What Sunshine Got Wrong And So So Right . . . Or, Why I Like Boring Sci-Fi

I like boring sci-fi.  I like the science fiction where not a lot happens.  I like exploring derelict space ships, the limits of human understanding, and the void between our aspirations and our accomplishments.  In short, I'm okay if a gun never goes off, nothing ever blows up, and no one dies in my science fiction. 

That means that I really enjoy movies like 2001 and 2010 (although there is violence of a kind, it definitely drives the plot), Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Contact, Moon, and Sunshine.  The highlight, of course, is Contact, Robert Zemeckis's adaptation of Carl Sagan's book of the same name.  It's a beautiful soliloquy on faith, belief, and love.  It also doesn't have a lot of action.  Sure, the first time/space machine gets blown up by fundamentalists, but even that was understated and served to advance the plot.

Sunshine, Danny Boyle's film about humanity imperiled by a dying sun, is predicated on an explosion.  When I think about it, I tend to group it with other 'splosion-will-save-us-all movies like Armageddon, Deep Impact and The Core.  Ostensibly, they're all sort of science fiction.  At least, if you took the science-y bits out, it wouldn't work.  Two of them have space ships; the world is imperiled in all of them; and some sort of techno-babble is needed to save the world (which at this point is about all we can expect from our science fiction--woe to our science illiterate public).  In the end though, the world is saved when the asteroid is exploded, or when a series of nukes are able to restart the spin of the Earth's core, jumpstarting its stalled magnetic field.

I have a feeling these were all funded in part by nuclear apologists, or written by people who saw nuclear weapons as more than just humanity-killers.  These movies, in my mind, all have the subtitle: "Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb."

In that respect, Sunshine isn't much different.  In the movie, the sun is dying.  We're not really told why, but if you listen to the director's commentary, you get a really nifty, scientific explanation.  Basically, a chunk of dark matter fell in and disrupted nuclear fusion.  The only way to save the sun is to dislodge that chunk so fusion can resume.  Here's where the Bomb comes in.

In order to save themselves, humanity mined half of all the fissile material on the planet, shoved it on a ship and shot it into the sun, and planned to detonate it to knock that chunk of sun-killer back into interstellar space.

Of course it failed.

Fortunately, humanity had just enough fissile material left over for one more go.  And this is where our story picks up.  The Icarus II (you know, because no one reads anything other than Greek mythology) is heading to the sun to deliver its cargo when it picks up the distress signal from the Icarus I.  They have a choice: stay on mission, or divert to see what happened, and maybe salvage the boom-juice from the first mission in case their's isn't enough.

In this movie, either option would have satisfied me.  Watching the ship recede behind them, listening to the distress signal, wondering, letting their curiosity drive them mad, would have made for an intriguing movie.  Perhaps they would have received some sort of indication that someone was still alive on the ship; oh, the complications that would have inspired. 

Instead, the decision is made to go ahead and see what happened and as you can imagine, things go badly.  Some miscalculated by a fraction of a percent, but this close to the sun, that means a lot.  And people die.  And the ship is nearly debilitated.  And they don't find out what happened on the Icarus I.  That miscalculation--that decision--not only meant they nearly lost their lives, but also imperiled the continued existence of humanity.  Heady stuff.

And the movie at this point could have continued to make deep insights, tell compelling story, and build on the stresses of fallible human beings engaged in a last ditched effort to save everything.  Instead, (and trying to keep it pretty spoiler-free) someone starts killing people.  The crew has to hunt down the bad guy (whoever he might be) and continue the mission, which suddenly seems all the more imperiled.  

The movie is visually beautiful, the sound work is stunning, and the acting understated and believable.  So it's a tragedy that it had to take such a sudden and dramatic turn in the second act.  What began as good science fiction devolved rather quickly into pure action for no reason than that it would probably sell tickets. 

The premise is great; the science is great; the decisions are real and believable and delightful.  So while the movie isn't perfect, it still ranks in my top 10 favorite science fiction movies.  Give it a shot.
 

Was the Death Star's Destruction an Inside Job? . . . Or, Luke's Change

Parodies of silly conspiracy theories feel too easy, but I love what Graham Putnam has done with this mockumentary parodying the truther video Loose Change.  Enjoy.

Populating the Multiverse . . . Or, Science-Fictiony People

Here's what I don't get: People.  In science fiction and fantasy.  The central conceit in all (or so near to all that the rest just sort of define the rule) speculative fiction is that people exist.  Now, in a lot of science fiction this isn't very problematic, since sci-fi tends to extrapolate from this moment and consider "what if?"  Where it gets kind of interesting in in fantasy.

Let's ponder.  Is Westeros Earth?  Nope.

Is  Randland Earth?  Maybe.

Is Middle-Earth our own Earth?  Probably not.

And on and on and on.  Which led me to wonder, where are the people coming from?  Are they following an evolutionary track that dictates that on any vaguely Earth-like planet there will be (mostly Anglo-Saxon looking) bipeds wandering around, mostly speaking English?  Mostly adhering to some vaguely Anglo-Saxon tradition? 

Probably not.

The first response is that it doesn't matter.  And it probably doesn't.  But these characters are our characters.  They represent people as we understand them, with many of the same cultural assumptions built into their own culture.  Major departures (I'm looking at you Neil Stephenson) include a rich cultural milieu that is difficult to get into, and characters who are difficult to empathize with.  So most fantasy includes people pretty much the same as you, or me, or our neighbors.

It sort of makes me wonder if all fantasy is just science fiction within the multiverse.  Remember those Ewok adventures?  The ones with the family that crash-lands on Endor and have to fight off rancor and evil witches?  They're pretty campy, but I remember them fondly.  What I remember most clearly is that though we're expected to understand these movies were set in a science-fictiony universe, there were witches, castles, and monsters.  But by slapping "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . . " we come to accept everything as falling under the umbrella of infinite universe = infinite variety.

So maybe, this is how it happened!

First, "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . . " the first human beings evolved in a rich milieu of diverse cultures, species and deeply steeped in a mystical energy field that allowed them experience the universe in a much more empathetic way.  In time, they developed space-flight, left their own galaxy, and spread throughout the universe.

In time they reached a medium aged, medium bodied spiral galaxy that looks suspiciously like spilled milk from the inside.  There, they settled a world and called it Earth.  (SPOILERS!)  But on that planet, they developed a race of cybernetic beings that eventually rebelled; nuclear war ensued and our intrepid human beings were forced to flee and colonize twelve planets where human civilization was rebuilt.  In time, they built cybernetic beings that eventually rebelled, nuked all the planets of humankind, and forced a rag-tag band of human beings out into the stars, where eventually they joined forces with their cybernetic creations to repopulate a planet they re-named Earth.  But they'd already developed faster-than-light travel, and though their main ship was pretty trashed, they were able to use smaller craft to spread throughout the universe.

Where eventually they created a system of stargates!  They spread throughout the galaxy, embedded the myths of the Twelve Colonies everywhere they went, and eventually returned to Earth, but because of whatever, decided this galaxy was pretty blase, and left for parts unknown.

But in all those other galaxies, they spread their culture (including Anglo-Saxonness, and the English language), but because of cultural degradation and environmental upheavals, some were lost and devolved to medieval technology.  And in a few really interesting cases, the transhumans even traveled to other universes, where the laws of physics are kind of wonky.  Or, since we know that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, maybe there are remnants of transhuman technology floating around that allow certain individuals to manipulate time and space in ways that mimic magic!

Seems reasonable to me.  Let me hear your thoughts in the comments below.

School of Thrones . . . Or, The Best TV You'll Never See On HBO

There's something inherently ironic about seeing a web-serial spoofing a TV show based on a book.  I could wax on and on about the cross-over between the media, and the strange way that fiction influences reality, and reality mocks fiction, but I won't.  Instead, you should just watch this film, the first in a proposed new web series.

Oregon State Naked Mole Rats . . . Or, The New OSU Athletics Logo

Because The Barometer already has a sports columnist (or so they tell me) the column I originally wrote to address the new Benny logo won't be published regularly.  While this would normally disappoint me, I probably have greater readership here than in print media.  So here you go.  Let me know what you think.

***

With the unveil of the new uniforms, Oregon State University athletics look a little sleeker, a little fiercer, and a lot more styling.  The same, however, cannot be said of the new Benny logo.  I’m sure Kim Possible loves this, but if comments on the University athletics Facebook page are any indication, students don’t. 

Most commenters seem puzzled by the direction the administration has taken the new logo, while others voiced concerns that students’ opinion were not sufficiently solicited—especially since students are expected to wear what looks decidedly un-beaverlike at nationally-televised games. 

Kim Possible Naked Mole Rat

Athletes at least have financial incentives to brandish the new logo; students are being asked to pay for the privilege of looking ridiculous.

Beyond what seems like a pretty major fashion gaffe, students remain concerned that the administration and athletics departments are attempting replace substance with style.  It appears that the new direction is a concerted effort to bolster support and encourage enthusiasm about Beaver athletics.  The concern, however, is that athletics is doing so at the expense of substantive improvements in the athletic program itself. 

Encouraged by U of O’s rebranding in the 1990s, OSU has unsuccessfully tried to rebrand itself, following trends instead of setting them.  Even though nifty uniforms and a rebranded logo are nice, and demonstrate a willingness to consider new strategies and reorient means to accomplish goals, OSU athletics acknowledges that uniforms don’t win games—which is the ultimate recruiting tool.

Despite Nike’s insistence that the new logo doesn’t deviate too far from tradition, one need only look at the friendly Benny that represented Oregon State for over forty years and wasn’t retired until 1999.  That looks like tradition to me.  What’s more, “Angry Benny” was an acknowledged marketing ploy to help shore up support for construction of Reser Stadium.  Bearing that in mind, Nike would have stuck to tradition by returning to something resembling the acknowledged mascot.

1951-1999

I have a sense that the new uniforms aren’t really about students, or even student athletics, however.  The sequestration debate is only the most glaring example of fiscal responsibility at the federal level, but across the nation state spending on institutions of higher learning has been on the decline.  State universities have been hit especially hard and have turned to alternative forms of income. 

Football especially, but collegiate sports in general, attracts incoming freshman and national recognition; the sales of sports apparel help shore up budgets increasingly weakened by fiscal cuts. 

OSU’s billion dollar fundraiser relies on the enthusiasm of donors and a winning athletic program is the most obvious way to generate that enthusiasm.  Certainly, the administration has demonstrated its commitment to academics, and we lead the state in research grants; our nuclear engineering and forestry programs especially are world-renowned.  While these are exciting, they fail to communicate the University’s success the way a winning football team does.

And that excitement is only bolstered by a dynamic new uniform, and a logo that better represents the spirit of the institution.  Which is where the new Benny logo simply falls flat. 

Perhaps it’s a matter of generating false buzz—like Crystal Pepsi, or New Coke these were genuine attempts to reinvigorate flagging sales and create heightened consumer demand.  But in both those instances, the effort backfired. 

Well, sort of. 

In each case, consumer demand for the original product actually boosted sales of original Coke and regular Pepsi.  So maybe that’s the strategy OSU Athletics have adopted in concert with Nike, who designed new Benny. 

Fearing this is the logo I’ll be stuck with next year, I’m planning to hit up the Beaver store in the spring before the old logo is phased out.  And I know many of you are doing the same.  Perhaps they’re expecting sales to skyrocket, after which, buckling under pressure from alumni and students, Student Athletics will release the real Benny redesign.  I don’t want to speculate as to their motives, since this scenario seems particularly Machiavellian, but at least it makes a measure of sense.  The alternative is that the redesigned Benny is meant to look like a cross between a nutria and a naked mole rat.  That, or it’s part of a strategy to re-brand Oregon State University as the Rats.

Game of Thrones Season One! . . . Or, How I Just Got On the Bandwagon

It's finally happened.  I've finally begun watching Game of Thrones.  And, like the books, I'm left a little . . . underwhelmed.  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoyed the prologue a lot more in the show; and the sets are gorgeous. 

But where the book eases you into a lot of the machinations, the show just drops you into the middle of it.  My girlfriend has been struggling to figure out exactly what's happening, and I completely sympathize. 

Even I wonder who's who, what's going on, and why every third person has to remind me that winter is coming when it's currently snowing in the shot! 

It makes for difficult viewing and I wonder if maybe the producers could have spent a little more time and money on explication instead of paying actresses to take their tops off.  Some of the sex makes sense--Bran's tragedy could only have been explained with a sex scene.  The rest is just titillation for its own sake.  Just a thought.

Draco Mallfoy's creepier little brother?

That aside, the pacing feels rushed.  Actors rush through their lines with hardly any gravitas.  Maybe it has to do with the format in which I'm watching these episodes.  Having a whole season at my disposal (a season only being ten episodes), I'm inclined to rush through episodes and maybe that makes the whole thing feel rushed.  But within the episodes themselves everything just hops around.  Perhaps that's a remnant of the storytelling in the book with its quick cuts and sudden shifts in perspective.

Which leads me to my final thought.  Just a musing really.  I figure if you're going to make a book into a movie, or just re-create the story of someone else, you ought to bring something new to the table.  Game of Thrones revels in spectacle and the book succeeds in places where a television show necessarily cannot. 

Namely, the bits in people's heads; the backstory, the motivations, and abundant plots and schemes.  The show should fill those in, but really needs to depart from reproducing the book shot-for-shot on film. 

This applies to any production of a book into film, though, be it for TV or cinema or whatever.  Once a story's been told, it's done, move on.  Fanboy wish fulfillment isn't a good enough reason to remake something.  Moral of the story: Give us something new.

Moving on.  Had I never read the books, I don't think I'd last watching the show.  It's too deep, and the learning curve is ridiculous.  And having read the first book, I don't know.  It's a beautiful show without only minor flaws.  Just feels a little superfluous.

Am I going to keep watching?  Heck yeah.  Am I going to watch season two?  Definitely.  Maybe even season three when the time comes.  Is it great TV?  Meh. Battlestar: Galactica was better.