A definition of “science fiction”

I read a lot of “hard” science fiction in my misbegotten youth. Isaac Asimov, Larry Niven, Ray Bradbury, Frank Herbert, Robert Heinlein, Stanislaw Lem, Arthur C. Clarke, and I’m probably forgetting a few. How I devoured that stuff! I don’t read it so much any more, but I still think about it a lot.

Science fiction is different from “regular” fiction because, at least in its classic form (e.g., early Asimov), the protagonist is not really a character. It’s a hypothesis: what if. The job of the story is to take that hypothesis to its logical conclusion, for better or for worse. And the fun of science fiction is, however improbable the hypothesis may be, it is, in fact, possible that a planet with the characteristics of Dune exists, or that one day we will build robots with positronic brains that follow the Three Laws, or that there is a monolith somewhere on the moon. [Aside: This is why I hate it when people lump sc-fi and fantasy together. Fantasy, at least in in its typical swords ’n sorcery / heroic quest form, strives to take you away from the real world. Sci-fi, as escapist as it might seem, is actually very much grounded in reality. The few fantasy stories I really like are the ones that include some reference to our world, or provide some quasi-rational explanation for the existence of magic. Roger Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber are a great example of this. So are the Narnia books.]

What’s wrong with science fiction movies?

The problem I have with so many modern blockbuster special effects extravaganza movies with spaceships is that either they don’t really start with a hypothesis for a protagonist, or if they do, it totally gets lost under all the special effects stuff. The worst example is probably the Star Wars series, which could just as easily have taken place in a fake middle ages fantasy setting — it’s completely character- and romance-driven, with not a speck of “science” in it anywhere. And movie adaptations of “real” sci fi books can be just as bad. The movie version of Dune, for example, is all about how huge are the sandworms, and how gross-looking is the Baron Harkonnen — the cautionary tale about ecology is barely discernible. And Starship Troopers? It’s nothing but special effects, ooooooh look at the cool scary monsters! I’m not saying these are necessarily bad movies, but they sure ain’t science fiction.

Pixar Studios does it again!

When we took the kids to see Wall-E I was expecting to like it just because I like everything from Pixar. The incredible attention to detail, the grown-up jokes, the amazing visuals: it’s all good. But I wasn’t expecting that it would be such a great science fiction movie. I mean, sure, it’s character-driven — just take a look at Wall-E’s soulful expression — but it is also very much about a hypothesis. Not, perhaps, a stunningly original hypothesis, but certainly good enough for me: What if the earth got so filled with trash that there was no more room for humans? Wall-E gave me the exact same “wow, what if, oooh we gotta be careful that doesn’t happen” feeling that I got from all those great classic sci fi stories. I betcha whoever wrote the screenplay was a big fan of Asimov too.

What do you think? Do you agree with my definition of science fiction? Do you like sci fi movies? Have you seen Wall-E?

Enjoy…

Recently we watched a couple of movies in the genre of Naive White Schooteacher Goes To Inner City And Wins Trust And Love Of Bad Dumb Kids Who Turn Out To Be Smart After All (Based On A True Story).

First, Freedom Writers with Hilary Swank. We liked it. Googling it just now (because I couldn’t remember the movie title) I discovered that Hilary took some flak because she herself is a high school dropout. Now how stupid is that? If actors only ever took roles that reflected their own personal life experiences, there wouldn’t be very many movies, would there. Sheesh.

Then, last night, The Ron Clark Story. We didn’t like it. Great story, but the acting was terrible. Best thing on the video was the interview with the real Ron Clark. The man has a crazy energy and charisma that Matthew Perry didn’t even come close to capturing. Too bad.

* * *

And speaking of entertainment and my parents, I have a huge bone to pick with my dear mom. I was over at her house recently and I noticed she was working on one of those Sudoku puzzles. Now I’d heard the buzz about these puzzles but didn’t pay much attention because I assumed they were magic square type things, you know, where all the rows and columns have to add up to the same number. I hate those things. I hate arithmetic. And even though my mom has a mathematical mind (after all, she’s a musician), I never would have pegged her as someone who would work magic squares for fun.

“Oh no,” sez she, “there’s no math involved. The numbers could just as easily be letters.”

So she shows me, and yes indeed she is right. These things remind me of those totally addictive Paint By Number puzzles they used to have (still have?) in Games magazine. There is a reason why I don’t subscribe to Games magazine any more!

I hereby solemnly swear that I will do only one Sudoku puzzle per day. I will only do the one that comes in the paper. I will not buy any puzzle books. I will not bookmark any puzzle websites. I will not even google “sudoku.” I solemnly swear!

But Mom, I wish you hadn’t showed me.

Were you a fan of Nancy Drew? Boy, I sure was. In fact, the first chapter book I ever read was The Whispering Statue. I was lucky enough to have an older neighbor girl give me a big box of books she’d outgrown, a box that included umpteen Nancy Drews, some Trixie Beldens, and even a Bobbsey Twins or two. I devoured ‘em all. To this day there are certain words and phrases that still remind me of Nancy Drew: bungalow, titian, hunch (as in I have a hunch), sleuth, and of course “come to.”

On the way to the theater I briefed my kids on Nancy Drew. I told them about Carson, Hannah Gruen, Bess & George, Ned Nickerson, etc. (Yeah, Mom, whatever.) And I’m pleased to tell you, the movie did not disappoint. It was great. The plot was so Nancy Drew-ish. A “haunted” house with a secret room. A hidden will. A small child. Nancy “coming to” after being knocked out by the heavy. Twists and turns…

There was just one problem. Nancy looked so young! I realized that even though I’m forty and Nancy is forever seventeen, I still think of her as much older than me. I believe I was about 6 when I read The Whispering Statue; at that time, high school teenagers might as well have been grandparents.

Anyway, the movie was a lot of fun. Best of all were the titles & credits, which used line drawings in the style of the original books. Very cute. An afternoon well-spent.

Ok, before I tell you about the show I have to give a bit of slightly embarrassing self-disclosure. When I was an angst-ridden teenager, The Who was my favorite group. I own every last one of their albums, including some bootlegs, Keith Moon’s awful solo album, the movie soundtrack of Tommy, etc. I don’t even know how many midnight showings of The Kids Are Alright I saw. Now, The Who are not exactly your typical teen heart throbs. But what were the other choices in the early ’80s? Rush? Oh ha ha, Styx? Flock of (can hardly type for laughing) Seagulls??? I don’t think so! Clearly there was something about The Who’s self-absorbed, pretentious, misanthropic, edgy music that struck a chord, if you will, with Teenage Bookworm.

All my Who records have twenty years’ worth of dust on them now. Nevertheless, I couldn’t miss Tommy, even though we couldn’t get a babysitter. (My sister graciously allowed me to tag along with her and her friend — thanks again, Sissy!) The production was great. As I mentioned, there are some incredibly talented kids at our school. The kid who played Tommy, my god, what a beautiful, sweet voice he had. Two of the weakest songs on the original album, “Amazing Journey” and “I’m a Sensation” were positively transformed coming from this kid. (Though even he couldn’t do much with “Welcome,” the dorkiest pop song of all time. Why they left it in the show, I will never understand. Shudder.)

In case you’re not familiar, here’s a brief outline of the plot. Mrs. Walker, believing her husband killed in the war, hooks up with another guy. Captain Walker comes home, finds Mrs. W. with the other guy, and kills him. Their young son, Tommy, is present during the murder, though his mom turns him away so that what he sees is his own reflection in a mirror. Captain & Mrs. cover up the evidence, instructing Tommy that he didn’t hear it, didn’t see it, and will never tell what he knows is the truth. This is so traumatic that Tommy becomes psychosomatically deaf, dumb & blind, as well as obsessed with his reflection in the mirror, which he can see. He suffers abuse by various family members, is poked and prodded by many doctors, learns to play pinball, etc. Finally, in a fit of anger his mother smashes the mirror and lo! he is cured. Not just cured, but mystically enlightened. He becomes a pop icon, with screaming fans who want to be just like him. He tries to help them become enlightened like him, but they don’t want to suffer his pain and they rebel against him. Then Tommy reconciles with his family. The end.

Tommy affected me very differently from way than it used to. As a teen, I responded mainly to the music. And I can’t deny that I loved hearing that familiar music performed live last night. But even more, I responded to the parenting bits. “What About the Boy” had me in tears. And, god, “Smash the Mirror” practically gave me an anxiety attack right there in the theater. What mother hasn’t been there before? Felt that intense anger and frustration with her beloved offspring? And in this story, when the mother expresses her feelings by smashing the mirror — Tommy is cured! There must be a lesson in there somewhere.

When I got home, Steve had just finished putting the kids to bed, and as an antidote to Tommy we watched a bit of the best rock ‘n roll movie of all time, The Last Waltz. Why I love The Band, and why they’ve withstood the test of time for me while The Who have not, is a subject for another day.