Christopher East

Ever since encountering “Panzerboy” way back in a 1986  (!) issue of Asimov’s, I’ve been enjoying the versatile Walter Jon Williams‘ diverse genre fiction, from his early cyberpunk books, to his ambitious far-future Aristoi, to his enormous disaster epic The Rift, to his sprawling military space opera trilogy The Praxis. His most recent novel, This Is Not a Game (2009), ventures into near-future thriller territory, and revolves around the world of gaming.  This is, dare I say it, a futurismic novel through and through — near future SF, intricate plotting, contemporary issues, and games games games…could this be more my kind of book?

The protagonist is Dagmar Shaw, a designer of alternate reality games for a successful software corporation.  Dagmar’s complex puzzle-solving adventures pit the online “Group Mind” against problems that weave fictional storylines into real-world situations, blending fantasy and reality.  The players, working together or against each other, investigate, interact, and venture out into the real world in order to solve the games’ mysteries.  The story opens with Dagmar on her way back to southern California from a game event in India.  An unexpected layover in Jakarta, Indonesia escalates from an inconvenience to a dangerous adventure when economic crisis creates turmoil in the city — and a revolution.  Shaw’s clever extrication from this dilemma is just the engrossing tip of the iceberg, though, in a novel that later shifts focus to Los Angeles, where Dagmar’s connections with a group of former gaming buddies lead to schemes and murders and cons and double-crosses, all against a background of worldwide economic chaos.

Williams keeps a lot of balls in the air, here, and does so with an assured, brisk style that keeps the pages turning.  Dagmar is a likeable, resourceful hero and she’s surrounded by a deftly drawn supporting cast.  Unfortunately some of the twists — and there are a number of them — are easy to see coming, but I didn’t find that terribly disappointing:  often the “how” is more interesting than the “who” or the “why,” so I was perfectly happy to watch things unfold even when my guesses were correct.

Outside of the mystery plot, there’s also the well drawn, right-around-the-corner near future scenario, and the engaging focus on the gaming world.  Gaming groups, role-playing games, online mmorgs, and alternate reality games all figure in, here, and Williams does a credible job describing the gaming culture.  And on the broader, thematic level, the novel suggests that we are a world of game-players, with reality as the board — and we should be careful how we play.  Overall, it’s a solidly conceived and executed novel, appealing on a number of levels and across multiple genres.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might not have believed a film like this even existed.  Sleep Dealer (2008) is a Mexican science fiction film set in the near future.  It may be the only true “Mundane SF” film ever produced. While it can’t compete visually with what passes for SF in Hollywood these days, it’s a far better film — and certainly one of the best SF films I’ve seen in a long time.

The story begins in the Mexican desert, where young Memo (an understated and sympathetic Luis Fernando Pena) dreams of some day escaping his impoverished, backwards country existence to connect with the high-tech world of the future — for him, glimpsed only via snatched telecommunications intercepts from his jerry-rigged satellite receiver.  When Memo hacks into the wrong transmission, though, he gets his wish in a way he never expected, and his journey takes him to the seedy, burgeoning border town of Tijuana, where he crosses paths with a beautiful young writer named Luz (an effective and equally likeable  Leonor Varela).  Luz sets him up with “nodes,” which enable people to interface directly with cyberspace, and are generally used for teleoperation of remote equipment.  This provides wealthier countries with a kind of remote migrant labor force — whose prolonged interfacing in the “sleep factories” leads ultimately to blindness, seizures, and other physical problems.  With no other choice, Memo falls into this life to support his family, but soon sees it for all its faults.  Ultimately, though, circumstances conspire to enable him a chance to get back at the system — and make a statement about it.

It’s definitely a low budget film, but don’t let that stop you — while there are a few times when the weak special effects budget hurts its credibility, for the most part the film loses nothing for its lack of high dollar visuals.  In fact, it’s at once more realistic and more effectively other for its creative, on-the-cheap look.  This movie does more with less.

And not just on the visual front.  As a science fiction film, it meaningfully examines more speculative ideas than most of Hollywood’s last five years’ worth of genre films combined.  Sleep Dealer confronts the imminent water crisis, multinational megacorporations, telepresence, VR-like memory trafficking, remote warfare, and more.  This is SF with a conscience, and with a responsibility to the present.  And while on many levels it’s a bleak and dark look at problems the world is going to face — or, as it metaphorically suggests, is already facing — it’s also not without its hopeful message.

This one is in extremely limited release, but I highly recommend seeking it out — it’s definitely a unique and powerful film, that should appeal to fans of good independent cinema and cravers of realistic, near-future science fiction alike.  (Thanks for spotting this one, Steven!)

On Saturday, Jenn and I drove down to Long Beach to meet up with Jenn’s close friend Ling and her husband Chris, who were in town for a few days.  We spent a large portion of the day enjoying the Aquarium of the Pacific, checking out the fish and crustaceans and ocean birds and more (my favorite were the sea otters).  On top of that, we ate entirely too much and had an awesome time hanging out!

Here are a few choice photos, courtesy of Jenn:

Lorikeet

Puffin

Fish Whose Name Escapes Me

For the unindoctrinated, MI-5 is a BBC spy series involving the domestic branch of the British Secret Service.  (In the UK, it’s called Spooks – evidently Americans get spies and poltergeists confused easily.)  Headed by ruthless, hard-nosed survivor Harry Pearce (Peter Firth), the team responds each week to the latest terrorist threat.  In many ways, it’s a standard restore-the-status-quo thriller set-up.  But in the best tradition of British espionage, it’s usually much more complicated than any simple save-the-day objective, as politics and personalities and allegiances and emotions fuel and color the plots.  To me it’s simultaneously a more realistic 24, a modernized The Sandbaggers, and a recognizably direct descendent of Mission: Impossible.  But even while combining or reflecting all of the above, it is ultimately its own beast — and easily one of the best spy shows of all time.

The series started strong, and while some seem to think it’s gone downhill since the good old early days (say, season two-ish), to me it’s always been worth watching, with occasionally superb episodes popping up to make up for its perfectly watchable average shows, and maybe the occasional clunker.  (And believe me, a clunker on MI-5 is far less painful to behold than a clunker on most shows.)

One of the series’ greatest strengths over the years, in my opinion, has been its ability — and, more importantly, it’s willingness — to reinvent itself.  Sometimes there will be mission-of-the-week bottle shows, other times multi-part cliffhangers…some characters last for years, others just weeks…many hours focus on the home front, while many others venture abroad…just about every region of the world figures into its vast international scope…and all the while, the missions and politics and intelligence-gathering is colored by the personal lives and character arcs of its protagonists.

It’s a show, in other words, that’s unafraid to go new places, and in season six — which I finally just caught up with on DVD — they took it to another level, for the first time carrying off a season-long series arc.  Running all ten episodes, the overarching threat of the season involves operations designed to prevent war between the west (particularly the U.S.) and Iran, hinging largely on Iran’s pursuit of nuclear weapons capability.

If this seems like merely veering into 24’s familiar waters, well, it is and it isn’t.  Not being handcuffed by that show’s high concept recipe, nor by its need to fill up so much more airtime, MI-5 is able to take its time with its continually escalating conflict, and it does so brilliantly in season six, really a remarkable late-in-the-game surge from a show that’s been around awhile.  All of the key players — in particularly Adam Carter (the ever-effective Rupert Penry-Jones) and Ros Meyers (Hemione Norris, whose character I didn’t much care for at first but who really comes into her own in this season) — perform strongly with appropriate material.  The season’s two new characters look promising as well.

I won’t be in the habit of reviewing individual seasons of shows, but I thought I’d make an exception in this case, for two reasons.  One:  I wanted to talk up how cool MI-5 is!  And two:  it strikes me that casual viewers that may have drifted away from the show would be interested to hear that it comes back so strongly, so late in its run.  That doesn’t happen often in TV — a creative resurgence, in season six?  It’s an impressive feat and worth hanging around to see.

Bruce Sterling’s remarkable new novel, The Caryatids (2009), has enough near-future science fiction ideas for a few years’ worth of Futurismic stories.  On the surface, it’s a clone novel, involving four  surviving “daughters” of a notorious Balkan woman, who created them in a bid to take over the world.  Vera, Radmila, Sonja, and Biserka,  rebelling against their god-playing mother’s original aims, have taken different life paths in a bid to shape the future of their world.  Vera has joined the Acquis, a worldwide environmental collective dedicated to restoring the world’s environmental health; Radmila has become a famous member of the Dispensation, a celebrity-worshipping post-national capitalist worldview; and Sonja has become a fierce hero of the world’s last remaining nation-state, China, a brutal totalatarian throwback.  Coloring the proceedings is Biserka, a wild and infamous criminal.  Through their eyes, a troubled, fascinating future is displayed, and as the story moves forward, it appears as if these disparate characters — for all their differences, and they are legion — may have to come together in spite of themselves.

For all its engaging prose, though, the surface story is basically a framework upon which Sterling wants to hang his speculative futurism.  The novel is broken into three main sections, each one examining three potential approaches to human effort the world’s people might take in the harsh years ahead of us.   The Acquis section, taking place on the small island of Mljet in the Adriatic Sea, depicts an extrapolated green movement committed to vast, important environmental causes.  The Dispensation section, set appropriately in Los Angeles, shows a techno-capitalist response to the world’s rapidly mounting ills.  And in China, brute government force in a harsh, fractious state is portrayed as another likely response to desperate times.  So Vera, Radmila, and Sonja are essentially socio-political stand-ins for the worldviews Sterling wants to examine.  Biserka, as a fringe mad bomber character, fulfills a similar function, representing radical terrorism.

That isn’t to say each section is without its satisfying narrative, but clearly there is an agenda to the book that goes beyond the surface action.  It’s a deftly handled metaphor that comes together as the novel progresses.  On the story/narrative level, it doesn’t appear at first as if the three separate threads are going to amount to anything — it lacks a connected, overarching plot with an easy objective, and the structure doesn’t seem to lend itself to pulling all the disparate elements into position for any kind of satisfying resolution.  But the epilogue quickly reveals that solutions aren’t entirely the point, here, so much as methods, and thought processes, and hopes and fears and approaches.  Sterling is extrapolating current trends in green activism, free-market capitalism, and nationalism out to their extremes, layering the macro onto the micro, and while he often seems to have a preferred viewpoint on these potential reactions to the world’s challenges, he’s refreshingly non-judgemental and even-handed in his speculations as he walks through his many characters’ shoes.  Every side of the political spectrum takes its lumps here, and every side has its bright spots, each worldview is ripe for satirization, and each is shown to have its strengths and  potential for good and brands of heroism in the face of the world’s monumental struggles.  (Only Biserka, as the petulant, narrow-minded terrorist, comes off completely without sympathy.)

For all this, I’m probably not doing the book much justice, really…suffice it to say, it’s a clever, rich, engaging and satisfying blend of futurism, politics, satire, adventure, and invention, that raises many questions and examines many answers.  If you’re looking for neat and tidy linear story-telling, this is probably the wrong book for you, but it’s got thought-provoking ideas aplenty, big and small, and an unconventional and well realized agenda.  Great science fiction!

Ah yes, this is the kind of movie that Netflix was made for…we put this on in the background last weekend, and while it’s definitely something to see, I can’t say I wholly enjoyed it.  Tropic Thunder (2008) is a loud, ballsy, messy, transgressive comedy, a movie by (and, kind of, for) Hollywood insiders, taking the piss out of Hollywood.  It’s got a good high concept premise: a big budget, dramatic Viet Nam flick, shooting on location, is suffering insane production difficulties and is looking to be a disaster.  To turn things around, the grizzly war veteran who inspired the film (Nick Nolte) convinces its director (Steve Coogan) to put his cast out in the shit for real and film the results for better verisimilitude.  Unfortunately for the actors — including serial action-franchise star Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller), lowbrow comedy crossover Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black), and critically acclaimed thespian Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.) — this runs them afoul of real-world drug runners, not to mention live ammunition.  Will they get out of the jungle alive?

The comedy is scattershot — sometimes inspired and clever, others  in-your-face and obvious, with everything from sight gags to wordplay to gross-out humor.  Stiller is fine as the clueless action hero, Black a bit wasted as a one-note celebrity junkie going into withdrawal.  But the movie basically belongs to Robert Downey Jr., whose performance — as an Australian critical darling who has immersed himself into the role of a hard-nosed black sergeant, presumably in a calculated attempt to score award recognition — is, to say the least, stunning.  This is a one-note joke run spectacularly amok, clearly concocted to raise a point about Academy voting and the silly idiosyncracies of film world acclaim, but even so I wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or appalled by this role, which couldn’t be more politically incorrect. Full marks for sheer chutzpah, though — from the film and from Downey, who not-so-ironically received all sorts of plaudits for his film-stealing performance.  I can’t say it isn’t well deserved, as Downey is truly something to watch — I mean, mind-blowingly good.  And if nothing else, it raises questions, which may be the film’s one major accomplishment.

As for the rest of the Hollywood-bashing humor, well, it isn’t quite as interesting.  The excesses and foibles of Tinseltown, as depicted here, are largely easy and much reconnoitered targets.  And while on one level it’s fun to see such audacious rebellion from within the system, most of me comes away thinking, “Hey, wait a minute — these guys are the system!  What the hell are they complaining about?”  I mean, we’re talking Jack Black, Tom Cruise, Matthew McConaughey, and Ben Stiller, among others.  Not exactly fringe guys working the edges of the evil film world…but then again, I guess they would know of what they speak.  Anyway — an uneven film, to say the least, but definitely not uninteresting.

After my initial choke, I did manage to get one of those short story ideas moving forward…and unexpectedly it turned out to be a “spin-off” of the novel.  It’s up to nine pages now and I’m hoping to finish it in the 25-30 range (the shorter the better).  I haven’t finished a new story in a long time, so cross your fingers for me!  (I feel a little like I’m daring myself to finish by even posting about it…)

I caught up with Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York (2008) over the weekend, and it’s one of those movies I’m glad I saw, but I don’t think I’d ever want to see again.  This is pure, unadulterated Kaufman, meta beyond meta, clever and inventive and amusing, but also dark, dark, dark, so dark that I’m not even sure my 20-year-old self would have truly enjoyed it.  And that’s saying something!

Synecdoche stars the always impressive Philip Seymour Hoffman as Caden Cotard — essentially the Kaufman viewpoint character — a theater director whose marriage to a famous painter (the wonderful Catherine Keener) is falling apart.  Cotard’s life takes a dramatic turn when he wins a huge grant to put on a stage production in New York City.  The production, staged in an immense, abandoned warehouse, becomes an obsessive metaphor for life itself, as Cotard essentially builds an enormous mock-up of the real world within his theater world, hiring  actors to portray the play’s staffers, and micromanaging the huge cast through day-to-day scenes that reflect his bleak worldview…and meanwhile never quite opening the show to public.

It’s a difficult film to describe, and sadly, also kind of difficult to like — which isn’t to say I didn’t appreciate it, or that it isn’t effective.  Kaufman manages to pull out of this complicated scenario well rendered messages on life’s struggles and the difficulties of expressing them through art, and the film is filled with the kind of random weirdnesses and amusing conversations for which he’s known.  But aside for some hopeful, stirring moments late in the film, the tone is relentlessly bleak and somber, awful thing after awful thing happening to the characters, which after awhile just starts to feel like self indulgent wallowing.  To be fair, Kaufman is clearly aware of this, and basically confronts the problem directly — but only to say that he doesn’t really give a shit what we think.  Which is all fine and interesting, but doesn’t exactly address the issue satisfactorily.

This one’s definitely a mixed bag, for me — conceptually fascinating, and clever, and mostly engrossing, with a fantastic cast (including great support from Samantha Morton), but also needlessly depressing (I think), and perhaps a bit self important, and maybe ten minutes or so too long.  Suffice it to say, particularly if you’re into Kaufman this one is worth a look, even if it’s not always pleasant viewing.

Saturday marked the final game of the season for the Los Angeles Kings.  Jenn and I made our way down to the Staples Center to say goodbye to the team, which has become something of a tradition since I moved here — this is our third consecutive home finale (!).  Alas, it was another year for the Kings without a playoff spot, but they definitely improved this year, and sent us into the off-season with an exciting 4-3 win over the San Jose Sharks.  The Kings goals came from Handzus, Harrold, and two of our favorite players, Alexander Frolov and Wayne Simmonds.

Provided our general manager doesn’t do anything stupid, like trade Frolov (which sadly seems possible right now), the Kings should take another step forward next season and challenge for a spot.  They’ve finally got a promising goaltending tandem with Quick and Ersberg, and for skaters they’ve got a solid core with Kopitar, Brown, Frolov, Handzus, Stoll, Simmonds, Moller, Doughty, Johnson, Greene, and some up-and-comers like Purcell and Boyle who should fill out the roster next season.  A couple more pieces could really help them get in.  Everyone’s talking Marian Gaborik from Minnesota, which would be exciting if he could stay healthy.  (I personally think we could use Ales Kotalik to help us with shootouts, where we really struggled this year.)

I also said goodbye to my hometown team, the Buffalo Sabres, whose season also came to an end this weekend.  No playoffs for them either, and looking back I’m still wondering what happened to the shockingly good club of a few years ago — and why their GM decided to hang the future on Roy, Pominville and Connolly instead of Drury, Briere, or even Dumont.  This team fell apart without Miller and Vanek in the lineup, and I’ll be very curious to see what they do in the off-season to get the team back on track.

I must not be a complete die-hard hockey fan, because now that both my teams are out of the playoffs, I could care less who wins the Cup.  The playoffs make me grumpy, anyway, so maybe it’s just as well.    Meanwhile, better luck next year — until then, here we are in our team colors!

For a while there, it seemed to me like the supply of James P. Blaylock novels was  endless, a wonderful succession of quirky, clever contemporary fantasies about likeable, befuddled schmoes finding their way into reality’s magical underpinnings, mixed up comically in mystic happenings beyond their immediate comprehension.  A number of collections and omnibuses have come out since then, but it’s been a while since there’s been an original in the vein of, say Winter Tides or The Rainy Season.

Blaylock’s latest, The Knights of the Cornerstone (2008), is a welcome return to that style of work.  It’s a short book, but it’s a quick, satisfying read likely to resonate with those already indoctrinated into Blaylock’s fabulist milieu, and probably not a bad starting point for potential new fans.  The hero in this outing is Calvin Bryson, a thirtysomething wanna-be cartoonist, just recovering from a bad relationship.  Calvin is stirred from his somewhat aimless existence in suburban LA by communications from his curious relations, including his aunt and uncle, who live in the remote desert city of New Cyprus near the triple border of Arizona, California, and Nevada.  Enlisted to deliver a package to this strange, somewhat backward little oasis, Calvin soon finds himself entangled in a secret war between rival factions for the possession of mysterious, magical artifacts.

It’s a nicely written novel, intriguingly plotted, and Blaylock deftly performs his trademark trick of painting a simple surface picture that hints at wonders and strangeness underneath the surface.  I’ve always had a hard time putting my finger on why I enjoy Blaylock’s writing so much — in many ways it’s not my usual thing — but I think perhaps it’s the way he turns the mundane and the every-day into objects of intrigue, makes the act of walking through life feel like a clandestine operation with hidden motives and potentially dire consequences.  He pushes my spy buttons, in other words, but in a curiously indirect way.  The Knights of the Cornerstone once again connected on that level for me, pretty much delivering on everything I look for in a Blaylock novel.