So, in case you didn’t know, I love science fiction. I love everything about it. The space part, the fiction part… I even love the space between the words “space” and “fiction”. I’ve read classic sci-fi, shlocky sci-fi, high-brow, serial, adventure, thriller, you name it. Authors like Arthur C. Clarke that posit fanstastic encounters in near -future sagas centered around plausible and extant technology. Others like Robert Heinlen that write about supra-powerful races that defy our laws of physics. I’ve religiously followed more than one Star Trek series and am often found at opening weekend of huge Hollywood sci-fi blockbusters. This last point was driven home while watching this year’s Academy Awards for the first time in at least a decade. When a friend asked me what I had seen over the last year, all I could think of were action/adventure/sci-fi/thriller blockbusters, none of which were nominated. Well, those and a few obscure arthouse/independent films that didn’t make the Academy cut either. Despite this opening monologue, however, I do consume media that has nothing to do with outer space.
While the Academy Awards incident was amusing — to me, at least — it doesn’t come as a suprise. You see, I’ve come to terms with my science fiction addiction and embraced my inner geek. And why not? I work with computers. I am awed by a sky full of stars. My desktop wallpaper is usually some sort of space landscape. (A funny anecdote, a few of my new co-workers were quite suprised to find that the wallpaper of some desert scene in the American southwest they were admiring was actually a recent surface photograph of Mars courtesy of the Mars Rover project!) I love thinking about the future and outer space and endless possibilities (yes, and aliens) and I am very okay with that. Rest assured, I’ve accepted all of this some time ago.
There have been a few related revelations as of late, though. Along with any great passion usually comes a desire — sometimes a longing, or even a need — to share of that passion with others. I am no different. How often have I found myself pushing some sci-fi story line on an unsuspecting listener only to realize mid-tale how silly the story and how uninterested the listener really were? Recognizing this compulsion has taken a lot of hard work and careful personal observation. With time, however, I have come to understand that — get ready for this — NOT EVERYONE LOVES SCIENCE FICTION. Great Ganymede! What a revelation, indeed.
Perhaps with this perspective I have become a true connoisseur of science fiction. An appreciator of the form for the form’s sake, not for outside validation or recognition. Consequently, my solo forays to used bookstores or cinemas in search of the next great undiscovered sci-fi epic are purely personal and entirely enjoyable. Such was my frame of mind when I entered the Red Vic Movie House last night. Three months of intense anticipation had prefaced my first chance to experience on the big screen one of THE great science fiction films ever, 2001: A Space Odyssey. As director Stanley Kubrick told writer Arthur C. Clarke, he wanted to make “the proverbial good science-fiction movie” and they did just that.
As the first trailer for a documentary about gypsy music began to roll without sound, all of us in the crowded theatre were at first amused. The second mute trailer brought about some mild alarm when we couldn’t hear the stoner witticisms of Jeffery Lebowski that everyone already knew so well. In the end, the sci-fi gods were not with us that night. The theater’s sound system could not muster the immense physical and emotional energy necessary for the likes of 2001′s epic theme, Also Sprach Zarathustra, and we were left empty handed. My utterances of disbelief were met with those of so many other sci-fi connoisseurs. For a few anguished minutes we all sat there together, unified in our absolute love for a genre so far from the mainstream.
Yes, I’ve read a lot of fantastic books and seen many a wonderous movie. In retrospect, though, those few moments might be one of my most cherished sci-fi experiences to date. Maybe I didn’t get to enjoy, yet again, the utter void of the Tycho monolith slowly cruising through the reaches of space on its unknown mission of interspecies contact. I think I got something more. Ever so briefly, while still reeling with disappointment, that communal longing for the great science fiction story reminded me that I am not alone. I made contact yesterday — not with Them, but with Us.
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