Year: 2005

  • The Machinist (2004)

    The Machinist (2004)

    (On DVD, August 2005) Another entry in the overly-clever sub-genre of “everything you know about this story is wrong” movies, this film is perhaps best considered as a showcase for Christian Bale’s dedication wrapped in a side-order of unusual plotting. The deliberately dark and foreboding cinematography quickly creates a nightmarish quality to the film that underscores the protagonist’s self-alienation. The star of show, of course, is Bale, who lost a significant portion of his weight in order to portray his emaciated character. Unlike a good number of twisty movies, the film ends on a hopeful note, making the experience look like redemption more than deception. Yes, I’m being vague; but you’ll appreciate the coyness when you see the film.

  • Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle (2004)

    Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle (2004)

    (On DVD, August 2005) Being one of the world’s most unrepentant fan of director Danny Leiner’s Dude, Where’s My Car?, I expected to like this film. I didn’t expect to like as much as I did, though. Tapping into the same absurd vein than Leiner’s previous “vehicle” (although with far more raunchiness), Harold And Kumar slam-dunks a silly laugh-a-minute comedy mini-classic. It’s about two stoners looking for burgers, sure, but it’s also a fine metaphor for modern man’s search for meaning in a darkened wasteland faintly illuminated by the neon signs of enlightenment. Nah; forget I said that: It’s all about hots chicks, dope jokes and sticking it to The Man. Part of the film’s success rests on the considerable appeal of its two lead actors, John Cho and Kal Penn, as they effortlessly win us over. But it’s Neil Patrick Harris who steals every single scene he’s in, thanks to a madcap caricature of himself, tearing recklessly in a role that demands nothing short of a daredevil comedic streak. (Ryan Reynolds makes a similar impression in a brief cameo). It’s also refreshing to see that the film earns its sold R rating thanks to nudity, profanity and drug usage, giving a black eye to so-called “edgy” PG-13 comedies scrupulously avoiding all three topics. The film’s sly but substantial take on multiculturalism is also noteworthy, and worth celebrating. Superbly entertaining, almost unbearably funny and with its own special brand of wit. Not for everyone, and that’s just great!

  • The Great Raid (2005)

    The Great Raid (2005)

    (In theaters, August 2005) I see a good number of films per year, but seldom do I have to face such a self-consciously retro film as this WW2 war drama. Everything about The Great Raid feels as if it escaped from the sixties. The bland camera work. The workmanlike quality of the acting. The by-the-number plotting. The languid pacing. The complete lack of modern distance about war. It’s as if director John Dahl set out to make a film as if shot in the 1960s and sent forward in a time capsule. It’s not bad, but it’s certainly slow and old-fashioned. It’ll probably find an audience on video and be replayed once every veteran’s day. I recall falling asleep sometime during the film’s “third day” and waking up on the fourth and seeing so difference in my understanding of the plot: make of that what you will. Otherwise, not much to say: if you like old war movies and thought that the post-Saving Private Ryan wave was too gory (read; realistic), then this may be the one for you. If nothing else, it’s a good story that deserves to be told widely. I just wish the narrative could have been more compelling.

  • Stories of Your Life and Others, Ted Chiang

    Tor, 2002, 333 pages, C$21.95 mmpb, ISBN 0-765-30419-8

    It’s a fact of today’s Science Fiction publishing environment that successful writers, almost by definition, write novels. Short stories may be where authors begin, but they’re not where authors make money. For every short-story specialist like Harlan Ellison, there are ten Robert Silverbergs who put food on the table thanks to novels. At best, you get people like Greg Egan, whose excellent short-story output complemented a steady stream of novels.

    In this context, Ted Chiang is a bit of an oddity. In a career now spanning fifteen years (The earliest story in the volume was published in 1990), Chiang has found a place as an important writer of short stories. His first three published pieces alone netted him a total of two Nebula Awards and one Hugo nomination! At a time where short story anthologies by trade publishers are rare, his debut book was an anthology of eight pieces put out by no less a publishing house than Tor. With Stories of Your Life and others, Chiang reaches those SF readers (including your humble scribe) who would rather pick up a book than a series of magazines.

    It’s one heck of an introduction. While claiming that “there’s not a bad story in the bunch” would over-estimate the impact of a few average pieces, there’s a lot to like in Stories of Your Life and Others. It’s no exaggeration to say that there’s more to like here than in several “best of” annual anthologies out there. Chiang makes up in quality what most others can’t do in quantity.

    For instance, the very first piece in the book (his first published story), is a treatment of the “Tower of Babylon” myth in as realistic a fashion as would be possible. How could you build a tower to the sky? What if the sky was, could be breached? What would be mechanics of such a thing? Chiang treats the subject with a superbly entertaining mix of details and suppositions. Even guessing the end pages before it happens isn’t enough to sour the story’s considerable reading pleasure.

    The second story of the volume, “Understand,” is a look at the possibilities offered by unlimited intelligence. Unlike the classic Flowers for Algernon, Chiang has little patience for sentiment, and more than a passing interest in showing us how unbelievably cool such intelligence could be. Mix in a few fascinating philosophical question and a bewildering accumulation of details and the result is almost too good for words. (Though it proved good enough for a Hugo nomination) More than that however, is the sentiment of having read an exhaustive story: if someone wants to write another story about heightened intelligence (or another story about the tower of Babylon, for that matter), they will have to write in reaction to Chiang’s work.

    I didn’t find the rest of the book as fabulously interesting as its first two stories, but there are still plenty of great pieces later on. “The Evolution of Human Science” is a perfectly-paced text about post-singularity science. “Story of Your Life” made more sense to me the second time I read it, which is a strangely appropriate thing to say if you know about the story’s non-linear sense of time.

    Even the fantasy stories contain a treasure trove of originality. I wasn’t so fond of “Seventy-Two Letters” in general, but the magical system explored in great detail throughout the novella is enough to make your mind go out for a spin. The Hugo-winning “Hell is the Absence of God” takes fundamentalist Christian mythology and runs away with it to literal extremes. What if the appearance of angels took on a terrifying arbitrary quality? Not bad at all, especially when it gets down to the fine distinction between religion and faith.

    Even Chiang’s lesser stories still have a kick to them. “Liking What You See: A Documentary” runs about twice too long on an empty middle section, but the basic concept (what if there was a neural tweak to make you insensitive to beauty or lack thereof?) is well-explored. I may not care too much for the deliberately challenging end of “Division by Zero”, but the otherwise clean writing and the awe-inspiring premise makes it a joy to read.

    I may have been sceptical about this collection’s hyperbolic reputation, but the end result is a very good anthology, well-worth reading for any fan of the genre. It remains to be seen whether Chiang will continue to release stories at the quiet rhythm of his first decade of work, or if he’ll go ahead and commit to a novel, but whatever he decides to do, I’ll be standing in line to buy his next book.

  • Four Brothers (2005)

    Four Brothers (2005)

    (In theaters, August 2005) There isn’t much about this film that is in any way remarkable or exceptional. (Well, I’m a fan of Sofia Vergara, but that’s just me.) But when considering that this is a modern-day western, the very model of a B-grade crime movie, being good-enough is indeed good enough. There’s no need to be fancy with a straightforward tale of urban revenge and sibling drama. The four brothers of the gang are tough hombres, and watching them tear up Toronto (oops; Detroit) in order to find out who had their adoptive mother killed is packed with good crunchy fun. Standout sequences include a brutal winter car chase and a brick-breaking shootout at the family house. Mark Wahlberg carries his tough role effortlessly while André Benjamin shows that he may have a future in acting. Otherwise, it’s just a good urban drama, and that’s more than enough to be satisfying.

  • Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (2005)

    Charlie And The Chocolate Factory (2005)

    (In theaters, August 2005) As a confirmed Tim Burton fan and a complete newcomer to the whole “Willy Wonka” stuff (hey, not all of us had a childhood versed in English-language pop-culture), I’m oddly pleased by this remake. The inspired lunacy that usually characterizes Burton’s films is in full display here, and I don’t have any emotional stakes in either the original film or the source novel. The energy of the film is uneven (and I can’t help but think that ten of the last fifteen minutes go nowhere), but it’s efficient in creating a sense of “what am I going to see next?” I was sold at the squirrel sequence; the rest of the film is just a bonus. The oddball performance of Johnny Depp as Wonka is endearing, and the kid actors are suitably annoying. Meanwhile, Missi Pile is as compelling as usual, riffing off her “hideously beautiful” Soul Plane platinum look. There’s plenty of good stuff in John August’s script, but I cheerfully admit that the usual look of Burton’s work overwhelms the rest of my usual critical filters. Up to a certain point, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory escapes any attempt to review it and just becomes something worth looking at.

  • The Brothers Grimm (2005)

    The Brothers Grimm (2005)

    (In theaters, August 2005) Given Terry Gilliam’s considerable talents and his heart-breaking lack of success in delivering his visions on screen, it’s hard to avoid seeing The Brothers Grimm as anything but a considerable disappointment. There is a spark of postmodern interest in a story following the adventures of the young Grimm brothers as they confront elements that would later be incorporated in their famous fairy tales. But the actual execution of this premise on-screen sucks all energy out of it, leaving us with an ordinary fantasy tale with few redeeming values. Sure, Monica Bellucci is in the film. But her role lasts for roughly five minutes, and that mostly comes at the very end of the story. The rest of the time, the film goes through the motions, crawling forward at an unacceptable pace and struggling (unsuccessfully) to make an obvious sound stage set look more interesting. Visually, it’s not your average film, but it shows more mud and grime than any of Gilliam’s visual imagination. I had a lot more fun watching Sleepy Hollow, which inevitably comes to mind when thinking back on The Brothers Grimm. Matt Damon and Heath Ledger are unremarkable as the eponymous brothers, through the muddled script doesn’t really help in distinguishing them from countless other protagonists. The fantasy elements are handled poorly, once again relying on mystical “I know what to do!” convictions to resolve the action rather than actual rules we can understand. An underwhelming result, and that’s really too bad: Are we going to have to wait another seven years for Gilliam’s next film?

  • Dark Matter, Garfield Reeves-Stevens

    Doubleday, 1990, 375 pages, C$24.95 hc, ISBN 0-385-24756-7

    While Garfield Reeves-Stevens is now best-known for his work on various media properties, most specifically his involvement with the Star Trek franchise, he has also produced a small but significant stream of original projects earlier in his career. (And then -along with his wife Judith- a number of very good techno-thrillers, the latest of which is the excellent Freefall.) Dark Matter is one such early work, combining criminal horror with scientific content and ending in far-fetched Science Fiction. It’s not an excellent book, but it’s suitably entertaining and it’s definitely worth a look if you like horror/crime/science hybrids.

    The very first scene sets the tone, describing a gruesome murder that makes the “last supper” scene in Hannibal look like a charming romp. Someone, somewhere, likes to kill young blond students while educating them about quantum mechanics. Coincidentally (but not really), the very next scene takes place in Stockholm, as three American scientists are set to receive the Nobel Prize for Physics. Soon after, a mysterious man makes them an offer they can’t refuse: A fully-financed lab, and the promise that all of their wishes will be catered to. All of their wishes…

    Flash-forward three years. A dismembered body is found in a Los Angeles apartment…

    Perhaps the best thing about Dark Matter is how it combines a procedural crime novel with hard-science content. On one side, scientists explore the mysteries of quantum mechanics, speaking well over the head of the average reader. Meanwhile, a policewoman with plenty of personal problems investigates a stomach-churning string of murders. We know they’re linked (in fact, Reeves-Stevens waits far too late to make explicit a link that is patently obvious from chapter two) and so the fun of the novel is in seeing these two universe intersect. The investigation is well-handled while the scientific content is as flawless as can be determined by laypeople.

    While most of the scientific content will be lost on readers without specialized knowledge in high-energy physics, Reeves-Steven’s gift for clear prose and steady narrative rhythm is enough to keep turning the pages. His ability to write scientific vulgarization is astonishing. His characters are well-developed, and whoever still believes that fictional scientists should behave like robots are in for a refreshing dose of (in)humanity. Among the book’s best moments is a demonstration of a high intellect at work, solving a complex problems in a matter of seconds, each step carefully described. Reeves-Stevens tackles complex characterization issues with Dark Matter, and he’s more than partially successful in achieving what he’s trying to do.

    There are also a number of interesting thematic issues raised by the characters’ willingness to do unspeakable things (or allow unspeakable things to happen) in search for inspiration. The link between genius and madness often leads to trite ethical dilemmas (“What’s one life compared to an innovation that could benefit billions?”, etc.), but Reeves-Stevens navigates a hard course and avoids on-the-nose moralizing.

    But none of that will prepare readers for the last third of the book, as the the novel abruptly jumps tracks from criminal scientific fiction to far-out science-fiction. Even hard-SF readers are liable to feel that the book goes too far, too wide-scale at once. The protagonist’s quasi-magical abilities take the novel well beyond the realistic parameters followed by the novel thus far, and it doesn’t help that the pacing suddenly slacks (and takes off for Boston) in the middle of what should be an acceleration of events. The ending predictably veers into the usual metaphysical nonsense, trying too hard for enlightenment when denouement would have been enough. Weird choices for a novel that, up until then, had been kept under control.

    The irony, of course, is that from a critical standpoint, the novel’s late slide into more fantastic territory makes it a lot more interesting to discuss. It’s up for debate whether a tighter, more focused version of Dark Matter would have warranted a review. (Probably, given the successful melding of horror, crime and science) As it stands, Dark Matter isn’t really recommended, but it is interesting enough to be worth a look if ever a copy should falls in your hot little hands. And not just as the early work of an author who went on to become a best-selling Star Trek co-producer!

  • Pattern Recognition, William Gibson

    Putnam, 2003, 356 pages, C$39.00 hc, ISBN 0-399-14986-4

    First, let’s get the obvious out of the way: This is not a Science Fiction novel. It’s a novel formed and informed by the tools, methods and outlook of SF, but it takes place in 2002 and contains nothing that wasn’t possible then. Yes, it’s another “rewind” for Gibson, who’s been writing closer and closer to the present since 1984’s seminal Neuromancer.

    It may be that the present interests Gibson a lot more than some imagined future. Pattern Recognition, if thrown in a time machine and sent back to 1984, would certainly read like a science-fiction novel, packed with matter-of-fact acceptance of a global communication network, virtual relationships, catastrophic imagery from an event called “9/11” and post-cold-war geopolitics. Gibson studies the world and presents it with the same amount of clinical detail than he’d use to describe a far-off alien society. It makes for a nice little bit of estrangement, and it’s not entirely inappropriate to the subject matter.

    It also fits Gibson’s protagonist who -like most Gibson protagonists- is a loner, an outsider and a misfit. Heck, she can’t even see some trademarks without experiencing a violent allergic reaction. Everything she uses is carefully de-branded. Ironic, because Cayce’s speciality is hunting cool, identifying “the next big thing” and making others profit from it. As Pattern Recognition begins, she’s in London, jet-lagged, and about to see a banal logo-proofing assignment turn into something very strange. You see, compelling bits of anonymous Internet footage have fascinated her for a while, and now her employer wants her to get to the bottom of the mystery. Who makes they footage? Where are its creators? Why do they do it? And, perhaps most importantly in this twenty-first century, how have they managed to create a cult of thousands, all fascinated by this brand new meme? Could there be… commercial applications?

    And so the hunt begins. To everyone’s sighs of relief, Pattern Recognition doesn’t abandon Gibson’s root in action/adventure fiction. While the action may be slight and the adventure is definitely Earth-bound (well, aside from the many plane trips), this is a thriller built around a few mysteries and the shadowy influence of powerful people. Thanks to this strong narrative drive and some of Gibson’s most elegant prose so far, Pattern Recognition races forward, demanding to be read until all is revealed and played out.

    To this narrative energy, one has to add the careful thematic content skillfully integrated through the entire novel. Gibson writes as if he was delighted at the weirdness of the twenty-first century (so far) and he wanted us to see it as he does. In doing so, he makes the most out of today’s environment and power dynamics. Out of the gate in 2003, Pattern Recognition also tackles post-9/11 issues with something approaching maturity. Grad students and lit-crits will have a blast dissecting this book. (I myself would probably mumble something about this being a novel of cities: London, Tokyo, Moscow and New York in flashbacks, all standing for something different, all on a continuum of progress taken or left untapped.)

    But I’m happier to report that this is a good read and a satisfying work even as it strays (but not too much) from the SF genre in which Gibson has made his mark. While my rabid admiration of Gibson is strictly limited to Neuromancer and Burning Chrome, this is a step up from most of his non-Sprawl output, regardless of genre. It portends well for the rest of Gibson’s career, even if he consciously stays away from Science Fiction: I don’t know what he’s going to write next, even less where and when it will take place, but if it’s anything like Pattern Recognition, I’ll read it with pleasure.

  • βehemoth, Peter Watts

    Tor, 2004-2005, ??? pages, C$??.?? hc, ISBN Various

    βehemoth: β-Max, Tor, 2004, 300 pages, C$34.95 hc, ISBN 0-765-30721-9
    βehemoth: Seppuku, Tor, 2005, 303 pages, C$34.95 hc, ISBN 0-765-31172-0

    Regular readers of these reviews may recall my cool but generally positive impressions of the first two volumes in Peter Watt’s “Rifters” trilogy. Starfish and Maelstrom may have been a bit dour and depressing, but they had enough hard-SF goodness to keep me coming back for a third helping. (Or rather a third and fourth helping, Tor having decided -in their usual market-savvy attitude- to split the third instalment in separate books.) Now that I’ve read the full story, my irrational optimism has been fulfilled: With βehemoth, Watts delivers not only a good book, but a great ending to a trilogy that retrospectively makes a lot more sense.

    It’s amazing how a short story (1990’s “A Niche”) has grown to this apocalyptic 1,200+ pages epic about free will, evil and the end of the world. We remember the situation at the end of Maelstrom: an archaic super-microbe killing off most of North America; the rest of the world teetering on the edge of self-annihilation; the Internet contaminated by malicious entities. βehemoth picks up five years later, at a time where the whole collapse into fire and rubble has stabilized to a slow glide. Deep below the sea, rifters and corporate elites are about to see their balance-of-life issues settled thanks to the introduction of something even worse than everything they’ve seen so far. When you consider what Watts has introduced in the first two books, that’s saying something.

    I’ve alluded (above) to the splitting of the novel in two separate parts, but one of the happy surprises of βehemoth, even chopped up, is how the two halves feel like separate stories. The three main characters may be the same, but the setting, the dynamics and the storytelling are different. β-Max mirrors Starfish in taking place under the surface, in what feels like a closed set. But you know what they say about conflict in small spaces: it’s all knives and bare hands…

    The second half, without spoiling much, takes place over a wider canvas (yes, much like Maelstrom) and steadily plows forward in order to orchestrate a final confrontation between the three main characters, each of which approach issues of guilt, free will and responsibility in a different fashion. Seppuku is also notable in that the mantle of the protagonist, regardless of POV, shifts away from Clarke to Lubin: it’s no accident if Clarke’s role in the conclusion doesn’t amount to much.

    It’s no big insight at this point to say that the Rifters trilogy is one grim ride. What’s more useful to say is that once you start studying the shades of black that are left behind, truly interesting morality conflicts start to emerge, usually demonstrated through power plays of various kinds. Reason versus emotion, free will versus neurological imperatives are all explored to some degree and the result is fascinating. (Though it brings back to mind movie tag-lines like “fight evil with evil”.) Characters finally come into focus here, with complex motivations-upon-impulses. (or is it the other way around?)

    If I have issues with the books, it’s that if Watt’s prose has seldom been more engaging, he could use a bit of polish in the way he allows readers to absorb information. Sometimes, revelations are made and the story hops to another plot point, without letting implications sink in. It’s not uncommon to go back a few paragraph with the nagging suspicion that something very important just happened.

    I suspect that my growing enthusiasm for the series has much to do with learning how to cope with Watts or (if you prefer a reformulation), figuring out what were Watts’ intentions with the trilogy. In retrospect, even the features of Starfish that annoyed me so much all fit in place. Readers who start reading the first two volumes now (and the author has made them freely available on-line, so you’ve got no excuse) will do so knowing that this is a trilogy: their initial reactions will adjust accordingly. As it turns out, the protagonist of “A Niche” are named Ballard and Clarke for a very good reason.

    Finally, one loud hurrah for the scientific content (and the crunchy “notes and references” essay at the end of the book). I’m not sure what’s in the Canadian water supplys these days, but we seem to be producing more than our fair share of good hard-SF. If nothing else, I can’t wait to see Watts’ next novel, Blindsight, especially given the tasty treats suggested on rifters.com

  • The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad, Minister Faust (Malcolm Azania)

    Del Rey, 2004, 531 pages, C$22.95 tpb, ISBN 0-345-46635-7

    Now that was one interesting fantasy novel.

    Interesting as in different, interesting as in readable, but also interesting as in flawed. A too-quick plat description of The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad would be something like “the lives of two twentysomething friends changes dramatically after one of them falls for a mysterious woman”. But given that this encompasses everything from DUDE, WHERE’S MY CAR? to WHITE SKIN, maybe it’s best to describe how this novel is different from the standard Echo-Gen lad-lit template.

    For one thing, our two protagonists are pure-breed Science Fiction geeks. Hamza may be more of a media/comics fan whereas Yehat is closer to the hard-SF genre, but that doesn’t make them any less geeky. They’re the protagonists and that makes them cool –especially, I suspect, to the intended readership. But their comfortable wasted lives (Hamza washes dishes for a living; Yehat is a video store clerk) spent in pop-culture ephemera are about to get interesting (as in unpredictable, as in weird, as in dangerous) as soon as Nubian goddess Sherem starts taking an interest in one of them.

    I wish SF could be diverse enough that a novel featuring two black Muslim Edmonton-area heroes wouldn’t in itself be worth singling out. But it’s not, and The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad is a welcome bit of difference. The novel soon delves deep into mythology, and it’s thankfully unlike anything west-European writers have done before. Minister Faust (pen name of Edmonton activist Malcolm Azania) bridges the SF culture with his own, and the result is a book that’s quite unlike anything before, melding modern pop hipness with African roots.

    This difference carries through to the prose style, which is driven by the same cooler-than-thou energy one often sees in mainstream novels destined to the younger generation. The prose style is packed with CAPITAL LETTERS-

    -abrupt line breaks-

    -and tons of references that will be lost on anyone who failed pop-culture 101. The book is set in 1995 for some reason (perhaps because that’s Faust’s “best year” as far as pop references are concerned), but it certainly feels like the work of a modern young writer.

    It can be a lot of fun, but as with most first efforts, Coyote Kings is also harmed by a number of miscalculations, or unsuccessful attempts to do too much when little was required.

    First, it should be said that the novel is told through multiple narrators: almost a dozen of them. While most of the novel is told by Hamza and Yehat, many of the antagonists get two or three chapters in which to say their piece. This causes a number of problems: It’s confusing (the first few lines of every chapter are spent figuring out who’s talking), it’s unnecessary (even bordering on gratuitous showboating, as if Faust was trying to show that he, too, can write accents) and it takes the action away from the compelling protagonists. Hamza and Yehat are the core of the novel, and every moment spent away from them seems superfluous. While I will recognize that the antagonists’ viewpoints often present information that would otherwise be unaccessible to our heroes, they also feature “the FanBoys”, maybe the most unlikely aspect of the entire novel. Faust smothers his novel with terminal hipness, but even lively writing can’t hide the unevenness of tone that can make Coyote Kings a bit of a bother.

    Then there is the ending, which culminates almost as an easy afterthought. While there is definitely a conclusion to the events of the book, it seems to be one borne out of desperation. At least one major loose end remains untied; I wouldn’t care to guess whether this means a sequel, but there’s a sloppiness to the last few chapters that is really annoying.

    This doesn’t make Coyote Kings a disappointment, but that’s because it’s so different that the difference itself overwhelms the annoyance. Still, it makes it difficult to praise the novel beyond the prose and the unusual setting. It could have been shorter, better and more focused, but it’s not… and that’s really a shame because the rest of it works quite well.

  • Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town, Cory Doctorow

    Tor, 2005, 315 pages, C$34.95 hc, ISBN 0-765-31278-6

    (Also freely available online at craphound.com/someone)

    While his reputation in Science Fiction fandom is that of a die-hard tech-head, Cory Doctorow heads in a slightly different direction for his third novel: Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town is a self-consciously weird urban fantasy involving, to quote the jacket blurb, “secrets, lies, magic —and Internet connectivity.”

    It begins as the amiable “A” moves into one of Toronto’s bohemian neighbourhoods, renovates a house and sets out to write a story. But “A” is no ordinary guy: Son of a mountain and a washing machine, his brothers are (in chronological order), a clairvoyant, an island, a psychopath and a set of three nestled men (like Russian dolls). What’s more, he hasn’t yet met the neighbours…

    Oh yes, there’s little doubt that Doctorow is going for weird in his third novel. No one will be blamed for thinking, early on, that he’s laying on the strange paste a bit too thick: For the first few pages, one wonders if this novel is ever going to have internal coherency, or if this is just a random word salad.

    What becomes clearer is that if the basics of Someone may have been random free-association, Doctorow spends so much time describing and explaining the mechanics of how, say, a mountain and a washing machine can raise children, that it almost ends up making sense. Somehow. In fact, it doesn’t take much time for more impatient readers to say “enough! Too much useless information!” Doctorow never knows when to stop, and things that are perfectly clear in the present-day storyline are nevertheless re-explained in detail through flashbacks.

    Then there is the imperfect integration of the modern-day techno-thriller. This being a Doctorow novel, it doesn’t take a lot of time for protagonist “A” to become fascinated by the possibility of blanketing Toronto with wireless points of Internet access. It becomes a major subplot of the book, complete with pages of exposition on how neat this is all going to be. Not uninteresting, but seriously out of whack with the rest of the novel: Part of it feels like a bone thrown to Doctorow’s usual audience to keep them interested in the other stuff. The brute-force lectures may be fun to read, but do they mean anything in the context of the novel?

    The “other stuff”, as it happens, is hit-and-miss. Doctorow’s basic ability to write readable prose remains unchanged, but even clear writing can’t mitigate the growing sentiment of exasperation as the story spends too much time in its own back-story, and not enough in advancing the plot. Once that is finished, however, things become a little bit more interesting, and the last third of the book is somewhat more user-friendly than the rest.

    On the other hand, the ending crashes down like an after-thought. Stuff happens, fulfilling the basic requirements of “an ending”, but elements of the conclusion end up raising thornier issues than they resolve. A very important plot thread is displaced, and then flees without further news. The protagonist retreats, and that’s the end of that. The rest just goes up in flame. That may be an ending of sorts, but that’s not a conclusion. It certainly leave the reader with an unfulfilled yearning: this is a weird story, yes, but what is the point of it?

    Part of the problem is that Someone is at least twice the size of Doctorow’s previous novels. Those extra words don’t necessarily add up to extra depth. There doesn’t seem to be any interaction between the subplots, no deeper meaning to the metaphors and not much of a metaphorical value to the fantasy elements.

    I had too much fun reading the book to call it a failure. But it’s certainly Doctorow’s weakest novel yet, and taken with the deficiencies of Doctorow’s first two novels, it suggests a number of things to fix if his next novels are to improve. It’s not simply because Someone dares to be unusual that it’s any better. At this point, his best work remains Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, which also had a pleasantly high quotient of weirdness.

  • Lady of Mazes, Karl Schroeder

    Tor, 2005, 286 pages, C$32.95 hc, ISBN 0-765-31219-0

    After only two solo novels (Ventus and Permanence), Karl Schroeder has already established himself to be one of the best Hard-SF writers in the business. Combining deep characterization with far-ranging speculation, Schroeder has wowed critics and earned a small legion of loyal fans —not to mention an Aurora Award for Permanence. His third solo novel was eagerly anticipated. Now Lady of Mazes comes to fulfil all expectations.

    Almost jokingly set in the same universe as Ventus, Lady of Mazes owes more to the short scene in Permanence where the characters’ reality is altered by an interface sitting between their brain and their senses. Inscape, as it’s called, can be used to augment reality in different fashions. An elementary application would be to kill-file people in real life: Inscape would simply “blank out” the person and steer us around that person should they be in the way. (Kill-filing would presumably be most effective when it’s mutual.)

    But that’s just small potatoes when you consider the logical ramifications of Inscape technology. Why bother kill-filing one person when you can get rid of an entire segment of the population? Why not create a conservative utopia by getting rid of all of those icky liberal meddlers –and vice versa? What’s to prevent several mutually invisible population from co-existing in the same physical space?

    And that brings us to the first few pages of Lady of Mazes, a story largely set on a ringworld where Inscape technology is universal. Several populations co-existing in the same place, completely ignorant of what the others are doing. You want to ignore certain types of technologies? Join the appropriate reality. One of Schroeder’s key notions are “technology locks”, the idea that societies choose their appropriate levels of technology for their preferred existence and then implement safeguards to prevent further progress.

    Our heroine, Livia Kodaly, may exists in one reality, but she also has the unusual ability to “travel” to other realities, acting much like an ambassador. Not an esy job, and it becomes even more complicated when the ringworld is attacked and the help she needs exists in a completely different way of life. Post-human power games and unusual social structures suddenly acquire some importance as she tries to go back and liberate her home reality…

    Lady of Mazes may be significantly shorter than Schroeder’s previous solo novels, but don’t be fooled by the size: There are enough Big Ideas here to make you go “Whoah!” ten times over. Schroeder tackles new and fascinating concepts at a furious rate, showing us a complex future crammed with original possibilities. Your head will hurt, but in a good way. Inscape alone is the kind of new idea fit to be stolen by a generation of other writers and integrated in the core of SF’s bag of gadgets.

    But in Lady of Mazes, Schroeder has also managed to fashion a cheerfully political novel. Pure politics, not simple dumb partisanship: Lady of Mazes takes a long hard look at how humans can live next to another —or choose not to. It studies concepts such as “adhocracies” and “open source politics” and “emergent social organization systems.” It stares at post-humanism and laughs at it.

    Exhilarating stuff, with the proviso that you almost have to be a hard-core SF fans to make sense of it. Lady of Mazes is a pure genre novel in that it requires a lot of background information in order to make sense. Can’t distinguish animas from AIs? Tough luck.

    To this, one has to add that Schroeder loves to throw his readers in the bath before handing them the soap: The first hundred pages of the novel are high in unexplained weirdness and low in straight-up exposition. Don’t be surprised to find the first third of the book to be a difficult slog. It clears up shortly afterwards, once we’re back in a reality whose language is more familiar to ours. But then buckle up, because the rest of the novel rarely lets up. The conclusion appears a bit rushed and easy, but by that time the chances are that you’ll be too exhausted to care.

    It’s definitely a trip, and a strange one at that. With this third novel, Schroeder proves that he’s among the vanguard of modern SF writers, not afraid to confront a new future by wrapping fascinating speculation in good storytelling. Fabulous stuff for SF fans: it’s the kind of novel that makes Science Fiction look good.

  • War Of The Worlds (2005)

    War Of The Worlds (2005)

    (In theaters, July 2005) The least one can say about Steven Spielberg, it’s that he can still scare the socks off his audience when he wants to. And so War Of The Worlds is best seen as a showcase of scare sequences loosely strung together with bits of plot stolen from H.G. Wells’ classical SF novel. The scares work; the rest, well, not so much. Don’t think that I say that because the film is unfaithful to the novel: screenwriters Koepp and Friedman manage to retain both the flavour and some plotting of the original while updating the entire story to contemporary situations. No, what doesn’t work so well are the stupid coincidences and conveniences that advance the plot. Half the movie will be spent bitching about how this or that particular aspect is plainly impossible. Visually, the film goes for a drab and unappealing look, trying just a bit too hard for showy realism when a more conventional palette would have been less obtrusive. Fortunately, the scares work, and some of them work because they embrace 9/11 imagery like few other films so far: The initial sequence of alien nastiness is breathtaking, and some of the latter scenes are quite impressive as well. It’s sad, then that the film bogs down in such a fashion during most of its third quarter, stuck in a cellar with some boring crazy guy and featuring a home-invasion sequence that goes on for about three times longer than it should. (Plus; will someone just stop screaming? Goodness.) All in all, a mixed bag, perhaps more good than bad and still worth a look one day or another.

  • Tootsie (1982)

    Tootsie (1982)

    (On DVD, July 2005) This classic comedy has both aged well and not so well. On one hand, you can watch it easily enough, and the performances are still as good as they were. (I’m still not sure about the believability of “Dorothy Michaels”, but that’s better left unquestioned). The sense of New York is well-done, and the casting roster is impressive even today. (If an early performance by Bill Murray isn’t enough to make you interested, consider Terri Garr, and seeing a young Geena Davis in her underwear. Woo!) What’s more, even people allergic to fake-identity-plots (like myself) will be forced to admit that the story isn’t nearly as annoying as it could have been. On the other hand, well, the anti-sexism message seems a bit alien nowadays (were people ever so retrograde? Wait; don’t answer that!) and the pacing could use some tightening up. Still, a pleasant film to watch. The bare-bones DVD has no extra features worth writing about.