2118 Perhaps?

It’s Bigger on the Inside

Click on the photo and see if you can get inside the TARDIS.

He Lives

I’m have come here to chew bubblegum and cut taxes... and I’m all out of bubblegum.

Alien: Covenant

Humans be stupid.
Synthetics be crazy.
Continuity be damned.

Rogue One

I see dead people.

Trump Chooses Pence as Running Mate

Why would anyone want to be Kif to Trump's Brannigan?

Poster by Barry Doyon

The Hodor Reveal

I have a bad feeling about this.

During season 6 of Lost, my doubts started growing that the writers could bring the series to a satisfying conclusion. And they didn't.

The show was nonetheless fantastic, but that's part of the reason that the mediocre conclusion in season 7 was all the more disappointing.

We're now in season 6 of Game of Thrones and this weekend's revelation of the origin of Hodor's name has given me that same bad feeling—I seriously doubt the series is going to have a satisfying conclusion.

The problem I've concluded is the series' split personality. On the one hand it's a character driven story in a medieval setting with political intrigue, subterfuge, alliances, and betrayals. On the other hand, it's epic fantasy with magic, dragons, ice zombies, and prophecies. In previous seasons the former has worked much better than the latter, but as season 6 has progressed we're getting more of the latter much to the detriment of the former.

The Hodor reveal is clever and poignant, but I suspect in the end will be completely irrelevant to the overall story.

And it involves time travel.

Seriously. Time travel.

And unless your story is actually about time travel, it's usually a bad idea to casually toss it in.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope at the end of the series I'm writing a blog post about the brilliance of the Hodor reveal and how it laid the groundwork for a satisfying conclusion.

But I have a bad feeling about this.

To Boldly Go Where Everyone Has Gone Before

CBS has announced plans for a new Star Trek TV series that will air in January 2017. The first episode will premiere on the CBS TV network and subsequent episodes will be available on the paid CBS All Access streaming service.

Good luck with that.

If CBS management pulled their collective heads out of their collective rears, they might be able to spot the three mountain size hurdles in their path to success.

First, as I've discussed before, CBS has the most customer hostile streaming policies of any of the major networks.

Missed the last few minutes of your show because the beginning was delayed? Have fun streaming it on demand because there's no way to fast forward. And you're burdened with this streaming restriction even if you're watching it through your cable provider, who presumably you've already paid for the "privilege" of watching CBS.

Looking at the iPhone app reviews for the big three networks shows just how far behind CBS is in customer satisfaction for their streaming service:

People are only going to watch this new Star Trek series if the show is so good that they're willing to endure a horrible viewing experience. And that brings us to the second hurdle.

CBS's recent track record with science fiction is not that good. No one's going to pay for pablum like Extant or Under The Dome. There's plenty of bad science fiction series available for free, but more importantly, there's also plenty of good science fiction series available for free. This new Star Trek series needs to be as good, if not better, than a series like Battlestar Galactica, and that needs to be apparent from the very first episode. Which brings us to the third and final hurdle.

The Star Trek TV franchise is creatively bankrupt. The film franchise reboot achieved success by focusing on the action/adventure aspects of the stories. A weekly TV show is not going to be able to compete with the special effects budget of a film. That means the TV show needs to excel at plot and character development, areas in which each Star Trek TV series in general has been progressively worse than its predecessors.

I've watched every episode of all five live action Star Trek TV series, but the idea of a new series that follows in the creative footsteps of the shows that came before it leaves me completely unexcited. I've had my fill of technobabble and cookie cutter crews.

It would be nice to be pleasantly surprised by the preview episode and watch something that's radically different from what we've seen before while still being familiar as Star Trek, but I'm not holding my breath. And I'm not paying for CBS All Access. If the series ends up being worth watching I'll wait for it on blu-ray.

Darth Vader Endorsement

If Darth Vader were to allow his name to be used for promotional purposes, I'm pretty sure whoever approved this product would get force choked.

Terminator Genisys

Somebody needs to go back in time and terminate this franchise after Terminator 2: Judgment Day.

Fear the Walking Dumb

One of the things I like about Aliens is that the protagonists are cocky going into their first encounter with the xenomorphs ("Is this going to be a standup fight, sir, or another bughunt?"), get schooled ("Maybe you haven't been keeping up on current events; but we just got our asses kicked, pal!"), and then quickly start making intelligent decisions ("I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure."). It's a series of events that plausibly place the characters in jeopardy.

So is it too much to ask that the main characters in zombie stories aren't all Darwin Award winner wannabes? I'm not saying that the stories need to directly acknowledge and address the large body of zombie apocalypse tropes from movies, TV, comics, and books (á la Scream or The Cabin in the Woods).

But when a character is repeatedly attacked by mute, slow moving family, friends, and acquaintances, maybe it's time for that character to show some caution and foresight around people who, you know, look dead.

Just saying'.

Enemies of the State

What Battlestar Galactica Can Teach Us About the Militarization of Police

Lavalantula

You only have to watch one of the SyFy channel’s “combo” movies to discover that their awesome titles are ruined by actually watching the movie. Seriously, how could you go wrong with gems like these:

Dinosaur + Crocodile = Dinocroc
Man + Mosquito = Mansquito
Shark + Octopus = Sharktopus
Dinosaur + Shark = Dinoshark
Piranha + Anaconda = Piranhaconda
Shark + Tornado = Sharknado

And now with their latest movie, Lavalantula, they’ve managed to botch the title as well.



How do you combine “lava” and “tarantula”, words containing a total of two ‘l’ letters, and get “Lavalantula”, a word containing three ‘l’ letters? It’s baffling.

And the title needs to evocatively roll off your tongue. Lavalantula sounds too much like Lollapalooza. There’s nothing scary about a movie festival.

So if you’re reading my blog SyFy channel, here’s a million dollar movie title for you:

Tarantula + Avalanche = Tarantulanche

Now that’s scary.

“Fairest of Them All” Fan Film

“Mirror, Mirror” is one of my favorite episodes from the original series. Seriously, who doesn’t love a goateed evil twin, whether it's Spock or Eric Cartman?

Crossing the Time Stream

Crossing the time stream occurs in episodic storytelling when a plot device is introduced that should have far-reaching implications, but is not routinely used after its introduction, even in situations where it would be an ideal solution for the problems faced by the heroes or villains. The most common example is time travel that allows the past to be changed and there is no more egregious crosser of the time stream than Star Trek.

The time stream was first crossed in the original series, but it wasn't until the subsequent movie and TV series that its frequent use snowballed into huge continuity issues. Star Trek II, III, and IV illustrate the problems caused by crossing the time stream. In The Wrath of Khan, Spock and numerous other crew members of the Enterprise and Reliant are killed. In The Search for Spock, Kirk steals the enterprise and in the ensuing adventure Spock is resurrected, but Kirk’s son is murdered and the Enterprise destroyed. In The Voyage Home, Kirk and crew travel back in time using their captured Klingon warbird in order to retrieve whales to save Earth’s future.

Wait, what? You can travel back in time to solve problems?

Uhmm, OK. Hey Kirk, how about this plan? After you’ve kill Khan in the present, why not just travel back in time and kill him in the past instead. Show up the day after you marooned him on Ceti Alpha V and launch a photon torpedo at him from orbit. Khan’s wrath will be incinerated with thermonuclear fury and since no one from Star Fleet has bothered to check on him for the last fifteen years, there's minimal impact to the timeline.

Spock doesn't have to die; your son doesn't have to die; your crew members don't have to die; the Enterprise doesn't have to be destroyed; and you can avoid a court martial for stealing a starship.

Let’s assume, however, that there’s a Federation Temporal Prime Directive and Kirk is only willing to violate it if the Earth is about to be destroyed by an alien space probe that communicates using catastrophic power-draining planetary weather changes and/or whalesong.

That would fill one plot hole, but there’s an adage that says “when time travel is outlawed, only outlaws will use time travel.” In other words, if the Federation has qualms about changing the timeline, most of its enemies would not.

Take the Borg for example. In First Contact they traveled back in time to assimilate Earth and almost succeeded, but that pesky Picard followed them through their temporal vortex and thwarted their plans. If only they could learn to adapt, they’d try it again and travel back in time somewhere the Federation fleet couldn’t observe them before heading toward Earth.

And surely after discovering the secret to time travel, at least one clever Klingon, Romulan, or Cardassian would come to the realization that if you travel back far enough in time, you can easily defeat your enemies with a starship. If there’s one thing that I learned from the Star Trek reboot, it’s that a U.S deep sea drilling platform sent back in time could have defeated the entire British navy in the War of 1812.

There are numerous other examples in the long history of Star Trek where crossing the time stream involves something other than time travel. How It Should Have Ended lampooned the use of transwarp beaming and magic blood in the most recent movie, Star Trek Into Darkness:



I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but after 35 years of watching Star Trek I suppose I’ve been conditioned to accept that its depiction of technology in the science fiction genre follows fewer coherent and consistent rules than the depiction of magic in a typical series from the fantasy genre.

It really is a lost opportunity. When the franchise was rebooted, the creative team could have cast aside decades of continuity baggage. Instead they crossed the time stream right from the start to live on the side where nothing makes sense if you think about it.

Movies, Pacing, and Books

For economic and practical reasons, most movies have a run time of 1½ to 2½ hours. But what if time constraints could be removed and audiences would sit through an entertaining movie of any length? How much longer would films run and would their content have to change to keep the audience in their seats?

There are many examples of movies that are both long and successful. Avatar, the top grossing film of all time, had a run time of 2 hours and 42 minutes. Titanic at 3 hours and 14 minutes is the second top grossing film. The three movies of The Lord of the Rings trilogy were all around three hours in length and individually are the 33rd, 24th, and 7th highest grossing films.

But The Lord of the Rings, both the movie and the books on which it is based, is really one story told in three parts. A single “super movie” would be over 9 hours in length with combined grosses placing it ahead of Avatar.

Because the story is a sweeping epic, it’s hard to envision these movies being shorter and still doing justice to the source material. You can even argue that the extended versions of the films, which bring the total length to over 11 hours, fill in missing pieces making the story more enjoyable.

So if a 9 hour movie can be good and an 11 hour movie (possibly) as good or better, would making movies longer make them better?

The Avengers, perhaps the best (or at the very least one of the best) superhero movies ever made clocks in at 2 hours and 23 minutes. It’s the third top grossing film. Would this movie have been twice as good if it were twice as long? I don’t think so. You could add additional subplots and lengthen the actions sequences, but I doubt this would have made the movie better.

On the other hand, every M. Night Shyamalan movie feels like it’s thirty minutes too long. Even The Sixth Sense, which I liked quite a bit, drags at points. Cutting at least ten minutes out of the running time of 1 hour and 47 minutes would have made it a better film.

Why is this?

Pacing.

Stories have rhythm. If it’s too fast, then we wonder why things happen. If it’s too slow, then we wait for things to happen. If it’s just right then we get caught up in the story and lose track of time.

The Sixth Sense presents too little story in too much time. A point is reached where we understand that Cole is a troubled child who has disturbing supernatural events occurring around him. We also understand that Malcolm, the child psychiatrist who is trying to help him, is troubled in his own way. We’re ready to move on to the next thing—for the characters to begin working on a resolution for their problems—but instead the film keeps focusing on the problem for far too long before finally coming to a resolution and satisfying conclusion.

The editing process, driven by practicality of run times, generally makes movies better. No amount of editing is going to turn hours and hours of bad footage into an oscar winner, but it stands to reason that if you take the best footage, sequence it properly, and leave the rest on the cutting room floor, you’ll probably have the best film you can make.

For good films this often means the hard choice of not including some footage. In Alien, a cut scene reveals the fate of Dallas and Brett who had been earlier captured by the xenomorph. It revealed some intriguing information about the alien’s life cycle, but placing it in the middle of Ripley’s frantic escape from the Nostromo before it self-destructed would have disrupted the pacing of that sequence. Similarly in Aliens, there is a cut scene in which Ripley learns that her young daughter lived out her life and died during the 57 years she was adrift in space suspended in hypersleep. This short scene makes it easy to see how Ripley would view Newt as a surrogate daughter, risking her own life to rescue her from the depths of the alien hive. But is it an essential scene to understand Ripley’s motivation? I would say the answer is no. From the interaction shown in the movie, it’s believable that Ripley would risk her life to save this child and thus the scene can be cut without diminishing the film.

What these cuts illustrate is that in well-made movies, every scene should be questioned before being included in the final cut. Does this scene serve a purpose? Is this scene needed to advance the plot? Is the movie better with this scene in it and worse without it?

I wish every book author went through this process, especially once they became successful.

When a film franchise becomes successful, the films don’t typically become longer and longer. If anything increases, it’s usually the budget and production values—once you’ve proven something is successful spending more money on it is less of a risk.

When a book franchise becomes successful, the same is not always true. I’ve graphed the page counts of a number of fantasy book series I’ve enjoyed reading: Discworld, Xanth, Harry Potter, and Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter. I’ve only graphed the first ten books in these series with the exception of Harry Potter which consists of just seven books.



First, I love the Discworld books written by Terry Pratchett. Every book he writes is just as long as it needs to be. And funny never gets old—his dialogue, descriptions, observations, and plots always ooze with his unique sense of humor. I’ve read 33 out of the 40 books currently in the series and haven’t grown tired of them yet. His books show a modest increase in size as the series became successful with the 33rd being only 50% longer than the first.

The Xanth series by Piers Anthony is one I started reading when I was in High School and I still have very fond memories of them. I started reading them again as an adult and finished 25 out the 38 currently in the series. The books have always had pun-derived humor, but the latter books began to focus less and less on plot and characters and more and more on puns (which eventually became too pun-ishing for me), so I lost interest in the series. As the graph shows, the length of his first ten books was the most consistent of the four series. This trend continued in his latter books with the 25th being only 9% longer than the first. He clearly has a feel for the length for the stories he wants to tell and crafts his plots to fall within the desired range.

Next is the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling. It’s insane to argue about the formula for books as wildly successful as these, but I’m going to remove my tin foil hat and make an attempt.

I can’t think of better examples of how to craft plots than the first three books in this series. Everything in the stories serves a purpose. The pacing is just right and you’re never left waiting for things to happen. The latter books, however, feel bloated in comparison. Subplots abound that serve little purpose in the greater arc of the story and it takes far too long to resolve many issues.

I’m not arguing that the last four books are bad; I enjoyed them. I just think they could have been better. Look at the modest increase in size for books 2 and 3 in the series. Now look at how the page count sky rockets for books 4 and 5. The fifth book in the series is 278% longer than the first. It’s certainly not 278% better.

That’s because more of the same thing is not always the same thing. The experience of eating one piece of candy is not the same as eating one hundred pieces of candy—in one case, you wish you could eat more and in the other you wish you had eaten less.

Making your books twice as long is not twice as much of the same thing—it’s something different. It’s a different formula. It’s New Coke vs. Classic Coke. Even if you like New Coke better, you can’t reasonably argue that it’s the same thing as Classic Coke.

The same is true for the Harry Potter series. The formula for the first three books is clearly different than that for the last four. The expanding plot changed the pacing of the stories for the worse, not the better. It wasn’t enough of a change that I stopped reading the series, but it was enough that I enjoyed the latter stories to a lesser extent.

Finally, there’s the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter novels by Laurell K. Hamilton, which started out strong, but slowly bloated over time. The tenth was the last I read before giving up on the series. It was 241% longer than the original novel—it was also 241% worse.

Here’s the deal. If you have common scenes in every book you write, you have to be really careful with pacing. Once your reader gets through one elaborate description of someone getting dressed, eating a meal, channeling supernatural power, or pulling out a gun during a tense confrontation, reading similar passages becomes less and less interesting. If your books remain the same length, no worries. But if they become longer and longer by including more and more of the same old thing, then you really need to find an editor who’s willing to challenge everything you write, regardless of how well your books are selling.

As a reader, this is my plea to authors. Edit your books like movies. Set a reasonable limit, say 400 pages, and then trim your story, keeping only the best parts, until it fits within that self-imposed limit. Then add pieces back only if you can justify their inclusion.

I’m not saying you can’t write a masterpiece that would be diminished by the omission of a single word—I’m saying that if you think you can, you probably can’t.