Author: Christian Sauvé

  • New Nightmare (1994)

    New Nightmare (1994)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, October 1997) I wasn’t really familiar with the whole Nightmare On Elm Street series, so my enjoyment of this movie was affected in consequence. What’s so special about Freddy? Who’s that girl anyway? Why should I care for her annoying kid? There’s one scary sequence (the death of the babysitter, predictable but still spooky) and one chilling scene (the script-on-the-computer-screen), but the finale is average (My, it seems we’re knee-deep in phallic symbols, here!), the remainder only shows blips of interest. The shock tactics are predictable (oh no! It was a dream!) and the meta-story element isn’t even near of the much more enjoyable In The Mouth Of Madness. Not good, not bad, not even bad enough to be good.

  • Tesseracts^5, Ed. Robert Runte & Yves Meynard

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Tesseracts, 1996, 352 pages, C$9.00 mmpb, ISBN 1-895836-25-5

    As we all gather ’round the (imaginary) fire, we can ask ourselves many questions. Depending of the audience, one might chance to ask “What happened to Canadian SF?”

    Usually, this kind of question is asked with sadness, or disbelief. How could X have sunk to these lows? Where is Y now? Is Z better remembered by his role in an otherwise insipid TV sitcom of the sixties?

    But in the case of Canadian SF, What Happened To It is a story that can be told with a smile, a winning smile. What Happened To Canadian SF is that it’s never been better. Not only are major authors of the genre indisputably coming from Canada (Robert J. Sawyer is the best-known of them. There are/will be others.) but an increasing number of people are turning in totally enjoyable material. Case in Point: Tesseracts^5

    Published by Tesseracts books, a Canadian editor, and featuring stories by Canadian authors, the Tesseracts series of anthologies is now an annual celebration of the best SF found north of The Border. Any reader, not necessarily motivated by a sense of duty toward his country, can pick up this book and have a good time.

    Depending, of course, what one would consider a good time. While most stories in Tesseracts^5 are in fact excellent, nobody can argue that they’re almost uniformly gloomy. Abuse and anarchy abound. Even the most light-hearted story (Paul Stockon’s “High Pressure System”; the quintessential Canadian SF tale if there’s one!) still has a horrifying core. From accidental maiming (Jan Lars Jensen’s “Domestic Slash and Thrust”) to sexual domination games (“Laïka”, Natasha Beaulieu), the best stories are also the most uncompromising. What this says about CanSF is one truth that might not be comfortable to interpret yet.

    The anthology contains stories by both French, and English-speaking Canadians. (The French stories are translated) Fans of French-Canadian SF should note, that all of the French stories here have already appeared somewhere else despite the incomplete copyright information.

    Other than that, the best stories of the volume are by known and not-so-well-known names. Jean-Louis Trudel’s “The Paradigm Machine” is remarkable not really by its construction (four vignettes loosely connected) but by a representation of the Internet by someone who knows his stuff—The flame-war sequence is a gem. “Messenger” (Andrew Weiner) is an eminently readable piece about a journalist-narrator and (what else?) a “mad” scientist. Michel Martin’s “Tortoise on a sidewalk” and Sally McBride’s “There is a violence” do interesting things with the traditional clichés of, respectively, time-travel and alien contact. James Alan Gardner does a fine job at describing alien psyches, despite a slow start, in “All Good Things Come From Away”. Robert Runté’s afterword is well worth reading by itself.

    A few other stories are less pleasing: There are a fair number of plain tales, of interesting stories without any memorable conclusion, of pointless meandering and of perhaps too-subtle stuff. But as anthologies go, Tesseracts^5 is better than average in this regards.

    If there’s one serious complaint, it’s that the interior design of almost all Tesseracts books is not as good as it should be. It’s designed on a personal computer, and it shows: The typography is less precise than usual from professional publishers and the printing is often reminiscent of good photocopies.

    The presence of such an annual collection couldn’t be a better sign for the Canadian SF industry. It is to be hoped that the next volumes of the series (Tesseracts^6 is in bookstores as of this writing) maintain the high level of this book, and that more writers, known and unknown, find their stories widely distributed by this series.

  • Twelve Monkeys (1995)

    Twelve Monkeys (1995)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, October 1997) Exceptional movie, superb acting, groovy visual style. The initial situation is preposterous, but once past the premise, 12 Monkeys becomes one meanly effective motion picture. Of course, the script is great; how could it have been otherwise from the pen of the Peoples (re: Blade Runner, Unforgiven…)? I see it as an answer to the in-comparison almost-jovial tone of both Terminator movies. It would have been an interesting thing to read, (my criteria for good media SF) and it is certainly an interesting movie to watch. Doesn’t insult the audience, take its time with the characters, packs some impressive emotional power. One of the best SF movies, ever.

  • The Peacemaker (1997)

    The Peacemaker (1997)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, October 1997) Average techno-thriller, but any average techno-thriller is better than no techno-thriller at all. Clooney and Kidman are delightful in their respective roles, and a few scenes are just too good to be missed: This is the first movie I’ve seen that more or less has a good grasp of what it takes to correctly disarm a nuclear bomb. Greatly benefits from being one of the most “realistic” (read: mean-spirited) movie in recent memory. Good direction by Mimi Leder, nice “invisible” special effects. Worth a matinee, and certainly the video rental.

    (Second viewing, On TV, March 2001) While this film received mixed critical attention upon release, a second look reveals an efficient action film backed up with a solid post-cold-war plot that’s nothing to be ashamed of. George Clooney’s first film breakthrough (well before Out Of Sight) shows him in full command of his trademark mix of easy cockiness and hard confidence. Nicole Kidman is irreproachable as the analyst suddenly plunged out of her depths, without the usual clichés associated with these characters. It’s a shame that director Mimi Leder hasn’t followed up on the dynamic direction exhibited here; the action scenes are models of clarity and sustained tension. The Vienna car chase/demolition derby alone is worth a rental by its nastiness alone. A few budget-induced problems (the unseen opening explosion, mostly) still annoy me, but while The Peacemaker doesn’t really aspire to be more than a good technothriller, it does so exceedingly well.

  • Gattaca (1997)

    Gattaca (1997)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, October 1997) Very cold, but at the same time very interesting SF movie for the high-IQ segment of the movie-going audience. No aliens, no laser pistols, no gee-whiz machinery, no impressive special effects. In other words, the words are important. That’s why it failed at the box-office and that’s why it’s the best SF movie of 1997 along with Contact. Like the latter, it’s an ultimately uplifting tale of human determination and of unusual style. Never mind that the setup is ridiculous, that the story is of early-sixties written-SF vintage and that the instant-blood-test is already obsolete: “There is no gene for the human spirit” says the tagline, and that’s exactly the gist of the movie. This being said, I can understand why less sophisticated viewers would consider this dreadfully boring. That’s good news: for once, a movie doesn’t have to pamper to the illiterate, MTV-afflicted hordes in order to fashion a satisfying movie. I hope director Nichols makes more movies like this.

    (Second viewing, on DVD, June 2009): I remembered how great this film was, but I didn’t remember how much of its greatness it owes to its mesmerizing design sense. Because, let’s face it, from a story telling standpoint this is a hollow shell: It stops dead with exposition during its first thirty minutes, takes place in a South California simulacrum with no relation to reality, features amazingly stupid detective “work”, and hobbles from one repetitive situation to another, always playing on the same suspense of discovery. Almost all of its emotional power works by allusions and not demonstration: All the characters seem frozen, and it’s easy to claim that the film’s deeper emotional interest only appeal to space nerds. And let’s not speak of the science. Still: I watched the film in a trance-like state, amazed at the visual design, the mixture of styles, the fairyland stiffness of the world. It’s a fable much more than a science-fiction film, and it truly delivers on its premises when seen as such. For a film that doesn’t survive any degree of scrutiny, it’s still unbelievably convincing. In fact, it uses its own limits as a shield of sorts, and effortlessly evokes the mythical whereas a more realistic approach would have moored it in the past: You can still see it twelve years later and it hasn’t aged a bit. What an achievement. The “Superbit” DVD looks nice, but what this film needs is a special edition with supplements that do justice to the film.

  • The Blob (1988)

    The Blob (1988)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, October 1997) Lifeless, not really enjoyable “blob from space eats people” flick. Follows standard horror conventions, is too stupid to be believed in, but too competent to be laughable. Better seen really, really late. Effects are beginning to show their seams.

    (Second viewing, On TV, April 2020) Watching the remake of The Blob after the original is… interesting. It’s certainly more polished, gory and conspiratorial than the previous one. Not necessarily better, though — Kevin Dillan is no Steve MacQueen, and you almost need an actor of that caliber to ensure that this repetitive monster movie stands out. The theater scene is still a standout, though, and horror fans will be satisfied by how no one dies cleanly in this film. (As for the rest of us: Eeew.) Given the presence of ever-more realistic gore and sadism in killing off the cast, what’s definitely missing from The Blob to ensure any B-movie charm is more humor to counter the grimness of the premise and its execution. I mean — it’s all right if you’re looking from some 1980s horror, but it could have been much more.

  • Primary Colors, Joe Klein [as Anonymous]

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Warner, 1996, 507 pages, C$8.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-446-60427-5

    From time to time, a book appears which become more than a book. For a quirk or another, it becomes not something that talks about something, but something that’s talked about. Recent example include Kitty Kelley’s unflinching biography of Nancy Reagan (Her Way), the scientifically-racist The Bell Curve, James Redfield’s The Celestine Prophecy and… the “anonymously” written Primary Colors.

    In Primary Colors‘ case, the identity of the author was the subject of the discussions. Warner Books was pushing a satirical novel about American politics, in which a previously unknown southern governor (and his domineering wife) dealt with sexual scandals and other assorted problems on the way to the Democratic convention. Given the parallels with the Clintons, if it was written “anonymously” then it must have been the work of someone closely related to the Clintons! Could it have been the work of George Stephanopoulos, the press secretary? Or another person high up in the Clinton organization? Whodunit, Whowroteit?

    The game amused political America for a few weeks, until it was discovered that Joe Klein (a Newsweek journalist who covered the campaign.) wrote the novel. The game wasn’t over yet (more than a few journalists questioned the ethics of Klein, who reportedly went in rages of denial at his coworkers and friends before it was conclusively proven that it was him) but the controversy was enough to send Primary Colors riding on top of the bestsellers lists.

    But what about the book?

    Well, it’s just about everything we’ve been promised: a scathing look at American politics, starring the Stantons, close (but not perfect) representations of the Clintons. The events described in the book are, fortunately, quite fictional, and it makes for some mesmerizing reading about modern politics in America. The wheeling, dealing and back-room back-stabbing are all well-described, at the exception of a few rough spots where the author might have tried to be too clever for his own good.

    The story is narrated by Henry, one public relation whiz who joins the Stanton team early on. (The narrative stops before the presidential campaign.) During the book, Henry will fall in love with a fellow co-worker, deal with personal issues, discover shocking “truths”, make friends and influence people. His personal odyssey become at times more interesting than the campaign itself. He’s sympathetic, and he should be: A few passages are unusually moving, and the reader will run the gamut of emotions, from humor to disgust, back to exhilaration and loss.

    A strong stable of supporting characters help round out an already solidly-written novel. Klein’s style is not without quirks, but mostly carries the reader through to the story he’s telling. This isn’t an “anonymous” novel because the author disavowed his writing; Klein should be proud to have produced quite a good piece of prose. There are a few rough spots, and the conclusion is of the “make up your own” type, but Primary Colors is an interesting book in its own right. It’s appropriately cynical, fairly funny and compulsively readable. A must for every political pundit.

  • Light Raid, Cynthia Felice & Connie Willis

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 1989, 263 pages, C$6.50 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-48312-7

    The line between reality and fiction, despite a few odd incidents, is very clear. In SF and other high-action genres designed for escapist entertainment, it is essential to suspend our disbelief; to accept without discussion some of the concepts at the basis of the fictional construct. With the best stories and authors, this is easy since there’s usually some kind of coherent link with What’s Already Known by Us. Lesser fiction assumes things out of thin air and bases the whole story on impossible concepts. The sagacious reader loses respect for the story, can’t believe in it, and usually closes the book in disgust. While a boring book is just a boring book, a bad book can be infuriating.

    This is all to say that Light Raid is a truly wretched novel. I would normally give average marks to this average story, but the problem is that the authors made a huge, fatal mistake: They used Quebec as the antagonist.

    The plot, so we might get past it as soon a possible: North America is torn apart by war. Quebec is fighting against an alliance of states, in this case the Western States. In this, somewhere, a teenage girl (Adriadne) is desperately trying to prove that her mother isn’t a spy for Quebec. Hijinks, laser raids by Quebec satellites and pathetic adolescent romance ensues.

    The problems with this already-stupid plot are numerous: The first being, of course, that it’s impossible. There are seven million people in Quebec, half of them in Montreal and most of them in jobs that aren’t exactly in highly-scientific or technological sectors. And we’re supposed to believe that these evil Quebeckers can terrorize three hundred million people with laser satellites? To take a comparable simile, can you imagine North America at war with Evil Ontarians? Uh-huh.

    Militarily speaking, the protracted war described in Light Raid is absurd. War buffs will tell you that high-tech conflict can’t last long; it’s even worse to consider that Quebec, a province in a country without an inkling of a decent space program, could maintain an orbital fleet of laser satellites without… ahem… American intervention.

    But that’s small potatoes to Felice and Willis, who had to have an antagonist, and who better to use that the Quebeckers since they don’t speak English, (*gasp,* the infamy!) and probably won’t even read the novel anyway. Would the novel would have worked better starring, say, a California-Texas Union? Absolutely. Would it have pissed off Texans and Californians? You bet. Would that have affected the book’s sales figures? Rhetorical question, my dear Watson.

    The idiocy doesn’t stop there, though: Speaking of Watson, one of the characters is an agent for Scotland Yard. Never mind if Scotland Yard has jurisdiction in western North America, or why there’s a Saskatchewan Prince: His main purpose is to get Adriadne out of trouble and make sure she have sex with the right guy (i.e.: himself. Never mind she’s 17 and he’s 22. Must be typical adolescent romance stuff.)

    Even more shocking, the Peter Harris cover illustration actually represents a scene from the book. (“Where will it stop?” he cried.)

    This book is insulting, and what’s worse, not even remotely engaging. Call it a unfavorable prejudice, but I just couldn’t get into it considering the blatant disregard for reality that the authors display in their world-building. I always say that If you can’t muster the intelligence, rigor and will to play by the physical rules of the universe, you shouldn’t even try. In this case, I hope never to see anything this horrible again: Connie Willis has demonstrated she’s able to do better (Bellwether), but it’s going to be difficult for her to do much worse.

  • The Heechee Saga, Frederik Pohl

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Del Rey, 1977-1990, ??? pages, C$??.?? mmpb, ISBN Various

    Gateway,1977, 278 pages
    Beyond the Blue Event Horizon, 1982, 279 pages
    Heechee Rendez-vous, 1984, 311 pages
    The Annals of the Heechee, 1987, 278 pages
    The Gateway Trip, 1990, 244

    Frederik Pohl is a workmanlike SF writer, turning out novel after novel of decent -if not overly exciting- works. As a founding elder of modern SF, he’s been around a while and so there’s a large fan base for his works. Pohl’s writing career can be divided in two sections: The first took place before 1961, when he revolutionized the SF field by writing social satires (often in collaboration with C. M. Kornbluth; see the beloved classic The Space Merchants). After a lull in which he edited genre magazines, the second half of his writing career truly ignited in 1977 with Gateway.

    Gateway (Best Novel Nebula and Hugo) was the story of one Robinette Broadhead, who spent most of the novel telling his hang-ups to a psychological computer program. The Gateway of the title is a vast asteroid, filled with alien ships who can travel across the galaxy. Problem is, they don’t always come back… and Humans can’t control the ship in any way. Gateway is a fun read, presenting intriguing idea and a suitably complex protagonist in a clean, compelling prose. Some call it one of the best SF novels ever, others just like it very much.

    Beyond the Blue Event Horizon takes place a few years later, when Robinette is even richer, and feeling far more guilty. Another alien Heechee artifact is discovered in this solar system, and Robinette must (as in “must advance the plot”) explore it. This sequel is a bit of a letdown, and isn’t resolved at the end.

    Heechee Rendez-vous picks up another few years after the events in the sequel, and introduces even more plot threads only tied up at the end of the fourth volume. Said fourth volume offers less surprises than the previous three, and the ultimate conclusion is easily guessable by the sufficiently attentive reader.

    The four-book cycle could have easily been compressed in a trilogy, mostly by forgoing extrataneous elements in the second and fourth volume. The inclusion of a few misunderstood kids in the fourth tome is especially grating.

    But it’s an interesting series. Concepts are deftly introduced (not always, though: Lumps of ugly exposition are scattered here and there) and used in efficient ways. Pohl’s style is readable even at its worst. A sense of accomplishment is gained.

    The Gateway Trip ends up the series on a high note. More of a collection of ideas about Gateway, it reprints the fascinating novella The Merchants of Venus (prequel to the whole series) and a bunch of short fictional-expositionnary texts about Gateway, the expeditions from Gateway, the Heechees and other stuff. It can be safely read by anyone who’s read the first two volumes, and could even be used as a substitute for the last three books. Lavishly illustrated by Frank Kelly Freas (the illustrations lose their potency in the paperback edition, though) it’s a lovely little book, well worth the effort and money for Gateway fans.

  • The Best of the Nebula, Ed. Ben Bova

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Tor, 1989, 593 pages, C$17.00 tpb, ISBN 0-312-93175-1

    A 600-pages book full of the “best Nebula-winning stories”.

    To me, that sounds dreadful. I prefer Hugos to Nebulas: My liking for storytelling over literary prowess is well-known, and so is (despite a few exceptions) the preference of the SFWA for literary prowess over storytelling.

    And yet, I’ve made a point to read all the Nebula-winning novels, and most of the Nebula-winning stories. The Best of the Nebula offered a chance to complete my collection.

    The books is edited by Ben Bova, who not only serves us a lousy introduction, but also a few paternalistic introductions. As for the actual content, most of the stories are “classics”… this despite actual quality or entertainment value.

    For instance, I’ve never been able to read McCafferey’s “Dragonrider” to the end, and this anthology only serves to up the number of tentative to five. Most of Zelazny, Tiptree, Delany, Leiber, Russ or LeGuin’s material doesn’t impress me, and this didn’t change with The Best of the Nebula either. On the other hand, I’m glad I finally read Martin’s “Sandkings”, Ellison’s “A Boy and his Dog”, Silverberg’s “Passengers” and Moorcock’s “Behold the Man”.

    This anthology offers a fairly good overview of slightly higher-grade SF for the literate neophyte, but fans of the genre will want to take a look at the table of content before buying it.

    I’ve played the game, and selected my favourite Nebulas since 1965. Here’s the list:

    Novels

    • Dune, Frank Herbert (1965)
    • Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke (1973)
    • The Forever War, Joe Haldeman (1975)
    • Man Plus, Frederik Pohl (1976)
    • Gateway, Frederik Pohl (1977)
    • Startide Rising, David Brin (1983)
    • Neuromancer, William Gibson (1984)
    • Ender’s Game, Orson Scott Card (1985)
    • Moving Mars, Greg Bear (1994)
    • The Terminal Experiment, Robert J. Sawyer (1995)

    Short Stories

    • “Repent Harlequin!, Said the Ticktockman”, Harlan Ellison (1965)
    • “Behold the Man”, Michael Moorcock (1967)
    • “The Screwfly Solution”, Alice Sheldon (1977)
    • “GiANTS”, Edward Bryant (1979)
    • “Tangents”, Greg Bear (1986)

    Novelettes and Novellas

    • “A Meeting with Medusa”, Arthur C. Clarke (1972)
    • “The Bicentennial Man”, Isaac Asimov (1976)
    • “Sandkings”, George R. R. Martin (1979)
    • “The Ugly Chicken”, Howard Waldrop (1980)
    • “Blood Music”, Greg Bear (1983)
    • “The Night We Buried Road Dog”, Jack Cady (1993)

    …and a few others, mostly in the Novel and Longer Short Stories category, but that’ll do for now. Of course, my list of favorite Hugo-winners is far, far more interesting…

  • Samurai from Outer Space, Antonia Levi

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Open Court, 1996, 169 pages, C$30.00 tpb, ISBN 0-8126-9332-9

    You can find the strangest thing at your nearest college’s library.

    For instance, there I was in the University of Ottawa main library, checking out the New Arrival section, when a title bounced at me from the bottom row: Samurai from Outer Space. Who could resist taking a look at a book with such a title? I picked it up. The subtitle clinched it for me: “Understanding Japanese Animation.”

    Now, understand that I am not an otaku (anime (Japanese animation) fan). I’ve watched countless hours of dubbed Japanese animation in my youth (French-Canadian TV was/is full of dubbed Japanese children’s series) and the “big” anime movies (AKIRA, GHOST IN THE SHELL) but I don’t go to the local Anime club, or track down the latest anime release as soon as it’s imported. I don’t even know more than a handful of Japanese words.

    But I’ve got friends who are otaku. One of them’s the audiovisual tech for the anime club, the other knows enough Japanese to get by… With this kind of friend, I’d have to be an idiot not to get at least a passing appreciation for the genre by passive osmosis. So, it was only natural that I had to borrow Samurai from Outer Space.

    (To give an idea of the mindset of UfO computer science students, everyone I showed the book to either said “Oooh!” or “Cool!”)

    Reading this book is time well-spent. Samurai from Outer Space is a fascinating journey into not only Japanese animation, but into the very collective mind of Japan’s society. As Levi points out in her introduction, you can’t understand art without understanding the cultural context in which this art was produced. Most of the time, anime is produced by Japanese for Japanese. The attitudes of anime are thus the attitudes of Japan itself. Anyone with even a basic knowledge of history already knows about the divergent paths Japan and Western culture undertook, only to be reunited in the last few decennia.

    This difference is reflected everywhere: Anime is built on a paradigm that is completely different from the Western tradition of storytelling. Mood is important; virtue isn’t necessarily rewarded; the eyes have it; women can be powerful and sexy without being a sidekick; characters can be multifaceted; animation isn’t for kids; you don’t have to have a happy ending… And that’s barely scratching the surface. The chapter on the role of women in anime and Japanese society is revealing; far from being powerless, the typical Japanese housewife wields an unsuspected power in Japan. (A power often reminiscent of the role of the rural French-Canadian housewife between 1850-1950, but I digress once again…)

    But what about the otaku who doesn’t care about sociology? (Levi is quick to point out that a true otaku is bound to be interested in Japanese society, note!) Samurai from Outer Space is a splendid text for both novices and experts. Some of the analysis is invaluable and a few conclusions are surprising.

    The book isn’t always interesting, especially for the casual reader: The chapter on religion is loaded with references to traditional Japanese myths, and while they’re well-explained, they’re not always easy to grasp. Sometimes, Levi overdoes the sociological analysis on this side of the Pacific ocean (“Gen-Xers […] were born in an overcrowded world filled with crime”, [P.108] etc…) but everything holds up pretty well. For an academic publication, the style is downright breezy: I found myself smiling through most of the book, and laughing quite heartily at a few places. Also notable are the “side-notes”, literally placed on the side of the page rather that at the bottom, or the end. Samurai from Outer Space could have used a few more illustrations and put them alongside the text rather in a separate section, but publishers can’t always do it all, I guess.

    In short: Grab it, read it, you’ll like it. Recommended.

  • In & Out (1997)

    In & Out (1997)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, September 1997) Audience reaction to this movie will probably hinge on their level of tolerance for… um… gay issues. A very smart, very funny script is backed-up by fantastic acting and unobtrusive direction. Loses steam and gains “meaningful intent” in the second half, but a good time is had by mostly everyone except the most closed-minded. (Be forewarned, however, that the writer Has An Agenda) Not really a good date movie! Random thought: It’s probably a good sign of our evolving society that this movie is rated PG only a few years after the separate matrimonial beds of the puritan TV shows of the fifties…

  • Hexed (1993)

    Hexed (1993)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, September 1997) Any self-respecting Babylon-5 fan had to watch this movie, only for the nearly-naked scenes of “Captain Ivanova” (Claudia Christian). Alas, Shelley Michelle body-doubles for Christian, but Hexed is still a pretty enjoyable comedy, at times oddly reminiscent of the hilarious, senseless violence of Pulp Fiction. Characters are okay, the comedy oscillates between the slapstick (the Rodney King send-up) and the lame-but-lively repartee (“I forgot to tell you; I’m pregnant” “What?” “Just kidding.”) but while this is far from being a work of art, it’s not a big waste of time either.

  • Ghost In The Machine (1993)

    Ghost In The Machine (1993)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, September 1997) Very stupid, utterly hilarious “horror” movie. The premise (serial killer gets transformed in computer form, kills people using microwaves, heat dryers and dishwashers.) is about as ridiculous as it can get, and the details are about as ludicrous as anything else. Anyone can have several sadistic laughs at the ineptness of this grade-A Z-level shlocko flick: One of the funniest worst movies I’ve seen. Not to be confused with SF-anime masterpiece Ghost In The Shell (1995).

  • Holy Fire, Bruce Sterling

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Bantam Spectra, 1996, 326 pages, C$31.95 hc, ISBN 0-553-09958-2

    In Look at the Evidence, master SF critic John Clute has written a fascinating essay on what he calls the “true age” of a SF work. Ineptly put, this mean that despite the stated year in which a Science-Fiction work takes place, it is almost always about another year. Most of the time, a book written in, say, 1995 will be about 1990 rather than 2361. Most of the SF written in the seventies is thus about the seventies: Overpopulation, environmental collapse and feminism all figure prominently in these works. (Clute then goes on to state that a lot of recent genre SF is about 1940-1960, which is a fascinating idea that deserves exploration… but not here.)

    Clute’s theory isn’t universally applicable, but works quite well in the case of Bruce Sterling’s latest novel; Holy Fire.

    Before venturing further in critical theory, though, a bit of plot:  Holy Fire takes place a century from now, in a future where life-extension treatments are getting increasingly commonplace and efficient. Not surprisingly, the power is now in the hand of those who live the longest, who can invest their money in decade-long financial enterprises and can afford to wait to reap the results. There’s now “real money” and the young don’t have any. Gerontocracy is a common word in this novel.

    Mia Ziemann is a medical economist nearing ninety years of age, and it’s her job to know about these things. The novel opens as she visits an old lover but a few fortuitous encounters later, Mia decides that it’s time to cash in her life savings and to be rejuvenated. Once that is done, she escapes from her medical supervision and makes her way to Europe, where she spends the remainder of the novel hanging out with anarchists, calling herself Maya, sleeping with unattractive men and finding her true self, not necessarily in this order.

    It doesn’t take a diploma in literary engineering or medical sociology to guess why Holy Fire is a novel of the nineties: In an age where the baby-boomers are hitting their fifties in greater numbers (and retiring younger and younger; this critic’s father being a case in point) it’s evident that Sterling is taking a unsettling tendency and pushing it in a farther, more “Comfortable” future. Mia’s world is becoming more friendly, less violent, but also more boring with less place for innovation and initiative. Parallels…?

    A better, but less exciting work than Sterling’s previous Heavy Weather, Holy Fire uses the word “postmodernist” a lot. It shouldn’t be too surprising then that most of the novel consists of aimless wandering through the anarchist cliques of Europe. Sometimes it’s interesting, other time it’s filler until something happens. The Maya/Mia dichotomy isn’t very well defined, or at least could have been used better. This novel consciously turn the traditionally SF “coming of age” novel on its head by starring a 90-year old woman rediscovering herself using a young body. (Is it a “going of age” or “re-coming of age” novel?)

    Still, Holy Fire is very likely one of the best SF book you’re likely to read this year. Sterling, a leading proponent of the now-passé (really?) cyberpunk movement, has kept intact his love of gadgets so evident in all his works. Holy Fire features talking dogs (including a likable talk-show host), translating devices (sometime reminiscent of Douglas Adam’s Babel Fish), a believable rejuvenating process (probably the most mesmerizing sequence of the book) and some impressive home pages… er… palaces.

    A mature, sometime meandering work, Holy Fire strengthens Sterling’s position as one of the surest talent of contemporary SF. Perhaps too consciously post-something to achieve wide success and recognition, but smart and speculative enough to be read anyway.