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Alastair Reynolds is a scientist and science fiction author, famous for, among many others, his Revelation Space series of novels. In 2009 he signed an unprecedented 10-year book deal with Gollancz worth a million pounds. This year he also wrote a Doctor Who novel, Harvest Of Time , and here he talks about his relationship with the show…

Doctor Who is part of my science fictional DNA. You could take it out of me and I’d probably still have ended up being a writer, but almost certainly not the same one. I also think it played a part in shaping my choice of career. Spock was a scientist, and – at least in the manner in which he was portrayed during my formative years – so was the Doctor. I came to the series in the early nineteen seventies, when Jon Pertwee’s Third Doctor seemed to spend half his time peering through microscopes in the UNIT laboratory. In addition to being staunch pacifists, Spock and the Doctor were both skeptical thinkers who would always look for the rational explanation at the heart of any given mystery – even if that “explanation” might involve barely comprehensible alien technologies and motives. There were no other strong scientific role models on television at the time, so I don’t think you can understate the importance of this iconic pair. They influenced not just my choice of work as a space scientist, but my entire outlook on life, the universe and everything. If I couldn’t be Spock or the Doctor, I could at least be a scientist. That didn’t strike me as a bad bargain.

My early memories of Who are clouded by time and confused by repeats and reissues. I have no direct recollection of the first two Doctors and none at all of the first season of the Pertwee era. By the last two seasons of the Third Doctor, I was properly hooked. The Daleks frightened me so much that I did not want to go round to the house of another boy because he had Dalek wallpaper on his bedroom, which struck me was profoundly wrong and troubling. Memorable stories include the two Peladon adventures, all of the Dalek encounters, “Carnival Of Monsters” and “Invasion Of The Dinosaurs”. I can’t think of the latter without remembering a Saturday tea-time of sausages, mash potato and HP sauce.

I was a huge fan of Tom Baker but his tenure lasted such a long time that it also saw me falling slowly out of love with the programme. It was being clever when I wanted it to be scary, camp when I wanted it to take itself seriously. Nonetheless, some of the middle adventures of the Baker years had a significant effect on me. “Robots Of Death” is one of my all-time favourites and the wonderful design of the robots was an undeniable influence on my mental image of the character Doctor Trintrignant, from my stories “Diamond Dogs” and “Grafenwalder’s Bestiary”. “Kill the Doctor!” was that week’s playground catchphrase. I think the whole look of that adventure is terrifically well-realised, from the costumes of the human protagonists to the marvellous Art Deco storm-mine machine. OK, it’s a flimsy plastic model but it looked pretty big and impressive on a small television screen in the 1970s.

I’ve also a huge affection for “The Talons Of Weng-Chiang”, but then – who doesn’t? Yes, it’s wrong on all sorts of levels, but the ideas! Probably no coincidence that a human-pig hybrid also shows up in my Revelation Space universe.

I watched Who with a mixture of affection and exasperation through the eighties, always ready to cheer on the Doctor but seldom feeling that the series was playing to its strengths. Some of the adventures, revisited on DVD, turn out to be better than I remembered – others just as infuriating. But I never gave up hope that the series might find its way again. By the time of the Colin Baker/Sylvester McCoy years I was living away from home without a television, so I saw very few of them.

The new iteration of Who is, in many ways, jarringly different from the old, for all the revisted monsters and clever nods to time-honoured continuity. But if the series had stayed on air throughout the ’80s, I suppose it would have necessarily ended up being faster, glossier, more family-friendly, with better production values – much like the new stuff, in other words. Actually I like it a lot, with a few reservations. I think the new Doctors have all been excellent choices, and I’m sure Peter Capaldi will prove an equally fine addition to the role. Matt Smith has been one of my two or three favourite Doctors, period.

But I’m disappointed that the opportunity wasn’t taken to cast a black, asian, and/or female actor in the role. It’s no good saying the Doctor’s a man, and must therefore always remain a man. He’s a time-travelling, body-regenerating alien with two hearts and a respiratory bypass system, for pity’s sake. If a Zygon can become a horse, surely anything is possible? Spock and the Doctor were both men, but imagine if there’d been a strong female scientific role model on television in the 1960s and ’70s? How would that have shaken things up?

I’m not actually that bothered about the “science fiction-ness” of Doctor Who . As Terry Pratchett has noted, the series is constructed on a much less secure conceptual foundation than Star Trek , and its ideas are often too rubbery to critique from a standpoint of scientific plausibility. If we can at least envisage something like the Enterprise, and speculate about how warp drive or transporters might function, the TARDIS constitutes a whole other order of conceptual unlikeliness.

But in that sense, the TARDIS is merely a perfect example of Arthur C Clarke’s dictum that any sufficiently advanced technology will be hard to distinguish from magic. One can apply the same thinking to a great deal of Who paraphernalia. Regenerations? Well, who knows who they work. But it almost certainly isn’t some sort of mystic reincarnation: it’s a physiological process that the Time Lords both invented and control, and which they can revoke when they wish. It may look like magic, but that doesn’t mean it actually is magic. And perhaps “sonic screwdriver” is just the Doctor’s slightly patronising shorthand for a gadget too hopelessly advanced for mere humans to comprehend, much as I might tell a caveman that my smartphone is a “magic talking bone”.

Doctor Who might sometimes resemble a fairytale but the Doctor most certainly doesn’t believe in fairytales himself. The name “Doctor” cuts both ways. He’s a healer, but he’s also a scientist. I hope we never lose sight of that part of his character, because I think it matters rather a lot.

On The Steel Breeze , the latest book by Alastair Reynolds, is available now from Gollancz (£16.99 in hardback).

The post GUEST BLOG Alastair Reynolds talks Doctor Who appeared first on Game News.

Kate Kelly is a marine scientist who’s penned her first novel, Red Rock (opens in new tab) , based around climate change… with an extraterrestrial angle. The book is out on Thursday 12 September and here she writes for SFX on the rise of “cli-fi”, climate fiction, as an important genre…

The Rise Of Cli-Fi

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The climate is changing.

This isn’t really news – the climate has always been in a state of flux. The world is by no means static. But in recent years people have been paying more attention to the changing world around us. Climate change has become news, and the subject of fierce debate.

As scientists investigate the impact we are having on our planet it is only natural for writers to start to explore the possible implications in their fiction. Writers look at the world around them and ask – What If? What if the worst predictions come true? Will it be flood or drought or endless winter?

Everywhere I look more and more books are appearing with a climate change theme to them. Literature is a reflection of the times it is written in and echoes the prominent concerns of its age. Just look at the dominant science news stories – items about climate change crop up on a regular basis – be is observations of the melting ice, or merely a comment on the unseasonable weather. Surrounded by all this it is hardly surprising that climate change themes in fiction are on the increase.

But even before people began to talk about climate change writers had thought about what might happen if the ice caps should melt. In John Wyndham’s The Kraken Wakes the ice is deliberately melted as part of an attack on mankind. The cause may be different but the outcome is just as devastating. Who would have expected that it would turn out to be our own hand that is melting the ice!

More recently authors have been looking at the ramifications of such changes – even the seemingly small changes around us that might reflect a greater problem beyond the limits of our own experience, as is so wonderfully depicted in Barbara Kingslover’s Flight Behaviour . And take our dependence on fossil fuels – what would happen our supplies were severed? – see Last Light by Alex Scarrow for a frightening vision of the world that could result. It is also the force behind many of the teen dystopias so popular at the moment – Exodus by Julie Bertagna, After The Snow by SD Crockett, and many many more.

Coming from a geological background I am used to looking at the changes affecting our planet across millions of years. Sea levels have risen and fallen before; vast tracts of what was once dry land are now underwater, the ice advances and retreats. Changes that take place over millions of years don’t make very exciting fiction. Speed things up and it starts to get interesting.

This is a guest blog by scientist Kate Kelly , whose book Red Rock is out on Thursday 12 September.

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Percy Jackson: Sea Of Monsters is an okay film. If you can forgive female characters so thinly characterised the actresses should be able to sue for sexual discrimination, the end-of-level bad guy finale and the shameless Harry Potter ripping-off, it’s a decent enough kids’ fantasy adventure. It’s worth watching for Nathan Fillion’s hilarious cameo as Hermes, if nothing else.

Shortly after I watched that cameo, a thought came to mind (which is never a good thing when you’re watching a film – you should be lost in it, not dissecting it). The Fillion scene felt like something out of a Pixar film. That in turn got me thinking about how much better the scripts are in Pixar’s CG films – and indeed Dreamworks and Blue Sky animated films – than in any other current live action children’s film. Or indeed most current blockbusters.

It’s not much of a generalisation to say that animated films these days boast some of the slickest, sharpest, most inventive scripts to come out of Hollywood. In the genre of family entertainment they are streets ahead of fare like the Narnia films, the Percy Jackson franchise or Journey To The Centre Of The Mysterious Island or whatever it was.

Every Scene Counts

Whereas with How To Train Your Dragon , Monsters University or Despicable Me each scene is a mini masterpiece in itself, overflowing with witty little touches, shrewd character choices and well-crafted gags. These films can gear-change from fun to poignancy with a micro-engineered precision that leaves your heart in your stomach, only to make your spirits soar a cut later.

They’re not particularly deeper than their live counterparts. Toy Story 3 ’s teary tale of a boy growing out of childish things contains no greater insight than Sea Of Monsters ’ subtext about teenage outsiders feeling like monsters. But Toy Story ’s approach was fresh, and original; in Percy Jackson it feels like something we’ve seen in a zillion kids’ fantasy shows from Australia.

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As I said earlier, the best of the animated films even outshine Oscar-winning dramas at times. Want daring and different and emotional? Look no further than the opening of Up . Lucky old Academy, having created a ghetto category for Best Animated Feature a few years beforehand so they could give Pixar the consolation prize and award Best Picture to the begging-on-bended-knees-for-an-Oscar The Hurt Locker instead.

Of course, not all current animated films are genius. Many fall far, far short of that. But if you could quantify quality of script somehow (which, of course, is a pointless exercise, so just accept the spurious Golder Standard for the sake of argument) and averaged all animated films against all live action films, I reckon animated films would win by a country mile.

Collaboration Game

Why are animated films blessed with better quality scripts in general? Maybe it’s a “designed by committee” approach that US telly loves so much. The old saying would have you believe that “a camel is a horse designed by committee” (in other words, perfect for the task, but not exactly pretty). On the other hand, US scriptwriting by committee often creates thoroughbreds.

Certainly when you watch behind-the-scenes features on Pixar Blu-rays you get the feeling that everybody on every level is involved; that the script is a mere blueprint and that actors, animators, artists, editors… everybody is allowed input, and the best ideas remain. A lovely little character moment can evolve from something like an animator deciding that this character should have that kind of walk, which then inspires the director to try something in this scene he hadn’t previously thought of…

Maybe the key difference is that things can be changed on computer right up until final compositing with animation, whereas live-action directors are stuck with the live-action footage they shot months before (bar a few reshoots). Animation directors can keep on fiddling to the end, basically.

In other art forms, collaboration can lead to dilution. In Hollywood filmmaking, the opposite seems true – the more the merrier. Except if you’re called Woody Allen. Who’s pretty much a European filmmaker now.

But animation and the auteur theory? Doesn’t seem to mix, does it?

Dave Golder

The post PURE GOLDER Theres Nothing Cartoony About Cartoon Scripts Any More appeared first on Game News.

Today we welcome writer Guy Adams to the site. He’s already an established author but he’s begun a new series for Solaris, called The Heaven’s Gate Chronicles, which are described as “Weird Westerns”. The first novel is The Good, The Bad And The Infernal and we invited Adams to write for us on this subject: “Why does steampunk provide such an interesting sandpit for an author to play in?”

Photo below © Peter Coleborn

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I feel like Richard E Grant as Withnail, who once went on holiday by mistake. Not for me the damp, terrible splendour of a Welsh holiday cottage, poachers and predatory uncles rather the thick smog and coal stacks of a genre that is new to me.

I’ve written a steampunk novel by mistake.

This is not an unusual position for me, I’m a great believer in running at a book with mad abandon, who can be surprised if it becomes something I didn’t altogether expect? It certainly could be worse, I could be here talking about my new Goat Porn trilogy and that would be awkward for all of us.

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The Good, The Bad And The Infernal , the first in a trilogy published by Solaris Books, started off life as a western. Arguably it ended its life as one too, the toes of its leather boots pointing up into wide Arizona skies, but it gathered other trappings along the way.

The only difficulty I have with the situation is that in press interviews for the book I keep being asked about the steampunk genre. This is natural enough, I’ve just written a novel featuring land locomotives and Native American tribes gene-spliced with steam engines. I can’t deny this spade is a spade when the long handle is jutting up for all to see. Still, being one of those silly authors who thinks about things too deeply, I now feel like something of a cheat discussing a genre I’ve only recently dipped a toe into. It is not a genre in which I am well read. Asking my expert opinion on it is rather like asking Nicholas Sparks to discuss military sci-fi.

That said, if there’s one thing authors do with gusto it’s make stuff up and feign authority. So, when I was asked to write this guest blog answering the question “Why does steampunk provide such an interesting sandpit for an author to play in?” I did what I always do, say yes and worry about the details later. Which is now. Sigh…

I can certainly say why it was interesting for me. I am not a writer well-versed in restraint. While The Good, The Bad And The Infernal does its very best to be historically accurate up to a point, I am not a writer that enjoys letting reality hold him back. This is why the last few years have seen me write novels about infinite houses where you can go sailing in the bathroom; nightclubs run by the living dead; espionage departments dealing with supernatural terrorism and, well, a western that centres on a doorway to the afterlife. If you’re going to make things up, say I, then you might as well be hanged for a dragon as an iguana.

I’m a great believer in cooking stews of novels. I like a lot of different flavours. The dry, sand-blasted, chilli-infused tang of the western; the hot, salty copper of horror; the bourbon and tobacco of pulp crime; the banana-split and anchovy of comedy. They’re all worth chopping up and throwing into a book whenever the recipe allows.

A flavour I use time and again is Victoriana. I’ve served my time with Sherlock Holmes (having written two original novels plus a Persian slipper full of non-fiction), and The World House featured an explorer from the late nineteenth century as one of its central characters. That world of port wine, dark cobbles and antimacassars is very dear to me. Victoriana is my garlic, I throw that bugger in whenever the stew will allow.

Historical fiction, though, as I believe Shakespeare once said, can be a bit of an arse. It brings with it a whole new portmanteau of rules and pitfalls. Simply: you have to get your facts right. We get away with mistakes all the time of course, because most readers don’t know the minutiae of history any better than we do (I’m reminded of a scene in Anthony Horowitz’s excellent Holmes novel The House Of Silk where the detective lights his cigarette off a gasogene, a clever trick given that it’s actually a type of soda siphon). Still, we all try to avoid such things. In steampunk this is less of an issue, all the flavour of the Victorian era but with a built-in liberty when it comes to historical, or scientific fact. That’s the thing with alternate universes, you can do what you like with them, Simon Schama won’t have a leg to stand on if he decides to pick a fight. For any type of fantasist that’s incredibly appealing.

(I will just note that, at least so far, The Good, The Bad And The Infernal is set in our world rather than any alternate universe, because I’m not only a bad planner but I’m also stupid).

But steampunk is also all about the aesthetic. I can’t think of many literary genres that come with a dress code.

Steampunk is full of flavour… the burning of coke, the texture of velvet, the hiss and punch of hydraulic systems. It’s not only a literary genre it’s a shared sensibility that any of us can imagine. And for those of us who secretly dreamed of being Victorian gentlemen but never had the piercings or foreign policies to quite pull it off, steampunk allows us a chance to dabble. To enjoy the trappings but play the most important writing game of all: ‘what if?’

“Why does steampunk provide such an interesting sandpit for an author to play in?” Because the sandpit is deep and filled with treasure. You can dig for years and still find something new.

But don’t ask me, I don’t even work here full time. Though, having enjoyed the experience I wouldn’t be surprised if I applied for a few more shifts.

Thanks Guy! You can get the book from Amazon.co.uk (opens in new tab) or Amazon.com (opens in new tab) and there’s an extract ready to read now on the Solaris editors’ blog. Find out more about Guy Adams at his website or on the Solaris website .

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You’ve probably heard the news about the Kickstarter project to get a Veronica Mars movie funded. In case you haven’t, here it is in a nutshell: Veronica Mars was a fun, clever little series about a high-school private investigator (Kristen Bell) which ran from 2004-7. The first two seasons were great; the third wasn’t quite in the same league; eventually the show was cancelled. The creator, Rob Thomas, has been trying to get a Veronica Mars film off the ground ever since. Eventually, thwarted at every turn, he decided to see if the fans would pay for it. Last week he set up a Kickstarter campaign to raise $2 million: if he could hit that, he’d make the film and Warners had agreed to support him.

Within 24 hours, the campaign had hit $2 million, breaking Kickstarter records. As I write this, the film now has a budget of $3.6 million. It’s still going up and there’s still the best part of a month left of the appeal.

Much has been written this week about the pros and cons of such a scheme. People have been complaining that if fans are going to fund projects, the studios will get lazy and won’t want to fund things themselves (which is their job, of course). Others are sniping that the eventual movie won’t make any money. Many more, like me – and probably you – are wondering what other joys we can bring to the screen with our own hard-earned cash.

But the one show everybody’s talking about reviving is Firefly . So much so, in fact, that Joss Whedon himself has commented on it . He pointed out that he’s tied up for the next three years making Marvel stuff and couldn’t possibly commit to a Firefly film. I’ve seen people getting a bit uppity about this, leaving comments on websites moaning that Whedon should hand it over to someone else while he’s busy, but these people seem unable to comprehend the fact that many of the cast are also doing other things now. Scheduling a movie – with or without Whedon – would be a monumental pain in the ass for everyone. Nathan Fillion is filming Castle for most of the year. Gina Torres is doing sterling work on Suits . Alan Tudyk is in Suburgatory . Morena Baccarin stars in Homeland . Adam Baldwin – assuming the pilot gets picked up – could be starring in The Last Ship . Would all these people, and the others, quit their jobs to make a second Firefly film? Much as I’m sure they’d like to sail on the Serenity again, they still have contracts to honour and mortgages to pay. Nope, they won’t be doing that.

My main problem with another Firefly film, however, is the one that nobody seems to be talking about: it’s been a decade since Firefly aired and eight years since Serenity . These guys have aged. They’re all Hollywood-pretty, of course, so they’re still gorgeous, handsome and younger-looking than we can ever aspire to (jealous? Not me!), but they’re still noticeably older than they were the last time they sat on the Serenity’s bridge.

Okay, all of the above is a bit pants – this is why I’m not a screenwriter. If I was, there’d be more nudity. But the point stands: characters have to change if they’re meant to be realistic, and the thought of the Serenity crew remaining the same, frozen in amber, is the last thing I want for them. You can’t make a film now and pretend it’s picking up where the movie left off: too much time has passed. You can’t turn back the clock and pretend it’s still 2003 and the series is continuing, either. These guys deserve more. I think it’s best to leave them as we left them at the end of Serenity rather than breathing life into them again. As a chap named Victor Frankenstein once found out: when you bring back the dead, they’re never quite as perfect as you think they will be.

Finally, going back to Veronica Mars : a few of you may be unaware that Whedon himself is a fan, even making a cameo in one episode. You can see him ad-libbing madly in this gag reel from 3 mins 20 secs… And keep watching for additional Charisma Carpenter and Alyson Hannigan!

The post NELSONS COLUMN Bring Out Your Dead To Be Kickstarted appeared first on Game News.

And yet: despite all this, Hartman’s novel turns out to be one of the most elegant and absorbing fantasy debuts in some years. It fully deserves its place on the shortlist for the Kitschies’ Golden Tentacle Award , a prize given – as readers of this site over the past few weeks will know – to the most “progressive, intelligent and entertaining” genre fiction of the year.

The “entertaining” portion of the Golden Tentacle’s rubric lies squarely with Seraphina ’s characters, who are the heart and centre of the novel and wonderfully fun to spend time with, whether they’re having a chat over tea, getting sucked into a marketplace riot, or questing off to parley with a particularly ornery dragon. This is also not, in general, a book that takes itself too seriously: protagonist Seraphina’s view of the world has a strong strain of dry wit running through it, and Hartman even embeds the odd meta-joke. A foreign visitor to a Goredd music festival, for example, who brings a design for a pipe organ so loud it shakes entire buildings, is named Lars (as in Metallica drummer Ulrich).

The novel earns its progressive and intelligent stripes with its setting, which examines multiculturalism through a fantastical lens and a mature, nuanced sensitivity to varying ideas and experiences. In Seraphina’s homeland, a forty-year-old peace agreement between humans and dragons – pioneered by the aforementioned Queen Lavonda – has ended a long, highly destructive inter-species war. Most dragons are able to assume humanoid form, and since the peace, some have come to live in human cities as traders, diplomats, and teachers.

Tension remains, however, and only gets worse as more dragons arrive to bring the joy of advanced maths to the students of Goredd. Neither side can forget the past, and some believe humans and dragons are simply incompatible neighbours. Many humans worry that dragons could start snacking on them again at any moment, and brand people who form friendships with dragons as traitors and perverts; the belief that dragons lack souls is a widespread part of religious belief. Dragons, for their part, are suspicious of humans with their baffling, dangerously illogical “feelings”, and there are factions who see a new war as a good career move. Humanoid dragons are watched like hawks by all concerned: the human authorities make them wear little silver bells so they can always be recognised (and avoided); dragonkind’s powers-that-be, meanwhile, force city-dwellers to keep an eye on each other, so that anyone developing un-dragonish emotions can be hauled home for a quick lobotomy.

Seraphina is caught between these two worlds. Not because she’s all special and more enlightened than everyone around her, but because she doesn’t have much choice: she’s the daughter of tragically star-crossed inter-species lovers, and so she spends her entire life trying to hide what is written across the skin of her belly in dragon scales. She can’t help but notice, then, all the manifold tiny bigotries with which the boundaries between humans and dragons are maintained. She passes for human very successfully; as the novel opens, her new job as assistant to the royal court’s chief composer is bringing her into very elevated circles. But this success comes at a cost: protecting her secret means biting her tongue at every sneering “joke” made about dragons, and keeping her distance, at least publicly, from her closest friend and mentor, because he’s a humanoid dragon, and her uncle. She’s living proof that humans and dragons can find value in each other’s lives and cultures; but it’s a message few want to hear.

Nic Clarke

SFX ‘s original review of Seraphina awarded it four and a half stars back in the summer . Read reviews of the other books shortlisted for the Golden Tentacle award over on the The Kitschies website .

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Right, I’m posting this RoboCop remake article under the Pure Golder tag for two reasons:

1) These images posted by Coming Soon were posted on Saturday and have been all round the ’net in the meantime, so it’s not exactly news

2) More importantly, I want to make it clear that the following comments are my own, personal thoughts, and not representative of the SFX übermind (to be honest, it’s first thing Monday morning, I’m the only one in the office, so I have no idea what the SFX übermind might think).

To put it bluntly – oh dear.

Now, let me point out, I’m not usually one for knee-jerk reactions. There have been enough cases of snapperazzi shots from film sets suggesting that a director has made some crucial error of judgement, only for the final film to turn out magnificently (re: just about every aspect of Dredd ). I usually tend to reserve judgement, because so much can happen between the shoot the final edit. Things that don’t look like they’ll work in the harsh light of day, suddenly make sense when shot correctly, with the right lighting.

Hell, there may even be some script justification. Maybe this is RoboCop Mark I and a proper RoboCop turns up later in the movie.

So I know I’m playing a dangerous game here. I could be jumping the gun. But still: initial reaction – oh dear.

Previously, I haven’t had a downer on this film. I’ve liked what I’ve heard about director Jose Padilha’s plans for the movie (to make it more about the process of becoming a RoboCop would affect a man). I’ve been intrigued by the casting. It sounded like it could be a fresh, edgy, worthwhile makeover.

Some leaked pictures of the costume didn’t look very promising, but I wasn’t too worried. They were only concepts, after all, surely? Then the stories came out about Padhila having problems during preproduction. Stories he denied. Stories I dismissed as the kind of thing sceptics like to big-up on the internet.

Now I’m kinda thinking they may have been true, because I don’t want to think that a director who could come up with such an audacious take on the concept could also want a RoboCop costume that looks like it could have been made for any number of cheap, straight-to-DVD sci-fi potboilers in the past 15 years. The plated-armour motorcycle courier look is such a cliché, it induces groans of derision when it’s used for the villain-of-the-week on shows like Warehouse 13 or the latest Stargate variant.

The original RoboCop costume became iconic because it was bold, eye-catching and unique. This has about as much chance of becoming iconic as the packaging for Sainsbury’s hummus.

This must have been a cost-cutting measure foisted on Padhila by the studio, surely? If not, and this really is his vision for the star of the movie, I’m seriously worried.

Please let this be only RoboCop Mark One. I’m hoping I’m worrying for nothing. I want to be proved wrong.

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The post PURE GOLDER RoboCop Remake: On Set Images Of The Costume appeared first on Game News.

The series finale of (A Town Called) Eureka airs tonight in the UK. It was broadcast in the US on 16 July so many visitors to SFX.co.uk today will have already seen it, but for those who haven’t rest assured this blog won’t reveal any big spoilers. Instead, I’d like to look back across the seasons and analyse some small but important components of the show’s DNA.

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It started as the highest-rated series launch in Syfy’s history and went on to garner public acclaim for its special effects and its use of technology and logic (even winning an Independent Investigations Group Award for its scientific and critical thinking content). Unlike much of the gritty TV and cinema crashing into our eyeballs in the 21st century, Eureka was effortlessly fun and optimistic. On occasion more sitcom than sci-fi drama, with plots slaved to a well-worn formula, it nonetheless had a distinctive charm that warrants a closer look. So here, in no particular order, are five lessons sci-fi shows should learn from our chums at Global Dynamics:

1 DON’T BE AFRAID TO HIT THE REBOOT BUTTON

Time travel in Eureka wasn’t just used as a convenient plot device. During the course of its run we’ve actually seen a number of different timelines, including a particularly dramatic shift at the start of season four when characters changed roles entirely. Allison’s autistic son was replaced by a smart, articulate teenager, Henry gained a wife and erstwhile comic relief Fargo found himself director of Global Dynamics. The resulting new universe breathed a breath of fresh air into the show and prevented the characters becoming stale.

But it wasn’t the first time Eureka had played with its status quo – remember Kim’s death and Henry’s use of Section 5’s tachyon accelerator to save her? Accidents saw characters like Nathan Stark written out entirely and even when the show was just messin’ with us, it still enjoyed re-writing the rules temporarily (that “four years in the future” scenario of the evil Matrix was fun). Eureka ‘s writers were confident enough with their characters to try them out in different roles and relationships; even after five seasons, the town never felt too familiar.

2 INVITE GEEK-FRIENDLY GUEST STARS

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Chuck was perhaps the most successful at this, but Eureka was close behind. When you know your audience is sci-fi savvy, you can raise a few extra smiles if you introduce some familiar faces. From the beginning, veteran actor Joe Morton ( Terminator 2: Judgment Day , Smallville ) was a key part of the cast. In recent times, Wallace Shawn (from The Princess Bride and Deep Space Nine ) popped up a couple of times. Wil Wheaton and Felicia Day became (fantastic) recurring cast members. Previous series regulars like Nathan Stark (Ed Quinn, back briefly after his move to True Blood ), Senator Wenn (Ming-Na from Stargate Universe ), Dr Grant (James Callis from Battlestar Galactica ) and Taggart (Matt Frewer, Max Headroom himself) were all fan favourites. And then, of course, Stan Lee made an appearance.

3 KEEP IT GROUNDED

So often on TV it seems the lead characters are cleverer, better looking, quicker witted, stronger and more “together” than everybody around them. We’re very used to seeing Sherlock Holmes or the Doctor being two steps ahead of everybody, Apollo and Starbuck being the finest fighter pilots in the fleet, Merlin or Olivia from Fringe having unique powers… By comparison, Eureka celebrates the underdog. Sheriff Carter is – as he acknowledges himself – an Everyman. Ostensibly the hero of the story, he’s surrounded by people who are have more qualifications, who have achieved more and travelled further than him. His own daughter is a Harvard prodigy, his fiancée is chief medical officer of the DoD’s secret research base and his best friend can fashion cutting edge gadgets in his garage.

But him? He’d rather be at home with a beer. As a law enforcer he’s not even as good a shot as Jo Lupo or as robust as his robot deputy. Carter is just a guy, and not even a particularly shrewd one. It’s part of the show’s template that he solves problems through his courage and his people skills. As such, it makes it easy for the audience to connect with him and provides an excellent conduit through which we can experience the outlandish technology and mishaps of the scientists.

4 BE AN EQUAL OPPORTUNITIES EMPLOYER

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The female characters in Eureka hold positions of power in town and the plot never pushes them into the background. I write more on this subject in SFX 226’s new View Screen section so let’s not labour the point; in short Eureka feels like a show where men and women meet on equal terms. A villain is as likely to be arrested by Jo as Jack, Allison is not only the most senior government employee for much of the series but arguably the most competent problem solver too, scientist Grace is the obvious choice to captain the Astraeus space mission, and so on… For a popular, formulaic, light entertainment show, it’s pleasingly short on TV stereotypes.

5 INVEST IN A GOOD CHRISTMAS EPISODE

It didn’t happen until the later years (early seasons didn’t broadcast in December) but the two Christmas episodes Eureka produced in its lifetime were amazing, particularly its 2011 holiday special, “Do You See What I See?” Set outside the continuity of the series, the episode showcased a number of different animation styles, turning the characters into stop-motion puppets and anime badasses. With giant snow ninjas, a talking jeep and Taggart turning into a polar bear, it’s awesome (think Community ‘s “Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas” awesome). Writing at io9.com , Alasdair Wilkins described it as “a minor masterpiece, a thrill ride that was equal parts exciting, emotional, and hilarious.” Following this, we feel cheated when a sci-fi series doesn’t show some Yuletide ingenuity.

What would you add to this list? Let’s feel the Eureka love for one last time…

You can watch the final episode of Eureka on Syfy UK at 9pm tonight .

The post 5 Things Sci-Fi Shows Should Learn From Eureka appeared first on Game News.

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The cancellation of Awake couldn’t have come at a worse time for its UK broadcaster Sky Atlantic. Only one episode of the show had aired over here when the news broke, and immediately I started seeing posts on various online forums to the effect of, “Well, I’m not bothering to watch it now – what’s the point of getting into something if you know it’s been given the axe?”

If you are thinking like that, I urge you to think again. Not just because the show’s great, but because, having seen the finale, I have even better news.

It has a conclusion.

Well, sort of.

Not all the questions are answered but a lot of them are, and we’re left with a wonderfully tantalisingly ambiguous final scene that demands all kinds of fun discussion and interpretation.

In fact, it’s such a satisfyingly debateable ending, you almost wish the show had been marketed as a mini-series that concentrated on its mystery arc and ejected a few of the less interesting “case of the week” episodes along the way. To be fair, there were only two of these. From episode five onwards, the show starts playing with its unique format in all manner of intriguing and clever ways.

Perchance to dream?

In case you haven’t come across it yet, Awake concerns a cop who, following a car accident, finds himself living two parallel lives. In one, his wife died in the crash. In the other, his son did. When he falls asleep in one reality he wakes up in the other. And in each reality a shrink tries to convince him that the other reality is a dream.

The show has massive fun exploring this premise and can rarely be accused of predictability. At its heart is Jason Isaacs, giving a thorough compelling performance as cop Michael Britten, who may be creating one (or maybe both?) realities through an inability to accept either his wife or son is dead. The way he uses information from one reality to solve crimes in the other is an added mystery that spices up the show and makes his colleague suspect he’s losing his mind.

It’s a brilliant show, that could so easily have become mawkish but never does, and, from the middle of the season onwards, improves with each episode, introducing new and shocking revelations. The precredit teaser for the final episode is worth five stars alone (it’s one of the tensest things I’ve seen on TV for a while) and then it gets even better.

And, as I said, the finale is so well constructed, that even though showrunner Kyle Killen has said the final scene was supposed to be a set-up for season two, it acts just as superbly as a Twilight Zone or Tales Of The Unexpected -style twist. Although it’s not really a twist, more of a… ah, but that might give things away. It also follows a scrupulous logic if you’ve been following the series closely, not just in terms of plot mechanics but in terms of what we know about Britten’s character. In other words, though the premise is high concept, the finale is character-driven

Can’t wait till it’s aired here so we can all discuss it. I have a theory (somewhat backed up by what Killen has revealed online) and I’m sticking to it… But I could be wrong.

Catch up now

As luck would have it, the next episode to air on Sky Atlantic this Friday is “Oregon”, which is when the show really begins to step up a gear. It’s not too late to pick up on the show. And you don’t need to worry about the fact it’s been cancelled – although some things are left up in the air, there’s a Prisoner -style sens of closure… of some sort.

In fact, like Britten, I’m in denial. It wasn’t cancelled, no. It was a mini-series. It was meant to be a mini-series all along. And it’s a damned fine mini-series that I’ll be raving (and arguing about) for years to come.

The post PURE GOLDER Dont Give Up On Awake Just Yet appeared first on Game News.

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Prosecution : M’lud, today we present 2005’s Mirrormask . In this jumbled mess of a movie we have a clear case of style over substance, of ambition over experience , of…

Defence: Rhetoric over facts?

Prosecution: If you’d kindly let me continue? There is no doubt that Dave McKean has produced some of the more visually interesting books of the last decade, ably supported by Neil Gaiman’s confident prose (and sometimes verse), but their leap from page to screen has been a disappointment. A slow-moving, often incoherent, fantasy in which the live action and CG animation are at odds.

Defence: Well, you know I’ll be objecting to pretty much every point you make, but you’ve already admitted that MirrorMask is a stylish film. Del Toro’s work aside, It would be difficult to find another film of the last 20 years with a tenth of the visual artistry.

Prosecution: I don’t deny that the film looks good on the surface, but a successful movie needs more than just attractive backdrops.

Defence: But it does have more. For one thing, it boasts an extremely talented cast. Gina McKee is incapable of turning in a poor performance, and doesn’t disappoint in any of her three roles. Jason Barry as Valentine is wonderful as the friendly-though-ultimately-weak companion – and unlike most comedy relief he doesn’t make you want to throw a brick at the screen! And Stephanie Leonidas excels as Helena and the Dark Princess – she really is one of the most underrated actresses in the UK.

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Prosecution: And Rob Brydon.

Defence: Even Brydon’s admittedly rather strained performance could be interpreted as the desperation of a man at the end of his tether…

Prosecution: Seriously?

Defence: Ok, I’ll give you Brydon, but he’s not in it that much. The film is largely a two-hander, with Leonidas and Barry supported by veritable armies of McKean’s creation, and it’s their relationship that drives the action. And there’s plenty of action!

Prosecution: We’ll come back to that point in a moment, I still want to talk about the visuals.

Defence: Well, this will be an easy win for me, then.

Prosecution: Don’t be so sure. I said the film looks good on the surface . Look deeper, and you notice the cracks. Most of the film was filmed in front of a green screen, with backgrounds and supporting characters added in later through liberal use of CGI. This has inevitably led to the film looking like a cardboard puppet theatre, albeit a well-designed one. You never quite believe that the characters are inhabiting this land.

Defence: And why should you? Throughout the film, Helena is never quite sure if she has been transported to a strange new land, or if she’s merely dreaming. The fact that the characters never quite look rooted in their surroundings only supports her – and by extension the viewers’ – uncertainty. Now, let’s get back to the action.

Prosecution: Oh, yes – the “action”.

Defence: Objection, M’Lud – the prosecution just made that annoying “quote” sign with his fingers.

Judge: Sustained. Do try not to look like an idiot, if you can.

Prosecution: Apologies, M’Lud. Won’t happen again. So, by all means let’s talk about the action in the movie. At no point do we feel that Helena is in control of her fate. She’s merely swept along from set piece to set piece.

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Defence: That’s simply not true. When she enters Giants Orbiting , for instance, she takes control as soon as the sphinx arrives, throwing it off-guard, and rushing to the floating giants. If she sometimes seems to go with the flow, that can easily be explained by her being in an unfamiliar environment – one in which she doesn’t understand the rules.

Prosecution: Pah! That’s a poor excuse. A strong protagonist would at least attempt to take full control and not merely react to everything put in her path.

Defence: But put yourself in her position. She’s a stranger in a strange land – of course she’s going to spend some of her time reacting to her new environs.

Prosecution: It may be realistic, but it’s not satisfying to watch. And her inability to act fully on her own initiative contributes to another flaw in the movie – pace. Despite just being a little over 90 minutes, this is a slow movie.

Defence: Are you kidding? So much happens in the last hour you wonder how the filmmakers managed to fit it all in! There are eyeball spiders, floating giant lovers, sentient darkness, sphinxes, sphinx-like cats, as well as all manner of other oddball creatures and people.

Prosecution: And part of the problem is that it all happens in the last hour. We don’t even get to see the City of Light until more than twenty minutes into the movie, and with a film like this, that’s the biggest draw.

Defence: You’re seriously arguing that the film is flawed because it introduces characters and setting, rather than jumping straight into the action? If it did head straight for the jugular you’d be complaining that it was too confusing. Gaiman’s script is scary where it needs to be, funny where appropriate, and contains dialogue as good as anything Whedon ever committed to film.

Prosecution: What about the antagonists? You never get the impression that everyone is working toward the same goal, or even that there is a goal, except for Helena’s pursuit of the MirrorMask. Certainly, the bad guys don’t appear to be in any great rush, and as the Big Bad of the film just wants to have Helena around, rather than kill or imprison her, it’s difficult for the viewer to get too worried about our heroine’s fate. And while individual set pieces do look beautiful, the interlinking scenes add nothing to our understanding of Helena or her goal. And as for the music …

Defence: He’s having a go at the birds, now…

Prosecution: What?

Defence: You can’t seriously condemn the incidental music? Ian Bellamy’s soundtrack was unique, and unlike anything you’ll hear in any other movie.

Prosecution: Different doesn’t necessarily mean good, you know!

Defence: So the music wasn’t good? Is that really your argument? Think carefully before you answer…

Prosecution: No, I’m not saying the music wasn’t good, just that it was too intrusive. The sound editor was far too fond of volume. It would have worked a lot better if the soundscape had slipped into the background a little more, instead of demanding our attention when we should be enthralled by the storyline and visuals.

Defence: So you admit the visuals and storyline were enthralling, then!

Prosecution: I’ll admit that it was an interesting attempt at creating a modern fairy tale, and it was visually unique. M’Lud, MirrorMask was filmed on a miniscule budget by an inexperienced director, and while it looks pretty, it never quite reaches the classic heights it aspires to. It could have been a classic movie, but – visuals aside – it merely disappoints.

Defence: My learned friend is correct in that the film isn’t an instant classic, and he has already admitted – several times – that the visuals are stunning. It’s a film with huge ambition, and an extremely talented cast. It’s never less than interesting, and often fascinating. By any definition, that’s a successful movie.

Judge: It is clear to me that the Prosecution has no romance in his soul. Case dismissed.

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The post Isnt It About Time You Gave Mirrormask Another Chance? appeared first on Game News.