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RIORI Presents Installment #216: Morten Tyldum’s “Passengers” (2016)

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The Film…

The Players…

Chris Pratt, Jennifer Lawrence, Michael Sheen, Laurence Fishburne and Andy Garcia (for about 30 seconds).

The Plot…

The Avalon, a starborn luxury liner has over 5000 people in hibernation, She’s traveling from Earth to the planet Homestead II, a rich planet full of endless possibility. It’s a 120-year long journey, however.

After only 30 years en route an asteroid collision causes a malfunction that awakens mechanic Jim Preston 90 years too early.

Consequently, his loneliness consumes him. If only he had a friend.

Perhaps Jim may find—rouse—one.

The Rant…

Let’s face it. We all need to get away from it all. A vacation once in a while (by that I mean ASAP). Be it a trip to the beach, camping out in woods, or even just turning off yer damned smartphone. TikTok can always wait. Dumb dance vids will still be there when you get back. Or not. Cross a few fingers.

A few weeks ago bored at work I asked my fellow conscripts if money was not an issue where would you like to travel to? To get away from it all? For real. I got a lot of cool answers, and none of them bad. Japan, Ireland, locked up in their apartment with their PS5 and the Ring properly charged, with a vat of cheesy poofs at the ready. Everyone had a cool idea, despite the poofs. Hate those things. They’re like shrimp with scabies.

Anyway someone commented, “It’d be cool to travel into space, like a vay-cay on the ISS (that was me, duh.) Just a week in microgravity, bouncing about gazing out the ultimate telescope. Hanging with astronauts from all stripes and many nations (I’d sweat the Russian for the ideal borscht recipe. Mine tastes like borscht). However I had heard of the downside of this ideal vacation, despite truly getting away from it all. Sometimes the bubble gets busted too soon. Or too late.

Sure, it would be b*itchin’ to hang out over your high school that invited chronic social awkwardness and endless swirlies. But after a while bumping around with eight other people that share a lifeboat the size of a Winnebago, well, things might start to drag. As the old adage goes, “Getting there is half the fun!” You got there, good job. The other half? Well, best pick and choose. Your options are kinda narrow.

Here’s a story: In ’05 I was lucky enough to spend 10 days in Hawaii. Everything you’ve ever heard is true. Including the fire dancers, feral chickens and gorgeous beaches. Yes, feral chickens. As laid back as the islands are, avoid the chickens. They would congregate near the local meth lab. Not everything was always aloha, but everything else was pure aloha (which is a versatile f*ck to us how-lies). I’m approaching a point here. Here, have this snack size bag of Cheetos and be patient you, or else I release the chix.

Maybe you see where I’m headed. After days of sunshine, warm breezes, trying to surf and failing gracefully I began to tire of it all. Every day was the same beautiful day. I checked the Weather Channel to compare my vacation to the climate back home. On Kaua’i it was 70 degrees and light breezes. Back home it was in the upper 40s and had been raining for days. This was in March. I should’ve considered myself lucky, and I was. But sometimes one gets tired of paradise when it’s paradise all the time. Towards the end of the trip I was glued to my GameBoy Advance SP playing Pokémon Yellow. Again. I felt like an ingrate, but I had had enough fun in the sun (until I had to endure the 12 hour red-eye back to the mainland. Careful what you wish for and all) and the pristine beaches felt all the same.

Years back I read this article in The New York Times about the possible reality of interplanetary travel. Talk about getting away from it all. The writer explained that with NASA’s present technology it would take 5 to 7 years to reach the planet Mars, and that’s not even round trip (you reading this, Elon?). The writer explained that may be the greatest threat to such a mission would not be a failure in life support, some navigational error or even the craft being holed by an asteroid. No. The biggest threat to completing the mission en toto would be boredom. One’s mind wandering. Lack of focus. Accidentally jet one of your space buddies out of the airlock. Sounds silly? Perhaps, but the article was sober and not exactly cautionary. Think about it. What may had happened to you on a long car drive, miles of farmland and you get a case of the sleep dips? Consider the outcome if you were gallivanting off to Mars?

Sounds funny huh? Even by my own boredom after a week on paradise I became way too concerned how Pikachu fared against any rival beasties. Consider a 14 year red-eye with no Wi-Fi? How stupid really, but regard that potential trip to Mars. I gave in by the last few days in Hawaii. The beaches were sandy, the waters a crisp blue and I spent the winnowing evenings all the local bar with their obscene prices. I caught a Lapras.

Being bored does do a number on your perspective. You drift. You zone out. You may bump into things. You need an anchor. You need to steer clear of that airlock. You must acquiesce. With getting away from it all, where to go? Hawaii? The ISS? The Avalon? Truth be told no matter what your getaway is you can’t get away from yourself. It’s a tough pill, and sorry to mention anything about swallowing. Best just embrace the anxiety, the uncertain, and the possible case of the crazies.

Non compos mentis…

The Story…

The space luxury liner Avalon is on its century plus path to Homestead II. It’s a pristine Earth-like planet, clear from all the man-made trappings that have so harmed our embattled homeworld.

Homestead II has been colonized for maximum pleasure and production. A place to start over, to create a new life. That’s what technician Jim Preston (Pratt) signed up for. Apply his craft towards world building. Noble idea.

Huwever along the way Avalon‘s long voyage something goes awry. Jim is woken up from his hypersleep. And only him. He is one of 5000 passengers en route to Homestead II. He was supposed to be woken 4 months before docking…which is 90 years away. He now finds himself alone, confused and desperate for companionship beyond the android bartender Arthur (Sheen). After many weeks of grousing Arthur suggests to make the most of Jim’s circumstances.

One day one of the hypersleep pods catches his eye. A young woman named Aurora (Lawrence) has a wonderful profile. Might be an ideal friend. Perhaps adrift like he feels. But the Avalon is meant for to wake up 4 months within landing on Homestead II.

Right. 90 years left on the clock, and Jim is desperate. He’s also a skilled technician. Aurora’s pod could be coaxed awake. Sometimes your bartender gives better advice than your doctor.

Sometimes not…

The Breakdown…

Halfway through our viewing of Passengers K asked a very interesting question: “Where does time fly faster? On Earth or in space?” Well, Einstein claimed that time is relative. Depending on your current circumstance time either drags or flies. I think I understand that theory. All of my years as a line cook time was like some sort of demented pendulum. Maybe you’ll get this if you’ve ever had such a job. Follow me.

Work time in restaurants are always measured in flux. Depending on the time of day or night one can predict how fast or slow work carries on. It not just for cooks BTW, but day traders, doctors, teachers and any other job that demands “the clock is the boss.” That was a fave maxim of one of chefs in culinary school, and damn was he right. Regarding time that is, and not to wear hotpads but was remiss in seasoning his food first. Like I implied it was all about time management, and how it tends to get away from us. You think all your ducks are in a row, and then pow.

So K invited the curious theory. Dig. Where does the time go? Does it depend on where or when? Or whom?

Humans are a social species, not unlike a pride of lions or your pet doggo. Us mammals we. Along that metaphor we work well in groups. Mostly small groups, especially considering families (except that Dugger clan. They are nuts and are some sorta inbred cult). Despite how much our family members can drive us nuts we need each other for some relative insight. Hell even the hermit cloistered away in their hovel needs unwelcome others to justify being reclusive. It’s all relative, and like time ike K accidentally inquired about Albert’s explanation of how the fourth dimesion works. Or sometimes doesn’t. I swear that most laborers—not workers mind you; there’s a difference—are keenly aware of time and how it flows. From my past experiences when business is steady or even breakneck time flies. You look up at the clock and it’s 7 PM. Five minutes later it’s 11 PM. The opposite is true on a slow shift. You glance at the clock and it’s 7 PM. Three hours later it’s 7.05. It’s ridiculous I know, but doubtless Albert would nod his head, even if he never worked the line.

So since time is relative as I agree it flies faster in space. Just go with that, for now.

Recalling the Way Way Back installment, even the kindest of getaways can morph into a grind. The days start to drag on and the vay-cay begins to feel like pulling hard time. Director Tyldum did spot on illustration of not only being ostracized, but also a desperate, if not dark depiction of isolation. Dark isolation, how lonely it may come to pass. That isolation and all those miles—lightyears—may drive one to the edge. That’s what the first act of Passengers delivered. Jim was the victim of such loneliness, and any distraction to take his mind of his circumstances ultimately fails. This feeling of isolation drives most of the plot (if only in the background), and it was palpable. Pratt looks guilty of something (his hangdog spoke volumes); he didn’t choose his situation, and having a devil of a time dealing with it. Poorly. All the sushi in the galaxy can’t assuage his woes.

Isn’t that great line of BS or what?

Let’s focus on that tack (not the BS part). At its heart Passengers is a  character study in how solitude—claustrophobia, really—can affect one’s emotional frame of mind. Lots of movies come to mind that follow this design. Cameron’s The Abyss, Scott’s Alien, Tarkovsky’s Solaris. All these flicks have isolation as muse. Passengers’ story seems as familiar, but with the twist of the pristine, luxurious space liner Avalon as everything a luxury cruise could offer, however laid waste in our protag’s mind. Those above films were dank, unforgiving and had low headroom. The Avalon was cushy, with all modern conveniences. It drove solo Jim bonkers. I mean, its one thing to be alone, time crawling or speeding and probably messing with your perception. It’s another thing to be invested in that loneliness. That was defiantly Tyldum’s reflection with Passengers. It was not an S/F movie. It was a character study, despite the open bar and mastering 3-D Dance Dance Revolution. En toto Passengers was an exercise in what happens when one is alone too long. Lonesomeness, not alone time. Jim had enough alone time. For the first act Jim was all about being alone but not inviting aloneness.

Harlan Ellison, the late, great writer known best for his S/F stories made a few appearances here, if only as metaphor. I’m quite the fan of his, and most of his terrific tales makes for a nice afternoon by the fireplace. However great his fiction was—is—often took more of a shine to his non-fiction stuff. Movie reviews, very candid newspaper story drenched in social commentary and even some restaurant reviews.. While watching Passengers one of Ellison’s entries in either his An Edge In My Voice or Hornbook essays. Both are a mix of op-ed pieces for the Los Angeles Free Press combined with something that resembles a journal. Both very engaging books, which I often return to for sh*ts, giggles and some chin rubbing. I couldn’t locate the exact text, so I’ll best illustrate his point here. As much as I enjoy his writings I’ll be damned to scour over 500 pages to get to my point I felt adjacent to the world of Passengers. This particular Ellison essay presented a query that spoke volumes to me regarding Tyldum’s meditation on the ills of too much time on one’s hand. Sometimes the simplest ideas pique your interest. Occasionally they blow your mind.

He had an astute theory considering the difference between “being alone” and “aloneness.” One is passive, the other proactive. Reading a book. Watching a movie. Messing around with the Nintendo. Or even idling through that week’s new comic book haul while enjoying a steaming mug of Kenya AA coffee brewed through the French press (busted). That’s aloneness, simply wanting time to yourself to do just putter around and not answer to anyone or anything. Pleasant, solitary things that you and you alone appreciate. These things are choices, lovely things that are to be cherished because you want time to yourself. Just me and Captain Marvel. Playing the Sam & Dave LP I recently won from eBay. Lazy stargazing. That’s the good stuff. Chosen time on your own terms.

Being alone is depressing and sinister. You did not choose your situation. Your are a victim of your circumstances. Being alone is antisocial, and oft not of your picking. If you’ve heard the Police’s “Demolition Man” you may get it. Being alone means alienation, ostracized and too much time on your hands. This was Jim’s predicament, dropped into an environment he never chose. That device made for a rather odd example of being all by oneself and dismissing others as a distraction. All Jim wanted in Passengers was basically a new job and a start fresh on Homestead II. Paper moon against an empty galaxy. Wistful, seductive, snakelike, dreamy and ultimately undone.

I keep hammering on this theme because in the endgame it got all twisted with Passengers, and that twisting was truly a shame balanced against Tyldum’s thoughtful biopic The Imitation Game. That film documented computer scientist Alan Turing helping the war effort against the Nazis. Genius Turing was conscripted by no other than Winston Churchill to crack the uncrackable Enigma codes. Turing was offered all the necessary resources to succeed in this mission, but despite all the tech and a willing team of peers he’d rather go it alone. That was the rub.

Turing was an outcast in the scientific community…and he liked it that way. It was almost that Turing would only get satisfaction not from breaking the Engima, but to prove he was worthy of the job. was also a meditation on solitude, but that movie hinged on our hero choosing aloneness, if only as an affront. That film was an fine example of aloneness, and it well illustrated why Turing was a recluse. Passengers at the end of the day was rote. The perils of being alone invited Jim’s own Devil’s playground with his itchy, idle hands. Coping with isolation in a rather formulaic way. Engaging thanks to the acting, but that was about it. More about that later.

Both films wrestled with the yin/yang theme of isolation, and were both directed by Tyldum. I ran Imitation up the flagpole months ago and then saw Passengers and it was like Jekyll and Hyde. The former informed the other. Like Tyldum’s early flicks Buddy and Headhunters had a thread of solitude running through them. Such spilled over on to Imitation and Passengers. Being alone comparatively can be pretty sticky stuff according to Tyldum’s muse. Almost too sticky here.

What got really sticky here (and even more heart wrenching) was Passengers’ gentle pace. I’ve said in the past that a movie’s pacing is key inviting my attention or regarding a flick as waste of my time. She’s sometimes a feckless b*tch. Pacing should flow. Bounce along productively as the movie’s plot required. Passengers‘ pacing indeed flows. Creeps is more accurate. All is calm and all is bright and Jim is a slow burn. Ready to freak out at every moment. To say again we have a Shining-like vibe here where at every turn Jim might have a spectre to confront. Maybe his own. In sum, that gentle vibe got nervous slowly but surely. Discomfort. Gimme the bat.

Oh. Did I mention Jennifer Lawrence, the silent Maguffin? I felt she played against character here. Mostly. From what films I’ve seen she portrays a no-nonsense alpha female. Silver Linings Playbook, American Hustle and even the Hunger Games series, she plays nobody’s fool quite well, with humor, grit and wit. Here her Aurora is almost willowy and ignorant of her station in life (didn’t help that Jim REDACTED for his own ends). Wistful. Lawrence is cold as ice, and very naive. To wit it took Arthur spilling the beans to let the scales fall. She was wallpaper here, and not very appealing against her stronger roles. The pixie non dream girl. Despite the circumstances she was way too reactionary. Didn’t help that Jim essentially conned her for the second act. Where was the spark, the fire? The attitude we expect and love about Lawrence? Muted, and rather disappointing. I suspect she made the best of the resources she was given. There was an awkward yet endearing chemistry between her Aurora and Jim, but wringing hands can only go so far. I kept Lawrence’s blip on this screen short and short. I just expected more from her. Oh well.

K was spot on when she said consistency is key, especially with S/F movies. I appreciate it when films like Passengers do their best to be scientifically accurate. There are always minor goofs here and there. EG: how did Frank Poole of the Discovery manage to “float” to the antenna array without the aid of a MMU? Even a classic like 2001: A Space Odyssey had its flubs. Not to mention a HoJo’s being on the space station. It was the 60s after all. It’s the 21st Century now. Barring the advances in F/X you can’t cut a satisfying S/F flick alone on ILM, especially when consistency is concerned. There were too many times with Passengers that the pixelated ropes dragged me away from the story. Scenes like the spacewalk, double dancing and whatnot. I figured such was to create chemistry between our two leads, but as nice as the execution was it felt so forced. Moreover formulaic. But those scenes looked cool. What you see was what you got. Not get, got. Sticky and dry.

On the flipside all that empty luxury made Jim’s being stranded all the more distressing. All those sleepers. Water, water everywhere. Everything comfy, save when it constantly reminds you of defiantly of how you are missing out. That and the slow clock ticking in the background gives us a little edge of urgency. I say edge because all the while the countdown to infinity is always in the background. No matter what Jim is trying to preserve his meager life as long as possible. It was alluded that Jim has always been afraid of being alone. Left behind. He felt alone on Earth and hoped to find purpose on Homestead II, but only on his terms and as far as f*ck away as possible. Sounds like some pipe dream, and it is, but it keeps us guessing about the how and when may work or fail. In essence mortality looms over in Passengers, if only in the back our heads.And I must say the sets were marvelous. Beautiful even. Both inside and within the ship looked like what an interstellar spaceship should look like. Plausible, and a part of those sets become a character in and of itself. Dig this. Avalon is scrumptious. As the Brits say: all mod cons. The best example I can use was the Enterprise-D on Star Trek: TNG: it was a floating mall. And malls are designed to comfort people’s needs for solace, and I ain’t talking about the food court. The ship has everything Jim could need for comfort and solace, but it only works for a limited time. Recalling my Hawaiian adventure, the center won’t hold and you get antsy. More like desperate with Jim. That spacesuit scene? Heartbreaking, and one would think the airlock would have some sort of fail-safe. It was a little on the nose, but I allowed it. Made the impact.The Avalon was sound. Again, the sets were amazing. The ship looked like how an interstellar ship should look, especially the nice touches. Again with TNG’s Enterprise-D: the Avalon had a “deflector dish” shoving space debris away on her voyage. Non-essential functions were powered down to save resources. The spiral, rotating arms gave the illusion of gravity, and when they went on the blink the environment reacted in kind. The design of the Avalon, however was snakelike. Tempus edax rerum. Alluring. The way to Eden. A gorgeous trip to freedom that soon became a canard. At least for Jim, our somewhat overwhelmed fixer. So the speak. K suggested that Jim needed some positivity. Damn straight, and trying to crack open the bridge was a mission of futility. Tyldum really ramped up being infuriated at some existential crisis aboard the Avalon. Hopelessness saturated the movie.

Tell those 4998 sleepers what they didn’t win, Rod. All this on a pleasure liner, prepared and structurally sound as trap. The Avalon is headed for denial. Look how those commercials come across, and regard how barkeep Arthur REDACTED when Jim asked him a non-robot question. Wait. Robot. And all this on an interstellar Love Boat. Paradise waits as scam. No one truly gets out alive. Grim yes, but read between the lines won’t you? Passengers was attempting S/F drama here. It worked in fits and starts. There’s a little too much ennui, but I guess directer Tyldum was quietly trying convey while I was champing at the bit for some morality play and a meditation on the human condition. I was pretty naive since Dance Dance Revolution was a distinct plot device here.

Okay. Back to Earth, so to speak. There were some plot holes that irked me. Derailed me from my revery of watching if Quill and Katniss trying to get on with life on that tub. Again I was naive expecting for them to push and pull and cooperate to reach a mutual understanding of how to live together. Um, that sorta played out, if only implied. I dug the ending, but it was inevitable. Catch this.

There is an old skool analogy that was unseemly used in the crime pulps back in the day. Hard-boiled detective stories. Think Hammett, Cain and Chandler. A lotta tropes there. Femme fatales, the usual suspects, shakedowns of the same. And a lot of really lame gimmicks that kinda shoved the plot along. Akin to what Tyldum did in the final, distorted act of Passengers. He tossed an alligator over the transom.

That’s an old pulp detective device, when the writer comes to an impasse and does something outlandish to keep the readers’ attention, even if it has nothing to do with the established story. Say a literal alligator was dropped into Jake Gittes’ grimy office via the window over the front door (which is called a transom) and now what to do? It’s a ruse in reverse, if you will. Everything in Passengers was stuttering along just fine, until director Tyldum made a hard left into hard S/F, which was jarring and made me roll my eyes and drift off like a balloon. This may have very well been when Passengers hopped the track and lost the audience. It lost me, dammit.

I often take time (as with the above allegory) to explain the jargon I tend to smear all over this blog. I believe that the majority of my audience are pretty sharp, but for the paltry few who fail to understand the your/you’re dynamic I think it courteous to run to the whiteboard, marker in hand and clarify a few things. Meaning my endless fallback on quotes, Hollywood argot and just plain, stupid metaphors to prove my point. So right now I feel obligated to explain the difference among “hard” S/F, “soft” S/F, and an unexpected Alligator mississippiensis being plopped onto your welcome mat. BTW an alligator is an ambush predator.

Everything went so very wrong in the final act. The human condition that so chided us so for two hours was shattered. We descended into Michael Bay territory. The hard left, like the story needed a surprise alligator or something to keep us invested. Didn’t work on me. Anyway hard and soft. I feel that this is important if you ever get the chance to watch the film.

Hard science fiction is a sub-genre of science fiction writing that emphasizes scientific accuracy and precise technical detail as part of its world-building (EG: the Avalon and its mission). Soft science fiction is a genre that consists of scientific or futuristic elements, but does not delve deep into the technical details of the science. It puts more focus on psychology, society/culture, and politics. Tyldum tried to have this both ways, but there was a very abrupt dissonance that split Passengers into two very different movies.

While not being S/F Imitation was a historical fiction meditation on being an outsider, with maybe only one scene with flash-and-dash. It didn’t allow it. Neither did the third act where humble Jim became John McClane to REDACTED amongst whiz-bang lacking any nuance that was building with the first two acts. The scenes were harsh, off-kilter and betrayed any soft S/F world-building that felt very promising. I guess that Tyldum felt the need to throw the audience a sop, and it fell to the theatre floor with a splat. In sum the final act of Passengers pissed me off and I had felt had. Hard S/F should have been avoided in Passengers. At the outset the movie was a promising meditation on solitude and how it affected our protag Jim. A lot of thoughtful navel-gazing about his unfortunate solitude, and if I haven’t hammered that home by now you must have unsubbed me. Overall, that dramatic trope proved appealing. C’mon, ever feel all alone and keep asking why me? That’s natural, and we’ve all been there. And when that feeling consumes you you may wish to start a blog.

J/K. Not. Still I felt had.

In conclusion K had another insight:

“Is trouble not worth being alone?”

No. No it isn’t. Especially when aloneness is concerned. On Earth, in space or even in your mind.

The Verdict…

Rent it or relent it? A mild rent it. Passengers is capital Q quality…until it isn’t. That bait and switch. Hollow. Tyldum had me for a bit, but eventually I needed to get some sleep.

Get it? I’m so clever.

The Musings…

  • “That is not a robot question.”
  • Aurora = Sleeping Beauty?
  • “I’m a journalist. I know people.”
  • Why does the bar remind me of the one in The Shining?
  • “I went shop…lifting.”
  • That is a very confusing staircase.
  • “I’m not saying the Universe is evil, but it sure has a nasty sense of humor.” That is a good line.
  • Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone.” Heh.
  • “Does this seem fishy to you?”
  • Fishburne looked like a mall cop, and reeked of deus ex machina.
  • “It’s Wednesday.”
  • Why does WordPress’ spellchecker keep blooping Latin quotes?
  • “Arcturus…”
  • Sorry for all the bitching. I got had.

The Next Time…

Oh no! Justice Smith’s ace detective dad has gone missing! This sounds like a case for Detective Pikachu!

Another espresso? Pika!

 

RIORI Presents Installment #191: Morten Tyldum’s “The Imitation Game” (2014)

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The Movie…

The Players…

Benedict Cumberbatch, Keira Knightly, Mark Strong, Allen Leech, Rory Kinnear, Matthew Beard, Matthew Goode and Charles Dance, with Alex Lawther and Jack Bannon.

The Story…

When England entered the fray back in World War II, she was a starving nation. As an island country, supply ships were the lifeblood of the nation. However said ships were regularly torpedoed by the Axis’ U-Boats and the Allies’ planes shot down before landing. Why? It was an enigma.

Or rather the Enigma: the Nazis’ supposedly unbreakable coder/decoder, the ultimate machine made to deliver encrypted orders. Every day the codex changes, and every day Allied aid is rendered flotsam, jetsam and burning flak. Impossible to determine when the next attack will strike. The UK needs to crack those codes and soon, or all will be lost.

England’s best mathematicians have been beset to cracking the damned machine, and have been bested over and over again. Time is running out, and who could ever be sharp enough to find a pattern? Well, humble, eccentric mathematics professor Alan Turning has a notion, but first it must pass military muster. And it eventually does: Fight fire with fire. Create a machine to defeat a machine.

Turing’s so crazy that he just might make it work.

The Update…

Yeah, yeah. I know. Always streamlining yet still dropping down traffic cones. Those orange ones. They mean beware. Like Pete Townsend lyricized, “The music must change; For we’re chewing a bone.” I’m now getting down to the marrow, out of respect for my subscribers. Namely be more direct and quit the fluff. You’ll get it later. Hopefully.

*clackboard*

The Rant…

Here we are, yet again. This is the penultimate installment of historical fiction movies (until a fresh one comes a-creeping), that the formers have been received quite well here at RIORI. I’ve been genuinely surprised and quite pleased. I guess it’s kinda significant, since the likes and visits have been off the minor scale that this blog reaches. Thanks fer yer support.

Here we go…

Once a while back while waiting for my auto to be serviced, I picked up a then recent issue of Time magazine while in the waiting room. Time magazine, where I always go for the truth. Some article I gleaned was about a computer program that could beat the “Turing Test” courtesy of the nice folks at Google, natch. It broke down the program algorithms of human speech so to mimic responses to the user’s questions and answers. There was a sample of the journalist’s discourse with the computer that ran Google’s digital Rosetta Stone to illustrate how smart the program was in imitating human conversation. Nifty.

Before we lurch any further, I feel the definition of what the “Turning Test” (AKA “The Imitation Game.” Hey! Like the movie!) is. Dr Turing hypothesized that a test for intelligence in a computer, requiring that a human being should be unable to distinguish the machine from another human being by using the replies to questions put to both (definition courtesy of the OED). Sort of a like a game of poker, with a heavy amount of bluffing.

I’ll cut to the chase of what the article said: Google’s advanced whatsit failed to pass. Why? By responding to human questions in an all too human way. Simply put, Google Turing kept changing the subject when it did not know how to respond. This happened often. A lot. Not unlike a lot of flesh and bloods who find the conversation awkward. Since the interviewer knew he was chatting with a computer didn’t make for a decent double blind, how the program kept changing the subject was key to making it feel akin to dealing with a telemarker rather than a member of the human race.

In true Google fashion, the conversation ran like ads, suggesting products, demographics and the (failed) Google Glass quite a bit. Much face was lost. Blame the humans with the discourse, not the one that started it. It felt to me that the program didn’t fail at mimicking human conversation (it was transcribed in the article). It failed mimicking human nature.

More on that later. Open the pod bay door, Hal.

Do computers really “compute” anymore? The original, ginormous, granddaddy of ’em all computer ENIAC did just that back in the day. Calculating mathematical equations that, in short, helped the Allies to win World War II. ENIAC was the first digital computer. It was as big as a trailer home, used vacuum tubes instead of non-existent microchips to store memory of less than that of ten digit decimals, and was modular but never really portable—it could be dismantled for transit to another lab, which required a few trucks. ENIAC didn’t have WiFi or even Solitaire. Not a feature was stirring. Not even a mouse.

Ho ho ho.

Modern computers, like my iMac, iPhone and iPad, do indeed compute. They use math in order to run programs. However they don’t use a ten digit decimal memory, instead they employ bytes. 00 and 01. Positive and negative. Kilo, mega, giga and tera. Yes or no, perhaps what Turing was getting at when he hypothesized how a computer could “think.” Could a computerized device think for itself? Hence his imitation game, which—Time magazine notwithstanding—has been lost time and time again over the past thirty years or so. Modern computers don’t think in the classical sense, but they do the thinking for us. Modern computers suck at human nature, but they excel at predicting it.

What am I getting at? Glad you failed to ask. Here’s a quick Turing-esque question: what’s your mother’s phone number? I’ll wait.

…

….

…..

Did you look at your phone or did the correct ten digits ran through your brain? These days, I’m placing my bets on the former. I do it too, and my senior mother lives with me. Chances are your entire contact list is there on your smartphone so you don’t have to bother remembering it. Here’s a relevant story: once upon a time I called Apple tech support to deal with something hinky with my new phone, and knowing full well it’s hard to tweak your mobile while talking on it I opted to use mom’s phone to make the call.

It didn’t go as planned.

The IVR was useless, so I pressed zero. The CCR was useless, because she failed to hear me say I was not on my iPhone but was using my mother’s which was why the accounts didn’t jibe plus it’s hard to tweak oh you get it. Long story short after our planet made its annual stroll around the sun the Tech asked me to specify exactly which iPhone was I calling about. I gave her my number and clarified I was talking on my mother’s line, and then gave her mom’s.

“Wow! You knew that off the top of your head?”

Sheepishly I said, “I checked my contacts list on my phone.”

My mother. As of this installment I still haven’t committed her number to memory. Any why not? That’s what mobile phones are for.

It’s about the anti-Turing test. Computers can’t think outright, even in these challenging times. But they can think for us. Examples? I don’t know your phone number, but you could call me if you wanted. I don’t know what level your PC is at in the latest iteration of Gears Of War, but your team does and you’ve never met any of them IRL. Nor should you, nor does it matter. Spotify knows what you want to listen to. Tinder knows how desperate/horny you are. Your Apple Watch knows your pulse rate and you don’t and you never thought about your pulse rate until you strapped that gizmo over your wrist in the first place. You’re welcome and thank you.

I figure you follow, but thanks to the tenor of this tale I’m probably going to retell a story of why I gave up online video games and why MMOs concern me. The reason? It was an addiction, and my brain left my mind for two years. It was also something bit more sinister, and I’ll bet Turing would’ve never calculated this game:

I heard about some matter back in 2001 regarding some plane crashes in NYC. I knew about hunting for 7 star plus weapons for my PC in Phantasy Star Online, v 2.0 on my Sega Dreamcast via side quests and trading between myself and my online cadre at 2 AM, every AM from London because the USA server was littered with dooshes. It cost me 5 Euros monthly, but was worth it.

My Dreamcast and Sega.net knew this so I didn’t have to. Pew pew pew. Rather my diminutive, curvy, cutie pie HUnewearl could score free items from my teammates just by me being high level as well as being female (BTW the Dreamcast was the best 6 gen console ever). The game had it’s primitive algorithms; being the first console with built-in online capability (56k dial up or broadband. No WiFi yet), and you could download games as well as upgrade hard copy in the forms of new quests, advancing difficulty and of course always new hacks and treasures. For 2001 online gaming, it was very immersive. So much so that were three priorities in my life back in 2000-02: PSOv2, work and booze. Eating and the g/f became mere distractions. I’m not kidding that the game became my life. Like so many addictions, you cannot wait for your next fix, be it a drink, a smoke or a raid party. It becomes all consuming, and when your addiction is calmed by the power of a machine, a computer, well you’ve just given up freewill and sunshine to level up your team of customized skins.

The computer is thinking for you by that point. It guides your moves, urges and business. It’s not really that different than saving numbers in your smart phone, or digital photos on your hard drive (the app can sort them out for you) or every bit of info about your life in the Cloud. You don’t have to remember sh*t anymore, even how to write a proper blog. Grammerly will tell you how to write good. I mean well. It’s all there in the bits and bytes of your lives, either waiting for you to initiate something or finding some link that may engage you. Sad? Cynical? Doomspeak? Yeah. The truth? Getting there.

As if wasn’t made clear by now, I’ve always been wary of unbridled technology run amok. It’s usually tied to advertising and profit in some fashion, telling what you want, by billboard and website alike. I’m not a luddite, though; I don’t think technology is evil in itself, but how it is used isn’t always about creating viable COVID vaccines. Sometimes tech is used to create COVID and its evil brood, if you hear what I’m screaming. Computers are only as helpful as their users, and what they program and access can make our society rise and fall. These days, thanks to the Internet we have a wealth of information and a dearth of wisdom. Social media is an echo chamber and crypto currency is a select swindle. Did you put a third mortgage on your home to finance a PS5? Why do I ask this stuff?

So, is what the imitation claimed accurate? Can we tell if computers can think, even in the abstract, like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey? Like AI? I don’t think so, not yet anyways. However if we reach that point in the not so distant the computers will do fully think for us like in The Matrix and we’ll be downgraded to just mere applications. Apps, the programs that run your “lives.”

Turing may have been right in his conjecture. I can almost hear him turning over in his ashes…

The Review…

In my never-ending quest for simplicity and efficiency I decided with this installment to forgo The Story section en toto. Hope you read the above Warning. I finally figured there’s no need to re-encapsulate the movie’s plot that I already encapsulated in The Basics section. We can all read. That’s why we’re here, I hope. Otherwise you got lost and the link to DraftKings is here. Now double down, ante up, whatever and thank your mom for the sandwiches.

Ostensibly, The Imitation Game was about how the eccentric and brilliant mathematician Alan Turing (Cumberbatch) created the first truly digital computer to decipher the Nazi’s uncrackable Enigma. And you’d be correct on that notion, to a point. You could’ve also viewed the story of Turing coming to (reluctant) terms with his homosexuality, and that’s not far off either. Myself, ever the contrarian, had a different view. Mine was about “passing.”

It’s a sinister term, trying to prove/con oneself an equal citizen in an intolerant society. Racism, sexism, ageism. Happens everywhere around the globe. Even the Japanese, some of the most accepting people on Earth harbor some prejudice against the native ainu that live on Hokkaido island to the north. Akin to how the Aussies regard the abos, or the failing caste system in India, or how the American white majority get over on the black and the brown. The other. The misunderstood. Like classic Greek playwright Aeschylus proclaimed, “Everybody is quick to blame the alien.”

When all others were not, that was Alan Turing. Passing. If not for a military strategist and no more than a vacuum cleaner salesman, he had attempted to assimilate himself into a man’s world. Back then, I guess being eccentric and creative wasn’t macho enough. And if you were gay playing in a straight domain? Heaven help you and your naughty bits. As the Brits say Turing was “quite the other thing.” As was his intellect, work and inspiration. Consider this irony: back in the day being a gay man in Britain was a crime, not unlike with Nazi Germany. Think about that.

In this context, passing is a dangerous game. I believe the terminology harkens back to the antebellum South during Reconstruction. You know, when all black slaves were freed but not really “freed.” Passing was where lighter-skinned blacks could hoodwink for white folk and thereby evade racist antagonism…so long as they kept a low profile. Passing for white. Due to intolerance, bigotry and the threat of violence “mulattoes”—an ugly term in and of itself—had to hide who they were to survive. Passing meant denying a very basal part of all humans: identity and lineage. Cumberbatch’s Turing was very much in the closet before the closet was built. Going so far as to marry “his girl Friday” Joan Clarke (Knightly), his number one cryptographer. It was more like a man married to a man really married to his work. It was icky to watch, despite Turing and Clarke were ideally fast friends and great partners. Turing and Clarke knew it was a sham, but their union was for the greater good. Heck, even being the man who hired a woman as supervisor on the greatest codebreaking is history? That got Turing into a lot of hot water, if not from the Army than that of public opinion.

All right, enough muckraking. Should’ve said all this in The Rant, but all that truck does come to bear on the overall feel of Game. Namely, this movie was a period piece, but not like Merchant/Ivory or Shakespearean whatnot. The film could’ve only been told in a few sparse years. None of Turing’s seeds would grow to bear fruit if not for the War. That’s a matter of historical fact. The story would not have worked if not under all that pressure. Turing’s story of his imitation game (computer or homosexual) could never be told across a continuum. It’s like the story of John Harrison, who back in 1700s developed a successful, working chronometer for ships at sea to measure longitude. It took five years for Harrison to build it and a few centuries later to understood how it worked (it was still in use in the early 20th Century). We could not have had such a leisurely pace afforded with Game. We just couldn’t. It wasn’t like Charles Babbage woolgathering about his “difference engine.” stakes were too high, and the events could’ve only happened in WWII.  A sort of synchronicity, if you will. There have been other recent biopic films that tackled similar scenarios (EG: The Theory Of Everything, Hidden Figures, Lincoln, etc), but none of them had so much palpable urgency. If not for WWII, and the US not entering the war, the Great Depression would never end, the baby boom would never have happened and we wouldn’t have any iMacs to post blogs on an nonexistent Internet. Desperate times invite desperate measures, and desperation was Turing’s primary modus operandi. Not necessarily to beat the Nazis at their own game, but to prove his theories could be not only feasible but true and even put to positive use. Turing would’ve proven right, earn validation and not have his little secret discovered. Yes, he was indeed driven, but to what end? Turing needed to pass.

It was all about the passing. For all the sexual identity navel-gazing Game indeed had excellent tension, and did not dwell on homosexuality in the abstract. The dire cryptography race got laid on thick and fast; we learned the stakes at hand, and right quick. Game may had been labelled either a drama or a biopic. In execution it was neither: it was a spy thriller. Not like James Bond per se, but there was this always looming tick tick tick and Turing had got to get his sh*t together before he cracked after hearing the daily death tolls on the radio once more. Again, the stakes. Okay, Game was a biopic, but it played like a keen thriller. Time was ever running out, for the Allies as well as Turing’s grip.

Cumberbatch’s perpetual exasperation with duty to king and country and trying to reconcile his research as an extension of his emotions made for delicious drama. The man really sold it. His Turning was angsty but not drenched in cinematic bathos; no hand wringing thought there was a lot to wring about. I did some snooping around online to determine whether or not Turing was a prodigy, autistic, or just a plain eccentric genius. Maybe all three, but not all at the same time. Results were inconclusive. Cumberbatch’s performance and idiosyncratic behavior gave me pause. Sure, it was just acting—really convincing acting, mind you—but it smacked of something. And all the better film for it.

Speaking of autistic tendencies that Turning may or may not have had, I’ve found that really sharp people relish patterns, not unlike our good doctor did. Consider this tale: I had a childhood friend who was an ace at math and music. He played a few instruments and sang, both quite well. But his room was always a mess. No, check that. It only appeared to be a mess. In fact, his yard sale run amok living quarters was a very particular filing system. He always knew where everything was, he just didn’t bother to put things away normally like we passing do. Here: three large mounds of laundry on the floor in selected parts of the room. One clean. One dirty. One comprised of what to wear for the week, socks and all. Books on the floor he had read or wanted to reread. New stuff piled on his dresser. CDs strewn all over the floor for this month’s playlist. New, still wrapped discs at the foot of his unmade bed. He never made his his bed. Quite logically since it was just going to get all messed up come bedtime. And please, don’t touch anything unless you ask first. You might f*ck up the system.

After you have watched Game, you may be nodding your collective heads. My old friend had Asperger’s Syndrome, a mild form of autism. Namely, it results in abnormal but usually harmless behaviors revolving around patterns and rituals as a matter of some senses of control, regardless of the circumstance. Kinda like not changing your socks in the middle of a winning streak, but with a purpose. C’mon, we all let our dirty laundry pile up too much once in a while. But do you have a tape measure at the ready to gauge how high the pile was before it was laundry day? Not that, but yes him. One meter. Always.

Moving forward, I read a sobering response on Quora (hey, it’s better than anti-mask Uncle’s Facebook screed about COVID was created on Venus…which might begin to make sense after a bit) as to whether or not Turing had Asperger’s? Here’s what the forum post reported:

“Diagnosing historical figures can be tricky, and can get a lot of people riled up. That said, if you have enough anecdotal evidence of their behaviour during life, there are diagnostic criteria that can be applied. Psychologists have done this with Turing, and found he met all six of the…criteria for Asperger’s.” Courtesy of P Howell, who also claimed to be autistic. It was a thoughtful response from someone with a similar condition, so I decided to include it here? Valid? Yes. Sound? No, but more honest than anything on TikTok.

Coming back to Earth, Game was a character study alright, but not just the usual tortured genius type. Kinda wondered if Cumberbatch did his research of the character beyond just research. I understand one open-ended comment from a Quora forum does not a doctorate make, but still Cumberbatch sold a quirky genius serving his country with a not-too-deep seated agenda: proving if a computer could think like a person and (you guessed it) pass the grade. All the while you watch Game you know full damned well that Turing does not give two rat sh*ts about the war. He’s used the military’s funding to prove his theories to others and himself. Cumberbatch’d Turing was trying to prove to England that he was something. He was right. He could pass as well as Christopher could calculate. The desperation of this sweats out of Cumberbatch’s performance of Turing, even when he wasn’t sweating. In sum, the man was perfect for the role and really, really sold it. I wasn’t watching stoic Sherlock Holm—er, Ben Cumberbatch. I was watching Alan Turing as if I had met the man (yeah, Ben was that good). I can’t say enough good things with Game.

Except in one way. It wasn’t the fault of the performances, god no. It was the tonic when his Turing slipped in to analog rather than digital mode. These were the scenes where Game got cringey, but deliberately and may scare away erstwhile, adroit, well-heeled moviegoers. Pay attention.

First of all the subject matter of Game was kind of a niche market. Namely early computer science nerds and WW2 history buffs (EG: nerds with a Masters’). Stuff like that is not the flavor in Columbus, which is why despite rave reviews the sales showed it didn’t reach the masses. It’s funny, though. Even for the somewhat arcane history stuff Game was pleasantly accessible, more so than one might’ve thought. The acting is top notch, duh. There’s all sorts of intrigue, drama and palpable tension. My g/f found the movie very interesting and she’s usually into rom-coms and Disney flicks. But she’s also a big Cumberbatch fan, and we found his Turing, terse and angsty as he was he was still human, flawed and may have spent way too much time with “Christopher.” Cumberbatch played more like a computer himself, rather than a flawed human. He lacked sympathy towards others and was often impatient with his peers. Petulant and believing he was the smartest guy in the room (he was) and better than the rest. Sympathy and redundancy, that’s how computer interface works. Little wonder of Turing’s frustrations. Being logical only goes so far. Sometimes it’s best to pick one’s battles, even if you’re unsure as to what you’re battling. That kind of dichotomy requires patience to digest, and since most of Middle America has precious little—always screaming at the microwave to “Hurry up!”—to simultaneously watch and digest a film is anathema and that’s how Waffle House stays in business 24 hours.

…I did it again, didn’t I? No matter…

Here’s a conceit that screams white light in Game: It’s often said that characters are supposed to be likable. Wrong. They’re supposed to be relatable, interesting. Here’s an example: horror writer Clive Barker who created the Hellraiser franchise claimed that the demonic Pinhead never did one nice thing over the span of seven movies, yet he still gets marriage proposals via email to this day. Interesting, just like Cumberbatch’s Turing. I’m not talking proposals, I’m talking posthumous respect. In the final analysis, cracking the Enigma was his show all the way. Cumberbatch’s portrayal will never achieve Gump-like adoration, since he was such a snot. But his performance was about an interesting snot. Gold stars all around for characterization. In sum, you need to see this film.

Speaking of acting, Mark Strong is fast becoming one of my fave character actors. His is very good at being mean. From 1917 to Green Lantern to John Carter Of Mars he has raised being callous, indifferent and belittling to the protagonists he has to deal with in his films. He’s also very smug about it. It’s always a ton of fun to find a villain you love to hate, especially when the bad guy believes erroneously he’s in the right. And who wouldn’t like to bust a stuffy bureaucrat in the chops? Moving on.

Secondly, Game was a non-linear movie, but again strangely more accessible than one might’ve believed. Yeah, I covered a few non-linear flicks here at RIORI (EG: The Fountain, Tristram Shandy, I’m Not There, etc) and they have been a little disorienting to watch. However the flashbacks and jumps in Game are tastefully done. Meaning they are bookends to the A plot. We get involved in Turing’s mission, and once there’s a breath, boink, back in time forward in time. It felt the director was very “calculating” to lighten things up once in a while, if only just for a change of pace. It was kinda akin to when Shakespeare would inject some levity in a play moments before the sh*t went down. Catch us off guard. Tyldum wanted us to catch up, take a breather and then back into the churning circuits. I found that neat.

Towards the final act of Game, I found myself asking, “Was all of this just interrogation?” Was the movie designed to make you question identity, digital and/or analog. If that was the case it was a very good questioning, minus the good cop. Game may have been about cryptography, sexual identity, passing and the never to be fully understood human condition, but it felt to me the movie was prodding me to go a little deeper. I got a hidden message beneath the whole folderol with cracking the Enigma and the dangers of Turing stepping out of the closet. That was overt. Something told me that there was an undercurrent—a code—that director Tyldum wanted me to crack. It may have been all subjective, but I felt there was some code lurking, waiting to be cracked.

The first proto-social media algorithms. Names, times, objectives. Get them all in line and a private code may reveal itself. That’s FaceBook. That’s Twitter. Unfortunately TikTok. Was Tyldum suggesting that accidentally Turing invited social media into our world as we know it today? Let his imitation game reach its fruition to suppose what humans wanted to get from computers? Dictate their lives? Make people second guess everything? Enhance egos? That may be a stretch, right?

Maybe, maybe not. I was probably reading too much into it. But overall Game was a great length of code, inviting decryption even for a basic app like me.

The Final Analysis…

Rent it or relent it? Rent it. Game is a sturdy flick, filled with lots of intrigue and excellent drama. A solid biopic of an interesting person in a unique situation who exited too soon leaving a lot of unanswered questions. Also with a representative performance that well demands, “Why?” Queue up and make up your mind. I did.

The Stray Observations…

An explanation: I’ve decided to quit the movie watching as a solitary job and now I go over to my girlfriend’s place on the weekend to watch this week’s assault on the senses together. She makes some pretty keen observations with this film, so then I added them to my notes and credit her where credit is due. Whenever you read (K) in the notes or observations, it was her comment not mine. It’s good to get a second opinion.

  • “Pay attention.”
  • (K) That’s a lot of numbers.
  • “The carrots got into the peas.”
  • If only hunting for a job was as easy as solving a crossword. My mom’s a crossword freak. WW2 would’ve ended in week if she were born sooner.
  • “You just defeated the Nazis with a crossword puzzle.”
  • (K) The simple was so simple it was tricky.
  • “When people talk to each other, they never say what they mean….They say something else and you’re expected to just know what they mean.” Kinda like texting.
  • That smirk.
  • “We love each other in our own way.”
  • Here’s a keen urban legend about Alan Turing: One of Turing’s fave snacks was apples (there’s a scene in the movie about that). Turing took his own life, and his bedside was an apple with a big bite out of it (“last meal”) tainted with cyanide, which the police noted. Story went that Steve Wozniak heard this tale and shared it with his partner Steve Jobs. Hence Apple’s moniker and logo. There are two kinds of stories: those that are true and those that should be.
  • “Is that it?”

The Next Time…

Did Micheal Sheen really try to Frost/Nixon, as portrayed by Frank Langella? We’ll see as RIORI‘s series of biopics comes to an end.

Thanks for coming along.