Into the Unknown, or a pleasant weekend at a Midwestern SF con

ConQuest 43 (theme: Into the Unknown) is history now and it lived up to its reputation as a friendly regional con that took place in a mostly convivial atmosphere.

I say mostly because it had the misfortune of being held during a hotel name switch. The con hotel used to be the Hyatt, but that company lost operating rights or however these things work and now the Sheraton has taken its place. And, of course, the new people have to put their mark on the place by putting their own their stamp on it. And the best place to make that statement is the front lobby, which was blocked off completely. This meant getting on the elevator, going up one floor to the mezzanine, walking to the opposite escalator nearly three-quarters of the way around the hotel and riding it down to the one tiny corner of untouched lobby for check-in. Once competed, the same journey had to be made in reverse in order to get back to the elevators that took you to floor, all the while dragging your luggage behind you like dead pets. (And grumbling – a constant chorus of muttered complaints could be heard in the back-and-forth parade of newly arrived and irritated hotel guests.)

Fortunately, I arrived too late to hear the cacophony of jackhammers tearing up the tiled lobby floor, but I heard plenty of complaints about that.

The con itself was a chance to see New Mexico friends such as Parris McBride, wife of George R.R. Martin (George himself being in the wilds of Montana) and Steven Gould (Jumper, Helm, Blind Waves, Wildside); SF acquaintances such Robin Wayne Bailey (Shadowdance) and Gardner Dozois (editor, writer) plus the chance to put faces to names I’ve seen over the years such as Sharon Lee and Steve Miller (Ghost Ship, part of the Liaden series of novels).

This con – and any con held this year, and maybe last year and the next – comes in the middle of the Great Upheaval in Publishing where e-books are coming up strong, panicking traditional publishers, who are doing some rash things in response. They’re afraid of the economic model that allows authors to go around them and make their work available to an audience directly. Many of the writers who attended ConQuest have had experience with e-books either as an adjunct to their print career, a second track to their overall career, or as their main career track. As Gardner pointed out, writers with a backlog of out-of-print titles should be taking advantage of e-book to get those titles back into print and make some money off of them. Steve Gould is one who has done so, and he says his e-book backlist is paying his mortgage. For every writer doing that, however, are several who aren’t because they don’t know how and don’t want to learn. Those tend to be older writers, but they’re hurting themselves. Writers with established careers have fans, who would like to see some of the old stuff again. Plus, e-books could bring in new fans for these writers.

The large traditional publishers have reacted to this by dumping mid-list writers (those who sell steadily but not spectacularly) in favor of those who sell millions of copies and thus earn millions of dollars. Gardner equates this to shooting oneself in one’s foot because the publishers spent all that time and money supporting the careers of these midlist writers, but by cutting them loose, they’re sending he author’s fans away, too. The author then can turn to e-books, continue sell to his backlist to fans with not a cent going to the original publisher.

Some writers are doing both, selling their books to traditional publishers while putting short stories, novellas or even novels on e-book sites. This puts printed copies on bookstore shelves while maintaining an electronic presence, sometimes through a small press. If done right, both methods feed off each other (that is, give the author more marketing presence).

The third category is fraught with uncertainty. This is the author who has no backlist, is perhaps just starting out, and puts a first novel on e-book sites. Because most people won’t have heard of him, the possibility of the book just sitting there is large. E-book self-published authors have no marketing staff behind them, no signing tours planned, no ads in printed or broadcast media (not that those help all that much). Word of mouth – readers telling their friends to read a book they like – is the best ad campaign, but a lone author has little unless he can get his friends to start the ball rolling. So why would anyone do it? Because he he’s got something to say and he knows he’s got a good story, well-written, professionally edited and formatted, so, despite all reasonable expectations being against him, he does it anyway. (Hang around here long enough and you might see something like that actually happen.)

The big problem with doing this is the author watching his beloved child sink into a morass of self-published dreck, never to be seen again. The only consolation is that traditional publishers often published dreck, too, and spent a lot of money doing it.

One worrisome item mentioned at the con was the aging of the attendees. Many fans started attending – and a lot of writers started writing – in the 1960s-’70s, so there was a lot of gray hair walking the hotel corridors. Getting younger folks to attend should be a priority of con planners, yet there seems to a be a reluctance to do this. Old canards about young people not reading cannot be used as excuses because it’s not true. It certainly isn’t graybeards and grayladies buying Harry Potter or the Hunger Games or Brian Selznick or any of the other successful juvenile authors. You must consider youth or your con will just wither away with the Old Ones.

So it was good to see ConQuest make an attempt with the con-within-a-con programming geared toward paranormal romance fans. As was pointed out, SF/fantasy and paranormal romance genres don’t overlap that much, but they still have some things in common. Inviting fans from other genres causes intermingling, which can lead to discoveries on both sides. The old SF/fantasy conventions might change because of this new blood (heh-heh), but change is good.

Long live the genres of any stripe.

In a galaxy where special effects allow knights in robes to battle with high-tech swords

So the 100th anniversary of the Star Wars movies has come …

Excuse me, not 100? Just 20? Huh – seems like a long, long time ago.

Maybe it’s because the known universe has been inundated with Star Wars-related stuff. The creators of Star Wars don’t want you ever to forget the films, which is why they re-release them every time new technology come along. When workable Smell-O-Vision finally reaches theaters, you can bet the odors that permeate Jabba the Hut’s lair will soon be wafting through the theater to your olfactory delight.

Some folks even have gone nostalgic in remembering where they were when the first film came out as if it was some sort of worldwide disaster. “Yeah, I was workin’ at my sewer job that year an’ I took my girl and we was blown away by it. We liked movie one and two, but the others kinda stank, knowhutImean?”

The wonder and excitement started right at the beginning when that huge spaceship rumbled over our heads bearing down on that poor little rebel ship, a scene that has become iconic in American film. Movie special effects had been slowly improving over the years, but the use of computers finally gave us believable spaceships. The later sequences of the fighters going up against the star destroyers (or cruisers or whatever, why does everyone fall back on the Navy for outer space terms?) enthralled us because they were new. Never mind that the battle tactics and physics were all wrong for outer space, it was a hoot to watch.

The story itself is as old as the hills; Joseph Campbell and all that, plus liberal helpings from Hidden Fortress, right down to the bickering servants. That’s OK, though, the hero’s journey story still resonates. Burying old plots under glittering special effects is a Hollywood tradition, especially these days. Look at Avatar.

Star Wars sometimes is called a western in outer space. No, it’s a fantasy, pure and simple. George Lucas knows fantasy, he does not know science fiction. Jedi Knights=wizards, light sabers=swords, Princess Leia=Princess Who Must Be Rescued, Darth Vader=Evil Dragon, the Force=magic, R2-D2 and C-3PO=dwarfs/comic relief, Han Solo=the expert swordsman/archer. Spaceships and blasters alone do not make a science fiction movie. Because of Star Wars, a lot of swordplay appears in so-called SF movies nowadays. Why? Because the filmmakers, harking back to days of ancient battles, likely consider one-on-one battles more honorable, or at least more visually spectacular. (Steven Spielberg parodies this when Indiana Jones simply shoots the tall guy with the sword. Was this barb aimed at Lucas?)

As I said, since that day 20 years ago, we’ve seen a relentless barrage of Star Wars movies, TV shows, Internet episodes, books, children’s books, dolls, toys, lunchboxes, bedsheets and who knows what else. It’s as if Lucas wants to expunge anything that doesn’t have to do with Star Wars (Star Trek especially). It’s not enough to make millions on the movies, he’s got to make billions with all that other crap.

I certainly wouldn’t want to live in the Star Wars universe. Beyond the lack of anyone in that universe having any sense of style (Jedi knights in bathrobes, anyone?) are the constant wars. A kid growing up seems limited to two choices as an adult: Storm Trooper or merchant. No art, science, exploration for the sake of exploration.

When Darth Vader first emerged from the smoke in part one—uh, part four—the first movie, I had hoped it wasn’t a human inside that carapace. I wanted whatever was inside to be more machine than man, that we would never see the being inside. Alas …

Let’s play a mind game here. Let’s suppose it played out as I had envisioned. Would it be a better film? Perhaps not, but it will be more intellectually satisfying. To me, at least.

Darth Vader is a creature formed out of pure malevolence and given life through manipulation of the dark side of the Force. Who gives it this twisted life energy? The Emperor. He’s physically small and we get only brief glances of his face. He stays in the background, rarely seen, but rules through terror and fear with his loyal surrogate as his enforcer. (This would need a stronger back story that just someone trying to take over an Imperial Senate, but one thing at a time, please.) Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda are hiding in their miserable little holes because they cannot stand against Vader. They tried soon after he was created and both suffered serious damage physically and mentally. Then along come this farmboy who not only revives old memories but demands his right to vengeance for the torture-murder of his mother and the death of his father. Kenobi and Yoda tremble at the idea.

Kenobi sacrifices himself on the Death Star to save Luke, Leia and the others, but it’s not a quiet death. He dies screaming as Vader not only pierces him with his light-saber but tears Kenobi’s mind apart with blasts from the dark Force. Even though the blast door slams shut as in the movie, Vader turns his energy on it and begins burning his way through. Luke screams at Han to get the hell out of there, but Han sort of ignores him until Leia – who can feel the malevolence, too – grabs Han by the neck and says “Get us the fuck out of here now!” He does, but barely.

In the attack on the Death Star, Vader doesn’t need wingmen, he just plows through the rebel fleet (maybe he doesn’t even need a ship). Vader is just about to smash Luke, but hesitates because the Emperor feels the Force around Luke and is puzzled. The hesitation is just long enough for Han to do his just-in-time schtick. (And it takes much more effort to destroy the Death Star because in my universe, the architects aren’t dolts.)

Yoda is reluctant to train Luke not because the boy is clumsy and ADD, but because he is too powerful. “Too much like his father, he is. From this will come disaster.” Luke does falls into the trap Vader has set. Vader toys with him while the Emperor confirms what he’s been suspecting. Luke is is barely clinging to life when the visage of the Emperor appears ‘twixt Luke and Vader. “You do not have to die, Luke,” the Emperor says. “Come with me. I can heal you, I can give you power undreamed of. You have it in you already, for I am your father.”

Cue denial scream, fall through the vent tunnels, rescue by Han Han’s friend who betrayed him to Vader Leia, Chewbacca and the ‘droids.

In the final confrontation in the second Death Star, Vader again blasts Luke all over the place. The Emperor says all he has to do is acknowledge him as his father and the pain will stop. Luke refuses, but on the point of death, lets slips a thought about his his relationship to Leia.

“A sister!” the Emperor growls as lightning flashes around him. “I was deceived! Twins! Well, shall we have a reunion?”

The Emperor learns through Luke where Leia is. (And no, she’s not fighting alongside teddy bears to destroy the shield generator for Death Star 2.0. My smart architects and engineers know the best place for a shield generator is inside the shield it generates.) He dispatches Vader on a shuttle and after a brief skirmish captures Leia but brings Han as a bonus. Both are dumped before the Emperor. Han is chained to something and rages helplessly as the Emperor tortures Leia. “I offer you both power! I offer you life! I offer you a universe beyond your wildest imaginings! Acknowledge me or die horribly like your mother did. Oh, she lasted a long time, but there wasn’t much left when I got through. Leia? No? Luke? No? Then die, die, I made Vader, he’s my future, I don’t need either of you!!”

Leia’s screams ignite something in Luke. For an instant, his eyes reflect the look of the dark side, the eyes of the Emperor. The Emperor gloats for that second, but Luke reaches down inside to the lessons of Kenobi and Yoda, to the farm where his aunt and uncle were mercilessly slaughtered, into his soul that’s on the brink of being destroyed. He roars, breaks off the mental energy that had bound him. In a savage fight, he destroys Vader, tears him apart the way Vader did Kenobi. The Emperor is the one screaming now, and with Vader gone, he is diminished. Luke doesn’t hesitate, he grabs the Emperor and hurls him down the reactor shaft where he’s destroyed with the sound of a moth hitting a bug zapper. Luke’s body shakes as he wrestles with himself over which side ultimately will win. He dashes over to Leia, cradles her in his arms, finds she’s still alive, whereupon he relaxes, knowing the bright, good thing did survive and there’s hope for him, too. He can’t help himself: he weeps.

Now that’s a hero.

Good reading from NM Hugo nominees

Nominations for the Hugo Awards — the best SF and Fantasy stories of the year as voted by fans — include three from New Mexico who also happen to be acquaintances.

James S.A. Corey is really two people and those two people — Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck — wrote Leviathan Wakes, a corker of a novel set in the solar system where Mars and Earth are ready to have at it. Enter an alien protomolecule and things really get interesting. Available from Orbit as print or e-book. And if you are a qualified Hugo voter, vote for it.

The other acquaintance is George R.R. Martin, whose book Dance of Dragons also is nominated. I can’t say much that hasn’t been said about Martin, the book, the series, the HBO series, so unless you just arrived from Mars, I’ll just say if you haven’t started reading/watching, now’s a good time. And if you’re a qualified Hugo voter — oops, wait, I’m about to ask you to vote one against the other. Ah, well, you’ll just have to vote for your preference.

It’s not my fault these guys got on the same ballot.

A message for the workers who assembled my iPad

To the anonymous workers at Foxconn in China who assembled the iPad I wrote this on: Thanks.
I’ll never know who you are, of course. Your names, your faces, anything about you except for generalities such as that you’re human, likely Chinese by birth and probably overworked. That’s the word here in America, at any rate: overworked and prone to suicide.
I hope those are exaggerations, especially that last. Otherwise, the cost of this thing would be pretty high.
We hear you have to work long hours with little time off so Americans can have their nifty toys devices. Yes, the iPad is worth having, let’s make that clear. They do connect us to each other – except to the people who assembled them – and do other cool stuff.
I just wish you could enjoy the fruits of your labor. That, too, is a story we’ve heard here, that you don’t know what the devices that you make do. Henry Ford realized he could sell a lot more vehicles if he made them affordable to his own workers. Maybe one day someone will do the same for you.
Not that I’m all that wealthy. I could afford this only because Wal-mart –  another giant American company Chinese workers no doubt are familiar with – started a holiday layaway program that included iPads. That’s how I eventually got to clutch one in my hot little hand.
I’ve seen photos of the long lines of white-clad Foxconn workers in the factories. I sometimes wonder about you, the people who actually touched the parts of my iPad. How many of you assembled mine? Which of you were male, which were female? How old were you? How long had you been working when this particular iPad came along? Where were you from, a rural area or a big city? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Do you have dreams, aspirations beyond the factory? You see, I don’t know a thing you who assembled my iPad.
Would I be pondering these things if I hadn’t seen the articles in American media about the supposed problems at the factory? After all, I’ve never really pondered who built my car. Americans, likely, it’s an American car. I can relate a bit to them because we have some values in common. The stories about Chinese tech workers, though, describe an experience few American workers have dealt in at least a generation or more.
Stories about how workers were woken in the middle of the night to re-do iPhone faces because Steve Jobs wanted glass, not plastic. Stories that workers have jumped off buildings (so the factory managers installed nets). Stories that workers can hardly make a living on their wages (though recent stories say everyone got a pay raise). Stories about consumer pressure that forced Apple to join a fair-labor organization to inspect the factories (though the reports are mixed on whether what the inspectors saw was real or whether they were being flimflammed).
So all of a sudden I’m a worker-right champion? If I were truly that, I wouldn’t have bought the thing. I did go into this purchase fully aware of these controversies because I felt it was necessary to understand costs other than money. Yes, I had to have it, but I see it as a tool. The automobile is a tool; eventually conditions improved for those workers. I hope that eventually conditions will improve the same way for the Chinese workers.

In a perfect world, Americans would be assembling the products designed by an American corporation. In a perfect world, workers everywhere would be paid a decent wage without making the cost of the products prohibitive. Perhaps one day this will happen, possibly when corporations run out of low-wage countries to move their factories to.
That’s a long way off, though. In the real world, Apple is about to unveil the iPad3. The workers who assembled my iPad, if they’re still at the factory, likely have been working hard to produce those new toys devices for a salivating American public. I hope the stories about pay raises are true. I hope public pressure has forced at least a little improvement in conditions.
So, thanks again Foxconn workers, for your labor. I will try to remember where my iPad came from each time I use it.

It’s the least I can do.

Three short movie reviews

The Secret World of Arrietty
From the studio that gave us Spirited Away and My Neighbor Tortoro, this is a Japanese take on The Borrowers, a British series of stories about little people who live in the walls of our houses and borrow what they need. “Japanese” because no real villains threaten the main characters (just a befuddled housekeeper), no one chases anyone else all over the place and nothing blows up. It’s subject is connections we make with other beings, courage, and ties to family. It ends on a bittersweet note, and I’d bet the last voice-over by the boy was added for American audiences because the Disney company — the distributor — doesn’t think Americans will accept ambiguous endings. It is a lovely, tranquil movie, paced more for quiet meditation than over-the-top action. While Hayao Miyazaki, the director of most of the studio’s famous films, co-wrote the script, he stepped aside for Hirosama Yonebashi, a young director at the studio. The passing of a torch?

Chronicle
I had high hopes for this. It started out well enough exploring what teen-agers could do if given nearly limitless power. It then goes cliche on us, becoming just another story about the oppressed, neurotic kid taking revenge. If you’ve seen Akira, if you’ve seen Carrie, you know how it turns out. A main rule in science fiction literature is that if the science is removed and the story still stands, it’s not science fiction. The same is true for movies: If the fantastic element is removed,and the story still stands, then it doesn’t need the special effects. Such is the case here; the deterioration of an adolescent soul can be explored better with mundane reality. Add that to the plot holes and the movie just collapses.

The Descendants
Nothing fantastic here, just a story about human beings in the mundane world. A story where the locale is, as has been noted by other reviewers,a character, too. Part of the plot revolves around Hawaii’s landscape and the human history that has swirled around the islands. George Clooney plays a father who has paid too much attention to work instead of family. When his wife is knocked into a coma in a boating accident, he has to reconnect with his daughters. And he has to decide whether to sell a huge plot of land on Kauai to developers who plan to build more hotels, more golf courses, more places for people unconnected to anything on the islands to come and stay few days, lie in the sun in scanty clothing, then go home without touching, or being touched by, the place at all. Yes, the family story could be told without the Hawaii subplot, but this is a film about connections: connections with family, connections with the family’s ancestors, connections with the place you live, connections to the history of the place you live — and the impact you have on all of this. (The novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings is good, too.)

Finally! The Big Game is here! Sit down, be quiet, watch and don’t think

The Big Game is here!
Boo-ya!
Time to gaze in rapture at the tube – no, no wait! They’re not tubes any more, they’re flat sheets of glass hanging on the wall, oh! oh! ecstasy! They’re huge! They’re giants! Blessings from Consumer Heaven to all us good little patriots!
And all of them made in Chin–
F*&% that! It’s the Big Game!
Such good citizens we are, dutifully placing our broadening butts in the recliners made in China and sagging couches made in China and guzzle watery beer and over-sugared (and not even with real sugar!) sodas our Corporate Masters tell us to drink and chomp the chemically preserved-to-eternity potato and corn chips dipped in a concoction made from stuff never found in real cheese our Corporate Master tell us to eat, all while we pretend that anything that’s happening on those big screens Chinese laborers who have no idea what a “Super Bowl” is because they’re too busy trying to make a living on those paltry wages pertains to us.
Oh, I’m sorry, am I interfering with your viewing pleasure? Am I distracting you from the annual massacring of the national anthem by an overpaid and overexposed pop singer? Does me yammering about “labor” and “workers” dilutes your enjoyment of the latest super-spiffy ads our Corporate Masters have prepared for us? And you’re saying I’m missing the point of the “Super Bowl” being a unifying force in America? Yes, you’re probably right. There’s not another event in this country that requires so many American bottoms to be numbed for so long for one cause. Take one for the zipper–
What? Oh, sorry, being a pest again.
But you know, somewhere in China, away from the repetitive-movement mind-numbing assembly plants producing everything an American could want, there are smart people planning ways to get to and colonize the Moon. And in one of the last vestiges of the American intellectual frontier, the few smart people left in this country are finding dozens of planets in the Milky Way Galaxy, some possibly with conditions ripe for life–
Oh, uh, what? There I go again? Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Get into the spirit of the day, you say. Cut loose, enjoy life. Uh, I guess there’s something to that.
Well, OK, here goes … Go Indians!
Now what … wrong sport? Oh, I see. But … what difference does that make?

Another circle, another year, more hope for the better

One more time, back where we started.

Well, we didn’t actually start here, but at one point, we were here, we went away, and now we’re back. Back to this point after a journey of 365.25 days, the periods marked by shadow and light that combined we count as “1” and add each increment until we reach the end.

Or the beginning.

Hard to tell with circles, sometimes.

Like most things humans think about, it’s all couched in convenience. For one thing, the the journey inscribed by Earth in its rotation isn’t exactly a circle. It’s an ellipse, an elongated circle. Circle, ellipse, who cares, one end meets the other and the loop is closed.

Still, even with that closed loop, we’re not back at the same point we hit a year ago. First, there are those pesky fractions. It means the origination point moves slightly each cycle, and every fourth time, an extra day is added, thus throwing the starting point further off. The sun isn’t just sitting in the same point in space, either. The solar system as a whole, Sun included, is moving through space as part of the Milky Way, a collection of planets, semi-planets, comets, asteroids, stars, pulsars, quasars and whatnot. All of that stuff is orbiting a central point like a giant pinwheel, with the probability that the central point is a black hole. The Milky Way itself is moving with other galaxies through space on, we’re told, a collision course with the Andromeda Galaxy. Plus, the Milky Way is part of a larger group of galaxies moving in some grand direction while at the same time generally outward away from a center billions and billions (as Carl Sagan denied he ever said) of light years away. And the universe itself, perhaps in some strange motion of its own, moving somewhere we can’t even fathom.

So the idea of the Earth returning to some point in space it had been before is, at best, unlikely. What we’re marking is one sort-of complete trip around our Sun, a cycle that began when the conglomeration of space debris left over by the formation of the Sun smashed and bumped its way into sort of a sphere and started moving in a path in accordance to a force called gravitation.

If the Earth didn’t rotate, if it kept one side facing the Sun at all time – the way the Moon does for Earth – and if it didn’t tilt and wobble in is orbit, the passage of time as we see it wouldn’t be so noticeable. (What would be noticeable would be one side roasting while the other freezing.) The rotating and tilting gives variation to the length of day – the time when sunshine is bathing the landscape in its warm glow – and night. When the planet tilts one way, the continents and seas get lots of sunshine and warmth, which we call “summer.” Then the planet, despite our fervent wishes, tilts back the other way, and the sunshine is decreased slightly each day until the nights are long, the icy cold blasts of wind and snow come out of the north (south for those of you on the other half of the planet). This is a scary time. If the tilt doesn’t reverse, all will be plunged into endless night. Humans gather at the solstice and wait and watch to see if the length of night slows … then stops … and finally reverses. Cause for celebration! Bring out the beer, the food, light the bonfires and push back the darkness and dance until you drop. The summer is coming, the warm days, time for new crops, new livestock births, time to shed those heavy winter furs. Another year survived.

That’s what we celebrate when the Earth reaches the approximate point it was in a year ago: another year gone, we’re still here despite whatever happened during the preceding 12 months. Survived as individuals, as families, as communities, as tribes, as nations, as a world of humanity. We hope for change in the new year; individual changes (lose weight, quit smoking, get rich), and societal changes (jobs for everyone, an end to hate, an end to war). However, there’s no magic from the completion of the cycle; it’s just another voyage through the zodiac. The desires and wishes are of human origin and as humans, we have to decide for ourselves what needs to be done. And then we have to do them.

You won’t find any answers here. You won’t even find suggestions on fixing things (though, like everyone else, have ideas on what “should” be done). All you’ll find here is best wishes from me to you and hopes that in the new year, nice things, and an occasional great one, happen to you, that the less-than-happy things are few and far between. We passengers of Earth are about to embark on another cycle around the Sun, and though it may be arbitrary, it still has meaning for us. May the sun shine on your path whatever the position of the Earth and may you have a Happy New Year.

The light-bulb fight is over. Who actually won?

So the budget bill just passed contains a provision stopping the requirement to phase out tungsten light bulbs and replacing them with more efficient devices. The reason given had to do with the new rules infringing on the “rights” of individuals to choose money-burning tungsten technology. (The money isn’t really burned of course; it just goes to the huge corporate-owned power-production plants. Who’s the real winner here?) Some old technologies might be worth saving — vinyl records, Kodachrome, manual typewriters — but others have dragged on well beyond their usefulness and ought to be dumped. Wrapping the issue in “individual rights” demeans the struggle for liberty. Light-bulb choices are minor compared to our real constitutional rights. Which, by the way, are under siege, in case you haven’t noticed.

Scorsese’s lyrical lecture on the importance of old movies

Of all of the three-D movies I’ve seen so far (granted, I haven’t seen many; dull, crummy movies are still dull and crummy no matter how many dimensions they’re presented in), two of the best are Avatar (the movie that really got the latest 3-D craze going) and Hugo (the movie that tells a story about one of the pioneers of movies by using the latest technology).

One of those movies looked terrific but had a weak story cribbed from dozens of previous sources. The other looked terrific and told a wonderful story based on an imaginative and intelligent children’s book.

Guess which is which.

This not a trick question.

Some people express surprise that Martin Scorsese would make a children’s film after making violent, adult fare such as Taxi Driver, Raging Bull and Goodfellas. Why should this be a surprise? Scorsese is a storyteller; the skills are the same whether you’re doing films about mobsters or prize fighters or eccentric businessmen or Michael Jackson videos. Go take a look at Scorsese’s bio and see how many different types of films he’s had a hand in as writer, director, producer or occasional actor. This is a guy who loves movies so much he’s spearheading the effort to save as many old ones as possible.

The central story of Hugo is about the rediscovery of a pioneer of movies and some of the films he had made. Right up Scorsese’s alley.

The book also about redemption, remembering the past and struggling with the loss of family. Quite a plate for a book for children.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret is no ordinary kids book, though. For one thing, it’s 534 pages, but saying it that way is quite misleading. There are pages filled with type, yes, but then many are filled with drawings, which often take over the storytelling. The book’s one chase scene, for instance, is told in drawings, and boy, does that save time and words.

The author, Brian Selznick – cousin to David O. Selznick, producer (Gone With the Wind, Rebecca, King Kong) – is both author and illustrator. Hugo Cabret is an orphan who possesses an automaton his father was working on until he was killed in a fire. An uncle takes Hugo in, teaches him how to wind the clocks at a Paris train station, then disappears. Hugo, in order to survive and keep out of the clutches of the station’s Inspector who wants to put him in an orphanage, takes over the caretaker duties. In his off hours, he tries to repair the automaton using parts he steals from a toy vendor. The vendor catches him, takes his notebook and threatens to burn it. Hugo appeals to the toy-maker’s ward, Isabelle, for help, and eventually they discover the truth about the old man. The automaton provides an essential clue, and, in the movie, it’s fascinating to watch the thing at work. This one, of course, is a special effect, but in their day, such mechanical marvels really did do some amazing things.

Scorsese, of course, tweaks the story a bit. In the book, Hugo and Isabelle refuse to tell each other the obvious plot points until it becomes annoying. The movie lessens the need for this, but it also leaves out Isabelle’s slamming a door on Hugo’s hand, thus preventing him from winding the station clocks, which fall behind, which leads the Inspector to figure out Hugo’s secret, who then captures him. In the movie, Hugo’s capture stems from a different set of circumstances, but in this case, the book is better.

The book’s drawings gives us glimpses of 1930s Paris and Hugo’s world in the train station, but Scorsese’s use of 3-D immerses us. There are the usual 3-D gimmicks, of course – a guitar neck sticking out, a wrench falling from a great height and into the viewer’s face, a pendulum slicing into the frame, a locomotive engine careening out of control and into the audience. (The latter recalls an early silent, black-and-white film of a train pulling into a station that caused audience members to duck and scream. The bit is shown in Hugo, causing a few chuckles from the “sophisticated” modern audience, including one who almost shouted “Look out!” to a woman who he thought was about to be beaned by a meatball during a 3-D trailer for Cloudy with Meatballs.)

Scorsese goes beyond these gimmicks. We see ceilings high above us, the massive walls around us. We’re jostling among the travelers hurrying to meet a train, a scene which turns to terror for Isabelle when she’s knocked down and nearly trampled; we feel each jab in her ribs, wince at the sight of a foot aimed at her head. Scorsese knows how to use 3-D as a device to tell an entire story, not just make us dodge the occasional object. The storyteller again, gently lecturing us about the past and why it’s important to save it while entertaining us using all the tools he has available to him. For instance, when the kids climb high into a clock tower and gaze out over 1930s Paris at night – yeah, that’s real movie magic.

(The movie also does a better job with period costumes and architecture. Note to Selznick: If you’re going to use drawings to illustrate stories in historical times, a little research helps with the verisimilitude.)

And who is the filmmaker pioneer the book and movie are about? Well, reviewers already have let that cat escape from the bag, but if you don’t already know, go read the book or see the movie. You won’t be disappointed, and you’ll actually learn something.

In an entertaining way, of course.

Welcome to my World

Here I am, another voice in the vast wilderness of the Net

Welcome to the website and blog of Terry D. England.

Who?

Oh, you know, just another guy who thinks he’s clever and smart and has enough intellect to be entertaining, informative and witty and thousands of readers with followers waiting with breathless anticipation as the next Golden Pearls of Wisdom drip from his keyboard.

Right.

I’ll likely to see two people a month, one who likely stumbled onto the site looking for English tea and crumpets. In essence, just one more voice yammering among the millions already out there.

So why do it?

Because I’m egotistical. Sort of. I find the idea a bit frightening, a bit intimidating. Put my words out for others to see, to ponder, to react to, to scorn? Have I taken leave of my senses? You bet. But I also style myself as a writer, so I’m supposed to put words out there. It’s just so unnerving, sending out those precious, vulnerable children out into the great unknown.

Actually, I’m hoping to let you in a little on what I’m thinking. (Just a little; you don’t want to know it all, believe me.) Whether the wider world pays any attention or not is another question. This won’t be a one-issue blog; indeed, it’s likely to wander all over the map. Society, culture, entertainment, people, whatever. No sports – not interested – and very little politics because in this polarized society I don’t want flame wars erupting on my site (though if something really egregious happens – and it will, it always does – I might, I say might, make a tiny comment or two). I can’t guarantee how often the posts will come, but I’m aiming for once a week. Even if it’s just “The weather was terrible here today.”

I will watch the comments and only the ones I approve will be seen. It’s my website, after all. There will be rules and my decisions are final. I am hoping to hear from thoughtful, the curious and the (relatively) sane so we we can discuss Serious Issues. Or argue over which are the better cartoons, Silly Symphonies or Looney Tunes.

Another reason for this is because I have something to sell (well, of course). Not much; my output is rather thin at the moment but I’m working on it (see the About and SF and Me tabs for more on that). I’ve posted a few short stories under the Short Tales tab, one published, three not, all accessible for free. Are they any good? I think so; after all, I did put them out there. Of course, the final say will be from you. (And if that’s not scary, I don’t know what is.)

I bill myself as a science-fiction writer, and one of the joys about the SF world is the people you meet, the writers, illustrators and fans. It’s a mutual support society, so I’ve added links to some I consider friends or colleagues on the page. You won’t find them boring; plus, they have a lot more works available. Check ‘em out, check out the wide variety of written SF for challenging ideas, great stories and just plain good reading.

Like all new things, this is an experiment and a nerve-wracking time for a guy who generally sits quietly in the background. I like this system, though; I can post something then hide under the bed until I screw up enough courage to see what the responses are. Assuming anyone does respond.

Still, I look forward to this. Sort of. As Calvin once said to Hobbes, “Because it is man’s indomitable nature to scare himself silly for no good reason!”