Star Trek: Alternative Futures
by William S. Kowinski
Now that '>Star Trek: Enterprise has come to its premature end and the infrastructure that supported Star Trek on television for the past 18 years has disbanded, the future of the Star Trek "franchise" is in doubt.
As Leonard Nimoy reminded me last summer, laughing the entire time, Star Trek has been dead before. The original series was nearly cancelled after the first season, just about cancelled after the second season, and declared dead after the third. Then a decade later it was resurrected for one and only one movie '>("Star Trek: THE Motion Picture as Nimoy says). When the actors gathered for each of the next four original cast movies, they never officially were told there would be another one. Then came their sixth, and by then, there was no question that Star Trek was alive: after all, it had reproduced, and was considered very fertile.
Now several years after its first real big screen financial failure (although when the DVD and other income gets factored it, it's doubtful even '>Nemesis will have lost money) and its first series since the first to be cancelled before the ideal (for moneymaking) seven year lifespan, Star Trek is dead again.
There are so many factors involved in whether there will be new Star Trek stories on TV or at the movies that predicting a single future is unrealistic. Some of those factors are: judgments of new management at Paramount, creative leadership, the pros and cons of the established fan base, potential audience in the next several years beyond that fan base.
How these factors play out can lead to several different outcomes. So let's play a game of alternative futures, and reverse engineer them to create a supporting scenario.
text continues after photos
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Future # 1: It's dead, Jim.
There will be no more Star Trek stories on television or in the movies. Paramount believes the Star Trek name is toxic. The public at large considers it a nostalgic throwback, and won't support new stories, while the fan base has become more trouble than it's worth: Aggressive and impossible to satisfy, able to destroy projects well in advance based on rumors, they are nitpicking scholars who examine every story for heresy according to the holy writ of canon, and issue their edicts through the Inquisition of the Internet.
Today’s audience isn't interested in a hopeful model for the future; they want violence as the realistic solution, neocon empire building and high tech warfare. Basically reactionary and lazy, they don't have the patience to follow intelligent stories without video-game violence.
They aren't interested in how humanity gets better and preserves its soul in the face of technology and the unknown, they want revenge fantasies and variations of evil, fear, envy, hatred, etc---all the wonderful qualities on display in the world today-- and simplistic superheroes to save the day.
They don't want "What if?" stories that provoke thinking and examination of today's human behavior, or serious science fiction; they want good v. evil (meaning us v. them) fantasies with vampires, evil spirits, vast digital armies of insect aliens and other characters that are more visual effects eye candy than substantive or meaningful beings.
It's been a great run, but even in the story of the boy who cried wolf, the wolf finally came. It's over.
Of course, Paramount will want to continue making money from the franchise, so it will keep and enforce its licensing of the Star Trek name. They could simply copy the most successful warfare-in-space show and call it Star Trek. However, a slight variation on this leads to scenario # 2:
There will be no more Star Trek stories on television or in the movies. Paramount believes the Star Trek name is toxic. The public at large considers it a nostalgic throwback, and won't support new stories, while the fan base has become more trouble than it's worth: Aggressive and impossible to satisfy, able to destroy projects well in advance based on rumors, they are nitpicking scholars who examine every story for heresy according to the holy writ of canon, and issue their edicts through the Inquisition of the Internet.
Today’s audience isn't interested in a hopeful model for the future; they want violence as the realistic solution, neocon empire building and high tech warfare. Basically reactionary and lazy, they don't have the patience to follow intelligent stories without video-game violence.
They aren't interested in how humanity gets better and preserves its soul in the face of technology and the unknown, they want revenge fantasies and variations of evil, fear, envy, hatred, etc---all the wonderful qualities on display in the world today-- and simplistic superheroes to save the day.
They don't want "What if?" stories that provoke thinking and examination of today's human behavior, or serious science fiction; they want good v. evil (meaning us v. them) fantasies with vampires, evil spirits, vast digital armies of insect aliens and other characters that are more visual effects eye candy than substantive or meaningful beings.
It's been a great run, but even in the story of the boy who cried wolf, the wolf finally came. It's over.
Of course, Paramount will want to continue making money from the franchise, so it will keep and enforce its licensing of the Star Trek name. They could simply copy the most successful warfare-in-space show and call it Star Trek. However, a slight variation on this leads to scenario # 2:
Future #2: Hand me the tricorder--maybe there's still a pulse.
Paramount has a lot on its plate and on its mind at the moment, so the prudent thing to do would be: nothing much. Just sit back and see how things unfold. Will the fan base wither? Will demand build? Will someone come forward who is interested in reviving Star Trek?
Somebody like... Steven Speilberg (currently awaiting the presumed blockbuster sci-fi movie, "War of the Worlds" he made for Paramount)? Or George Lucas who tried to acquire the Star Trek franchise before he made Star Wars?
Then of course Paramount would have to decide whether to make a deal that would probably mean they'd lose control of the franchise, or whether the fact that somebody like Speilberg or Lucas is interested in reviving it means they should take another look at it themselves.
Paramount could further test the waters, and maybe ascertain whether there is a future beyond conventional TV and feature films, by providing limited rights to outfits like New Voyages and Hidden Frontier to sell their movies on DVD. This would provide income to Paramount while giving them some idea of audience, and what might appeal to them. Sure, it's already embarrassing that some of these fan made movies are more popular than Enterprise was, which could be a problem if Paramount decides to make their own movies or TV shows again. But it could also be a low risk research tool, eventually a marketing tool, and a new way to bring in some cash for awhile longer.
Paramount has a lot on its plate and on its mind at the moment, so the prudent thing to do would be: nothing much. Just sit back and see how things unfold. Will the fan base wither? Will demand build? Will someone come forward who is interested in reviving Star Trek?
Somebody like... Steven Speilberg (currently awaiting the presumed blockbuster sci-fi movie, "War of the Worlds" he made for Paramount)? Or George Lucas who tried to acquire the Star Trek franchise before he made Star Wars?
Then of course Paramount would have to decide whether to make a deal that would probably mean they'd lose control of the franchise, or whether the fact that somebody like Speilberg or Lucas is interested in reviving it means they should take another look at it themselves.
Paramount could further test the waters, and maybe ascertain whether there is a future beyond conventional TV and feature films, by providing limited rights to outfits like New Voyages and Hidden Frontier to sell their movies on DVD. This would provide income to Paramount while giving them some idea of audience, and what might appeal to them. Sure, it's already embarrassing that some of these fan made movies are more popular than Enterprise was, which could be a problem if Paramount decides to make their own movies or TV shows again. But it could also be a low risk research tool, eventually a marketing tool, and a new way to bring in some cash for awhile longer.
Future #3 The Next Next Generation (Feature Film Division)
There's a certain conspiracy theory around that says Paramount wasn't really unhappy with the failure of Star Trek Nemesis, the most recent Star Trek feature. The feature film business is changing, and only big event movies justify big budgets. With the cost of digital effects falling, the biggest expense is getting to be the salaries of star actors. Star Trek films no longer are the big events with the major first weekend receipts; Trek films, like most films, make an increasing percentage of their money from DVD.
But Paramount couldn't simply abandon the Next Generation cast without alienating the fans that provide a reliable base of ticket sales. Nor could they have counted on the Star Trek infrastructure (Rick Berman, etc.) to go along with a completely new cast and concept. So they deliberately released the film when it would get clobbered by the real event blockbusters of today.
Whether or not that much is true, Patrick Stewart has indicated that his negotiations to appear in this film were particularly difficult, and they nearly broke down. And it is indisputably true that Paramount marketed the film as if it was going to be the last Next Generation movie ("a generation's final journey begins"), which evidently took the cast by surprise.
There has been regime change at Paramount since then, which makes this scenario more problematic, but Rick Berman has been talking about the story in development which doesn't feature known Trek characters. That of course translates into not featuring known Trek actors.
Less money for established stars means more for effects and other parts of the budget. It also means you don't have the big names that draw people to the theatres. Therefore you are going for the long-term DVD market, while hoping for a theatrical release surprise.
This strategy might mean that Paramount will have to cater to the fan base. If so, then there are a couple of other elements likely to be part of this alternative. First, the timing has to be such that enough time elapses to whet fan appetite, but not too much that the fan base dies off.
Second, that there is some continuity. If the Age of Berman is over (see the next alternative) then somebody else identified with Star Trek might very well be involved. The likeliest candidates are from the Next Generation: Jonathan Frakes and/or Levar Burton. Frakes directed the most successful Next Generation film, he's been a good soldier for Trek (even appearing in Enterprise) and he's on good terms with the rest of the Next Generation cast and crew, as well as with at least some of the original series folks, and subsequent ones.
Burton has directed episodes of every Trek series except the first, is very articulate and clear on what Star Trek is about, and has established relationships with cast members and others from the subsequent series to TNG, as well as the kind of ties and experience Frakes has. Both are liked and respected by fans. Both were hired by Gene Roddenberry---a very important qualification for traditional Trek fans, and even for executives who want to recapture the magic of the 1970s through the early 1990s.
There's a certain conspiracy theory around that says Paramount wasn't really unhappy with the failure of Star Trek Nemesis, the most recent Star Trek feature. The feature film business is changing, and only big event movies justify big budgets. With the cost of digital effects falling, the biggest expense is getting to be the salaries of star actors. Star Trek films no longer are the big events with the major first weekend receipts; Trek films, like most films, make an increasing percentage of their money from DVD.
But Paramount couldn't simply abandon the Next Generation cast without alienating the fans that provide a reliable base of ticket sales. Nor could they have counted on the Star Trek infrastructure (Rick Berman, etc.) to go along with a completely new cast and concept. So they deliberately released the film when it would get clobbered by the real event blockbusters of today.
Whether or not that much is true, Patrick Stewart has indicated that his negotiations to appear in this film were particularly difficult, and they nearly broke down. And it is indisputably true that Paramount marketed the film as if it was going to be the last Next Generation movie ("a generation's final journey begins"), which evidently took the cast by surprise.
There has been regime change at Paramount since then, which makes this scenario more problematic, but Rick Berman has been talking about the story in development which doesn't feature known Trek characters. That of course translates into not featuring known Trek actors.
Less money for established stars means more for effects and other parts of the budget. It also means you don't have the big names that draw people to the theatres. Therefore you are going for the long-term DVD market, while hoping for a theatrical release surprise.
This strategy might mean that Paramount will have to cater to the fan base. If so, then there are a couple of other elements likely to be part of this alternative. First, the timing has to be such that enough time elapses to whet fan appetite, but not too much that the fan base dies off.
Second, that there is some continuity. If the Age of Berman is over (see the next alternative) then somebody else identified with Star Trek might very well be involved. The likeliest candidates are from the Next Generation: Jonathan Frakes and/or Levar Burton. Frakes directed the most successful Next Generation film, he's been a good soldier for Trek (even appearing in Enterprise) and he's on good terms with the rest of the Next Generation cast and crew, as well as with at least some of the original series folks, and subsequent ones.
Burton has directed episodes of every Trek series except the first, is very articulate and clear on what Star Trek is about, and has established relationships with cast members and others from the subsequent series to TNG, as well as the kind of ties and experience Frakes has. Both are liked and respected by fans. Both were hired by Gene Roddenberry---a very important qualification for traditional Trek fans, and even for executives who want to recapture the magic of the 1970s through the early 1990s.
Future Scenario #4 The Age of (Rick) Berman is Over
This is less a stand-alone scenario than a likely prelude to whatever Paramount decides to do.
There have been only two chief executives in Star Trek's history: Gene Roddenberry and Rick Berman. Rick Berman ran Star Trek during its most profitable times and its slow decline. He presided over more TV episodes and movies than Roddenberry did, and even wrote more Star Trek stories.
Many people who worked with and for Rick Berman praise him for his patience, his loyalty, generosity and judgment. But Berman was not an originator. He said consistently that his job was to enact Gene Roddenberry's vision. Though each of the series he oversaw after GR (DS9, Voyager, Enterprise) diverged more and more from GR's universe, and one can argue that Enterprise was his main assertion of independence (he wrote more scripts and stories for it, made certain changes in the template and didn't have Star Trek in its title at first), he still maintained he was continuing GR's concept, within the continuous Star Trek universe.
It's fascinating to contrast the two chiefs of Trek. GR was and remains a controversial figure, the subject of several book-length '>biographies, including one by a careful scholar who nevertheless was a personal friend and authorized biographer, and another by someone who sought out and included every nasty comment made by people with an ax to grind he could find.
There are no biographies of Rick Berman, and not even a major magazine profile. There have been many books written about Star Trek during Roddenberry's rule by other participants, including the entire original cast (except for DeForest Kelley), and few if any by participants during Berman's rule.
In short, we have a lot of information about GR (a lot of it contradictory) and his role in developing and running Star Trek, as well as about his ideas, friends, lovers, family, favorite recreations, childhood etc. In contrast we have almost no information on any of this about Rick Berman.
Maybe it's none of our business, but it does suggest a crucial difference that may in fact be obvious. GR orchestrated the creation of Star Trek, out of his own head and from the contributions of others he got involved and consulted. Rick Berman orchestrated the continuation of Star Trek.
This was not an uncreative enterprise. New takes on the Trek universe, new stories within it, and adapting to new business relationships and to changes in technology and so on, all required creativity. But it may well be that Trek was not creatively renewed at the level of ideas that were important to its creation.
For example, GR and his initial team consulted regularly with scientists and technicians at NASA, JPL and elsewhere. GR sought advice and ideas from major science fiction writers he befriended---Ray Bradbury, Issac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke in particular. Ted Sturgeon, Harlan Ellison and other science fiction writers contributed key stories and scripts. (Even in the Berman regime, during TNG and later, new ideas came over the transom thanks to an open submissions policy that was lacking during Enterprise.)
However it worked, there seemed to be more contact with cutting edge ideas---in psychology and metaphysics as well as physics---in the Roddenberry era, plus the last 3 years of TNG. Maybe there just weren't that many new ideas around from the 90s to now, but I don't think so. I'd venture to suggest that there was even gradual retrenchment, with more interest in recapitulating the past but throwing it forward into the future.
The argument can be made that the science fiction basis withered under Berman, as well as the strong point of view on political and social matters that motivated GR and others early on. GR was invited to speak to assemblies of humanists, religious organizations, space technologists, futurists, Jungians and other groups at the frontier of various areas of knowledge and speculation. (And of course, he spoke often at Star Trek and science fiction conventions.) If Berman ever did this, the record is hard to find. We don't know the extent of his interest in current ideas in these fields, but it's likely that being involved in current knowledge, speculation and ideas is necessary to ongoing renewal of Star Trek.
Maybe it's a generational thing as well. GR's strong views on conflict and peace were tested in real war; he had actually flown aircraft, and been a cop on the street. Other producers and writers for the original series had real world backgrounds. Members of the original cast had experienced real prejudice (although members of subsequent casts likely did as well), and several were political activists who put their beliefs into practice. The producers and writers of the later series seem to have been in television their whole careers.
As Enterprise ended, Rick Berman made on the record statements, and applying a journalist's nose to certain newspaper articles, perhaps spoke off the record, about how limited his control over Star Trek really was. He spoke about "audience fatigue" as a major factor, but it's possible that fatigue was a more general problem.
At the moment, Rick Berman is under contract to Paramount but his only known assignment is his role in developing the story and script for the projected next Trek feature. He has refused to say what his future with Trek might be, suggesting that he will revisit that topic in six months or so. The various alternative futures of Trek will of course be influenced by whether Rick Berman continues as the chief of Trek. But with a new Paramount creative head from outside the company, Gail Berman (no relation), and the recent downswing in Trek's fortunes, it seems more likely than not that the Age of Rick Berman at Star Trek is over.
If this is so, it could pave the way for a new chief of the same Star Trek universe. Since the decision to maintain the Trek universe-the so-called canon---would indicate that Paramount wants to hold onto the fan base, it could be someone the fans trust, such as the aforementioned Jonathan Frakes and/or Levar Burton. Other figures popular in Trekdom include Nicholas Meyer, Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner. Some Trek fans would favor producer Manny Coto, but the last of Enterprise has made him a more controversial choice. Other popular former insiders, like producer Ronald Moore, are occupied elsewhere with ongoing science fiction shows and franchises.
But of course the end of the Age of Berman, if that happens, would also pave the way to something completely different.
This is less a stand-alone scenario than a likely prelude to whatever Paramount decides to do.
There have been only two chief executives in Star Trek's history: Gene Roddenberry and Rick Berman. Rick Berman ran Star Trek during its most profitable times and its slow decline. He presided over more TV episodes and movies than Roddenberry did, and even wrote more Star Trek stories.
Many people who worked with and for Rick Berman praise him for his patience, his loyalty, generosity and judgment. But Berman was not an originator. He said consistently that his job was to enact Gene Roddenberry's vision. Though each of the series he oversaw after GR (DS9, Voyager, Enterprise) diverged more and more from GR's universe, and one can argue that Enterprise was his main assertion of independence (he wrote more scripts and stories for it, made certain changes in the template and didn't have Star Trek in its title at first), he still maintained he was continuing GR's concept, within the continuous Star Trek universe.
It's fascinating to contrast the two chiefs of Trek. GR was and remains a controversial figure, the subject of several book-length '>biographies, including one by a careful scholar who nevertheless was a personal friend and authorized biographer, and another by someone who sought out and included every nasty comment made by people with an ax to grind he could find.
There are no biographies of Rick Berman, and not even a major magazine profile. There have been many books written about Star Trek during Roddenberry's rule by other participants, including the entire original cast (except for DeForest Kelley), and few if any by participants during Berman's rule.
In short, we have a lot of information about GR (a lot of it contradictory) and his role in developing and running Star Trek, as well as about his ideas, friends, lovers, family, favorite recreations, childhood etc. In contrast we have almost no information on any of this about Rick Berman.
Maybe it's none of our business, but it does suggest a crucial difference that may in fact be obvious. GR orchestrated the creation of Star Trek, out of his own head and from the contributions of others he got involved and consulted. Rick Berman orchestrated the continuation of Star Trek.
This was not an uncreative enterprise. New takes on the Trek universe, new stories within it, and adapting to new business relationships and to changes in technology and so on, all required creativity. But it may well be that Trek was not creatively renewed at the level of ideas that were important to its creation.
For example, GR and his initial team consulted regularly with scientists and technicians at NASA, JPL and elsewhere. GR sought advice and ideas from major science fiction writers he befriended---Ray Bradbury, Issac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke in particular. Ted Sturgeon, Harlan Ellison and other science fiction writers contributed key stories and scripts. (Even in the Berman regime, during TNG and later, new ideas came over the transom thanks to an open submissions policy that was lacking during Enterprise.)
However it worked, there seemed to be more contact with cutting edge ideas---in psychology and metaphysics as well as physics---in the Roddenberry era, plus the last 3 years of TNG. Maybe there just weren't that many new ideas around from the 90s to now, but I don't think so. I'd venture to suggest that there was even gradual retrenchment, with more interest in recapitulating the past but throwing it forward into the future.
The argument can be made that the science fiction basis withered under Berman, as well as the strong point of view on political and social matters that motivated GR and others early on. GR was invited to speak to assemblies of humanists, religious organizations, space technologists, futurists, Jungians and other groups at the frontier of various areas of knowledge and speculation. (And of course, he spoke often at Star Trek and science fiction conventions.) If Berman ever did this, the record is hard to find. We don't know the extent of his interest in current ideas in these fields, but it's likely that being involved in current knowledge, speculation and ideas is necessary to ongoing renewal of Star Trek.
Maybe it's a generational thing as well. GR's strong views on conflict and peace were tested in real war; he had actually flown aircraft, and been a cop on the street. Other producers and writers for the original series had real world backgrounds. Members of the original cast had experienced real prejudice (although members of subsequent casts likely did as well), and several were political activists who put their beliefs into practice. The producers and writers of the later series seem to have been in television their whole careers.
As Enterprise ended, Rick Berman made on the record statements, and applying a journalist's nose to certain newspaper articles, perhaps spoke off the record, about how limited his control over Star Trek really was. He spoke about "audience fatigue" as a major factor, but it's possible that fatigue was a more general problem.
At the moment, Rick Berman is under contract to Paramount but his only known assignment is his role in developing the story and script for the projected next Trek feature. He has refused to say what his future with Trek might be, suggesting that he will revisit that topic in six months or so. The various alternative futures of Trek will of course be influenced by whether Rick Berman continues as the chief of Trek. But with a new Paramount creative head from outside the company, Gail Berman (no relation), and the recent downswing in Trek's fortunes, it seems more likely than not that the Age of Rick Berman at Star Trek is over.
If this is so, it could pave the way for a new chief of the same Star Trek universe. Since the decision to maintain the Trek universe-the so-called canon---would indicate that Paramount wants to hold onto the fan base, it could be someone the fans trust, such as the aforementioned Jonathan Frakes and/or Levar Burton. Other figures popular in Trekdom include Nicholas Meyer, Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner. Some Trek fans would favor producer Manny Coto, but the last of Enterprise has made him a more controversial choice. Other popular former insiders, like producer Ronald Moore, are occupied elsewhere with ongoing science fiction shows and franchises.
But of course the end of the Age of Berman, if that happens, would also pave the way to something completely different.
Future Scenario #5 Re-invention
Paramount might decide that Star Trek still has potential---that is, it can still inspire creative storytelling, and importantly to them, it can still make major money. But it might decide---or it might get an offer it can't refuse from the likes of Lucas or Speilberg with this demand---that the Star Trek canon universe is a dead issue, and can safely be abandoned.
Then the question becomes: will it be Star Trek in anything but name? And will the name be enough?
Some feel that a complete re-invention is possible, although only if the core integrity of Star Trek's ideals are preserved. Former Trek scribe and now science fiction novelist '>Nick Sagan suggested this to me, in an email response to questions I sent him while I was reporting last summer's New York Times story. Here's the operative quote:
"You don't have to tell stories about or even tip the hat to previous Trek characters. All you need is Gene Roddenberry's sense of hope and wonder. At its core, Star Trek is about the people of Earth optimistically uniting in purpose, sending explorers into the universe. What could be out there? That's the core of Gene's vision, and as long as you don't lose that, you can find a new voice, a new point of view about the future, and reimagine the show any of a thousand different ways."
Nick prefaced this by saying that such a reinvention would follow a period of silence, when there was no new Trek around, to give a new concept "breathing room."
It would also depend on the fan base quieting down, if not withering away. Right now Trek fandom is a chaotic concept. Internet fans seem quite different from convention-going fans, who in turn are different from casual fans who simply like watching Star Trek. Within at least the Internet activists are very different visions of what Trek is or should be.
Some of it is political and ideological, with some fans lambasting or simply dismissing GR's vision as the ravings of a naïve and deluded arcane liberal. There is a neocon and Christian fundamentalist fan presence on the net that support political and cultural agendas that GR and most of the Trek writers and actors would not---they'd probably find a lot of it horrifying. And of course, there are fans with unitary loyalty to one series, and disdain for all others, as well as those who simply like some series and movies better, and just don't care to see the others. And there is a vocal group, probably a minority though no one knows how large or small, that defends total Trek canon, including some who express contempt for some of it.
But what would re-invention look like? On the big screen, it could be a new cast of unknowns who either portray new characters or established Trek characters like Captain Kirk, but in both cases with selective or complete disregard for canon facts and stories. They would reinvent the Trek universe, and break continuity with the existing stories. Or it could be a more modest reinvention on that level, like the movies made about comic book heroes like Spiderman and Batman, with reference to certain key characters, characteristics and events, but disregard for others.
On the big screen, it could also be a total or partial reinvention with established movie stars, who wouldn't participate unless they could make the characters their own. It might be a little more like the "Lost in Space" movie versus the TV show. Would the draw of major stars compensate for the ire of old fans? Being able to answering that question "and bring in a whole new and larger audience" would be the calculation Paramount would have to make.
On TV, reinvention could be a trickier project. Even with the vaunted "audience fatigue," the Enterprise premiere attracted some 20 million viewers. Could a show that calls itself Star Trek but which fans believe isn't Star Trek overcome that resistance, and more importantly, could it hold onto the viewers made curious, if not absolutely attracted, by the Trek name?
Enterprise failed despite having an established TV sci-fi star as its lead, so casting alone won't guarantee success. Manny Coto suggested that Trek will be back on TV when a "show runner" for another hot TV series expresses interest in doing it. Maybe. But television professionalism isn't everything, as Enterprise suggests.
My instinct is that to revive and reinvent Trek, the next Trek chief will need to go back to the same process followed by GR and his team: look at the science and speculation, at the cutting edge stuff, and design a future that works, that is exciting and attractive, and has lots of room for stories.
This process is necessary not only to reimagine Trek altogether, but to take the Trek universe to where it hasn't gone before-into the 25th century perhaps, or even deeper into its earlier days.
There are other alternative scenarios, some suggested here before, like animated Trek. For now it’s all speculation. Still, this fallow period is an opportunity to hone in on what is most valuable about Star Trek, as a guide to its future.
Paramount might decide that Star Trek still has potential---that is, it can still inspire creative storytelling, and importantly to them, it can still make major money. But it might decide---or it might get an offer it can't refuse from the likes of Lucas or Speilberg with this demand---that the Star Trek canon universe is a dead issue, and can safely be abandoned.
Then the question becomes: will it be Star Trek in anything but name? And will the name be enough?
Some feel that a complete re-invention is possible, although only if the core integrity of Star Trek's ideals are preserved. Former Trek scribe and now science fiction novelist '>Nick Sagan suggested this to me, in an email response to questions I sent him while I was reporting last summer's New York Times story. Here's the operative quote:
"You don't have to tell stories about or even tip the hat to previous Trek characters. All you need is Gene Roddenberry's sense of hope and wonder. At its core, Star Trek is about the people of Earth optimistically uniting in purpose, sending explorers into the universe. What could be out there? That's the core of Gene's vision, and as long as you don't lose that, you can find a new voice, a new point of view about the future, and reimagine the show any of a thousand different ways."
Nick prefaced this by saying that such a reinvention would follow a period of silence, when there was no new Trek around, to give a new concept "breathing room."
It would also depend on the fan base quieting down, if not withering away. Right now Trek fandom is a chaotic concept. Internet fans seem quite different from convention-going fans, who in turn are different from casual fans who simply like watching Star Trek. Within at least the Internet activists are very different visions of what Trek is or should be.
Some of it is political and ideological, with some fans lambasting or simply dismissing GR's vision as the ravings of a naïve and deluded arcane liberal. There is a neocon and Christian fundamentalist fan presence on the net that support political and cultural agendas that GR and most of the Trek writers and actors would not---they'd probably find a lot of it horrifying. And of course, there are fans with unitary loyalty to one series, and disdain for all others, as well as those who simply like some series and movies better, and just don't care to see the others. And there is a vocal group, probably a minority though no one knows how large or small, that defends total Trek canon, including some who express contempt for some of it.
But what would re-invention look like? On the big screen, it could be a new cast of unknowns who either portray new characters or established Trek characters like Captain Kirk, but in both cases with selective or complete disregard for canon facts and stories. They would reinvent the Trek universe, and break continuity with the existing stories. Or it could be a more modest reinvention on that level, like the movies made about comic book heroes like Spiderman and Batman, with reference to certain key characters, characteristics and events, but disregard for others.
On the big screen, it could also be a total or partial reinvention with established movie stars, who wouldn't participate unless they could make the characters their own. It might be a little more like the "Lost in Space" movie versus the TV show. Would the draw of major stars compensate for the ire of old fans? Being able to answering that question "and bring in a whole new and larger audience" would be the calculation Paramount would have to make.
On TV, reinvention could be a trickier project. Even with the vaunted "audience fatigue," the Enterprise premiere attracted some 20 million viewers. Could a show that calls itself Star Trek but which fans believe isn't Star Trek overcome that resistance, and more importantly, could it hold onto the viewers made curious, if not absolutely attracted, by the Trek name?
Enterprise failed despite having an established TV sci-fi star as its lead, so casting alone won't guarantee success. Manny Coto suggested that Trek will be back on TV when a "show runner" for another hot TV series expresses interest in doing it. Maybe. But television professionalism isn't everything, as Enterprise suggests.
My instinct is that to revive and reinvent Trek, the next Trek chief will need to go back to the same process followed by GR and his team: look at the science and speculation, at the cutting edge stuff, and design a future that works, that is exciting and attractive, and has lots of room for stories.
This process is necessary not only to reimagine Trek altogether, but to take the Trek universe to where it hasn't gone before-into the 25th century perhaps, or even deeper into its earlier days.
There are other alternative scenarios, some suggested here before, like animated Trek. For now it’s all speculation. Still, this fallow period is an opportunity to hone in on what is most valuable about Star Trek, as a guide to its future.
GR did three things with Star Trek. First, he made an entertaining adventure series set in the new frontier of space: Wagon Train to the Stars. In doing so, he used some established sci-fi elements of what that future would be like, but he also added elements that hadn't been seen before.
Second, he used the Trek universe for allegories, metaphors, perspective and comment on today---not just political events but the way humans are now. He made Gulliver's Travels in Space.
Third, he realized that the opportunity to create a universe meant the opportunity to create the vision of a better one---a future people could admire, aspire to, be inspired by, and especially want to be part of, if only for an hour a week. If he made a universe we'd like to live in, people would come to it. The precedents for this would be the centuries of literary utopias, including those created by sci-fi authors. Those utopias weren't meant to be perfect societies, but they were acts of creative imagination that inspired hope for better possibilities in the future. Still, given the misunderstanding the term has today, let's just say that in this third instance, GR made...Star Trek.
My own feeling is that Star Trek still has the same basic mission, and that there is an audience for it. It would embody all three of the functions I've just described. It would offer stories in an imaginative universe that offers hope and direction for our future by partly fulfilling our current hopes, and testing them and others by means of story.
It would return the creative tension between intellectual and moral concerns and ideas, and the necessities of the form (TV series, movie) and business. It would deal with character, but also return to science fiction concepts. It would have action, but it would express adventure in ways that provide the hope that in the future, people will derive pleasure and meaning from doing good and creating as well as destroying, and that they will find challenge in intellectual and spiritual realms as well as the physical. It would have the humanity that GR professed, and it would deal with cosmic questions as well as what the people of the future would be doing in the cosmos, and how they might do it.
It would refrain from micro-managing its imagery to appeal to young men or young women or any particular "demographic," but would return to what made Star Trek successful with children, teenagers, young adults, parents and now grandparents: thought-provoking and surprising stories, told intelligently and well, classical at its core and built to last, with a minimum of graphic violence and a maximum of wonder.
When Star Trek started, nobody believed there was an audience for this kind of saga. Maybe nobody believes it now. But in the nearly forty years between, there was.
Second, he used the Trek universe for allegories, metaphors, perspective and comment on today---not just political events but the way humans are now. He made Gulliver's Travels in Space.
Third, he realized that the opportunity to create a universe meant the opportunity to create the vision of a better one---a future people could admire, aspire to, be inspired by, and especially want to be part of, if only for an hour a week. If he made a universe we'd like to live in, people would come to it. The precedents for this would be the centuries of literary utopias, including those created by sci-fi authors. Those utopias weren't meant to be perfect societies, but they were acts of creative imagination that inspired hope for better possibilities in the future. Still, given the misunderstanding the term has today, let's just say that in this third instance, GR made...Star Trek.
My own feeling is that Star Trek still has the same basic mission, and that there is an audience for it. It would embody all three of the functions I've just described. It would offer stories in an imaginative universe that offers hope and direction for our future by partly fulfilling our current hopes, and testing them and others by means of story.
It would return the creative tension between intellectual and moral concerns and ideas, and the necessities of the form (TV series, movie) and business. It would deal with character, but also return to science fiction concepts. It would have action, but it would express adventure in ways that provide the hope that in the future, people will derive pleasure and meaning from doing good and creating as well as destroying, and that they will find challenge in intellectual and spiritual realms as well as the physical. It would have the humanity that GR professed, and it would deal with cosmic questions as well as what the people of the future would be doing in the cosmos, and how they might do it.
It would refrain from micro-managing its imagery to appeal to young men or young women or any particular "demographic," but would return to what made Star Trek successful with children, teenagers, young adults, parents and now grandparents: thought-provoking and surprising stories, told intelligently and well, classical at its core and built to last, with a minimum of graphic violence and a maximum of wonder.
When Star Trek started, nobody believed there was an audience for this kind of saga. Maybe nobody believes it now. But in the nearly forty years between, there was.
Coming Soon
What were things really like when Star Trek started in 1966? And several posts relating to the new War of the Worlds movie, including origins of the novel, the connections between H.G. Wells and Gene Roddenberry, and an essay on the new film.
Generally there are new posts once a week, appearing usually between Sunday and Wednesday.
What were things really like when Star Trek started in 1966? And several posts relating to the new War of the Worlds movie, including origins of the novel, the connections between H.G. Wells and Gene Roddenberry, and an essay on the new film.
Generally there are new posts once a week, appearing usually between Sunday and Wednesday.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Birth of An Empire
by William S. Kowinski
The political dimensions of "Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith," currently still breaking box office records, seemed to take many people by surprise. The Washington Post reported on a number of observations, some of them angry, that the transformation of the Republic into the Empire had certain clear similarities to U.S. actions and rhetoric in respect to Iraq. The article was entitled "The Empire Strikes Bush."
Then the New York Times weighed in, with news of conservative blogs attacking Lucas for anti-Bush sentiments, such as Anakin Skywalker--- who'd just been re-named Darth Vader--- saying, "If you're not with me, you're my enemy," (a close echo of Bush's "Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.")
The Times also reported that a conservative website it described as "little trafficked" had called for a boycott of Star Wars, along with films starring Jane Fonda, Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn, and the music of the Dixie Chicks. It's either little trafficked, or largely ignored.
Cornered on the question in Cannes, where he opened "Sith," Lucas reinterated that his movie was devised in response to the Vietnam war, but he did allow that"The parallels between what we did in Vietnam and what we're doing in Iraq now are unbelievable."
However, if anyone had paid attention to what Lucas had been saying for several years now, they couldn't be surprised. He's announced over and over that the theme of this film and the prequel trilogy it completes is meant to be "...how a democratic society turns into a dictatorship, and how a good person turns into a bad person."
A pop culture phenomenon like "Star Wars" has an inevitable relationship to other cultural currents in the society of its time. This has been especially true of the Lucas films, since the story within their space opera adventure is partly political: the rise and fall of an Empire.
That first "'>Star Wars" burst onto screens in 1977 when science fiction films were rare and dour. After Vietnam and Watergate, and with the Cold War superpowers still facing off with immense nuclear arsenals, and dire planetary warnings coming from a fledgling environmental movement, the future seemed doubtful, and the anti-hero ruled the screen. Enter Lucas with a simple and revolutionary concept: to consciously inject heroic mythological themes into the fantasy world of the space opera serial: Joseph Campbell directs Flash Gordon.
"Star Wars" edged the old innocent virtues with contemporary knowingness in recognizable new heroes: Hans Solo, the swaggering mercenary with hidden heart, and Princess Leia, the damsel in distress who runs the war room and shoots the bad guys. Soulless technology became personable in the robots, C3po and R2D2. But the true classic hero was Luke Skywalker, all impulse and openness, with buried powers that could be used for anything, depending on who and what he trusted to bring them forth.
(text continues after photos)
by William S. Kowinski
The political dimensions of "Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith," currently still breaking box office records, seemed to take many people by surprise. The Washington Post reported on a number of observations, some of them angry, that the transformation of the Republic into the Empire had certain clear similarities to U.S. actions and rhetoric in respect to Iraq. The article was entitled "The Empire Strikes Bush."
Then the New York Times weighed in, with news of conservative blogs attacking Lucas for anti-Bush sentiments, such as Anakin Skywalker--- who'd just been re-named Darth Vader--- saying, "If you're not with me, you're my enemy," (a close echo of Bush's "Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.")
The Times also reported that a conservative website it described as "little trafficked" had called for a boycott of Star Wars, along with films starring Jane Fonda, Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn, and the music of the Dixie Chicks. It's either little trafficked, or largely ignored.
Cornered on the question in Cannes, where he opened "Sith," Lucas reinterated that his movie was devised in response to the Vietnam war, but he did allow that"The parallels between what we did in Vietnam and what we're doing in Iraq now are unbelievable."
However, if anyone had paid attention to what Lucas had been saying for several years now, they couldn't be surprised. He's announced over and over that the theme of this film and the prequel trilogy it completes is meant to be "...how a democratic society turns into a dictatorship, and how a good person turns into a bad person."
A pop culture phenomenon like "Star Wars" has an inevitable relationship to other cultural currents in the society of its time. This has been especially true of the Lucas films, since the story within their space opera adventure is partly political: the rise and fall of an Empire.
That first "'>Star Wars" burst onto screens in 1977 when science fiction films were rare and dour. After Vietnam and Watergate, and with the Cold War superpowers still facing off with immense nuclear arsenals, and dire planetary warnings coming from a fledgling environmental movement, the future seemed doubtful, and the anti-hero ruled the screen. Enter Lucas with a simple and revolutionary concept: to consciously inject heroic mythological themes into the fantasy world of the space opera serial: Joseph Campbell directs Flash Gordon.
"Star Wars" edged the old innocent virtues with contemporary knowingness in recognizable new heroes: Hans Solo, the swaggering mercenary with hidden heart, and Princess Leia, the damsel in distress who runs the war room and shoots the bad guys. Soulless technology became personable in the robots, C3po and R2D2. But the true classic hero was Luke Skywalker, all impulse and openness, with buried powers that could be used for anything, depending on who and what he trusted to bring them forth.
(text continues after photos)
Lucas captivated audiences on yet another level with one astonishing premise: The Force, which emanates from all life and is both accessible to all and inborn more strongly in some. The Force has a good side, accessed by the Jedi knights, like Obi Wan Kenobe, serving the rebel alliance. It also has the dark side, represented by Darth Vader, serving the Imperial Empire and its powerful hooded emperor. The Force not only added an all-purpose explanation for fantastic accomplishments but a mystical and spiritual dimension largely absent from a 1970s American culture dominated by the rigid and linear materialism of economics and science.
In the third film of this trilogy, "'>Return of the Jedi," the Empire is overthrown by Luke Skywalker and an underdog alliance with more virtue than technology, in a final battle fought partly in space, and partly on a green world that looks very much like Eureka, California. It was a satisfying ending, and everyone identified. Released in 1983, its message inspired New Age advocates and environmentalists, and also President Ronald Reagan, who began referring to the Soviet Union as the Evil Empire, and proposed a missile defense system that was quickly dubbed "Star Wars."
But Lucas had a larger, more complex and perhaps less comfortable story in mind. Darth Vader, the black-clad, half-machine villain skulking in the darkness, turned out to be the evil father of Luke Skywalker and his twin sister, Leia. Even though Vader turns away from the dark side before he dies, the question was raised: how does evil father good? The answer given in the new prequel trilogy is provided by the less literal reversal: how good fathers evil.
Beginning with '>"The Phantom Menace" in 1999, Lucas explores the rise and fall of Anakin Skywalker, who will become Darth Vader in "Revenge of the Sith." (The Sith are revealed as the dark side equivalent of the Jedi.) In the past several years, DVDs of all five prior Star Wars films were released(including "'>Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones" from 2002) with commentary tracks that included George Lucas talking in his low-key Modesto way about the arc of these two trilogies.
In between chat on mechanics of filmmaking (the Bantha is really an elephant in costume) Lucas reveals how deliberate his thematic thinking has been. The evil Empire figures wear black and white, because they represent a black-and-white world view of self-righteous certainties. The rebels are clothed in earth-tones, representing the organic complexities. The same situations and motifs recur purposefully; the difference is in the choices characters make each time.
In "Jedi" we saw Luke reject the temptations of the dark side's power by restraining his anger and hate. The entire prequel trilogy may be seen as a demonstration of how someone makes the opposite choice, and Lucas has clearly tried to make Anakin Skywalker sympathetic as well as strong. To up the ante, Lucas even gives him the equivalent of a virgin birth, born of the mating of a woman and the Force itself. He is "the chosen one."
Anakin is hotblooded but his reactions seem reasonably provoked: he is taken from his mother as a child, and as a young man sees her killed by kidnappers. He is forbidden the woman he loves. His personal descent is mirrored in the politics Lucas spends a lot of time elaborately setting up, with the apparently reasonable and reactive, step-by-step transformation of the democratic Republic into the dictatorial Empire, though it is being manipulated by one of its own.
The society and the hero that think themselves good but transform themselves into evil is a bold theme that resonates in post-9/11 America. Lucas says forthrightly that his point of view was formed during the Vietnam war. Though of course he could not have predicted that this film would open while the U.S. has an army of occupation in Iraq, it inevitably applies, especially considering how officials declared the preemptively virtuous right to attack those they define as the Axis of Evil.
Moreover, Lucas is clear about the paths to the dark side: The hunger for more and more power serving a possessiveness and greed that includes surrender to revenge, and to the emotional demands of what Buddhists call attachment. In other words, the current functional morality of our politics and society.
This prequel trilogy says that hot-blooded righteousness in a hero is not enough, for it is too easily turned. Like all cautionary tales, this is a call to consciousness. Like all tragedies, it tells us that even born heroes have human flaws that mirror their society's faults.
In the third film of this trilogy, "'>Return of the Jedi," the Empire is overthrown by Luke Skywalker and an underdog alliance with more virtue than technology, in a final battle fought partly in space, and partly on a green world that looks very much like Eureka, California. It was a satisfying ending, and everyone identified. Released in 1983, its message inspired New Age advocates and environmentalists, and also President Ronald Reagan, who began referring to the Soviet Union as the Evil Empire, and proposed a missile defense system that was quickly dubbed "Star Wars."
But Lucas had a larger, more complex and perhaps less comfortable story in mind. Darth Vader, the black-clad, half-machine villain skulking in the darkness, turned out to be the evil father of Luke Skywalker and his twin sister, Leia. Even though Vader turns away from the dark side before he dies, the question was raised: how does evil father good? The answer given in the new prequel trilogy is provided by the less literal reversal: how good fathers evil.
Beginning with '>"The Phantom Menace" in 1999, Lucas explores the rise and fall of Anakin Skywalker, who will become Darth Vader in "Revenge of the Sith." (The Sith are revealed as the dark side equivalent of the Jedi.) In the past several years, DVDs of all five prior Star Wars films were released(including "'>Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones" from 2002) with commentary tracks that included George Lucas talking in his low-key Modesto way about the arc of these two trilogies.
In between chat on mechanics of filmmaking (the Bantha is really an elephant in costume) Lucas reveals how deliberate his thematic thinking has been. The evil Empire figures wear black and white, because they represent a black-and-white world view of self-righteous certainties. The rebels are clothed in earth-tones, representing the organic complexities. The same situations and motifs recur purposefully; the difference is in the choices characters make each time.
In "Jedi" we saw Luke reject the temptations of the dark side's power by restraining his anger and hate. The entire prequel trilogy may be seen as a demonstration of how someone makes the opposite choice, and Lucas has clearly tried to make Anakin Skywalker sympathetic as well as strong. To up the ante, Lucas even gives him the equivalent of a virgin birth, born of the mating of a woman and the Force itself. He is "the chosen one."
Anakin is hotblooded but his reactions seem reasonably provoked: he is taken from his mother as a child, and as a young man sees her killed by kidnappers. He is forbidden the woman he loves. His personal descent is mirrored in the politics Lucas spends a lot of time elaborately setting up, with the apparently reasonable and reactive, step-by-step transformation of the democratic Republic into the dictatorial Empire, though it is being manipulated by one of its own.
The society and the hero that think themselves good but transform themselves into evil is a bold theme that resonates in post-9/11 America. Lucas says forthrightly that his point of view was formed during the Vietnam war. Though of course he could not have predicted that this film would open while the U.S. has an army of occupation in Iraq, it inevitably applies, especially considering how officials declared the preemptively virtuous right to attack those they define as the Axis of Evil.
Moreover, Lucas is clear about the paths to the dark side: The hunger for more and more power serving a possessiveness and greed that includes surrender to revenge, and to the emotional demands of what Buddhists call attachment. In other words, the current functional morality of our politics and society.
This prequel trilogy says that hot-blooded righteousness in a hero is not enough, for it is too easily turned. Like all cautionary tales, this is a call to consciousness. Like all tragedies, it tells us that even born heroes have human flaws that mirror their society's faults.
That's a lot for a film series to bear, especially one wrapped up in the animated noise of a tech-crazy age, and partly pitched to children. As Lucas warned, this film is darker than any of its predecessors, showing Anakin Skywalker's descent into hell (almost literally, in the fires of a volcanic planet.)
Revenge of the Sith is packed with space battles and enough fast moving shots per minute to quench the quick-image hunger of the youngest video game-raised fan, although it tends to bludgeon older viewers into sullen impatience. There is likely to be some discomfort with the acting---more Anakin the manikin talk---though there were more effective moments in this film. But the political applicability is inescapable and explicit in the dialogue. "Only the Sith see the universe in black and white." However it's more complex and subtle than an anti-Vietnam or anti-Iraq war screed.
As the chancellor is moving quickly towards becoming emperor, the capital city starts to look less cleanly futuristic and more garish, with lots of neon. Anakin talks to him at a Senate session during what appears to be some sort of stadium light show. It is the manipulation by means of misdirection and imagery (also a Bush administration characteristic, thanks especially to a compliant media)which leads directly to one of the more quoted lines in the film, Queen Amidala as she observes Chancellor/Emperor Palpatine declare the Empire to a palpitating throng in the Senate: "This is how liberty dies---to thunderous applause."
Pretty nervy stuff for a film that is getting thunderous applause at the box office. The film is also likely to offend some self-described Christian fundamentalists, with lines like Yoda's, when he questions whether the prophesies of the Chosen One were misinterpreted. Though the basic moral message of what turns good into bad does jibe with much of what Jesus says in the gospels, and what early Christians believed, it is not the kind of doctrine today's so-called fundamentalists are likely to embrace. Especially when the people who talk like this today are mostly Buddhists. It is actually a pretty subtle philosophy (having really not much to do with religion) about how things work.
It also is conspicuously counter to the motivation of heroes in recent action films, who usually wind up blowing stuff up and killing a lot of people not for king or country or even their religion, but to save their family. That in essence is what Anakin wants to hold onto as his core value, and it leads to his downfall.
Beyond politics and religion as well is this film's function within the six-film cycle of the Star Wars saga. Located at dead center in the myth, this is an authentic tragedy. It concerns a great man with a fatal flaw: the classical Greek formula. We are meant to feel pity and terror, not only for Anakin but for ourselves.
The political complexities within the film will also likely have fans talking about what was really going on for some years more. Were the Jedi Knights just a little past their prime? Was Anakin rightly confused by the Jedi's bending their own rules, or was this a matter of thinking only in black and white?
It's fascinating that it will likely be the real fans who will engage in actual moral and political discussion, with this film as text. Beyond those invested in this story universe, many are too into their ideological identity to allow doubt or argument. In America at least, the audience seems split between angry triumphalism and forlorn, global-cooked dread. It's the Rapture red staters versus the apocalyptic blues. Even Lucas will probably not be surprised if this essentially moral message is lost or, as in the Reagan 80s, co-opted.
It may take seeing these six films in sequence for the moral themes to fully emerge (and the prophesy perhaps to be fulfilled.) Even the enormous gap in movie technology from the first trilogy to the second may emphasize the themes, as grand digital landscapes suddenly become more human, with human virtues regaining their Samurai/Jedi power. It may look like decadence yielding to simplicity and conscious innocence. The implications of the fall should be sobering, but there's both hope and instruction in this humbler resurrection. If Lucas himself succeeds in doing what he's announced, which is to make smaller, more personal films, it may be a prediction of his future as well.
Revenge of the Sith is packed with space battles and enough fast moving shots per minute to quench the quick-image hunger of the youngest video game-raised fan, although it tends to bludgeon older viewers into sullen impatience. There is likely to be some discomfort with the acting---more Anakin the manikin talk---though there were more effective moments in this film. But the political applicability is inescapable and explicit in the dialogue. "Only the Sith see the universe in black and white." However it's more complex and subtle than an anti-Vietnam or anti-Iraq war screed.
As the chancellor is moving quickly towards becoming emperor, the capital city starts to look less cleanly futuristic and more garish, with lots of neon. Anakin talks to him at a Senate session during what appears to be some sort of stadium light show. It is the manipulation by means of misdirection and imagery (also a Bush administration characteristic, thanks especially to a compliant media)which leads directly to one of the more quoted lines in the film, Queen Amidala as she observes Chancellor/Emperor Palpatine declare the Empire to a palpitating throng in the Senate: "This is how liberty dies---to thunderous applause."
Pretty nervy stuff for a film that is getting thunderous applause at the box office. The film is also likely to offend some self-described Christian fundamentalists, with lines like Yoda's, when he questions whether the prophesies of the Chosen One were misinterpreted. Though the basic moral message of what turns good into bad does jibe with much of what Jesus says in the gospels, and what early Christians believed, it is not the kind of doctrine today's so-called fundamentalists are likely to embrace. Especially when the people who talk like this today are mostly Buddhists. It is actually a pretty subtle philosophy (having really not much to do with religion) about how things work.
It also is conspicuously counter to the motivation of heroes in recent action films, who usually wind up blowing stuff up and killing a lot of people not for king or country or even their religion, but to save their family. That in essence is what Anakin wants to hold onto as his core value, and it leads to his downfall.
Beyond politics and religion as well is this film's function within the six-film cycle of the Star Wars saga. Located at dead center in the myth, this is an authentic tragedy. It concerns a great man with a fatal flaw: the classical Greek formula. We are meant to feel pity and terror, not only for Anakin but for ourselves.
The political complexities within the film will also likely have fans talking about what was really going on for some years more. Were the Jedi Knights just a little past their prime? Was Anakin rightly confused by the Jedi's bending their own rules, or was this a matter of thinking only in black and white?
It's fascinating that it will likely be the real fans who will engage in actual moral and political discussion, with this film as text. Beyond those invested in this story universe, many are too into their ideological identity to allow doubt or argument. In America at least, the audience seems split between angry triumphalism and forlorn, global-cooked dread. It's the Rapture red staters versus the apocalyptic blues. Even Lucas will probably not be surprised if this essentially moral message is lost or, as in the Reagan 80s, co-opted.
It may take seeing these six films in sequence for the moral themes to fully emerge (and the prophesy perhaps to be fulfilled.) Even the enormous gap in movie technology from the first trilogy to the second may emphasize the themes, as grand digital landscapes suddenly become more human, with human virtues regaining their Samurai/Jedi power. It may look like decadence yielding to simplicity and conscious innocence. The implications of the fall should be sobering, but there's both hope and instruction in this humbler resurrection. If Lucas himself succeeds in doing what he's announced, which is to make smaller, more personal films, it may be a prediction of his future as well.
Monday, May 16, 2005
All Bad Things, Part II
Are we maybe actually in the Mirror Universe?
I get no pleasure from bashing anything about Star Trek. I don't like being in the company of writers who have used the demise of Trek to show off their superior disdain. I wish I could say that those who talk about fatigue were proven wrong by the last episodes of Enterprise. But they seemed to me to be evidence of fatigue, though not necessarily in the audience.
Because unless it's just me, the last six episodes were a mélange of bad ideas, good ideas badly executed, not well-thought out stories and no real direction to characterization. So many plot threads never tied, so many themes never matched or explored very far; so many anomalies unexplained; so much pointless motion as a substitute for real story action... Put them together and you have an unpalatable menu of ways that a series can go wrong: a flatfooted joke with a flatfooted twist ("Bound"), giddy obsession with nostalgic production values for two hours of pointless violence and histrionics (the Mirror Twins), two hours of a decent idea with another excellent guest star, but slack and undramatic storytelling (Demons, Terra Prime) and a finale with no center, no edge and no thanks.
The best that anyone has said for "Bound" and the mirror episodes is that they were "entertained," whatever that means. Personally I'd like some solid storytelling with intriguing themes and characterization with my 23rd and 24th century aliens, starships and uniforms. (Oddly enough, the originals are all readily available in several different media of TOS and TNG episodes.)
The mirror universe episodes began by trashing one of the most important moments in Star Trek history (and certainly one of the most memorable during the tenure of Berman and Braga): the first contact in First Contact. If Star Trek represents hope to many people, then this moment embodied that hope.
But instead of a handshake, the inventor of the warp drive whips out a machine gun, kills an unarmed alien, and leads his fellow earthlings to pillage the Vulcan science ship. It is shocking and heart-breaking, and as I watched it the first time I thought: it's going to be hard to see this moment in First Contact now without thinking of this version, so this had better be worth it.
For two hours I waited for it to be worth it, and it never was. I don't blame fans who managed to see this as an illustration of how the Star Trek future could go bad, because they really want Star Trek to mean something. But for the people responsible for this episode, this excuse can only be classified as cynical rationalization. These episodes were execrable exercises in pointless game-playing, laden with relentless violence and cheap villainy.
Was the premise of this mirror universe even credible? War-ravaged 21st century earthlings pillage one small ship of its technology and rule the galaxy, turning the Vulcans into slaves? That leaves a lot up to the imagination, especially considering what we see of the Enterprise earthlings. Empress Sato indeed. That great twist of the apparently subservient sex slave being the real master was so brilliant, why not use it twice in a row?
Peter Weller's presence and subtle acting, and Levar Burton's direction, made "Demons" the best of a bad lot, but as reviewers have pointed out, not a whole lot makes sense (Trip and T'Pol going "undercover" etc.). Both this and "Terra Prime" failed to either explore or explicate the worthy theme of xenophobia.
For example, the Terra Prime earth-firsters were of various races and nationalities. Wasn't that an opportunity for an Enterprise character to point out the analogy? Why else have a mixed race set of xenophobes? But with nothing said, the image sends a mixed message: like, these people can't really be serious. What is so threatening about the half-alien baby? We're supposed to know. Nobody shows us why they feel threatened. (Maybe Weller's performance here was too subtle.)
Michelle Erica Green makes a similar point about the series, that too much was told and not enough happened. This is bad storytelling, from people who have been involved in good storytelling in the past. I can't say I understand it.
Are we maybe actually in the Mirror Universe?
I get no pleasure from bashing anything about Star Trek. I don't like being in the company of writers who have used the demise of Trek to show off their superior disdain. I wish I could say that those who talk about fatigue were proven wrong by the last episodes of Enterprise. But they seemed to me to be evidence of fatigue, though not necessarily in the audience.
Because unless it's just me, the last six episodes were a mélange of bad ideas, good ideas badly executed, not well-thought out stories and no real direction to characterization. So many plot threads never tied, so many themes never matched or explored very far; so many anomalies unexplained; so much pointless motion as a substitute for real story action... Put them together and you have an unpalatable menu of ways that a series can go wrong: a flatfooted joke with a flatfooted twist ("Bound"), giddy obsession with nostalgic production values for two hours of pointless violence and histrionics (the Mirror Twins), two hours of a decent idea with another excellent guest star, but slack and undramatic storytelling (Demons, Terra Prime) and a finale with no center, no edge and no thanks.
The best that anyone has said for "Bound" and the mirror episodes is that they were "entertained," whatever that means. Personally I'd like some solid storytelling with intriguing themes and characterization with my 23rd and 24th century aliens, starships and uniforms. (Oddly enough, the originals are all readily available in several different media of TOS and TNG episodes.)
The mirror universe episodes began by trashing one of the most important moments in Star Trek history (and certainly one of the most memorable during the tenure of Berman and Braga): the first contact in First Contact. If Star Trek represents hope to many people, then this moment embodied that hope.
But instead of a handshake, the inventor of the warp drive whips out a machine gun, kills an unarmed alien, and leads his fellow earthlings to pillage the Vulcan science ship. It is shocking and heart-breaking, and as I watched it the first time I thought: it's going to be hard to see this moment in First Contact now without thinking of this version, so this had better be worth it.
For two hours I waited for it to be worth it, and it never was. I don't blame fans who managed to see this as an illustration of how the Star Trek future could go bad, because they really want Star Trek to mean something. But for the people responsible for this episode, this excuse can only be classified as cynical rationalization. These episodes were execrable exercises in pointless game-playing, laden with relentless violence and cheap villainy.
Was the premise of this mirror universe even credible? War-ravaged 21st century earthlings pillage one small ship of its technology and rule the galaxy, turning the Vulcans into slaves? That leaves a lot up to the imagination, especially considering what we see of the Enterprise earthlings. Empress Sato indeed. That great twist of the apparently subservient sex slave being the real master was so brilliant, why not use it twice in a row?
Peter Weller's presence and subtle acting, and Levar Burton's direction, made "Demons" the best of a bad lot, but as reviewers have pointed out, not a whole lot makes sense (Trip and T'Pol going "undercover" etc.). Both this and "Terra Prime" failed to either explore or explicate the worthy theme of xenophobia.
For example, the Terra Prime earth-firsters were of various races and nationalities. Wasn't that an opportunity for an Enterprise character to point out the analogy? Why else have a mixed race set of xenophobes? But with nothing said, the image sends a mixed message: like, these people can't really be serious. What is so threatening about the half-alien baby? We're supposed to know. Nobody shows us why they feel threatened. (Maybe Weller's performance here was too subtle.)
Michelle Erica Green makes a similar point about the series, that too much was told and not enough happened. This is bad storytelling, from people who have been involved in good storytelling in the past. I can't say I understand it.
"These are the Voyages" was fitting in its aspiration and sentiment as the apparent finale for Star Trek As We Know It, and in its chaotic attempt to tell at least 3 stories in 42 minutes, with the inexplicable rubbing up against the brilliant, and isolated moments of real feeling following the cringe-worthy, an unfortunately fitting finale, if not for this series, then for this part of the season.
As Steve Krutzler pointed out, the central event is very weak: Enterprise must rush back to earth so that Archer can...save the planet from an alien probe? Battle the Borg for earth's future? No, no, nothing that...well, dramatic. It's to give a speech. Which he hasn't written. But which he absolutely can't be late for---why, getting him to the podium on time is worth dying for! I don't know about audience fatigue, but this is a prime illustration of creative fatigue.
I pretty much expected to enjoy the TNG parts, but even though Jonathan Frakes and Marina Sirtis gave fine performances, it was a jarring and unconvincing element. Riker hanging around watching like a ghost took the reality out of the Enterprise crew scenes, which otherwise were well acted, befitting a finale. Riker interacting with the crew was much better---in talking about each other, we got some sense of how they'd changed over the years and became a crew--- but it was never clear to me exactly what he was looking for, or in fact, what he found that enabled him to make his decision.
I'm afraid I don't see the relevance of Trip's self-sacrifice to Riker's choosing to violate one of two pledges, to his old captain and to his current captain. Riker had plenty of instances in his own experience concerning following or not following orders. Data disobeyed an order in his first command in TNG's Redemption II, and Picard commended him for his initiative, saying "Starfleet doesn't want officers who follow orders blindly." As far as that goes, Kirk and his crew disobeyed orders to search for Spock---why wouldn't he view that simulation? I would---it's a much better movie.
The TNG actors were badly served by the premise. They were clearly older than their TV TNG selves. The writers could have made this credible if they had been on the Enterprise E just before Nemesis or on the Titan; if they had come up with a good thread connecting the two eras, these actors---of both casts--- would have given them a truly memorable episode. Sirtis and especially Frakes were excellent, but having them masquerade as their younger selves was infuriating: please honor who they have become. The lines under Riker's eyes mean something, and there are stories there.
The Shran subplot is a rushed, undramatic excuse for action sequences. T'Pol has a nice moment sniffing Trip's clothes, but then how many times have we seen this move since E.T.? Soon she gets to deliver one of the lamest lines in memory, telling Archer "You look very heroic." Which is immediately followed by perhaps the best moment of the entire episode, when Archer/Bacula turns and embraces T'Pol/Blalock---it's one of those moments that seems to be simultaneously about the characters and the actors, and it even looks spontaneous. This is followed by another nice moment, a Phlox grin reminiscent of the computer-enhanced exaggerated alien grin of the very first episode.
As Steve Krutzler pointed out, the central event is very weak: Enterprise must rush back to earth so that Archer can...save the planet from an alien probe? Battle the Borg for earth's future? No, no, nothing that...well, dramatic. It's to give a speech. Which he hasn't written. But which he absolutely can't be late for---why, getting him to the podium on time is worth dying for! I don't know about audience fatigue, but this is a prime illustration of creative fatigue.
I pretty much expected to enjoy the TNG parts, but even though Jonathan Frakes and Marina Sirtis gave fine performances, it was a jarring and unconvincing element. Riker hanging around watching like a ghost took the reality out of the Enterprise crew scenes, which otherwise were well acted, befitting a finale. Riker interacting with the crew was much better---in talking about each other, we got some sense of how they'd changed over the years and became a crew--- but it was never clear to me exactly what he was looking for, or in fact, what he found that enabled him to make his decision.
I'm afraid I don't see the relevance of Trip's self-sacrifice to Riker's choosing to violate one of two pledges, to his old captain and to his current captain. Riker had plenty of instances in his own experience concerning following or not following orders. Data disobeyed an order in his first command in TNG's Redemption II, and Picard commended him for his initiative, saying "Starfleet doesn't want officers who follow orders blindly." As far as that goes, Kirk and his crew disobeyed orders to search for Spock---why wouldn't he view that simulation? I would---it's a much better movie.
The TNG actors were badly served by the premise. They were clearly older than their TV TNG selves. The writers could have made this credible if they had been on the Enterprise E just before Nemesis or on the Titan; if they had come up with a good thread connecting the two eras, these actors---of both casts--- would have given them a truly memorable episode. Sirtis and especially Frakes were excellent, but having them masquerade as their younger selves was infuriating: please honor who they have become. The lines under Riker's eyes mean something, and there are stories there.
The Shran subplot is a rushed, undramatic excuse for action sequences. T'Pol has a nice moment sniffing Trip's clothes, but then how many times have we seen this move since E.T.? Soon she gets to deliver one of the lamest lines in memory, telling Archer "You look very heroic." Which is immediately followed by perhaps the best moment of the entire episode, when Archer/Bacula turns and embraces T'Pol/Blalock---it's one of those moments that seems to be simultaneously about the characters and the actors, and it even looks spontaneous. This is followed by another nice moment, a Phlox grin reminiscent of the computer-enhanced exaggerated alien grin of the very first episode.
This fourth season started strong. The three-episode arc looked like a solution to the problem of the decreased amount of time available to tell a story dramatically. Enterprise episodes are close to ten minutes shorter than TOS. Many of the first nine episodes were strong, the others were promising.
Coming back from the first break, there was a stumble (Daedalus), then a triumph (Observer Effect). The Andorian arc was solid, " The Aenar" had moments of beauty. On balance, the Klingon arc worked: it made clever and meaningful connections both to the Arik Soong arc earlier in the season, and to the TOS-to-feature film Klingon forehead conundrum. Things were looking promising for what we knew, by the time the next set were in production, would be the last episodes.
But these last six exposed all of the weaknesses even in the better episodes: the loose ends and inexplicable events that could have been easily been tied up but weren't, the story threads that dangled, and especially the lack of character definition in the most important characters: T'Pol and especially Archer.
I could give you a character arc for each of them, much as the characters themselves did in their discussions with Riker the Chef in "Voyages." But within episodes, and from one episode to another, I couldn't tell you what motivated Archer, why he did what he did, what he thought: basically, who was he?
There were times I thought I was starting to understand T'Pol and her "journey" but it turns out, not really. By the end, I have no idea, except that she's still a scold with emotional problems. Blalock gave her an endearing vulnerabilty, but in the end this wasn't a satisfying character.
I could be wrong, but this was my experience. I don't blame the actors, either: they both had moments that displayed their skills, and they seemed fully committed to their roles. (Although there is a ring of rueful truth in Zeke Hyman's description of Archer's range "from slightly pissed off to very pissed off.") I just don't think they were given what they needed---or maybe just what I needed, to feel that I know who these characters are. Or were.
Linda Park, Anthony Montgomery and Dominic Keating got the best out of the moments they were given, and as the kind of midpoint between minor and major characters, John Billingsley as Dr. Phlox was the solid anchor of the series, with never a false moment or bad performance, and adding colors and meaning when given the opportunity.
But for me the revelation was Connor Trinneer as the character I was all set to despise, the cracker buddy of the Cap'n, "Trip" Tucker. Written as a throwback to World War II movie clichés, Tucker was the first indication of questionable choices for this series. Yet Trinneer took this character through a discernable journey, and came out a more complex person, pretty close to an enlightened being. The lightness and sweetness he brought to Trip in that last scene with Riker was terrific. His tears over his infant daughter in Terra Prime, though hardly prepared for in this rushed story, were effective and moving anyway. That's acting.
Trinneer was also generous in his scenes with other actors. There was no internal logic to the Trip-T'Pol relationship, though again, the actors seized what moments they were given by writers/producers/executives who couldn't make up their minds, or didn't care all that much about it.
Except for one unconvincing shot of the assembly on earth in "These are the voyages," visual effects maintained their high quality through these episodes, with the comet in "Terra Prime" and of course the final parade of Enterprises as the very last images of the series being especially memorable. I really admired and enjoyed the music in "Voyages" as well, with all the quotes of themes from past series, including Voyager and DS9.
Enterprise had the opportunity to really explore how earth got from the scarred remnants of World War III to the stars, and from there to the Federation. There were so many possibilities for thoughtful drama. But Enterprise wound up being neither very thoughtful nor very dramatic. These last episodes suggest that even given another few years, that potential likely would have remained unrealized.
So where does Star Trek go from here? Let's talk about that a little later.
Coming back from the first break, there was a stumble (Daedalus), then a triumph (Observer Effect). The Andorian arc was solid, " The Aenar" had moments of beauty. On balance, the Klingon arc worked: it made clever and meaningful connections both to the Arik Soong arc earlier in the season, and to the TOS-to-feature film Klingon forehead conundrum. Things were looking promising for what we knew, by the time the next set were in production, would be the last episodes.
But these last six exposed all of the weaknesses even in the better episodes: the loose ends and inexplicable events that could have been easily been tied up but weren't, the story threads that dangled, and especially the lack of character definition in the most important characters: T'Pol and especially Archer.
I could give you a character arc for each of them, much as the characters themselves did in their discussions with Riker the Chef in "Voyages." But within episodes, and from one episode to another, I couldn't tell you what motivated Archer, why he did what he did, what he thought: basically, who was he?
There were times I thought I was starting to understand T'Pol and her "journey" but it turns out, not really. By the end, I have no idea, except that she's still a scold with emotional problems. Blalock gave her an endearing vulnerabilty, but in the end this wasn't a satisfying character.
I could be wrong, but this was my experience. I don't blame the actors, either: they both had moments that displayed their skills, and they seemed fully committed to their roles. (Although there is a ring of rueful truth in Zeke Hyman's description of Archer's range "from slightly pissed off to very pissed off.") I just don't think they were given what they needed---or maybe just what I needed, to feel that I know who these characters are. Or were.
Linda Park, Anthony Montgomery and Dominic Keating got the best out of the moments they were given, and as the kind of midpoint between minor and major characters, John Billingsley as Dr. Phlox was the solid anchor of the series, with never a false moment or bad performance, and adding colors and meaning when given the opportunity.
But for me the revelation was Connor Trinneer as the character I was all set to despise, the cracker buddy of the Cap'n, "Trip" Tucker. Written as a throwback to World War II movie clichés, Tucker was the first indication of questionable choices for this series. Yet Trinneer took this character through a discernable journey, and came out a more complex person, pretty close to an enlightened being. The lightness and sweetness he brought to Trip in that last scene with Riker was terrific. His tears over his infant daughter in Terra Prime, though hardly prepared for in this rushed story, were effective and moving anyway. That's acting.
Trinneer was also generous in his scenes with other actors. There was no internal logic to the Trip-T'Pol relationship, though again, the actors seized what moments they were given by writers/producers/executives who couldn't make up their minds, or didn't care all that much about it.
Except for one unconvincing shot of the assembly on earth in "These are the voyages," visual effects maintained their high quality through these episodes, with the comet in "Terra Prime" and of course the final parade of Enterprises as the very last images of the series being especially memorable. I really admired and enjoyed the music in "Voyages" as well, with all the quotes of themes from past series, including Voyager and DS9.
Enterprise had the opportunity to really explore how earth got from the scarred remnants of World War III to the stars, and from there to the Federation. There were so many possibilities for thoughtful drama. But Enterprise wound up being neither very thoughtful nor very dramatic. These last episodes suggest that even given another few years, that potential likely would have remained unrealized.
So where does Star Trek go from here? Let's talk about that a little later.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Douglas Adams Doesn't Panic
by William S. Kowinski
Pretty much as expected, on its second weekend The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy feature dropped from #1 to #3 in U.S. box office, behind Paris Hilton's R rated "House of Wax" (talk about typecasting) and the opening of Ridley Scott's "Kingdom of Heaven." However, total attendance was weak, the 11th straight week of decline.
But the feature film business is changing quickly, and longevity on DVD is slowly becoming more important than big box office in the theatres, though that opening weekend remains the Holy Grail, with or without Monty Python. Just as I predicted a fall-off in theatres, I'll predict a long and prosperous future for Hitchhiker on DVD. The question will be whether there's enough interest for sequels, and I expect there will be. The economics of moviemaking are also shifting, with cheaper visual effects, so as long as you don't have a lot of high priced stars, you can afford to aim for the DVD market. I expect audiences are already getting bored with clashes of huge digital armies, so good acting, good stories and good filmmaking will also determine long-term success. I haven't seen Hitchhiker again since my first look last weekend, but I'll bet there's more to appreciate on multiple viewings. I'll see it again just for the dolphins.
This week I'd like to concentrate on Douglas Adams and the array of influences that came together in his stories. Much of the biographical information comes from "'>Hitchhiker: A Biography of Douglas Adams"'> by M.J. Simpson (Justin Charles & Co., Boston, 2003).
text continues after photos...
by William S. Kowinski
Pretty much as expected, on its second weekend The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy feature dropped from #1 to #3 in U.S. box office, behind Paris Hilton's R rated "House of Wax" (talk about typecasting) and the opening of Ridley Scott's "Kingdom of Heaven." However, total attendance was weak, the 11th straight week of decline.
But the feature film business is changing quickly, and longevity on DVD is slowly becoming more important than big box office in the theatres, though that opening weekend remains the Holy Grail, with or without Monty Python. Just as I predicted a fall-off in theatres, I'll predict a long and prosperous future for Hitchhiker on DVD. The question will be whether there's enough interest for sequels, and I expect there will be. The economics of moviemaking are also shifting, with cheaper visual effects, so as long as you don't have a lot of high priced stars, you can afford to aim for the DVD market. I expect audiences are already getting bored with clashes of huge digital armies, so good acting, good stories and good filmmaking will also determine long-term success. I haven't seen Hitchhiker again since my first look last weekend, but I'll bet there's more to appreciate on multiple viewings. I'll see it again just for the dolphins.
This week I'd like to concentrate on Douglas Adams and the array of influences that came together in his stories. Much of the biographical information comes from "'>Hitchhiker: A Biography of Douglas Adams"'> by M.J. Simpson (Justin Charles & Co., Boston, 2003).
text continues after photos...
As far as I know, Leonard Nimoy was the first to make the connection between feeling alienated as a child, and playing a space alien effectively in a TV drama. Douglas Adams wrote about a lot of space aliens effectively, and though "alienated" may not conjure up the exactly right images, as a child he certainly must have felt like an alien. He was tall. Really tall. You just won't believe how vastly hugely mind-bogglingly tall he was.
He towered. He lived in a different universe from his classmates scurrying like little mice below him. He was Gulliver at the Lilliputian Preparatory, which the wee ordinary people called the Brentwood School.
Also his large human selfness took an unusually long time to develop. Born in 1952, he didn't speak until the age of four (or so he said as an adult, when it became difficult for people to stop him from speaking, or to correct his stories which may or may not correspond more or less exactly to the facts, or at all) and in Prep school he was still uncoordinated. (Another comparatively tall and large person who was physically unstable as a youth was Gene Roddenberry.)
Though he was living on a higher plane, young Douglas was affable and cheerful, and if he had been a bit more working class, he would have been called "a clever lad." He was reproached for inserting jokes in his history essays. But his English teacher once gave him a ten out of ten for an adventure story he wrote, the only time in that teacher's thirty year tenure he gave a student full marks. It was recognition at a crucial time, and remained enormously important to Adams for the rest of his life.
Young Douglas Adams was also involved in photography and in acting. He performed in several school plays, including an historical drama. No word on whether he inserted jokes. He was also learning to play piano and left-handed guitar. The Beatles were his major enthusiasm in 1964. He later would say his chief influences had been the Beatles and Monty Python: "Both were messages out of the void saying there are people out there who know what it's like to be you." And if you've read the previous Hitchhiker post here (or continue down the page when you finish this one) you'll see that Adams-among others-- performed that exact function for me. And I suspect, for many others.
By 1964 '>Doctor Who was on the air in England, and the first Douglas Adams script for that long-running series was that Christmas, when it was dramatized to entertain his fellow boarders at school. He was eleven at the time.
He later did write episodes of Doctor Who and edited a season's worth of others, at the prime of that series' life. This was one way in which he lived out a baby boomer's dream: he became part of a TV world as an adult that he wanted to be part of as a child.
He was born at the end of the first third of the baby boom generation, and TV as a storytelling medium had existed for only a few years. But boomer children also got their stories from movies, books, comic books and magazines, and especially in England, from radio (in the U.S. most commercial radio serials faded away in the early 1950s.) With the Hitchhiker saga alone, Adams became a storyteller in all of those media---another boomer dream fulfilled. His storytelling also extended to video games and the Internet, which weren't even science fiction in his childhood.
In 1966 a weekly TV program of satirical news called '>The Frost Report began, starring David Frost and featuring a young writer-performer named John Cleese. Adams would later say that seeing Cleese on this show gave him the ambition to be a comedy writer and performer, confirmed in 1969 when '>Monty Python's Flying Circus began broadcasting weekly.
Adams left Brentwood School in 1970, having been accepted into Cambridge University for 1971. So in the interim, Douglas took off for Europe, and stuck out his thumb. He used a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe, and one starry night he thought how interesting it would be to travel up there, and that somebody ought to write '>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (But Adams told this story so many times that he eventually confessed he no longer remembered the actual events, just the story.)
He towered. He lived in a different universe from his classmates scurrying like little mice below him. He was Gulliver at the Lilliputian Preparatory, which the wee ordinary people called the Brentwood School.
Also his large human selfness took an unusually long time to develop. Born in 1952, he didn't speak until the age of four (or so he said as an adult, when it became difficult for people to stop him from speaking, or to correct his stories which may or may not correspond more or less exactly to the facts, or at all) and in Prep school he was still uncoordinated. (Another comparatively tall and large person who was physically unstable as a youth was Gene Roddenberry.)
Though he was living on a higher plane, young Douglas was affable and cheerful, and if he had been a bit more working class, he would have been called "a clever lad." He was reproached for inserting jokes in his history essays. But his English teacher once gave him a ten out of ten for an adventure story he wrote, the only time in that teacher's thirty year tenure he gave a student full marks. It was recognition at a crucial time, and remained enormously important to Adams for the rest of his life.
Young Douglas Adams was also involved in photography and in acting. He performed in several school plays, including an historical drama. No word on whether he inserted jokes. He was also learning to play piano and left-handed guitar. The Beatles were his major enthusiasm in 1964. He later would say his chief influences had been the Beatles and Monty Python: "Both were messages out of the void saying there are people out there who know what it's like to be you." And if you've read the previous Hitchhiker post here (or continue down the page when you finish this one) you'll see that Adams-among others-- performed that exact function for me. And I suspect, for many others.
By 1964 '>Doctor Who was on the air in England, and the first Douglas Adams script for that long-running series was that Christmas, when it was dramatized to entertain his fellow boarders at school. He was eleven at the time.
He later did write episodes of Doctor Who and edited a season's worth of others, at the prime of that series' life. This was one way in which he lived out a baby boomer's dream: he became part of a TV world as an adult that he wanted to be part of as a child.
He was born at the end of the first third of the baby boom generation, and TV as a storytelling medium had existed for only a few years. But boomer children also got their stories from movies, books, comic books and magazines, and especially in England, from radio (in the U.S. most commercial radio serials faded away in the early 1950s.) With the Hitchhiker saga alone, Adams became a storyteller in all of those media---another boomer dream fulfilled. His storytelling also extended to video games and the Internet, which weren't even science fiction in his childhood.
In 1966 a weekly TV program of satirical news called '>The Frost Report began, starring David Frost and featuring a young writer-performer named John Cleese. Adams would later say that seeing Cleese on this show gave him the ambition to be a comedy writer and performer, confirmed in 1969 when '>Monty Python's Flying Circus began broadcasting weekly.
Adams left Brentwood School in 1970, having been accepted into Cambridge University for 1971. So in the interim, Douglas took off for Europe, and stuck out his thumb. He used a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe, and one starry night he thought how interesting it would be to travel up there, and that somebody ought to write '>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (But Adams told this story so many times that he eventually confessed he no longer remembered the actual events, just the story.)
The choice of Cambridge was deliberate and fateful. He knew what apparently the British still know (since Simpson seems to assume this knowledge in his book), that a certain kind of British comedy developed there in the 1950s through the seventies, which combined with other influences to create the feverishly intelligent satire and outrageous comedy that has captivated the smarter people of the world for 40 years or so.
The "first generation" of Cambridge wits, who honed their skills in the famous Footlights performing society made their impact in England and then the U.S. in the early to mid 1960s. The aforementioned David Frost was a Footlighter (he was its secretary) as was John Cleese. Frost brought topical satire to the U.S. with a colonial version of the TV series "'>That Was the Week That Was," which pioneered "fake news" long before John Stewart, and sketch comedy on news of the week. Baby boomers in particular remember this as an early inkling that TV didn't have to be a vast wasteland all the time.
Yet another couple of Cambridge writer-performers called Peter Cook and Jonathan Miller teamed up with two from Oxford, Dudley Moore and Alan Bennett, for a fringe festival show that was so out there that it was beyond the fringe. '>Beyond the Fringe eventually became a theatrical sensation on Broadway in the early 60s; President John F. Kennedy attended a performance.
Nothing like this had ever been seen or heard in America---and most of us, not in New York, only heard it: there immediately was a best-selling LP record, which contained bits we learned by heart. (We did see the quartet perform some of the sketches on various TV shows and specials.) A typical World War II epic and all its patriotic solemnity is totally sent up, as a soldier panting for a suicide mission pleads with his officer, "sir, I want to be one of the few." "I'm sorry," his officer replies, "there are far too many."
The show included probably the best Shakespearian satire of all time, complete with an Olivier parody ("and now is dagger twixt gut and bladder intertwined," "O saucy Worchester!")
Though they were a one-hit wonder as a quartet, the members of Beyond the Fringe became enormous influences for many years, although only two of them in comedy. Jonathan Miller, who had a medical degree, first became an author and then a director of dramatic theatre and opera throughout the world. He is now Sir Jonathan Miller. Alan Bennett became a celebrated playwright; his best-known work in the U.S. is probably "'>The Madness of King George," owing to the movie version. Though both produced outstanding and influential work, neither particularly emphasized being funny.
Of the four, the one generally considered the most brilliant at comedy was '>Peter Cook. Eventually he re-teamed with Dudley Moore in a series of Fringe-like theatre productions, then legendary British TV shows and several feature films, particularly the original version of '>"'>Bedazzled." When Cook's drinking got the better of him, Dudley Moore began a successful acting career using his considerable comedic skills in Hollywood films such as "'>10" and "'>Arthur'>." But when Peter Cook died, Dudley Moore was so devastated that he took to calling Cook's phone just to hear his voice on the answering machine.
The "first generation" of Cambridge wits, who honed their skills in the famous Footlights performing society made their impact in England and then the U.S. in the early to mid 1960s. The aforementioned David Frost was a Footlighter (he was its secretary) as was John Cleese. Frost brought topical satire to the U.S. with a colonial version of the TV series "'>That Was the Week That Was," which pioneered "fake news" long before John Stewart, and sketch comedy on news of the week. Baby boomers in particular remember this as an early inkling that TV didn't have to be a vast wasteland all the time.
Yet another couple of Cambridge writer-performers called Peter Cook and Jonathan Miller teamed up with two from Oxford, Dudley Moore and Alan Bennett, for a fringe festival show that was so out there that it was beyond the fringe. '>Beyond the Fringe eventually became a theatrical sensation on Broadway in the early 60s; President John F. Kennedy attended a performance.
Nothing like this had ever been seen or heard in America---and most of us, not in New York, only heard it: there immediately was a best-selling LP record, which contained bits we learned by heart. (We did see the quartet perform some of the sketches on various TV shows and specials.) A typical World War II epic and all its patriotic solemnity is totally sent up, as a soldier panting for a suicide mission pleads with his officer, "sir, I want to be one of the few." "I'm sorry," his officer replies, "there are far too many."
The show included probably the best Shakespearian satire of all time, complete with an Olivier parody ("and now is dagger twixt gut and bladder intertwined," "O saucy Worchester!")
Though they were a one-hit wonder as a quartet, the members of Beyond the Fringe became enormous influences for many years, although only two of them in comedy. Jonathan Miller, who had a medical degree, first became an author and then a director of dramatic theatre and opera throughout the world. He is now Sir Jonathan Miller. Alan Bennett became a celebrated playwright; his best-known work in the U.S. is probably "'>The Madness of King George," owing to the movie version. Though both produced outstanding and influential work, neither particularly emphasized being funny.
Of the four, the one generally considered the most brilliant at comedy was '>Peter Cook. Eventually he re-teamed with Dudley Moore in a series of Fringe-like theatre productions, then legendary British TV shows and several feature films, particularly the original version of '>"'>Bedazzled." When Cook's drinking got the better of him, Dudley Moore began a successful acting career using his considerable comedic skills in Hollywood films such as "'>10" and "'>Arthur'>." But when Peter Cook died, Dudley Moore was so devastated that he took to calling Cook's phone just to hear his voice on the answering machine.
One key to Peter Cook's comedy in particular, and to what makes the Cambridge-bred comedy different, is words. Cambridge also happens to be where one of the more famous and influential 20th century styles of philosophy was centered, called "analytic philosophy" or "language analysis." Its most famous proponents at Cambridge were '>Bertrand Russell and '>Ludwig Wittgenstein, but probably the most influential on students in the 50s was '>G.E. Moore, who died in 1958 and was buried in the town of Cambridge. Moore had been a towering intellect at Cambridge for a half century. He was known for testing philosophical assumptions disguised in philosophical language with logical analysis of what the words actually meant. He was a philosophical champion of ordinary language and common sense, and particularly effective in applying language analysis to ethical reasoning.
In his rigorous analysis, Moore and his followers revealed paradoxes in how we use language, and like the paradoxes at the heart of Buddhism, these can actually be quite funny. Beyond the Fringe included possibly the only satire on the Cambridge School of philosophy to make it to Broadway, in a conversation supposedly between Bertrand Russell and G.E. Moore, including their inflections.
How people talk and what their words say about them, as well as how people use language to obfuscate, cheat and lie to others and themselves, is a common feature of the Cambridge comedians. Think of the Monty Python debate in the famous Pet Shop sequence over whether the bird is dead. Language is central to even the craziest Python sight gags.
Monty Python was on British TV when Adams attended Cambridge, and was a powerful impetus to be funny. Graham Chapman, Eric Idle and John Cleese had all been Cambridge students, while Michael Palin and Terry Jones were Oxford, so the Beyond the Fringe Oxbridge connection was replicated.
So in a sense Douglas Adams was "third generation" in contemporary British comedy to come out of Cambridge. And just as the Python group were in awe of Peter Cook (Michael Palin presented the recent BBS four part retrospective of his work), Adams took the first opportunity he got to meet John Cleese, by interviewing him for the Cambridge paper. He subsequently got to fulfill yet another fantasy, this time of interviewers---he not only worked with Cleese but hired him to work on his programs on several occasions, including the celebrated Doctor Who cameo with Eleanor Bron. Shoe on the other foot sort of thing.
Of course Adams' shoes were huge anyway. They were titanic, as big as a starship. If you thought the Starship Titanic was immense, you could easily fit it into one of those shoes with plenty of room left over for the Heart of Gold. If you know what I mean.
In his rigorous analysis, Moore and his followers revealed paradoxes in how we use language, and like the paradoxes at the heart of Buddhism, these can actually be quite funny. Beyond the Fringe included possibly the only satire on the Cambridge School of philosophy to make it to Broadway, in a conversation supposedly between Bertrand Russell and G.E. Moore, including their inflections.
How people talk and what their words say about them, as well as how people use language to obfuscate, cheat and lie to others and themselves, is a common feature of the Cambridge comedians. Think of the Monty Python debate in the famous Pet Shop sequence over whether the bird is dead. Language is central to even the craziest Python sight gags.
Monty Python was on British TV when Adams attended Cambridge, and was a powerful impetus to be funny. Graham Chapman, Eric Idle and John Cleese had all been Cambridge students, while Michael Palin and Terry Jones were Oxford, so the Beyond the Fringe Oxbridge connection was replicated.
So in a sense Douglas Adams was "third generation" in contemporary British comedy to come out of Cambridge. And just as the Python group were in awe of Peter Cook (Michael Palin presented the recent BBS four part retrospective of his work), Adams took the first opportunity he got to meet John Cleese, by interviewing him for the Cambridge paper. He subsequently got to fulfill yet another fantasy, this time of interviewers---he not only worked with Cleese but hired him to work on his programs on several occasions, including the celebrated Doctor Who cameo with Eleanor Bron. Shoe on the other foot sort of thing.
Of course Adams' shoes were huge anyway. They were titanic, as big as a starship. If you thought the Starship Titanic was immense, you could easily fit it into one of those shoes with plenty of room left over for the Heart of Gold. If you know what I mean.
Douglas Adams eventually got into Footlights, made an impression, met the Monty Python group, wrote for them in their final Cleese-less season (even appeared in backgrounds), and did his first professional writing as Graham Chapman's partner. After working on several failed or aborted projects (one for Ringo Starr, another for Paul McCartney), Adams was contributing comedy bits to ongoing BBC programs when producer Simon Brett asked him if he had any program ideas.
Adams had just spent considerable time on several comedy science fiction scripts that never got made, including a film version of the Guinness Book of World Records involving some very competitive space aliens. That one was dropped because the producers felt there was no market for comedy science fiction. So Adams offered a number of conventional ideas, none of which seemed to interest Brett. Finally Brett said, "Do you know what I'd like to do? Comedy science fiction."
The rest is history. But it wasn't then.
It was a shot in the dark, and some feel it might have been Adams' last. He was fed up with being an unsuccessful writer. Like almost everything that does become successful, the Hitchhiker radio project benefited from the good fortune of the right people, and some very good timing. The timing included Star Wars, which had just come out, and revived interest in space fiction. The good people included not only the cast but Simon Brett, who guided Hitchhiker through the shoals of BBC bureaucracy. He blocked the idea of a studio audience (standard for comedy) and supervised production in the same studio where the legendary Goon Show with Peter Sellers was recorded. When BBC executives listened to the completed programs in complete silence, one of them asked Brett, "Simon, is it funny?" "It is," he replied. And so it was approved.
In the midst of all this, Adams was offered a job. Not knowing the fate of Hitchhiker, he took it. It wasn't a bad job. He was writing for Doctor Who, and became the script supervisor for one of its best seasons.
Though that season was abruptly ended by a strike that stopped production on Douglas' own script ("'>Shada"), he transformed it into his first '>Dirk Gently book. He also became good friends with the Fourth Doctor, Tom Baker, and his costar and then-wife, Lalla Ward, and managed to remain friends with both after their acrimonious split, and even after he introduced Ward to the man she married next, evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins, also a close Adams friend.
'>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on BBC radio became a cult hit, based at first on word of mouth. Few people knew about the first episode before it aired but the talk about it was so strong, the BBC had to rebroadcast it along with the second episode. Eventually the Hitchhiker books happened the same way---some initial excitement for the first book, then craziness for the second. In a few years time, Douglas Adams was famous and well on the way to being rich.
Adams had just spent considerable time on several comedy science fiction scripts that never got made, including a film version of the Guinness Book of World Records involving some very competitive space aliens. That one was dropped because the producers felt there was no market for comedy science fiction. So Adams offered a number of conventional ideas, none of which seemed to interest Brett. Finally Brett said, "Do you know what I'd like to do? Comedy science fiction."
The rest is history. But it wasn't then.
It was a shot in the dark, and some feel it might have been Adams' last. He was fed up with being an unsuccessful writer. Like almost everything that does become successful, the Hitchhiker radio project benefited from the good fortune of the right people, and some very good timing. The timing included Star Wars, which had just come out, and revived interest in space fiction. The good people included not only the cast but Simon Brett, who guided Hitchhiker through the shoals of BBC bureaucracy. He blocked the idea of a studio audience (standard for comedy) and supervised production in the same studio where the legendary Goon Show with Peter Sellers was recorded. When BBC executives listened to the completed programs in complete silence, one of them asked Brett, "Simon, is it funny?" "It is," he replied. And so it was approved.
In the midst of all this, Adams was offered a job. Not knowing the fate of Hitchhiker, he took it. It wasn't a bad job. He was writing for Doctor Who, and became the script supervisor for one of its best seasons.
Though that season was abruptly ended by a strike that stopped production on Douglas' own script ("'>Shada"), he transformed it into his first '>Dirk Gently book. He also became good friends with the Fourth Doctor, Tom Baker, and his costar and then-wife, Lalla Ward, and managed to remain friends with both after their acrimonious split, and even after he introduced Ward to the man she married next, evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins, also a close Adams friend.
'>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on BBC radio became a cult hit, based at first on word of mouth. Few people knew about the first episode before it aired but the talk about it was so strong, the BBC had to rebroadcast it along with the second episode. Eventually the Hitchhiker books happened the same way---some initial excitement for the first book, then craziness for the second. In a few years time, Douglas Adams was famous and well on the way to being rich.
To examine influences on Hitchhiker is to examine influences on the audience as well as the creators. There were specific and conscious influences on the way the Hitchhiker tales were told. For example, at several levels it harks back to '>Gulliver's Travels (but then, quite a lot of successful science fiction, from H.G. Wells to Star Trek, also does). The ordinary person on a journey into weirdness is the basic plot of '>Pilgrim's Progress to '>Alice in Wonderland. But the type of comedy it applied had a context that was just as important in how it was received as how it was created. People had to find it funny, after all, and there were precedents that helped make a receptive environment.
The Beyond the Fringe/Monty Python Oxbridge impact has already been duly described. They in turn influenced others who influenced the public. Douglas Adams' fascination with the Beatles has also been noted, but they also shaped humor in this period, through their music, their personalities and John Lennon's writings, as well as their films, "'>A Hard Day's Night" (1964) and'> Help!" (1965). The whole spirit of the Beatles---which was partly a working class Liverpool expression and understanding reflected in Alan Sillitoe's novels, the Liverpool poets, etc.--- permeated the 1960s and well beyond it. It's there in transmuted form not only in Douglas Adams but more recently in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books.
They all influenced one another in the heady 1960s of England Swings. Richard Lester worked with the Goon Show players and directed the Beatles films. John Lennon's only solo film work was in Lester's "'>How I Won the War" (1967) which was an extended Beyond the Fringe sketch, a visual "Aftermyth of War." Lester's "'>The Bed-Sitting Room," (1969) written by The Goon Show's Spike Milligan, with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in the cast, was Oxbridge crossed with Samuel Beckett and Dr. Strangelove. Later, the Monty Python film, "'>Life of Brian" was financed by George Harrison, and they returned the favor by making "'>The Rutles," a Beatles parody that Harrison loved but Douglas Adams felt was too mean-spirited.
There was at least one American influence, and possibly another. Intelligent science fiction comedy in print had been pioneered by novelist and short story writer Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (who Adams acknowledged as a major influence.) Novels such as '>Cat's Cradle, '>God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater and '>Slaughterhouse Five demonstrate a similar teeming inventiveness and pointed sense of humor. Vonnegut's alter ego, fictional science fiction writer Kilgore Trout, came up with imaginative ideas very congenial to the improbability drive, the restaurant at the end of the universe and other Adams inventions in Hitchhiker.
The other possible influence was the West Coast gang of four known as Firesign Theatre, who started out in radio but achieved fame with a series of 1960s comedy albums that staked out new ground between the surrealistic and the psychedelic. Their 1971 album, '>"I Think We're All Bozos on This Bus," portrayed a Disney-style park with a theme of the future, set in the future. It is an extraordinary piece of aural comedy, probably the best and most unified lengthy piece that Firesign did. It seems unlikely that Adams hadn't heard it, or at least heard of it. But it is very American, and resembles Hitchhiker only in the general tenor of the comedy.
In fact, without an assist from the improbability drive, it's unlikely that Hitchhiker would have been made in America, unless of course it could be made badly. For intelligent humor about a subject, the subject itself has to be taken seriously, and that's generally not the case in America regarding science fiction. Science fiction was introduced in the U.S. essentially through pulp magazines in the 1930s, with their lurid covers and often bad writing. Despite excellent exceptions in prose and on screen, cheesy 1950s movies and Saturday morning space hero shows for children added to the image of science fiction as already ridiculous to begin with.
But science fiction was introduced to England in the 19th century by works of recognized literary quality: chiefly by Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. Wells' early "scientific romances" were praised by literary contemporaries like Henry James, Joseph Conrad and Ford Maddox Ford. His work was taken seriously as an innovation in the literary novel.
Many distinguished English authors, from C.S. Lewis to Kingsley Amis, and of course George Orwell and Aldous Huxley (and more recently, South African-born Doris Lessing and Canadian English author Margaret Atwood) wrote works in the science fiction vein. All this helped make the gentle and literate humor of Douglas Adams, not only in Hitchhiker but in his Dirk Gently books, congenial to the English public.
That makes the Hitchhiker movie all the more impressive. Created in Hollywood for Disney, it still managed to maintain the spirit of Adams' humor, when it could have been turned into an American parody with all the subtly of '>Mars Attacks!
The Beyond the Fringe/Monty Python Oxbridge impact has already been duly described. They in turn influenced others who influenced the public. Douglas Adams' fascination with the Beatles has also been noted, but they also shaped humor in this period, through their music, their personalities and John Lennon's writings, as well as their films, "'>A Hard Day's Night" (1964) and'> Help!" (1965). The whole spirit of the Beatles---which was partly a working class Liverpool expression and understanding reflected in Alan Sillitoe's novels, the Liverpool poets, etc.--- permeated the 1960s and well beyond it. It's there in transmuted form not only in Douglas Adams but more recently in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books.
They all influenced one another in the heady 1960s of England Swings. Richard Lester worked with the Goon Show players and directed the Beatles films. John Lennon's only solo film work was in Lester's "'>How I Won the War" (1967) which was an extended Beyond the Fringe sketch, a visual "Aftermyth of War." Lester's "'>The Bed-Sitting Room," (1969) written by The Goon Show's Spike Milligan, with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in the cast, was Oxbridge crossed with Samuel Beckett and Dr. Strangelove. Later, the Monty Python film, "'>Life of Brian" was financed by George Harrison, and they returned the favor by making "'>The Rutles," a Beatles parody that Harrison loved but Douglas Adams felt was too mean-spirited.
There was at least one American influence, and possibly another. Intelligent science fiction comedy in print had been pioneered by novelist and short story writer Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (who Adams acknowledged as a major influence.) Novels such as '>Cat's Cradle, '>God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater and '>Slaughterhouse Five demonstrate a similar teeming inventiveness and pointed sense of humor. Vonnegut's alter ego, fictional science fiction writer Kilgore Trout, came up with imaginative ideas very congenial to the improbability drive, the restaurant at the end of the universe and other Adams inventions in Hitchhiker.
The other possible influence was the West Coast gang of four known as Firesign Theatre, who started out in radio but achieved fame with a series of 1960s comedy albums that staked out new ground between the surrealistic and the psychedelic. Their 1971 album, '>"I Think We're All Bozos on This Bus," portrayed a Disney-style park with a theme of the future, set in the future. It is an extraordinary piece of aural comedy, probably the best and most unified lengthy piece that Firesign did. It seems unlikely that Adams hadn't heard it, or at least heard of it. But it is very American, and resembles Hitchhiker only in the general tenor of the comedy.
In fact, without an assist from the improbability drive, it's unlikely that Hitchhiker would have been made in America, unless of course it could be made badly. For intelligent humor about a subject, the subject itself has to be taken seriously, and that's generally not the case in America regarding science fiction. Science fiction was introduced in the U.S. essentially through pulp magazines in the 1930s, with their lurid covers and often bad writing. Despite excellent exceptions in prose and on screen, cheesy 1950s movies and Saturday morning space hero shows for children added to the image of science fiction as already ridiculous to begin with.
But science fiction was introduced to England in the 19th century by works of recognized literary quality: chiefly by Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. Wells' early "scientific romances" were praised by literary contemporaries like Henry James, Joseph Conrad and Ford Maddox Ford. His work was taken seriously as an innovation in the literary novel.
Many distinguished English authors, from C.S. Lewis to Kingsley Amis, and of course George Orwell and Aldous Huxley (and more recently, South African-born Doris Lessing and Canadian English author Margaret Atwood) wrote works in the science fiction vein. All this helped make the gentle and literate humor of Douglas Adams, not only in Hitchhiker but in his Dirk Gently books, congenial to the English public.
That makes the Hitchhiker movie all the more impressive. Created in Hollywood for Disney, it still managed to maintain the spirit of Adams' humor, when it could have been turned into an American parody with all the subtly of '>Mars Attacks!
Though he wrote other things and got involved in many other projects, Hitchhiker dominated the rest of Douglas Adams' life. It stretched to a trilogy of four and then five volumes, in many different editions, and the BBC TV series, a video game, and even an ongoing attempt to create an Internet Hitchhiker's Guide.
Then there was the movie, which Adams tried to get made for the last 20 years of his life. He'd even moved his family to southern California for that purpose. M.J. Simpson's book is interesting on this point, in that he nearly comes out and says that the frustrations involved in trying to get the movie made, contributed to Adams death. But Simpson also implies that Adams was his own worst enemy in getting the movie made. The project was stymied once again--Adams couldn't complete a script---or at least one short enough to film---and he didn't like the scripts that others did.
Though not known to have a heart condition except a flutter diagnosed days before as not serious, Adams had one heart attack while working out in the gym, and it was fatal. Adams' close friend and business partner, Robbie Stamp was producing the film by then, and after Adams' death, with the encouragement of Douglas' widow, Jane, he went ahead. Director Jay Roach got screenwriter Karey Kirkpatrick involved. Kirkpatrick had never met Adams and hadn't read the Hitchhiker books. But he got access to Adams' notes and previous scripts (which included characters and other elements not found in the books), and he soon learned about the vast army of fans that the film needed to please, just to begin with.
So Kirkpatrick tried to change as little as possible, and only add what would make Hitchhiker work as a movie. Apart from coming up with a Hollywood ending, he concentrated on making a relationship out of the Arthur Dent and Trillian encounters. He decided to give each what the other needed and was looking for. Arthur needs the spirit of adventure of a hitchhiker, and Trillian needs to be understood. In the film, Arthur blows their first meeting on earth by not being spontaneous. His "journey" (which has become a film school cliché) is to free himself so he doesn't make that mistake again, so he can get the girl, because he is the guy who does understand her.
I'm not sure it actually makes all that much difference, but it does give this film another element of needed symmetry, and perhaps something for people to relate to who aren't getting the humor. As for the new stuff, much has been made of the new villain played by John Malkovich, but he actually has a pretty small-although striking---and innocuous part. His chief function is as an excuse for our intrepid band to get the empathy gun, which when turned on someone, causes them to feel exactly what the person pointing the gun at them is feeling. I don't know if that's Adams or Kirkpatrick, but it's inspired. Having Trillian kidnapped by the Vogons and rescued when our heroes---just in the nick of time-- fill out the proper form, is also inspired, and very much in the Adams spirit, though it seems to be a plot point Kirkpatrick added.
The funeral service for Douglas Adams in 2002 began with Bach's Schubler Chorales (in his first Dirk Gently novel, Adams had a time traveler bring back one element from an alien culture that hadn't existed on earth before: the music of Bach) and ended with the Beatles' "Paperback Writer."
Then there was the movie, which Adams tried to get made for the last 20 years of his life. He'd even moved his family to southern California for that purpose. M.J. Simpson's book is interesting on this point, in that he nearly comes out and says that the frustrations involved in trying to get the movie made, contributed to Adams death. But Simpson also implies that Adams was his own worst enemy in getting the movie made. The project was stymied once again--Adams couldn't complete a script---or at least one short enough to film---and he didn't like the scripts that others did.
Though not known to have a heart condition except a flutter diagnosed days before as not serious, Adams had one heart attack while working out in the gym, and it was fatal. Adams' close friend and business partner, Robbie Stamp was producing the film by then, and after Adams' death, with the encouragement of Douglas' widow, Jane, he went ahead. Director Jay Roach got screenwriter Karey Kirkpatrick involved. Kirkpatrick had never met Adams and hadn't read the Hitchhiker books. But he got access to Adams' notes and previous scripts (which included characters and other elements not found in the books), and he soon learned about the vast army of fans that the film needed to please, just to begin with.
So Kirkpatrick tried to change as little as possible, and only add what would make Hitchhiker work as a movie. Apart from coming up with a Hollywood ending, he concentrated on making a relationship out of the Arthur Dent and Trillian encounters. He decided to give each what the other needed and was looking for. Arthur needs the spirit of adventure of a hitchhiker, and Trillian needs to be understood. In the film, Arthur blows their first meeting on earth by not being spontaneous. His "journey" (which has become a film school cliché) is to free himself so he doesn't make that mistake again, so he can get the girl, because he is the guy who does understand her.
I'm not sure it actually makes all that much difference, but it does give this film another element of needed symmetry, and perhaps something for people to relate to who aren't getting the humor. As for the new stuff, much has been made of the new villain played by John Malkovich, but he actually has a pretty small-although striking---and innocuous part. His chief function is as an excuse for our intrepid band to get the empathy gun, which when turned on someone, causes them to feel exactly what the person pointing the gun at them is feeling. I don't know if that's Adams or Kirkpatrick, but it's inspired. Having Trillian kidnapped by the Vogons and rescued when our heroes---just in the nick of time-- fill out the proper form, is also inspired, and very much in the Adams spirit, though it seems to be a plot point Kirkpatrick added.
The funeral service for Douglas Adams in 2002 began with Bach's Schubler Chorales (in his first Dirk Gently novel, Adams had a time traveler bring back one element from an alien culture that hadn't existed on earth before: the music of Bach) and ended with the Beatles' "Paperback Writer."
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Elsewhere in the Universe...
My preview essay on "Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith" was published today in the San Francisco Chronicle, and can be found here.
I'll have more on the subject on this site later.
My preview essay on "Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith" was published today in the San Francisco Chronicle, and can be found here.
I'll have more on the subject on this site later.
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