SyFy, Ridley Scott, and Frank Spotnitz are adapting PKD’s novel Man in the High Castle for TV. Said book is glorious alt-history, wrapped around mind-bending ideas about reality. Which, I suppose is a bit obvious given the author. What do you PKD fans think? Me? Color in the circle that says “Caff-Pow has no idea how to feel about this.”
Well, fuck. Prometheus 2 is going to enter into this world, aiming straight for our cerebral cortex with vomit-inducing themes of faith and nonsense. Here is hoping Ridley Scott can find himself a human being aside from Damon Lindelof to write the script. Here is hoping Lindelof’s busy schedule doesn’t let him do it. It’d be amazing to see what could happen if the writer wasn’t patting himself on the back with one hand, while mashing out high-fives to Christianity with the other ad nauseam.
This isn’t really a Prometheus review. By now you’ve most likely seen the movie, read reviews, or heard about it from your boys. This article is a rant with plenty of spoilers.
Does anyone honestly expect greatness from Sir Ridley Scott anymore? There’s no doubt he’s still a master craftsman who can create some truly stunning visuals. But for a while now he’s been more concerned with those visuals than with minor annoyances like story and characters. That’s why for his prequel to Alien Scott was cool working off of a script originally written by the guy who wrote The Darkest Hour (remember that one?), that was later touched up by Damon Lindelof. We all know Lindelof from Lost, which we still argue about, but that’s only because we still love it so much.
It’s a bit of a stretch, asking anyone to come out of Prometheus this weekend without an overwhelming sensation of feeling hollow. It’s a rather empty, desolate film in all the ways that matter: setting, visuals, character – even plot. There just isn’t a lot there.
Compounding the problem is that the marketing machine behind the film has inadvertently already given you 90% of it. Walking out of the theatre tonight or tomorrow will feel like you’ve just seen an extended trailer, albeit a two hour one.
All hands on deck!
It appears that Spaceship Omega has inadvertently veered off course. Somehow, perhaps because Navigator Burton fell asleep after drinking too many Pepsi-and-gasoline cocktails, we have slipped into a pocket of spacetime usually avoided at all costs. That’s right, folks, batten down the hatches and brace yourselves! We’re headed right for it!
The beginning of the workweek!
As wave after wave of ennui, minutiae, and stress wash over us, we can rest assured. For every passenger of Spaceship Omega has a spot in the refuge known as the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! What is this sanctuary, you ask? Well, this is where I take the time to show you the various bits of entertainment and mind-drivel I’ll be using to survive the onslaught of real-world responsibilities. Then, you hit up the comments section and tell us which floatation device you’ll be clinging to when your ass is tossed into the Ocean of Obligation.
Yes, beneath the half-baked metaphors and bleeding-heart-on-my-sleeve hyperbole, it’s folks tryin’ to point one another in the direction of cool shit.
Oh no! Another wave! Let’s do this!
Oh, Blade Runner. Even as the years pass you still remain as brilliant and beautiful as the first time I consumed you. Here’s a convention reel that Ridley Scott and Syd Mead conjured up to promote the flick way back in 1982.
I was pretty cool with a Blade Runner sequel happening, so long as it was telling a new tale in the glorious cyberpunkverse I had come to splooge on. I didn’t want no haggard ass Harry Ford and his dangling earring running through it. As my Dad used to say, “How does it feel to want?” Pretty shitty, pah. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it seems.
Do you understand the spatial confusion that comes with the Thaw? Here I am, freshly out of my Cryo-Pod and pressed into service. That’s right, those aghast. Rendar isn’t here this week. It’s your boy, Caff-Pow. I was orbiting a particularly interesting noodle along the orbit of Charlatan-IV where the distress beacon run. It spoke to me in words and phrases I couldn’t understand; I wasn’t familiar with.
Beep – too busy. real world responsibilities. grown-up stuff.
Beep – do you comply, brother?
Being a good space-bound brother, I obliged. I may not understand responsibilities or the real world, but I do understand the humble request from a man who descended out of the same Momma gut as me. Entering my finger-prints-semen-saliva-testicle-taint into the recognition software, I jettisoned my temporary virtuality. Good bye, Charlatan-IV. Hello MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE. The column where we share those distractions that keep us cutting while peering into the oblivion of the wash-work-wank-rinse cycle that will transport us from one edge of oblivion into the next.
Here’s some more news on the Blade Runner front, and it is turning up aces. At least for me. The flick is certainly going to be a sequel, and the original screenwriter is back on board. It’s a Blade Runner-heavy news cycle, but in my world only the curmudgeonly bitch about such a wonder.
Prometheus international poster. Blade Runner sequel news. Just hit the jump.