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Showing posts with label Future visions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Future visions. Show all posts
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Disaster attraction
Why crave apocalypse tales? Why watch Charlton and Mel grapple doom-spawned vampires and leather-clad crazies? Why pursue the ash-strewn trails of Viggo and Don (Tiger too), only to end up hunkered down in a craterish bed sitting room waiting to thumb a lift from Ralph in his horse-drawn Rolls?
If all is truly lost, why seek perverse delight in this end of all ends? Is our hope to hang out with Ish, that Last American? Do we seek an audience with the Walkin' Dude? In planning our odyssey, what route should we map across the Cursed Earth? Damnation Alley looks likely enough, but if you want to get along after the bomb be sure to watch out for Hoppy. And, however hungry you are, don't patronise the Delicatessen.
Why then the lust for liquidation? Why the delight in demise? Why count the days, all the way down to the day of days? Armageddon, Ragnarok, 2012 ... have you made your choice? Is it redemption you seek? Catharsis? Is that a bang I hear or a whimper? Do you hail the great tearing-down for mere gratification, or in the hope of seeing all rebuilt? After the end, the beginning?
Or could it be that the broken world is simply simpler than this muffled reality through which we roam eternally confused? Might it be not the grey-ash wasteland we ache for but pure black and and its companion white? Is the apocalypse, after all, dream or despair?
Discuss.
If all is truly lost, why seek perverse delight in this end of all ends? Is our hope to hang out with Ish, that Last American? Do we seek an audience with the Walkin' Dude? In planning our odyssey, what route should we map across the Cursed Earth? Damnation Alley looks likely enough, but if you want to get along after the bomb be sure to watch out for Hoppy. And, however hungry you are, don't patronise the Delicatessen.
Why then the lust for liquidation? Why the delight in demise? Why count the days, all the way down to the day of days? Armageddon, Ragnarok, 2012 ... have you made your choice? Is it redemption you seek? Catharsis? Is that a bang I hear or a whimper? Do you hail the great tearing-down for mere gratification, or in the hope of seeing all rebuilt? After the end, the beginning?
Or could it be that the broken world is simply simpler than this muffled reality through which we roam eternally confused? Might it be not the grey-ash wasteland we ache for but pure black and and its companion white? Is the apocalypse, after all, dream or despair?
Discuss.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Sharp TV SF
I finally watched Battlestar Galactica Razor last night. Just got Season 4 to go now. Yes, I know I'm hopelessly behind - get over it. It was retro-cool to see the old-style Cylons and Raiders brought out of mothballs in Razor. Greating casting of the young Bill Adama too. What I enjoyed most was the full-frontal tackling of the 'you have to make tough decisions in wartime' theme. Sharp stuff.
Friday, 21 August 2009
Yes, I'm blogging about Avatar
Since everyone else is talking about James Cameron's forthcoming film, I don't see why I shouldn't. Along with the rest of the wired world, I watched the HD teaser trailer for Avatar yesterday. Judging by this morning's reports, it's enjoyed a mixed reception. Astonishing how a simple movie trailer can generate so much heated debate. Time to remember John Brosnan's old Starburst column and tell ourselves, 'It's only a movie.'
But it isn't, is it? It's a Cameron movie. It's a Cameron science-fiction movie. Which does make it rather special. I'll nail up my colours right away and tell you I'm a huge Cameron fan. It was the window display in Tower Records that started it.
Picture the scene. I'm a scruffy art student schlepping through London's West End. My favourite film is Ridley Scott's Alien. I know someone's made a sequel, and Scott's not involved. The guy who's made it has got something to do with Rambo. The new movie's all about big guns and explosions. No way am I going to see it. As I pass the front of Tower Records on Piccadilly Circus, I stop in my tracks. There's a big model of a spaceship in the window. It's called the Sulaco. It looks pretty cool. There's a big gun. Actually, that looks pretty cool too. And there's something else. A gigantic alien ... thing. Sort of like the head of the alien from Scott's movie, but ... pumped up. Really pumped up. It's what my daughter would call mahoosive. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd just got my first view of Cameron's queen.
So I go to see the movie. I'm still sceptical. It kicks off okay, but then the marines start doing their macho thing and I start to worry. Oh dear, I think – here comes Rambo. Then the movie turns. It turns on one shot: the one where Hudson informs everyone they're on an express elevator to hell and the dropship leaves the Sulaco and plummets towards the planet. You know the shot. After that I'm hooked. Not because the movie looks cool – which it does – or Sigourney looks great – which she does – but because the story and characters take over. And that's Cameron's real gift. He delivers spectacle and coolness and eye candy, sure, but first and foremost he's a storyteller. A damn fine one.
So does Avatar cut the mustard? How do I know? I only saw a two-minute tease. But I do think the story sounds clean and engaging and the trailer does what all good trailers should: it makes me hungry to see the movie. And I just love the art direction. Some folk are carping about blue aliens and fairy lights, but what I see is a world that reminds me of all the science fiction book covers I grew up with. Dazzling art by Peter Jones and Chris Foss and Frank Frazetta. I blogged recently about A Princess of Mars, and it strikes me there's something of Edgar Rice Burroughs here. A truly alien world that starts off jolting you with its strangeness and ends up drawing you in. That's something I trust Cameron to do: draw me in.
I see Avatar's got big guns and explosions too. But I've mellowed over the years so, Jim, if you're reading this, leave them in. Just for me.
But it isn't, is it? It's a Cameron movie. It's a Cameron science-fiction movie. Which does make it rather special. I'll nail up my colours right away and tell you I'm a huge Cameron fan. It was the window display in Tower Records that started it.
Picture the scene. I'm a scruffy art student schlepping through London's West End. My favourite film is Ridley Scott's Alien. I know someone's made a sequel, and Scott's not involved. The guy who's made it has got something to do with Rambo. The new movie's all about big guns and explosions. No way am I going to see it. As I pass the front of Tower Records on Piccadilly Circus, I stop in my tracks. There's a big model of a spaceship in the window. It's called the Sulaco. It looks pretty cool. There's a big gun. Actually, that looks pretty cool too. And there's something else. A gigantic alien ... thing. Sort of like the head of the alien from Scott's movie, but ... pumped up. Really pumped up. It's what my daughter would call mahoosive. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd just got my first view of Cameron's queen.
So I go to see the movie. I'm still sceptical. It kicks off okay, but then the marines start doing their macho thing and I start to worry. Oh dear, I think – here comes Rambo. Then the movie turns. It turns on one shot: the one where Hudson informs everyone they're on an express elevator to hell and the dropship leaves the Sulaco and plummets towards the planet. You know the shot. After that I'm hooked. Not because the movie looks cool – which it does – or Sigourney looks great – which she does – but because the story and characters take over. And that's Cameron's real gift. He delivers spectacle and coolness and eye candy, sure, but first and foremost he's a storyteller. A damn fine one.
So does Avatar cut the mustard? How do I know? I only saw a two-minute tease. But I do think the story sounds clean and engaging and the trailer does what all good trailers should: it makes me hungry to see the movie. And I just love the art direction. Some folk are carping about blue aliens and fairy lights, but what I see is a world that reminds me of all the science fiction book covers I grew up with. Dazzling art by Peter Jones and Chris Foss and Frank Frazetta. I blogged recently about A Princess of Mars, and it strikes me there's something of Edgar Rice Burroughs here. A truly alien world that starts off jolting you with its strangeness and ends up drawing you in. That's something I trust Cameron to do: draw me in.
I see Avatar's got big guns and explosions too. But I've mellowed over the years so, Jim, if you're reading this, leave them in. Just for me.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Forgotten books emerge from slow glass
Just discovered a heap of Bob Shaw books buried in a forgotten corner. Ah, the joyful anticipation of rereading some old favourites!
Bob's concept of slow glass is still one of those ideas from heaven - a dream of an idea that gets right under your skin and just wriggles there. In case you don't know, slow glass simply transmits light at a slower rate than usual. The thicker the glass, the slower the transmission. Bob teases a wealth of material from this apparently simple concept, from streetlights that use 12-hour slow glass to store up sunlight and let it out at night, to a piece of glass through which a murder may be observed ... when the light finally comes through.
Another of his ideas that always tickled me (I think it was in Who Goes Here?) was his FTL drive that involved a teleportation transmitter at the back of the ship and a receiver at the front. The ship teleports itself in a series of jumps, each one exactly the length of its own hull. Like a cosmic inchworm. And since each individual jump is pretty much instantaneous, so's the whole journey. That story was played for laughs but Bob was mostly a serious writer. And without doubt the master of the high concept from left field.
Finding these books again is a bit like watching something come through slow glass. Nice to have them in the light again. Orbitsville here I come!
Bob's concept of slow glass is still one of those ideas from heaven - a dream of an idea that gets right under your skin and just wriggles there. In case you don't know, slow glass simply transmits light at a slower rate than usual. The thicker the glass, the slower the transmission. Bob teases a wealth of material from this apparently simple concept, from streetlights that use 12-hour slow glass to store up sunlight and let it out at night, to a piece of glass through which a murder may be observed ... when the light finally comes through.
Another of his ideas that always tickled me (I think it was in Who Goes Here?) was his FTL drive that involved a teleportation transmitter at the back of the ship and a receiver at the front. The ship teleports itself in a series of jumps, each one exactly the length of its own hull. Like a cosmic inchworm. And since each individual jump is pretty much instantaneous, so's the whole journey. That story was played for laughs but Bob was mostly a serious writer. And without doubt the master of the high concept from left field.
Finding these books again is a bit like watching something come through slow glass. Nice to have them in the light again. Orbitsville here I come!
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Ishi, Ish and Earth Abides
There are a few books I come back to over and over again. One of these is George R. Stewart's Earth Abides. You've probably read it, but if you haven't I can't implore you enough to find a copy. It's probably the best post-apocalypse story you'll read. In it, Californian Isherwood Williams wakes from a snake-bite-induced delirium to discover a plague has all but erased mankind. Stewart does a grand job of chronicling Ish's journey and ultimate ascension to the role of 'the last American', but what sticks with me are the glorious interludes where he tracks the gradual decay of technology, and its absorption back into the natural world.
If you've been following this blog, you'll know by now I have a thing about names. For some reason, the name 'Ish' has always struck me as hauntingly odd. Well, today I discovered why. In 1911 a man from a stone-age culture walked out of the California hills and became famous as the 'last wild Indian'. His name was Ishi, and he experienced a few years of celebrity at the university in San Francisco. David Pringle has written a great piece about all this, including the connection between Ishi and Earth Abides - you can read it here. There's a Wikipedia article too. They say truth is stranger than fiction. In this case, it's at least as fascinating.
If you've been following this blog, you'll know by now I have a thing about names. For some reason, the name 'Ish' has always struck me as hauntingly odd. Well, today I discovered why. In 1911 a man from a stone-age culture walked out of the California hills and became famous as the 'last wild Indian'. His name was Ishi, and he experienced a few years of celebrity at the university in San Francisco. David Pringle has written a great piece about all this, including the connection between Ishi and Earth Abides - you can read it here. There's a Wikipedia article too. They say truth is stranger than fiction. In this case, it's at least as fascinating.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Big, dumb and primitive
I recently re-read Arthur C Clarke's Rendezvous with Rama, having not picked it up since I was a teenager. What struck me – apart from the remarkable clarity of the prose and the clean straight lines of the narrative – was the geometry.
Rama, the alien spacecraft featured in the novel, is an enormous cylinder. Now, there are sound scientific reasons for this (the cylinder's hollow so, when it spins, the centrifugal effect creates artificial gravity on its inner walls). But the cylindrical shape also creates something far more important than mere gravity. It creates an icon.
I have this theory that if Rama was just another spaceship, with the usual bulging engines and industrial twiddly bits, it wouldn't have stuck in my mind nearly so well. It's the simplicity of the cylindrical form that makes it memorable and somehow epic. And it's not just Rama. Think about some of those other big dumb objects floating out there in the literary universe: Niven's Ringworld, Shaw's Orbitsville, Baxter's Sugar Lump. Rings and spheres and cubes. Shapes a geometry professor would call primitives.
This primitive iconography gets into the movies too. Those classic Star Wars designs, for instance: Death Star, Star Destroyer, Millennium Falcon, TIE fighter. Or, if you prefer: sphere, triangle, circle, pair-of-hexagons-on-a-spherical-mount. Star Trek delivered that big Borg cube and the Enterprise is just a bunch of primitive shapes faired neatly together. And what about good old flying saucers?
I'm not saying you have to stick to these basic forms to create a memorable piece of hardware. Serenity looks like she was built from spare parts but I'd just love to take a ride in her. All the same, primitive is good, because of what the word really means: original, or irreducible. Ancient, if you prefer. Primitive shapes stir you in the same way Ice Age rock art or tribal music stir you. Primitives pull back the veils of civilisation and give you a glimpse of something fundamental. Something that's been around a lot longer than we have. Something true.
So do I dig big dumb objects? Absolutely. The bigger and dumber the better. Just so long as they're the right shape.
Rama, the alien spacecraft featured in the novel, is an enormous cylinder. Now, there are sound scientific reasons for this (the cylinder's hollow so, when it spins, the centrifugal effect creates artificial gravity on its inner walls). But the cylindrical shape also creates something far more important than mere gravity. It creates an icon.
I have this theory that if Rama was just another spaceship, with the usual bulging engines and industrial twiddly bits, it wouldn't have stuck in my mind nearly so well. It's the simplicity of the cylindrical form that makes it memorable and somehow epic. And it's not just Rama. Think about some of those other big dumb objects floating out there in the literary universe: Niven's Ringworld, Shaw's Orbitsville, Baxter's Sugar Lump. Rings and spheres and cubes. Shapes a geometry professor would call primitives.
This primitive iconography gets into the movies too. Those classic Star Wars designs, for instance: Death Star, Star Destroyer, Millennium Falcon, TIE fighter. Or, if you prefer: sphere, triangle, circle, pair-of-hexagons-on-a-spherical-mount. Star Trek delivered that big Borg cube and the Enterprise is just a bunch of primitive shapes faired neatly together. And what about good old flying saucers?
I'm not saying you have to stick to these basic forms to create a memorable piece of hardware. Serenity looks like she was built from spare parts but I'd just love to take a ride in her. All the same, primitive is good, because of what the word really means: original, or irreducible. Ancient, if you prefer. Primitive shapes stir you in the same way Ice Age rock art or tribal music stir you. Primitives pull back the veils of civilisation and give you a glimpse of something fundamental. Something that's been around a lot longer than we have. Something true.
So do I dig big dumb objects? Absolutely. The bigger and dumber the better. Just so long as they're the right shape.
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