tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22780944016131880182024-02-07T19:39:17.080-08:00The PopScience ReviewReviews of the latest popular science releases, edited by science writer David DiSalvoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547971369548882699noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2278094401613188018.post-87576593101125884162012-06-12T22:06:00.001-07:002012-06-13T07:59:52.584-07:00Symbolism or Not, 'Prometheus' Still Fails as a Compelling Story<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>by John Shade Vick</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XmFWnk5WAdUhK4OaeUHd6oSlo7mXYCfEXN3_Eqohu_gOMlmU5NJByxw4LmNOZnD-usgZHWa1XO2V0C1QZOWSuro5wvMsjRQFHme1d0JjqL0YyxY1Aq1OywYjy1NYRTGYIn5k0-UF9xo9/s1600/prometheus_engineer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XmFWnk5WAdUhK4OaeUHd6oSlo7mXYCfEXN3_Eqohu_gOMlmU5NJByxw4LmNOZnD-usgZHWa1XO2V0C1QZOWSuro5wvMsjRQFHme1d0JjqL0YyxY1Aq1OywYjy1NYRTGYIn5k0-UF9xo9/s320/prometheus_engineer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Considering the attention that my <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/daviddisalvo/2012/06/11/review-prometheus-is-a-visually-stunning-epic-failure/">negative review</a> on Forbes of Ridley
Scott’s <i>Prometheus</i> has garnered, it is clear that this film – regardless of its
silliness as a story – has proven worthy of heady debate on multiple levels.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the last couple of days, another article has also gained
quite a bit of attention. It is an extremely well-written, well-reasoned
treatise on the symbolism contained in the film, written by a guy called
<a href="http://cavalorn.livejournal.com/584135.html">Cavalorn</a>. There’s a fair amount of pablum in it about psychically activated black goo, but beyond that he points out numerous
details within the film suggesting that the story’s alien characters – the
Engineers – are connected to Earth’s religious and specifically Judeo-Christian
past as well as the mythical Greek Titan that lends the film his name. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cavalorn’s theory is that the Engineers who occupied the
temple discovered by the human scientists on planet LV-223 became upset with
earthlings 2,000 years ago, but were prevented from cleaning our clocks when
they became victims of an industrial accident involving those jars of black goo
they had lying around on the floor of their ship. The ultimate assertion is
that Jesus Christ himself was an Engineer, and when we killed him, we signed
our own cosmic death warrant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite a comment from Scott saying that actually calling it
Christ would be “too on the nose” (and a 9-foot tall albino Jesus wasn’t quite
what the Good Book described), I absolutely believe that this is what the
filmmakers were going for. I believe it because this has become screenwriter Damon
Lindelof’s shtick, whether he likes it or not (<a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1687203/prometheus-sequel.jhtml">http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1687203/prometheus-sequel.jhtml</a>).
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lindelof now seems to be shifting the blame for <i>Prometheus</i> in Scott’s direction,
but his writing for the ABC series <i>LOST</i> was rife with spiritual themes and philosophical
strangeness from the very beginning, and as the series went on, it became the
primary reason for its continued success. Every new image, character or
happening on the show sent rabid fans searching for answers in their libraries,
in the hope of uncovering the One Theory that explains everything. Whole
websites were constructed for the collection and dissemination of <i>LOST</i>-related
data, every obscure detail potentially holding the key to the series, and for
everything that happened, there was some guy, somewhere, who could say,
“Actually, what Locke said to Jack is mirrored right here in the Talmud. See?
It’s brilliant!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even worse was when the writers pulled in scientific theory
and then blew it off. As we all know, not only were the scientific questions
raised in the final seasons of <i>LOST</i> not dealt with, but neither was the
spiritual soup made of pieces of virtually every belief system in human
history. It all ended in a church with stained glass on another plane of
existence. Or something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Scott, Lindelof and Jon Spaihts are clearly intelligent
people who know a lot of interesting things about a lot of interesting stuff.
And, finding clues to a greater meaning in a story can be fascinating and great
fun. But, for symbolism to have any real meaning, it has to make sense. It has
to serve the story, and it has to come organically. The shotgun-symbolism of
<i>LOST</i>, where countless bits of disparate philosophical ideas were blasted onto
the canvas and allowed to mean everything or nothing, depending on the
knowledge base of the viewer, is not storytelling. You can take the worst Eddie
Murphy movie and load it with potent religious symbolism, and it’s still going
to suck. Why? Because, it’s still a dumb Eddie Murphy movie injected with
potent religious symbolism. The symbolism is irrelevant if there isn’t a
good plot or well-drawn characters to carry the themes through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since the creation of language, be it visual or spoken, the
core values of civilization have been passed on through storytelling. Is it any
wonder that the really good stories are the ones from which we continue to take
meaning? Pure storytelling, in all its forms, is the greatest information
delivery system that has ever existed. A gifted storyteller can teach one
person a lesson, and simply entertain another. And, it’s possible – and
preferable - to do that without insulting either individual’s intelligence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where we get into trouble is when poor storytellers try to
teach us something. As Cavalorn points out, one of the main themes in
<i>Prometheus</i> is the concept of sacrifice. And there is really no more powerful
human theme you can hit on than that. People make sacrifices, every day, on
scales large and small. Soldiers die in wars. Firefighters die pulling victims
out of broken skyscrapers. Parents sacrifice the things they need for the
things their children need. Giving of one’s self for a greater good is the most
emotionally compelling thing a human being - or any creature - can do. In a
great story, it moves people in the deepest part of their beings, and can
inspire others to do the same.<br />
<br />
The very story of Christ is built on this principle.
But, the reason Jesus Christ bears so much weight for the people who believe is
because they’ve come to know him in the Scriptures. They know what he’s about,
what he stands for, and they know both what the world loses and gains because
of his sacrifice. None of the characters who sacrifice themselves in <i>Prometheus</i>
are written well enough to exemplify true sacrifice, so the overlying theme is
purely academic and doesn’t serve the story in any way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this summer’s <i>The Avengers</i>, we have an amazing example of
the power of personal sacrifice in S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Phil Coulson (Clark
Gregg). Agent Coulson confronts the film’s chief adversary Loki (Tom
Hiddleston) in an attempt to save Thor (Chris Hemsworth) from a deathtrap, and
is mortally wounded by him. Agent Coulson manages to regain the upper hand, if
only for a moment, and blasts him through a wall with an untested super-weapon
powered by dark cosmic energy. I’ve seen the movie four times, and all four
audiences gasped when Coulson was wounded, and cheered when he came back. This
for a minor character in the Marvel movie universe with less than half an hour
of screen time. It worked because writer/director Joss Whedon successfully does
three things: he makes us love Coulson; he makes us hate Loki; and he never
lets us forget what the stakes are. If Loki succeeds, our planet will be
enslaved by a vicious alien horde that even Loki cannot control. And Coulson’s
sacrifice becomes an important part of the story when his death serves to
reenergize Captain <st1:country-region>America</st1:country-region>
(Chris Evans) and Iron Man (Robert Downey, Jr.) after the team is shattered and
all appears lost. Further, Coulson’s death inspires Iron Man to an act of
heroism at the film’s climax that he could easily not survive. Again, I have
heard multiple audiences clap and cheer when Tony Stark survives this final
ordeal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Contrast this with <i>Prometheus</i>. Early on, we’re introduced to
ship’s captain Janek (Idris Elba) and two forgettable pilot characters who
clearly have no interest in discovering an alien civilization. They are
stereotypical “we’re in it for the money” types. Our storytellers never spend
enough time with these pilots to humanize them, and Janek’s main purpose
earlier in the film is to get Vickers (Charlize Theron) into bed and find out if
she’s a robot. (He succeeds, and she isn’t. Hooray for Janek.) Later in the
film, when a big alien ship containing dangerous black goo – and one angry
Engineer - is headed to Earth to carry out that 2,000-year-old vendetta against humanity, Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) basically says, “Hey, you guys gotta stop
that ship from leaving or Earth is finished!” And they basically say, “Well, we
don’t have any guns, so I guess we’ll just crash into it and die!” You know,
like Kirk’s dad in <i>Star Trek</i>, or a million other movies. And, these three
characters, who have in their minimal screen time shown almost nothing but
apathy, are all suddenly super-patriots, and are visibly cheerful about dying
for Earth. I thought they were going to start chest-bumping and high-fiving each
other as they crashed into the alien ship and vaporized. Tellingly, nobody in the
audience cheered. People actually laughed (including me).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, what is gained by threading themes of sacrifice into
<i>Prometheus</i> if we aren’t affected by it when it happens? It is commendable to
explore it as a theme, but the movie I watched was a logic-free sci-fi
explode-a-thon, full of stock characters and wonky physics and ideas and
set-pieces I’ve seen before, with bits of philosophical dialogue squeezed in
here and there. Nobody behaves like a real human, so vital human themes are
lost. The details chronicled by Cavalorn are there, but they’re really just
Easter eggs for the erudite, hidden in a squall of screaming and disemboweling
and stuff blowing up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my previous review, I spoke of <i>2001: A Space Odyssey</i>. It
is my favorite film of all time. And I think I have a fundamental understanding
of its meaning. There are questions that will never be answered. I don’t expect
answers. I don’t want them. Their absence doesn’t detract from the film’s
simple, elegant story. And, when I watch it, I feel it. I actually cry when the
Star Child turns its neutral gaze toward our planet. Seriously. Every damned
time. And I have never needed to bring anything into the experience except me.
It does not require decoding to be a powerful experience, because it is so
beautifully crafted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I have to bring in my personal knowledge of mythology and
religion in order to find meaning in a story, instead of feeling the meaning,
then I believe that story has failed to do what stories are meant to do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps there are throngs of people who
are going to overlook all the stuff that doesn’t make sense and truly love
<i>Prometheus</i> for the religious details running through it. Perhaps, 40 years from
now, people will get misty-eyed when that slimy proto-Xenomorph explodes out of
the dead Engineer who got face-raped by the giant squid and howls at the
audience like a <i>Jurassic Park</i> T-Rex. But, from where I’m standing right now, I
don’t feel it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You can find John's Shade Vicks's original review <a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/daviddisalvo/2012/06/11/review-prometheus-is-a-visually-stunning-epic-failure/">here at Forbes</a>. </i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547971369548882699noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2278094401613188018.post-45152149922436907252012-06-02T22:22:00.001-07:002012-06-13T06:42:39.789-07:00Use Your Illusion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5s0w8jkCkTQkrI2lTd9u1XoIk5PhZ4xdcm_WqAxtwSm9lfo9F2MRPYdfxwHI2GIw88kSBo8Nraio7as5i_430H8WEZR8yMVYCngbh562PixlS8xIfwbltsAU0b2LhXQsHBu9RPMJ1JpUt/s1600/selfillusions.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5s0w8jkCkTQkrI2lTd9u1XoIk5PhZ4xdcm_WqAxtwSm9lfo9F2MRPYdfxwHI2GIw88kSBo8Nraio7as5i_430H8WEZR8yMVYCngbh562PixlS8xIfwbltsAU0b2LhXQsHBu9RPMJ1JpUt/s400/selfillusions.gif" width="260" /></a></div>
<b><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Self-Illusion-Creates-Identity/dp/019989759X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338786285&sr=8-1">The Self Illusion</a></i>, by Bruce Hood (Oxford University Press, 2012) </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
“ Sanity is a cozy lie. ”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>- Susan Sontag</i></div>
<br />
Among the most popular topics fueling cognitive science and psych books in the last 20 or so years has been the origin, role and future of the "self" <i style="text-align: center;">—</i> and, I'd argue, deservedly so. <br />
<br />
Consciousness and the self, or selves, has been a preoccupation of the human mind since recorded time began, and no doubt well before then. From Socrates' admonition to "Know thyself," to the present-day philosophies of mind, we have always wanted to know if there really is an "I" within, or if we're just fooling ourselves into believing so. Advances in understanding how the brain functions have intensified those questions exponentially, and the answers have in some ways become even more elusive.<br />
<br />
Bruce Hood, professor of Developmental Psychology at the University of Bristol, marshals an expanse of research to convincingly argue that the self
<i style="text-align: center;">—</i> while very much real in our experience
<i style="text-align: center;">—</i> is in fact a useful illusion, one necessitated by the brain that gives it life.<br />
<br />
But, Hood submits, it is not only our individual brains that are doing the creating, but the intersocial web of brains that constitute much of our life experience. Our sense of self is, you might say, a group project, because it only fully develops within the social context, and that starts before we can speak a word. Hood states:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Our self is a product of our mind, which in turn is a product of our brain working in conjunction with other brains. As the brain develops, so does the self. As the brain deteriorates, then so must the self.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
But why did we evolve a sense of self at all? Why do we experience our internal landscapes from a singular perspective? The reason is, in a word, adaptation. If we had to manage the enormous complexity of the brain's activity a la carte, we'd become hopelessly engulfed. So the brain fosters an illusion that connects the dots
<i style="text-align: center;">—</i> a more or less fluid narrative that pulls it all together. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Without a focus, the massive parallel processing in our brain means that we would be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of computations if we ever had to deal with them individually. Rather we get a summarized headline that relates all the outputs from these unconscious processes.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
What makes <i>The Self Illusion</i> an especially engaging and relevant book is that its conclusions, hinted at in the portions I quoted, are themselves only headlines of a much bigger, richer story, told without cutting credibility corners. The book is experienced as a well-woven survey of what cognitive science has uncovered about how our brains work, while also being a disquieting argument that you and I are living an illusion, albeit one that is necessary for our survival. <br />
<br />
As with some recent books dispelling the notion of "free will," one could come away from <i>The Self Illusion</i> with a preoccupying sense that each of us lives in our own self-styled halls of smoke and mirrors, connected in turn to the halls of everyone else in our lives. Or, one could come away convinced that knowing what our brain is up to is better than living a mystified existence. Of course, those takeaways are not mutually exclusive.<br />
<br />
Either way, Hood's thesis will challenge your perspective and keep you thinking through the implications of what he presents, however unsettling they may be. It's very much that sort of book
<i style="text-align: center;">—</i> the sort you'll be glad you accepted the challenge to read.<br />
<br />
<i>-David DiSalvo</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547971369548882699noreply@blogger.com1