It seems like, for about a decade or so, Bill Nye has been on a lonely crusade. I've seen him popping up in random places on TV like CNN and National Geographic, trying to maintain energy, patience, enthusiasm and thoughtfulness with an unmistakable undercurrent of exhaustion at the aggressive persistence of scientific illiteracy among the public and the powerful.
Like many people my age, I remember him initially as Bill Nye the Science Guy, a quirky bow-tied entertainer in the 1990s with an engineering background trying to make science fascinating and fun for then-young people like me. I was not an avid viewer of his show, I seem to remember an episode or two being shown in my high school science classes and finding them entertaining to the extent I could given that I was sitting in a high school science classroom.
Bill has been doing more or less the same thing for the last decade or so, except he is more serious, as the problems he is addressing are incredibly serious, and he is trying to reach a broader and different audience, though due to the passage of time that audience includes many of the same people that it did in the 90s: pretty much everyone with the right to vote, Americans in particular. Yet, while the problems are very serious, he knows that engaging the voting layperson to care about and understand it all is hard. He continues to use his skills as a scientist and entertainer/public figure to spread scientific literacy about controversial issues.
His newest effort states its intention plainly: Bill Nye Saves the World. It barrels on the scene via Netflix, the massively popular medium of streaming entertainment, delivering ~25-minute episodes devoted to the big public issues in modern science. Episode 1 comes right out swinging on the biggest issue: climate change. The show sets Herculean goals: distill confoundingly complex problems into digestible, entertaining bits that fairly reflect the state of modern science.
The show, its host and his guests and sidekicks are at turns or simultaneously thoughtful (as is his panel discussing GMOs), whimsical (as is the guest-appearance by Zach Braff in the first episode devoted to climate change), odd (as is the song about panspermia), funny (as is the show's writer who comes out to speak "to my fellow Asians" about their proclivity for promoting alternative medicine, and report filed by a correspondent who visits a looney-tunes "sound therapy" office in San Francisco), confusing (as are a lot of explanations about what exactly NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab is trying to do on Mars- especially when they try to explain what exactly it would mean to "find life" and what even might define "life"- and its connection to panspermia), profound (when discussing the possibility of finding life on other planets), illuminating (the whole episode on GMOs), impassioned (nearly everything Bill says), awkward (some of the attempts at humor), awe-inspiring (the expert panel discussing climate change and the solutions that exist right now), and more.
Coming out in the same year that a poster boy for scientific illiteracy has taken the oath of office for President of the United States and is naming like-minded illiterates to the highest posts in the land, we need all the help we can get- and Bill Nye and Co.'s latest effort is most heartily welcome.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Sweetgrass
****1/2
4.5/5
At times the movie seems to be grinding to an almost obnoxious pause, but sooner or later it kicks some drama to just barely keep us into it through the end. In the meantime, we're treated to a feast of stunning visuals. I went into this movie knowing little, and no direct narration is offered until a few words displayed on-screen at the end. These words offer information that elevates the meaning of everything we've just seen. On top of that, the movie is a stunning piece of cinematography and sound. These are basically the only two devices used to tell pretty much the entire story as it unfolds for 100 minutes. We hear characters speak in ways that offer us information which contributes to the story, but that is not to say they are ever really directly telling us the story. There were some times when I was a little confused about what was going on and frustrated by the filmmakers' steadfast refusal to directly offer us information that would help us understand. I do understand, though, and I even did as I was feeling frustrated, that the decision to absolutely refuse to offer the audience any other information than what is there to be captured by the camera and the microphone has purpose. And in fact that decision contributes to the emotional impact of the film's finale. This is a gorgeous film, a touching tribute, and a precious American historical document.
4.5/5
At times the movie seems to be grinding to an almost obnoxious pause, but sooner or later it kicks some drama to just barely keep us into it through the end. In the meantime, we're treated to a feast of stunning visuals. I went into this movie knowing little, and no direct narration is offered until a few words displayed on-screen at the end. These words offer information that elevates the meaning of everything we've just seen. On top of that, the movie is a stunning piece of cinematography and sound. These are basically the only two devices used to tell pretty much the entire story as it unfolds for 100 minutes. We hear characters speak in ways that offer us information which contributes to the story, but that is not to say they are ever really directly telling us the story. There were some times when I was a little confused about what was going on and frustrated by the filmmakers' steadfast refusal to directly offer us information that would help us understand. I do understand, though, and I even did as I was feeling frustrated, that the decision to absolutely refuse to offer the audience any other information than what is there to be captured by the camera and the microphone has purpose. And in fact that decision contributes to the emotional impact of the film's finale. This is a gorgeous film, a touching tribute, and a precious American historical document.
Last Train Home
*****
5/5
Haunting, touching, jarring, beautiful, epic... but, somehow, all the way through, in a very simple manner. Lixin Fan sits back, lets the story of the lives unfold, and, wow, what a story. A way of life almost, *almost*, completely foreign to westerners (except, perhaps, I can only surmise, to those who recall the Depression), coupled with themes of life that have to be intimately familiar to anyone in the industrialized world. Moving and also a priceless educational historical document.
5/5
Haunting, touching, jarring, beautiful, epic... but, somehow, all the way through, in a very simple manner. Lixin Fan sits back, lets the story of the lives unfold, and, wow, what a story. A way of life almost, *almost*, completely foreign to westerners (except, perhaps, I can only surmise, to those who recall the Depression), coupled with themes of life that have to be intimately familiar to anyone in the industrialized world. Moving and also a priceless educational historical document.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Hugo
I find it no surprise that the two movie critics I most commonly
read, Andrew O’Hehir and Roger Ebert, both use the word “breathtaking”
in their reviews of Martin Scorcese’s Hugo. Stunning,
arresting, awesome… I am disappointed that off the top of my head I
cannot find more synonyms to describe the visuals of the movie. They are
a remarkable achievement. We get a beautifully recreated Paris, and a
finely detailed train station, both strewn with dreamy hues. We see all
the inner machinations of clocks, an automaton, toys, and other gadgets.
At least one scene finds our protagonist treading hesitantly through a
nighttime snowfall towards a residential building surrounded by statues
of some kind of goblin creatures realized in very fine detail. At least
one scene gives us a 19th century magic show put on in a gorgeous theater. Other flashback scenes recreate the sets of old movies such as A Trip to the Moon.
The recreation of the set is stunning by modern standards, and one can
only marvel at what an invention the actual thing must’ve been in its
own time. The whole thing is a visual marvel. As much as perhaps any
other movie to date, including Avatar, Hugo begs to be seen in theaters and in 3D.
I went into Hugo very ignorant of the plot. I did not read about it; I have not read the book from which it is adapted. Young Hugo and his father, both skilled clock repairmen, acquire a curious thing called an automaton. When Hugo’s father dies unexpectedly, Hugo is determined to find out what this contraption can do. As the film began to unfold, I suspected that the “bringing to life” of the automaton might be the climactic moment of the film. Not so. That “bringing to life” moment arrives roughly 1/3rd into the movie and actually introduces what feels like an almost new plot, though it isn’t entirely: the automaton reveals something mysterious and of extraordinary personal intrigue to one of the two child characters (by this time Hugo has befriended Isabelle, the adopted daughter of a shop owner from whom he’d been caught stealing).
The children’s need to answer the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation drives most of the rest of the action, except roughly the last 20 minutes. The film has a final action sequence after all the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation are answered. The rest of this review will spoil some of those revelations, though not explicitly, and possibly no more so than any other review as reviewing the film would be quite a challenge without doing so. Just warning.
The real stars of Hugo are George Méliès and early cinema. Méliès films are displayed often during Hugo, and at least once it treats us to a montage of very-old-cinema footage. Viewing the sustained presentation of actual very old movies, pretty much all of them released between 1900 and 1930, in 3D format on a modern movie theater was transcendent. The footage’s presentation conveys abiding affection for cinema’s incipient decades. I felt like I was viewing an intentionally lush valentine and thank-you card to Méliès, the Lumiere Brothers, on up to Chaplin and other pioneers, direct from Scorcese on behalf of all of us. It is very touching. Scenes with Ben Kingsley as Méliès creating his art, he and his actors proceeding with the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morning, are almost equally endearing.
Since viewing Hugo, I learned that old film preservation is a pet cause of Scorcese’s. If Hugo is an imperfect film, it is probably because the entire plot seems ultimately in service as a vehicle to deliver the previously described affecting scenes. When not displaying old cinema clips or depicting old cinema in the making or viewing, the film suffers from a little too much cliché from characters and scenes. The kids, Isabelle and Hugo, seem largely straight from the fairy tale cookie-cutter. Hugo is the orphan vs. the world. His most endearing moments come when he is interacting with his father (Jude Law), and his father dies early in the film. After this, we are offered little insight into Hugo’s internal life other than what is needed to drive the plot. Asa Butterfield, as Hugo, struck me as a gifted actor. He’s given the tall order of being the centerpiece of a special effects extravaganza directed by someone named Scorcese and starring someone named Kingsley, yet he never appears overwhelmed by the task. The story just didn’t seem to offer him much opportunity to not look like he was channeling Elijah Wood as burdened Frodo. Isabelle is a watered-down Hermione Granger. The kids have British accents, seeming all set for a Mary Poppins appearance. They love and pursue adventure even if they risk getting into trouble, Bridge to Tarabithia comes to mind. The constant presence of a large clock tower, a la Peter Pan, and a suspense scene involving a wardrobe but no Aslan, doesn’t help the story escape some sense of contrivance (the clock tower does get a chance to be part of the film’s most suspenseful moment which doubles as an homage to Harold Lloyd’s famous clock-dangling scene in Safety Last!).
Instead of Jumanji animals or Lemony Snicket villains as obstacles in their quest, the kids get Sacha Baron Cohen as an uptight clumsily-authoritarian station manager. When he is not fulfilling his plot obligations as scourge to Hugo, Cohen’s character is a source some hearty laughs, such as a peripheral gag involving his character talking with another character about that other character’s relationship problems. Cohen’s character also fulfills one cliché that I enjoyed: the villain whose cold heart is warmed by the story’s end. Almost all the best moments in Hugo that don’t directly feature old cinema are moments that include Cohen’s character. Borat cemented a reputation for Cohen as one of the most daring and enterprising entertainers of our time, so it seems very fitting for him to be cast in a film that successfully infuses early cinema pioneers with the same characteristics.
Among other tropes trotted out in Hugo: the scene that turns out to be a dream sequence, and the climactic scene where one character is absent at the scene’s beginning but arrives at some unknown point, their presence revealed when they speak off-screen, surprising the other characters in the scene.
These banalities cause some moments of Hugo to labor on. But the superlative payoffs- the constant visual feast, the scenes that both reflect and beget profuse reverence for early cinema, a powerful performance from Kingsley and amusing sideshow from Cohen- make Hugo a worthwhile experience.
I went into Hugo very ignorant of the plot. I did not read about it; I have not read the book from which it is adapted. Young Hugo and his father, both skilled clock repairmen, acquire a curious thing called an automaton. When Hugo’s father dies unexpectedly, Hugo is determined to find out what this contraption can do. As the film began to unfold, I suspected that the “bringing to life” of the automaton might be the climactic moment of the film. Not so. That “bringing to life” moment arrives roughly 1/3rd into the movie and actually introduces what feels like an almost new plot, though it isn’t entirely: the automaton reveals something mysterious and of extraordinary personal intrigue to one of the two child characters (by this time Hugo has befriended Isabelle, the adopted daughter of a shop owner from whom he’d been caught stealing).
The children’s need to answer the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation drives most of the rest of the action, except roughly the last 20 minutes. The film has a final action sequence after all the questions raised by the automaton’s revelation are answered. The rest of this review will spoil some of those revelations, though not explicitly, and possibly no more so than any other review as reviewing the film would be quite a challenge without doing so. Just warning.
The real stars of Hugo are George Méliès and early cinema. Méliès films are displayed often during Hugo, and at least once it treats us to a montage of very-old-cinema footage. Viewing the sustained presentation of actual very old movies, pretty much all of them released between 1900 and 1930, in 3D format on a modern movie theater was transcendent. The footage’s presentation conveys abiding affection for cinema’s incipient decades. I felt like I was viewing an intentionally lush valentine and thank-you card to Méliès, the Lumiere Brothers, on up to Chaplin and other pioneers, direct from Scorcese on behalf of all of us. It is very touching. Scenes with Ben Kingsley as Méliès creating his art, he and his actors proceeding with the enthusiasm of children on Christmas morning, are almost equally endearing.
Since viewing Hugo, I learned that old film preservation is a pet cause of Scorcese’s. If Hugo is an imperfect film, it is probably because the entire plot seems ultimately in service as a vehicle to deliver the previously described affecting scenes. When not displaying old cinema clips or depicting old cinema in the making or viewing, the film suffers from a little too much cliché from characters and scenes. The kids, Isabelle and Hugo, seem largely straight from the fairy tale cookie-cutter. Hugo is the orphan vs. the world. His most endearing moments come when he is interacting with his father (Jude Law), and his father dies early in the film. After this, we are offered little insight into Hugo’s internal life other than what is needed to drive the plot. Asa Butterfield, as Hugo, struck me as a gifted actor. He’s given the tall order of being the centerpiece of a special effects extravaganza directed by someone named Scorcese and starring someone named Kingsley, yet he never appears overwhelmed by the task. The story just didn’t seem to offer him much opportunity to not look like he was channeling Elijah Wood as burdened Frodo. Isabelle is a watered-down Hermione Granger. The kids have British accents, seeming all set for a Mary Poppins appearance. They love and pursue adventure even if they risk getting into trouble, Bridge to Tarabithia comes to mind. The constant presence of a large clock tower, a la Peter Pan, and a suspense scene involving a wardrobe but no Aslan, doesn’t help the story escape some sense of contrivance (the clock tower does get a chance to be part of the film’s most suspenseful moment which doubles as an homage to Harold Lloyd’s famous clock-dangling scene in Safety Last!).
Instead of Jumanji animals or Lemony Snicket villains as obstacles in their quest, the kids get Sacha Baron Cohen as an uptight clumsily-authoritarian station manager. When he is not fulfilling his plot obligations as scourge to Hugo, Cohen’s character is a source some hearty laughs, such as a peripheral gag involving his character talking with another character about that other character’s relationship problems. Cohen’s character also fulfills one cliché that I enjoyed: the villain whose cold heart is warmed by the story’s end. Almost all the best moments in Hugo that don’t directly feature old cinema are moments that include Cohen’s character. Borat cemented a reputation for Cohen as one of the most daring and enterprising entertainers of our time, so it seems very fitting for him to be cast in a film that successfully infuses early cinema pioneers with the same characteristics.
Among other tropes trotted out in Hugo: the scene that turns out to be a dream sequence, and the climactic scene where one character is absent at the scene’s beginning but arrives at some unknown point, their presence revealed when they speak off-screen, surprising the other characters in the scene.
These banalities cause some moments of Hugo to labor on. But the superlative payoffs- the constant visual feast, the scenes that both reflect and beget profuse reverence for early cinema, a powerful performance from Kingsley and amusing sideshow from Cohen- make Hugo a worthwhile experience.
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