Floating World

“Sunshine” and “The Fountain” – On Spiritualism and Secularism

Sunshine, 2007, directed by Danny Boyle

The Fountain, 2006, directed by Darren Aronofsky

Danny Boyle’s “Sunshine” and Darren Aronofsky’s “The Fountain” are two strikingly spiritual films – the former more surprisingly than the latter – yet the conclusions of either film couldn’t be more different than the initial similarities they share. 

“Sunshine,” released in 2007, revolves a group of scientists above the Icarus II (a rather appropriate allusion the Greek mythology) that is carrying a sizable cargo of nuclear explosives, hoping to reignite a dying sun and ultimately to prevent the end of human existence. “The Fountain,” released in 2006, revolves around a neuroscientist named Tommy who is trying to save his wife Izzi from succumbing to a deadly tumor.

The dynamic of both films rests on the idea of mortality, and on our pursuit of scientific understanding in attempting to delay the inevitability of death. Oddly enough, I found “Sunshine” to be a more spiritually moving film than “The Fountain” despite Aronofsky’s obvious religious allusions throughout the film; likewise, I found the “The Fountain” to be oddly more academic and secular than “Sunshine” despite Boyle’s obvious efforts at creating a feasible, scientifically-sound scenario. 

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In Defense of Digital Readers, and Not

via Poorly Drawn Lines

I recently finished Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, a historical fiction documenting the rise of Thomas Cromwell in the court of King Henry VIII from 1500 to 1535 (quick Tudor history for those who hate dates as much as I do: things was around the time when Henry was trying to divorce Katherine so he could marry Anne Boleyn). Having borrowed the book a few months ago, I was rather determined to get through all 560 pages since the last thing you want is your friend to start thinking you lost the book. 

Given that I’m not particularly apt at Tudor history nor am I British, Wolf Hall was a difficult read: not only was I unfamiliar with a majority of the historical references, Mantel’s prose was the extra impediment to me reading as quickly as I usually do. But, I’m a stubborn reader, and after two and a half weeks of committed reading, I managed to read that very last page, the very last sentence, and very soundly close the hardcover book for the last time. Take THAT, historical fiction! I thought. 

What had gotten me through Wolf Hall was a mixture of literary mulishness, a masochistically self-imposed reading deadline, and most importantly the addictive satisfaction of turning pages, closing the hardcover shut, and watching the progression of my bookmark inch closer and closer from the beginning to the end of the book. Had I read Wolf Hall as a digital book, I highly doubt I would have managed to even get through twenty five percent of Mantel’s Man Booker Prize winning book at this point even. 

Currently, I own a large book collection and an Amazon Kindle. There’s an appeal to both physical and digital versions of reading, though I’m inclined to say that on any given day, I opt for printed pages over a e-reader without any hesitation (even if cost is an issue, there’s always the local library (or your friends if they’re not disgruntled with you)). Sure, e-readers may be more ‘green’ than printed books, but by how much? After all, you’re manufacturing electronics that require electricity to continue being useful. Then again, there’s also the issue having too many books if you’re like me and have a difficult time not itching for a buy every time you step foot in a bookstore. 

But I digress. The main issue, of course, is the difference between having a physical copy of what you’re reading versus a digital, less infringing digital equivalent. Is it safe to say that digital readers are ‘the’ future, just like how digital music, digital photography and digital filmmaking are overtaking their respective predecessors in the market? Or is it reasonable to believe that the old school of printed press, with its dog-eared pages, its coffee spills, its bug-crushing capacity, will persevere? 

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Script Suggestion: TRON 3

Warning: huge amounts of spoiler below for the original TRON and TRON: Legacy movies

Whenever a movie disappoints me, I have a habit of brainstorming how it could have been improved after identifying what aspect didn’t quite meet my expectations – such is the case with TRON: Legacy. To be honest, I didn’t begin playing around with ideas until recently while I was watching a DIY video on how to make your own TRON suit (the video was created by my good friend Justin). Midway through the video, I found myself doodling in my sketchbook, coming up with alternative costumes in the TRON universe; a quarter through the video, I was bouncing around possible ideas for TRON 3. 

One of the problems with TRON: Legacy was its story – specifically, its misfired focus. To quote Paddy Chayefsky, award winning screenwriter of Marty (1955), The Hospital (1971) and Network (1976) and the only person to ever three solo Academy Awards for Best Screenplay: 

The basic story is always the emotional line of the script. Don’t ever make the basic line the social comment of the script. 

In this respect, the TRON: Legacy screenwriters made a huge mistake. 

By focusing on the entire story on a commentary about social-political-religious-whatever freedom, the writers inadvertently made the characters secondary in driving the film. This led to a jumpy, poorly-paced story with long bouts of exposition that in themselves, made little sense (another mistake: when writing a screenplay – show, don’t tell). TRON: Legacy had little cohesion besides its visual splendor. 

The original TRON, while not without its flaws, had one thing TRON: Legacy didn’t include: a primary focus on its human characters.

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