Interstellar: a call to arms

In the interest of updating my column at least yearly, I have decided to write some stray thoughts on Interstellar. This is less a review – because there is already an exhaustive supply – and more of a call to arms for the film and Chris Nolan in general.

The film has been polarising critics and audiences. Proponents generally praise the epic scale, practical effects, and fairly consistent adherence to actual hard science. Critics may call it bombastic, poorly scored, or ham-fisted.

While none of these appraisals are incorrect, to call Interstellar failure as film (which some are doing) is wrong. I don’t consider it a masterpiece and would probably place it at the tail end of Nolan’s top 5 (after Memento, Inception, The Dark Knight, and Insomnia, just barely edging out The Prestige). It cannot be called a failure.

The film is grandiose, a true feat of production design. The acting is less the spectacle here, but far from poor. Those people criticising the acting in this film should see The Room or Grown Ups and then try to say “Anne Hathaway, meh” with a straight face. More importantly, Interstellar grapples with lofty concepts, often metaphysical, which are at the core of good SF. I will allow that Nolan sometimes lays it on a bit thick, but do not understand how a bit of heavy-handedness turns this into a one-to-two-star film.

I’m willing to give Nolan a bit more rope than other directors because few, if any, are making films like he is. Given all the people who bemoan the cookie-cutter superhero franchise films, the bland CGI-fest pictures, the lifeless, interchangeable teen fantasy flicks, and pointless reboots, one would think that more critics would be lining up to defend Interstellar. It is a hugely ambitious film from a director who delights in challenging his audiences rather than belittling them. Although I have my

issues with Interstellar (mostly the last 20 minutes), I admire Nolan’s commitment to quality and to the film medium. Here is one of the few remaining directors who is not a hired gun, not interested in selling merchandise nor franchise rights, but in making art. He is able to pursue these ambitions because he has taken big risks and they have largely paid off. His movies make heaps of money, so studios (for now) are willing to sign blank checks for him to keep creating, innovating, and pushing boundaries.

My appeal is simple: go see this movie and his next movie and so on regardless of a few killjoy critics. I realise this is a tad hypocritical coming from me, who savaged TDKR two years ago, but chalk it up to being two years older and wiser now. We are voting on the future of film with our dollars and, recently, the drab, effects-laden blockbusters have been winning. Even if Interstellar isn’t your cup of tea, you must still recognise Chris Nolan as one of the most important directors of his generation and arguably the most vocal defender of film stock today. His efforts may not always resonate with you personally, but they are always valiant. As such, I feel a moral responsibility as a film-lover to see his work in theatres and I encourage you to do the same.

An open letter to Peter Jackson

Dear Mr. Jackson,

Please stop making those goddamn Hobbit movies.

Sincerely,
Fucking everyone

A year without texting

I decided not to text in 2013. The underlying idea to call everyone seemed good. It requires less effort to organise with a conversation rather than typing furiously all-thumbs and punctuating on a tiny screen, and as an added bonus I expected it to bring me closer to my friends. How often do we choose to speak to one another rather than use an amalgam of redacted, Internet lingo and smiley faces?

There are situations where I would allow myself to text, most aptly described as junctures where not texting would have made me an asshole. If I called and a friend would reply-text they were tied up at work, for instance. I would text friends who were abroad or had foreign SIMs, because fuck roaming charges. Sending information and so on. I reckon, on average, I would send 20-50 texts per month, which is minute compared to most peoples’ averages.

Here’s what I found:

1)  I didn’t miss it.

My life was in no way affected. I was still able to make plans and kept in touch with close friends regularly. Functionally, everything was the same.

2) Hardly anyone answers their phone anymore.

This is not altogether surprising, since placing calls is no longer one of the chief uses of mobile phones (the top 3 activities, for smartphone users, are Internet browsing, social media, and music, in that order). What is surprising: when I would call some people and leave voicemail, they would reply with a text message, even if they were in a situation where they were able to call.

3) No one checks voicemail.

Or at least those who do are a minority. I have, on several occasions, not heard from friends in weeks because “I don’t get voicemail notifications on my phone.” First of all, it strains credibility that this problem affects as many people as are claiming it does, and secondly: wouldn’t you want to get that fixed? I mean, if your friends are leaving you important messages that you’re missing, wouldn’t you make a concerted effort to resolve the issues?

Conversely, if these same people lost the ability to send or receive texts, I guarantee they would be calling their operator frustratedly the very moment they discovered this.

4) I unshackled myself from the phone.

Every time I go to dinner or a bar, I see several tables of people with their noses buried in their phones, despite being in the company of friends. Twitter and Facebook apps are part to blame for this, but I realised how a constant stream of text messages can consume your time.

Whenever I was in a social situation and needed to get in touch with someone, I would have to consider the propriety of leaving the table, going outside, and making a 3-5 minute phone call. Often, civility would hold me back and I would wait until later, which was invariably fine. As such, I found myself able to go out and forget about the netherworld of electronic communications. Now, I use my phone only out of necessity, as opposed to frivolity.

5) Dating has become a text-based experience.

Perhaps the most disconcerting of all. I remember the days when you would get a girl’s number and CALL HER UP. It was expected. These days, that type of approach is seen as brazen or forward. It catches people off guard; some even view it as “full-on.” Today, you are expected to score a mobile number, wait a reasonable interval, and then send a casual text message. That is dating in 2013: Cupid ferrying 160-character messages across cyberspace.

The reason I feel this is worrying is that being able to conduct yourself on the phone and working up the nerve to call a girl/guy who puts butterflies in your stomach is part and parcel of being a GROWN ASS MAN. This is something that young people are shying away from. Text messages, increasingly, are evolving into carefully curated nuggets, less about self and more about ‘game.’

I think this is bullshit. You know what game is? Game is having fucking rocks between your legs. If you ever hear someone describe the end of an escapade as: “Well, (s)he never texted me back so, you know, whatever” you need to slap them across the face. Or fully palm their crotch and reply: “There used to be balls here! What HAPPENED??”

Overall, being free of texts was, well, freeing. I remembered the unexpected pleasure of having impromptu discussions over the phone, of hearing my friend’s voices when they were energised or sick or having a bad day. It adds an emotional quality to your communications that gets lost in SMS, and rather than sending truncated thoughts on-the-fly, you speak with people when you have time to speak with them properly.

I would encourage everyone to try it for a month. Your weary thumbs will thank you for it.