispian speech) is that even if you've got yourself a super-armored spaceship the size of Rhode Island, setting off a thermonuclear device inside it will indeed turn it into so much Jiffy Pop.
At the end of Star Trek, Scotty dumps the engine cores, which go kaboom, and they ride the shock wave away from the black hole created by rupturing the containment vessel holding the "red matter." All fine and dandy, but why didn't it work for Spock or Kirk Senior? Their ships were smaller, but either should have blown Nero's to kingdom come.
This is one of those MacGuffins whose implications were never thought through from the start. Let's say that, at the end of the day, starships can only run on Chernobyl-grade power sources. A calculated risk taken by daredevil risk-takers. But in that case, you wouldn't populate the ship with families and the occasional pregnant woman.
In science fiction, the demands of objective science can take you only so far. Keeping a narrative's internally-created realities--however non-scientific--consistent with each other will create many more interesting story possibilities than if they are lazily glossed over.
I'm not talking about the MacGuffins. In Star Trek, the whole "red matter" silliness belongs alongside other impossibilities like warp drives and transporters, far enough removed from reality to not disturb the integrity of any actual science. The problem here isn't the physics, but the logical implications of the physics as stipulated.
As in Star Wars, if you make blowing up stars and planets that easy (lining up a contractor and the budget), the arms race implications become horrifying. And if a Death Star can pulverize an entire planet, then the Mini-Me version should be able to vaporize a continent or two, which would obviate the whole first act of The Empire Strikes Back.
Which brings us to the favorite kamikaze tactic in Star Trek: ramming the bad guys with a starship. Because starship engines run on antimatter, rupturing the magnetic containment vessels would trigger an explosion more powerful than a hydrogen bomb. This actually qualifies as valid science.
One reason I give the dumber-than-dirt Independence Day a big pass (besides Bill Pullman's rah-rah Americanized version of the St. Crispian speech) is that even if you've got yourself a super-armored spaceship the size of Rhode Island, setting off a thermonuclear device inside it will indeed turn it into so much Jiffy Pop.
At the end of Star Trek, Scotty dumps the engine cores, which go kaboom, and they ride the shock wave away from the black hole created by rupturing the containment vessel holding the "red matter." All fine and dandy, but why didn't it work for Spock or Kirk Senior? Their ships were smaller, but either should have blown Nero's to kingdom come.
This is one of those MacGuffins whose implications were never thought through from the start. Let's say that, at the end of the day, starships can only run on Chernobyl-grade power sources. A calculated risk taken by daredevil risk-takers. But in that case, you wouldn't populate the ship with families and the occasional pregnant woman.
In science fiction, the demands of objective science can take you only so far. Keeping a narrative's internally-created realities--however non-scientific--consistent with each other will create many more interesting story possibilities than if they are lazily glossed over.
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Stupid on Star Trek stilts (2)
Stupid on Star Trek" stilts (3)
The brave old world of Star Trek
Labels: annoying stuff, id4, movies, science, science fiction, star trek
April 05, 2009
Main site offline
Early Saturday morning, somebody stole the wheels off the car. Now it's up on cinderblocks. I'm waiting to hear back from the mechanic. The damage seems minor, so hopefully this shouldn't take long.
UPDATE: Restored, up and working as of 4:09 PM MDT. It may take a bit longer for the updated DNS records to propagate across the network.
UPDATE: Restored, up and working as of 4:09 PM MDT. It may take a bit longer for the updated DNS records to propagate across the network.
Labels: annoying stuff
March 19, 2008
Appleseed: Ex Machina
The Matrix proved that carried along by a sufficiently complex and ingenious plot, an idiotic science fiction premise (starting with that business about the batteries) can be stretched out for ninety minutes. Appleseed managed that. Appleseed: Ex Machina doesn't (and neither did the The Matrix sequels).
All the eye candy and video game shoot-em-ups makes the movie an entertaining-enough diversion. But Appleseed did such a good job proving what a really bad idea it is to create an authoritarian society with utopian pretensions run by a bunch of genetically-engineered androids and a ginormous mainframe.
And then Appleseed: Ex Machina proposes that the answer to all those inherent problems are more dispassionate androids and a bigger mainframe, with even more total control of everything. We're even treated to crowds of mainframe-controlled zombies, looking as cornily Roger Corman as it sounds. As economist Donald Boudreaux puts it:
A far greater danger to Americans' prosperity than a President with a poor speaking style and a penchant for standard-fare political shenanigans is the spread of the belief that economic salvation lies in having someone "in control."
But back during the 1960s, the mainframe was the only way to harness enough computing power in one place to do anything useful. By the 1970s, the Cray supercomputer had further cemented the metaphor of the super-smart, centrally-located, all-powerful electronic brain, generously time-sharing out its intelligence to us mere mortals.
If anything, Appleseed is a tribute to a bygone era, when despondent Marxists could dream of benevolent dictatorships putting a chicken in every pot and making the trains run on time. But run by computers, which would make it all totally cool. Yet by the 1990s, Cray Computer Corporation was bankrupt.
The Internet was instead about decentralized, distributed computing using off-the-shelf components.
But the Star Trek universe is still ruled by mainframes. The Matrix universe is run by mainframes. The Star Wars universe is run by mainframes (all conveniently located in one location, without redundancy or backups). Hollywood has mainframes on the brain.
Recall that every other episode of the original Star Trek had one of these Edenic societies blowing a major fuse. At least they got that part right. "One ring to rule them all" became "One mainframe to rule them all." It does give the protagonist and easy objective: toss the ring into the volcano. Or nuke the mainframe.
And then rebuild the blasted thing all over again, exactly the way it was before. A never-ending public works project to beat all public works projects, I guess.
One notable exception is Ghost in the Shell, created by Masamune Shirow after he wrote Appleseed. Second time around, Shirow got it exactly right: a decentralized, distributed, chaotic world where nobody can be in control of everything, and the worst problems are caused by people trying to be in control of everything.
It becomes the contradictory job of the good guys in Section 9 to exert authoritarian force in resisting that authoritarian impulse (ditto: Jack Bauer). But good premises make good stories precisely because the conflict is built in and perfection is elusive. Not surprisingly, every Ghost sequel has equaled or exceeded the original.
Take seriously the notion that a technological, utopian paradise is possible in the here and now, and like all socialist realism art, the essential conflict can only boil down to evil (capitalistic) forces trying to destroy Eden. It sounds high concept at first, but it'll always end up as high camp in the James Bond/Austin Powers/Star Trek vein.
In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the end of the world (not again!) was turned into a running joke. The underlying plot devices in Ghost in the Shell, by comparison, are surprisingly mundane. Stop aspiring to perfection, and the challenge of wrestling with ordinary desires and frustrations opens the door to transcendence.
Consider the original and its four sequels in terms of the primary plot device:
Ghost in the Shell Industrial espionage Innocence Prostitution Solid State Society Medicare funding SAC: I Medical drug trials SAC: II Terrorism and separatism
To be sure, Solid State Society is a tad deeper than that, but the questions raised by a high-tech society with an aging population and a low birth rate—also explored in Katsuhiro Otomo's comic Roujin Z—are questions about the value of life itself. It makes sense why the various players would be driven to a murderous crime wave.
I thought the free-wheeling world of Star Trek: Enterprise made it the best of the series, though the Orwellian UN-in-outer-space meme still hovered there in the background. In Serenity and Firefly, Joss Whedon created the best space opera series to date by getting back to a messy libertarian world that was recognizably real.
Naive and idealistic politics, however well-intentioned, make for bad movies. Imperfect people battling an imperfect system make for good movies. As novelist Richard Russo puts it, "unrelenting virtue is not just unrealistic but uninteresting." Appleseed: Ex Machina takes on the task of making an uninteresting idea interesting. And mostly fails.
Related posts
Appleseed
The "uncanny valley"
Reframing the mainframe plot
The Medicator (they'll be back!)
Labels: anime reviews, annoying stuff, ghost in the shell, mainframe, politics, science, science fiction, shirow, uncanny valley