Finally, I get to write a piece more journalism-oriented than
philosophical. This is to be contrasted, of course, with the various
film reviews and philosophical pieces that I have done so far. In fact,
it is a slight relief to finally be able to write a piece like this, insofar
as I keep saying that I will do something with a journalism slant to it
only to not have produced one up to this point. One of the virtues of
doing a piece like this is that, insofar as it is more or less a report
of something that has transpired, there will be less commentary and more
explanation, which will make for a shorter piece. This is particularly
so since this event wasn't that large (though nonetheless notable).
Perhaps this will even be a piece that I can get done in one sitting (turns out, it wasn't).
And on that note, I present my findings on Starbucks Hack Day 2015.
This past Tuesday, October 27th, Starbucks hosted their annual Hack Day
at their global headquarters in Seattle. The event was open primarily to
employees, but there was, no doubt, a handful of visitors that had the
opportunity to attend. And as can be implied by the previous sentence,
if it wasn't made clear by my user profile or previous posts, I am a
Starbucks employee based at the Starbucks Center in Seattle. I was
fortunate enough to convince my supervisor to let me take a chunk of my
normal shift to attend the event. I had only heard of the event a few
days prior, so I still wasn't quite sure what to expect; the name of the
event, for example, implied something along the lines of the DefCon or
Black Hat conferences, which, as someone with a side interest in mathematics
and the cyber underground, initially piqued my curiosity (this is not
to say that I actually expected Starbucks Hack Day to be anything
remotely close to DefCon). At the same time, the flyers for the event
were done in such a way as to make the event seem more like an
arts-and-crafts workshop than any kind of conference or event of that
nature. In either case, I still felt like it would make for a nice topic
to report on (in addition to being a nice reprieve from my usual duties
that day), so I was inclined to attend nonetheless.
The event took place in a moderately large conference hall on the 3rd
floor of the Starbucks Center. Like any other convention or conference,
there were booths set up where employees (internally referred to as
"partners") were able to demonstrate whatever idea or innovation that
they had been working on. Slightly to my disappointment, it wasn't so
much of a hacking conference so much as it was a technology and
innovation showcase, which is still certainly notable. Mobile apps
seemed to be the overarching theme of the event, with the vast majority
of the booths showing some kind of new iOS or Android application
targeted at both customers and employees alike.
The first demo I was able to take part in was called "Get Rollin'", a
training application for new baristas designed by Steve Walker, Jason
Stoff, and Bill McNeil. This particular application took advantage of
the tilting sensor feature in iOS devices (iOS veterans may be familiar
with this function from games like Naught or Zombie Highway).
Essentially, this particular application constituted a game where new
partners would have to carefully guide a silver ball along a path of
tiles floating in space without falling off the side. The catch is that
the path would occasionally fork, presenting the budding barista with a
decision of which path to take, where each path in the fork would
correspond to a possible answer to a Starbucks training question. Answer
the question incorrectly and the path would disappear under the ball
and it would be game over. In one way, there is actually the potential
here for something truly immersive; somehow, either through the raw
design of the aesthetics or the core gameplay concepts, I was reminded
of Playstation's Intelligent Qube from 1997, which, in retrospect, was
something of a work of art. At the same time, I found myself questioning
the value of such an application; as someone who spent years working in
restaurants and coffee shops while I was a student, the training
required for such labor isn't particularly difficult or complex, so one
is left to wonder to what extent such an app is really necessary. And
even it does help a new employee train for their position, it seems as
if it would wear out its usefulness once the employee has finished
training. Ultimately, "Get Rollin'" was a great concept, and it
certainly stood out from the rest of the applications on display, but
perhaps the concept would better be served as a full-fledged game as
opposed to being confined to a training app.
After briefly playing around with the "Get Rollin'" app, I was ushered
over to the booth for an application called "Markout!", designed by
Stephen Ramirez, Nicole Tidwell, Diane Kerstein, David Gutierrez, and
Zachary Camara. Again, this was another app targeted at Starbucks
employees mostly for internal use, though I should say that there were
some features of it that, if expanded on, would make for an interesting
app for consumers. Essentially, this app functions as a reminder for
employees to take advantage of their employee discounts. Pretty
straightforward, though I admit that I am slightly scared to think that
partners need to be reminded to take advantage of one of their most
basic perks. What makes this app particularly interesting is a kind
in-built stat tracker; an employee can input the information for the
product that he or she used the discount for and then the app can make
recommendations based on the user's habits. For example, if an employee
used his or her discount to get a bag of a particular kind of dark
roast, then the app uses that data to make suggestions for the following
week, based on such things as roast, growing region, and so on. The
data tracking portion of this app struck me as having vast potential; if
it were reimagined in an app for consumers, it could potentially
illustrate which of the various nuances of a coffee's flavor profile
American consumers really enjoy, as well as serve as a kind of
introduction into the world of coffee for the layperson.
After getting the demo for the
"Markout!" app, I continued to meander about the hall until I came to
"Siren's Echo", designed by Tom Fernandez. The crowd around this booth
was particularly large, and it didn't take me long to see why. This was a
significant departure from the other apps on display; "Siren's Echo"
showcased a kind of voice recognition software. Simply put, whatever
someone would say into a microphone, the "Siren" would say back in a
calm, clear woman's voice. One can't help but think of Apple's Siri
technology when watching the demo. And while the technology itself was
nothing new (again, Siri is, more or less, a full-fledged artificial
intelligence, way more advanced than the "Siren"), it's applications
struck me as the more important thing here. For example, one could image
this technology replacing the headsets and baristas at a drive-thru
store, more or less leaving the ordering process in the drive-thru
automated. Or, more in line with Siri and the theme of mobile devices,
this technology could be integrated into the mobile app for consumers, so they no
longer have to navigate complex menus to place an order over the
Starbucks app. It wasn't particularly clear which system architecture
this software was optimized for, iOS or Android (or maybe I just missed
it), but, since the increasingly ubiquitous Starbucks app is on both
platforms, I would imagine that, if "Siren's Echo" develops into
something bigger, it would be available on both.
These were only three of the apps on display this past week, though these were the ones that stood out to me more, mostly for the aforementioned reasons. There was a contest at the end of the event where attendees got to vote on their favorite booth, but, for various reasons, I wasn't able to stick around to see the winner. However, this piece hopefully provides a brief glimpse into the technological developments taking place event at a company as retail and consumer-focused as Starbucks. I was also able to get some photos of the event, some of which I will attach to this post, and others I will post under the "Photography" label, marking my first foray into the intersection of writing and photography.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Friday, October 9, 2015
Review - Ant-Man
This will be something of an experiment for me. If these words actually
make it to the blog, then that means that I decided to go ahead and
review Ant-Man. It should be noted that I haven't actually seen the film
yet, but I felt inclined to put pen to paper (or, in this case, fingers
to keyboard) and start writing anyway, which is what makes this review
experimental. I imagine that I could perhaps get about a third of the
review done and get the groundwork for the review out of the way without
needing to have seen it. Of course, if I decide to go see Ant-Man and
finish this review, then I will be seeing it in the coming days, and I
will note the point at which I will be writing after
having seen it.
And I could really only pull this off with Ant-Man, insofar as my relationship with superhero/comic movies has been a rocky one. I have never really been a fan of the whole superhero craze in Hollywood, with a few notable exceptions. The Batman films, for example, I really enjoy, particularly the Chris Nolan and Tim Burton iterations of Batman. Other than that, I am usually hit or miss with my satisfaction of superhero films, and in those cases that I am more satisfied than I am disappointed, it is usually only a mild satisfaction. It probably doesn't help that I wasn't a big comic-reader when I was younger (Spawn being the only notable exception to that), so when I talk to fans of the films who inevitably try to compare them to the comics, I always feel as if I am at a loss for words. The superhero craze has been particularly infectious these past few years; it seems as if the action movie landscape in Hollywood right now is littered with reboots (see The Amazing Spiderman), spin-offs (see Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice), and endless sequels (see the entire X-Men series). Studios have even figured out a way to invest more money and wrap all of these reboots, spin-offs, and sequels together into one lovely package and call it a "cinematic universe". Now one might wonder, if my general disposition towards superhero films is unfavorable, why I would even bother seeing, and then reviewing, Ant-Man. The answer is actually quite simple; for the past several days I have been debating what my next blog entry should be. I want to do another review, but there is actually nothing good playing at the movies right now, and Ant-Man, not because it was initially enticing, but because it sounded like the least lame thing playing, seemed to be the best option. I entertained the idea of instead starting my next "Philosophy" entry, but I quickly realized that I actually just wrote one of those right before my Scorch Trials review, and, while I have been brainstorming topics for my next "Philosophy" entry, I don't have all of my resources or materials laid out yet for the topic I have in mind. Nor did I feel inclined to just skip a period and wait until either something good came out in the theaters or until I was ready to write my next "Philosophy" piece. Thus, by sheer circumstance, I am strongly considering doing an Ant-Man review, though I confess a degree of reluctance.
Marvel's whole "cinematic universe" might be a good place to start an Ant-Man review; the whole superhero genre the past few years has been dominated by Marvel's Avengers and all of the individual IPs that feed into it (i.e. Iron Man, Captain America, etc). I will confess that, despite what I said in the previous paragraph, I have actually seen most of the movies in Marvel's cinematic universe, and that there are actually a few noteworthy standouts. I actually really enjoyed Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which presented us with Captain America, the paragon of American values, questioning the imperialistic and paranoid motivations behind the government developing what more or less amounted to doomsday machines, all in the name of "keeping America safe". This is in stark contrast to the first installment of the Captain America series, which could accurately be summed up by noting that the first half of the movie is backstory in 1940s New York City and the second half is a drawn-out montage of American Flag-Man punching Nazis until the very end, where the villain is then randomly beamed into space. At the very least, one could say the first Captain America film was cliche (so much so that one might also think it was actually just a trailer for a new Wolfenstein game, albeit an excruciatingly drawn-out trailer), and, at the more cynical end of the spectrum, one could call the first Captain America film a really boring attempt at pro-American propaganda. Beyond the Captain America series, I also thought Thor: The Dark World was fairly enjoyable, not necessarily because it had some compelling story or asked some important questions, but because its blend of sci-fi technology and its constant references to Norse mythology illustrated a kind of sci-fi/fantasy crossover that is little seen in film. In some ways, the design and architecture of Asgard invokes the design and architecture seen in The Chronicles of Riddick, while, if I may say so, the whole sci-fi/fantasy crossover thing actually hints at Warhammer 40,000 (make of that what you will). I should also perhaps give some credit to the first Iron Man film, which seemed to understand the core notion in science fiction known as the "suspension of disbelief". One of my biggest criticisms of superhero films is that they all seem to miss the mark on invoking the suspension of disbelief; it is painfully apparent how implausible the events of most these films are, almost to the point of being absurd. A telltale sign of good science fiction is that there is a sense in which the events of the film are plausible, causing the audience to sympathize more with the narrative, or "suspend their disbelief". (Perhaps a side note could be said here that one of the reasons that J.J. Abrams' Star Trek series is so strong is because he knows how to invoke the suspension of disbelief.) The first Iron Man actually did a fairly good job at this, painting a Middle East ravaged by constant war and terrorism, when, suddenly, an engineering genius creates a robotic suit to combat both extremists and private military contractors that sell weapons to these groups on the black market.
Beyond these examples, if one is looking for genuinely good sci-fi or fantasy films, I usually refer them elsewhere. I should point out that I don't think that the Marvel cinematic universe is invariably bad, but I also don't consider it to be of the quality of Fury Road or Jurassic World this past summer. It's average, run-of-the-mill, where the number of pros are even with the cons (and perhaps even, on one of my more cynical days, the cons slightly outweigh the pros). For example, in may last review for Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials, I made an analogy between a film's use of CGI and a addict's use of heroin. Marvel's cinematic universe is the prime example of the addict sprawled out on the dirty mattress; virtually every film in every series relies on CGI so much that one might wonder whether or not one were actually watching a Pixar film, or at what points in the films there was any actual acting. Perhaps it can be argued that I am holding the Marvel movies to an unfair standard insofar as it would seem like any superhero movie will inevitably have obscene levels of CGI, simply by the nature of it being a superhero movie. However, if Chris Nolan's Dark Knight series taught us anything, it taught us two things: 1) it is possible to have a superhero film with compelling characters and equal parts action and drama, and 2) it is possible to have all of this without relying on CGI.
For the purposes of an Ant-Man review, I should perhaps focus specifically on the two Avengers films, insofar as Ant-Man is purported to be the next major player in the Avengers roster. In all honesty, I consider the two Avengers films to be among the lowest points for the Marvel Cinematic Universe. One might counter by pointing out that Age of Ultron was record-breaking, and that, at the end of its theatrical run, it became one of the highest-grossing films of 2015. However, after seeing Age of Ultron, I look at this statistic not as a testament to how good Age of Ultron actually is, but rather more as a confirmation of my suspicion that the average American movie-goer is borderline brain dead. The Avengers films are more or less what any sensible person would expect when you have a Norse god fighting alongside a guy in robot suit fighting alongside American-Flag Man against an invading alien force or an artificial intelligence gone rogue: one large clusterfuck, dripping with a fresh coat of CGI, without any semblance of depth or character. The plots of both films are tissue-thin; in the first Avengers, for example, Loki opens a portal to an invading alien force in order to try and subjugate Earth, and the Avengers have to stop him. That's it. I've tried to look at it in many other ways, for the sake of playing devil's advocate, to see if one can actually sympathize with Loki, and it turns out that one can't. It's black-and-white. And, as one can imagine, the ending is just as predictable as ever: they stop Loki. The good guys win and the bad guys lose. And Age of Ultron is a lot more of the same; a rogue artificial intelligence is bent on wiping out the human race, and the Avengers have to stop it - which they do. Unlike the first Avengers, however, Age of Ultron at least makes an attempt to try and get the viewer to sympathize with Ultron, such as when Ultron says how sick and twisted humanity is right after he is created. And this might have been an interesting twist indeed...if the film actually succeeded at doing this. In order to get us to sympathize with Ultron, one would need to witness first-hand the flaws and horrors of humanity in such a way as to think that humanity truly is a horrible thing, which the film doesn't do. Ultron simply tells us that humans are bad, he doesn't actually show us why humans are bad.
Beyond the poor plots, the fight scenes in both movies illustrate the aforementioned clusterfuck. One simply has to look at the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron as evidence; everything that was unique about the characters in their individual IPs is lost during the ending fight against Ultron. Every character can be categorized as someone that either punches stuff or shoots energy beams out of his or her face. Captain America punches stuff. Thor punches stuff. The Hulk punches stuff really hard. Iron man shoots energy beams. Even The Scarlet Witch, a character that was introduced at the beginning of the film as an Eastern European refugee with psychic powers, a potentially unique kind of antagonist for the Avengers (it was interesting to watch her manipulate the dreams and mental states of our heroes throughout the first half of the film), simply resorts to shooting energy beams by the end of the film. Indeed, I found myself wondering what exactly it was about The Scarlet Witch that made her a 'witch' (she clearly didn't have anything in common with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and I'm trying to imagine how The Blair Witch Project would have turned out if the Witch in that film was anything like The Scarlet Witch, or how closely any of the aforementioned 'witches' relate to the historical witches of the Salem Witch Trials). And let us not forget The Vision, a character that was introduced five minutes before the final fight against Ultron, who immediately just starts shooting energy beams. In short, every semblance of character is lost in the fight scenes; in Age of Ultron, I could have replaced the Avengers with Rock-em Sock-em Robots and achieved the same effect. There is no explanation as to why it has to be Captain America or why it has to be Hawkeye that fights Ultron. And this also confirms my earlier suspicion about the average American movie-goer; the fact that they keep hyping up the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron tells me that none of them actually stopped for a second and asked exactly what the fuck is going on (essentially, this .gif illustrates the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron well: http://i.imgur.com/s89eq.jpg).
Now with the appropriate context on The Avengers given, I can start to focus on Ant-Man. It is also from this point that I write having actually seen it - and I must say, I was fairly impressed. And this is actually saying something; not only have I been historically skeptical of superhero films, but I have never been a Paul Rudd fan. I have never been able to make it through five minutes of any of Rudd's previous films without either finding something else to watch or leaving the building altogether. However, Rudd's performance actually delivers in Ant-Man. Rudd plays Scott Lang, a misunderstood thief trying to rebuild his life after being released from San Quentin State Prison in the San Francisco Bay Area. He takes up some dead-end jobs to try and generate a modest income (it should be noted that Lang's interactions with both customers and co-workers at Baskin Robbins are not too far removed from what it is actually like working in the minimum wage service industry - i.e. cancerous), with the ultimate aim of re-earning the favor of his ex-wife in order to be able to see his daughter again, both of whom now live with her new fiancee, who also happens to be a seasoned cop. Meanwhile, Darren Cross, a prodigy in biological engineering, is on the verge of discovering a way to shrink a biological organism to minuscule size, a breakthrough he intends to incorporate into his Yellowjacket combat suit and sell to various contractors and organizations. However, the technology had previously been discovered and harnessed by Cross' mentor, Hank Pym (portrayed by Michael Douglas), who, after seeing the destructive and volatile potential of the technology, locked it away, refusing to share it with Cross and reveal it to the rest of the world. Upon learning that Cross is on the verge of perfecting the Yellowjacket prototype, Pym enlists the help of the struggling Lang to try and steal it. Pym introduces Lang to the Ant-Suit, a shrinking suit that Pym used for covert operations during the Cold War. Harnessing the power of the suit, and with the help of Pym, Pym's daughter, Hope, and his ex-con roommates, Lang sets out to infiltrate Cross' laboratories, destroy the Yellowjacket suit, and stop Cross.
Scott Lang/Ant-Man is distinct from other Avengers characters, due in large part to Rudd's performance. Rudd makes the character unique, gives him an individual identity, much in the same way that Downey Jr. sets Tony Stark/Iron Man apart from the other Avengers. This is to be contrasted with Chris Hemsworth's Thor and Chris Evans' Captain America, where one could simply reverse the roles and have Evans portray Thor and Hemsworth portray Captain American, and it would amount to absolutely zero difference in any of the Thor, Captain America, or Avengers films. Even on a conceptual level, Ant-Man stands out from the rest of the Avengers; there is something much more intriguing about an ex-con thief who wears an ant costume and can shrink down to minuscule size than a guy from Brooklyn wearing an American flag going around punching Nazis (the former requires at least some degree of imagination, while anyone can replicate the latter by stapling a swastika to his clothing and then proceeding to get punched in the face, which would be guaranteed to sell). Speaking of the Ant-Suit, I think praise is in order for the costume design. Despite the fact that I haven't been the biggest fan of Marvel's Cinematic Universe, one aspect of it that I always thought was extremely well done was the costume design, and Ant-Man is no exception. Perhaps this is because the Ant-Suit itself refers back to that "suspension of disbelief" I had mentioned earlier on; the suit is by no means over-the-top, and, in fact, when Lang first finds it in Pym's house, he refers to it as an old motorcycle outfit, albeit a slightly strange one. The simplicity in both its presentation as an upgraded leather motorcycle outfit, together with its equally straightforward black and red color theme, is further augmented by the fact that the helmet actually looks like an ant, also without being too over-the-top. If the designers wanted to be silly, for example, the helmet for the Ant-Suit could have been something complete with antennae and pincers which, through some bizarre process, could have molded onto Lang's head, rendering Lang as some frightful hybrid of Zorak from Space Ghost and Jeff Goldblum's Fly. Instead, the helmet for the Ant-Suit is better compared to a futuristic gas mask with a black and red color theme, still resembling an ant, but only in very subtle ways. Speaking of the "suspension of disbelief", perhaps my overall satisfaction with Ant-Man can be summarized by pointing out that, unlike some other installments of the Avengers films, Ant-Man actually succeeds in getting the viewer to suspend his or her disbelief. The idea that a genius scientist discovers a technology that can shrink biological organisms, and then incorporates that technology into a suit that only subtly looks like an ant, is not too far-fetched, or, at least, it's not as ridiculous as a guy running around wearing an American flag that throws a shield that somehow always manages to come back to him while knocking every bad guy unconscious in the process.
However, despite its strong points, Ant-Man isn't flawless. The most glaring error that Ant-Man makes is what I sometimes refer as "backstory padding". Pym and his conflict with Cross and the Yellowjacket suit were all introduced in the first 5 minutes of the film - and then this conflict isn't really addressed again until about an hour in, when the film is halfway over. Everything leading up to that point was more or less backstory on both Lang and Pym, as well as Lang training with the Ant-Suit. For example, it could be said that the first half hour of the film was kind of like a documentary on Lang's life immediately following hist release from prison; we see the kinds of jobs he takes up, how strained his relationship with his wife is, and how his daughter is the most important thing to him. At the same time, we also see how Pym struggles with his efforts to hide his shrinking technology, his rocky relationship with his daughter, and how he copes with the loss of his wife. Again, it feels as if the larger issue - Cross and the Yellowjacket suit - is just a footnote to this, something briefly mentioned in passing. And the second half hour of the film only inches us closer to dealing with the Yellowjacket prototype; one could say that the second half hour is actually just a montage of clips of Lang learning how to use the suit and how to mind-control ants, and such a summary wouldn't be too disingenuous. This error of "backstory padding" is also not new to the Avengers films; the first Captain America film is perhaps the worst perpetrator of this. The first fifteen minutes of Captain America introduces us to how Rogers undergoes the experiments that turn him into the supersoldier that he is, while the next hour or so is a montage of scenes of him punching Nazis on the various battlefields of World War II. His first confrontation with Red Skull doesn't come until much later. One might argue that such a thorough illustration of backstory is necessary in order to properly introduce the characters, and, therefore, that my criticisms of these "introductory" films on these grounds is unjust. But, interestingly, one can also point to a different Avenger's introductory film as an example of one that presented the backstory correctly. The first Iron Man film wasted no time in cutting to the chase; the movie opens up with the only really relevant scene in Tony Stark's backstory as far as the plot of the first film in concerned - the explosion in the Middle East the riddled him with shrapnel. After that, Iron Man only spent about 20 minutes providing context to this, and then, before long, the Iron Man suit is touching down in terrorist strongholds, liberating hostages. A lot more could have been done with both Captain America and Ant-Man if they didn't fall into the trap of "backstory padding", and illustrated the backstory narrative more in the fashion of Iron Man.
If I were to try and summarize my satisfaction with Ant-Man in a brief one or two sentences, there are, I think, two core things that it does well: 1) it takes an already unique concept (that of a man who can shrink down to the size of an ant) and gives it character and personality, and 2) it does a good job at understanding and manipulating the notion of the "suspension of disbelief". Despite it's slightly drawn out backstory, Ant-Man paints a picture of an ex-con who is not necessarily a bad person, just misunderstood, down on his luck, who only desires to be with his daughter again. His world is turned inside-out when a scientific genius offers him the chance to don a suit that allows him to shrink down to the size of an ant, a concept that is much more intriguing than an American supersoldier fighting Nazis in World War II, a concept that, at this point, is so overdone that one might wonder whether or not there is any imagination left in Hollywood. Speaking of scientific geniuses and advanced technology, Ant-Man also draws from good science fiction films and presents its narrative as feasible in a modern context, where we are asked to suspend our disbelief and imagine that, for just a brief moment, we were to wake up tomorrow and such a shrinking technology became the latest engineering breakthrough, and illustrates to us potential worlds in which that shrinking technology falls into the wrong hands.
And I could really only pull this off with Ant-Man, insofar as my relationship with superhero/comic movies has been a rocky one. I have never really been a fan of the whole superhero craze in Hollywood, with a few notable exceptions. The Batman films, for example, I really enjoy, particularly the Chris Nolan and Tim Burton iterations of Batman. Other than that, I am usually hit or miss with my satisfaction of superhero films, and in those cases that I am more satisfied than I am disappointed, it is usually only a mild satisfaction. It probably doesn't help that I wasn't a big comic-reader when I was younger (Spawn being the only notable exception to that), so when I talk to fans of the films who inevitably try to compare them to the comics, I always feel as if I am at a loss for words. The superhero craze has been particularly infectious these past few years; it seems as if the action movie landscape in Hollywood right now is littered with reboots (see The Amazing Spiderman), spin-offs (see Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice), and endless sequels (see the entire X-Men series). Studios have even figured out a way to invest more money and wrap all of these reboots, spin-offs, and sequels together into one lovely package and call it a "cinematic universe". Now one might wonder, if my general disposition towards superhero films is unfavorable, why I would even bother seeing, and then reviewing, Ant-Man. The answer is actually quite simple; for the past several days I have been debating what my next blog entry should be. I want to do another review, but there is actually nothing good playing at the movies right now, and Ant-Man, not because it was initially enticing, but because it sounded like the least lame thing playing, seemed to be the best option. I entertained the idea of instead starting my next "Philosophy" entry, but I quickly realized that I actually just wrote one of those right before my Scorch Trials review, and, while I have been brainstorming topics for my next "Philosophy" entry, I don't have all of my resources or materials laid out yet for the topic I have in mind. Nor did I feel inclined to just skip a period and wait until either something good came out in the theaters or until I was ready to write my next "Philosophy" piece. Thus, by sheer circumstance, I am strongly considering doing an Ant-Man review, though I confess a degree of reluctance.
Marvel's whole "cinematic universe" might be a good place to start an Ant-Man review; the whole superhero genre the past few years has been dominated by Marvel's Avengers and all of the individual IPs that feed into it (i.e. Iron Man, Captain America, etc). I will confess that, despite what I said in the previous paragraph, I have actually seen most of the movies in Marvel's cinematic universe, and that there are actually a few noteworthy standouts. I actually really enjoyed Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which presented us with Captain America, the paragon of American values, questioning the imperialistic and paranoid motivations behind the government developing what more or less amounted to doomsday machines, all in the name of "keeping America safe". This is in stark contrast to the first installment of the Captain America series, which could accurately be summed up by noting that the first half of the movie is backstory in 1940s New York City and the second half is a drawn-out montage of American Flag-Man punching Nazis until the very end, where the villain is then randomly beamed into space. At the very least, one could say the first Captain America film was cliche (so much so that one might also think it was actually just a trailer for a new Wolfenstein game, albeit an excruciatingly drawn-out trailer), and, at the more cynical end of the spectrum, one could call the first Captain America film a really boring attempt at pro-American propaganda. Beyond the Captain America series, I also thought Thor: The Dark World was fairly enjoyable, not necessarily because it had some compelling story or asked some important questions, but because its blend of sci-fi technology and its constant references to Norse mythology illustrated a kind of sci-fi/fantasy crossover that is little seen in film. In some ways, the design and architecture of Asgard invokes the design and architecture seen in The Chronicles of Riddick, while, if I may say so, the whole sci-fi/fantasy crossover thing actually hints at Warhammer 40,000 (make of that what you will). I should also perhaps give some credit to the first Iron Man film, which seemed to understand the core notion in science fiction known as the "suspension of disbelief". One of my biggest criticisms of superhero films is that they all seem to miss the mark on invoking the suspension of disbelief; it is painfully apparent how implausible the events of most these films are, almost to the point of being absurd. A telltale sign of good science fiction is that there is a sense in which the events of the film are plausible, causing the audience to sympathize more with the narrative, or "suspend their disbelief". (Perhaps a side note could be said here that one of the reasons that J.J. Abrams' Star Trek series is so strong is because he knows how to invoke the suspension of disbelief.) The first Iron Man actually did a fairly good job at this, painting a Middle East ravaged by constant war and terrorism, when, suddenly, an engineering genius creates a robotic suit to combat both extremists and private military contractors that sell weapons to these groups on the black market.
Beyond these examples, if one is looking for genuinely good sci-fi or fantasy films, I usually refer them elsewhere. I should point out that I don't think that the Marvel cinematic universe is invariably bad, but I also don't consider it to be of the quality of Fury Road or Jurassic World this past summer. It's average, run-of-the-mill, where the number of pros are even with the cons (and perhaps even, on one of my more cynical days, the cons slightly outweigh the pros). For example, in may last review for Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials, I made an analogy between a film's use of CGI and a addict's use of heroin. Marvel's cinematic universe is the prime example of the addict sprawled out on the dirty mattress; virtually every film in every series relies on CGI so much that one might wonder whether or not one were actually watching a Pixar film, or at what points in the films there was any actual acting. Perhaps it can be argued that I am holding the Marvel movies to an unfair standard insofar as it would seem like any superhero movie will inevitably have obscene levels of CGI, simply by the nature of it being a superhero movie. However, if Chris Nolan's Dark Knight series taught us anything, it taught us two things: 1) it is possible to have a superhero film with compelling characters and equal parts action and drama, and 2) it is possible to have all of this without relying on CGI.
For the purposes of an Ant-Man review, I should perhaps focus specifically on the two Avengers films, insofar as Ant-Man is purported to be the next major player in the Avengers roster. In all honesty, I consider the two Avengers films to be among the lowest points for the Marvel Cinematic Universe. One might counter by pointing out that Age of Ultron was record-breaking, and that, at the end of its theatrical run, it became one of the highest-grossing films of 2015. However, after seeing Age of Ultron, I look at this statistic not as a testament to how good Age of Ultron actually is, but rather more as a confirmation of my suspicion that the average American movie-goer is borderline brain dead. The Avengers films are more or less what any sensible person would expect when you have a Norse god fighting alongside a guy in robot suit fighting alongside American-Flag Man against an invading alien force or an artificial intelligence gone rogue: one large clusterfuck, dripping with a fresh coat of CGI, without any semblance of depth or character. The plots of both films are tissue-thin; in the first Avengers, for example, Loki opens a portal to an invading alien force in order to try and subjugate Earth, and the Avengers have to stop him. That's it. I've tried to look at it in many other ways, for the sake of playing devil's advocate, to see if one can actually sympathize with Loki, and it turns out that one can't. It's black-and-white. And, as one can imagine, the ending is just as predictable as ever: they stop Loki. The good guys win and the bad guys lose. And Age of Ultron is a lot more of the same; a rogue artificial intelligence is bent on wiping out the human race, and the Avengers have to stop it - which they do. Unlike the first Avengers, however, Age of Ultron at least makes an attempt to try and get the viewer to sympathize with Ultron, such as when Ultron says how sick and twisted humanity is right after he is created. And this might have been an interesting twist indeed...if the film actually succeeded at doing this. In order to get us to sympathize with Ultron, one would need to witness first-hand the flaws and horrors of humanity in such a way as to think that humanity truly is a horrible thing, which the film doesn't do. Ultron simply tells us that humans are bad, he doesn't actually show us why humans are bad.
Beyond the poor plots, the fight scenes in both movies illustrate the aforementioned clusterfuck. One simply has to look at the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron as evidence; everything that was unique about the characters in their individual IPs is lost during the ending fight against Ultron. Every character can be categorized as someone that either punches stuff or shoots energy beams out of his or her face. Captain America punches stuff. Thor punches stuff. The Hulk punches stuff really hard. Iron man shoots energy beams. Even The Scarlet Witch, a character that was introduced at the beginning of the film as an Eastern European refugee with psychic powers, a potentially unique kind of antagonist for the Avengers (it was interesting to watch her manipulate the dreams and mental states of our heroes throughout the first half of the film), simply resorts to shooting energy beams by the end of the film. Indeed, I found myself wondering what exactly it was about The Scarlet Witch that made her a 'witch' (she clearly didn't have anything in common with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and I'm trying to imagine how The Blair Witch Project would have turned out if the Witch in that film was anything like The Scarlet Witch, or how closely any of the aforementioned 'witches' relate to the historical witches of the Salem Witch Trials). And let us not forget The Vision, a character that was introduced five minutes before the final fight against Ultron, who immediately just starts shooting energy beams. In short, every semblance of character is lost in the fight scenes; in Age of Ultron, I could have replaced the Avengers with Rock-em Sock-em Robots and achieved the same effect. There is no explanation as to why it has to be Captain America or why it has to be Hawkeye that fights Ultron. And this also confirms my earlier suspicion about the average American movie-goer; the fact that they keep hyping up the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron tells me that none of them actually stopped for a second and asked exactly what the fuck is going on (essentially, this .gif illustrates the ending fight scene in Age of Ultron well: http://i.imgur.com/s89eq.jpg).
Now with the appropriate context on The Avengers given, I can start to focus on Ant-Man. It is also from this point that I write having actually seen it - and I must say, I was fairly impressed. And this is actually saying something; not only have I been historically skeptical of superhero films, but I have never been a Paul Rudd fan. I have never been able to make it through five minutes of any of Rudd's previous films without either finding something else to watch or leaving the building altogether. However, Rudd's performance actually delivers in Ant-Man. Rudd plays Scott Lang, a misunderstood thief trying to rebuild his life after being released from San Quentin State Prison in the San Francisco Bay Area. He takes up some dead-end jobs to try and generate a modest income (it should be noted that Lang's interactions with both customers and co-workers at Baskin Robbins are not too far removed from what it is actually like working in the minimum wage service industry - i.e. cancerous), with the ultimate aim of re-earning the favor of his ex-wife in order to be able to see his daughter again, both of whom now live with her new fiancee, who also happens to be a seasoned cop. Meanwhile, Darren Cross, a prodigy in biological engineering, is on the verge of discovering a way to shrink a biological organism to minuscule size, a breakthrough he intends to incorporate into his Yellowjacket combat suit and sell to various contractors and organizations. However, the technology had previously been discovered and harnessed by Cross' mentor, Hank Pym (portrayed by Michael Douglas), who, after seeing the destructive and volatile potential of the technology, locked it away, refusing to share it with Cross and reveal it to the rest of the world. Upon learning that Cross is on the verge of perfecting the Yellowjacket prototype, Pym enlists the help of the struggling Lang to try and steal it. Pym introduces Lang to the Ant-Suit, a shrinking suit that Pym used for covert operations during the Cold War. Harnessing the power of the suit, and with the help of Pym, Pym's daughter, Hope, and his ex-con roommates, Lang sets out to infiltrate Cross' laboratories, destroy the Yellowjacket suit, and stop Cross.
Scott Lang/Ant-Man is distinct from other Avengers characters, due in large part to Rudd's performance. Rudd makes the character unique, gives him an individual identity, much in the same way that Downey Jr. sets Tony Stark/Iron Man apart from the other Avengers. This is to be contrasted with Chris Hemsworth's Thor and Chris Evans' Captain America, where one could simply reverse the roles and have Evans portray Thor and Hemsworth portray Captain American, and it would amount to absolutely zero difference in any of the Thor, Captain America, or Avengers films. Even on a conceptual level, Ant-Man stands out from the rest of the Avengers; there is something much more intriguing about an ex-con thief who wears an ant costume and can shrink down to minuscule size than a guy from Brooklyn wearing an American flag going around punching Nazis (the former requires at least some degree of imagination, while anyone can replicate the latter by stapling a swastika to his clothing and then proceeding to get punched in the face, which would be guaranteed to sell). Speaking of the Ant-Suit, I think praise is in order for the costume design. Despite the fact that I haven't been the biggest fan of Marvel's Cinematic Universe, one aspect of it that I always thought was extremely well done was the costume design, and Ant-Man is no exception. Perhaps this is because the Ant-Suit itself refers back to that "suspension of disbelief" I had mentioned earlier on; the suit is by no means over-the-top, and, in fact, when Lang first finds it in Pym's house, he refers to it as an old motorcycle outfit, albeit a slightly strange one. The simplicity in both its presentation as an upgraded leather motorcycle outfit, together with its equally straightforward black and red color theme, is further augmented by the fact that the helmet actually looks like an ant, also without being too over-the-top. If the designers wanted to be silly, for example, the helmet for the Ant-Suit could have been something complete with antennae and pincers which, through some bizarre process, could have molded onto Lang's head, rendering Lang as some frightful hybrid of Zorak from Space Ghost and Jeff Goldblum's Fly. Instead, the helmet for the Ant-Suit is better compared to a futuristic gas mask with a black and red color theme, still resembling an ant, but only in very subtle ways. Speaking of the "suspension of disbelief", perhaps my overall satisfaction with Ant-Man can be summarized by pointing out that, unlike some other installments of the Avengers films, Ant-Man actually succeeds in getting the viewer to suspend his or her disbelief. The idea that a genius scientist discovers a technology that can shrink biological organisms, and then incorporates that technology into a suit that only subtly looks like an ant, is not too far-fetched, or, at least, it's not as ridiculous as a guy running around wearing an American flag that throws a shield that somehow always manages to come back to him while knocking every bad guy unconscious in the process.
However, despite its strong points, Ant-Man isn't flawless. The most glaring error that Ant-Man makes is what I sometimes refer as "backstory padding". Pym and his conflict with Cross and the Yellowjacket suit were all introduced in the first 5 minutes of the film - and then this conflict isn't really addressed again until about an hour in, when the film is halfway over. Everything leading up to that point was more or less backstory on both Lang and Pym, as well as Lang training with the Ant-Suit. For example, it could be said that the first half hour of the film was kind of like a documentary on Lang's life immediately following hist release from prison; we see the kinds of jobs he takes up, how strained his relationship with his wife is, and how his daughter is the most important thing to him. At the same time, we also see how Pym struggles with his efforts to hide his shrinking technology, his rocky relationship with his daughter, and how he copes with the loss of his wife. Again, it feels as if the larger issue - Cross and the Yellowjacket suit - is just a footnote to this, something briefly mentioned in passing. And the second half hour of the film only inches us closer to dealing with the Yellowjacket prototype; one could say that the second half hour is actually just a montage of clips of Lang learning how to use the suit and how to mind-control ants, and such a summary wouldn't be too disingenuous. This error of "backstory padding" is also not new to the Avengers films; the first Captain America film is perhaps the worst perpetrator of this. The first fifteen minutes of Captain America introduces us to how Rogers undergoes the experiments that turn him into the supersoldier that he is, while the next hour or so is a montage of scenes of him punching Nazis on the various battlefields of World War II. His first confrontation with Red Skull doesn't come until much later. One might argue that such a thorough illustration of backstory is necessary in order to properly introduce the characters, and, therefore, that my criticisms of these "introductory" films on these grounds is unjust. But, interestingly, one can also point to a different Avenger's introductory film as an example of one that presented the backstory correctly. The first Iron Man film wasted no time in cutting to the chase; the movie opens up with the only really relevant scene in Tony Stark's backstory as far as the plot of the first film in concerned - the explosion in the Middle East the riddled him with shrapnel. After that, Iron Man only spent about 20 minutes providing context to this, and then, before long, the Iron Man suit is touching down in terrorist strongholds, liberating hostages. A lot more could have been done with both Captain America and Ant-Man if they didn't fall into the trap of "backstory padding", and illustrated the backstory narrative more in the fashion of Iron Man.
If I were to try and summarize my satisfaction with Ant-Man in a brief one or two sentences, there are, I think, two core things that it does well: 1) it takes an already unique concept (that of a man who can shrink down to the size of an ant) and gives it character and personality, and 2) it does a good job at understanding and manipulating the notion of the "suspension of disbelief". Despite it's slightly drawn out backstory, Ant-Man paints a picture of an ex-con who is not necessarily a bad person, just misunderstood, down on his luck, who only desires to be with his daughter again. His world is turned inside-out when a scientific genius offers him the chance to don a suit that allows him to shrink down to the size of an ant, a concept that is much more intriguing than an American supersoldier fighting Nazis in World War II, a concept that, at this point, is so overdone that one might wonder whether or not there is any imagination left in Hollywood. Speaking of scientific geniuses and advanced technology, Ant-Man also draws from good science fiction films and presents its narrative as feasible in a modern context, where we are asked to suspend our disbelief and imagine that, for just a brief moment, we were to wake up tomorrow and such a shrinking technology became the latest engineering breakthrough, and illustrates to us potential worlds in which that shrinking technology falls into the wrong hands.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Review - Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials
I have officially ventured into new territory with Maze Runner: The
Scorch Trials. This is the first movie I have actually seen in Seattle,
as well as my first review of a movie that is neither a remake nor a
reboot (Fury Road, Jurassic World, and Terminator I saw while I was
still living in California), and already it feels slightly foreign. With
Fury Road, Jurassic World, and Terminator, I had a point of comparison,
or a foundation to build off of, in the earlier installments of those
series. With Scorch Trials, I have a new and very active series that
only has one previous installment, so that leaves me with very little
ground with which to juxtapose it, other than of course its attempt at
being a well-rounded science fiction film. It also feels foreign in the
fact that I have learned the hard way that there is actually somewhere
else in the world that has more expensive movie theaters than
California.
For those that know me, going to see the Maze Runner films may seem slightly out of character; it is a series targeted towards an adolescent demographic (a la Hunger Games), which I have historically found laughable (the Harry Potter series was the big movie series of my adolescent years, and while I will admit to enjoying the books as a child, in my adolescent years, I was busy watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Legend of Drunken Master, and Event Horizon while my peers were watching the Harry Potter films). Accordingly, it might be useful to note that my interest in the Maze Runner series more or less came about by sheer accident; there is a cheap, $2 movie theater near where I used to live in Southern California that screens movies right after their normal screening release in other theaters, for those that either missed the normal screening or for those that didn't feel like paying the $11 to go see a movie in California (apparently it's $13 in Seattle). This theater was one of my go-to movie theaters at the time, since this was back when I was still a barista and $11 was very precious (that's almost two burritos in San Diego, a city in a state where gas prices have hovered between $3.50 and $4.75 for the past three years). Earlier this year, sometime in February or March, I had a nice, long three day weekend, and all of my friends were either out of town or preoccupied with other matters, not to mention the fact that it had been a while since I had been to a movie. I looked at what was playing at the $2 theater at the time and found this movie called The Maze Runner, which I had never even heard of before. It's synopsis was the most interesting when compared to all of the other movies being screened at the time, so I said "what the hell" and spent an afternoon at the movies. Then it was about halfway through the movie that I realized who the target demographic was. Despite this, I actually found the first Maze Runner rather enjoyable, enough so that it piqued my interest in the film series so that I felt inclined to go see this second installment.
The Maze Runner films are based on a young-adult sci-fi book series by James Dashner. Admittedly, I had never even heard of the book series before going to see the first movie (likely because I'm a little out of the age group for it; this is a very recent series). It was the synopsis of the first movie I read online that got me going to see the first one. In The Maze Runner, a group of adolescent males (interestingly later joined by one female) are mysteriously trapped in a small, lush oasis known as "The Glade", which is surrounded on all sides by a towering, complex monolith of a maze, with no memory or recollection of who they are or how they got there. Occasionally, some of the walls in the maze open up, allowing the boys to explore the inner corridors of the maze, perhaps finding new supplies or a way out. This is notably a dangerous endeavor, however, as the maze is crawling with giant, murderous, cybernetic insects known as "Grievers". The film starts with protagonist Thomas joining our group of scouts in The Glade, of course with no memory of who he is. However, apparently Thomas is the only one in the world with the cunning and leadership skills necessary to help the group escape from The Glade, as he eventually motivates the group (including the eventual female member, Theresa) to venture out into the maze and unravel the mystery of who they are and what they are doing there. It turns out, somewhat unsurprisingly, that the world outside the maze has been devastated by a deadly virus, known as "The Flare", that has driven the world's population mad and towards the brink of extinction, with only a handful of survivors and Earth's landscape left in a desolate, chaotic state known as "The Scorch" (take a wild guess as to where The Scorch Trials takes place). Thomas and his fellow Gladers are actually a new generation of youth that are apparently immune to The Flare, so they were captured by a mysterious, antagonistic organization called W.C.K.D., had their memories erased, and thrown into The Glade to study the inner psychological and neurological workings of their brains in order to try and find a cure for The Flare. The Maze Runner ends with Thomas and crew escaping the maze, the higher-ups at W.C.K.D. being killed off by a different, unnamed organization, and our heroes evacuating with said group into the desolation that is The Scorch. Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials picks up literally right where The Maze Runner left off, with Thomas waking up in the same helicopter he passed out in at the end of the first film.
There are a few things that should perhaps be said about the first film before diving into The Scorch Trials. While it didn't do anything groundbreaking, The Maze Runner was a nice reprieve from the non-stop action, reboot mess that is the current state of science fiction and fantasy films in Hollywood. One simply has to look at Age of Ultron to see that sci-fi films have become like drug addicts; if CGI were a narcotic, and intellectual properties were users, then we would find many of today's sci-fi IPs sprawled out on a dirty mattress in a boarded up house with used needles strewn about the floor. The Maze Runner, in contrast, paces itself, and, instead of taking the Michael Bay approach to science fiction (explosions left and right), it seems as if it is trying to do justice to its literary origins (I say "seem" mostly because I haven't actually read the books).
There is something very Lord of the Flies about The Maze Runner; as the film progresses, one can document various points where there are almost inevitable power struggles between the boys, particularly after the arrival of Thomas in The Glade. Factions slowly develop, with some taking the side of Thomas in that they think they should try to escape the maze, and others taking the side of Gally, another one of the boys in The Glade, one of the secondary antagonists in the film, who thinks that they should stay. On that note, there is an important question that The Maze Runner asks that a lot of the events and relationships in the film center around: is it better to stay in The Glade, where they know they're safe, but perhaps imprisoned, or try and leave The Glade, where things may be dangerous and uncertain, but also liberating? The spirit behind this question perhaps motivates the phrase "ignorance is bliss"; Gally certainly would rather live in ignorance and security, while Thomas desires to uncover the Truth, with whatever hazards that may bring. Asking this question ultimately earns the film my favor; while this question is not anything new or unheard of, it's one that hasn't been asked in a long time, and the fact that The Maze Runner even asks question at all is already more a claim to success than Terminator Genisys ever had. There were a couple interesting points in The Maze Runner that could have developed into interesting questions, but didn't, for a handful of reasons (i.e. when Theresa, a young, attractive female is suddenly dropped into a camp of adolescent males - a lot of things could have developed here, but those questions might have been too mature for an audience of American adolescents, and likely would have gone way over their heads). Despite this, the first Maze Runner film earned my favor, enough that, when I heard that a second one was being release this past weekend, I thought it would make a good topic for my next review.
And thus we have arrived at The Scorch Trials. Those who are skilled in identifying the subtle nuances between different science fiction sub-genres will notice a pretty distinct shift of tone between The Scorch Trials and the first film. Where The Maze Runner had a distinct dystopian feel to it, examining a group of adolescent males trying to create a functioning society complete with social strata (again, like Lord of the Flies) while a larger faceless entity watched from a kind of "God perspective" above (think 1984), The Scorch Trials seems to abandon that framework, preferring to instead take the approach of something much more dire and apocalyptic, with vast forsaken wastelands (think Cormac McCarthy's The Road or the Fallout series of games), sprinkled here and there with the ruins of dilapidated cities and the small settlements of those who have managed to dodge both the spread of the Flare and the capture of W.C.K.D (a la The Book of Eli), as well as the crazed demi-zombies of those who have been infected with The Flare and now terrorize The Scorch (a la I am Legend). The Scorch Trials literally picks up right where The Maze Runner left off, so much so that one could probably cut out the credits of the first film and tape the two reels together with a piece of scotch tape and someone who didn't know better might actually think it was all one long film. Thomas wakes up in the helicopter that rescued our group of protagonists at the end of the first film, which takes them to a new, high security facility in The Scorch, where they encounter the survivors of other mazes. Having supposedly escaped the trap of W.C.K.D., the new facility, which promises to keep them secure and eventually take them to a new kind of "paradise", however, seems too good to be true, and Thomas immediately becomes suspicious when Aris, an interesting, slightly creepy boy from a maze full of women (much like Theresa was for Thomas' group) helps him sneak around the complex one night soon after they arrive (one well versed in Greek myth might think of the Amazons when learning about Aris' maze, but instead of Aris filling the role of Hercules completing one of his Labors, perhaps it would be more accurate to portray him as Paris earning the affection of Greek and Trojan women alike). As Fate would have it (and not surprisingly), it turns out this new facility is actually W.C.K.D. in disguise, and the man that runs the place, Janson, is actually under the direct command of Ava Paige, one of the higher ups at W.C.K.D. that was supposedly killed off at the end of the first film. Thomas and Aris quickly learn that this "paradise" that Janson is taking the maze survivors to is actually some kind of chemically induced coma, allowing W.C.K.D.'s scientists to harvest the relevant enzymes from their brains which may allow them to produce a cure for The Flare. It doesn't take long for our group of protagonists to orchestrate their escape, dodging W.C.K.D. security forces and bolting out the front gate into the chaos of The Scorch, where they encounter smugglers, rebel groups, old technology, and, of course, the crazies infected by The Flare.
Like its predecessor, The Scorch Trials asks some very important questions. I found that the events of the film center around two questions in particular: 1) "Does the end ever justify the means?" and, in keeping in the spirit of the first film, 2) "Can ignorance really be bliss?" It's unfortunate that, also like its predecessor, The Scorch Trials merely presents the questions without ever really offering to answer them, and, on the few occasions that it does hint at an answer, it is usually the cliched view of the protagonists that we are just expected to accept at face value. (1) highlights the dilemma that W.C.K.D. presents for Thomas and crew. I think the spirit of the question is best equated to the utilitarian dilemma of the person that can save the crew of only one of two sinking ships; on the first ship is only a small handful of individuals composed of the person's friends, while on the second ship is a much larger group of complete strangers. More accurately, the aim of the question can also be captured by pointing to the dilemma of a scientist that has the opportunity to discover the cure for cancer, but in the process has to test the cure on live human subjects with potentially adverse and painful effects that may kill them. And such is the case with W.C.K.D.; it is the aim of Paige and W.C.K.D. that they uncover the cure for The Flare, and they seem to be on the right track. The unfortunate thing for our protagonists, however, is that "being on the right track" involves subjecting those that are immune to the disease to the deadly trials of the mazes, in order to cultivate the appropriate proteins and enzymes in their brains so that they can be harvested later. Accordingly, insofar as W.C.K.D.'s situation parallels the generic utilitarian dilemma above, one could try to evaluate W.C.K.D.'s position using the standard approaches given to the above dilemma. The common resolution, and the one that self-assumed righteous individuals are quick to take up, is that the larger crew of the second sinking ship (the complete strangers) should be the one that should be saved "for the greater good". On this view, the end of "saving a larger group of people" justifies the means of "sacrificing one's friends". Applying this approach to W.C.K.D.'s situation, then it would seem that W.C.K.D. is actually justified in its approach; the end of "finding a cure for The Flare" justifies the means of "sacrificing the maze survivors". If this is the most common approach (and seemingly the most intuitive), one is then left to wonder why W.C.K.D. are just unconditionally presented as the bad guys in the film? Alas, it is here that I think The Scorch Trials misses a great opportunity; instead of really entertaining the idea that "maybe W.C.K.D. has a point", the film doesn't engage the idea, nor even appear to consider it. Imagine how different, and perhaps more interesting, the movie would be if W.C.K.D. were actually presented as the protagonists of the film, and Thomas and crew, the antagonists. Or, on the other hand, if one would move to reject the common utilitarian resolution to the dilemma, and argue that one is perfectly justified in letting the larger group of survivors drown in favor of saving one's friends, which is fine, then at least engage the idea and explain why it is a bad idea, and why any alternative would be a better option, neither of which Thomas, or anybody else for that matter, seems to do. A lot of the other characters just blindly follow Thomas, no questions asked, and I imagine that many movie-goers just take it for granted that Thomas is a smart, confident, young kid, when, with a little bit of reflection and contemplation, one could potentially make the case that Thomas is a complete moron.
Before addressing question (2), there is one last thing that can be said about (1) and the situations described in the above paragraph. Towards the end of The Scorch Trials, Theresa, the single female in Thomas' merry band of protagonists, actually sells out the location of the group to W.C.K.D., telling Thomas that it's better that W.C.K.D. find a cure, resulting in a violent, fiery raid by W.C.K.D. forces on a resistance group. One might look at this scene as a kind of counter-example to my above point that the film doesn't actually consider any alternative to Thomas' view. However, this conclusion would be too hastily drawn, and, again after a little bit of reflection, one would realize that Theresa doesn't really do that by the end of the movie. Theresa simply converts herself from protagonist to antagonist, and the effect that such a scene has the audience is that they simply start hating Theresa and sympathize even more with Thomas. In other words, in order for The Scorch Trials to really provide a counter-example to my above claims, we would need to see a real conflict of ideas, where the pros and cons of each are given equal consideration. As I think the above thought experiments illustrate, the morality surrounding the proposed solutions to these dilemmas is not clear-cut black and white. However, The Scorch Trials presents us with the red herring that the solutions to these dilemmas are supposed to be clear-cut. Instead of Theresa representing an alternative point of view that engages Thomas in discussion (either figuratively or literally), she simply converts herself into yet another hurdle for Thomas and crew to overcome. In short, she is not an adequate representation of an alternative point of view, but rather more of an emotion-jerker for the audience.
(2) is actually a question that gets recycled from the first film. I mentioned that Gally was an antagonistic force for Thomas in The Maze Runner, preferring to stay in the safety and security in The Glade than venture out into the unknown of the maze and The Scorch. But much like (1), the audience is lead to think that those that actually entertain this point are crazy, as opposed to considering the prospect that, perhaps, it would be better to live in the sheltered, secluded oases that are The Glade or W.C.K.D.'s facility as opposed to endure the harshness of The Scorch. This conflict of ideas is readily apparent if one were to question what exactly it was that Thomas and crew actually achieved by escaping The Glade at the end of the first film, or by eluding capture by W.C.K.D. in The Scorch Trials. In fact, one might even wonder exactly what it is that Thomas is even hoping to achieve. W.C.K.D., for all intents and purposes, wants to find a cure for a disease that threatens to wipe out the human race, while it's not entirely clear what Thomas is doing. (One might argue that Thomas is simply concerned with his own self-preservation, and that self-preservation, in and of itself, is a sufficient impetus for action, a view I would be happy to endorse if I thought that it were applicable in this case. Thomas is presented as the apotheosis of righteousness in the films - selfless, compassionate, and brave. Thomas' character seems wholly at odds with one who is motivated by his or her own self-interest or self-perservation, thus it would seem slightly misplaced to try and argue that Thomas' motivation in the films is simply his own self-preservation where his character is meant to be otherwise). In this case, Gally's perspective at the end of the first film might have some merit to it; The Glade, while isolated from whatever possibilities and blessings that the rest of the world may present, is also safe from the world's horrors. Thomas, on the other hand, offers nothing but uncertainty and action without forethought. Don't get me wrong; I vehemently reject the idea that "ignorance is bliss", and much more favor the notion that, to truly find Paradise, one has to endure trials and uncertainty and ultimately find Truth, however pleasant or miserable it may be. The difference is that Thomas never actually makes this argument; it's just assumed from the outset of both films that Gally and Paige are wrong, which would be fine for the movie to portray if it actually made the case for Thomas' view, which it didn't. Both films seem to have Thomas and crew simply running in random directions, sometimes with particular destinations in mind, but without any kind of larger goal or aim.
The tension between these two ideas surrounding (2) can be brought out even more if we put it in the context of Philosophy's famous "Sense Machine" thought experiment. This idea was alluded to very, very briefly towards the beginning of The Scorch Trials when Thomas and Aris found that the "paradise" that Jansen was leading the maze survivors to was actually a chemically induced coma. In general philosophical discussion, the "Sense Machine" scenario can be paraphrased as something like the following: suppose that, one day when you wake up, you are greeted by a scientist that offers you the opportunity to experience any sensation you so desire. This sensation can be anything, from feeling a cool summer breeze brush against your skin, to a visually stunning theater performance on Broadway, to having the greatest orgasm ever in a medieval harem. And every detail will be present; this sensation will feel exactly like the real thing in every way, so much so that one wouldn't be able to tell the difference between this sensation and any other experience of the exact same thing. And, even better, this scientist will be able to perpetually replicate this sensation, or other sensations of equal pleasure, and offers you the opportunity to experience them constantly, thus allowing one to forever revel in ecstasy and bliss. However, there is a catch: these sensations aren't technically real. In fact, in order to constantly experience them, one would have to be perpetually fixed to some kind of virtual reality machine, which feeds his or her brain the appropriate neural stimuli as to replicate the sensation in every detail. Not the "real thing" per se, but, from the perspective of sensation, one would not be able to tell the difference. The question that is then posed to participants in this thought experiment is a simple one: Would you do it? Would you enter the Sense Machine? Gally would, judging by his perspective in the first film, and both Paige and Theresa don't seem to think that it's such a bad thing to harvest the proteins from a maze survivor as long as he or she is being properly stimulated in his or her coma. The argument can then be made that it is a win/win situation for Paige and the maze survivors; Paige gets the cure for The Flare while the survivors are comatose, but the survivors don't even realize it because their brains are being given pleasant sensations.
But, alas, like the alternative solutions to (1), this idea is never really entertained in The Scorch Trials. We are supposed to assume that morality in The Scorch Trials is as clear cut is as Thomas makes it out to be, nor is there ever any W.C.K.D. sympathizer present to make their case. If Jansen or Paige ever really stopped and asked Thomas why a life out in The Scorch is in any way better than a life in an artificial paradise, then the film would be getting at something fundamentally important. However, the film merely hints at the question, and doesn't really actually engage it. What would have been even more provocative would have been to have the case made in favor of W.C.K.D.'s artificial paradise, while Thomas' perspective is left unsupported. A moral 360 such as this would undoubtedly turn several heads, and, within the context of the larger "Sense Machine" thought experiment, it might have really motivated people to stop and actually try to explain why being hooked up to the Sense Machine is truly a bad thing, a feat that many will find, I think, painfully daunting. I am more than willing to support one who at least makes an attempt to explain why the Sense Machine is a bad thing, but, at least when it comes to the Maze Runner series, such a dissenter is absent.
It may seem as if I am being slightly more critical of The Scorch Trials than I am lauding it. However, despite this, I cannot end this review without giving The Scorch Trials a recommendation. The previous paragraphs highlight the ways in which The Scorch Trials can be improved, but it would do the film a disservice to not underline the things that it does well. As mentioned, The Scorch Trials asks some very important questions, and although these questions are predictable, almost to the point of being cliche, the fact that it asks questions at all already sets it a cut above other recent science fiction films. Couple this with the fact that, also unlike many recent science fiction films, The Scorch Trials isn't so reliant on CGI to achieve its effects, nor is it the most action-heavy sci-fi film of the summer, then you have something that serves as a nice reprieve from a lot of other sci-fi films of the year, even if it just mediocre at doing so. The end of The Scorch Trials, right after W.C.K.D. raids the resistance group and recaptures a large portion of the maze survivors, including one of Thomas' merry band, hints heavily at a third film where our protagonists turn the tables and, instead of running from W.C.K.D., they attack W.C.K.D. head-on. Assuming that this third installment of the Maze Runner series is released at all, and that I am still doing movie reviews at that time, I can already forecast a point that I will hold it responsible for: we will yet again see the very same conflict of ideas described above, whether the characters in the film realize it or not. But, unlike these first two films where the conflict was most evident in relationships among the characters, this future third Maze Runner film will illustrate the conflict by means of violence and armed struggle. And, quite honestly, this is where the series has an opportunity to shine; a person's values can be made most evident in violent struggle, and, if the series really wants to illustrate the above conflict of ideas in the way that I suggested, where it actually makes the case for at least one of them, then the best time to do it would be against a backdrop of armed conflict, where each combatant expresses his or her understanding of what he or she is doing and why. Whether or not it actually will do this, well, we will just have to wait and see.
For those that know me, going to see the Maze Runner films may seem slightly out of character; it is a series targeted towards an adolescent demographic (a la Hunger Games), which I have historically found laughable (the Harry Potter series was the big movie series of my adolescent years, and while I will admit to enjoying the books as a child, in my adolescent years, I was busy watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Legend of Drunken Master, and Event Horizon while my peers were watching the Harry Potter films). Accordingly, it might be useful to note that my interest in the Maze Runner series more or less came about by sheer accident; there is a cheap, $2 movie theater near where I used to live in Southern California that screens movies right after their normal screening release in other theaters, for those that either missed the normal screening or for those that didn't feel like paying the $11 to go see a movie in California (apparently it's $13 in Seattle). This theater was one of my go-to movie theaters at the time, since this was back when I was still a barista and $11 was very precious (that's almost two burritos in San Diego, a city in a state where gas prices have hovered between $3.50 and $4.75 for the past three years). Earlier this year, sometime in February or March, I had a nice, long three day weekend, and all of my friends were either out of town or preoccupied with other matters, not to mention the fact that it had been a while since I had been to a movie. I looked at what was playing at the $2 theater at the time and found this movie called The Maze Runner, which I had never even heard of before. It's synopsis was the most interesting when compared to all of the other movies being screened at the time, so I said "what the hell" and spent an afternoon at the movies. Then it was about halfway through the movie that I realized who the target demographic was. Despite this, I actually found the first Maze Runner rather enjoyable, enough so that it piqued my interest in the film series so that I felt inclined to go see this second installment.
The Maze Runner films are based on a young-adult sci-fi book series by James Dashner. Admittedly, I had never even heard of the book series before going to see the first movie (likely because I'm a little out of the age group for it; this is a very recent series). It was the synopsis of the first movie I read online that got me going to see the first one. In The Maze Runner, a group of adolescent males (interestingly later joined by one female) are mysteriously trapped in a small, lush oasis known as "The Glade", which is surrounded on all sides by a towering, complex monolith of a maze, with no memory or recollection of who they are or how they got there. Occasionally, some of the walls in the maze open up, allowing the boys to explore the inner corridors of the maze, perhaps finding new supplies or a way out. This is notably a dangerous endeavor, however, as the maze is crawling with giant, murderous, cybernetic insects known as "Grievers". The film starts with protagonist Thomas joining our group of scouts in The Glade, of course with no memory of who he is. However, apparently Thomas is the only one in the world with the cunning and leadership skills necessary to help the group escape from The Glade, as he eventually motivates the group (including the eventual female member, Theresa) to venture out into the maze and unravel the mystery of who they are and what they are doing there. It turns out, somewhat unsurprisingly, that the world outside the maze has been devastated by a deadly virus, known as "The Flare", that has driven the world's population mad and towards the brink of extinction, with only a handful of survivors and Earth's landscape left in a desolate, chaotic state known as "The Scorch" (take a wild guess as to where The Scorch Trials takes place). Thomas and his fellow Gladers are actually a new generation of youth that are apparently immune to The Flare, so they were captured by a mysterious, antagonistic organization called W.C.K.D., had their memories erased, and thrown into The Glade to study the inner psychological and neurological workings of their brains in order to try and find a cure for The Flare. The Maze Runner ends with Thomas and crew escaping the maze, the higher-ups at W.C.K.D. being killed off by a different, unnamed organization, and our heroes evacuating with said group into the desolation that is The Scorch. Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials picks up literally right where The Maze Runner left off, with Thomas waking up in the same helicopter he passed out in at the end of the first film.
There are a few things that should perhaps be said about the first film before diving into The Scorch Trials. While it didn't do anything groundbreaking, The Maze Runner was a nice reprieve from the non-stop action, reboot mess that is the current state of science fiction and fantasy films in Hollywood. One simply has to look at Age of Ultron to see that sci-fi films have become like drug addicts; if CGI were a narcotic, and intellectual properties were users, then we would find many of today's sci-fi IPs sprawled out on a dirty mattress in a boarded up house with used needles strewn about the floor. The Maze Runner, in contrast, paces itself, and, instead of taking the Michael Bay approach to science fiction (explosions left and right), it seems as if it is trying to do justice to its literary origins (I say "seem" mostly because I haven't actually read the books).
There is something very Lord of the Flies about The Maze Runner; as the film progresses, one can document various points where there are almost inevitable power struggles between the boys, particularly after the arrival of Thomas in The Glade. Factions slowly develop, with some taking the side of Thomas in that they think they should try to escape the maze, and others taking the side of Gally, another one of the boys in The Glade, one of the secondary antagonists in the film, who thinks that they should stay. On that note, there is an important question that The Maze Runner asks that a lot of the events and relationships in the film center around: is it better to stay in The Glade, where they know they're safe, but perhaps imprisoned, or try and leave The Glade, where things may be dangerous and uncertain, but also liberating? The spirit behind this question perhaps motivates the phrase "ignorance is bliss"; Gally certainly would rather live in ignorance and security, while Thomas desires to uncover the Truth, with whatever hazards that may bring. Asking this question ultimately earns the film my favor; while this question is not anything new or unheard of, it's one that hasn't been asked in a long time, and the fact that The Maze Runner even asks question at all is already more a claim to success than Terminator Genisys ever had. There were a couple interesting points in The Maze Runner that could have developed into interesting questions, but didn't, for a handful of reasons (i.e. when Theresa, a young, attractive female is suddenly dropped into a camp of adolescent males - a lot of things could have developed here, but those questions might have been too mature for an audience of American adolescents, and likely would have gone way over their heads). Despite this, the first Maze Runner film earned my favor, enough that, when I heard that a second one was being release this past weekend, I thought it would make a good topic for my next review.
And thus we have arrived at The Scorch Trials. Those who are skilled in identifying the subtle nuances between different science fiction sub-genres will notice a pretty distinct shift of tone between The Scorch Trials and the first film. Where The Maze Runner had a distinct dystopian feel to it, examining a group of adolescent males trying to create a functioning society complete with social strata (again, like Lord of the Flies) while a larger faceless entity watched from a kind of "God perspective" above (think 1984), The Scorch Trials seems to abandon that framework, preferring to instead take the approach of something much more dire and apocalyptic, with vast forsaken wastelands (think Cormac McCarthy's The Road or the Fallout series of games), sprinkled here and there with the ruins of dilapidated cities and the small settlements of those who have managed to dodge both the spread of the Flare and the capture of W.C.K.D (a la The Book of Eli), as well as the crazed demi-zombies of those who have been infected with The Flare and now terrorize The Scorch (a la I am Legend). The Scorch Trials literally picks up right where The Maze Runner left off, so much so that one could probably cut out the credits of the first film and tape the two reels together with a piece of scotch tape and someone who didn't know better might actually think it was all one long film. Thomas wakes up in the helicopter that rescued our group of protagonists at the end of the first film, which takes them to a new, high security facility in The Scorch, where they encounter the survivors of other mazes. Having supposedly escaped the trap of W.C.K.D., the new facility, which promises to keep them secure and eventually take them to a new kind of "paradise", however, seems too good to be true, and Thomas immediately becomes suspicious when Aris, an interesting, slightly creepy boy from a maze full of women (much like Theresa was for Thomas' group) helps him sneak around the complex one night soon after they arrive (one well versed in Greek myth might think of the Amazons when learning about Aris' maze, but instead of Aris filling the role of Hercules completing one of his Labors, perhaps it would be more accurate to portray him as Paris earning the affection of Greek and Trojan women alike). As Fate would have it (and not surprisingly), it turns out this new facility is actually W.C.K.D. in disguise, and the man that runs the place, Janson, is actually under the direct command of Ava Paige, one of the higher ups at W.C.K.D. that was supposedly killed off at the end of the first film. Thomas and Aris quickly learn that this "paradise" that Janson is taking the maze survivors to is actually some kind of chemically induced coma, allowing W.C.K.D.'s scientists to harvest the relevant enzymes from their brains which may allow them to produce a cure for The Flare. It doesn't take long for our group of protagonists to orchestrate their escape, dodging W.C.K.D. security forces and bolting out the front gate into the chaos of The Scorch, where they encounter smugglers, rebel groups, old technology, and, of course, the crazies infected by The Flare.
Like its predecessor, The Scorch Trials asks some very important questions. I found that the events of the film center around two questions in particular: 1) "Does the end ever justify the means?" and, in keeping in the spirit of the first film, 2) "Can ignorance really be bliss?" It's unfortunate that, also like its predecessor, The Scorch Trials merely presents the questions without ever really offering to answer them, and, on the few occasions that it does hint at an answer, it is usually the cliched view of the protagonists that we are just expected to accept at face value. (1) highlights the dilemma that W.C.K.D. presents for Thomas and crew. I think the spirit of the question is best equated to the utilitarian dilemma of the person that can save the crew of only one of two sinking ships; on the first ship is only a small handful of individuals composed of the person's friends, while on the second ship is a much larger group of complete strangers. More accurately, the aim of the question can also be captured by pointing to the dilemma of a scientist that has the opportunity to discover the cure for cancer, but in the process has to test the cure on live human subjects with potentially adverse and painful effects that may kill them. And such is the case with W.C.K.D.; it is the aim of Paige and W.C.K.D. that they uncover the cure for The Flare, and they seem to be on the right track. The unfortunate thing for our protagonists, however, is that "being on the right track" involves subjecting those that are immune to the disease to the deadly trials of the mazes, in order to cultivate the appropriate proteins and enzymes in their brains so that they can be harvested later. Accordingly, insofar as W.C.K.D.'s situation parallels the generic utilitarian dilemma above, one could try to evaluate W.C.K.D.'s position using the standard approaches given to the above dilemma. The common resolution, and the one that self-assumed righteous individuals are quick to take up, is that the larger crew of the second sinking ship (the complete strangers) should be the one that should be saved "for the greater good". On this view, the end of "saving a larger group of people" justifies the means of "sacrificing one's friends". Applying this approach to W.C.K.D.'s situation, then it would seem that W.C.K.D. is actually justified in its approach; the end of "finding a cure for The Flare" justifies the means of "sacrificing the maze survivors". If this is the most common approach (and seemingly the most intuitive), one is then left to wonder why W.C.K.D. are just unconditionally presented as the bad guys in the film? Alas, it is here that I think The Scorch Trials misses a great opportunity; instead of really entertaining the idea that "maybe W.C.K.D. has a point", the film doesn't engage the idea, nor even appear to consider it. Imagine how different, and perhaps more interesting, the movie would be if W.C.K.D. were actually presented as the protagonists of the film, and Thomas and crew, the antagonists. Or, on the other hand, if one would move to reject the common utilitarian resolution to the dilemma, and argue that one is perfectly justified in letting the larger group of survivors drown in favor of saving one's friends, which is fine, then at least engage the idea and explain why it is a bad idea, and why any alternative would be a better option, neither of which Thomas, or anybody else for that matter, seems to do. A lot of the other characters just blindly follow Thomas, no questions asked, and I imagine that many movie-goers just take it for granted that Thomas is a smart, confident, young kid, when, with a little bit of reflection and contemplation, one could potentially make the case that Thomas is a complete moron.
Before addressing question (2), there is one last thing that can be said about (1) and the situations described in the above paragraph. Towards the end of The Scorch Trials, Theresa, the single female in Thomas' merry band of protagonists, actually sells out the location of the group to W.C.K.D., telling Thomas that it's better that W.C.K.D. find a cure, resulting in a violent, fiery raid by W.C.K.D. forces on a resistance group. One might look at this scene as a kind of counter-example to my above point that the film doesn't actually consider any alternative to Thomas' view. However, this conclusion would be too hastily drawn, and, again after a little bit of reflection, one would realize that Theresa doesn't really do that by the end of the movie. Theresa simply converts herself from protagonist to antagonist, and the effect that such a scene has the audience is that they simply start hating Theresa and sympathize even more with Thomas. In other words, in order for The Scorch Trials to really provide a counter-example to my above claims, we would need to see a real conflict of ideas, where the pros and cons of each are given equal consideration. As I think the above thought experiments illustrate, the morality surrounding the proposed solutions to these dilemmas is not clear-cut black and white. However, The Scorch Trials presents us with the red herring that the solutions to these dilemmas are supposed to be clear-cut. Instead of Theresa representing an alternative point of view that engages Thomas in discussion (either figuratively or literally), she simply converts herself into yet another hurdle for Thomas and crew to overcome. In short, she is not an adequate representation of an alternative point of view, but rather more of an emotion-jerker for the audience.
(2) is actually a question that gets recycled from the first film. I mentioned that Gally was an antagonistic force for Thomas in The Maze Runner, preferring to stay in the safety and security in The Glade than venture out into the unknown of the maze and The Scorch. But much like (1), the audience is lead to think that those that actually entertain this point are crazy, as opposed to considering the prospect that, perhaps, it would be better to live in the sheltered, secluded oases that are The Glade or W.C.K.D.'s facility as opposed to endure the harshness of The Scorch. This conflict of ideas is readily apparent if one were to question what exactly it was that Thomas and crew actually achieved by escaping The Glade at the end of the first film, or by eluding capture by W.C.K.D. in The Scorch Trials. In fact, one might even wonder exactly what it is that Thomas is even hoping to achieve. W.C.K.D., for all intents and purposes, wants to find a cure for a disease that threatens to wipe out the human race, while it's not entirely clear what Thomas is doing. (One might argue that Thomas is simply concerned with his own self-preservation, and that self-preservation, in and of itself, is a sufficient impetus for action, a view I would be happy to endorse if I thought that it were applicable in this case. Thomas is presented as the apotheosis of righteousness in the films - selfless, compassionate, and brave. Thomas' character seems wholly at odds with one who is motivated by his or her own self-interest or self-perservation, thus it would seem slightly misplaced to try and argue that Thomas' motivation in the films is simply his own self-preservation where his character is meant to be otherwise). In this case, Gally's perspective at the end of the first film might have some merit to it; The Glade, while isolated from whatever possibilities and blessings that the rest of the world may present, is also safe from the world's horrors. Thomas, on the other hand, offers nothing but uncertainty and action without forethought. Don't get me wrong; I vehemently reject the idea that "ignorance is bliss", and much more favor the notion that, to truly find Paradise, one has to endure trials and uncertainty and ultimately find Truth, however pleasant or miserable it may be. The difference is that Thomas never actually makes this argument; it's just assumed from the outset of both films that Gally and Paige are wrong, which would be fine for the movie to portray if it actually made the case for Thomas' view, which it didn't. Both films seem to have Thomas and crew simply running in random directions, sometimes with particular destinations in mind, but without any kind of larger goal or aim.
The tension between these two ideas surrounding (2) can be brought out even more if we put it in the context of Philosophy's famous "Sense Machine" thought experiment. This idea was alluded to very, very briefly towards the beginning of The Scorch Trials when Thomas and Aris found that the "paradise" that Jansen was leading the maze survivors to was actually a chemically induced coma. In general philosophical discussion, the "Sense Machine" scenario can be paraphrased as something like the following: suppose that, one day when you wake up, you are greeted by a scientist that offers you the opportunity to experience any sensation you so desire. This sensation can be anything, from feeling a cool summer breeze brush against your skin, to a visually stunning theater performance on Broadway, to having the greatest orgasm ever in a medieval harem. And every detail will be present; this sensation will feel exactly like the real thing in every way, so much so that one wouldn't be able to tell the difference between this sensation and any other experience of the exact same thing. And, even better, this scientist will be able to perpetually replicate this sensation, or other sensations of equal pleasure, and offers you the opportunity to experience them constantly, thus allowing one to forever revel in ecstasy and bliss. However, there is a catch: these sensations aren't technically real. In fact, in order to constantly experience them, one would have to be perpetually fixed to some kind of virtual reality machine, which feeds his or her brain the appropriate neural stimuli as to replicate the sensation in every detail. Not the "real thing" per se, but, from the perspective of sensation, one would not be able to tell the difference. The question that is then posed to participants in this thought experiment is a simple one: Would you do it? Would you enter the Sense Machine? Gally would, judging by his perspective in the first film, and both Paige and Theresa don't seem to think that it's such a bad thing to harvest the proteins from a maze survivor as long as he or she is being properly stimulated in his or her coma. The argument can then be made that it is a win/win situation for Paige and the maze survivors; Paige gets the cure for The Flare while the survivors are comatose, but the survivors don't even realize it because their brains are being given pleasant sensations.
But, alas, like the alternative solutions to (1), this idea is never really entertained in The Scorch Trials. We are supposed to assume that morality in The Scorch Trials is as clear cut is as Thomas makes it out to be, nor is there ever any W.C.K.D. sympathizer present to make their case. If Jansen or Paige ever really stopped and asked Thomas why a life out in The Scorch is in any way better than a life in an artificial paradise, then the film would be getting at something fundamentally important. However, the film merely hints at the question, and doesn't really actually engage it. What would have been even more provocative would have been to have the case made in favor of W.C.K.D.'s artificial paradise, while Thomas' perspective is left unsupported. A moral 360 such as this would undoubtedly turn several heads, and, within the context of the larger "Sense Machine" thought experiment, it might have really motivated people to stop and actually try to explain why being hooked up to the Sense Machine is truly a bad thing, a feat that many will find, I think, painfully daunting. I am more than willing to support one who at least makes an attempt to explain why the Sense Machine is a bad thing, but, at least when it comes to the Maze Runner series, such a dissenter is absent.
It may seem as if I am being slightly more critical of The Scorch Trials than I am lauding it. However, despite this, I cannot end this review without giving The Scorch Trials a recommendation. The previous paragraphs highlight the ways in which The Scorch Trials can be improved, but it would do the film a disservice to not underline the things that it does well. As mentioned, The Scorch Trials asks some very important questions, and although these questions are predictable, almost to the point of being cliche, the fact that it asks questions at all already sets it a cut above other recent science fiction films. Couple this with the fact that, also unlike many recent science fiction films, The Scorch Trials isn't so reliant on CGI to achieve its effects, nor is it the most action-heavy sci-fi film of the summer, then you have something that serves as a nice reprieve from a lot of other sci-fi films of the year, even if it just mediocre at doing so. The end of The Scorch Trials, right after W.C.K.D. raids the resistance group and recaptures a large portion of the maze survivors, including one of Thomas' merry band, hints heavily at a third film where our protagonists turn the tables and, instead of running from W.C.K.D., they attack W.C.K.D. head-on. Assuming that this third installment of the Maze Runner series is released at all, and that I am still doing movie reviews at that time, I can already forecast a point that I will hold it responsible for: we will yet again see the very same conflict of ideas described above, whether the characters in the film realize it or not. But, unlike these first two films where the conflict was most evident in relationships among the characters, this future third Maze Runner film will illustrate the conflict by means of violence and armed struggle. And, quite honestly, this is where the series has an opportunity to shine; a person's values can be made most evident in violent struggle, and, if the series really wants to illustrate the above conflict of ideas in the way that I suggested, where it actually makes the case for at least one of them, then the best time to do it would be against a backdrop of armed conflict, where each combatant expresses his or her understanding of what he or she is doing and why. Whether or not it actually will do this, well, we will just have to wait and see.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
A New Defense of the Liberal Arts
It is a new month and I think it is about time for me to add to the
"Philosophy/Journalism" category, especially since my last few entries
have all been film reviews. I have gone through this past weekend
silently debating with myself what exactly the topic should be.
Initially, as a follow up to my Jurassic World review, and because this
issue has coincidentally been shoved into my attention lately by various
articles I have seen on the Internet, I was inclined to write a piece
in defense of the antics of a certain feminist activist. But, since this
would technically be my first piece in the "Philosophy/Journalism"
category (the previous entry was more an "About this Blog" piece), I
decided to shelf that idea for a later date. Accordingly, I had this
brief moment where I had no idea which topic to pick out of the mound of
topics I've brainstormed over the past week or so. It didn't take long,
however, for me to naturally gravitate back towards a very particular
one: the state of the liberal and fine arts in the United
States.
I've written about this topic before, but that piece never made it to the public eye. The advantage to this is that I can reference a lot of the stuff I said there and perhaps expand on it. The current state of the liberal and fine arts educational curricula in the United States is one that I've had a personal interest in for some time, which makes sense insofar as I was a student of the liberal arts through my undergraduate and graduate careers (I have a master's degree in Philosophy). And it is also a topic that I have a history with; it was brought up several times during the Philosophy Club meetings as San Diego State (where I was a graduate student), as well as the tuition hike protests at UC San Diego (where I was an undergraduate), and I even based a few lectures on it when I was an instructor at SDSU. But I never really wrote any major pieces on the topic, which I hope to change here. In essence, I think my approach to defending the liberal and fine arts educational curricula in the United States is a different one, mostly because a) it is based on a much more rudimentary assumption about the purpose of life, which simultaneously undermines a core doctrine of modern American society (this so-called "American Dream"), and b) there is, admittedly, a certain degree of nihilism about it, which some may initially find off-putting, though I firmly maintain the position nonetheless.
There is this idea gaining momentum in mainstream American culture that the liberal and fine arts are "useless" pursuits, particularly in the face of disciplines with a larger "return on investment", such as the STEM disciplines (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics). Noah Kulwin paraphrases the problem well in The Daily Californian: "If you're to believe the 3 billion hastily assembled Yahoo articles about America's best-paying college majors, business and science majors will forever be relatively employable; and if you major in art history, you are truly fucked. Switch to a science major, so the story goes, or else be left behind by China, or Russia, or the information economy, or whatever" [1]. And there is evidence to think that Mr. Kulwin's understanding of the problem is not misconstrued. The popular website Reddit, for example, has a forum started by a user interestingly named "ohh_the_humanities" titled "I think the Humanities are useless", in which he or she argues that "I notice that the work load of Art History or English majors requires far fewer hours of intensive studying than does a more math-intensive subject such as Electrical Engineering. I was hoping someone could explain to me how expertise in these subjects contributes to our society in a way comparable to STEM focused subjects" [2]. At the time of putting this piece together, this forum had 56 comments, with some supporting the claims made in the original post. And, of course, there are Stanley Fish's multiple opinion pieces he wrote for the New York Times in which he argues that the humanities do not have the same kind of utility, and thus do not merit the same kind of funding, as the STEM fields [3].
Supporters of this notion have suggested getting rid of the classic liberal arts education altogether in favor of focusing on STEM fields or trade skills, essentially turning America's higher education system into a network of glorified vocational colleges. Others have pushed to remove funding the various liberal and fine arts departments at American universities, as evidenced by Stanley Fish's articles (in fact, there was a period when I was a graduate student at SDSU where the Philosophy Department was under funding review and was essentially asked to justify having the amount of funding it did...several negative changes to the departments undergraduate curriculum were the eventual result of that). And this mentality isn't just confined to socio-political policy makers; I've seen and heard stories of friends, strangers, parents, and other family members express resentment at one's choice of college major in a liberal arts field (years ago, I had an application for a part-time job immediately rejected by a potential employer because I was a Philosophy major, and let's not forget the example of Ted Turner's father expressing his resentment at the fact that Ted was a Classics major [4]). And the list can go on, no doubt, but these are some of the more representative cases of an attitude that seems to be taking an increasingly stronger hold on mainstream American society (as evidenced by the sheer volume of opinion pieces written in support of it).
This discussion of de-funding or removing the liberal and fine arts from the educational curriculum in the United States has ultimately given rise to what some have called the "Crisis of the Humanities". And much in the same way that proponents of the idea of axing the liberal and fine arts departments at American universities have grown more vocal in recent years, there has also been a growing counter-movement, spear-headed by collectives of students, artists, professors, and groups such as Occupy and Anonymous. Now, I am here to weigh in on this discussion and defend the liberal and fine arts curriculum at American universities. Again, I think my approach is a little different than some of the previous defenses given for the liberal arts in the past. In short, I argue that the criteria that most of anti-liberal arts crowd use to evaluate a liberal arts education are faulty criteria, rooted in poor assumptions that many in American society hold about what it means to be successful in life. A reflection on one's fundamental core beliefs about what constitutes a successful life will illustrate the problems with these assumptions and show that a liberal arts education can actually be one of the most rewarding things one can do in his or her life, and, thus, that the liberal and fine arts deserve to stay as a core part of the educational curriculum in the US.
In order to respond to critics of the liberal and fine arts, it would be useful to describe in more detail the assumptions they hold that their perspective is based on, this so called "American Dream". Proponents of the "American Dream" believe that, in order to be considered "successful" in modern day America, one has to have things like a six-figure salary and a two-story track home in suburbia, and that only those that "work hard enough" get to reap its benefits. Those that take advantage of social welfare programs, like food stamps, for example, are just "lazy", a proponent of this view might say, and should be left to face the consequences of his or her poor choices. A student who chooses to major in one of the humanities disciplines should not expect to have any kind of employment upon graduation because, after all, they made the poor choice of majoring in something that does not have a good "return-on-investment". Some may say that this is a very insular characterization of the "American Dream", but there is good reason to think that such a characterization has become dogma in the United States. One simply needs to look at the nature of the critiques by Fish or other commentators who all seem to be preoccupied with money in their evaluations of both the liberal and fine arts disciplines, not to mention their evaluations as to whether or not someone has succeeded at life in America. And then there is the case of Rush Limbaugh berating an Occupy protester over her choice of major in Classics [5]. The model citizen, in this paradigm, would then be one who goes to school to get a degree in Computer Science or Engineering, makes a six figure salary, eventually buys a house, starts a family, and then retires and dies.
And herein lies the core problem with this view: this also has to be the most boring excuse for a life that I have ever heard, and if this is what the "American Dream" consists in, one is in a position to question whether or not it is truly desirable. A fundamental assumption I have about life, one that I imagine would make sense to most people prima facie (if not just flat out be a priori true), is that life should be fun and enjoyable. The kind of lifestyle that critics of the liberal and fine arts are advocating is far from this. For most people, the "American Dream" consists of toiling away, day in and day out, in a cubicle or a warehouse or a retail store only to come home and turn on the TV. Many times I hear these people say they wish they had a different job. At the same time, these same people who are living the "American Dream" usually frown upon the person that lives in a cheap apartment, makes less than $30,000 a year, enjoys casual sex, and may perhaps occasionally do drugs or doesn't follow the teachings of some holy book. Again, this is all evidenced by the attitude that many of the above commentators have towards those students who "made the poor choice" of majoring in English or History. And yet, the ending for all of these people is the same: they die.
Call this perspective nihilistic, but it is nonetheless true. The actress who lived lavishly with gold trimmed curtains and marble counter tops in her New York penthouse - she died. The politician who spent years fundraising for his election, fighting for the votes of certain demographics with promises of promoting the "American Dream" - he died. The student who had everything going for him, a bright young man who dreamed of being a lawyer and worked tirelessly at it, padding his resume with every kind of internship and certification, spent so much of his time trying to be a lawyer and succeed in his future - he got hit by car and died. The young woman who spent her days working in a bookstore, surrounded by the words of Keats and Wilde, who came home to a small room with only a mattress in the middle - she died. The ten year old kid who had cancer - he died. The rich businessman - he died. And in each case, we can ask the same question: what was the point of everything before they died? The aspiring lawyer toiled so much of his life working towards a goal that he never even got to see. All of the businessman's riches or luxuries of the actress' penthouse couldn't save them from the same fate as the cancer-stricken child or the humble bookstore clerk.
The above reality is oftentimes forgotten, and some even find it disturbing, despite its seeming self-evidence. Given this reality, the question I posed a moment ago is not only valid but should be taken seriously: what is the point of everything if one is just doomed to die anyway? The best answer I have found to this question is what motivates my defense of the liberal and fine arts: the point is to have fun, to enjoy oneself. Some may perhaps frown at the bookstore clerk's lifestyle, branding it as a "dead end", but what they don't realize is that she is content with her humble life. She doesn't have to worry about passing the state bar exam, or securing a multi-billion dollar business deal, or living up to some kind of moral standard. She is truly free to enjoy herself.
And some of the few truly enjoyable things in life, I have found, are the liberal and fine arts. This is not to say that the STEM fields are not important; on the contrary, the importance of the STEM fields is compatible with this view. But the liberal and fine arts provide a level of enjoyment in life completely distinct from the STEM fields. Perhaps Fish has a point when he says that "justification, after all, confers value on an activity from a perspective outside its performance. An activity that cannot be justified is an activity that refuses to regard itself as instrumental to some larger good. The humanities are their own good." It is possible to make sense of this point using the "return-on-investment" terminology that critics like to use: education, particularly the liberal and fine arts, is not a means to an end, or its value is not proportionate to how much of a profit it can later generate. Rather, the liberal and fine arts themselves are the return-on-investment. Education itself is the goal of an education. Because, let's face it, the words of Poe or Dante or much more alluring than looking at graphs at a desk all day as an accountant, and the mindset that "the point of an education is just so that an individual can later have a career and turn a profit" makes education out to be another tedious part of that otherwise pointless middle period between birth and death we call "life". A day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is much pleasant than a day working in random office building x, or random grocery store y, and yet proponents of the "American Dream" tell us that we are supposed to strive to be in that office building, or have that six-figure salary, and aim to just retire and die, as long as we are more or less wealthy when we do so. Whether or not we're enjoying ourselves through any part of that process is irrelevant, the thinking goes.
And it is with clarity on this fundamental assumption about life and the liberal and fine arts that one is now in a position to debunk the majority of the criticisms of a liberal arts education proposed by commentators. For, as outlined at the outset of this piece, a quick survey of the criticisms of the liberal arts illustrates that the large majority of them are based ideas about money or employment. Education in general, let alone the liberal and fine arts, is not about money or employment, contrary to what opponents make education out to be (though it should be noted that employment may very well be a welcome side effect). This idea is captured by the dictum that one should go to college and study what they want to study, or what they enjoy doing, not what will make them profitable later. For if a student studies what he or she enjoys, he or she will enjoy life, making it worth living. But if a student studies what will simply make them employable, even though it may be boring or they hate it, and then they go on to do a job that is equally boring or loathsome, then he or she might as well just commit suicide because his or her life is not enjoyable, and thus not worth living. "But how is such an approach to a liberal arts education compatible with the rising costs of education and amounting student loan debt?", one may wonder. "Certainly," critics will argue, "students will still needs to take out student loans to study History, but if he or she is not concerned with being employable after graduation, then they are bound to be stuck with that debt for a long time and the economy will suffer because of it." Opponents of the liberal arts curriculum in the US will say that these economic woes are the result of the student's poor choice in major. However, very few people, other than the students and professors themselves, seem to entertain the idea that the problem may not actually be the disciplines themselves, but the rising cost of education. An English degree does not cost roughly $30,000 (the estimated price for that degree at my alma mater UC San Diego for the 2015-2016 school year [6]). This inevitably begs the question "why do universities continually charge so much for an education?" The answer has to do with stuff that is, quite honestly, unrelated to education. For example, the Orange County Register reports that the highest paid person in the University of California system is the head football coach at UCLA. Not one of the professors, not one of the administrators, but the head football coach. How much was his total compensation, you may ask? $3.5 million [7]. While the students are amassing more and more debt, the schools are charging more and more so they can pay someone, whose only relation to academics is his employment at UCLA, $3.5 million. It really makes one wonder: perhaps if universities shifted their attention from extraneous programs like Athletics and refocused their attention on academics, the point of a university, this "crisis of the humanities" may see some kind of positive resolution...
I don't expect this view to be particularly popular, though I consider it reasonable nonetheless. Critics of the liberal and fine arts are too focused on the relationship between the liberal arts and things like money and employment, when they should be worried about the relationship between the liberal arts and living an enjoyable life (where living an enjoyable life does not correlate with having a lot of money or having a certain kind of career). And, also contrary to the critics, the "American Dream" is part of the problem, because the American Dream, as it is usually proposed, asks that one live what can turn out to be a boring and tedious life. The case for the liberal and fine arts also isn't helped by the rising costs of education and mounting student loan debt. But, again, this isn't a problem with the disciplines themselves so much as it is a problem with universities charging too much for an education, in order to support things that have nothing to do with academia. In fact, I am inclined to side with professors like Monte Johnson and groups like Occupy and say that education is right, not a privilege that you put a price tag on, something that, right now, feels as if it is being treated like a commodity rather than a core component of human development [8].
I've written about this topic before, but that piece never made it to the public eye. The advantage to this is that I can reference a lot of the stuff I said there and perhaps expand on it. The current state of the liberal and fine arts educational curricula in the United States is one that I've had a personal interest in for some time, which makes sense insofar as I was a student of the liberal arts through my undergraduate and graduate careers (I have a master's degree in Philosophy). And it is also a topic that I have a history with; it was brought up several times during the Philosophy Club meetings as San Diego State (where I was a graduate student), as well as the tuition hike protests at UC San Diego (where I was an undergraduate), and I even based a few lectures on it when I was an instructor at SDSU. But I never really wrote any major pieces on the topic, which I hope to change here. In essence, I think my approach to defending the liberal and fine arts educational curricula in the United States is a different one, mostly because a) it is based on a much more rudimentary assumption about the purpose of life, which simultaneously undermines a core doctrine of modern American society (this so-called "American Dream"), and b) there is, admittedly, a certain degree of nihilism about it, which some may initially find off-putting, though I firmly maintain the position nonetheless.
There is this idea gaining momentum in mainstream American culture that the liberal and fine arts are "useless" pursuits, particularly in the face of disciplines with a larger "return on investment", such as the STEM disciplines (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics). Noah Kulwin paraphrases the problem well in The Daily Californian: "If you're to believe the 3 billion hastily assembled Yahoo articles about America's best-paying college majors, business and science majors will forever be relatively employable; and if you major in art history, you are truly fucked. Switch to a science major, so the story goes, or else be left behind by China, or Russia, or the information economy, or whatever" [1]. And there is evidence to think that Mr. Kulwin's understanding of the problem is not misconstrued. The popular website Reddit, for example, has a forum started by a user interestingly named "ohh_the_humanities" titled "I think the Humanities are useless", in which he or she argues that "I notice that the work load of Art History or English majors requires far fewer hours of intensive studying than does a more math-intensive subject such as Electrical Engineering. I was hoping someone could explain to me how expertise in these subjects contributes to our society in a way comparable to STEM focused subjects" [2]. At the time of putting this piece together, this forum had 56 comments, with some supporting the claims made in the original post. And, of course, there are Stanley Fish's multiple opinion pieces he wrote for the New York Times in which he argues that the humanities do not have the same kind of utility, and thus do not merit the same kind of funding, as the STEM fields [3].
Supporters of this notion have suggested getting rid of the classic liberal arts education altogether in favor of focusing on STEM fields or trade skills, essentially turning America's higher education system into a network of glorified vocational colleges. Others have pushed to remove funding the various liberal and fine arts departments at American universities, as evidenced by Stanley Fish's articles (in fact, there was a period when I was a graduate student at SDSU where the Philosophy Department was under funding review and was essentially asked to justify having the amount of funding it did...several negative changes to the departments undergraduate curriculum were the eventual result of that). And this mentality isn't just confined to socio-political policy makers; I've seen and heard stories of friends, strangers, parents, and other family members express resentment at one's choice of college major in a liberal arts field (years ago, I had an application for a part-time job immediately rejected by a potential employer because I was a Philosophy major, and let's not forget the example of Ted Turner's father expressing his resentment at the fact that Ted was a Classics major [4]). And the list can go on, no doubt, but these are some of the more representative cases of an attitude that seems to be taking an increasingly stronger hold on mainstream American society (as evidenced by the sheer volume of opinion pieces written in support of it).
This discussion of de-funding or removing the liberal and fine arts from the educational curriculum in the United States has ultimately given rise to what some have called the "Crisis of the Humanities". And much in the same way that proponents of the idea of axing the liberal and fine arts departments at American universities have grown more vocal in recent years, there has also been a growing counter-movement, spear-headed by collectives of students, artists, professors, and groups such as Occupy and Anonymous. Now, I am here to weigh in on this discussion and defend the liberal and fine arts curriculum at American universities. Again, I think my approach is a little different than some of the previous defenses given for the liberal arts in the past. In short, I argue that the criteria that most of anti-liberal arts crowd use to evaluate a liberal arts education are faulty criteria, rooted in poor assumptions that many in American society hold about what it means to be successful in life. A reflection on one's fundamental core beliefs about what constitutes a successful life will illustrate the problems with these assumptions and show that a liberal arts education can actually be one of the most rewarding things one can do in his or her life, and, thus, that the liberal and fine arts deserve to stay as a core part of the educational curriculum in the US.
In order to respond to critics of the liberal and fine arts, it would be useful to describe in more detail the assumptions they hold that their perspective is based on, this so called "American Dream". Proponents of the "American Dream" believe that, in order to be considered "successful" in modern day America, one has to have things like a six-figure salary and a two-story track home in suburbia, and that only those that "work hard enough" get to reap its benefits. Those that take advantage of social welfare programs, like food stamps, for example, are just "lazy", a proponent of this view might say, and should be left to face the consequences of his or her poor choices. A student who chooses to major in one of the humanities disciplines should not expect to have any kind of employment upon graduation because, after all, they made the poor choice of majoring in something that does not have a good "return-on-investment". Some may say that this is a very insular characterization of the "American Dream", but there is good reason to think that such a characterization has become dogma in the United States. One simply needs to look at the nature of the critiques by Fish or other commentators who all seem to be preoccupied with money in their evaluations of both the liberal and fine arts disciplines, not to mention their evaluations as to whether or not someone has succeeded at life in America. And then there is the case of Rush Limbaugh berating an Occupy protester over her choice of major in Classics [5]. The model citizen, in this paradigm, would then be one who goes to school to get a degree in Computer Science or Engineering, makes a six figure salary, eventually buys a house, starts a family, and then retires and dies.
And herein lies the core problem with this view: this also has to be the most boring excuse for a life that I have ever heard, and if this is what the "American Dream" consists in, one is in a position to question whether or not it is truly desirable. A fundamental assumption I have about life, one that I imagine would make sense to most people prima facie (if not just flat out be a priori true), is that life should be fun and enjoyable. The kind of lifestyle that critics of the liberal and fine arts are advocating is far from this. For most people, the "American Dream" consists of toiling away, day in and day out, in a cubicle or a warehouse or a retail store only to come home and turn on the TV. Many times I hear these people say they wish they had a different job. At the same time, these same people who are living the "American Dream" usually frown upon the person that lives in a cheap apartment, makes less than $30,000 a year, enjoys casual sex, and may perhaps occasionally do drugs or doesn't follow the teachings of some holy book. Again, this is all evidenced by the attitude that many of the above commentators have towards those students who "made the poor choice" of majoring in English or History. And yet, the ending for all of these people is the same: they die.
Call this perspective nihilistic, but it is nonetheless true. The actress who lived lavishly with gold trimmed curtains and marble counter tops in her New York penthouse - she died. The politician who spent years fundraising for his election, fighting for the votes of certain demographics with promises of promoting the "American Dream" - he died. The student who had everything going for him, a bright young man who dreamed of being a lawyer and worked tirelessly at it, padding his resume with every kind of internship and certification, spent so much of his time trying to be a lawyer and succeed in his future - he got hit by car and died. The young woman who spent her days working in a bookstore, surrounded by the words of Keats and Wilde, who came home to a small room with only a mattress in the middle - she died. The ten year old kid who had cancer - he died. The rich businessman - he died. And in each case, we can ask the same question: what was the point of everything before they died? The aspiring lawyer toiled so much of his life working towards a goal that he never even got to see. All of the businessman's riches or luxuries of the actress' penthouse couldn't save them from the same fate as the cancer-stricken child or the humble bookstore clerk.
The above reality is oftentimes forgotten, and some even find it disturbing, despite its seeming self-evidence. Given this reality, the question I posed a moment ago is not only valid but should be taken seriously: what is the point of everything if one is just doomed to die anyway? The best answer I have found to this question is what motivates my defense of the liberal and fine arts: the point is to have fun, to enjoy oneself. Some may perhaps frown at the bookstore clerk's lifestyle, branding it as a "dead end", but what they don't realize is that she is content with her humble life. She doesn't have to worry about passing the state bar exam, or securing a multi-billion dollar business deal, or living up to some kind of moral standard. She is truly free to enjoy herself.
And some of the few truly enjoyable things in life, I have found, are the liberal and fine arts. This is not to say that the STEM fields are not important; on the contrary, the importance of the STEM fields is compatible with this view. But the liberal and fine arts provide a level of enjoyment in life completely distinct from the STEM fields. Perhaps Fish has a point when he says that "justification, after all, confers value on an activity from a perspective outside its performance. An activity that cannot be justified is an activity that refuses to regard itself as instrumental to some larger good. The humanities are their own good." It is possible to make sense of this point using the "return-on-investment" terminology that critics like to use: education, particularly the liberal and fine arts, is not a means to an end, or its value is not proportionate to how much of a profit it can later generate. Rather, the liberal and fine arts themselves are the return-on-investment. Education itself is the goal of an education. Because, let's face it, the words of Poe or Dante or much more alluring than looking at graphs at a desk all day as an accountant, and the mindset that "the point of an education is just so that an individual can later have a career and turn a profit" makes education out to be another tedious part of that otherwise pointless middle period between birth and death we call "life". A day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is much pleasant than a day working in random office building x, or random grocery store y, and yet proponents of the "American Dream" tell us that we are supposed to strive to be in that office building, or have that six-figure salary, and aim to just retire and die, as long as we are more or less wealthy when we do so. Whether or not we're enjoying ourselves through any part of that process is irrelevant, the thinking goes.
And it is with clarity on this fundamental assumption about life and the liberal and fine arts that one is now in a position to debunk the majority of the criticisms of a liberal arts education proposed by commentators. For, as outlined at the outset of this piece, a quick survey of the criticisms of the liberal arts illustrates that the large majority of them are based ideas about money or employment. Education in general, let alone the liberal and fine arts, is not about money or employment, contrary to what opponents make education out to be (though it should be noted that employment may very well be a welcome side effect). This idea is captured by the dictum that one should go to college and study what they want to study, or what they enjoy doing, not what will make them profitable later. For if a student studies what he or she enjoys, he or she will enjoy life, making it worth living. But if a student studies what will simply make them employable, even though it may be boring or they hate it, and then they go on to do a job that is equally boring or loathsome, then he or she might as well just commit suicide because his or her life is not enjoyable, and thus not worth living. "But how is such an approach to a liberal arts education compatible with the rising costs of education and amounting student loan debt?", one may wonder. "Certainly," critics will argue, "students will still needs to take out student loans to study History, but if he or she is not concerned with being employable after graduation, then they are bound to be stuck with that debt for a long time and the economy will suffer because of it." Opponents of the liberal arts curriculum in the US will say that these economic woes are the result of the student's poor choice in major. However, very few people, other than the students and professors themselves, seem to entertain the idea that the problem may not actually be the disciplines themselves, but the rising cost of education. An English degree does not cost roughly $30,000 (the estimated price for that degree at my alma mater UC San Diego for the 2015-2016 school year [6]). This inevitably begs the question "why do universities continually charge so much for an education?" The answer has to do with stuff that is, quite honestly, unrelated to education. For example, the Orange County Register reports that the highest paid person in the University of California system is the head football coach at UCLA. Not one of the professors, not one of the administrators, but the head football coach. How much was his total compensation, you may ask? $3.5 million [7]. While the students are amassing more and more debt, the schools are charging more and more so they can pay someone, whose only relation to academics is his employment at UCLA, $3.5 million. It really makes one wonder: perhaps if universities shifted their attention from extraneous programs like Athletics and refocused their attention on academics, the point of a university, this "crisis of the humanities" may see some kind of positive resolution...
I don't expect this view to be particularly popular, though I consider it reasonable nonetheless. Critics of the liberal and fine arts are too focused on the relationship between the liberal arts and things like money and employment, when they should be worried about the relationship between the liberal arts and living an enjoyable life (where living an enjoyable life does not correlate with having a lot of money or having a certain kind of career). And, also contrary to the critics, the "American Dream" is part of the problem, because the American Dream, as it is usually proposed, asks that one live what can turn out to be a boring and tedious life. The case for the liberal and fine arts also isn't helped by the rising costs of education and mounting student loan debt. But, again, this isn't a problem with the disciplines themselves so much as it is a problem with universities charging too much for an education, in order to support things that have nothing to do with academia. In fact, I am inclined to side with professors like Monte Johnson and groups like Occupy and say that education is right, not a privilege that you put a price tag on, something that, right now, feels as if it is being treated like a commodity rather than a core component of human development [8].
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Review - Terminator Genisys
Insofar as I have made multiple references to Terminator Genisys in my
previous two reviews, it would only seem appropriate that I review it
now. This is especially the case since, as I have previously mentioned, I
have set out to review the representative sci-fi films of summer 2015,
of which a new installment of the Terminator series will inevitably be a
part of. I've noticed an eerie pattern developing here: many of the
major sci-fi and action movies of this summer have either been reboots
(Mad Max: Fury Road and Jurassic World) or screen adaptations of long-standing
IPs (Avengers: Age of Ultron). One might wonder whether or not Hollywood
has run out of creativity and imagination. This is not to say that
reboots are inherently bad (Fury Road and Jurassic World were quite the
contrary), but, when one confines himself to a particular fictional
universe, one has to follow the rules of that universe (for example, it
would have been grossly out of place to have aliens invade while the
Indominus Rex rampaged around Jurassic World). By constantly falling
back on reboot after reboot, filmmakers tend to paint themselves as
incapable of creating a new universe with its own characteristics and
rules, a new universe which could potentially illuminate a yet
unrealized facet of life by serving as an expression of art.
I don't expect this review to be as long as my previous ones. There are a handful of reasons for this, but the most significant reason would be that Terminator Genisys is just bad. I could literally end this review right now by saying that almost every facet of its content and production that one can imagine is of poor quality, and this wouldn't be too disingenuous of a summary. However, it might be an interesting endeavor to try and give Genisys the benefit of the doubt and find those things that it does well that might actually be able to redeem it (though, I must say, this would require a degree of optimism beyond my possible potential). Besides, the Terminator series was initially one that, like Jurassic Park, asked many of the right questions, and presented those questions with great imagination and detail. It would be somewhat of an injustice to the early installments of the series to simply dismiss both Genisys and the entire series so quickly. As such, I will add some substance to this review, but again, it probably won't be anything like that of my Fury Road or Jurassic World reviews.
The Terminator series emerged in the late 1980s as a series initially about a robot that gets sent back through time, by machines in a machine-dominated future, to try and kill the up-and-coming leaders of the human resistance against them. This series is famous for contributing to the lineup of campy action movies featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger in the 80s and is more or less considered a core series that defined his career. The first installment in the series, simply dubbed The Terminator, directed by James Cameron in 1984, sees Schwarzenegger as the eponymous Terminator, a robot sent back in time from the future to kill Sarah Connor, the soon-to-be mother of John Connor, the future leader to the resistance against the machines. It is important to note that Sarah, with the help of Kyle Reese, a soldier sent back through time to defend her, survives the events of the first film and destroys the original Terminator. Terminator 2: Judgment Day, produced in 1991 and also directed by Cameron, is sometimes considered to be the best installment in the series, and sees Schwarzenegger return as the eponymous Terminator, but this time reprogrammed and sent back through time to defend both Sarah and John Connor from the T-1000, an advanced Terminator model consisting of liquid metal. Terminator 2 was memorable for being at the forefront of special effects for the early 90s, using those effects to really explore the dangers of an advanced world that inevitably gives way to the control of the machines. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines wasn't produced until more than ten years after Terminator 2, in 2003, and did not feature Cameron as either a director or producer. In Terminator 3, John Connor is an adult, more or less in hiding after the events of Terminator 2. Since his whereabouts are unknown to the machines, the machines send the T-X, a new model Terminator, back in time to try and assassinate those that would eventually become his officers in the future, including his not-yet-realized girlfriend. And much like Terminator 2, the human resistance sends back Arnold Schwarzenegger to defend John Connor from the T-X.
It's at this point in the series that I pretty much stopped following it. On it's own, Terminator 3 was a decent sci-fi action film, but when compared to the first two installments, seemed very mediocre, and unlike Fury Road and Jurassic World, was unable to renew interest in the series among millennials, the demographic that it needed to attract in 2003. That said, I wouldn't consider this to be the most damaging thing to the series. What has probably hampered the series more than the mediocre success of Terminator 3 was the extremely poor and inconsistent handling of the series after that. Perhaps the biggest example of this has to do with the recent portrayal of John Connor. Terminator Salvation was the fourth installment in the series and featured Christian Bale as John Connor, a radical departure from Nick Stahl in T3. Thomas Dekker portrays an adolescent John Connor in The Sarah Connor Chronicles, a hyped-up TV series that some question whether or not should be considered canon in the Terminator universe. The Dekker version of John Connor is supposed to be a continuation of the Edward Furlong John Connor from T2, but doesn't quite hit the mark in that it doesn't capture what was unique about the T2 John Connor. The John Connor in T2 was young, rebellious, and characteristically 90s, so trying to capture the traits of a 1991 character in a 2008 TV series requires a certain degree of observation and skill. Add to this the fact that, by the time Genisys is produced, the timeline of the series had been presented out of chronological order, so we are not quite sure where we are supposed to be with regard to John Connor and the current state of his character.
Another component of the recent installments of the Terminator series that ultimately worked to its detriment has to do with the inconsistency of its production team. It is quite curious that the best installments in the series, the first two films, were directed and produced by James Cameron, and that, as soon as he left the project, the series was taken in several highly questionable directions. Terminator 3 was directed by Jonathan Mostow, while Salvation was directed by McG, and the jarring shift of tone in the series because of the shift between the two directors was apparent. While all of this is happening with the films, there is also this television series, The Sarah Connor Chronicles, that is adding its own input, muddying the waters even further. One always assumes a risk in trying to augment a film series with a TV or book series; there is a thin line between a TV series successfully adding content to a fictional universe and a TV series adding nothing but calamity, which is more or less contingent on the stability of the film series at the time. Unfortunately for the Terminator universe, the film series was in this schizophrenic stage of inconsistent tone when the TV series was produced. The end result is that the TV series adds to the mess that is the current state of the film series as opposed to augmenting it.
As one can imagine, towards the end of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, the series stagnated and went quiet for some time. If one were to try and successfully reboot the Terminator series at this point, then one would have to try and bestow order on the chaos that was the state of the film series and fictional universe while also paying homage to the first two films. Enter Alan Taylor, yet another director to take over the series, and Terminator Genisys, his attempt at rebooting it and making sense of everything that came between T2 and Genisys. Which failed. Miserably. I want to try and be courteous to Taylor's attempt at saving the Terminator series, but I just can't seem to find any way that anybody with half a brain and familiar with the series can do that. Genisys makes so many wrong moves that one must really wonder how production was allowed (actually, it's not that much of a mystery; it's Hollywood trying to cash-in on the nostalgia dollar).
Where should I start? There are so many things one could say about all of the wrong moves that Genisys makes that it's difficult to find one to start with. Perhaps I should start with the most broad and, in my approach, the most important one: the plot. All other errors held constant, if Genisys had a solid plot that, like Jurassic World, invoked the philosophical motivations of T1 and T2, then it might have actually been a decent film. Unfortunately, Genisys just completely goes in the other direction, retconning everything that was good from the first two films. Recall that, in the first film, Sarah Connor was a young waitress in Los Angeles, completely unaware of her role in the impending apocalypse and the future of mankind until both the Terminator and Kyle Reese show up. Genisys revisits this storyline, though focusing more on Kyle Reese as opposed to Sarah Connor. When Kyle Reese gets sent back through time, however, he shows up to an 1980s Los Angeles where Sarah Connor is already fully aware of future events, somehow already has Arnold Schwarzenegger at her side, has stockpiled an arsenal of weapons, and fights a younger CGI version of Arnold Schwarzenegger (presumably the Terminator from the first film), all before John Connor is even brought up in conversation. The justification for this is that, when Sarah was a little child (before the events of the first film), yet another reprogrammed Terminator was sent back through time to warn her about Judgment Day and protect her (the Terminator she has by her side when Reese shows up). It is important to point out that this more or less renders the events of the first film pointless; with this childhood Terminator by her side, there is no need for Kyle Reese to even be there (granted, he is supposed to be the father of John Connor, but even the need for this is called into question by the end of Genisys), especially since they manage to kill off the antagonizing Terminator in the first five minutes. It should be said that there are times when it is OK to retcon old canon and improve upon it (J.J. Abrams will supposedly be doing this with the Star Wars series), but this only works when the original canon is decidedly bad. On the other hand, it is an egregious error to retcon the canon when it is actually the highlight of the series, which is what we have here. It was the responsibility of Taylor and Genisys to fix the mess that was everything after T2, not let that mess consume the first two films as well. At this point, the only justification for Kyle Reese to be in the film is to properly direct Sarah Connor and her childhood Terminator friend to 2017 (using the time machine Sarah just has locked away in her basement), where Skynet, under the alias "Genisys", will launch Judgment Day, but "for real" this time, now completely bypassing the events of T2 (which took place in 1995).
Genisys' mishandling of the plot doesn't stop there. After more or less making the events of the first two films a footnote on the series as opposed to building on them, Genisys undermines the importance of John Connor by seemingly removing him from the series completely. This is why I earlier questioned the importance of Kyle Reese; if we render the events of T1 pointless, then the only reason for Reese to be there is to father John Connor, but Genisys pretty much kills off John Connor and refocuses the series around Sarah. For example, soon after Kyle Reese is sent back to the 1980s by John Connor, Skynet, thought defeated in the future by Connor's resistance, infiltrates Connor's unit and kills him by transforming him into a new Terminator model, a model based on nanotechnology, which gets sent to 2017 to try and stop Sarah, Kyle, and Schwarzenegger's T-800 model from preventing the launch of Genisys (a.k.a. Skynet in disguise). There is never really any attempt to try and reverse the effects of Skynet on John Connor - Reese briefly entertains the idea when he initially realizes what has happened, but, towards the end of the film, Sarah Connor makes the declaration that the machines have "gamed" the system and that they (i.e. Sarah, Kyle, and the T-800) are the future of mankind. Perhaps this is supposed to be yet another justification for bypassing the events of T1 and T2, or perhaps Genisys is choosing to build off of The Sarah Connor Chronicles as opposed to building off of anything else in the series (it should perhaps be noted that the events of T3 aren't even mentioned or alluded to at all in the film). Again, this would be permissible if T1 and T2 were the bad parts of the Terminator canon, but quite the reverse is true. As such, refocusing the series on Sarah Connor and pretty much writing out John Connor undermines yet another key characteristic of the Terminator universe.
One could go on listing the other ways in which Genisys mishandles the Terminator universe. The T-1000 (the liquid metal Terminator from T2) makes a cameo appearance, if only for fan service since it gets killed of in the first five minutes of the film, which is kind of annoying considering the marketing for Genisys really hyped up the fact that the T-1000 is back. (Perhaps a note should be made here that doing something for fan service is a poor reason to do something, insofar as one's fans could very well have no sense of what it takes to make a movie good, nor any semblance of art or character.) The writing was exceptionally bad as well; Arnold Schwarzenegger's script, for example, reads as if someone watched the first three films, copy/pasted all of his one-liners together, and, whatever the result of that was, inserted some dialogue for Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese. And it should be noted that the dialogue in the film literally felt as if the T-800 was communicating to Reese and Connor in Arnold Schwarzenegger one-liners. For example, there is a helicopter chase scene where the T-800 has Reese fly the helicopter with him, the T-800, and Sarah in it above the helicopter with John/the T-3000 in it, to which Reese asks the T-800 what his plan is before the T-800 responds "I'll be back" (for about the third time in the film) and jumps out of the helicopter.
And on that note, the last blunder that Genisys makes that I will point out is the insistence on bringing back Schwarzenegger and prolonging the series to kingdom come. It is clear at this point that Schwarzenegger is past the age of being the action movie hero that he once was, as evidenced by the very aged appearance of the T-800 in the film. And like many of its other blunders, Genisys tries to provide a justification for this with the phrase "old, but not obsolete", a phrase that is echoed by both Reese and the T-800 throughout the film. The problem with this justification is that Schwarzenegger appears to be past the point of adding anything unique to the series; as mentioned, his script for Genisys was notably bad, and he didn't have any outstanding acting moments that couldn't have been performed by any other actor. His character literally just walked around, shot stuff, and punched stuff - nothing even remotely close to the great performance at the end of T2 in the foundry, where really only Schwarzenegger could have pulled that scene off so well. At the end of Genisys, unlike the ends of T1, T2, and T3, the T-800 actually survives, however in a way that (perhaps to our great dismay and the further detriment of the series) is highly suggestive of further installments in the series. During the fight with the T-3000, the T-800 gets knocked into a vat of the same liquid metal compound used to create the T-1000. After the explosion at the Genisys complex and when the T-800 was thought destroyed, the "upgraded" liquid metal T-800 helps Sarah and Kyle out of the rubble explaining that he was "upgraded". Now we are left with the prospect that the series will continue, but, instead of a T-800 helping Sarah Connor, we now have Arnold Schwarzenegger in liquid metal form, which may perhaps be an excuse to buffer out his old age with liquid metal special effects in the future.
It seems as if the prolonging of the series is inevitable, which, at this point, is starting to feel as if [insert variable director here] will drive the series further into the ground and keep beating a dead nostalgia horse. In such a case, we might try to console ourselves by asking what it is that Terminator Genisys does well. Perhaps the one point that deserves praise are its special effects. It's clear that the film took advantage of its Hollywood status and, continuing with the tradition of the Terminator series, demonstrated that it is at the forefront of special effects and CGI technology. For example, early on there is a scene where John Connor's resistance unit storms Skynet's compound in the future. The aesthetics of the compound are very nice; sharp, dark buildings with borders of glowing orange and red light, very reminiscent of Tron or Blade Runner or the machine cities in The Matrix. That said, after praising the series for its effects, I am inclined to sober up a little bit; many science fiction and action series in the past couple of decades seem to try and take advantage of the special effects capabilities of Hollywood, so, unlike the previous generations, where the effects in T2 were innovative, the effects of Genisys seem competitive, where it more or less seems like the standard that science fiction films are built around CGI and explosions.
If you are looking for the creme de la creme of 21st century science fiction, then you won't be missing anything by skipping Terminator Genisys. If you are a longtime fan of the Terminator series looking to see if Genisys reorganizes the mess that is the Terminator fictional universe post Judgment Day, then you would probably be better served by skipping Genisys as well (in fact, you would probably cringe when you see how Genisys retcons the first two films). However, if you are a generic movie-goer who is so easily entertained by Transformers-style CGI and explosions, then, by all means, go knock yourself out - there is no shortage of action in Terminator Genisys, despite the complete incoherence of the plot, which more or less renders that action pointless.
I don't expect this review to be as long as my previous ones. There are a handful of reasons for this, but the most significant reason would be that Terminator Genisys is just bad. I could literally end this review right now by saying that almost every facet of its content and production that one can imagine is of poor quality, and this wouldn't be too disingenuous of a summary. However, it might be an interesting endeavor to try and give Genisys the benefit of the doubt and find those things that it does well that might actually be able to redeem it (though, I must say, this would require a degree of optimism beyond my possible potential). Besides, the Terminator series was initially one that, like Jurassic Park, asked many of the right questions, and presented those questions with great imagination and detail. It would be somewhat of an injustice to the early installments of the series to simply dismiss both Genisys and the entire series so quickly. As such, I will add some substance to this review, but again, it probably won't be anything like that of my Fury Road or Jurassic World reviews.
The Terminator series emerged in the late 1980s as a series initially about a robot that gets sent back through time, by machines in a machine-dominated future, to try and kill the up-and-coming leaders of the human resistance against them. This series is famous for contributing to the lineup of campy action movies featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger in the 80s and is more or less considered a core series that defined his career. The first installment in the series, simply dubbed The Terminator, directed by James Cameron in 1984, sees Schwarzenegger as the eponymous Terminator, a robot sent back in time from the future to kill Sarah Connor, the soon-to-be mother of John Connor, the future leader to the resistance against the machines. It is important to note that Sarah, with the help of Kyle Reese, a soldier sent back through time to defend her, survives the events of the first film and destroys the original Terminator. Terminator 2: Judgment Day, produced in 1991 and also directed by Cameron, is sometimes considered to be the best installment in the series, and sees Schwarzenegger return as the eponymous Terminator, but this time reprogrammed and sent back through time to defend both Sarah and John Connor from the T-1000, an advanced Terminator model consisting of liquid metal. Terminator 2 was memorable for being at the forefront of special effects for the early 90s, using those effects to really explore the dangers of an advanced world that inevitably gives way to the control of the machines. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines wasn't produced until more than ten years after Terminator 2, in 2003, and did not feature Cameron as either a director or producer. In Terminator 3, John Connor is an adult, more or less in hiding after the events of Terminator 2. Since his whereabouts are unknown to the machines, the machines send the T-X, a new model Terminator, back in time to try and assassinate those that would eventually become his officers in the future, including his not-yet-realized girlfriend. And much like Terminator 2, the human resistance sends back Arnold Schwarzenegger to defend John Connor from the T-X.
It's at this point in the series that I pretty much stopped following it. On it's own, Terminator 3 was a decent sci-fi action film, but when compared to the first two installments, seemed very mediocre, and unlike Fury Road and Jurassic World, was unable to renew interest in the series among millennials, the demographic that it needed to attract in 2003. That said, I wouldn't consider this to be the most damaging thing to the series. What has probably hampered the series more than the mediocre success of Terminator 3 was the extremely poor and inconsistent handling of the series after that. Perhaps the biggest example of this has to do with the recent portrayal of John Connor. Terminator Salvation was the fourth installment in the series and featured Christian Bale as John Connor, a radical departure from Nick Stahl in T3. Thomas Dekker portrays an adolescent John Connor in The Sarah Connor Chronicles, a hyped-up TV series that some question whether or not should be considered canon in the Terminator universe. The Dekker version of John Connor is supposed to be a continuation of the Edward Furlong John Connor from T2, but doesn't quite hit the mark in that it doesn't capture what was unique about the T2 John Connor. The John Connor in T2 was young, rebellious, and characteristically 90s, so trying to capture the traits of a 1991 character in a 2008 TV series requires a certain degree of observation and skill. Add to this the fact that, by the time Genisys is produced, the timeline of the series had been presented out of chronological order, so we are not quite sure where we are supposed to be with regard to John Connor and the current state of his character.
Another component of the recent installments of the Terminator series that ultimately worked to its detriment has to do with the inconsistency of its production team. It is quite curious that the best installments in the series, the first two films, were directed and produced by James Cameron, and that, as soon as he left the project, the series was taken in several highly questionable directions. Terminator 3 was directed by Jonathan Mostow, while Salvation was directed by McG, and the jarring shift of tone in the series because of the shift between the two directors was apparent. While all of this is happening with the films, there is also this television series, The Sarah Connor Chronicles, that is adding its own input, muddying the waters even further. One always assumes a risk in trying to augment a film series with a TV or book series; there is a thin line between a TV series successfully adding content to a fictional universe and a TV series adding nothing but calamity, which is more or less contingent on the stability of the film series at the time. Unfortunately for the Terminator universe, the film series was in this schizophrenic stage of inconsistent tone when the TV series was produced. The end result is that the TV series adds to the mess that is the current state of the film series as opposed to augmenting it.
As one can imagine, towards the end of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, the series stagnated and went quiet for some time. If one were to try and successfully reboot the Terminator series at this point, then one would have to try and bestow order on the chaos that was the state of the film series and fictional universe while also paying homage to the first two films. Enter Alan Taylor, yet another director to take over the series, and Terminator Genisys, his attempt at rebooting it and making sense of everything that came between T2 and Genisys. Which failed. Miserably. I want to try and be courteous to Taylor's attempt at saving the Terminator series, but I just can't seem to find any way that anybody with half a brain and familiar with the series can do that. Genisys makes so many wrong moves that one must really wonder how production was allowed (actually, it's not that much of a mystery; it's Hollywood trying to cash-in on the nostalgia dollar).
Where should I start? There are so many things one could say about all of the wrong moves that Genisys makes that it's difficult to find one to start with. Perhaps I should start with the most broad and, in my approach, the most important one: the plot. All other errors held constant, if Genisys had a solid plot that, like Jurassic World, invoked the philosophical motivations of T1 and T2, then it might have actually been a decent film. Unfortunately, Genisys just completely goes in the other direction, retconning everything that was good from the first two films. Recall that, in the first film, Sarah Connor was a young waitress in Los Angeles, completely unaware of her role in the impending apocalypse and the future of mankind until both the Terminator and Kyle Reese show up. Genisys revisits this storyline, though focusing more on Kyle Reese as opposed to Sarah Connor. When Kyle Reese gets sent back through time, however, he shows up to an 1980s Los Angeles where Sarah Connor is already fully aware of future events, somehow already has Arnold Schwarzenegger at her side, has stockpiled an arsenal of weapons, and fights a younger CGI version of Arnold Schwarzenegger (presumably the Terminator from the first film), all before John Connor is even brought up in conversation. The justification for this is that, when Sarah was a little child (before the events of the first film), yet another reprogrammed Terminator was sent back through time to warn her about Judgment Day and protect her (the Terminator she has by her side when Reese shows up). It is important to point out that this more or less renders the events of the first film pointless; with this childhood Terminator by her side, there is no need for Kyle Reese to even be there (granted, he is supposed to be the father of John Connor, but even the need for this is called into question by the end of Genisys), especially since they manage to kill off the antagonizing Terminator in the first five minutes. It should be said that there are times when it is OK to retcon old canon and improve upon it (J.J. Abrams will supposedly be doing this with the Star Wars series), but this only works when the original canon is decidedly bad. On the other hand, it is an egregious error to retcon the canon when it is actually the highlight of the series, which is what we have here. It was the responsibility of Taylor and Genisys to fix the mess that was everything after T2, not let that mess consume the first two films as well. At this point, the only justification for Kyle Reese to be in the film is to properly direct Sarah Connor and her childhood Terminator friend to 2017 (using the time machine Sarah just has locked away in her basement), where Skynet, under the alias "Genisys", will launch Judgment Day, but "for real" this time, now completely bypassing the events of T2 (which took place in 1995).
Genisys' mishandling of the plot doesn't stop there. After more or less making the events of the first two films a footnote on the series as opposed to building on them, Genisys undermines the importance of John Connor by seemingly removing him from the series completely. This is why I earlier questioned the importance of Kyle Reese; if we render the events of T1 pointless, then the only reason for Reese to be there is to father John Connor, but Genisys pretty much kills off John Connor and refocuses the series around Sarah. For example, soon after Kyle Reese is sent back to the 1980s by John Connor, Skynet, thought defeated in the future by Connor's resistance, infiltrates Connor's unit and kills him by transforming him into a new Terminator model, a model based on nanotechnology, which gets sent to 2017 to try and stop Sarah, Kyle, and Schwarzenegger's T-800 model from preventing the launch of Genisys (a.k.a. Skynet in disguise). There is never really any attempt to try and reverse the effects of Skynet on John Connor - Reese briefly entertains the idea when he initially realizes what has happened, but, towards the end of the film, Sarah Connor makes the declaration that the machines have "gamed" the system and that they (i.e. Sarah, Kyle, and the T-800) are the future of mankind. Perhaps this is supposed to be yet another justification for bypassing the events of T1 and T2, or perhaps Genisys is choosing to build off of The Sarah Connor Chronicles as opposed to building off of anything else in the series (it should perhaps be noted that the events of T3 aren't even mentioned or alluded to at all in the film). Again, this would be permissible if T1 and T2 were the bad parts of the Terminator canon, but quite the reverse is true. As such, refocusing the series on Sarah Connor and pretty much writing out John Connor undermines yet another key characteristic of the Terminator universe.
One could go on listing the other ways in which Genisys mishandles the Terminator universe. The T-1000 (the liquid metal Terminator from T2) makes a cameo appearance, if only for fan service since it gets killed of in the first five minutes of the film, which is kind of annoying considering the marketing for Genisys really hyped up the fact that the T-1000 is back. (Perhaps a note should be made here that doing something for fan service is a poor reason to do something, insofar as one's fans could very well have no sense of what it takes to make a movie good, nor any semblance of art or character.) The writing was exceptionally bad as well; Arnold Schwarzenegger's script, for example, reads as if someone watched the first three films, copy/pasted all of his one-liners together, and, whatever the result of that was, inserted some dialogue for Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese. And it should be noted that the dialogue in the film literally felt as if the T-800 was communicating to Reese and Connor in Arnold Schwarzenegger one-liners. For example, there is a helicopter chase scene where the T-800 has Reese fly the helicopter with him, the T-800, and Sarah in it above the helicopter with John/the T-3000 in it, to which Reese asks the T-800 what his plan is before the T-800 responds "I'll be back" (for about the third time in the film) and jumps out of the helicopter.
And on that note, the last blunder that Genisys makes that I will point out is the insistence on bringing back Schwarzenegger and prolonging the series to kingdom come. It is clear at this point that Schwarzenegger is past the age of being the action movie hero that he once was, as evidenced by the very aged appearance of the T-800 in the film. And like many of its other blunders, Genisys tries to provide a justification for this with the phrase "old, but not obsolete", a phrase that is echoed by both Reese and the T-800 throughout the film. The problem with this justification is that Schwarzenegger appears to be past the point of adding anything unique to the series; as mentioned, his script for Genisys was notably bad, and he didn't have any outstanding acting moments that couldn't have been performed by any other actor. His character literally just walked around, shot stuff, and punched stuff - nothing even remotely close to the great performance at the end of T2 in the foundry, where really only Schwarzenegger could have pulled that scene off so well. At the end of Genisys, unlike the ends of T1, T2, and T3, the T-800 actually survives, however in a way that (perhaps to our great dismay and the further detriment of the series) is highly suggestive of further installments in the series. During the fight with the T-3000, the T-800 gets knocked into a vat of the same liquid metal compound used to create the T-1000. After the explosion at the Genisys complex and when the T-800 was thought destroyed, the "upgraded" liquid metal T-800 helps Sarah and Kyle out of the rubble explaining that he was "upgraded". Now we are left with the prospect that the series will continue, but, instead of a T-800 helping Sarah Connor, we now have Arnold Schwarzenegger in liquid metal form, which may perhaps be an excuse to buffer out his old age with liquid metal special effects in the future.
It seems as if the prolonging of the series is inevitable, which, at this point, is starting to feel as if [insert variable director here] will drive the series further into the ground and keep beating a dead nostalgia horse. In such a case, we might try to console ourselves by asking what it is that Terminator Genisys does well. Perhaps the one point that deserves praise are its special effects. It's clear that the film took advantage of its Hollywood status and, continuing with the tradition of the Terminator series, demonstrated that it is at the forefront of special effects and CGI technology. For example, early on there is a scene where John Connor's resistance unit storms Skynet's compound in the future. The aesthetics of the compound are very nice; sharp, dark buildings with borders of glowing orange and red light, very reminiscent of Tron or Blade Runner or the machine cities in The Matrix. That said, after praising the series for its effects, I am inclined to sober up a little bit; many science fiction and action series in the past couple of decades seem to try and take advantage of the special effects capabilities of Hollywood, so, unlike the previous generations, where the effects in T2 were innovative, the effects of Genisys seem competitive, where it more or less seems like the standard that science fiction films are built around CGI and explosions.
If you are looking for the creme de la creme of 21st century science fiction, then you won't be missing anything by skipping Terminator Genisys. If you are a longtime fan of the Terminator series looking to see if Genisys reorganizes the mess that is the Terminator fictional universe post Judgment Day, then you would probably be better served by skipping Genisys as well (in fact, you would probably cringe when you see how Genisys retcons the first two films). However, if you are a generic movie-goer who is so easily entertained by Transformers-style CGI and explosions, then, by all means, go knock yourself out - there is no shortage of action in Terminator Genisys, despite the complete incoherence of the plot, which more or less renders that action pointless.
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