The greatest irony about the twenty-something-years-late sequel to Disney's "TRON" is that it will be someday as dated as its predecessor. And that time is coming sooner than most would think.
Let's look at the film itself:
Slow-mo Matrix fighting: been done for the last decade.
The impressive soundtrack by Daft Punk: a product of its times as much as Wendy Carlos' score was in the '80s.
Computer graphics: "Legacy" is beautifully rendered, but nothing beyond what we're capable of nowadays. In fact, the all digital effects of the original "TRON" were groundbreaking, and, even now, the graphics are stylish and "retro"-ish.
The movie is available in 3D, which I saw, but there was no shot that was too impressive using this technology. I was more blown away by the 3D trailer to "Tangled" than the whole of "TRON Legacy."
The film itself is a nice nod to the original while being a fairly strong film on its own. It's borderline re-make/sequel territory that "Superman Returns" hovered around years prior. I feel that Bruce Boxleitner should have been given a bigger part, especially considering that he portrayed the title character in both films. Do we really need a story revolving around Old Jeff Bridges fighting Young Jeff Bridges? No one asked if David Warner wanted a cameo?
It's definitely "TRON" for a new generation, which may have been Disney's goal in the first place, but sometimes stories operate better in simplicity, and that, for me, describes the original "TRON."
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Only Human Chapter 7: Persephone
Zoey was close to losing her mind, but the old fashioned television went a long way to deadening the pain. The beacon was still broadcasting; she could see it from the window of her low-rent apartment. The skyscraper the tower sat on was pristine but empty, hallowed out during one of many waves of economic turmoil.
Zoey could just barely keep out the eternal buzzing of the signal, like a migraine that wouldn’t end. All of her training was able to do was keep her conscious. The pain and nausea had killed her appetite and made sleeping impossible. The two days she had been there seemed endless.
She lay sprawled out on the dilapidated couch. Seemingly random images flickered across the small television. Zoey couldn’t concentrate anymore; she could only watch the sea of pixels dancing around, unaware of the larger picture or storyline.
Her own personal storyline had become a jumbled mess in her head. Delirious, on the second night, she tossed and turned on the couch. Sleep had again slipped through her fingers, and now, with bleary eyes, she turned and looked at the television to see Sean’s pixelated face staring at her.
“Hi,” the television said.
“You’re dead,” said Zoey. “I threw up at your funeral.”
“Don’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”
“Go away.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Leave me alone,” said Zoey. “Everyone else has left me.”
“That’s why I came back. So you wouldn’t be alone.”
“You’re dead. You’re dead.” She shut her eyes tight.
“If I’m dead, why can I hold your hand?”
Zoey felt something warm envelope her hand.
“If I’m dead, why can I listen to your heart?”
Zoey felt something press against her chest.
“If I’m dead, why can I…?”
Zoey awoke with a start. The small room was dark. The television was either off or burnt out. She stumbled off the couch, trying to find a clock. It was two thirty in the morning, but which day? How long had she been suffering under her delirium?
Had everything been a dream?
The first thing she noticed was that the beacon was off. Her head was clear, like when a head cold finally broke. She walked over to the window. In the dead silence of the early morning, a silver halo hung over the building in question. The upper section of the building itself split into four parts, spreading out from the center. The machinery creaked like the inside of a clock tower but was surprisingly quiet despite the massive transformation.
Zoey looked at the streets below and saw not one soul who could have witnessed this strange sight. The silver object silently started to descend into the building. When it disappeared from sight, Zoey could feel it in her mind as it continued downwards. The building started to close up, creaking back into place.
Zoey grabbed her backpack and quickly changed into a pair of dark clothing that she had brought with her. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she left the apartment and never looked back. She slipped an envelope of money under the door of the landlord and walked out onto the quiet streets.
She was reminded of the twilight hours that she spent on alien planets, wandering around and getting her bearings. Saving the world with Sara had allowed more free time than one would think, and Zoey would take in the sights whenever she could, despite the odd hours. Now, the abandoned streets of Downtown, America were now even more alien to her, and it was not lost on her.
She walked the street cautiously at first. She turned as a lone car drove by. She watched it until it disappeared around the bend. She continued on to the building in question. Not surprisingly, the doors were locked. It was a sturdy bolt lock and not an electric lock. She stepped back from the door and took a look around.
Around the side of the building, she noticed an opening between the side of the building and the cement sidewalk. She crouched down and tried to peer into the darkness. Failing that, she pulled a flashlight from her bag. She flashed a light through the slit and found an underground garage amid the shadows. The lot formed around a central column, probably housing the building’s elevator system. Or maybe the extraterrestrial craft.
Zoey got on her stomach and squeezed through the small slit. She grabbed her bag as she finally pushed her way into the garage and found herself on top of the hood of a car. As she got off of it, she lit the inside of the car: pristine except for a layer of dust. Were the cars just window dressing?
Then, Zoey came across a much, more sobering sight. Lying flat on its back was a dead body. Judging from his clothes, Zoey assumed he was a homeless vagrant just looking for somewhere to sleep. There was a small hole in his chest that went clean through his body. He had probably no idea what attacked him and was dead within seconds of the searing laser that pierced his vitals.
Zoey turned away in silence and headed toward the central column bathed in the scant lighting afforded by the garage. As she came closer, she felt a sudden impulse and ducked behind one of the cars. She glanced ahead and saw what she had felt. There was a small motion detector on the wall, hiding in plain sight.
Zoey could feel the signal dart out of the detector. The wall before her unfolded like a Chinese box being opened by invisible hands. Out of the opening came an armless and legless robot, hovering in the air. Zoey, hiding behind one of the car, glanced at it. Its long head came to a point, and its cyclopean eye scanned its surroundings.
Zoey stayed where she was, too scared to move. There was no question in her mind what caused the unfortunate death of the vagrant. After a tense ten seconds more, the drone went back into the hidden tunnel, and the wall closed up behind it. Zoey waited even longer before getting up from her hiding spot.
She kept low, edging her way farther and farther from the motion detector. She made her way around in a semi-circle until her back was against the column wall adjacent to the secret doorway. She pulled out the gun and pointed it at a trash bin conveniently within the motion detector’s range.
She took aim and fire. The recoil made her hand jump, and her shot went wide. Somewhere, a car alarm quietly beeped to itself. Placing both hands on the gun, she widened her stance and aimed at the bin again. The second time she fired and the trash bin jumped like someone had kicked it.
Zoey watched from the corner as the wall opened again, and the drone drifted out, searching for movement. Slowly, Zoey edged herself along the wall. Every second she slid by, Zoey’s eyes were glued on the drone. If it turned around too soon, she would have to make a break for it. Not that she thought she was quicker than the drone’s laser.
But she made it to the opening and slipped into the depths below.
Click here to read Chapter 8
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
Zoey could just barely keep out the eternal buzzing of the signal, like a migraine that wouldn’t end. All of her training was able to do was keep her conscious. The pain and nausea had killed her appetite and made sleeping impossible. The two days she had been there seemed endless.
She lay sprawled out on the dilapidated couch. Seemingly random images flickered across the small television. Zoey couldn’t concentrate anymore; she could only watch the sea of pixels dancing around, unaware of the larger picture or storyline.
Her own personal storyline had become a jumbled mess in her head. Delirious, on the second night, she tossed and turned on the couch. Sleep had again slipped through her fingers, and now, with bleary eyes, she turned and looked at the television to see Sean’s pixelated face staring at her.
“Hi,” the television said.
“You’re dead,” said Zoey. “I threw up at your funeral.”
“Don’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”
“Go away.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Leave me alone,” said Zoey. “Everyone else has left me.”
“That’s why I came back. So you wouldn’t be alone.”
“You’re dead. You’re dead.” She shut her eyes tight.
“If I’m dead, why can I hold your hand?”
Zoey felt something warm envelope her hand.
“If I’m dead, why can I listen to your heart?”
Zoey felt something press against her chest.
“If I’m dead, why can I…?”
Zoey awoke with a start. The small room was dark. The television was either off or burnt out. She stumbled off the couch, trying to find a clock. It was two thirty in the morning, but which day? How long had she been suffering under her delirium?
Had everything been a dream?
The first thing she noticed was that the beacon was off. Her head was clear, like when a head cold finally broke. She walked over to the window. In the dead silence of the early morning, a silver halo hung over the building in question. The upper section of the building itself split into four parts, spreading out from the center. The machinery creaked like the inside of a clock tower but was surprisingly quiet despite the massive transformation.
Zoey looked at the streets below and saw not one soul who could have witnessed this strange sight. The silver object silently started to descend into the building. When it disappeared from sight, Zoey could feel it in her mind as it continued downwards. The building started to close up, creaking back into place.
Zoey grabbed her backpack and quickly changed into a pair of dark clothing that she had brought with her. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she left the apartment and never looked back. She slipped an envelope of money under the door of the landlord and walked out onto the quiet streets.
She was reminded of the twilight hours that she spent on alien planets, wandering around and getting her bearings. Saving the world with Sara had allowed more free time than one would think, and Zoey would take in the sights whenever she could, despite the odd hours. Now, the abandoned streets of Downtown, America were now even more alien to her, and it was not lost on her.
She walked the street cautiously at first. She turned as a lone car drove by. She watched it until it disappeared around the bend. She continued on to the building in question. Not surprisingly, the doors were locked. It was a sturdy bolt lock and not an electric lock. She stepped back from the door and took a look around.
Around the side of the building, she noticed an opening between the side of the building and the cement sidewalk. She crouched down and tried to peer into the darkness. Failing that, she pulled a flashlight from her bag. She flashed a light through the slit and found an underground garage amid the shadows. The lot formed around a central column, probably housing the building’s elevator system. Or maybe the extraterrestrial craft.
Zoey got on her stomach and squeezed through the small slit. She grabbed her bag as she finally pushed her way into the garage and found herself on top of the hood of a car. As she got off of it, she lit the inside of the car: pristine except for a layer of dust. Were the cars just window dressing?
Then, Zoey came across a much, more sobering sight. Lying flat on its back was a dead body. Judging from his clothes, Zoey assumed he was a homeless vagrant just looking for somewhere to sleep. There was a small hole in his chest that went clean through his body. He had probably no idea what attacked him and was dead within seconds of the searing laser that pierced his vitals.
Zoey turned away in silence and headed toward the central column bathed in the scant lighting afforded by the garage. As she came closer, she felt a sudden impulse and ducked behind one of the cars. She glanced ahead and saw what she had felt. There was a small motion detector on the wall, hiding in plain sight.
Zoey could feel the signal dart out of the detector. The wall before her unfolded like a Chinese box being opened by invisible hands. Out of the opening came an armless and legless robot, hovering in the air. Zoey, hiding behind one of the car, glanced at it. Its long head came to a point, and its cyclopean eye scanned its surroundings.
Zoey stayed where she was, too scared to move. There was no question in her mind what caused the unfortunate death of the vagrant. After a tense ten seconds more, the drone went back into the hidden tunnel, and the wall closed up behind it. Zoey waited even longer before getting up from her hiding spot.
She kept low, edging her way farther and farther from the motion detector. She made her way around in a semi-circle until her back was against the column wall adjacent to the secret doorway. She pulled out the gun and pointed it at a trash bin conveniently within the motion detector’s range.
She took aim and fire. The recoil made her hand jump, and her shot went wide. Somewhere, a car alarm quietly beeped to itself. Placing both hands on the gun, she widened her stance and aimed at the bin again. The second time she fired and the trash bin jumped like someone had kicked it.
Zoey watched from the corner as the wall opened again, and the drone drifted out, searching for movement. Slowly, Zoey edged herself along the wall. Every second she slid by, Zoey’s eyes were glued on the drone. If it turned around too soon, she would have to make a break for it. Not that she thought she was quicker than the drone’s laser.
But she made it to the opening and slipped into the depths below.
Click here to read Chapter 8
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Sunday Movie: Broadcast News
This movie basically boils down to two outstanding qualities: dialogue and acting.
The script for "Broadcast News" is that rare blend of honesty and humor, infusing the story with a real human element. I feel, as I watch it, that I know these people, and that their lives are real. Maybe that's because Holly Hunter, William Hurt, and Albert Brooks bring these characters to life with such conviction. (Not that the rest of the cast is inferior in any way.)
In truth, if the story was not centered around the newsroom, I might not be interested in the film. Rewatching the film, I wondered how people today, who viewed this film, would discern the clunky VHS tapes, small analog screens, outdated reporters' morality, and corporate massive layoffs?
Certainly, watching the anchor sit straight-faced and reading the news would confuse young viewers. Why should Holly Hunter's character be upset with how Hurt's character faked his reaction during a piece on date rape? Isn't the news fake to begin with? When Hurt's character ad-libs at the end of the story, stating his opinion, why does the news chief say, "Like anyone cares what you think."? Isn't "news" and "opinion" synonymous?
Whether the movie is well-made or not, it represents an important time for "broadcast news" where facts are slowly traded for theatrics. As the director says in his commentary, for better or worse, that is where the news industry is now.
Make of that as you will. And enjoy this wonderful film.
The script for "Broadcast News" is that rare blend of honesty and humor, infusing the story with a real human element. I feel, as I watch it, that I know these people, and that their lives are real. Maybe that's because Holly Hunter, William Hurt, and Albert Brooks bring these characters to life with such conviction. (Not that the rest of the cast is inferior in any way.)
In truth, if the story was not centered around the newsroom, I might not be interested in the film. Rewatching the film, I wondered how people today, who viewed this film, would discern the clunky VHS tapes, small analog screens, outdated reporters' morality, and corporate massive layoffs?
Certainly, watching the anchor sit straight-faced and reading the news would confuse young viewers. Why should Holly Hunter's character be upset with how Hurt's character faked his reaction during a piece on date rape? Isn't the news fake to begin with? When Hurt's character ad-libs at the end of the story, stating his opinion, why does the news chief say, "Like anyone cares what you think."? Isn't "news" and "opinion" synonymous?
Whether the movie is well-made or not, it represents an important time for "broadcast news" where facts are slowly traded for theatrics. As the director says in his commentary, for better or worse, that is where the news industry is now.
Make of that as you will. And enjoy this wonderful film.
Only Human Chapter 6: Rilkean Heart
Both Harold and Alice looked across the table at their daughter, taking in what she had just said.
“What?” asked Zoey, continuing her meal.
“What do you mean that you’re leaving?” asked Harold. “Isn’t this a bit sudden?”
“It’s only for a couple days, Dad.”
“Where are you going?” asked Alice.
“Just up north. Visiting some friends.”
“You don’t have any friends,” remarked Alice. “You’ve been on Mars for the last five years.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know people,” snapped Zoey.
“Just calm down, the two of you,” said Harold. “We’re just worried about you. You show up out of the blue, and then you collapsed, and…”
“I don’t need your permission or anything. I’m an adult.” Zoey got up and stalked up the stairs.
“We just want to know where you’re running off to, that’s all,” said Alice as she followed Zoey up the stairs to Zoey’s room.
“You were just in the hospital the other day,” continued Alice as she passed the threshold of Zoey’s room.
“I told you that was just heat stroke or something,” replied Zoey, pulling some clothes from the drawers and stuffing them into a book bag.
“How can you have heat stroke in October?”
“It’s not important, Mom. I’m fine. The doctor said I was fine.”
“Anyone can tell that you’re not fine,” said Alice. “We don’t mind that you just dropped in on us out of the blue, without a word for years…”
“I get the idea. Skip to the point.”
“My point is that ever since you’ve been here there’s been, I don’t know, like a wall between you and us. There’s something you’re not telling us. I don’t what happened to you these past years, but you don’t have to hide from us. We’re your parents.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Zoey as she folded up a shirt. “I went to Mars with my friends because of a job opportunity. It didn’t pan out, but I managed for awhile.”
“But your ‘friends’ all died.” At this, Zoey turned to her mother.
“You knew,” said Zoey.
“Did you think that when you went to another planet and never wrote me, that I wouldn’t start reading the obituaries?” Alice sat down on Zoey’s bed, quietly placing Zoey’s book bag on the floor. “And they weren’t your friends. They were punks, punks you hanged out with. We never understood why.”
“Because they were cool,” said Zoey. “Because I thought they were cool.” Zoey sat down next to her mother. “And I thought you weren’t.”
Zoey looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t see past my youthful romanticism and a yearning to escape, from Earth, from, maybe, my family. We were all used by this man who discarded us when he was done.
“I know I’ve had a lot of time to look back, to see how much I’ve acted out and been such a pain in the butt. And I know I’m still am, but I love you and Dad, and I just need you to trust me. Just a little while longer. I swear when I come back, I’ll tell you everything. I just need to do this one thing, and when I come back…”
Alice’s hand lovingly squeezed Zoey’s.
Alice looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw her for the woman she was. “I was always worried that you’d never see those people for who they were or that your father and I only wished to help you, because you’re our daughter and that we love you.” She choked back a tear. “But somehow you’ve grown up without either of our help.”
Mother and daughter hugged, without another word needed.
Later, Zoey went into her parent’s room. It was a poorly kept secret that they owned a gun. Her father bought one when there was a string of break-ins, robbers who habitually raped and killed females found in the houses. At the time, he had a beautiful wife and a five-year-old daughter that he loved more than anything in the world.
As far as she knew, her father never used it, not even to practice using it as he promised his wife that he would. He kept the gun and the ammunition in two separate places, which weren’t too hard for Zoey to guess where.
She took a handful of bullets and slipped them into her pocket. The gun was heavier than she imagined, even though she had held a gun before. It felt even heavier pressed against the small of her back; her shirt draped over it. Its cold metal surface sent a chill up her spine, or was that something entirely different?
She hugged her parents goodbye, saying her farewells and making empty promises that she would return. It was not that she didn’t want to come back, but she knew her chances were slim if the beacon was alien in origin and secret by nature. But she kept a brave face for her parents.
She didn’t need to as she waited at the bus station with the other human driftwood. She sat there in the quiet terminal, hugging her bag and hoping no one noticed the bulge in the back of her jacket. Some were too wrapped up in their digital handhelds, but most of them looked like they were carrying everything they ever owned.
Waiting, Zoey couldn’t help thinking about her own hurried departure not so long ago. In her righteous indignation, Zoey had refused to talk with Sara before stepping onto the space shuttle and leaving for Earth. She regretted letting her emotions get the better of her, and it did not escape her how history seemed to have repeated itself without Zoey being any the wiser.
Everyone avoided eye contact with each other as they quietly boarded the bus. Zoey sat at a window seat. She leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes until the bus jerked into motion.
She couldn’t stop the random images flashing in her mind. They weren’t random information from the Ethernet. No, they were memories, which seemed a lot less substantive than the data that flowed through her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of the day she met Sean and his big lopsided grin. The same one she had just seen the other day.
The evening lights blurred by as the bus moved north. Zoey could still feel the beacon in the back of her mind. It grew as they moved closer and closer to it. Zoey wondered if she could still block its dizzying pain as she got closer to it.
I’ll know soon enough tomorrow.
High above, the strange owl soared, watching the bus intently. The nightlights glimmered off its chrome feathers as it flew off ahead of the bus.
Click here to read Chapter 7
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
“What?” asked Zoey, continuing her meal.
“What do you mean that you’re leaving?” asked Harold. “Isn’t this a bit sudden?”
“It’s only for a couple days, Dad.”
“Where are you going?” asked Alice.
“Just up north. Visiting some friends.”
“You don’t have any friends,” remarked Alice. “You’ve been on Mars for the last five years.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know people,” snapped Zoey.
“Just calm down, the two of you,” said Harold. “We’re just worried about you. You show up out of the blue, and then you collapsed, and…”
“I don’t need your permission or anything. I’m an adult.” Zoey got up and stalked up the stairs.
“We just want to know where you’re running off to, that’s all,” said Alice as she followed Zoey up the stairs to Zoey’s room.
“You were just in the hospital the other day,” continued Alice as she passed the threshold of Zoey’s room.
“I told you that was just heat stroke or something,” replied Zoey, pulling some clothes from the drawers and stuffing them into a book bag.
“How can you have heat stroke in October?”
“It’s not important, Mom. I’m fine. The doctor said I was fine.”
“Anyone can tell that you’re not fine,” said Alice. “We don’t mind that you just dropped in on us out of the blue, without a word for years…”
“I get the idea. Skip to the point.”
“My point is that ever since you’ve been here there’s been, I don’t know, like a wall between you and us. There’s something you’re not telling us. I don’t what happened to you these past years, but you don’t have to hide from us. We’re your parents.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” replied Zoey as she folded up a shirt. “I went to Mars with my friends because of a job opportunity. It didn’t pan out, but I managed for awhile.”
“But your ‘friends’ all died.” At this, Zoey turned to her mother.
“You knew,” said Zoey.
“Did you think that when you went to another planet and never wrote me, that I wouldn’t start reading the obituaries?” Alice sat down on Zoey’s bed, quietly placing Zoey’s book bag on the floor. “And they weren’t your friends. They were punks, punks you hanged out with. We never understood why.”
“Because they were cool,” said Zoey. “Because I thought they were cool.” Zoey sat down next to her mother. “And I thought you weren’t.”
Zoey looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t see past my youthful romanticism and a yearning to escape, from Earth, from, maybe, my family. We were all used by this man who discarded us when he was done.
“I know I’ve had a lot of time to look back, to see how much I’ve acted out and been such a pain in the butt. And I know I’m still am, but I love you and Dad, and I just need you to trust me. Just a little while longer. I swear when I come back, I’ll tell you everything. I just need to do this one thing, and when I come back…”
Alice’s hand lovingly squeezed Zoey’s.
Alice looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw her for the woman she was. “I was always worried that you’d never see those people for who they were or that your father and I only wished to help you, because you’re our daughter and that we love you.” She choked back a tear. “But somehow you’ve grown up without either of our help.”
Mother and daughter hugged, without another word needed.
Later, Zoey went into her parent’s room. It was a poorly kept secret that they owned a gun. Her father bought one when there was a string of break-ins, robbers who habitually raped and killed females found in the houses. At the time, he had a beautiful wife and a five-year-old daughter that he loved more than anything in the world.
As far as she knew, her father never used it, not even to practice using it as he promised his wife that he would. He kept the gun and the ammunition in two separate places, which weren’t too hard for Zoey to guess where.
She took a handful of bullets and slipped them into her pocket. The gun was heavier than she imagined, even though she had held a gun before. It felt even heavier pressed against the small of her back; her shirt draped over it. Its cold metal surface sent a chill up her spine, or was that something entirely different?
She hugged her parents goodbye, saying her farewells and making empty promises that she would return. It was not that she didn’t want to come back, but she knew her chances were slim if the beacon was alien in origin and secret by nature. But she kept a brave face for her parents.
She didn’t need to as she waited at the bus station with the other human driftwood. She sat there in the quiet terminal, hugging her bag and hoping no one noticed the bulge in the back of her jacket. Some were too wrapped up in their digital handhelds, but most of them looked like they were carrying everything they ever owned.
Waiting, Zoey couldn’t help thinking about her own hurried departure not so long ago. In her righteous indignation, Zoey had refused to talk with Sara before stepping onto the space shuttle and leaving for Earth. She regretted letting her emotions get the better of her, and it did not escape her how history seemed to have repeated itself without Zoey being any the wiser.
Everyone avoided eye contact with each other as they quietly boarded the bus. Zoey sat at a window seat. She leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes until the bus jerked into motion.
She couldn’t stop the random images flashing in her mind. They weren’t random information from the Ethernet. No, they were memories, which seemed a lot less substantive than the data that flowed through her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of the day she met Sean and his big lopsided grin. The same one she had just seen the other day.
The evening lights blurred by as the bus moved north. Zoey could still feel the beacon in the back of her mind. It grew as they moved closer and closer to it. Zoey wondered if she could still block its dizzying pain as she got closer to it.
I’ll know soon enough tomorrow.
High above, the strange owl soared, watching the bus intently. The nightlights glimmered off its chrome feathers as it flew off ahead of the bus.
Click here to read Chapter 7
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
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