Zombie-Free Weekend at the Fair

It's been years since I attended the Puyallup Fair, a big deal in these here parts. A big draw was the 3-D tour of Weird Al Yankovic's brain, a roller coaster with smarts and a curiously fun introduction to the basic parts of gray matter. As you'll see below, however, there were some "parts" not quite as "family friendly" as the ride itself. I can also report that though an outbreak was expected any moment, the fair was not overrun by zombies. Was I disappointed? A bit. We did amuse ourselves imagining scenarios at various locations at the fair and how we would best fight for our survival.

Nothing special here in an image that speaks for itself. What fascinates me about Ferris wheels is that they have an iconic power to represent equal parts joy and terror. Who amongst us has not imagined being stuck at the top under a baking sun, or the steady loosening of a crucial screw that fails and releases your car into the void?

The aforementioned, not-so-family-friendly Weird Al.

Diets of ordinary US citizens every year resemble more and more the tastes of central Europeans, who excel at such past-times as chocolate covered bacon. I was sorely tempted to give it a taste, but was forbidden by those who had provided transportation, on the grounds that they didn't want anyone puking in the car on the way back.

Book of the Week

Crazy stuff, really wild space opera from a Scottish master of the genre. The further along I get in this, the more irresistable its hold on me. Could be I'm just a sucker for this kind of thing, but generally cosmic tales of the far-flung future involving this group of planets over in this quadrant having a beef with an ancient alien cloud coming the heart of that black hole yonder don't stick, they reek too much of fantasy. Yet Banks has pulled me in with Excession, which has no shortage of galactic intrigue. It also has a touch of poetry, as the central conflict lies with a diplomat who must secure the soul of a dead starship captain who witnessed a black star older than the Big Bang.

She is in the keeping a sentient starship that passes time crafting tableaux of historic battles. We're talking about football field-length works of physical recreations. The ship is an eccentric and solicits people to come and hibernate so that it may use their sleeping forms in its art. The dead captain, personality stored in digital form and given holographic expression, wanders the scenes, belly perpetually pregnant, wistful for a day when she can see new worlds, new vistas, all the while ignorant of the diplomat who is rushing to find her before universal armageddon comes about.

Peripatetic Sights

An incurable walker am I, ocassionally with camera in hand. Here are some things I regularly see whilst hoofing about northern Seattle.

There's a local band called Mean Recess, presumably the owners of this fine vehicle. If only every school bus were thusly adorned, we might produce more children who wisely spend their days singing and prancing joyfully in constant adoration of mortal existence.

A memorable image of Bill Gates posted on a busy intersection. I am amazed that after being there several months, no one has torn it down. Folks around here might be uptight but they sure do love street art -or laughing at Mr Microsoft, maybe that's it.

This beautiful car is a short distance from my house and I look forward to seeing it daily. The workmanship is fine. Though hard to tell in this image, there are dozens of tiny details within the face, miniature angels and phrases like "If you can read this, buy a book!"

One Week Until Zombieland

TRON update

Continuing in the vein of tech fables, there is news about TRON:LEGACY populating the web almost daily. The film won't hit IMAX theatres until 12.17.10 (3D, of course) but Disney is doing a fine job of releasing tidbits on a regular basis to stoke the fires of anticipation in our hearts.

Steven Lisberger, the writer/director of the original film, was recently quoted saying what he thinks will carry over into the sequel:

I think that one of the themes in the story being expressed is where Flynn's allegiances really lie. He created breakthrough technology in the day, so it means something very special to him. But he also has a real world family, and he's being asked to decide who he loves more. Then it gets really tricky because there's a tendency for people to say, ‘The best thing I could do for my kid is bless them with the best technology,' and maybe the kid doesn't really want your technology, he just wants you... I think that's sort of an interesting metaphor because we're sort of in the race with the Devil.

Aspects of the world are going to hell, and we think if we can get to the point where we can simulate it, then we'll understand it and we'll solve the problem. We're struggling with AIDS and global warming, but if we can simulate it correctly, then we'll understand it and we can fix it. It's a classic sci-fi problem. Is technology gonna be your best friend or at times is it gonna be your best friend who turns out to be your worst enemy?

One of the virtues of TRON is that it offers layers of substance that perhaps don't come across at first viewing. More than a simple-minded adventure, it explores our relationship with machines in ways that continue to have significance a quarter century later. That's the kind of shelf life, you ask me, that merits a sequel. If only the Wachowski Brothers had waited so long to further explore the Matrix, we might have had something with similar value.

Okay, that was a cheap shot. The sequel is still over a year away and already I expect it to be better than The Matrix Reloaded. Hope abides.

One of these days I'll get around to formalizing my theory that The Matrix is essentially a remake of TRON. Actually, it doesn't take much to see the many parallels.

Speechless Tuesday

Fairy Tale for the Matrix Generation?

On the surface, 9 might seem a fable for the post-apocalyptic age. Built on the premise of what burden must be shouldered by machines after people are gone, this dark fantasy hasn't much to say. The eponymous hero, with or without companions as circumstances dictate, runs frantically from one pile of ruin to another with an all-too human motive: survival. Perhaps this is the legacy of humankind, to invest our mechanical progeny with an instinct for self-preservation.

What passes for the "message" is that human folly, here in the form of blind, slobbering love of technology, will be our ultimate undoing. What? Machines will destroy us? But, wait, there's more. 9 and his fellows, zipper-chested dolls one and all, are the remnant of humanity's dream of... well, technology adoration. The frantic to and fro of said zippery munchkins is done in the noble cause of keeping alive the flame of techno-love.

Can you blame me for wishing the film had less to say?

While there is much to delight the eye, for the brain it's thin pickings. The film has run half its length and already you feel like an armageddon scavenger, hoping desperately for a meaty scrap to carry you through to the finale. Adding to the empty calories is banal dialogue the only aim of which seems a quest for cliche. Fine voice acting is wasted on empty phrases that state the obvious or add some hackneyed platitude that distracts your attention from where it belongs, namely the incredible, sometimes awe-inspiring visuals.

I'd love to see 9 with the dialogue edited out. The storytelling is effective and conveys everything we need to know. Quality film-making is measured by visual comprehension. Dialogue lends nuance and dimension to what we're seeing, and when instead it condescends with reactive statements like, "You can't go there!" or "Why did you do that?", it detracts from overall enjoyment. In the case of a talking-heads live-action blockbuster, this justifies writing a film off entirely. When it comes to a clever piece of work as 9, the production design and screenwriter are at odds, and what is beautifully stated in sections where dialogue is minimal or absent comes off clamorous everywhere else, calling attention to the vapidity of the tale, which unfortunately, bad dialogue or not, has nothing of any substance to convey.

Book of the Week

This was one of those books that come along every once in awhile that cannot be put down. At first flush it might seem as though economic prose dealing with cannibalism would be all too easy to break from, yet I found myself completely engrossed. Maybe it's my recent obsession with the zombie apocalypse that made the story so compelling.

Encounters of the Blog Kind

To indulge a bit, there is another blog that's worth checking out where I'm a semi-regular contributor. It is a compendium of reviews for films determined by a book my friends got for Yuletide last year to be must-see movies.

Speechless Tuesday

Time Has The Final Word

Remember the good old 1980's
When life was so uncomplicated?

Ever received a message from a rock album? It's happened to me lately, starting with Billy Joel and most recently and significantly coming from Electric Light Orchestra. Messages from music that I loved way back when, appreciated now for very different reasons.

Starting with the song "Surprises", listened to after a many years' absence, it seemed to address me in the present time, with these specially tailored lines:

You were so young and naive
I know it's hard to believe
But now it shouldn't surprise you at all

How did Billy Joel know what to tell me in 2009 when writing that song in the late eighties? Undoubtedely, there are hidden profundities to be discovered in Mr Joel's entire catalog, but this is sufficient for me. Still, it hit me at an odd angle.

ELO's album Time came into my possession a month ago, and it isn't merely a song now but an entire collection that is speaking to me in the moment. As a kid it was a funky sci-fi musical concept, with cool keyboards and electrovox (precursors, as it turns out, to English electronica) conveying the futureshock of a man dreaming of the next century. Revisiting it as a version of that very man, the experience is slightly unnerving.

Not that it stops me from listening. Good pop is a fine way to unwind after work, especially with the mad couple of weeks I've clawed my way through this month.

When Jeff Lynne addresses the "21st Century Man" it cuts to the quick, with lyrics like,

One day you're a hero
Next day you're a clown
There's nothing that is in between
Now you're a 21st century man

Likely it is my subjective connection from childhood that paints poignancy on this music. What's nice is that though there is a weird bridging from the early eighties to the present, I can still find things to appreciate in the writing and arrangement.

Here is one of my favorite selections, "Rain is Falling":

Be a Beatle!

The Beatles: Rock Band is a science fiction milestone for our time. We stand on the verge of inundation by the avatar concept, as it proliferates in all forms of media, not least among them video games. Rock Band, which has delivered previous rocker out-of-body (or body off its rocker) experiences, hits a quality peak with its new offering. Players can play along with and harmonize alongside The Beatles, and the game doesn't stop there.

What sets this Rock Band apart is the immersion offered to players, in the history as well as the music of The Beatles. Every song is put into proper context, with offerings across the band's timeline, and players are not merely playing with them but as them. With the visibility and sustained popularity of the world's favorite Liverpudlians, a shot at channeling them through your fingers (and by association, your brain) has never been more accessible or enticing.

The SF aspect is groundbreaking, allowing players not only experience of an outer persona but those of pop stars whose fame most of us regular folk can never hope to attain. I've not played one of these games but briefly, and the thought of being George Harrison, albeit superficially, has seeded my brain with consideration of putting this on my Yuletide wish list.

Then again, maybe I'll bide my time and save my pennies for Yes: Rock Band.

Speechless Twilight

From http://nukeit.org/:

Old Friends

Latest from the Lockerbie prisoner release scandal is that British Justice Secretary Jack Straw brokered the "oil for prisoners" exchange with Libya. Makes sense. Downing Street handles UK foreign policy and used Scotland to further its own ends. Not exactly the first time that's happened. As I commented to a friend, no matter how Mother Scotland conducts herself, she always get the dirty end of the stick; it's a cosmic imperative.

Don't Watch This Drive

It comes as no surprise when we hear that President Obama keeps bad company. Shady realtors and a loudmouth preacher dogged his campaign. He recently spent five hours golfing with Robert Wolf, president of UBS Investment Bank, who, according to Amy Goodman, "agreed to pay the U.S. $780 million to settle civil and criminal charges related to helping people in the U.S. avoid taxes." Another too big to fail moment? I have to say, this doesn't exactly increase my faith in the current Prez that he is honoring his commitment to treat those who elected him (I voted for someone else) with honesty and transparency. So far he's done a lot to undermine any feeling that anyone but Big Biz (Pharma, Insurance, Banks, et al) deserves to trust him. Well, I guess those citizens who avoid paying taxes think he's pretty neat, too.

The real fallout? US Presidents can no longer tee off with impunity. This goes back to Obama's predecessor, who famously gave his opinion of war atrocities to reporters on the green followed by one of countless memorable quotes, "Now, watch this drive." If anything, President Obama has shown himself the wiser Commander-in-Chief by not holding any press conferences on the ninth hole.

7th Draft

Next week I'll be in earnest, currently on hiatus to entertain old friends from out of town. Seriously excited for this, the seventh and potentially last draft of the manuscript. The hard slog of hammering out the plot and its various permutations is done. What remains is to shine a light in corners that remain dark and tone the language: reading should be effervescent, effortless, and it's my duty to do anything I can to keep the text from obscuring the story.

Casting Catwoman

If I were casting the next Batman film, I'd go an entirely different direction for Catwoman. The choice of Megan Fox is wrong for so many reasons, not least among them that she has no talent for acting. Pushing your lips out to here does not constitute dramatic ability. Nevertheless, someone with sensual appeal is clearly called for, which is why in my perfect world we would see either Olivia Wilde (top) or Moon Bloodgood as Catwoman: they have proven acting chops and can hold their own in a scene with Christian Bale. The very idea of Megan Fox getting vampy with Bale creeps me out something fierce, like watching your best friend's kid sister seduce your dad. Yuck!

Foxy Feline in Batman Sequel

Julie Newmar...


Lee Meriwether...


Eartha Kitt...


Michelle Pfeiffer...


...Megan Fox??? Say it ain't so!

Speechless Tuesday 2

Trailer for the new film from Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight, The Prestige):

Speechless Tuesday

From the UK Times Online

Proud to be Scottish

Imagine a nation that takes compassion on dying prisoners, by virtue of law, even. How horrendous and venal such a place must be, nothing less, to borrow a phrase, than a wretched hive of scum and villainy. To hear recent talk of Mother Scotland, you'd think it was such a pit of ill-fame.

Justice Secretary Kenny MacAskill's decision to free Lockerbie bomber Abdel Basset Ali al-Megrahi has been met with a resounding, international "Oh no, you didn't", not least among naysayers the United States. Aye, you heard right: the US is calling foul on this transgress of international law. Robert Mueller, head of the FBI, goes so far as to say that MacAskill "makes a mockery of the rule of law" and "gives comfort to terrorists around the world." He doesn't go so far as to say that this would never happen if al-Megrahi had been at Guantanamo Bay, but the implication is clear.

Ahem.

Mr Mueller methinks protesteth too much. Which law is being mocked, precisely -unless he means to suggest that going contrary to US wishes is to impugn justice globe-wide. Even British PM Gordon Brown can see through this shimmy vapor of an argument. "This was a decision taken by the Scottish justice secretary in accordance with the laws of Scotland," he says through a spokesman. "I don't see that anyone can argue that this gives succour." Not that this takes Brown entirely off the hook. As detailed at Caledonian Comment, the PM has been talking about Scotland's decision with Libyan leader Muamar Gadaffi for over a month. Even so, the dodginess of Mr Brown isn't exactly news to anybody, is it?

Getting back to home turf here in the US, I don't buy into the outrage against compassionate dispensation of the rule of law, especially when it is shouted out from places that vigorously pursue the death penalty, champion indefinite detention, and carry out extraordinary rendition from black sites around the world. It's a bit disingenuous to take Scotland to task for showing compassion upon a man who is expected not to survive past Christmas. How does this give comfort to agents of terror?
Was the decision linked to trade deals with Tripoli, or Britain's interests in Libya's enormous oil and gas reserves? MacAskill rejects this, quoted as saying: "It was not based on political, diplomatic or economic considerations."

He adds that, "In Scotland we are a people who pride ourselves on our humanity...The perpetration of an outrage ... cannot and should not be the basis for losing sight of who we are."

The real loser in this is Libya. Giving al-Megrahi a hero's welcome was hardly cricket. It makes mockery of the very real grief suffered by families of those killed on Pan Am Flight 103. Worse, it undermines Scotland's credibility. How sad is that? A nation takes compassion and is made to look the fool.

Nevertheless, MacAskill was right in his decision. The perpetration of outrage should never be the basis of the rule of law.

Obamacare

We don't have a competitive healthcare system in the US. What we've got are insurance companies who can drop members with impunity, or deny applicants because they are or have been sick. The only competition is which company can deny coverage the fastest. Why change that?

What I don't get is these itchy, yelping folks at "town hell meetings" who want things to stay just the way they are, and are willing to believe no less than an ocean of hogwash to bolster their hysteria. Obviously these are the ones who represent our country's best interests, those who believe what they're told without reflection and have the loudest voices of dissent when our elected leaders attempt to engage the public.

Why worry about socialism, when we have mob rule?

President Barack Obama made some recent statements that go some way toward shaping the discussion. Good. He is still hedging his bets in laying out a clearly defined "road map" (to borrow a metaphor) for reform. I'm glad he is finally taking a stand against the ridiculous fabrications going around the talk show circuit, but it might be too little, too late.

Elemental

Zombies don't deal in gray areas; when it comes to gray matter, there is a question of appetite (the idea of zombies eating brains was popularized with the satire, Return of the Living Dead), but ambiguity just isn't their specialty.

Maybe this is why we love them, because of an innate desire for life with no moral ambiguity. When your existence has the absolute value of consumption, things tend to get pretty simple.

The elemental nature of zombie attacks is simple, too: survivors fight back or get converted to just another face in the crowd, a death sentence in a world where death has no meaning.

Serious people are talking about our chances of repelling a zombie apocalypse, and they aren't good. This begs the question: if we desire moral absolutes, why not surrender to the horde and achieve the impossible dream?

Speechless Tuesday

Zombie Apocalypse

This fascination has a root cause, yet in true roustabout fashion I hesitate delving too much, in recognition that perceiving a thing changes it. Since this fascination fuels a great deal of creativity, I don't want to rationalize it out of existence. Forgive me, even so, for dabbling in the irrational.

I think back to my upbringing in the church, where the idea of being in the world but not of it was introduced at an impressionable age and iterated time and again as a basic tenet of belief. I listened to a lot of "Jesus rock" and one of my favorite albums as a pre-teen was Petra's Not of This World. From the first buds of consciousness, I was inundated with the idea of being separate from a world of unbelievers, who in my perception as a young boy of faith were the walking dead doomed to everlasting perdition.

Ah, the sweetness of youth!

I was not yet to my tenth year seeing Night of the Living Dead. What an impression that made. From the riveting image of a zombie stumbling through the cemetary, I was simultaneously terrified and fascinated. It was right out of the church handbook: this was an unbeliever, shambling along hungry for faith but settling for cannibalism.

I'm reminded of that early vision when peering from my office window. The view of docks on the Duwamish river is a playground for my mind, ships arriving from exotic ports with their freight of the undead, overrun as lumbering hordes unload and overwhelm hapless stevedores. Inexorably the mass grows, spreading out from the docks like a bloodstain and moving onto the nearby beaches and hills, inevitably reaching the bridge and starting a slow march toward our side. Despite the vastness of our office building there is no escape, as we find the exits blocked by grasping, unfettered corpses from some distant continent, in their long passage over endless oceans grown ravenous to the very pit of their rotted souls. The doors burst inward and they are upon the living, a maw of undeniable appetite that pursues every last one of us through the countless corridors of a workplace once thought impregnable from all harm.

Ah, the wonder of maturity!

Bringing the Law

Taking a breather now that draft six is done and diving into some good old, bare-knuckled research for my next writing project. I don't know for sure that it will be another novel, though to be honest I'd be surprised if it wasn't; the experience of working through the first has been grueling but so satisfying that I'm hooked. My subject for my next project will be the lawbringer himself, old man Moses.
In college I was profoundly influenced by my Russian professor. He cultivated love of literature and free thought, and inspired by example: his life and pursuits engaged with the world, exploring how to do things slightly askew from tradition. At one session he divulged to us that he had translated the book of Revelation. In crafting the text into contemporary form, he chose to color it as science fiction. This, he informed us gleefully, would excite the reader and show them the old story in a new light. How wonderfully strange, I thought as we read blurry photostats of his translation, and to this day I fondly recall his brazen approach to doing things in a non-traditional way.

Does this mean I'll paint a picture of Moses in TRON regalia? It's too soon to say, but I do find a basic appeal in updating the story of the lawbringer. What the world needs is not another hagiography of the man who came down from the mountain with the Ten Commandments in his hands, nor is there a void of exodus adventures that wants filling. In these days of extraordinary rendition and daily sanctioned slaughter of innocents, we could use a reminder of what really matters. Science fiction has ever been a suitable vehicle for far-reaching and let's face it idealistic notions, and who reached further or more idealistically than Moses?

I'm also interested in Miriam. Growing up, there was rarely a mention of her, and though I knew a woman watched over her baby brother in the bulrush basket, it seemed to me it was a servant rather than a sibling. Might be this was a deficiency in my bible lessons, but as someone with a sister, this is a disservice that must be put right!

Speechless Tuesday

Every weblog has one, a day of the week devoted to... not logging. Here's mine, with special thanks to Mystery Men:

Clouds and the False Act of Watching

We want to feel as if we watch and scrutinize others, without risk of being caught and called voyeur. The honey allure of the web draws many this way. It isn't overstating the obvious to describe this as the primary appeal social networks; the ability to peek at peers anonymously through an electronic window is an irresistible component of the interwebs -or, as it will soon be called, interCLOUDS.

We are currently in the time of webs, strands and conduits woven over several decades and culminating in the last as a paradigmatic shift in human society. Recently we saw the launch of Web 2.0, an evolutionary leap forward for engines of connection. The organic blur between business and play typifies this new stage, but it doesn't represent an endpoint: we've got a long way to go before massing into what scifi author Vernor Vinge calls a "singularity"; often misattributed to Ray Kurzweil, who ratified and popularized the concept, a singularity is what we can look forward to when accelerating machine intelligence peaks.

There's another fancy phrase we should also remember: "user error". As many a programmer and techie remind us, machines are only as smart as the inputted data from users -in other words, us. Even in these heady days of social advancement vis a vis socnets and game consoles, with their increasingly sophisticated avatars, already the underlying shape of what's next can be discerned. It hinges on users.

Google calls it "cloud computing". Like a cloud precipitating wind and wet to grow, the intelligence of users gathers online. Look to soundcloud.com and you can see a digital enclave of musicians and producers, engineers and promoters that is open to the public; it takes strength the more subscribers it can claim. This is nothing new, except inasmuch that user content is more central. In some ways, early mistakes by Myspace anticipated this shift toward users.

In the early days of socnets, Myspace distinguished itself with editable content on its profile pages. Subscribers could modify the HTML and personalize how they presented their online profile. This wasn't the original intent, and at a time when Friendster was the hub with the hits, it came over like gangbusters; a glacial shift took place attributable to users having greater interactivity with the flash appeal of their profiles. It may not have seemed so at the time, but Myspace planted the seeds of a revolutionary new approach. How revolutionary? When I look at Facebook and feel limited by the rigid structure of the newsfeed, it's as if the popular site has yet to achieve a milestone at the level of Myspace.

Editable content and deep avatar manipulation are harbingers. In short, Web 3.0 = WorldWideCloud. And what better place to be a watcher than from a cloud? You have the comforts of being in a social cluster that invites your input, even demands it, and fellow users are closer to hand and more accessible. It isn't a real act of watching when we log on, and it will not be any more real in the next phase, but it will provide the sensation that few can resist.

Target Audience

Increasingly the book feels intended for juvenile readers. Naive though it may seem, I always wanted the manuscript to find itself. There's one more draft to go, and by then it could very well be better suited for children; older readers may not be open enough, seeing that the fabulist genre is all but dead. Kids would give it a chance, or mothers and wives, who seem to have motivation for that old-fashioned masquerade called reading. They might not give much consideration to how realistic the protagonist Sally Parker comes across. So long as they can identify, that will win me an audience -right? Even if they identify with the situation, that's something; it doesn't necessarily have to be the protagonist that gives reader access.

So Long, John Hughes

"The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adore him. They think he's a righteous dude."

TRON I/O Forums

For the latest news on TRON:LEGACY, take a look at the TRON I/O Forums. I was told by the administrator that this is "where we get into the nitty gritty of what's going on with the film, far more than can be accomplished on the limited Facebook forums." Check it out!

External Monolog

I had a conversation with a friend in the early days of cellular phones, and she expounded a theory that these portable devices are enablers of external monolog. This was before the advent of weblogging, but I think the idea fits: given a venue to express what otherwise might be bounced around in the psychodrome of one's head, folks will unload and unleash the voices once referred to as the internal monolog. That which in former centuries languished beneath the surface now finds full expression in the fin de siecle World Wide Web.

For a couple weeks I temped at a startup company whose entire purpose was to transcribe voicemails into text. Sitting in a room that would be called "airless" in the most generous terms, myself and a small cohort punched away at keyboards while legions of voice streamed into our ears. We typed out messages no more than one minute in length, ranging from lawyers' notes to affectionate asides, and converted them to emails which were forwarded to subscribers' phones. The one-to-one ratio was a limited social activity, but the basic model held true: folks offered thoughts, ruminations, arguments and reminders that would have remained unexpressed lacking the technological empowerment.

Which brings us to Facebook. More in context, we could refer to it as "Mebook".

I'm thinking specifically of an aspect in Facebook called Living Social. Replete with quizzes, questionnaires, and queries after your opinion of movies new and old, I'm at a loss what specifically is "social" about Living Social. If taken to mean that talking about personal qualities and flaunting your quirks is interactive with people around you, then this kind of "living" is indeed social. Having participated in (more than) my fair share of these, it isn't gratifying to absorb the silence that follows. Certainly there are comments that sometimes follow the publishing of results, but even when they are fun remarks from friends, the feeling I'm left with is attenuation.

Spend time around enough people and very likely you'll find that flaunting quirks does indeed amount to social behavior. What of the senses? When experiencing unique and interesting features of individuals online the transaction is conducted under a veil of silence. Visual perception alone is required. What of inflection and nuance, anunciation or even a funny accent? These are sadly absent!

Lately I've complained that people who work around me are deficient: they don't talk to themselves like I do. Why can't they engage in external monolog as fecklessly? It makes me feel lonely, as if the world were too quiet a place for true happiness.

Pleasantly Pottered

Never having seen Harry Potter on the big screen, and not even making it to the end of Alfonso Cuaron's entry, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, it was with great trepidation that I entered the theatre for his latest. My motive was superficial, to be in a cool space for two and a half hours while a heatwave raged without.

Some months ago I went to see Doubt at a local multiplex on similar grounds, battling boredom rather than heat, going in with apprehension that yet another populist entertainment was going to test my endurance. Idleness swept me in, with expectations at dirt level. A moviegoer of long standing, my patience for popular films wears thin quickly, and too often I think the worst of movies on the infrequent occasion that I make it out, falling back on a deep-seated desire for works of substance along the lines of Children of Men or The Thin Red Line. What a snob!

I was blown away by Doubt, a rousing drama and actors showcase. So much for my snobbery, which was forgotten nearly from the first frame. Can I tell you the same thing happened with Harry?

The opening didn't do much for me, so I wasn't grabbed from the first, but once done with that I was drawn in and enthralled. What starts the movie is a great contrast from the rest, conducted almost entirely with dark and pensive quiet. For long sections there is no music at all: for a film scored by John Williams, how remarkable is that? We are allowed to engage the images and characters on our own terms. In and of itself, this is a noteworthy quality to a blockbuster entertainment.

Characters populate Harry's world, not least among them the effervescent Luna Lovegood. She steals all of her scenes and embodies the strangeness of being a teenager, with its requisite mental and physical confusions. The irreplaceable Jim Broadbent does the quacky professor role great justice, and Rupert Grint has a winning charm that makes Daniel Radcliffe look stiff; to give the lead his due, we do see him loosen up later in the film, to great effect.

What really won me over was the cinematography and production design. Again, since we are not beset by a bombastic musical score, the eye drinks in tremendous beauty in every scene. Hogwart's attic in particular evokes feelings of childhood wandering through odd places where you might find any manner of wonderful object.

There is a scene that centers on eulogizing a spider. Without spoiling it, allow me to praise the whole affair, wholly macabre and touching and carried off with a fine balance of humor and pathos that represents in fine what works overall. What I expected to be ridiculous, even silly, captured my fascination and enjoyment.

Though I can honestly say this hasn't converted me to Harry's side as another in his legion of fans, it is a surprisingly good movie and greatly entertaining. I'm glad to hear that the director, Peter Yates, is on board for the next one -or I should say, "ones", since they are splitting the last chapter into two parts.

First Kiss 1954

As our lips touched, I had a feeling that her mouth lacked resilience, as if she had no muscle tension in her mouth, a result being that my own lips touched her teeth rather than lips, and this gave me an unhappy feeling of a sort of memento mori, and so the kissing stopped.... I had a feeling of kissing a skeleton, and in that sense it was a shocking experience.

This from Erik Langkjaer, a college textbook salesman describing the first and perhaps last kiss Flannery O'Connor received from a man.

I can remember the first time my lips touched a girl's, and blessfully, for me at least, it was nothing remotely of the order of shocking. It was quite pleasant and made sufficient impression that I wanted another. Must be why my writing is nowhere near the caliber of O'Connor's.

Deep Focus

This is what I've been struggling to achieve since January, with lamentable results. Not zen meditation, not alpha wave bliss; deep focus has been my object and remains a distant condition, nearly mythical, whilst I flounder in distractions and tangents.

My life is not that complicated. One would think I can work my forty hour week and sleep sufficiently, with ample time to gear into a state of deep focus. It hasn't happened. The central premise is to become a better writer, to utilize the surfeit granted me in the life of a bachelor and create devastating concentration on a task that truly consumes me. It hasn't happened.

A close friend is working on his first novel. In addition to this, he holds down a management position and has a lovely wife and two children. He shows progress on his task, even with these other monumental tasks. He writes like a wonder. He shows great progress.

Another friend not only plugs away at novels (and publishes them), he has a home life and holds down 40+ hours a week and does other writing besides. What have these men got that I don't? Better that they answer for themselves; indeed, none of us can speak for the others. Yet in my heart of hearts I know what quality of character they possess: deep focus.

Who is Joseph Kosinski?

Beyond being named the director of TRON: Legacy, there isn't much known about Joseph Kosinski. I did a little digging and was delighted to learn that he created one of the best videogame commercials in recent memory, for Gears of War. Contrasting the violence of the shooter against Tears for Fears' Mad World grabbed my attention the first time I saw it:



Though this tells us something of the restraint we might expect from Kosinski, it tells us altogether nothing of what kind of director he will make. Like my friend Andy, however, this does not concern me too much: there is a great tradition of quality directors coming over from the realm of commercials, David Fincher, Ridley Scott, and Tarsem among them.

I have to admit feeling a little giddy. When googling "Joseph Kosinski", the first page of search results includes his LinkedIn account! Being an optimist at heart, I hope we are getting in at the ground floor of a great director getting his start.

Here's some other tidbits about the film, taken from an encounter with Kosinski last October:

1) Steven Lisberger (writer/director of TRON) is involved as a consultant. Kosinski couldn't be happier about this. He mentioned that Lisberger (and, presumably, Syd Mead) initially wanted the light cycles to have external riders, but they couldn't convincingly pull it off with the technology of the early eighties. So the light cycles you see in the San Diego Comic Con footage reflects Lisberger's original design.

2) The Comic Con teaser was shot in stereoscopic 3D, and the film will be, too. Kosinski is particularly excited about the look of the game grid in this format.

3) Shooting TRON: Legacy will be a "twenty-four month" process, but Kosinski's already been at it for a while now. He didn't give me an exact date, but he seems confident that the movie will be ready for late 2010.

4) WATCHMEN's Michael Wilkinson is designing the costumes.

That last bit doesn't exactly thrill me, and from the footage we've seen so far it looks like characters are in pseudo-leather jumpsuits, a long way from the skinotards and bike helmets of the first film. So long as they don't look too much like X-Men refugees, my complaints will be minor.

Also noteworthy is the sequel's writers, Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz. This writing team has made a good mark on the television series, Lost, having authored some of my favorite episodes. What I've enjoyed most about their teleplays has been the strong dialogue and character development, and I'm hoping these will be prominent features of the film.

TRON: LEGACY

The preview, taken from the first fifteen filmed minutes of the sequel, is awesome

TRON: LEGACY

The sequel to TRON has a title: News of San Diego antics can be read here, involving no less than a recreation of Flynn's arcade and a life-size light cycle!

Green Lantern Skylarking Part One

Now that we know Ryan Reynolds is playing Green Lantern, my brain has been racing with story ideas. Having the lead cast makes the upcoming movie tangible enough that I can run scenarios with an actor in mind, patching in past performances (of which I've only seen Smokin Aces and Adventureland) to set the tone for how he will play the character. At the foremost is chemistry with his leading lady.

Hal Jordan is a test pilot who fits the stereotype, living recklessly and carousing with any female in reach. When he meets Carol Ferris, daughter of his boss, everything stops. There's no other for Hal. It stands to reason that an actor of sufficient caliber is needed to stop Ryan Reynolds in his tracks; they need chemistry that brings to mind classic pairings as Hepburn and Grant, Hudson and Day, Shepherd and Willis.

Who better, I say, than Amy Adams? She's proven herself an incredible actress, charismatic and sexy, with blue eyes that make any man in the room melt in surrender. Hal Jordan would crumble under her gaze! It works for more than sex appeal. We're not looking for another Mr and Mrs Smith.

They would be dynamite for physical appeal as well as their smarts. Together they've got charisma to spare, and it's not hard to imagine the blast they could have with clever banter. Think Downey Jr and Paltrow in Iron Man. Smart, sexy and fun.

If it were up to me, the decision would already be made!

Coming up: What if I wrote the GL screenplay, how would I handle it?

Book of the Week

I've become a regular at Pegasus Books in West Seattle. Prone to spending inordinate discretionary hours at used booksellers, I've a special weakness for those that stock rare and quirky science fiction paperbacks. The owner is an aficionado of the genre and unerringly points me toward quality stuff. Half Past Human is no exception.

Author T.J. Bass was a pathologist in his "real" life and wrote only a couple novels, both connected on a Hive planet that may or may not be Earth of the future. The predominant race of Nebishes live underground, while the sun-scorched surface is farmed by mecks. Pockets of Buckeyes engage in ancient mystical practices and lure several characters to their mountain keep over the course of the book. Other than this, a discernible plot is lacking. Instead we spend most of the book exploring the different social attitudes and structures of the planet, told with an economic voice that plays with language. Though puns are generally to be avoided in fantastic stories, here they are employed tactfully and to good effect.

So many scenes stand out to mention, but I'll restrict myself to the first that caught my interest. For the first thirty or so pages I was uncertain of continuing, bewildered by the lack of a protagonist. One curious episode followed another, with characters coming and going. Slowly thing began coming together and a structure started forming. Then one of the characters got new teeth. So did his dog.

Moon and Dan, basically a caveman and his mutt, subsist on soft fruits. Neither has any teeth, but their "temporal clocks" have been turned off, which means they will live a long time. Their gums are hard, painful ridges. When they encounter a Nebish named Tinker, he immediately offers to fix their teeth and promptly goes to work. One page and six months later, man and beast are outfitted with golden teeth! Once this happens, the incident is never again referred to, the book moving on to another curious and charming event.

Maybe this sounds strange, and it is. I fell under the spell of the book after acclimating to its odd rhythm and flow -not so surprising since I am increasingly drawn toward sci-fi like this.

TRON lives!

Thanks to my good friend Andy for pointing this out: the viral marketing campaign for TRON 2 kicks off tonight at the San Diego Comic Convention. Already there is website mysterious to all but those steeped in TRON lore, and the interwebs are screaming with hourly updates about the sequel, currently in production in Vancouver, BC. I am in a geeky froth and have not been this excited about a movie since I don't know when. Granted, it could be a very bad sequel; the chances are against it being any damn good at all. Usually I'd take that attitude and wait to see what happens. In this case, with a movie near and dear as TRON, as influential as it has been on me, I'm willing to cast aside my apprehension and be a phreak about this.

More details about the marketing campaign, along with other TRON 2 highlights, can be found here.

Green Lantern Casting News

The interwebs have been athrum all weekend over the Green Lantern casting news: the versatile and charming Ryan Reynolds has been selected to play the lead part. Though he wasn't my first choice -and you can believe that I gave it some thought- I've enjoyed him as an actor across a wide range of genres and look forward to his "take" on the character. Helmed by competent action director Martin Campbell (Casino Royale, The Legend of Zorro), of real concern is the script.I do not envy the screenwriters their task, to thrill audiences with the adventures of a space-faring, magic ring-wielding test pilot. The premise is simple: Hal Jordan is selected to replace an alien police officer whose weapon is a ring powered by the user's willpower. What the writers do with it is up to the demands of compelling narrative: What personal struggle will Hal face in accepting the ring? How will it impact his life on Earth, as he becomes part of the intergalactic Green Lantern Corps? (Stinkers will call this a spoiler, but doesn't the title give away his choice? Just saying.) How will they handle the tension between Hal and his mentor, Sinestro? All these questions and more are racing through my brain, and I find myself hoping that like prior successful superhero films (Superman: The Movie, Spider Man 2), a multiplicity of scripts will be produced and churned together; this seems to work best for producing quality stories in Hollywood. I'm anticipating the results when they hit screens next Summer.

Politic Posting

During a quiet moment thoughts will invade, and most recently one snuck in concerning the philosophy of posting, the politic, if you will. As defined by shrewdness and cunning, what I publish here qualifies as "politic" in the broadest sense, surfacing like a whale to blow its spout, an indication of something greater under the surface that roils and turns and just as quickly as it appears dives once more for a hidden trench. Why not offer more? It goes back to my feeling about the basic premise of the web: a resource through which we share reflection and experience. I don't seek to pander or politicize, nor to deliver polemics that will sway one way or another. I'm breaching just long enough to throw something out that gives an indication of what I'm enjoying and through naked hubris perhance to believe others might enjoy as well. This, you might argue, strays a bit from the metaphor; the whale, after all, is relieving a burden, unloading airy humors without regard of viewing or being viewed. This, then, is proof that I am not a whale.

In Praise of Cordwainer Smith

I've been enjoying the short stories of Cordwainer Smith, perfect tales to beguile hours on 'planes, trains, and mass transit. He's no longer as well known as his heyday in the fifties, his work is no longer in print, and it was by accident a year ago that I came across him, when I chanced upon Smith's novel, Norstrilia. Greatly satisfied, I read it again recently at the same time I found a couple collections of his shorter works in paperback at a local seller. As circumstances would have it, I needed something for my California jaunt last week and Smith's science fiction tales proved just the thing.

He has a grand cosmic futurescape populated with curious figures and situations, often overlapping and never in a single story entirely explained. Reminiscent of JRR Tolkien, you cannot appreciate the scope of his vision unless visiting his works as a whole. Not a fully fledged explorer, what I've seen so far excites me. What is mentioned in passing in one tale bears out in epic scale elsewhere. His boldness is not expressed in wild imagination, rather it entices with speculation of questions that may or may not be answered. The reader's imagination, above all else, is stimulated and provoked into frenzy. In science fiction, this is a plus.

Take as an example A Planet Named Shayol, a magnificent short story that can be read here. This is the finest so far of what I've read, a bracing tale of human struggle amidst horrors of the mind and body. If it were an unrelenting exercise in the ghastly excesses of humanity, I'd not bother to mention it, but here as in all Cordwainer Smith's tales, there is an overt and powerful current of love; regardless of how far-flung the author's imagination is, it remains rooted in warmth and connection.

Novel Profile

Folks have been asking what just what the heck this book I'm writing is about. Here's the prospectus included with publisher submissions:

NARCHITECT BY JAMES MACADAM

A secret team of military talents goes to Luna on a seemingly routine survey mission, but what they encounter under the moon’s surface nearly destroys them. Friends and family against them, the survivors embark on a journey that takes them from the depths of a woman’s memory into a game arena encompassing every battlefield humanity has known, from the Earth homeland to distant settlements on Jupiter and Saturn.

Yumiko Rumi comes from the stars. Member of a cosmic cult, unless her deadly secret is discovered our world is doomed.

Rob Barclay spends more time in prisons than out, problematic for a priest who preaches everyone’s salvation but his own.

Sally Parker is at odds with a world that has no place for her. Upon her shoulders rests the hope of stopping an alien infection of Earth.

Together they will confront Narchitect, a game unlike any seen before where the stakes are life as we know it.

NARCHITECT
How Do You Fight Something That Shouldn’t Exist?