Such stories are rare in Hollywood science fiction movies. For the most part filmmakers take horror, thriller or even fantasy tales and simply transport them into quasi-futuristic settings. Zombies become space mutants and rugged action hero is turned into an astronaut. More interesting implications of such imaginary worlds often get ignored in favor of hackneyed old plot lines about the fight between Good and Evil.

Moon isn’t one of those movies.

Moon is the first feature film by the British director Duncan Jones. It is also refreshingly simple in its premise. Astronaut Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) works for a corporation excavating valuable energy resources from Moon’s surface. He lives in a small base monitoring automated digging machinery with only a  robot named Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey) as his companion. Sam is nearing the end of a three-year contract and looks forward to returning home. And yet, all is not what it seems.

Sam makes a startling discovery. As he tries to cope with it, we get a glimpse into his personality. What kind of man chooses to live and work alone for three years? How does he mentally cope with such loneliness? Even more importantly, what kind of corporation sends anyone on such a job? We also learn something about moral implications of certain futuristic technologies by witnessing their effect on Sam’s psyche.

Visually and thematically Moon owns far more to 2001 then Star Wars. Gerty’s seemingly pleasant personality reminds us of HAL 9000. Its design is simple, robust and functional – not too different from present-day factory robots. Lunar base itself looks like something people might actually build and use as opposed to flashy CGI-modeled technology we often see in other science fiction movies. All this makes Sam’s story seem more realistic, no matter how fantastical it might occasionally sound.

More then anything this is a Sam Rockwell movie. Rockwell is an actor with a string of roles in quirky, smart movies – from Clooney’s Confessions of a Dangerous Mind to Ridley Scott’s Matchstick Men. Rockwell is practically the only human actor in Moon. It is a testament to his acting ability that film never becomes dull.

There are no giant space battles in Moon. There are no exotic worlds or huge explosions or mutated monsters. But there is a smart, thought-provoking story about corporate misuse of new technologies and a lot of good old-fashioned acting.

What more do you need?

Moon trailer:

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Dollhouse: An Excerize In Paranoia

Do Androids Dream of Al-Queda?

If You Liked James Cameron’s Avatar, You Might Enjoy…

That’s no small wonder considering that Dollhouse is another brainchild of Joss Whedon, a writer who gained a cult following with his TV shows, no matter if were they successful – like Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and Angel – or failures such as Firefly. Some see Whedon as over-hyped producer who is mostly concerned with mixing fast thrills and fashionable truisms, while others point towards surprising wit, insight and cynicism in his writing.

Dollhouse is somewhere in the middle of these two extremes, with its intriguing premise and uneven development. Series posits an invention of a technology that allows human mind to be erased and then imprinted with whatever personality its creator desires. With a human mind thus turned into a glorified hard drive, the inventors start the Dollhouse – facility whose employees fulfill a five year contract by being regularly imprinted with various personas while their original one is safely stored on a computer. Essentially, we’re getting an inside view into Manchurian Candidate but, instead of people being brainwashed into assassins, they are – maybe even more disturbingly – being mostly used as expensive playthings.

The key difference between the Dollhouse and an escort service, or even sexual slavery, is that Dolls honestly feel and know whatever they are programmed to. But even this is just the tip of an iceberg. Over time, we witness Dolls programmed to behave like fully realized human beings displaying skepticism, sympathy, hate, rebellion and a whole gamut of human emotions. They’re indistinguishable from regular humans… except their personalities are about as natural as plastic.

We focus on one of these Dolls named Echo (Eliza Dushku) and, over the first half dozen episodes we see her play variety of roles from a high-class prostitute to a hostage negotiator. Parallel to that, we follow FBI agent Paul Ballard (Tahmoh Penikett) who searches for disappeared girl named Caroline, also played by Dushku. At first, plot spins in formulaic circles with Ballard hitting dead ends one after another while Caroline/Echo goes through all sorts of heroics only to be turned into a blank slate by the end of each episode, ready for new assignments.

But then, in the second half of its first season, Dollhouse suddenly becomes much more engaging show. In one eerie episode we see Dolls rebel and try to escape the Dollhouse… only to turn back when they reach an exit. Their behavior was merely a pre-programmed security check. In other, a person aghast with the mere concept of Dollhouse is revealed to be a Doll itself, merely fulfilling its programming to manipulate other characters. We see Dolls committing murder and villains imprinted with benevolent personas, all posing complicated questions about the true extent of individual responsibility.

What does this all say about the rest of us? Are we merely a deterministic amalgam of our previous experiences? What is free will anyway? Are we truly slaves if we’re unable to even perceive our slavery? How much of our thoughts are genuine and how much are they shaped by our environment and the roles society imposed on us? These are some surprisingly heavy questions for seemingly formulaic action series.

But besides posing such quandaries in front of his audience, Dollhouse creates the ultimate conspiracy, one hidden not in lofty skyscrapers or shady offices – although there is a fair share of those too in the series – but within our own minds. Others shape our thoughts without us even noticing it. We spy ourselves but don’t know that. Are minds are programmed but we cannot comprehend it. Government agents and alien invaders of the “X Files” seem quaint in comparison: clumsy external forces that skulk in shadows. Compared to that, Dollhouse programming is an elegant way to make its target regulate and control itself.

Dollhouse tried to combine typical action series with a more cerebral kind of science fiction – the one that often takes seemingly implausible premise and runs it to its logical conclusions. Results were mixed. Its formulaic and repetitive first episodes bored a more serious audience while its morally ambiguous characters and situations probably turned off viewers looking for light entertainment. Its ratings sunk and FOX executives got nervous.

Great deal of problem lies within the main character herself: in theory, Caroline/Echo is a fascinating character, being repeatedly purged of all her experiences at the end of every episode and yet slowly developing a personality of her own. In practice, this repeated deletion made developments in every episode seem insubstantial and the main character unsympathetic.

But even so, one has to give Whedon credit for trying. Dollhouse presented an interesting and chilling concept. The fact that such series actually came to exist and that network hold on to it long enough to give it conclusion, how ever rushed it might have been, gives hope for other above-the-mill TV shows and its not-so-numerous audience.

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Dollhouse: An Excerize In Paranoia

Do Androids Dream of Al-Queda?

If You Liked James Cameron’s Avatar, You Might Enjoy…

Series begins with a surprise attack by Cylons – a robotic creatures used by humans for a long time until they finally rebelled. Decades later, they return to attack humans, killing billions with nuclear weaponry. Only a handful of survivors remain, running away in a search of a new home. Their leader is President Laura Roslin (Mary McDonnell) – a politician of minor importance whose function was handed down to her simply because the rest of the government perished. Her position is undermined by the military pragmatics like Admiral William Adama (Edward James Olmos) but also by democratic idealists led by political prisoner Tom Zarek (Richard Hatch).

Aside of robots and space ships, the world of Battlestar Galactica is pretty much as our own. The characters of the series – like narcissistic and possibly insane Gaius Baltar (James Callis), dysfunctional pilot Kara Thrace (Katee Sackhoff) or idealistic officer Lee Adama (Jamie Bamber) – grew up in prosperous democratic society only to end up in a war no one expected. Traumatized from a frightening terrorist attack and faced with an uncertain future, they soon become paranoid as well when they realize that their attackers are now androids – robots visually and even internally indistinguishable from humans.

But, as Cylon agents infiltrate the ranks of survivors to sow distrust, panic and destruction, we learn they’re far from monolithic, faceless evil. They have their own goals, ideals, conflicts and even religion – something that humans find especially abhorrent. Creatures that were once dismissed as a mere resource to be exploited turned into beings possessing all the human emotions, both good and bad.

Over its four seasons duration – from 2003 miniseries up to its 2009 finale – Battlestar Galactica served as dark reflection of America of the new millennium. Controversies over the 2000 U.S. Presidential elections were addressed, as well as War in Iraq, torture of prisoners in Guantanamo Bay and dangerous effects of religious fanaticism and populist rhetoric on the health of democratic society.

Moral and political quandaries rose throughout the series: what good are democratic traditions when mere survival is at stake and quick and decisive actions are required? How much liberty are people willing to sacrifice in order to gain security, even if it’s only symbolic? To what lengths are humanity’s leaders willing to go in order to ensure mankind’s future? Is there any possibility of trust between opponents bent on mutual genocide?

For the most part, there were no easy answers. We might cheer the characters on in one moment and hate them in another. One week, viewers might have been disgusted by Cylon experiments on humans; in the following episode they were equally horrified by beating and torture of Cylon prisoner by its human captors. Faced not only with enemy threat, but also with failing technology, diminishing resources and societal unrest, many characters in the series slowly sank into PTSP, alcoholism, drug abuse and even suicide.

And yet… there’s a silver lining of humanism throughout this almost savagely realistic science fiction series. By showing us the imperfection of individual insight, it made a strong case for necessity to listen and tolerate dissenting opinions, if only to better grasp the nuances of reality. And, while the writers of the series recognized flaws and faults of individuals and society in general, they also pointed out amazing perseverance of human spirit, even when faced with the series of crushing defeats.

Where all too often we see TV and movie heroes sprouting slogans about heroism, trust or compassion, Battlestar Galactica managed to convey to its viewers the price of such ideals – the burden, the risk and the sacrifice they demand – that made them realize their true value. The more the series insisted on its gritty realism the more it reminded us how similar we all are in our hopes, flaws and problems. To claim all that and to make it not sound like a cheap truism just might have been the greatest accomplishment of this series. After all, in this turbulent decade, that message all too often got ignored.

Battlestar Galactica first season trailer:

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Dollhouse: An Excerize In Paranoia

If You Liked James Cameron’s Avatar, You Might Enjoy…

After this year’s expensive, yet ultimately forgettable movies like Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen or 2012, in Avatar we find a popular, big-budget movie that nevertheless actually tries to explore the “speculative” part in speculative fiction. It posits the future in which humans colonize space and alien moon with its own fascinating ecological system. Then it proceeds to use this alien setting to tell what is essentially a very human story about imperialism, clash of cultures and ecology. If Avatar makes a viewer think at least a little about negative effects of globalization – both past and present – or ecological consequences of a modern industrial society, it will serve as a great pamphlet for progressive causes.

But, while the message of Avatar is commendable, the way on which it is delivered unfortunately lacks subtlety. In order to demonstrate its point, Avatar simplifies the clash of cultures to the level that this starts to actively undermine the movie’s message. Somewhat paradoxically, movie’s story is far less believable then it’s wonderfully rendered alien world and its native denizens.

In Avatar, mankind is, for the most part, essentially portrayed as thoroughly corrupted by civilization. On the other hand, native population of the alien moon live in harmony with nature that somehow makes them immune to unfortunate and common human flaws like jealousy, intolerance or cruelty. And yet, despite all of their virtues, thanks to a movie’s need for a main character audience can easily identify with, these natives end up being led to victory not by their own heroes and leaders but by stranger from planet Earth who barely had time to learn about their culture.

Allow me then to offer you some alternatives to Avatar. They might not necessarily strike you as better, but they do provide some basis for comparison that might explain explain my disappointment with the movie’s treatment of its own important message.

The Word for World is Forest – this 1976 novel by Ursula K. LeGuin is essentially Avatar written down. It tells the story about human settlers of an alien planet whose greed, cruelty and selfishness lead to ever-growing conflicts between them and native population of the planet’s forests. In the process, peaceful aliens irrevocably change when they learn how to wage war and commit atrocities of their own. This is yet another of LeGuin’s novels that deals with communication and first contact – themes that endlessly fascinate this classical speculative fiction writer.

District 9– produced by Peter Jackson and released this year, District 9 is a speculative fiction movie based upon a short film Alive in Joburg by Neil Blomkamp. It presents an alternate version of our world’s history in which giant space ship appeared above Johannesburg in the early 1980s. Alien refugees aboard it are seemingly, far from the sympathetic: they are large, repulsive creatures resembling cockroaches. But they have human emotions and, when disgusted humans start relocating them to ghettos and concentration camps, they turn to crime and violence. Heavily inspired by his country’s history of racial tensions, Blomkamp dares the audience to feel sympathy for the aliens and, in the process, question the extent of their own tolerance and compassion.

Princess Mononoke (Mononoke-hime) – made by brilliant Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki, this fantasy tale from 1997. brings subtlety and complexity to the story about conflict of nature and civilization. Nature is represented by magnificent forest vistas, but also by capricious and cruel nature spirits who think nothing about killing humans who displease them. On the other hand, people of the local mining town burn and destroy the forest, but their leader also provides haven for the ostracized members of society – from former prostitutes to lepers. There is no clear Good/Evil division and no simple solutions of this conflict: it takes active participation and compromise from both sides to achieve lasting peace.

Alive in Joburg – the original short film by Neil Blomkamp that inspired District 9.

Princess Mononoke official trailer:

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Dollhouse: An Excerize In Paranoia

Do Androids Dream of Al-Queda?