Retro Nostalgia: Logan’s Run (1976) and the Infantilization of Humanity
(Note: There are a few spoilers below. If you have not seen Logan’s Run and want to, I recommend watching it before you read this post. I’m not ruining the entire movie or anything; I just know that I would prefer a completely untainted first viewing. If you don’t care about a few spoilers, then read on. Note 2: This is a little late. It should have appeared yesterday. I hope you’ll forgive me, considering that I didn’t have the film selected until late Sunday evening.) Many of you already know that I am currently teaching an American dystopia class. One of the novels I had considered teaching was William F. Nolan and George Clayton Johnson’s Logan’s Run, which was later turned into a 1976 film (discussed here) and a 1977 TV series (which I have never seen). There are a few more novels/stories in the series/universe and a new film adaptation is currently in the works. As a piece of dystopia, the film plays on a number of the social concerns of the 1960s and the 1970s, among them the population boom scare fed by Paul R. Ehrlich (founder of the Zero Population Growth movement, now called Population Connection), which inspired Harry Harrison’s Make Room! Make Room!, and the “social revolution” of the period (particularly among the younger generations). Logan’s Run, thus, imagines a future in which the outside world has collapsed — for reasons we are never told, because nobody is alive to remember it — resulting in a self-contained, futuristic community where life is artificially ended at age 30 and, so we’re told, the entire system runs on a 1-to-1 cyclical rebirth process. There is no population growth because growth would crash the system, and the population is perpetually kept in the “dark” about the inner workings of Carrousel (the communal celebration of disintegration/termination that occurs whenever a group reaches maturity — 30). It’s that darkness that I want to talk about here. Only those who run really fast get away long enough to run more. Part of what makes Logan’s Run such a terrifying future — despite it’s somewhat dated, uber-70s presentation — is how it explores what absolute equilibrium produces in a culture (albeit, a largely Western, white culture, if this film is any indication). Looking back through much of my reading, I can draw comparisons to William Golding’s Lord of the Flies or even Jack London’s The Iron Heel, each works which imagine dystopian spaces wherein humanity’s violent inner nature is exposed. Much like Lord of the Flies, the future of Logan’s Run is one in which some children are made to fend for themselves (albeit, in an isolated sense), only Golding’s novel never imagines what the children on the island will look like in 20 years — Logan’s Run does. So while the children in the Cathedral — where the “feral ones” go — may appear savage and tribal,* we are reminded that the “adults” (those that reach 15 — a.k.a. middle age) will be cast out of such societies to live among the rest of humanity. Where this might seem barbaric to a viewer, it is important to note that we learn almost nothing about how children are raised in the dominant culture, wherein our heroes spend their days drinking, having sex, and generally “enjoying” their lives (presumably toddlers are not engaging in such activities too). What we do know is that those barbaric, tribal children in Cathedral are no less barbaric and tribal than the people they isolate themselves from by electing to live only among people their age. Jessica is the only main character who thinks the world is, well, wrong, but because it’s the 1970s, and the filmmakers decided not to take that whole “2nd Wave Feminism” thing seriously, she basically spends the whole movie acting like a child^2. In other words: the narrative wants us to imagine, if only for a moment, that Logan’s dominant culture is the civilized one because it has all the amenities of a civilized culture, if only so we’re able to forget that Logan and his friend, Francis, are members of a security caste who have semantically argued their way out of considering terminating runners — people who don’t show up for Carrousel — as murder. The film, then, is a trick. Here is the grand old utopia, replete with perpetually safe sex, all the drink you could ever want, food, clothing, housing, and so on and so forth, reminding us that it is a utopia by showing us just how utopic it is by comparison. Oh, trickery, I know you so well. And that’s just it. Logan’s culture is not a utopia (we know this, of course, but Logan doesn’t). In fact, what Logan soon discovers is that “renewal” at Carrousel never actually happens (you’re disintegrated and that’s it), that even your friends will hunt you down if you run, and that his world is one of infantilization. How could it not be? The “state” becomes the “mother,” the “father” disappears entirely, and the people are made into subservient children. Or, in the case of the feral children in Cathedral, there is no mother, there is no father, and subservience is guaranteed by isolation and a caste system that exiles those who are too old. This is the only picture I could find with Francis looking like the crazy person he becomes in the film… The feral children (they call them “cubs”), however, are a mirror. They are what Logan’s friend Francis will become when he learns of Logan’s betrayal (semi-betrayal, really, since Logan is initially following the orders of the “mother” system). In a fit of childish revenge, Francis stalks Logan into Cathedral, and then across half of the domed city, growing increasingly more irate, more mad, and more like a child seeking his father — Logan. As a stand-in for the entire Sandman force (those who terminate Runners), Francis represents the feral nature of man — which this society has suppressed through rampant pleasure —
Death Star Economics and Ethics? (Or, What Would You Do With a Death Star?)
I find it amusing when smart people take science fiction concepts seriously enough to question their validity in the real world. From rocket packs to hover cars to laser guns, the smart ones have destroyed our childhoods, one reality-based argument at a time. The Death Star is no different (and I’m going to add to the hurt). Earlier this year, Paul Shawcross, acting on behalf of the White House, released a statement on We the People in response to a petition requesting the U.S. government to build a real-life Death Star by 2016.* Because petitions that receive 25,000 signatures require a response from the White House, there wasn’t any way to avoid this humorous situation. Thankfully, they took the issue with a heavy dose of humor and succinctly reminded us that such a project is pretty much impossible — it would cost $850,000,000,000,000,000 (or, as we poor people like to say, “a friggin ton of money”). io9 recently explored this number in some depth, using a Centives.net article as support; they concluded that the $850 quintillion figure is more tongue-and-cheek than an accurate measurement (this is one of many conclusions, of course), but it fulfills the purpose of keeping the genocidal geek community at bay. Disney will probably turn this into a musical in a few years… Setting aside arguments about how much the Death Star would cost in exact terms, the real question is two fold: how would a country or a world economy come up with that kind of money, and how would they justify the expense? First, the size of the loan necessary to build a Death Star would exceed the GDP of the entire world by a factor of approximately 12,100 (based on figures acquired here). Assuming, then, that the world agreed to sacrifice its entire GDP to pay off said monumental loan, it would still take 12,100 years to pay that loan off, assuming no growth in GDP and no interest.** And let’s face it, there’s no way we can assume there won’t be inflation, interest, and so on for the next 12,100 years. I’m no economist, but it seems to me that taking on a project at this point in time, without any easier means for manufacturing the materials and the Death Star itself, would lead to worldwide financial disaster. Besides, what exactly would a budget debate about the Death Star look like? Imagine, if you will, the Death Star is 50% behind schedule due to 800 straight years of economic shortfalls, politicians are bickering back and forth, some running around like chickens with their heads cut off in a pathetic attempt to balance the world budget. Meanwhile, poverty rates increase exponentially, because too many resources have been pegged for the Death Star Fund; healthcare, scientific progress, and so on and so forth have likewise crumbled beneath the pressure. Perhaps stress-related baldness will become the new “epidemic” of the future… I’m the Death Star on a budget deficit. Any questions? All of this assumes that we take seriously the financial viability of a 12,100-year construction project. Considering that we can’t even resolve the relatively simplistic budget problems in the United States without all of Washington D.C. losing its mind, the idea is just three shades shy of batshit. Even if the money and resources existed to make constructing the Death Star possible in 100 years (a big if), the political environment surrounding such an international effort would make the project practically impossible. The United Nations, bless its heart, tries to get everyone to work together towards common goals, but after 71 years in operation, it still struggles to address the most obvious of human rights issues (among other problems). It’s like watching a puppy who tries to jump onto the couch, but its legs are too short, so it keeps falling off — only this puppy may or may not grow up, may or may not develop more efficient motor skills, and may or may not stare at you with its puppy eyes, vainly hoping that you’ll lift it up to your lap. But the even bigger question is this: Why would we bother doing this, and what would we do with a Death Star? Let’s imagine the scenarios:*** 1) Some large, planetary body is on a collision course with the Earth. It must be destroyed. Han: And that, kids, is what we call a Solo Seduction Device.Chewie: Ra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-gh! Fail: If we need something with the firepower of the Death Star to destroy a planetary body, there’s no valid reason for constructing the whole thing. After all, this scenario does not require the laser system to form part of a much larger military function. You can’t exactly threaten the Earth with its own destruction, can you?**** Even so, we could probably put the laser on the Earth without decreasing its firepower significantly (I’m guessing) or use our mountains of nuclear weapons to pound the living hell out of said planetary body. The latter seems a cheaper option, though certainly less cool than a giant green laser. 2) An alien species attacks us with firepower that far surprises our current military might. They must be stopped. It’s okay. There aren’t any real people there. Fail: Setting aside the fact that such an alien species would have some method of faster space travel than currently available on Earth AND the technological means to subjugate us anyway — not to mention the fact that building the Death Star would take far too long to make it useful to us — there is the disturbing question of whether it is right to commit genocide as a last resort. Are there no other ways? If not, should we commit genocide for our own survival? I realize that The Doctor does it all the time, but we are not Time Lords. We’re supposed to have a moral framework. Then again, “right” is sometimes not an important factor in our decisions as species, since we’ve committed acts of genocide against
I Don’t Care Who Benedict Cumberbatch is in Star Trek Into Darkness…
And neither should you. I’ve been avoiding all the discussion about Benedict Cumberbatch’s mysterious role in the newest Star Trek film. IMDB still thinks he’s Khan; other people think he’s Gary Mitchell. Me? I used to speculate, but have officially taken the “I don’t give a shit” attitude. Why? Because isn’t part of the fun not knowing who he’s supposed to be? Isn’t that why we go to movies? For the surprise. For the excitement. For that amazing moment when the villain is revealed and we have to ask ourselves what he’s going to do next! And isn’t thinking about it too much taking so much away from what makes movies great? In my mind, arguing and bickering and digging for answers about Cumberbatch’s role is pointless. It is also destructive to the viewing experience. He might be Khan. He might be John Harrison (as in an actual character and not a cover). He might be Gary Mitchell. Or he might be Quigloo the Monstrous, Lord of Darkness, King of the Micklefooze System! Either way, I don’t want to know before I see the film. I’m not seeing Star Trek Into Darkness because I’m expecting Khan or John Harrison or whatever. I plan to see the film because I think Cumberbatch will put out an amazing performance. In fact, I expect him to, despite all my reservations about J. J. Abrams’ foray into the Star Trek universe. In a sense, I’m treating this like my first Star Trek movie now, and will do so with future films I intend to see. When I was a youngling (Obi!), my grandma sat me down and had me watch Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. I loved it. There was humor, cool spaceships, and Leonard Nemoy dressed like some kind of cross between The Karate Kid and a guy from a Snuggie commercial. Plus, the story was pretty cool. It remains one of my favorite science fiction movies (nostalgia and all) and turned me into a little whale lover (which my grandmother promptly ended when she tried to drown me in the ocean — love you, grams). I want to have that experience again. The wonder. The joy. The excitement. What about you? Are you tired of the constant attempts to find all the answers? Do you find yourself missing some of the excitement? ————————————————— P.S.: This post was inspired by Andrew Liptak’s recent editorial on SF Signal.
10 Movies I’m Looking Forward to in 2013
The other day, I released my “top 10” list for television shows premiering or continuing in 2013. Now it’s time for movies. Why? Because movies are where it’s going to be hot this year. Here goes: The Award Contenders Elysium From the writer and director of District 9 comes this promising new science fiction wonder starring Matt Damon and Jodie Foster. I have no idea what it’s about, except that it involves some crazy guns and this odd viral promo and an incredibly vague description on IMDB. But it’s Neill Blomkamp, which means I’ll watch it no matter what. Bonus Point: Matt Damon is my kryptonite. Ender’s Game Regardless of what I think of Orson Scott Card as a person, I am thoroughly looking forward to this adaptation of one of the greatest science fiction books of all time. With a strong cast and Gavin Hood as writer/director (the guy behind Tsotsi), I expect this one to not only be good, but great. Bonus Point: Asa Butterfield is set to play Ender. Given his performance in Hugo, I can easily see good acting coming our way. Gravity I still believe that Children of Men is one of the best science fiction movies ever made, and that Alfonso Cuaron is a superb director when not messing with Harry Potter. I’ll see Gravity for that reason alone; the fact that Clooney and Bullock are the stars is icing on the cake. My only hope is that they take the concept seriously enough to consult actual scientists. What would happen to a pair of astronauts stranded in space? No idea. Where’s a scientist when I need one? Bonus Point: Rumor has it that Sandra Bullock’s performance in Gravity is the crown jewel of her career. I’m willing to shell out $10 to see that! The Amusing and Exciting Iron Man 3 The first film was about what you’d expect from a good superhero movie — awesomeness. The second was still pretty good, but always stuck with that “I know I’m a middle movie and will probably not live up to my promises” bin. Now comes what I hope will be the best of all the Iron Man movies. With Ben Kingsley as The Mandarin, what could go wrong? Bonus Point: Robert Downey, Jr. is still here, which means all the things we’ve come to love about the Iron Man will remain. Monsters University I’m not one for prequels — not since Star Wars screwed that all up. But Monsters Inc. is still one of my favorite Pixar movies, which means I’ll go to the prequel without much fuss. With all the original cast returning, it’s hard to say no… Bonus Point: Billy Crystal and John Goodman will bring us more comedy gold. The Soon-to-be-Ignored-for-No-Good-Reason Upside Down Technically, this movie is already in theaters…if you live somewhere like Hong Kong or Canada. Bastards. In any case, I love the premise for this film. It promises to have a flare of the beautiful to it, with solid actors and a compelling, if not unique, spin on the alternate reality concept. Can’t wait! Bonus Point: Kirsten Dunst. Some people can’t stand her, but I love her. Period. Guilty Pleasures The Last Stand Arnold returns! And he’s not taking himself too seriously either. That’s a good thing when you consider that the man has dozens of devoted impersonators and an amazingly mockable career. Throw in Luis Guzman and Johnny Knoxville and you can expect this to be campy, explosive, and a whole lot of fun. That’s why I’m seeing it…because it’s fun! Bonus Point: Jee-woon Kim directs, which means it will probably be pretty good. Riddick I’ve always had a soft spot for the Riddick films. I loved Pitch Black and I still think The Chronicles of Riddick is one of the most underrated science fiction films from the last decade. And now we get one more try for franchise success, with everyone of significance from Chronicles returning to their original roles. I have no idea how they’re going to tie everything together, but Twohy has never disappointed me, so I’ll see this one as soon as it hits the big screen. Bonus Point: Katee Sackhoff is in it. Color me Starbucked… A Good Day to Die Hard John McClane meets Russia. Russia gets its ass kicked. What else do you need to know? I mean, it’s Die Hard. Either you love it or you hate it. I happened to enjoy the hell out of Live Free or Die Hard, so you better believe I’m going to see this bad boy in theaters the first chance I get! Bonus Point: Patrick Stewart is supposedly playing a Russian general. I don’t know if that’s true, but it sounds awesome… Film-I-Should-Know-Better-Than-To-See-But-Will-Anyway-Because-Benedict-Cumberbatch-is-in-it! Star Trek Into Darkness I know. I hated the first J. J. Abrams foray into the Star Trek universe. I still do, even though the first 20 minutes are actually pretty good. But Benedict Cumberbatch is the villain in this one. And I bet he’ll make Eric Bana look like a wimp. Besides, the trailer looks good and they might actually keep the plot coherent in this one…It’s worth a shot, right? Bonus Point: We still don’t know who Benedict Cumberbatch is supposed to play. IMDB still think he’s Khan, but I’m hoping he’s either a brand new villain or a more sinister version of someone we’ve all forgotten… ——————————————— There you go. What would you add to the list?
Pixar Feature Films (from the worst to the best) — A List That Will Get Me Killed
No long introductions necessary. The following are all of Pixar’s feature films in order from favorite to least favorite. I’ve grouped the films into degrees of “great” for a specific reason: almost all of Pixar’s films are good by any measure. Note: I have left Brave off the list because I have no seen it yet. I cannot possibly judge a film I have not seen, now can I? I’ll edit this list in the future. Here goes: The Greatest of the Greats The Greats The Goods The Averages The Worst And that’s that. Please don’t shoot me…
Retro Nostalgia: The Bourne Identity (2002) and the Politics of Amnesia
One of the things that fascinates me about the Bourne movies is the question raised by his amnesia within the ideology of terrorism (read: War on Terrorism, etc.). To think about Bourne’s amnesia as a symptom of a particular form of national ideology is to understand that his amnesia is not simply a convenient plot device (though it is one), but also a symptom of a public amnesia. In other words, just as Bourne’s condition enables him to alter the real by making it imaginary — i.e., changing one’s identity entirely — so too do the cast of characters who use ignorance (or willful amnesia) to wipe themselves clean of culpability (ex. Ward Abbott). The public does not know, and those that do know fulfill one of three identities: 1) true amnesiac; 2) willful amnesiac; and 3) maintenance amnesiac (Conklin, who maintains the barrier between those that don’t need to know (the public) and those that don’t want to know (Abbott)). Bourne’s identity, however, is split by a seeming contradiction. On the one hand, his amnesia defines him as one who does not know himself; on the other, he is defined by what he does not (or cannot or will not) remember, but about which others have profound knowledge. To not know oneself, therefore, does not necessarily mean one cannot be known, as is the state of the amnesiac in nature. But for Bourne, those with knowledge of his true self are those who want him buried, not least of all because awareness of self threatens the security of the system. Here the political moment rears its ugly head. To have knowledge of the undesirable opens a new series of relations: 1) the one who knows, but doesn’t want to know (Bourne); 2) the one who doesn’t know (the public); 3) the one who doesn’t know, but doesn’t want to know (Abbott); and 4) the one who knows (Conklin). It becomes crucial for #3 and #4 to keep #2 in the dark, because the public is the body who ultimately controls the others. But the public’s lack of knowledge is a choice, albeit one that reads more like a handwaving than a direct order (if the order were given, they would know what is being done in their name); they live in perpetual amnesia. For Bourne, however, the question stems from who he was before and who he has become after the traumatic moment. This makes him dangerous not least of all to Conklin (#4), but to the mental security of the public (#2). Just as Bourne’s identity is shattered by the realization of who he was, so too is the public’s identity subject to traumatic exposure. Thus the threat that Bourne poses: forcing a public to re-imagine itself in light of torture, assassination, and rampant civil rights abuses, all part of an image of American selfhood that cannot exist concurrantly with the image Americans have made for themselves. That Bourne exists in this political structure suggests, I think, something profound about the Bourne movies: an awareness of what the years immediately following 9/11 have done to the public consciousness — namely, put us all into a relation between amnesiacs. Bourne, however, does reject the past he cannot remember — and its attending identity — before knowing who he really is or what he has really done. In choosing not to remember, he attempts, albeit unsuccessfully (see The Bourne Supremacy), to erase the traumatic through accepting the amnesiatic moment. But in that erasure, his position in the relation of amnesiacs shifts only in relation to the public, who will never know so long as Bourne tries to move on with his life. For Conklin and Abbott (the latter more in the second film than here), there is no possibility of security; Bourne will always constitute a threat until he is brought back into the fold or destroyed. And yet, as the movies show, in holding dogmatically to the desire to control knowledge, the system which Conklin maintains and Abbott reboots (and Noah Vosen takes up in The Bourne Ultimatum) inevitably collapses under its own weight. To put it another way, systematic extermination of the 1st of the four relations (i.e., the one who knows, but doesn’t want to know) results in exposing one’s hand and opens holes in the structure to be exploited. None of this is a perfect explanation of what I’m trying to get at. Obviously Abbott has some knowledge of Conklin’s activities, but I take as given that Abbott only set up the system, but intentionally extricated himself from the chain of information to make it possible to feign ignorance. And I have left out the women in the film (specifically, Marie), but only because I suspect they will play a more crucial role in future Bourne-related posts. I hope what I’ve tried to elucidate gives some indication of the complexity of the social dynamics of the film. If not, then I’ll make myself the amnesiac and pretend this post doesn’t exist. ———————————————————– Feel free to let me know what you think of The Bourne Identity, or to poke holes into what I’m saying. The comments are yours!