I don’t think its a secret that I am a big fan of Denis Villeneuve. I love how his sci-fi movies focus on slower scenes and visuals. I love how good the visual design is his movies. It is exactly what I want from sci-fi cinema: high production value, great visuals, ideas beyond the action.
It’s no different in Blade Runner 2049. I think picking Villeneuve to revive this 40-year-old-franchise was a great choice. His style fits with Ridley Scott’s original Blade Runner very well: the same slowness to it, the same focus on visuals.
I think the visuals of 2049 even improve upon the original. It might just be that filmmaking has come a long way since the 80s, but 2049 is just a little more polished. The establishing shots, the contrast between clean and clutter, the coloured lighting, the focus on the rain – everything seems just a little more refined.
Blade Runner 2049 does lose a lot of the weirdness that was in the original and replaces it with more gravity. But I don’t mind. I have always found the weirdness of the original Blade Runner a little off-putting – it was the one thing you hoped people could get over when you sat down with them to watch the movie. And a movie as good as Blade Runner 2049 is allowed to take itself a little seriously.
Like the original, 2049 asks the viewer what makes a character human and what separates them from the replicants, focusing not on empathy but on love and on memory. Interestingly, by introducing the memory-element, 2049 actually nods another of Dick’s stories, We Can Remember It For You Wholesale.
One area where 2049 loses out to the original is in moral ambiguity. There is more than enough in 2049 that the viewer can wonder about. But the original Blade Runner left it up to the viewer to decide who were the good guys and who were the bad guys, and it adds a layer of depth to that movie that 2049 (and even Dick’s original Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep) is missing. In a way, 2049 is more traditional Hollywood that way: the actions scenes are action filled and you know who you’re supposed to root for.
So movie is not quite perfect – I don’t like Jared Leto’s performance (I didn’t find his gravity credible), I am not a huge fan of K and Deckard’s fist fight and I think the water action sequence at the end is a little too long. I wonder whether the android revolution theme introduced in 2049 is the right hook for a sequel. But those are minor points in a movie that also has shots that take your breath away, and character moments that wrench your heart.
I think Blade Runner 2049 is a great movie. It looks gorgeous and it oozes emotion, it has a coherent story with enough depth that it keeps you engaged, and it is paced at a leisurely cruise that allows you enough time to process it.
For me, Blade Runner 2049 showcases the perfect style for a big-budget Hollywood blockbuster. So free up an evening this week and join me on the Denis Villeneuve bandwagon!
Blade Runner is undeniably one of the most influential films in sci-fi. Arguably, it is one of the two pieces of media (alongside Neuromancer) that launched cyberpunk as a genre. It is praised into high heaven by Reddit nerds and successful directors alike.
That begs the question: is it any good?
I would argue that it is, but if you disagree, I can’t really fault you.
Blade Runner is a surprisingly slow and surprisingly weird movie to have gained such prominence. For a movie supposedly about a bounty hunter tracking down his targets, it defies expectations by focusing on visuals and conversations basically all the way until the last sequence between Deckard and his final prey. That final action scene is a series of quick bursts of action interspersed with dialogue and tension – and the rare action sequences we do get before that are more confusing and crowded than exciting.
‘Confusing and crowded’ is actually also a good way to describe Blade Runner’s visual style. The screen is constantly filled with clutter, be it on the crowded streets or in Deckard’s apartment. In many of those scenes, I would find myself trying to figure out where to look, constantly a little distracted from the scene’s focus by all the other things going on in the background – if Scott doesn’t explicitly place those ‘things in the background’ center shot.
But that slowness and weirdness is likely also why Blade Runner still hits home after more than 40 years. It was never intended as flashy and clean, and so it didn’t age half as poorly as a more conventional version of the story might have.
And so Blade Runner takes the time to develop Deckard’s relationship with Rachael and to showcase Sebastian’s dusty apartment full of mechanical marionets. And in doing so, it raises interesting questions: How does one distinguish between a human and a machine? What essential quality separates them?
Those are questions that are not dissimilar to those Dick asked in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, though in Dick’s version of the story it is never in doubt that empathy is that quality. Blade Runner is an adaptation that takes some liberty, but I don’t mind the ambiguity Scott introduced. A movie has less space to delve into diverse themes than a novel. Scott chose to focus on one of them, and to leave the viewer more space to come to their own conclusions.
So I like Blade Runner, but I do think it might put some people off. Still, it is such a classic – why not give it a shot?
I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Philip K. Dick, where I really want to like what he writes but I often struggle to just a little actually enjoy reading his work.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep fits that picture very well.
In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Dick creates an interesting world, with a history, religion, a crumbling society – all with a few throwaway lines. I have praised a sci-fi writers’ ability to do this at length and it was one of the reasons I enjoyed Neuromancer so much.
Moreover, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep has a surprising amount of depth. It revolves around the real versus the fake, around human empathy, and around the distance created between people by artificial distinctions.
A good example of this depth is the fact that all humans are supposed to demonstrate their empathy by caring for an animal. But since these are so expensive, some have a ‘fake’ electric animal instead (a source of great shame, and thus kept secret). Nevertheless, the humans love these electric animals with all their heart as their society and religion requires of them. But when it comes to ‘fake’ humans – the androids – humans are supposed not to have a shred of feeling for them. It is this paradox that the protagonist Deckard is struggling with.
And that is a great theme! Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep just feels a little like Dick went into it without too much of a plan. As a result, there are poignant moments, but not a particularly strong overarching structure. There are great ideas and little vignettes, but some of these are discarded after use in a single paragraph.
Most importantly, however, is Dick’s prose, which is best described as very blunt. I don’t need flowery prose to enjoy a story, but in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, I found Dick’s presentation rather jarring at times.
In a book that revolves around empathy, Dick leaves basically all of the feelings to the reader. That has advantages – the reader is free to project their own thoughts and feelings onto Deckard and his wife and to judge their relationship by those standards.
That also means, however, that Dick has written a novel without much of an actual message, since the reader can basically make of it what they wish. The rather disjointed ending adds to this feeling.
So. I like Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. It is full of interesting ideas and has great theme. But I don’t think Dick knocked it out of the park with these ingredients. It makes me wonder what we could have gotten if some other, more empathetic writer had taken Dick’s outline and built a story with it.
I’m having a really tough time rating this movie in stars, so I would recommend you mostly forget about those and read the review instead.
This is a typical Verhoeven movie, where on the surface its just a mind numbing orgy of violence and some sex, but the more you think about it, the more you realise Verhoeven may have thought about it, too. Allow me to explain.
Let’s start with the bad: a lot of the movie’s runtime is taken up by long, gory action scenes in which Arnold Schwarzenegger violently murders his way through most opposition.
I would describe his acting as downright poor, and he’s not the only one who suffers from wooden dialogue in this film.
I’ve read somewhere that Total Recall was one of the most expensive movies made at the time, but the effects have aged really poorly. That might be because very little thought seems to have been put into the visual style: many of the movie’s sets and props very much look like they’re made out of flat cardboard (probably because they are), and while a handful of scenes do show some nice expansive shots, many more appear to have been filmed in cramped studios. The lighting is flat and there is just a weird amateurish air to it all.
That sounds pretty bad (and it is), but like other Verhoeven movies, it also feels like it is a parody of itself. It almost feels like it is intended to show the watcher just how stupid and violent Hollywood movies can get.
And if you look at it as something of a satire, a comedy, it actually becomes pretty enjoyable – perhaps not to watch too intently, but good with popcorn and beer for a corny movie night.
But really, there’s even an interesting layer beyond that. I don’t want to give it all away, but from the moment Quail, Schwarzenegger’s character, enters Rekall for his memory-implantation procedure and they select ‘Blue Skies on Mars’, you should start questioning whether what you see on screen is intended to be real. Even at the end of the movie, if you’ve paid any attention, you are left scratching your head.
I don’t think it’s the sick mind-melting mystery that some online fans seem to think it is (though admittedly, any online following of a thirty five year-old mediocre action movie is going to be at least a bit delusional), but it’s a neat twist that shows that Verhoeven’s film is smarter than it lets on.
Overall – if you’re bored some time, give it a shot and see for yourself. Maybe you can’t see past how terrible it is, but if you can, Total Recall is surprisingly good goofy fun.
Philip K. Dick is one of the grandfathers of science fiction, and this short story is one of his classics. It’s a bit difficult to review without giving too much away, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Like many of Dick’s short stories, this one is heavily carried by the central concept. In this case, the central concept is the idea that in place of actually experiencing a particular experience, a person could undergo a simple procedure to have a memory of that experience implanted. Note only does this raise questions of whether all of their other memories are real, but additionally, the story asks: if memories can be implanted, can they also be erased?
The concept is a strong basis for the story and interesting food for thought, though as is often the case in these classic stories, the central ideas crowd out character development or world building. I think the story is well-structured, and its double twist works well. I have to say though that I think that Dick has written better prose, and there is some unnecessary casual misogyny that would look very much out of place today.
Overall, it is not a bad story, but not as good as some of Dick’s other works. The central concept of a virtual experience is not near as novel now, though we’ve mostly drifted away from the memory angle in modern fiction. Nowadays, it is probably mostly of interest to people who are curious about the origin of Total Recall, and not the public at large.
The Spielberg movie Minority Report is relatively well known for its visual style, especially the gesture-control computers that John Anderton, played by Tom Cruise, uses at the start of the story.
The film does indeed look very good, and I believe that its style and effects hold up decently well even today, over 20 years after its release.
The plot departs relatively far from Dick’s short story in order to make more room for moments of character drama and interpersonal conflict – which makes sense, given that the short story is short enough for the concepts and ideas alone to keep the story afloat.
The added layer makes the story more relatable (if at times also somewhat convoluted). I will not say that the movie’s emotional moments are particularly strong, but for a sci-fi action movie, they work well enough.
The chase- and action scenes could have been a bit shorter for me, and I would have liked the movie to play up the weird cyberpunk elements just a bit more. Overall, though, I think there is enough interesting sci-fi and enough of Dick in there to keep less action-inclined viewers engaged too.
There are a number of interesting thematic departures between the story and the movie, though. I might need to do a post on Dick adaptations in the near future for more of an in depth-discussion on those…
I’ve never been a fan of Tom Cruise’s acting – I always feel like he is just being Tom Cruise, running around different sci-fi or thriller environments. Minority Report is no different, and I would not say that the acting of the other characters is particularly outstanding. It works, however, and the story, pace and visuals pull you in enough for the acting not to matter too much.
In conclusion, not a masterpiece, but well worth a watch.
The Minority Report is a classic science fiction story by Philip K. Dick, one of the grandfathers of the genre. As always with these classic stories, it is as much a window onto the time it was written as it is a window onto an imagined future. There are flying cars and off-world colonies, yes, but also punch-card computers and bread trucks.
The story revolves around the idea that three prescient mutants can predict future murders. Their babbling is input into a computer and at the other end, cards containing the names of a murderer and his victim come rolling out. The police go and apprehend them before the crime is committed. The system appears to be working well, until… the name of the chief of the police comes rolling out of the computer.
Against a backdrop of politics, the story then explores whether it is right or legal to lock up perpetrators of predicted crimes that they didn’t have a chance to actually commit, and the meaning and value of the predictions of crimes, if the predictions can paradoxically prevent themselves from coming true.
Like most classic science fiction, The Minority Report is about the concepts more than the characters, and as a short story, the worldbuilding is limited. That may make it a bit of a dry read for the modern audience, but it isn’t too long and well-paced. The concepts are well-thought out, and for those of you interested in stories about time travel and time paradoxes, it is well worth the time invested.
Listened to the audiobook with Penn Badgley. Well-read.
Fahrenheit 451 is one of those old, 1950s, science-fiction-of-ideas type novels. The idea in Fahrenheit 451 is straightforward: society has regressed intellectually, everyone only watches TV, and books gradually became obsolete until they were eventually even banned.
In telling this story, Bradbury clearly wants to warn us of totalitarian governments and their censorship, in the vein of 1984, but also of control and desensitisation via mass media, in the vein of Brave New World.
That is a lot to pack into a such a short novel, but Fahrenheit 451 stays on message throughout. Fahrenheit 451 contains little to no details on the time that passed between the 1950s and the fictional present and does not even explain much about the future society that the story is set in, other than the prohibition of books and the institution of the firemen that burn them.
To be honest, Bradbury doesn’t need much more to evoke the readers emotions because the image of book burning is so vivid and emblematic. In the 1950s, the Second World War and Nazism, as well as the communist dictatorship and accompanying censorship in the Soviet Union, loomed large in readers’ minds. Even now, though, more than 70 years after the publication date, the metaphor still hits home.
At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel that Fahrenheit 451 is a novel dripping in old man energy (yes, I know Bradbury was in his thirties when he wrote it). By that I mean to say that it appears that Bradbury is frustrated by a changing society and up in arms about those changes – radio, television, swift-moving cars… It appears he believes that there is a certain degeneration linked with these technological developments and that society must swear these off and return to simpler, more intellectual times.
Don’t get me wrong: I think Bradbury is right that television – and in particular, social media algorithms an smartphones, which he did not foresee – have indeed decreased people’s attention spans and maybe even fanned an anti-intellectual flame. But his conservative thinking appears a little black and white to me; not every change since the 1950s has been for the worse.
Fahrenheit 451 is a short novel, but I was not surprised to find out that it was originally even shorter. It is very focused on a couple of poignant but ultimately relatively straightforward ideas that I feel would have fitted perfectly in a novella-length tale. I understand that Bradbury initially wrote the story as a novella and his publisher asked him to double the length and make it into a small novel. I feel that explains why the novel is set up in a lean style with very few characters and little to no background, but nevertheless feels a little stretched out in certain places.
Fahrenheit 451 is based on a strong moral idea and gets its messages across clearly. It reads easy enough, has a couple of nice character moments and shows that certain issues we are grappling with today have been relevant for decades. At the same time, it is also very much a product of its time and, if I dare to be that honest, I don’t think Fahrenheit 451 is breathtakingly clever or prophetic. It is a good metaphor turned into a novella turned into a book. In the end, it is a classic and it is short, so I would certainly recommend you give it a try, if only to get in on the conversation.
Listened to the audiobook with Simon Vance, loved his narration.
The first showing of Guillermo del Toro’s new Frankenstein movie at the Venice International Film Festival is coming up, so I figured it would be interesting to reread the original book to best prepare for the inevitable watch parties. Turns out the release on Netflix is only in the fall though. Unfortunately.
So back to the book. There a multiple ways to review a book like Frankenstein. If we look at it from the perspective of what Frankenstein did for the genre – and what it meant in 1818 – it is very difficult to overstate its importance. It is already incredible that a teenage girl could write this, but now consider she wrote it in the 1810s! 5/5.
It might be different if we look at it from the perspective of the 2020s. We know what Frankenstein meant for science fiction, but what if we look at it as a piece of entertainment rather than a piece of history?
I think there are a lot of elements to the story that wouldn’t fly in a modern publication. There are quite a few ways in which the story is simply old fashioned. For example, aside from Victor Frankenstein, the characters are pretty underdeveloped, especially the female ones; and the prose is very dramatic (to a level which is sometimes more funny than emotional).
In addition, there are a couple of nit-picky criticisms that I feel might have been resolved with some editorial l input in a revised version. For example, while the reader will understand that for the story to work the monster needs to learn basically everything somewhere, I still think it is a fair criticism that the way it actually happened was very convenient. And Frankenstein does a lot of thinking, but it just never seems to occur to him to tell anyone what is up, or to take action to prevent the monster from getting its way. I realise its not that type of book, of course, but I feel a modern version would have found ways to make it make more practical sense.
On the other hand, there is more than enough that carries over the 200 years since the book was written. The core message – of a person being driven to do unspeakable things because of unfair rejection by fellow humans, of unfair rejection by fellow humans because of immutable characteristics like appearance – is as relevant now as it was in 1818. And sure, the story is old and the prose is a little melodramatic, but that is also fun! It makes for a very atmospheric tale. And finally: it has a frame narrative, so that means I’m sold.
So overall: I enjoyed Frankenstein. I’m just a sucker for the classics. If I’m honest, I probably mostly liked it for the history attached to it. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth reading for its own sake.
The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories is a collection of novellas and short stories. I’m rating and reviewing the book as whole, but I’ll include a couple of lines on the separate stories below.
I have said before that I like short form fiction, because it allows writers and readers to explore themes and ideas without the investment and complications necessary for novel-length speculative fiction. I think Ted Chiang is probably the best example of that kind of storytelling I know.
So I was very interested in The Paper Menagerie, and it did not disappoint! The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories belongs on the shelf right next to Exhalation.
I was particularly impressed by the broad range of topics and genres that are included in the collection – they range from effectively fantasy, to alternate history, to historical fiction, to science fiction.
The stories in The Paper Menagerie do share a common theme: most of them, on some level, are about cultural interchange. In particular, many of them are about the experience of Chinese – or more generally, Asian – immigrants in the US. That may appear to be a strange theme for a collection of speculative fiction, but that literary theme married to interesting speculative ideas works surprisingly well.
And while The Paper Menagerie works as a collection, several of the individual stories also really stand out. Only one of the individual stories felt like a dud, and there are several that I am burning to recommend to specific people.
Overall, The Paper Menagerie is certain to delight thoughtful readers of more literary fare as well as curious readers of speculative ideas. Pick it up – I am sure there is a story in there you will remember for a long time!
The Bookmaking Habits of Select Species: 3/5. Fun thought experiments on how different alien species could be to us, through the lens of their possible writing; not the slam-dunk opener I would have gone for though!
State Change: 5/5. Really cute short story about metaphors for one’s personality having a physical shape. It takes a couple of pages to get into it, but I loved it, probably one of the best stories in the book.
The Perfect Match: 4/5. Poignant short story about algorithms deciding our lives. It overdelivers a bit at the end (surprisingly reminding me of Vigilance a bit).
Good Hunting: 4/5. More standard fantasy fare, a character driven, gaslamp-fantasy type short story about technology replacing magic.
The Literomancer: 5/5. Harrowing literary historical story about making friends across cultures and how Americans think they are saving the world, but it turns out they are not.
Simulacrum: 5/5. Very short story about how something more lifelike than a recording existing interferes with the privacy and personal lives of both the recorded person and the watcher.
The Regular: 3.5/5. Detective story, not quite novel length, very Black Mirror-esque, about the murder of an escort.
The Paper Menagerie: 3.5. The story gave its name to the book and won both the Hugo and Nebula award, but it is not the one that stuck with me most; but it is a well-written literary story, that might have speculative elements but that is not about those at all. I think that this one particular story is the one that most strongly exemplifies the through line in the book, of Chinese or Asian characters attempting to fit into a foreign world.
An Advanced Readers’ Picture Book of Comparative Cognition: 2.5/5. This one never clicked for me. It switches back and forth between descriptions of possible outlandish sentient life forms and the story of an ark launching into space. I honestly forgot it was even in the book until I made this list for the review…
The Waves: 3/5. An interesting short story about growing up, the meaning of immortality, and choices made to conserve resources on an ark ship in space, though the premise seemed a little forced to me.
Mono No Aware: 4/5. A Hugo-award winning short story, about the the peculiar culture of Japan holding strong in the face of the apocalypse, the mingling of culture on ark ships and the duty of sacrifice.
All the Flavours: 4/5. A novella, the longest story in the book. All the Flavours is about Chinese immigrants in the Old West, perfectly fitting the book’s overall themes, but it views those themes at just a bit more of a distance since we are separated by time from the characters in the book. I like that the story portrays two sides of the society the Chinese immigrated into: both the welcoming Americans that admire Chinese industriousness and food, as well as the inevitable racism of those that try to exploit them.
A Brief History of the Trans-Pacific Tunnel: 4/5. An alternate history short story that really tickled my imagination, though the plot itself is perhaps not the greatest.
The Litigation Master and the Monkey King: 3/5. A fine story about a clever lawyer and his inner monologue with a legendary figure, a couple of nice twists but not this book’s highlight.
The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary: 5/5. A great story about the geopolitics and activism in history, the emotional versus the academic side of history, and the personal attrition of a scientist that wants to do good.
Listened to the audiobook with Mark Boyett – well read.
Seldom have I read a sci-fi story that is at once so cynical and scathing and so true to life.
No, I don’t really expect TV networks to start organising mass shootings to bring ratings up. But all small elements that make up American society in Vigilance – the overt racism and sexism, the cynical appeals to patriotism, the casual audience manipulation – all resonate strongly with the kind of society that MAGA-republicans are actually on their way to creating. Bennett was writing in 2019, towards the end of the first Trump presidency, and I think he had a really good feeling for the direction the US had taken.
Especially in the first half of the story, Bennett does an amazing job of setting a great stage and defending his absolutely bonkers premise. I was sucked straight into his disgusting and fascinating dystopia.
I think Vigilance had the potential to be really good.
Unfortunately, Bennett wasn’t quite content with just a well-executed premise. Towards the end of the novella, Bennett attempts to place the story of Vigilance in a wider geopolitical context with a grand finale. I feel his conclusion takes the reader’s attention away from the Vigilance-event at the core of the book and takes it over the top to where my suspense of disbelief snapped.
I think it is a pity. I feel like that big finale wasn’t necessary to make the point Bennet was trying to make, and it detracts from the message it does send by taking the novella from unlikely but creepily familiar Black Mirror-territory to more safely impossible speculation.
Having said that, I think Vigilance is well worth your time despite its probably overambitious finish – the cynical picture of the US Bennett paints – even if it borders on caricature – is a good reminder of where the world might be heading if we don’t stand up and reject those politics.
Listened to the audiobook with Raquel Beattie, going against my own advice to read Arkady Martine on paper. I think the narrator did fine, but this novella too is just better suited to paper than audio format.
I really liked the Teixcalaan Duology so I was excited when I found a novella by Martine on my audiobook app. Unfortunately, Rose/House didn’t really work for me.
I like Martine’s atmospheric writing style, even if it tends to be a little opaque and fuzzy around the edges. Reading the Teixcalaan Duology took some brain power, but it was well worth the reward.
Rose/House is written in a very similar style, but unlike Teixcalaan, it was mostly just confusing to me.
My feeling is that the problem is the type of book that Martine was writing. Rose/House is a cyberpunk noir. We’ve seen that before – Morgan’s Altered Carbon is probably the most obvious example – and the genre can work very well.
However, for me, a core requirement of a detective story is that the plot works.
I grew up reading Agatha Christie and watching Midsummer Murders. I do not mind a convoluted story – that’s part of the fun. But I do want the ‘oh, of course!’-moment at the resolution.
I won’t spoil Rose/House for you, but suffice to say that I didn’t have that feeling at the end of the novella. The focus on atmosphere and mystery in the writing style let down the actual mystery in the plot at the core of the detective story.
Moreover, because Rose/House is quite short, I never really got invested in any of the characters, though I do think they did have potential. But if the plot isn’t doing it and the characters don’t reel me in, the atmosphere Martine creates simply doesn’t carry the novella on its own.
I think A Memory Called Empire is one of the best sci-fi books of the past decade. So a slight miss in a novella won’t put me off reading the next thing Martine puts out. But it is interesting how a style that works great for one type of story is quite frankly detrimental to another.
It has been a while since Martine has put out a longer form work, so I am really curious to see what she is working one. You can be sure that I will review it on this website!
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