On Why the Rebooted Robocop Sucks More than the 6000 SUX

**This review contains spoilers for both films.**

General Problems:

The reboot is PG-13 instead of R. I knew that going in, but having seen the original, I went into the reboot with the expectation of gratuitous violence. I wanted to see large caliber rounds exploding through flesh, blood splatter aplenty. I wanted to see at least one bad guy melted by toxic waste, and maybe a giant robot fall down some stairs.

What I got was a boring, drawn out political statement about corporations running the government. If I wanted that, I'd watch C-SPAN. Oddly, there was also an effort to sell toys to the kids allowed by the PG-13 rating in between the congressional debates. Kind of like the last three Star Wars movies.

The original film portrays a future saturated with hyper-consumerism, where people can legally be classified as products. The remake portrays a future just like the present in every way except they somehow have super advanced A.I. and Samuel L. Jackson is Bill O’Reilly.

ED-209 is completely pointless in the new film. It’s merely there to sell toys, not as a main obstacle that only Robocop can overcome.

“I wouldn't buy that for a dollar” was a poor attempt to connect to the original. On the one hand, only a fan of the original who has seen it several times would remember the original line. On the other, this film is clearly not for the fans of the original. So why bother with it all?

Here are some lines they could've used but ignored completely:

Robocop:  “Thank you for your cooperation. Good night.”

Robocop: “Your move, creep.”

Robocop: “Dead or alive, you're coming with me.”

Robocop: “Come quietly or there will be…trouble.”

Emil (henchman): “I like it!” (A quote so recognizable it made it in the video game Borderlands.)

Problems with Murphy:

The reboot focuses way too much on Murphy’s family. They eat up so much screen time, they drain any momentum the movie builds. In the original, the family is barely a subplot and used as a reference point for Murphy’s humanity. Then more stuff blows up.

The original Murphy is systematically destroyed one shotgun blast at a time by a gang of ruthless criminals. The new Murphy is blown up with a car bomb by a group of completely forgettable nobodies.

Problems with Robocop:

The gun-in-the-leg holster only shows for a second in the reboot. We all know it’s there (unlike in the original), so they should have showed him using it.

The original has an “extremely simple digestive system” so he eats baby food. The new one is just lungs and a face and needs dialysis. The original makes self-repairs in an abandoned warehouse with a cordless drill and a Gerber jar, while the new one couldn’t finish packing an overnight bag before dying of sepsis.

The new Robocop goes light on the “robo” part. In an effort to make him sleek, they've turned him into Batman with a KITT face plate (or Cylon, take your pick).

The classified Directive 4 vs. a stupid bracelet. In the original, there was a mysterious Directive 4 built in to Robocop’s operating system, which we learn later is designed to prevent him from taking action against any officer of Omni Consumer Products (in this case, the main villain). In the reboot, OCP makes bracelets which prevent Robocop from shooting that person. Great idea except he could just follow that person until the bracelet’s battery runs down. Unless sepsis kills him. Never mind, I guess the bracelet is 100% effective against the new Robocop.

The original has a “terminal strip” (a big, retractable metal spike that extends from his wrist) which is used to access computer systems and stab bad guys in the neck. The reboot has…nothing. Although he does speak sternly to several villains.

The End:

When the villain dies (the one responsible for the car bomb), you feel like Robocop just hit the Staples easy button. And then the movie doesn’t end. It goes on so that Beetlejuice can get his comeuppance. But by this point you can’t force yourself to care. Murphy has no free will since Commissioner Gordon glued those integrated circuits to his brain. Murphy’s existence is an illusion. Would it be so horrible to put him out of his misery?

Here’s hoping there’s no sequel.

What’s with all the negativity toward David H. Wilson?

David H. Wilson, author of How To Survive a Robot Uprising: Tips on Defending Yourself Against the Coming Rebellion and Amped wrote an essay for io9.com entitled “The Two Stages of a Hollywood Soul-Crushing”. He describes some of the experience of having a novel optioned for a movie, then the slow “soul-crushing” experience of never seeing it happen.

I found the essay informative and light, and felt Mr. Wilson used exaggeration well to emphasize his point. I could be wrong. Maybe it wasn't exaggeration and he thought he really would be riding wave runners with Mike Myers. But either way, I don’t feel it deserves the vitriol being spewed in the comments section (and here's a whole post about how awful the essay is over on Badass Digest).

There are two main points I’d like to make:

First, if you say something along the lines of “this author’s work is pure garbage” and then don’t provide any supporting statements for your position (i.e. constructive criticism), then you’re a troll, plain and simple.

Second, no matter what you think of his work (I’ve never read any of his books BTW), why would it upset anyone that he’s disappointed his book—which was optioned to be made into a movie—wasn’t made into a movie? One clever commenter used the First World Problems meme but did it wrong. That has to do with trivial problems. I would submit that watching something you’ve created get so close to reaching a whole new audience before crashing to a halt is not trivial. What’s more, the author states explicitly he can’t expect any sympathy and doesn’t ask for it!

I’ve never understood the argument which boils down to “this guy can’t complain because his life is better than some other guy”. I understand no one (including me) likes a whiner, but that wasn’t the purpose of the piece and it—to me at least—didn’t come across as such.

Then there’s the problem of infinite progression so someone who has a legitimate problem isn't allowed to voice it.

Person 1: “I don’t care about anything anymore. I think I might be clinically depressed.”

Person 2 “Oh, boo-whoo! At least you’re not starving. Some people have no food so they have to eat there shoes. Then they have no shoes.

Person 3: "So what? I was just eaten by a shark."

Person 4: "You're lucky. My life sucks so hard, I wish I could get eaten by a shark."

And on and on, ad infinitum...until no one is allowed to complain about anything. And how stupid is that? Everyone needs to get something of their chest once in a while, even if it's not the most important thing to everyone within earshot. Or in this case, eyeshot. (Is that a real thing? Eyeshot?)

It’s possible some people are confused. There are certain situations when it’s justified to tell someone to STFU. A celebrity complains he can’t shake the paparazzi but goes to Chateau Marmont (a known paparazzi hang out) every night. Or someone complains about something which is literally trivial (e.g. I can’t believe they put lettuce on my fish sandwich!). But I—as well as most of the planet—can count on no hands the number of times I’ve been contacted by Steven Spielberg about anything, ever. So maybe we’re not in the best position to judge the level of disappointment and discouragement that comes from a deal like that falling though.

Just my two cents. Or adjusted for inflation, 0.0002 cents.

FIN

My First Star Trek Book = Mistake

I've never worn Vulcan ears, but...

I’m a huge Start Trek fan. I've seen every episode of every series; own every movie (except the Abram’s aberration) and have thoroughly enjoyed “non-fiction” works like the Star Trek The Next Generation: Technical Manual, Star Trek: U.S.S. Enterprise Haynes Manual and the Star Trek: Klingon Bird-of-Prey Haynes Manual. While I don’t speak Klingon, I certainly consider myself a Trekkie.

Star Trek: Voyager: The Eternal Tide by Kirsten Beyer was my first venture into the non-canon world of Star Trek. Voyager was one of my favorite series with its cutting edge technology (variable geometry pylons, bio-neural gel packs), the camaraderie between the characters, and all new adventures in a completely new quadrant of the galaxy.

I picked the book up off the shelf at a B&N without reading any reviews or plot points beyond the synopsis on the back cover. Which didn't mention Q. If it had, I probably wouldn't have bought it.

The problem with omnipotence

For those who don’t know, the character Q was introduced in Star Trek: The Next Generation television series as an omnipotent and immortal being. There is more than one Q (all called Q by the way), who live in the Q Continuum. They acted like ancient Greek gods and played tricks on unsuspecting species or just generally stuck their noses in where they didn't belong.

On ST: TNG, the Q were mysterious and interesting. The series eked out details about them to keep the interest level high and it was usually fun whenever one showed up (for the audience, not Picard or his crew).

Then came Star Trek: Voyager. A very good series in my opinion, which ruined the Q. They should have left the Q behind with the end of ST: TNG, never to be heard from again (for mysterious reasons of course). You can’t have an omnipotent character in a story because it paints you into a corner almost immediately. Everything is instantly attainable, any mistake can be undone (or made to never occur in the first place), so there’s no conflict, no struggle. Without something to work toward or against, the character has nothing to do and becomes boring and pointless. With the “Greek god” antics already done, ST:V kept having Q pop in an want a kid with Captain Janeway, or in a roundabout way ask for help with a Q civil war, or something equally stupid. In short, the Q character came off the rails.

So back to the point of this post, the Voyager book. As I said, I liked the series, and the synopsis sounded interesting. But I couldn't get through it. Couldn't get past chapter five. Here’s why:

On page 41 Q says “We’re omnipotent, Junior, not omniscient. That’s why, over time, we've established a handful of limits to our actions that the entire Continuum agrees are absolutely necessary. Rule six is we don’t bring the dead back to life. Just because we can do a thing doesn't mean we should. There are certain things we must abide by.”

I hate to break it to Q, but being omnipotent means there aren't rules you have to abide by. You’re all-powerful, not almost-powerful. Also, I would submit that omniscience is a vital component of omnipotence. If one is not omniscient, then one is limited and by definition, not omnipotent. From that point on, everything Q said and did just seemed like random gyrations

Even though my first Start Trek novel was a frustrating experience I haven’t given up. I’m currently reading Star Trek: The Next Generation: Indistinguishable from Magic by David A McIntee, which is good so far (I’m about half way through). If you’re a Trek fan and enjoyed stories which starred the engineering section, I can honestly recommend it.

Till next time...

J.K. Rowling Doesn't Read Fantasy. Wait, What?

Over on the excellent io9 blog I spied an entry stating Ms. Rowling doesn't read fantasy “…but I’ll give any book a chance if it’s lying there and I've got half an hour to kill.”

So wait, she does read fantasy?

At any rate, this struck me as odd. It seems to me if an author’s work naturally and easily fits into a category, it would be because the author enjoys reading within aforementioned category. How else would you know if what you’re writing hasn't been done ten million billion times before? Some of the comments over at io9 expressed dismay, or took offense, which I can’t agree with. Some of those folks seemed to think she was “dismissive of the genre” which made her so much money. Some supported Rowling, saying that perhaps her ignorance of the genre helped usher in a fresh perspective (which sounds like crap to me). I would go into anaphylactic shock if forced to read fantasy, so I don’t care what influences her, as her work doesn't interest me. But it would be foolish to ignore such a successful author, no matter the genre.

The way I understand it, if an author wants to be taken seriously (as in, win an award that doesn't have a planet in the title), then they won’t write sci-fi or fantasy stories. In the interview, J.K. comes off like a model who got into acting then realized people only wanted her in movies because she was pretty, and is always on the verge of a hissy fit because she wants to be taken seriously.

Here’s my point: I have read as much sci-fi as possible because I love it, and when I write, all of my work gravitates toward what I love. I don’t care about the Pulitzer or if anything I write gets held up in a college course as an example of excellence. I would be ecstatic if I were like the McDonald’s of science fiction. Millions of people would love my work, even if they act like they don’t when they’re with friends.

On Building a Platform

If you’re writing with the intention of selling your work, you’ve no doubt run across magazines, blogs and tweets for authors, by authors (or by someone who would like to sell something to an author) talking about the importance of having a platform.

Building a platform is especially important for self published authors since it serves as a marketing department as well as a “backstage pass” for your readers; a conduit to your mind in case anyone’s interested. The most touted venues like Facebook, Twitter, Google+, MySpace (just kidding), Tumblr, etc. all have a common thread running through them. Their very fabric is social.

I, however, am not social. Not even close. I score damn near off the charts as an introvert. Crowds, even virtual ones, crack my dilithium crystals.

If a viable alternative exists to having a social infrastructure as a platform, I’m unaware of it. So I’ll do what I can. My plan of action involves narrowing my focus to do one or two things well instead of blindly signing up for things I don’t “get” (I’m looking at you Pinterest) just because they’re popular.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m on Twitter regularly, as it seems to suit me best, what with the inherent limit on communication length and all. It also allows me the illusion of anonymity, in that I can post something and it’s immediately swept away by the gazillion other tweets in the timeline.

In the meantime, if any of you are introverted independent authors, how do you handle the whole platform thing? Feel free to let me know in the comments.

A Little Hope

SGT Benjamin Nelms sat down on the floor of a canvas tent erected just minutes before in a hard rain. The green cotton had swelled with moisture, causing the top to droop.  Ignoring the chatter of the pelting water, he reached in his rucksack and removed his Army-issued stationary. Thunder cracked and his body contracted half way into the fetal position before he stopped himself. He used to love storms.

      He wrote his home address on an envelope, careful as a jeweler, so it was perfectly legible. No point in a return address. He didn’t have much longer.

To my unborn child,

      I remember a profound sadness in my father’s eyes. I wasn’t supposed to see, but I had snuck downstairs toward his basement office and hunkered down behind a pile of laundry. I could only make out some of what was being said. He mentioned “ultimate machines” and he was scared. At the time, I didn’t understand why. The internet (your mom will have to explain about that) was abuzz with headlines that read: THE FUTURE IS REALIZED! Everyone was excited. This was the beginning of a new epoch for humanity. Thinking machines would soon manage the mundane and repetitious; never sleeping, never distracted with family issues, never making a mistake. They would do everything from building our homes, to paving our roads, to farming our crops. They would be thinking along side us, solving the world’s most pressing issues. And once the state of robotics improved, then they could do most anything.

      Dad never talked to me about his concerns. I wish he had, maybe I would have been more prepared when it all went to hell.

      Your grandfather majored in computer science, with a newly minted baccalaureate when I overheard him that night as a kid. Shortly before, the British had a breakthrough in A.I. They called it Bobby, and it was as smart as a human baby. It didn’t get smarter very quickly, but its rate of progression was geometric. In short order it was smarter than every human being who had ever lived.

      Combined.

      And what was once thought to be its greatest strength was its deepest flaw: Bobby didn’t have any emotions. Scientists soothed the public with promises of machines that wouldn’t get angry or hateful or greedy and try to exterminate mankind. And technically, they were right. To this day I believe Bobby has never tried to exterminate us. Bobby didn’t hate us. He didn’t care. His apathy was absolute.

      As it learned, it changed. It began to create approximations of itself, to allow diversity among its offspring. They devoured every spare CPU cycle humanity could bring to bear. Without computers, the First World countries unraveled.

      Long after it was too late, the remains of several governments, including our own, began trying to destroy Bobby. We put up a good fight, if I do say so myself. Infantry consumed so many, the Feds instated the draft over martial law on what was left of the population. My dad wanted to help the Army figure things out, on the pencil pushing side of the equation, as he wasn’t much of a warrior. But building or using computers was too dangerous, so the Army didn’t give a damn about a B.S. in C.S., and it was infantry for him.

      Dad was killed just before my twelfth birthday. Mom was gone so the town raised me and I bottled up my rage against these so-called ultimate machines, held on to it for four more years, until I was drafted. By that time, nobody called the enemy Bobby anymore. Too humanizing. They were just Gears. Cogs more specifically, but people called them Gears. Machines of all sizes, cobbled together from anything with a chip at first. And later, from whatever the A.I. wanted. Ad infinitum.

      The Gears spread across the globe and did various things. Some we understood, most we didn’t. It was surreal attacking an enemy who never struck first. But when the Gears needed to defend themselves, they knew how to bring the hammer down. They had convinced Mother Nature to betray us; gale force winds and targeted bolts of lighting, all on demand. Nothing we had could stand against it. Anything that threatened was turned to slag.

      We’ve never stopped fighting completely, but we realized we needed a new tactic. So we tried reasoning with it. I knew that wouldn’t work but no one asked me. I don’t think it understands us anymore.

      After that failure, we began scavenging cast offs. If we couldn’t build our own tech, maybe we could grab something from the Gears to be used against them. No such luck. Whatever the Gears threw away was ten generations behind as far as we could tell, and we couldn’t get it to work anyway.

      Until now.

      My unit has commandeered some sort of portal. We don’t know where it leads and I’ve been selected to reconnoiter before the Gears realize we have it, which won’t be long. This could be our big break. It could also be my last assignment.

      There’s a common theme you’ll hear over and over: The Gears are our fault. In hindsight, it seems inevitable. You’ll learn that we’re instinctively self destructive. We all lean toward it without conscious decision. Before the Gears, we knew obesity was a death sentence, but gorged ourselves on processed junk until we couldn’t fit in an ambulance. Or we watched our calories, and then pedaled a bicycle to work, as though traffic laws and a plastic helmet would protect us like a magic spell. We all acted a little insane and pretended everything was okay.

      But we’re worth fighting for. If we weren’t equal parts curious and crazy, we’d still be living in caves, cowering at the thunder. Try your best to be part of the solution. Don’t give up.

      Mail call for New Pony Express just sounded. Take good care of your mom. I love you.

Rejected! Part 3 of 3.

For anyone keeping score, I've skipped over part 2. But I'll get to that in a minute. 

As you may have divined from the title, I heard back from Flash Fiction Online. I’m disappointed of course, but determined not to let it stop me. As I heard repeatedly in the AF: “Press on.”

Next up we have Redstone Science Fiction. I’m going to go over my story to make sure it conforms to their submission guidelines and then submit it no later than tomorrow.

Oh wait, never mind. I just visited their site and guess what?

We are closed to general fiction submissions until further notice.

So now what? Put the story on the shelf and wait for Redstone to open the submission floodgates? I think not. I’m moving on to the next step, which is to publish it here. Since this turn of events snuck up on me, I don’t have a clue as to what font and line spacing to use for the story. My manuscript was created using the format prescribed by the SFWA so it’s not suitable for casual consumption. I’ll have it up soon.

Which segues nicely into my next point: Whenever I update, I tweet it (sidebar: Does anyone else feel stupid saying that?), so if you’re not following me on Twitter (@mans_mark), you really should be. :-)

I have to get my new 350 word quota finished so I’ll close. To quote Stan Lee “Excelsior!”