Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Voyage(r) Over

I started watching Star Trek: Voyager, starting with its pilot, two years ago on April 8, 2004 (no, I didn't memorize the date; I looked it up on Netflix). This Saturday, I finished the saga (meaning I can now start all over again!). Following are my overall reactions to the show and my specific reactions to the finale.

Overall, I think the show is the most consistent of the Star Treks in terms of writing. It has few "classics" on the order of "The City on the Edge of Forever" (from Star Trek: Original) or "Sarek" (from Star Trek: Next Generation), but the overall writing is consistently high and seems to entail much more thought than many Next Generation episodes. I have compared Next Generation episodes to old, old stories being told in a science-fiction setting--hence, the mythic and implausible, if delightful, nature of Next Gen plots. Voyager's episodes are more about character interactions or "what ifs" (for instance, what if we contacted a planet that underwent its entire history while we watched).

Of course, the problem with such stories is that while it is possible to lay out a myth in under sixty minutes, it is very difficult to do the same thing with a character or what-if plotline. Voyager episodes tend to aim for complexity, bringing up all the variables and problems of an issue, and then, oops, only got ten minutes left, falling back on a deus ex machina after all. Consequently, as I have often maintained, Star Trek: Voyager has some of the best 2-parters in all of Star Trek history, since in the 2-parters, the writers can work out all the variables and problems without the easy short-cut. ("The Killing Game" is a great example.)

Now, one solution to the deus ex machina resolution is the Babylon 5 approach where you have endlessly complicated and ongoing plot lines. But that sort of thing makes me tired, so I'm glad that, overall, Voyager avoided it.

On the other hand, as Eugene points out, "[O]n Voyager, a few episodes after supposedly going through a . . . cataclysmic confrontation, it's like somebody's rich uncle showed up with a platoon of lawyers, handed out wads of cash, hauled the vehicles off to the body shop, and made the accident 'go away.' Presto chango. The next day you'd hardly known it happened. A good day's work for the insurance company, but bad day for storytelling." This is, I agree, one of the weirdest things about Voyager. One of the best 2-parters is "Year of Hell" (with the multi-talented Kurtwood Smith--That 70's Show). It is a very dark, very gripping episode which explores the problem of time manipulation. Kurtwood Smith's character keeps trying to change single events in the past, hoping that each single event will change his own time period back to the way he wants it. It doesn't work, of course--each change alters the universe in various ways, but he can never recreate the exact conditions he is hoping for. It's a great episode: Kurtwood Smith's character is very much the flawed Ahab beloved by Star Trek writers; as a by-product of "Ahab's" choices, Voyager is caught up in these (mostly negative) alterations and is practically destroyed.

And then, oops, our two hours are almost up, so someone flicks a switch and Voyager is back to its usual self, all clean and new and pretty again.

Now, granted "Year of Hell" was one of those back-to-the-future-we-can-pretend-it-didn't-happen episodes, but the new and improved Voyager shows up even after battle-intensive shows that don't involve time-manipulation. And I always wonder, "Who are the planets that keep repairing this ship?" and "Will they send the bill to Starfleet?"

I think Voyager could have afforded to look a *little* damaged--one of the things I like about Deep Space Nine is O'Brian's constant struggle to keep the station from exploding, especially as he stumbles across Cardassian booby-traps (a great Deep Space Nine episode is when a Cardassian booby-trap goes off, Gul Dukat shows up to gloat and then can't leave the station.)

On to Voyager's finale--when I first saw the finale, I was disappointed. I thought the beginning was very smart (start with the end!) but the end of the episode has none of the gentle sentimentality of "All Good Things" (Next Generation). (I demand sentimentality at certain times.) I also remembered the episode as a cop-out. I don't mind time-manipulation episodes for fun, but I hate having the denouement, the final achievement, rely on time-manipulation.

After seeing the finale again, I have to qualify my initial reactions (to a point). First of all, time travel is an ongoing theme of Voyager (what with the Federation "Timeship" chasing them all 7 seasons). Also, the Borg was Voyager's primary enemy (and such a useful one!). And Janeway's regret over stranding her crew in the Delta Quadrant is, while not a recurring theme, a returning issue (meaning, it crops up when the writers want it to). The finale dealt with all these things. It also dealt with what I think is the true theme of the show: Voyager retains its standards even though it is far from home. Yes, yes, in practical human terms it seems highly unlikely that the ship would retain its crew or its culture. But this is the mythic aspect of the show, and, I think, one of its strengths. Janeway has to hold her crew together and hold them to an ideal without any backup (i.e. Starfleet breathing down her neck). There's an X-Files "The truth is out there" religious element to the whole thing, and it makes for a great theme.

And I think Janeway, as acted by Kate Mulgrew, plays up to this theme very well. The underlying problem, of course, is that while it's fine for God to expect everyone to hold themselves to a standard, it's much less fine when a flawed human does it, and people tend to resent the flawed human in spades. By necessity, Janeway's command style was more in line with the demi-god nature of Star Trek's Original captains than with the administrative, diplomatic nature of Next Generation's captains. Yet I also thought it within character for Janeway's older self to regret the choices she had made. And I thought it within character for her younger self to stick to the rightness of those decisions.

But I sure wish the writers had emphasized all this. The idea--that it isn't worth getting home unless Voyager can get home with integrity--is there in the finale, but it is bypassed rather quickly for the sake of all the other stuff. And the other stuff isn't even the Borg! The finale focuses a lot on the Voyager crew in the future. I would have preferred more emphasis on the Voyager crew after they got home (the second time): Does 7 go see her aunt? Do Tom and B'Elanna maintain their relationship? Does the Doctor really decide to go with 'Joe' as his final name choice? More than anything, though, I would have liked them to focus on the problem of "What is more important? Getting home or how we get there?" I realize that some resolution was needed, but I kind of wish the episode had ended with Janeway making the same decision that had stranded Voyager in the Delta Quadrant in the first place--that is, I wish she had opted for the "Hey, if it takes us sixteen year, it takes us sixteen more years!" option. Thematically, I think that would have been great. It would have underscored the show's repeated claim (shown through the Doctor and 7-of-9) that life, despite suffering and risk, is worth being lived.

As I continue to mull the show over (and begin watching it again), I will probably have more blog posts. For now, as the good Doctor would say, "I must say there's nothing like the vacuum of space for preserving a handsome corpse."

CATEGORY: TV

Sunday, November 26, 2006

House Stuff

In case it happens, I want to go on record as stating that I think House and the horrible cop should become friends. (And I don't check spoilers so if it happens, it means I am really brilliant.)

Yes, yes, I know the horrible cop is horrible and is harassing everyone and making everyone's lives miserable, etc. etc. etc. (And I think the resulting dynamic between House and Wilson is excellent writing.) And I also think the cop has crossed a line that House himself wouldn't cross (after all, House stops harassing people once they leave his vicinity). But I think that the cop perceives House as a cancer and all his associates as bad cells feeding the cancer. In other words, he is House, only with a badge and a gun and way too many warrants. (I think the House comparison is deliberate: I got a kick out of the scene, several episodes back, where the cop said to Foreman, "Everybody lies," and Foreman did this little double-take.)

In any case, I think it would be nice for House to have one more friend. He could have nice friend (Wilson) and horrible friend (cop). And THEN he would get in on cases and stuff. The cop could a warped Dr. Watson to House's Holmes.

Of course, how to bring about this "beautiful friendship" is anybody's guess.

CATEGORY: TV

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Two Types of Science-Fiction

There are, of course, many, many more, but for the purposes of this post, I am narrowing the types to two: in the first type, the story grows out of a postulated change or advance in science: cloning sheep leads to cloning humans which leads to . . . ; string theory leads to contact with other dimensions which leads to . . .

In the second type of science-fiction, the science-fiction provides the setting but has very little to do with the story. That is, the story doesn't grow out of the science-fiction. The science-fiction simply exists so that a story may be told in that setting.

C.J. Cherryh, Whedon's Firefly, Asimov (sort of) all fit into type 1. Star Trek (and occasionally Asimov) fit into type 2.

I postulate these types in response to my brother Eugene's post The Brave Old New World of Star Trek. While I agree with his description of the Star Trek universe as fundamentally static--and the Federation as an internally rotting utopia that finally, thankfully, gets the boot--I do not consider that the silly, even mind-numbing, philosophy behind the show has much of anything to do with the show itself. I think there are a number of us Trekkies who watch the show for its stories, not for its conceptualization of the future--just as there are a serious number of us who enjoy X-Files while considering the whole government conspiracy angle to be too too jejeune (however, the comparison is not really very fair; Roddenberry seems to have truly believed in his rose-colored concept of the future, but Chris Carter, like Whedon with Buffy, deliberately created a X-Files mythology, and the mythology itself is not jejeune).

In any case, for me, the point of Star Trek has never been to watch the Star Trek crew surviving in the Star Trek universe, but to watch old, old stories with classic structures (problem, climax, resolution) being translated into "sci-fi" (or quasi sci-fi) terms. The best example of this is the episode "The Offspring" where Data creates a child. The plot is from the Greek myth "Pygmalion" where the gods bring a statue to life. In this case, the "statue" is an android similar to Data but more human than Data can possibly be; like all good Greek myths, that situation ends with pathos. It is a terrific episode. There is also "Starship Mine" which is simply just the movie Die Hard, only on a starship not in a bank. Additionally, I've always liked "A Matter of Perspective" which is a murder mystery seen from several different angles. And I get a kick of "Royale" which is one of those you-have-to-complete-the-story-to-win episodes (and involves a you-have-to-beat-the-casino-to-get-out-alive subplot). Due to Picard's archaelogical interests, there are also a few Rider Haggard-type episodes.

It's one big borrower-fest! Which I don't mind and actually enjoy. I like watching old stories in new settings. I love reworked fairtyales (like Tanith Lee's version of "Beauty and the Beast" which takes place in the future and involves aliens) as well as Shakespeare plays set in the 18th, 19th, 20th centuries (anything but the 16th, which is good because 16th century costumes always look so uncomfortable). Voyager is somewhat of an exception since it has the underlying plot of the crew trying to get home. (Check this blog for an upcoming post on Voyager, and its underlying plot line.)

To sum up, most Star Trek episodes are individual stories that just happen to use the same setting and the same characters as that episode you saw last week. With that in mind, I'm not sure the comparison to Firefly is altogether fair. Allowing for the fact that Firefly is possibly the only perfect season 1 on record, it definitely belongs to type 1, presenting a plausible future based on present information/trends. Unlike Whedon's work, Star Trek also has no mythology (or at least, no mythology that anyone who reads history would take seriously). Most importantly, the static nature of the Star Trek universe is necessary. You can't borrow and rework individual stories every week if the universe keeps changing (yes, I know Whedon did it, but like I said, Firefly is the only perfect season 1 on record).

I won't go into the debt that science-fiction owes Roddenberry's attempt but imagine a world without Galaxy Quest, which is as much a tribute as it is a spoof. No Star Trek, no Galaxy Quest. Now, isn't that sad?.

CATEGORY: TV

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Howl's Moving Castle

In general, I've never been a big fan of scenery. It remains one of the biggest weaknesses in my writing (specifically, using scenery to create atmosphere) and when I do read books or watch movies, more than not I am absorbed by the dialog and the relationships, not the background.

One huge exception to this is Hayao Miyazaki. Hayao Miyazaki is the producer/director of My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service, Princess Mononoke and others. Recently, and for the second time, I watched Howl's Moving Castle. I was struck, once again, by how gorgeous the setting is. Yeah, the story is creative; the characterizations and theme are intelligent; the action is rollicking and fun. But oh my, oh my, the settings just blow your mind.

Howl's Moving Castle is based on a book by Diana Wynne Jones; for people who get upset about this sort of thing, DWJ was Rowlings long before Rowlings was Rowlings. She wrote young-magicians-dealing-with-life stuff starting back, I believe, in the 80's. (If you can ever get a hold of Tony Robinson [from Blackadder] reading Charmed Life, get it and keep it! Or get it and sell it to me!). For a closer look at Rowlings & Jones, check out my brother Eugene's blog post Chrestomanci vs Harry Potter.

In any case, the book Howl's Moving Castle and the movie are not exactly alike. Miyazaki used a large number of Jones' ideas and some of her overall plot structures; however, he also excised several plot lines and added an overarcing problem (a war). However, I don't see Miyazaki's changes as either in line with Jones' vision or out of sync with Jones' vision (this is usually my criteria for judging movies made from books). Rather, the book and the movie complement each other--almost like two different visions of the same place. It's quite effective to watch the movie and then read the book. Or vice versa. It doesn't ruin the experience of either. (As is so often the case.)

And one reason for this lack of comparison is that while you are watching the movie, you are being fed Miyazaki's stunning visions. His image of Howl's castle is effective, but the thing that blows you away is the countryside through which the castle trundles. You are given not only lake and mountain scenes, but lake and mountain scenes at their most quinessential. They draw forth an emotional reaction, a catch at the heart. Miyazaki also gives you (in this movie and others) these great quasi-European, quasi-fantasy towns with cobblestones and trains and trolleys and flying boats. Marvelous stuff.

When I was little, before I stopped believing in magic (and I did believe in it, in a rather practical way--that is, I didn't believe it was impossible), I thought how neat it would be to transport myself into certain pictures, illustrations. I even half believed it would be possible if I cared enough to try. And then I got all old and 10+ years and realized that one had to take cars and spend money to do stuff like that. But Miyazaki comes pretty close to instilling that magical sense of "Yes, I could exist there. I could go there, in reality, any time."

It's amazing to think that animation can do this, but Miyazaki does. As well as scenery, the movie Howl's Moving Castle is great in other respects--one of these is the choice of Jean Simmons for the voice of Sophie. Sophie is a young girl who is enchanted, or thinks she's been enchanted, into an old woman. Jean Simmons plays the older Sophie (Emily Mortimer plays the younger Sophie). It is marvelous casting since Jean Simmons' voice, despite her age, has the lightness, the freshness of a young girl.

Christian Bale plays Howl (by the way, this is the English dub, sponsored by Walt Disney but really brought about by the head of Pixar). For a skinny, English dude, Bale has the loveliest baritone. And Billy Crystal plays the voice of Calcifar. He is very funny, right on the mark, without the movie becoming, as it so often does with Robin Williams, the Billy Crystal show.

Moreover, the movie proves what I've suspected for several years now--Keats and Byron aside, the most romantic people in the world are the Japanese.

Recommendation: It will probably end up on my wish-list for Christmas; you should at least rent it!

CATEGORY: MOVIES

Monday, November 6, 2006

Confessions From the Stand

I like forensic shows (CSI, Criminal Minds, House), but I don't much care for court room dramas. I'm excepting Law & Order here; I haven't watched L&O in a long time but from what I remember, it was more law and less drama, which I prefer.

The reason I don't care for court room dramas, in general, is that inevitably there is this big confrontational scene where the hero(ine) lawyer confronts a recalcitrant witness and, whilst ignoring about twenty-billion procedural and lawyery rules, breaks the witness down.

I don't buy it. I don't buy it even a teeny, weeny bit. I think criminals or liars or whatever are much more likely to behave on the stand the way they do on CSI and People's Court--that is, they are far more likely to justify themselves and argue and become defensive or just go on shrugging their shoulders and protecting themselves.

After all, once a case reaches trial, the supposed criminal has already been questioned and requestioned and probably deposed. If there is any lingering sense of guilt, it has had many, many chances to come out. This struck me recently when I watched the HBO movie Mrs. Harris, based on the real-life murder of the Scarsdale doctor. Like many made-for-television-real-life-cases movies, it was kind of a nothing, but afterwards, I watched some of the interviews with the real-life people. They had an interview with Mrs. Harris (post-trial). "It was both our faults," she said about the murder, and then, "I guess the mistake was going to see [the doctor] that night."

Ya think? Ya think that maybe if you hadn't driven five hours with a gun to see a guy you were angry at, he might not be dead? It may have been an accident. It may have been murder. But I'm not sure Mrs. Harris woman ever realized or accepted, no matter how much she claimed to love the guy, that her actions, her choices, led to another human being no longer existing in mortality. Don't give me that extenuating circumstances stuff. She drove five hours with a gun, and the guy died! And it was both their faults?

But I think Harris's type of reaction is much more likely in a court room than sudden tearful confessions. Alan Tudyk's masterly portrayal of the murdering pedophile on CSI:LV is another case in point. The character keeps making excuses without realizing that to normal people, the excuses are as bad, if not worse, than the crime. But he has a moral hole in his conscience. (Which still does not, in my opinion, justify witch-hunting pedophiles.)

I'm not saying that all people who commit criminal acts and all people who go to jail are like this, but in a court-room, the attorney, judge, and jury are dealing with a person who is either innocent (and shouldn't be confessing all over the place) or is guilty and has already run the gauntlet of guilt-inducements and, whatdayaknow!, still hasn't confessed. So the idea that suddenly, miraculously said party will suddenly, miraculously break down and confess from the stand is very, very unlikely.

In sum, I don't believe that people can be broken down by having other people yell THE TRUTH at them. Anne Perry uses this technique in a number of her mysteries, and Orson Scott Card uses it in Speaker for the Dead. It seems to me that most people, even people without moral holes in their consciences, get rather tired of being yelled at and, since most things in life are rather complicated, find plenty of ways to pick apart the yeller's statements without taking them to heart.

Watching People's Court, I've been struck by how human people are, how much they rely on impressions, tones of voices, imagined scenarios, expectations when making decisions and how much they think their actions are justified by impressions, tones of voices, imagined scenarios, expectations.

All in all, real court room dramas are mostly sad, not triumphant. I prefer forensics, those tiny bits of test-tube triumph.

[Note: I do enjoy Matlock, but Matlock's courtrooms aren't real courtrooms--just settings for Shakespearean  drama. And even Matlock's reliance on sudden confessions gets tiresome after awhile. I prefer Columbo's reliance on little clues, like fingerprints in the right place for the wrong reason.]