It's been pointed out that I forgot to include the dramatis personae for Alan Smithee's film of Starship Troopers last week, so here it is.
Juan “Johnnie” Rico: Keanu Reeves
Sergeant ‘Jelly’ Jelal: Jaye Davidson
Dizzy Flores: Sean Astin
Carl: Neil Patrick Harris
Rico’s father: George Takei
Rico’s mother: Adrienne Barbeau
Carmencita Ibanez: Angelina Jolie
Col. Dubois: Charlton Heston
Fleet Sergeant Ho: Lee Majors
Sgt Zim: Jean-Claude Van Damme
Corporal-Instructor Bronski: Tim Curry
Ted Hendrik: Mark Wahlberg
Captain Frankel: James Spader
Smithee was reportedly unhappy with some of this casting, though it's unclear which cast members were chosen by the studio in an attempt to make the film more marketable. Rumour has it that Keanu was chosen for the lead because the studio head wanted to see him naked.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Dear Santa
Courtesy of Mr. Tesanovic, dig this exhibition catalog of toys from Daniel & Geo Fuchs, at Galerie Caprice Horn, Berlin.
Saturday Wiscon report
Tatsumi-san has the most ass-kicking pair of bulbous mirrored post-Ray Ban aviator shades I have ever seen.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Really Alternative Cinema
One of the joys of traveling to parallel worlds is catching up with movies that weren’t greenlighted in your homewhen, or were made by different people. Orson Welles’s Batman and War of the Worlds; Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon Bonaparte; Terry Gilliam’s Watchmen; Ed Wood’s The Ghoul Goes West; Star Wars with Kurt Russell and Jodie Foster; Time After Time with Derek Jacobi and John Hurt; and many others. One of the most interesting in historical terms, though, is Alan Smithee’s 1997 Starship Troopers.
Unlike Paul Verhoeven and Edward Neumeier, writer/director/producer Smithee was not only a huge fan of the novel but a great believer in the idea that films should be as faithful as possible to the source material - as evidenced by his thirteen-hour director’s cut of Atlas Shrugged. It’s clear to see why it appealed to him: to a man who had recorded John Galt’s final speech, Troopers would have seemed so action-packed and non-talky that after he was persuaded to leave out the voice-overs and the introductory quotes at the beginning of each chapter, he reportedly suggested making it a completely silent movie. (Maybe in yet another parallel world, he did exactly that, but I’ve not yet managed to locate a copy.)
Like the book, the film starts with the drop where Dizzy Flores (male, in this version) dies, then flashes back to Johnnie Rico’s school days. It’s rumored that when Smithee came to the line “Carl and I had done everything together in high school”, he began writing scenes which showed exactly that, until the studio warned him that his budget of $95 million would run out long before the boys had finished their freshman year. Somewhat sulkily, he agreed to cut most of this material, except for the classroom scenes, some shots of them in Carl’s lab and Johnnie’s copter, and a sequence where they’re trying on different clip-on earrings before a date.
Only twenty-one minutes later, Johnnie and his fellow MIs are being chewed out by Sergeant Zim at Camp Arthur Currie. A few exciting martial arts sequences follow; then, instead of Verhoeven’s notorious mixed-sex shower scene, we get a scene of a recruit being forcibly scrubbed with floor soap and stiff brushes by his fellow volunteers. Then comes a barracks-room scene of one recruit being branded a liar for having seen a girl, then one of Johnnie sewing his tunic so that it fits more tightly around his, uh, hips. Then the recruits go on a forced march, and are advised to huddle together against the cold. The following scene shows them doing the same, but naked. (Well, not completely. Johnnie kills a rabbit and uses its skin to make moccasins.)
Then it’s back to combat training, where a young man is shot in the ass and becomes the butt of a long string of jokes. This is followed by the first of the floggings, then a scene where Sergeant Zim and the captain wish that they could have been flogged in the former recruit’s place. Then Johnnie himself commits a flogging offence, and Sergeant Zim slips something into his hand and tells him to bite it. More floggings follow.
Perhaps unfortunately, Smithee was never to make the rest of the film, in which Johnnie learns to operate his battlesuit and goes on leave so he can remember what women look like. As the film gone well over budget by this point, the studio ruled that Smithee should follow the example of Bakshi’s Lord of the Rings and release the first two hours in the hope of recouping enough money to complete Part II.
Unfortunately, right-wing critics slammed the film for what they believed to be its depiction of gays in the military, then a contentious issue in that timeline. The movie failed at the box office, though it attracted a small cult following and eventually broke even thanks to video and DVD sales.
Smithee is said to now be working on a film based on the classic comic-book Toni Gay and Butch Dykeman.
Unlike Paul Verhoeven and Edward Neumeier, writer/director/producer Smithee was not only a huge fan of the novel but a great believer in the idea that films should be as faithful as possible to the source material - as evidenced by his thirteen-hour director’s cut of Atlas Shrugged. It’s clear to see why it appealed to him: to a man who had recorded John Galt’s final speech, Troopers would have seemed so action-packed and non-talky that after he was persuaded to leave out the voice-overs and the introductory quotes at the beginning of each chapter, he reportedly suggested making it a completely silent movie. (Maybe in yet another parallel world, he did exactly that, but I’ve not yet managed to locate a copy.)
Like the book, the film starts with the drop where Dizzy Flores (male, in this version) dies, then flashes back to Johnnie Rico’s school days. It’s rumored that when Smithee came to the line “Carl and I had done everything together in high school”, he began writing scenes which showed exactly that, until the studio warned him that his budget of $95 million would run out long before the boys had finished their freshman year. Somewhat sulkily, he agreed to cut most of this material, except for the classroom scenes, some shots of them in Carl’s lab and Johnnie’s copter, and a sequence where they’re trying on different clip-on earrings before a date.
Only twenty-one minutes later, Johnnie and his fellow MIs are being chewed out by Sergeant Zim at Camp Arthur Currie. A few exciting martial arts sequences follow; then, instead of Verhoeven’s notorious mixed-sex shower scene, we get a scene of a recruit being forcibly scrubbed with floor soap and stiff brushes by his fellow volunteers. Then comes a barracks-room scene of one recruit being branded a liar for having seen a girl, then one of Johnnie sewing his tunic so that it fits more tightly around his, uh, hips. Then the recruits go on a forced march, and are advised to huddle together against the cold. The following scene shows them doing the same, but naked. (Well, not completely. Johnnie kills a rabbit and uses its skin to make moccasins.)
Then it’s back to combat training, where a young man is shot in the ass and becomes the butt of a long string of jokes. This is followed by the first of the floggings, then a scene where Sergeant Zim and the captain wish that they could have been flogged in the former recruit’s place. Then Johnnie himself commits a flogging offence, and Sergeant Zim slips something into his hand and tells him to bite it. More floggings follow.
Perhaps unfortunately, Smithee was never to make the rest of the film, in which Johnnie learns to operate his battlesuit and goes on leave so he can remember what women look like. As the film gone well over budget by this point, the studio ruled that Smithee should follow the example of Bakshi’s Lord of the Rings and release the first two hours in the hope of recouping enough money to complete Part II.
Unfortunately, right-wing critics slammed the film for what they believed to be its depiction of gays in the military, then a contentious issue in that timeline. The movie failed at the box office, though it attracted a small cult following and eventually broke even thanks to video and DVD sales.
Smithee is said to now be working on a film based on the classic comic-book Toni Gay and Butch Dykeman.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Wheels Are Turning, part 2
Last week I discussed the dangerous line of thinking that brought me to this point: Chrysler is seriously considering discontinuing the PT Cruiser model. If what I like most about the PT Cruiser is its retro styling, when it comes time to replace my blue Cruiser (below) why settle for a modern retro-styled vehicle that I'm not crazy about (aka the HHR) when I could buy an original vehicle from the halcyon days automotive yesteryear?
I can do this. I am a grown-up, and as a grown-up I don't have to listen to that little voice that says "You can't do that. It's not responsible." That comes from listening to my parents too much over the years, methinks. I also have a secret weapon in this acute, mad obsession: My brother Chris, who is a Master Mechanic and all-around automotive genius. He inherited our grandfather's 1955 Bel Air, which I remember riding to Dairy Queen for milkshakes back in the early '70s. Grandpa Fritz bought it new in 1955, trading in a 1939 two-door Chevrolet for it (no idea the model). The four-door Bel Air was supposed to be black, but there was a mix-up in the order, and it came painted solid Glacier Blue. Even so, it was a sweet looking car. Sadly, it hasn't been registered since 1979, even though Grandpa cranked it regularly to keep the engine in shape until his death. There is surface rust on it, and the engine needs to be overhauled, but overall it's in great shape. Once Chris has it fully restored, he's promised to help me with my vintage wheels. But what wheels truly appeal to me? Attending a swap meet might offer some hints.
The sky-blue '57 Bel Air caught my attention right away. It's a nice car, no doubt, but while I like a lot of the '50s cars, they don't hold the same resonance as vehicles from the '30s and '40s. That's not to say the Hudson Hornet parked across from the Bel Air didn't stir longings of desire in my heart. I've never been what you'd call a gearhead, but I do appreciate the aesthetics of well-designed cars. And looking at the Hudson, I realized something else: I'm a sucker for the extinct. I have sports pennants hanging in my office, and as many teams as not are defunct and/or have long since changed their names. I like the Hudson in no small part because that carmaker has vanished into the mists of time through buyouts and mergers.
That doesn't mean I turn up my nose at Corvettes. I prefer the early models from the 50s, like the sweet little number above left, but a hot Stingray--especially one with the legendary split back window--slow me down every time. Pretty much any Corvette is out of my price range, unless I want a ragged out recent vintage, so I'll content myself with window-shopping for these.
You'd be amazed at how many older Rolls Royces in decent condition make it to the resale market with semi-affordable prices. The one above isn't one of those. Neither is the MG TC pictured above.
In the other chronal direction, I admired a 1930 Ford fordor sedan. They're a wee bit boxy for my taste, and the spoke wheels are too archaic. With antique cars of this nature, daily driving is pretty much out of the question, as the transmission isn't set up to move the car at highway speeds. And I really question how safe that would be if it was. Parked beside it was another vintage Ford, a 1930 Cabriolet coupe (I think). This one's been significantly modified, and to me that undermines the charm of old cars. It's not a street rod abomination, but it's not something I'd want to be associated with. There were lots of street rods at the show, each one more gaudy and tacky than the next. I didn't waste pixels on those.
Where extinct cars are concerned, Studebaker has to reign as one of the most famous of the failed automakers. I suppose the 1950-51 bullet-nosed Champion is their most famous model (shamelessly ripped off from the Tucker Torpedo of a couple years before) but the '61 Studebaker Hawk, with its aggressive tail fins and chrome is certainly emblematic of the era, a last gasp at respectability before the South Bend company lost its long-running competition with the Big Three in Detroit. Not my cup of tea, but I still admire that vehicle. After the Stude, I'd pretty much run out of car show vehicles to gawk at. It was wet and dreary, but I thought I might make a loop through the car corral and see if any clunkers remained for sale. Short answer: Not many. Most participants had packed up and left earlier in the day, but I did come across this trailered '47 Chevy Fleet Master. It's closer to what I want--I do admire the styling of the 1936-40 Chevy Master line--but it's not there yet. The owner offered it to me for $2,000, which wasn't too bad a deal, actually. It needed some work, but I'm lucky to have Chris on my side.
The more I thought about it, a fixer-upper made more sense. Enthusiasts spend tremendous amounts of money restoring vintage cars back to factory conditions, but I want one for a daily driver, not a show car. Which means I may have to alter the transmission. And install seat belts. I'm in Texas, so an after-market air conditioner is almost a requirement. If I did that to a mint-condition classic, I'd be lynched. Not to mention the fact that a fully restored car costs considerably more than a junker. If I rehabilitated a derelict vehicle--or one that is merely in so-so condition--my conscience would be clear for me to alter it to my needs. I'm still not going the street rod route, but some compromise suddenly looks possible...
I can do this. I am a grown-up, and as a grown-up I don't have to listen to that little voice that says "You can't do that. It's not responsible." That comes from listening to my parents too much over the years, methinks. I also have a secret weapon in this acute, mad obsession: My brother Chris, who is a Master Mechanic and all-around automotive genius. He inherited our grandfather's 1955 Bel Air, which I remember riding to Dairy Queen for milkshakes back in the early '70s. Grandpa Fritz bought it new in 1955, trading in a 1939 two-door Chevrolet for it (no idea the model). The four-door Bel Air was supposed to be black, but there was a mix-up in the order, and it came painted solid Glacier Blue. Even so, it was a sweet looking car. Sadly, it hasn't been registered since 1979, even though Grandpa cranked it regularly to keep the engine in shape until his death. There is surface rust on it, and the engine needs to be overhauled, but overall it's in great shape. Once Chris has it fully restored, he's promised to help me with my vintage wheels. But what wheels truly appeal to me? Attending a swap meet might offer some hints.
The sky-blue '57 Bel Air caught my attention right away. It's a nice car, no doubt, but while I like a lot of the '50s cars, they don't hold the same resonance as vehicles from the '30s and '40s. That's not to say the Hudson Hornet parked across from the Bel Air didn't stir longings of desire in my heart. I've never been what you'd call a gearhead, but I do appreciate the aesthetics of well-designed cars. And looking at the Hudson, I realized something else: I'm a sucker for the extinct. I have sports pennants hanging in my office, and as many teams as not are defunct and/or have long since changed their names. I like the Hudson in no small part because that carmaker has vanished into the mists of time through buyouts and mergers.
That doesn't mean I turn up my nose at Corvettes. I prefer the early models from the 50s, like the sweet little number above left, but a hot Stingray--especially one with the legendary split back window--slow me down every time. Pretty much any Corvette is out of my price range, unless I want a ragged out recent vintage, so I'll content myself with window-shopping for these.
You'd be amazed at how many older Rolls Royces in decent condition make it to the resale market with semi-affordable prices. The one above isn't one of those. Neither is the MG TC pictured above.
In the other chronal direction, I admired a 1930 Ford fordor sedan. They're a wee bit boxy for my taste, and the spoke wheels are too archaic. With antique cars of this nature, daily driving is pretty much out of the question, as the transmission isn't set up to move the car at highway speeds. And I really question how safe that would be if it was. Parked beside it was another vintage Ford, a 1930 Cabriolet coupe (I think). This one's been significantly modified, and to me that undermines the charm of old cars. It's not a street rod abomination, but it's not something I'd want to be associated with. There were lots of street rods at the show, each one more gaudy and tacky than the next. I didn't waste pixels on those.
Where extinct cars are concerned, Studebaker has to reign as one of the most famous of the failed automakers. I suppose the 1950-51 bullet-nosed Champion is their most famous model (shamelessly ripped off from the Tucker Torpedo of a couple years before) but the '61 Studebaker Hawk, with its aggressive tail fins and chrome is certainly emblematic of the era, a last gasp at respectability before the South Bend company lost its long-running competition with the Big Three in Detroit. Not my cup of tea, but I still admire that vehicle. After the Stude, I'd pretty much run out of car show vehicles to gawk at. It was wet and dreary, but I thought I might make a loop through the car corral and see if any clunkers remained for sale. Short answer: Not many. Most participants had packed up and left earlier in the day, but I did come across this trailered '47 Chevy Fleet Master. It's closer to what I want--I do admire the styling of the 1936-40 Chevy Master line--but it's not there yet. The owner offered it to me for $2,000, which wasn't too bad a deal, actually. It needed some work, but I'm lucky to have Chris on my side.
The more I thought about it, a fixer-upper made more sense. Enthusiasts spend tremendous amounts of money restoring vintage cars back to factory conditions, but I want one for a daily driver, not a show car. Which means I may have to alter the transmission. And install seat belts. I'm in Texas, so an after-market air conditioner is almost a requirement. If I did that to a mint-condition classic, I'd be lynched. Not to mention the fact that a fully restored car costs considerably more than a junker. If I rehabilitated a derelict vehicle--or one that is merely in so-so condition--my conscience would be clear for me to alter it to my needs. I'm still not going the street rod route, but some compromise suddenly looks possible...
Monday, May 21, 2007
SFWA Statement in Support of Authors Guild Position on Simon & Schuster
I was just thinking to myself the other day, "Self, we haven't had a really good Us vs. Them donnybrook in the publishing industry in quite some time." Well, lo and behold, the fine folks over at Simon & Schuster decide to rectify that situation. And SFWA has leapt gamely into the breech, alongside the Author's Guild and other fine writerly institutions:
The brou-ha-ha seems to be bearing early fruit: Already Simon & Schuster seem to be backtracking from their initial rights grab.
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Supports Authors' Guild Position on Simon & Schuster's Rights Grab
The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, Inc., joins with the Authors Guild in decrying Simon & Schuster's recent decision to shift book titles that have reached the end of their shelf-lives into a Print-on-Demand program, instead of reverting rights to those titles to their authors. Simon & Schuster's decision expands upon an already-developing trend to use technologies, not to the benefit of authors, but as a way to seize rights that writers have traditionally taken for granted.
One of the most fundamental rights of book authors is the right to reclaim or "revert" licensed publishing rights when a book is no longer available through normal outlets of distribution or when it is selling only minimal copies. Traditionally, authors have retained their copyrights, licensing only certain specific rights to the publisher. Once the publisher has given up on the book, stopped promoting it, and is no longer able to bring about a minimum number of sales, the author could regain those rights and re-sell them to another publisher, one that might give the work a new chance with new promotion and renewed sales.
Most books sell best during a brief period when their publishers actively market them, but when that promotion stops, the average book's sales rapidly begin to decline. Currently, the author can choose either to let the book languish with its current publisher or revert the rights and try to resell them to another publisher who will actively market it.
Simon & Schuster wants to change the rules with new contract language that would empower them to keep control of a book for the entire length of its copyright, printing individual copies only when order requests are made with no motivation at all to boost sales with further marketing or promotion.
This decision by Simon & Schuster constitutes a massive rights grab and is an attempt to take advantage of authors. The members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, Inc. stand with the Author's Guild in this matter. We encourage other writers and artists groups to do so, as well, and we urge Simon & Schuster to rescind this pernicious policy.
Robin Wayne Bailey
President,
SFWA, Inc.
Michael Capobianco
President-Elect,
SFWA, Inc.
And Past Presidents of SFWA, including:
Jane Yolen
Joe Haldeman
Norman Spinrad
Catherine Asaro
James Gunn,
Marta Randall
Greg Bear
Jerry Pournelle
Paul Levinson
Sharon Lee
Robert Silverberg
The brou-ha-ha seems to be bearing early fruit: Already Simon & Schuster seem to be backtracking from their initial rights grab.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Broken Glass Cockpits
In September of 2005,
What happened:
(a) With no warning and in the middle of a white-hot project, my flat panel monitor went white with faint blue and pink vertical lines.
(b) When I connected it to my laptop, no difference. Meanwhile a little string of diagnostic lights on the back of my desktop PC all glowed healthy green – no problems noted, including no problem with the video card. Web research and phone calls to computer repair places further incriminated the monitor. Off I went to a monitor repair shop with the ailing monitor seat-belted in my Celica's passenger seat.
(c) The white-hot project had to get done, so I raced home and fired up my laptop. Unhappily WordPerfect, running on the laptop, did an imperfect job of opening and reproducing the relatively complex Word documents I had been working on. I gritted my teeth and made a string of edits anyway, tailoring six separate documents and saving each to the laptop's hard drive and to a flash drive. Thank heaven for the good and faithful flash drive with a copy of everything I've worked on since the last time I systematically backed up all of my documents. But:
(d) I could not print to my color printer from the laptop. LaserJet printer – no problem. Deskjet – no go. Something about the printer driver installation needing Java Virtual Machine. Ack! I rebaselined my planning along the lines of getting documents edited and going elsewhere to print them.
(e) Then WordPerfect on my laptop stopped showing my precious documents. There was something there, not empty files, but it was INVISIBLE. Ackackackack!
(f) Whereupon the repair place cheerily informed me that the monitor was running fine. So the original problem must be in my desktop PC.
(g) The desktop PC with my e-mail account and my inbox, complete with some critical mail that wasn't backed up; the computer harmoniously hooked up to three printers of three agreeable and complimentary flavors; the machine with everything just right; my cozy virtual natural habitat…. broken?!
That was what wound me around the axle in the worst way. I flailed at the invisible documents of (e), making things worse instead of better. Finally a friend on the other end of the phone said, "You know that if an airplane is in a spin, you should immediately reduce the power and briefly let go of the control stick?"
"Urg..."
"Yes, and that is what you should do right now!"
With that inspiring image, I did manage to let the computer mess go and go do something else for the evening. The next day dawned bright and clear, I went and got the monitor, plugged it in at home, and everything worked fine (!) Then I immediately backed up everything of any use to me on flash drives and CD's and prepared to archive fresh backup CD's off site. The hum of happy technology returned to my house. More or less.
(h) The desktop's CD drive went on the fritz but that was OK because I ran the laptop to make CD backups from data backed up on flash drives.
Now I know my ICCE drill. With that and some canned beans, canned greens, dried fruit and bottled water in the pantry, I'm ready for whatever may happen. Hooray, or something like that.
Item (g) gave me food for thought, though. Interesting how upset I got, not just because a project was in danger of falling into the ditch, but also because my comfy, cozy computer setup fell apart without warning. As my friend on the phone reminded me, electronics failure can be like that. No warning and no apparent logic. It's the stuff of superstition.
Sometimes I suspect that computers as we know and love them are way too absorbing, interesting and appealing for our own good. And too disruptive of our lives and hearts when there's computer trouble. As a species, we started out immersed in vibrant, ever-active, never-predictable nature. We built sterile cityscapes to inhabit. Now we are oh so easily enthralled by the moving lights and many colors in liquid crystal display monitors. I don't know where the fascination will take us in the future. Possibly not to a good place, although I'm not saying Information Technology Will Be the Doom of Us.
At least not usually.
A lot of new, small single-engine, single-pilot airplanes now come equipped with glass cockpits, meaning electronic instrument displays. Information in vivid color, layers of it, just twirl a knob to scroll down and see more, tap a knob to open a spigot of information. But this technology has a jagged down side. Paying too much attention to the pretty electrons means giving too little attention to the situation. Weather trouble is always waiting for an inattentive pilot to stray into its coils. And what if there's a (g) event when the displays malfunction and God only knows why? Without a great deal of good training and self-discipline, a dangerously distracted pilot will fixate the displays trying to make them work right. This could definitely put the "urgency" in "computer emergency." I don't ever want to be flying a sailplane in front of a power pilot who's transfixed by a broken glass cockpit!
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