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Lost in Space: from Robinson Crusoe to the Stars

November 19, 2024 / Zander

I’ve recently bingewatched the many iterations of Lost in Space. The “castaway as hero” idea is surprisingly adaptable. It has been marooned on islands, stranded on planets, and even hurled across galaxies. As a concept, it all started with one resourceful guy: Robinson Crusoe and his tale of survival that kicked off a whole genre, sparked imitators and adaptations, and eventually landed an entire family Lost in Space.

In 1719, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe hit the shelves, changing the literary world forever. Possibly inspired by the true story of Alexander Selkirk, a marooned Scottish sailor who survived alone on an island for over four years, Defoe created a character that wasn’t just about survival. He was about resilience, ingenuity, and conquering the wilderness. Crusoe embodied the everyman, facing an unknown world with only his wits and some salvaged tools from his shipwreck. Robinson Crusoe became a huge hit, inspiring readers with its themes of self-reliance and adventure. The novel’s success wasn’t just due to its gripping story but also to Defoe’s new, realistic style that made readers feel like they were living each harrowing day alongside Crusoe.

But let’s not forget that Crusoe, by our contemporary standards, was not such a good guy. All that resilience, self-reliance, and determination were supported by his contemporary belief in European superiority, a mindset that defined much of the colonial age. When his shipwreck occurs, he’s en route to buy slaves, demonstrating his view of other people as property. Later, his treatment of Friday, the native man he rescues on the island, also reflects this perspective. Instead of asking for his name, Crusoe just names him “Friday” and establishes himself as “Master”, reinforcing the hierarchy typical of colonial relationships. While Crusoe teaches Friday his language and customs, he doesn’t treat him as an equal. Instead, he sees himself as “civilizing” Friday, which reflects a distinctly European, colonial view of the world and its people. Despite this (or perhaps because of this), Robinson Crusoe resonated widely with readers, not just as a tale of survival, but as a story that expressed Europe’s growing fascination with exploration and domination.

With Robinson Crusoe‘s massive popularity, writers rushed to create similar tales of isolation and survival in hostile environments. Thus was born the “Robinsonade”, a genre that echoed Crusoe’s trials, only with new settings, characters, and scenarios. Robinsonades often share certain characteristics: a protagonist isolated in a hostile or unfamiliar environment and forced to rely on ingenuity to survive, themes of self-discovery, and the idea of re-civilizing oneself while taming the wild around them.

Some notable examples include The Coral Island (1858), by R.M. Ballantyne, where three boys are stranded on a Polynesian island, and Lord of the Flies (1954), by William Golding, which turns the Robinsonade on its head by showing kids devolving into savagery rather than embracing civility. Robinsonades captivated readers by making them ask “What would I do in that situation?”.

If Robinson Crusoe did his thing solo, The Swiss Family Robinson (1812), by Johann David Wyss, took a family of castaways and set them loose on an exotic island. Here, we get the full family adventure, complete with domestic disputes, moral lessons, and an endless supply of miraculously useful shipwrecked supplies. The story follows a pastor, his wife, and their children as they shipwreck on an uninhabited island. Together, they build a treehouse, tame wild animals, and create a self-sustaining mini-society, all while keeping a spirit of togetherness and moral fortitude. Even as a kid, I found that book extremely boring. But in its time the novel became one of the most popular Robinsonades, particularly for children. It made the idea of surviving as a family team seem achievable and even fun, despite the occasionally outlandish plot devices.

Inspired by The Swiss Family Robinson, creator Irwin Allen brought a twist on the Robinsonade to the small screen with Lost in Space in the 1960s: here, the Robinson family is lost again, but in space. Set in the distant future of 1997 (which seemed much more futuristic in 1965, when the series was launched), the series follows the Robinson family as they embark on a mission to colonize a distant planet to escape Earth’s overpopulation. Their ship, the Jupiter 2, is sabotaged by the scheming Dr. Zachary Smith, who accidentally strands himself along with the Robinsons in an uncharted galaxy.

This version of Lost in Space brought us classic, campy 1960s scifi: clunky robots, cardboardy sets, and the iconic catchphrase “Danger, Will Robinson”. Dr. Smith, who began as a sinister villain, quickly morphed into a clumsy comedic character, stealing every scene with his cowardly antics. Though entertaining at times, the original Lost in Space made no effort to be realistic and relied too much on slapstick humor and “monster of the week” episodes. It was fine for its time, but it often lacked depth or continuity. However, it did spark imaginations and set the stage for the scifi family adventures to come.

In 1998 we got Lost in Space, the big-screen adaptation meant to reintroduce the Robinsons to a new generation. Starring Gary Oldman as a creepier Dr. Smith and a whole lot of CGI, this movie went full throttle with its special effects. The story largely stayed the same: the Robinson family, Dr. Smith’s betrayal, and the quest to return home. While the film had some cool moments, it also had a bit of an identity crisis. It was tonally inconsistent, wavering between scifi action and family drama, and it often got lost in its own convoluted plot twists. Despite the star-studded cast (William Hurt, Matt LeBlanc, Mimi Rogers, Heather Graham, and good old eerie Oldman), it fell flat with audiences, who were left scratching their heads over some confusing story choices (especially that poorly conceived time travel bit). It didn’t exactly do justice to the Robinsons’ legacy, unless you enjoy that kind of late-90s blockbuster energy. And that alien monkey is an unforgivably stupid idea.

And then came the 2018 Netflix reboot of Lost in Space. Finally, a version that explored the original concept with some depth and creativity. The Robinsons were once again stranded in a hostile galaxy, but this time with a serious upgrade in production, storytelling, and character depth. This series put the focus back on family dynamics, making each Robinson a fleshed-out character with distinct strengths, flaws, and personal arcs.

This Lost in Space skillfully blended high-stakes drama with visually stunning scifi worlds, bringing a modern spin to the Robinsonade. But what makes it really work is the reinvention of the main characters

John Robinson (Toby Stephens) is now a career military man. He begins the series as a somewhat distant father and husband. His years away on duty strained his relationship with his family, particularly Maureen, and left him struggling to connect with his children. However, throughout their perilous journey, John evolves into a steadfast protector and a more emotionally available father, proving his devotion to his family through acts of heroism and sacrifice. His practical mindset and combat skills are crucial in ensuring the family’s survival.

Maureen Robinson (Molly Parker), very differently from the previous versions, is now the brains behind the Robinsons’ mission to colonize space. She is a brilliant scientist, fiercely determined, resourceful, and willing to make tough decisions to ensure her family’s survival. Maureen’s love for her children is her main drive, though her single-minded focus sometimes causes friction, particularly when her ambition leads her to make morally ambiguous choices. She’s a powerful portrayal of a mother and leader in equal measure.

The Robinson sisters, who had very little agency in their previous iterations, now are strong figures with their own character arcs. Judy (Taylor Russell), the eldest, is now Maureen’s daughter from a previous relationship, adding an interesting dynamic to the family structure. A young doctor with nerves of steel, she is a natural leader and role model for her siblings. Her mixed-race heritage is a refreshing update to the character and adds a modern dimension to the family’s story. Penny (Mina Sundwall), the middle child, provides much of the series’ humor and heart. She’s sarcastic, creative, and sometimes impulsive, balancing the serious stakes of the story with her lighthearted quips and teenage perspective. She’s also, in a way, the narrator of the story.

Will Robinson (Maxwell Jenkins), boy genius, is in the center of the narrative, not so much for his personality but because of his link with the Robot. He can be an annoying character at times, especially when he combines an idealistic moral compass with the very naive and inexperieced decision making process of a child.

The Robot (Brian Steele) was completely reinvented for this series, from his looks to his origins. Now he is an alien machine with a mysterious past. Initially terrifying, he transforms into Will’s loyal guardian after an early act of compassion. The Robot’s arc explores themes of redemption and free will, as he struggles to reconcile his violent past with his new role as a family ally. His bond with Will is one of the show’s emotional pillars, offering moments of warmth and tension alike. And yes, the Robot says “Danger, Will Robinson”.

Someone decided that Don West (Ignacio Serricchio) should be the comedic character in the group, and he was demoted from the dashing pilot and adventurer of the original series to a bumbling roguish mechanic. I think he was supposed to be the lovable scoundrel with a heart of gold, but no character carrying a pet chicken can be taken seriously.

And finally, Dr. Smith (Parker Posey), the most interesting reinvention for this version of Lost in Space. Unlike the campy villain of the original series, this Dr. Smith is a cunning and dangerous sociopath, willing to exploit anyone to survive. Her backstory reveals a troubled and desperate individual who uses deception as her primary weapon. Despite her villainous tendencies, her complexity makes her a fascinating character, the kind you love to hate but can’t entirely dismiss. Her unpredictability keeps everyone on edge.

Where the original series was largely episodic, the 2018 reboot gave us a more serialized story that built real suspense and stakes, making each escape and confrontation feel genuinely perilous. The modern Lost in Space didn’t just update the effects, it also enriched the emotional layers and themes.

Favorite 1990s Live Action TV Series

November 12, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order.

Twin Peaks (1990-1991)
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (1990-1996)
Babylon 5 (1993–1998)
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993–1999)
NYPD Blue (1993-2005)
Everybody Loves Raymond (1996-2005)
3rd Rock from the Sun (1996–2001)
Stargate SG-1 (1997–2007)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003)

Playing Old CRPGs Again: Eye of the Beholder Trilogy

November 5, 2024 / Zander

Eye of the Beholder (SSI, 1991) was the first computer game that I felt represented the spirit of the tabletop Dungeons & Dragons (which, at the time, was in its AD&D 2nd Edition). Another advantage for me was that the story happened beneath the city of Waterdeep, a famous location for fans of Dungeons & Dragons. Khelben Arunsun, one of the Lords of Waterdeep, tasks our group of adventurers to go investigate what’s wrong in the city sewers, and that’s just the beginning of a large dungeon expedition.

The game was somewhat similar to the first The Bard’s Tale but it looked much better. Objects in your inventory were represented by images rather than just text. Music and sounds were more realistic. Mouse support made it easier to play. And, although the continuous time combat was not as pleasing as the turn based mode of The Bard’s Tale, the whole experience was much more engrossing. Having recently played The Bard’s Tale, one single feature (or lack of it) by itself makes the game much more pleasurable in comparison: there is no need to carry torches or to spend mana points casting light, as the dungeons are naturally lit. In contrast, while in The Bard’s Tale food was not a consideration, in Eye of the Beholder you have to carry rations and make sure your characters don’t starve.

Mapping the dungeons on graph paper was part of the experience of playing a CRPG at the time. But trying to play that way in 2024, after decades of games with an automapping feature, was just too irksome. Fortunately, I found an application called The All-Seeing Eye, which adds automapping to the Eye of the Beholder series. It only works on Windows systems, but it was well worth temporarily switching from my new cool Mac to my crappy old PC just to enjoy the game with maps.

Eye of the Beholder is not as demanding as The Bard’s Tale can be, but it’s not an easy game. The mindflayers on level 11 are particularly nasty, because they can simply paralyze the whole party and then attack until everyone is dead. Fortunately, the Kenku level offers an opportunity for grinding, as the Kenkus will continually respawn, so you can reach the mindflayers with a robust party.

My team was formed by Max (human male paladin), Xul (dwarf male fighter/thief), Leonora (human female cleric), and Salvador (human male mage). The names are inspired by surrealist painters. They all start at level 3. Thanks to all the grinding in the Kenku level, and also by not accepting extra members to share the experience points, my party finished the game around level 8, more specifically Max at level 8, Xul at level 7/9, Leonora at level 8, and Salvador at level 8. Killing the beholder Xanathar, the last monster, required a lot of maneuvering and the use of a trap conveniently located nearby.

Eye of the Beholder II: The Legend of Darkmoon (SSI, 1991) uses basically the same engine from the previous game, with prettier art. After defeating Xanathar in the first adventure, our mission now is to investigate the Darkmoon temple and find the scout sent by Khelben Arunsun earlier. The threat is much worse this time. While the big boss in the first game was a beholder, the villain here is Dran Draggore, a dragon in human form who was using Xanathar as a pawn in his own plans and now has an army of many creatures, including several beholders.

Even with all the grinding in the previous game, my team didn’t seem overpowered at all. But the equipment they brought was good, even better than anything found in the first phases here. Fighting the multiple beholders in the Silver Tower can be quite annoying, because they have the ability to simply kill a party member with a single attack. Find two or three beholders together and you will be reloading your game. My party for the second game: Max (human male paladin, level 8, imported from EOB1), Xul (dwarf male fighter/thief, level 7/9, imported from EOB1), Leonora (human female cleric, level 8, imported from EOB1), Salvador (human male mage, level 8, imported from EOB1), San-Raal (elf male mage level 8, rescued from the catacombs), Calandra (human female fighter, level 9, rescued from the catacombs and tagging along just until the party finds her replacement), and Tanglor (half-elf male fighter/cleric, rescued from the Silver Tower and replacing Calandra because a second cleric is more useful than a third fighter).

There’s much more respawning in this game than in the previous one, so grinding for more experience is not a problem. With a bit of patience, I managed to win the final fight against Dran Draggore, who actually has to be defeated twice, first in his human form and then as a dragon. I had much fun playing these two games, and it was particularly nice to be able to import my characters from the first to the second game. It’s a feature that I learned to appreciate with Eye of the Beholder.

But then there was Eye of the Beholder III: Assault on Myth Drannor (SSI, 1993). Big disappointment. The storyline is generic and uninspired. The gameplay is monotonous and repetitive. Even the graphics are inferior in comparison with the previous two games. I’m not sure why they didn’t have Westwood Associates developing the game like they did with the first two, and instead used a new team to deliver this fiasco. I played it for a while but got too bored to continue. On to the next game…

Favorite 1980s Live Action TV Series

October 29, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order.

Hill Street Blues (1981)
‘Allo ‘Allo! (1982-1992)
Cheers (1982–1993)
Blackadder (1983)
Moonlighting (1985–1989)
L.A. Law (1986-1994)
Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-1994)
Quantum Leap (1989–1993)
Seinfeld (1989-1998)

Traveling with Sinbad and Ray Harryhausen

October 22, 2024 / Zander

The stop animation of Ray Harryhausen has always fascinated me. That sword fight against skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) will forever have a place in my heart. So, when I recently had the chance to watch three of his films, I didn’t hesitate. None of these are great movies, but even the worst of them has some good moments.

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (Nathan Juran, 1958) is a classic in the realm of fantasy cinema. At that point, it was a significant leap forward in visual effects, establishing itself as a milestone for stop-motion animation and popularizing the genre of mythological fantasy adventures.

The true standout of The 7th Voyage of Sinbad is Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion animation, which brought to life some of the most iconic creatures in cinematic history. From the menacing cyclops to the serpentine dragon and the sword-fighting skeleton, Harryhausen’s work elevated the film far beyond its contemporaries. His unique Dynamation process, which combined live-action and stop-motion animation, allowed fantastical creatures to interact with the human characters in a way that felt groundbreaking at the time. The battle between Sinbad and the skeleton is particularly memorable, later influencing fantasy films like Jason and the Argonauts and even contemporary blockbusters. While the monsters may look dated by today’s standards of computer-generated imagery, they still hold a certain charm and sense of wonder. The tactile, handcrafted nature of Harryhausen’s animation gives the creatures a weight and physical presence that CGI often lacks. In fact, modern audiences may appreciate the artistry and patience required to bring these creatures to life frame by frame.

The film follows the basic structure of a classic adventure tale, with Sinbad and his crew embarking on a perilous journey to the island of Colossa in order to find a way to reverse the curse placed on Princess Parisa, who has been shrunk by the evil sorcerer Sokurah. The plot is simple, but it effectively serves as a vehicle for the fantastical encounters and adventures that unfold. This Sinbad (Kerwin Mathews), however, strays significantly from the original character from the Arabian Nights tales. Rather than focusing on Sinbad as a seasoned sailor, the film presents him more as a heroic adventurer, imbuing him with qualities of both a swashbuckling action hero and a chivalrous knight. This transformation aligns with mid-20th-century Hollywood’s tendency to simplify and romanticize complex source material for mainstream audiences, packaging it as family-friendly entertainment. The result is, unfortunately, largely one-dimensional, serving as the archetypal hero figure without much complexity.

The mythological elements also don’t conform with the original Middle Eastern tales and instead offer a blend with Greek mythology, perhaps in an attempt to have a broader, more universal appeal. However, this fusion sometimes lacks cohesion, feeling more like a showcase of Harryhausen’s creatures than a unified narrative. At some points, we wonder whether this is Sinbad or Ulysses.

The villain Sokurah (Torin Thatcher) ends up being a more interesting character, despite the over-the-top performance. Driven by ambition and greed, he is a classic antagonist in the tradition of mythological evil-doers, though he too remains somewhat shallow. The princess Parisa (Kathryn Grant) is given little to do besides being the damsel in distress. Her character, like many female roles in adventure films of the era, is underdeveloped and primarily serves as a plot device rather than an active participant in the story.

The rousing musical score, by no other than Bernard Herrmann, with its use of exotic instruments and bold, sweeping melodies, enhances the film’s mythical atmosphere and adds to the excitement of Sinbad’s various encounters. Yes, that’s the man who created the soundtrack for Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane and Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, among many others.

It’s also worth noting that The 7th Voyage of Sinbad reflects the cultural attitudes of the 1950s, particularly in its portrayal of Middle Eastern characters and settings. Like many films of its era, it relies on Westernized interpretations of non-Western cultures, resulting in some problematic depictions and a lack of authenticity. Sinbad, for instance, is portrayed by a white actor, and the film’s version of the Middle East is filtered through an exotic, orientalist lens that flattens the culture into a fantasy world for Western audiences.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (Gordon Hessler, 1973), tries to repeat the success of The 7th Voyage of Sinbad using the same blend of mythological ambience, swashbuckling action, and groundbreaking stop-motion animation. But, for an adventure movie, it has a very slow pace. Some sequences, particularly in the middle portion of the film, feel sedate and lack the urgency needed to maintain momentum. The episodic structure of Sinbad’s journey can also make the film feel somewhat disjointed at times, with the plot sometimes pausing for the next creature encounter rather than unfolding organically.

This Sinbad (John Phillip Law) is a bit more charismatic than his predecessor, but once again doesn’t have the same screen presence as the villain Koura (Tom Baker, who would later achieve fame as the Fourth Doctor in Doctor Who), an evil magician (it’s always an evil magician, isn’t it?). Baker imbues Koura with a menacing presence and a deeper motivation than many fantasy villains of the time. His desperation to regain his youth and power adds a layer of pathos to his character, making him more than just a stock villain. Koura is cunning and relentless, using dark magic at great personal cost, which slowly drains his life force. This adds an intriguing dynamic between the hero and villain, as Koura becomes increasingly desperate and physically weakened as the story progresses, making him a tragic antagonist. In contrast, Sinbad’s love interest, Margiana (Caroline Munro) seems to be there just to display her cleavage, the only thing preventing her from disappearing in the background.

There are also some anachronisms. The original Sinbad from One Thousand and One Nights is supposed to have lived between the 8th and the 9th centuries. However, here he decides to travel to Lemuria, a lost continent hypothesized only in the 19th century by zoologist Philip Sclater. But this is a fantasy movie with magic and mythological creatures, so it may not matter.

Once again, the true star of The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion work. Among his extraordinary creatures, this time we have a centaur and a griffin in a deadly battle, and the fascinating six-armed goddess Kali, a statue brought to life. As always, Harryhausen’s work retains a sense of wonder even in a modern context, because the craftsmanship behind the animation feels tangible. The creatures possess a surreal quality that sets them apart from today’s computer-generated monsters, making the action sequences feel dreamlike and otherworldly.

Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (Sam Wanamaker, 1977), is the weakest in the Sinbad trilogy brought to life by producer Charles H. Schneer by Ray Harryhausen. It follows the same idea of having a Sinbad detached from the original Arabian Nights tales and mixed with elements from Greek mythology. At this point, however, there’s a sense of formulaic repetition.

This Sinbad (Patrick Wayne, the son of legendary actor John Wayne), is quite bland. He lacks the charisma and gravitas needed to make Sinbad a compelling figure, leaving the character as little more than a stoic action hero. The great villain this time is reduced to a yelling caricature, Zenobia (Margaret Whiting, the British actress, not the American country singer). Her transformation into various animals and her pursuit of Sinbad create some tension, but the character lacks the depth and tragic elements of Koura from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. And all that yelling leaves you wondering if that is supposed to be funny or is just the result of overacting and poor directing skills. There’s also Melanthius (Patrick Troughton, known for his role as the Second Doctor in Doctor Who), introduced as a wise man and eccentric scientist, but his wisdom is highly doubtful. He manages to interrogate someone and give her more information than he is able to extract. Then, in the same scene, he acquires a potion that enlarges creatures and decides to test it on a poisonous wasp, creating a lethal monster that endangers everyone on the ship. Lastly, as expected, we have Princess Farah (Jane Seymour, who would later win two Golden Globes and one Emmy) largely relegated to a passive role, as is the fate of all of Sinbad’s love interests in this series.

Once more, Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion creations are the most significant highlight of the film. There’s a mechanical minotaur (creatively named Minoton), a massive saber-toothed tiger, a giant troglodyte (which reminds us of the cyclops from the first movie), and a menacing baboon that houses the spirit of a cursed prince. Unfortunately, though, while impressive in its own right, the stop-motion animation feels less fluid and polished than in previous films, which may reflect both the demands of the increasing complexity of the creatures and the potential limitations of the budget or production schedule.

The quest structure (traveling from one mystical location to the next while overcoming a series of obstacles) follows the formula established in the previous films. However, it feels more mechanical here, with little sense of novelty or innovation. There are some anachronisms here too. Again, the original Sinbad from One Thousand and One Nights is supposed to have lived between the 8th and the 9th centuries. But Melanthius refers to Archimedes of Syracuse, who lived in the 3rd century BCE, as if they were contemporaries. Anyone cares about these inconsistencies?

If you have to choose just one of these movies, get the first one. The 7th Voyage of Sinbad remains a landmark film in the fantasy genre, particularly for its groundbreaking use of stop-motion animation. While its narrative and characters are somewhat shallow, the film succeeds in creating a world of wonder and adventure that continues to captivate audiences. Its influence on the genre is undeniable, paving the way for later films that embraced the fantastical and the mythological.

Favorite 1970s Live Action TV Series

October 15, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order.

Columbo (1971-1977)
M*A*S*H (1972-1983)
Kojak (1973–1978)
The Six Million Dollar Man (1973-1978)
Planet of the Apes (1974)
Fawlty Towers (1975 & 1979)
The Incredible Hulk (1977-1982)
Battlestar Galactica (1978–1979)

Playing Old CRPGs Again: The Bard’s Tale Trilogy

October 8, 2024 / Zander

Ah, how many hours I spent roaming the streets of Skara Brae with a party of underdeveloped and underequipped adventurers, just trying to get enough experience to be able to explore the catacombs under the city. The Bard’s Tale was the first computer game where I got the sense of playing an RPG, instead of just fighting against weak design and poor mechanics.

For this rerun, I got the remastered version launched by inXile Entertainment in 2018, The Bard’s Tale Remastered Trilogy, which is fantastic. It revamps the graphics without losing the flavor of the original, unifies the mechanics of the three games, and adds some precious features like automap or being able to save the game anywhere.

The first time I played this game, I only finished the first story, Tales of the Unknown: The Bard’s Tale (1985), and never had a chance to play The Bard’s Tale II: The Destiny Knight (1986) or The Bard’s Tale III: Thief of Fate (1988). My plan now was to go through all the three games with the same party of adventurers. My team was formed by Trane (male human paladin), Ella (female human paladin), Basie (male dwarf warrior, who was seriously underperforming and was replaced), Duke (male human paladin, who replaced Basie), Chet (male human bard), Monk (male elf conjurer/sorcerer/wizard/magician), Mingus (male elf conjurer/sorcerer/wizard/magician), and Billie (female elf magician/sorcerer/wizard/conjurer). The names are inspired by jazz musicians.

It is a hard game, generating a mix of frustration (from things like rooms that extinguish any light source and turn you around, or being frequently poisoned by spiders in the dungeon without having any cure other than running back to the city looking for a temple) and satisfaction (sometimes just surviving a tough fight in the dungeon and being able to return to the surface before everyone died of spider poisoning was celebrated like a big victory). Even with auto mapping (added in the remastered version), The Bard’s Tale does a very good job of confusing the player into getting lost. Some diabolical locations mix zones of darkness, spinners, teleporters to identical rooms, and other niceties. But, with much patience and much grinding, I managed to complete the first game.

I fought the last battle in Tales of the Unknown: The Bard’s Tale, against Mangar and his vampire lords and greater demons (which he continues to summon), at level 22 for Trane, Ella, and Chet, 20 for Duke (who joined the party later), and level 7/7/7/5 for Monk, Mingus, and Billie. After the experience gained in the last combat, Trane, Ella, and Chet jumped to level 26, Duke to 23, and Monk, Mingus, and Billie to 7/7/7/7 plus a stack of extra experience. They also had a bit over one million gold in the bank and some nice trinkets to be transferred to the next game.

The Bard’s Tale II: The Destiny Knight is even more brutal than the first Bard’s Tale, but if you import an experienced party from the previous game the beginning of the story is much more pleasant. The first dungeon we find in the starting city of Tangramayne hosts many of the tricks from the first game, plus a couple of new ones. As if the spinners, teleporters, and dark rooms weren’t annoying enough, there are two situations here where you can get stuck for a long time. There’s a chasm that cannot be traversed unless you have accepted a certain winged creature from a previous location into the party (and you are not given that information). If you are travelling with a full party of seven, it’s unlikely that you will replace one of your loyal adventurers with an unknown monster you found in a dungeon. But without the winged creature there is no way to progress. Then, after the chasm there is a door that will only open if your bard is playing a certain song. If you unwisely decided to have a party without a bard in a game called The Bard’s Tale, there is no way to pass through those doors. At least the rewards for this quest are amazing. Even with a veteran party like mine, the experience I got at the end was enough to jump three levels ahead.

The trickery gets much worse later in the game, but I think the worst case is found early at Fanskar’s Castle, where you have to choose one among three doors, and two of them will lead to rooms where the party is instakilled just by entering: “As you enter the room a fiery cavalcade assaults your mortal forms, destroying you instantly.” As if this wasn’t bad enough, you have to make your choice in the dark, without a compass, and the doors have spinners before them. That doesn’t only kill your characters, it also kills the fun.

And then there is the part that made me quit the game. It’s called Dargoth’s Tower, which can be accessed from the city of Philippi. After several levels full of spinners, anti-magic squares, darkness areas, and other traps, you finally get to the top level. Fighting Dargoth and his minions is not a problem. But to get the third piece of the MacGuffin you are looking for, the Destiny Wand, you have to go through a maze. It starts with a riddle that has an answer of eleven (!) words that have to be guessed from various vague hints found throughout the tower and then entered in a specific order. That done, you are teleported and given a warning about a timer (there is a beating heart sound in the background to indicate that time is running off). Then you have to go through a specific sequence of places fighting monsters and collecting the passwords they give. The whole area is full of spinners and it’s not possible to cast spells (so you have no compass). Halfway through this process, there is a corridor with a door on one side and a magic mouth on the other, seven squares apart. You need to collect six different sentences from the mouth, and to get each one requires you to exit the corridor and reenter. Between the door and the mouth there are two spinners and between the spinners a trap that drains hit points. To get in and out with one sentence, it takes a long time to deal with the spinners and some damage from the trap. To get all the sentences you have to go through that twelve times. Even if you manage to survive the damage from the trap, the timer runs out before you can complete the sequence of sentences and your party simply dies. It’s the most infuriating dungeon design I have ever encountered. This is not entertainment, it’s torture.

I was really looking forward to playing with the same party through all the three games. But after this annoying level design in the second game I lost the will to continue. You can only use the same party in the last game if you finish the previous one, so I just abandoned the whole thing. Very disappointing. On to the next game…

Favorite 1960s Live Action TV Series

October 1, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order.

The Twilight Zone (1959–1964)
The Addams Family (1964-1966)
Bewitched (1964-1972)
The Munsters (1964-1966)
Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1964-1968)
I Dream of Jeannie (1965-1970)
Lost in Space (1965-1968)
Batman (1966-1968)
Mission: Impossible (1966-1973)
Star Trek (1966-1969)
The Time Tunnel (1966-1967)
Monty Python’s Flying Circus (1969-1974)

Six Terminators

September 24, 2024 / Zander

How many Terminator movies can you watch in a single day? Well, if you are a geek like me and happens to be stranded at home feeling a bit sick, you can watch all of them. At the time of this writing, there are only six Terminator movies out there, so I was able to fit the whole 722 minutes (that’s a bit over twelve hours) into my totally not busy schedule for the day.

The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984) started everything. A near-unstoppable cyborg assassin (Arnold Schwarzenegger), is sent from a future dominated by machines, to kill Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), the mother of the future leader of the human resistance, while a guerrilla fighter (Michael Biehn) also travels back to protect her. We had seen time travel before, like for example in Time After Time (1979). We had seen computers declaring war on humanity, like in Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970). We had even seen determined killer androids, like in Westworld (1973). But all those elements combined into a cohesive story and presented in a gritty narrative made The Terminator an instant science fiction classic. The Terminator itself became an iconic figure, representing the cold, unfeeling nature of machines contrasted with the resilience and ingenuity of humans.

The Terminator does more than just tell a standalone story. It lays the groundwork for a complex mythology that would be expanded (and eventually ignored) in the subsequent films. The concept of Skynet, the self-aware AI that decides humanity is a threat, and the nuclear apocalypse known as Judgment Day, are pivotal in defining the thematic core of the series.

Like many time travel movies, it invites some questions regarding the logic of causes and consequences, and the possibility of paradoxes. If the Terminator succeeds in killing Sarah Connor, John Connor will not be born and will not become the leader of the resistence, and there will be no reason to send a Terminator back in time. Then, with no Terminator traveling to the past, who killed Sara Connor? Also, ironically, if Kyle Reese is not sent to stop the Terminator, he won’t father John Connor, which means it’s the Skynet mission to prevent John Connor’s existence what makes his existence possible.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (James Cameron, 1991) picks up years after the events of the first film. A more advanced Terminator, the liquid-metal T-1000 (Robert Patrick), is sent back from the future by Skynet to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong), the future leader of the human resistance. He is supposed to be 10 years old, but he looks like a 14-year-old juvenile delinquent. To protect John, the resistance reprograms another Terminator, a T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger), and sends it back in time. The film explores Sarah Connor’s (Linda Hamilton) struggle to prevent Skynet’s creation and stop Judgment Day, the apocalyptic event in which Skynet becomes self-aware and triggers a nuclear holocaust.

The depiction of the characters one decade after the first movie is convincing. With the knowledge of what’s going to happen, Sarah Connor becomes a self-reliant paranoid survivalist. And her son, growing up from foster home to foster home, is a precocious proto-nihilist rebel. But what makes the sequel memorable is the return of the Terminator now as a heroic figure, this time sent back to protect John Connor.

In Terminator 2 we get a more detailed explanation of how Skynet was created. A company called Cyberdyne Systems reverse-engineered future technology found in the remnants of the dismantled Terminator from the first movie, and used it build Skynet. Sarah Connor is determined to prevent that by destroying the Terminator parts. No future technology, no Skynet, no Judgement Day. But if she succeeds in stopping that future from happening, who sent the Terminators in the first and second movies? And if she fails and Skynet is created, that’s a classic closed loop time travel paradox: Skynet exists because of the technology that only exists due to its own future existence, being at the same time the cause and the consequence.

The new model of Terminator is visually striking but also raises some questions. First, we know that the time travel machine only allows for live tissue to go through. Kyle Reese was human and the T-800 model was fully covered in live human tissue. But if the T-1000 model is all liquid metal, how was it able to travel? Second, while the T-800 has a power source (and even an alternative battery), the T-1000 doesn’t (it’s all liquid metal). Quite a lot of energy is spent running after the protagonists, changing shapes, or even taking a walk, but that mass of mimetic polyalloy is not receiving energy from anywhere. It just spends it, never acquires any. That’s never explained.

Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (Jonathan Mostow, 2003) is much weaker than the previous two movies. Nick Stahl as a young adult John Connor is very unconvincing. He has a passive or reactive role, lacking decisiveness and leadership qualities. That’s not someone capable of organizing a weekend camping trip, much less of leading the human resistance against the machines. And we are missing Sarah Connor in this movie, because she apparently has died.

The new Terminator model, the T-X (Kristanna Loken), is too powerful to be credible. It can do everything the T-1000 could do, plus it can create machines with moving parts, sophisticated electronic devices, remote controls vehicles, and even has an internal mini-lab for DNA testing. Power source? T-800 says she’s driven by a plasma reactor. It looks more like magic. Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, future wife and fellow resistance fighter of John Connor, is a nice addition. But the few good moments here are actually provided by Arnold Schwarzenegger as a new (and funny) good Terminator.

Terminator 3 negates the plot achievements of Terminator 2. Sarah and John believed that by destroying Cyberdyne Systems and the T-800’s arm and chip they had averted the creation of Skynet. But here we learn that Skynet’s development seems inevitable, regardless of Cyberdyne’s destruction. And the proof that Skynet is alive and well in the future is that it keeps sending Terminators to hunt John Connor and his associates.

Terminator Salvation (McG, 2009) is the first film in the series to take place completely in the post-apocalyptical world that follows Judgement Day. After unborn John Connor, child John Connor, and youngster John Connor, it’s logical this time we get adult John Connor. Christian Bale is very good in the role. Anton Yelchin as young Kyle Reese is also a good surprise. Bryce Dallas Howard replaces Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, now Kate Connor. Sam Worthington is Marcus Wright, a human-terminator hybrid experiment. Schwarzenegger, governor of California at the time, allowed his CGI image to be used so the original T-800 could be in the story. Overall, the movie feels like a big improvement after the weak Terminator 3.

Time travel is just hinted here, and only because we already know about the Kyle Reese versus T-800 battles from the first movie. It focuses instead on the ongoing clash between humanity and Skynet, emphasizing war, survival, and moral ambiguity. It’s possibly the darker film in the series. One of the more compelling aspects of Terminator Salvation is Marcus Wright’s journey. Marcus, who is revealed to be a cyborg, grapples with questions of identity, free will, and what it means to be human. His internal conflict drives much of the emotional weight of the film, adding some complexity to a narrative that otherwise focuses heavily on action. It’s unclear, however, why human-machine hybrids aren’t used more widely by Skynet, and why Marcus is the only one we’ve seen.

Terminator Genisys (Alan Taylor, 2015), the fifth movie in the series, makes some unexpected choices. It ambitiously revisits and reinterprets the franchise’s mythology, especially the first two iconic films, while disregarding the later sequels. By doing that, it basically reboots the series by offering an alternate timeline that alters key events from the original films.

The movie opens with familiar territory: the year is 2029, and the human resistance, led by John Connor (Jason Clarke), is on the verge of defeating Skynet. Skynet’s last-ditch effort is to send a Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) back to 1984 to kill Sarah Connor (Emilia Clarke) before she can give birth to John. In response, John sends Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) back in time to protect her. However, when Reese arrives in 1984, he finds that the timeline has been altered: Sarah Connor is already a skilled fighter and is protected by an aging T-800, affectionately called Pops (also played by Schwarzenegger). This sets off a series of events involving alternate timelines, new villains, and the discovery that John Connor himself has been turned into a machine by Skynet.

Surprisingly, there are many things that work very well here. The opening sequence is a direct homage to The Terminator, with shot-for-shot recreations of iconic scenes, such as the arrival of the T-800 at the Griffith Observatory. The movie taps into nostalgia by revisiting familiar moments and offering new spins on key events, like Sarah Connor’s first encounter with the T-800. Schwarzenegger returning as the T-800 brings a new twist, as he is now playing an older version of the character, the Pops Terminator, with a blend of action prowess and humor. His interactions with Emilia Clarke’s Sarah Connor (a good choice for the role) provide some of the film’s more heartfelt and comedic moments, especially in the dynamic of their surrogate father-daughter relationship.

The new takes on established characters (for example, Sarah Connor is no longer the vulnerable, unsuspecting woman from the first film, but instead she has been raised by the T-800 and is fully aware of her role in shaping humanity’s future) and the idea of a fractured timeline (events from the original films have been altered) bring a much needed freshness to the series.

The new logic of time travel, however, raises new problems. For example, if the timeline has been altered, why does Skynet send the original T-800 back to 1984 when the Sarah Connor of that timeline is already prepared for him? The film never adequately explains why Skynet and the resistance continue to send agents back in time despite the timeline having already changed. If Skynet is aware that the timeline has been altered, why does it still use strategies from the original timeline?

Despite what some people may consider cheating (ignoring the events of Terminator 3 and Terminator Salvation) and despite the plot holes (how many movies about time travel avoid those?), Terminator Genisys can be quite entertaining.

Terminator: Dark Fate (Tim Miller, 2019) feels like a bad joke. After the alternative view offered by the previous movie, this one goes with “forget everything not made by James Cameron and let’s pretend this is the third installment of the franchise”. Not surprisingly, Cameron is the producer and one of the story creators. The film begins with a shocking and controversial twist: John Connor, the leader of the future human resistance, is killed by a rogue T-800 Terminator shortly after the events of Terminator 2. That reduces the importance of the character’s story arc, which was central to the original films. Killing him off in the opening scene not only feels disrespectful to the character but also undermines the emotional investment fans had in his journey. The whole “John Connor must live because he will lead the human resistance against the machines” becomes irrelevant. Why would they do that? It feels like a bad decision fueled by the desire to pander to a woke audience: let’s kill the white male hero and replace him with a hispanic female protagonist. I like stories with strong female leads, but not when that requires disrespecting the legacy of an established plot line.

In conclusion, and in very simple terms: The Terminator (1984), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), Terminator Salvation (2009), Terminator Genisys (2015), all good. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), Terminator: Dark Fate (2019), not good. But I’m sure sooner or later there will be more Terminator movies. Like Schwarzenegger would say, “I’ll be back”.

A Few Scattered Thoughts About Lists

September 17, 2024 / Zander

Lists can be used for many purposes, some more practical (like a shopping list) and others more literary (like Vladimir Nabokov’s inventory of tourist attractions in Lolita), some more serious (like the articles of the United States Constitution) and others more lighthearted (like Benjamin Franklin’s 228 synonyms for drunkenness). Lists can also be an entertaining format to communicate tastes and preferences, and these are the ones that always intrigue and entertain me. Here are the main reasons why I enjoy making lists of favorites and looking at other people’s lists of favorites. Organized, of course, as a list.

01 – To reexamine and challenge my own preferences.

It’s too easy to categorize a book or a movie based on our first impressions and then leave it there forever. But our relationship with cultural artifacts changes over time, as we learn new things and generate new ideas, and revisiting previously labeled and catalogued works may reshape our perception of them.

For example, perhaps you first read Jack Kerouac’s On the Road when you were a teenager, while living with your parents, and then you rediscovered it as an adult, after you made a long trip by yourself and had a few adventures of your own, and it was almost like a different book. Or perhaps you watched Jack Clayton’s The Innocents when you were younger and thought it was a boring movie, a horror story without horror, and then saw it again many years later and discovered that it’s actually a subtle tale of fear and uncertainty, much better than the cheap scares you get from most contemporary horror movies.

Cultural artifacts may also change themselves in relation to the context that surrounds them. Reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings before watching Peter Jackson’s trilogy of the same name is definitely not the same experience as reading it after you’ve seen the movies. George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four has always been influential since its publishing in 1949, but the experience of reading it is fundamentally different when you know your government is practicing mass surveillance on its citizens and trying to mislead the media and manipulate public opinion.

Making a list is an opportunity to review my categorizations, reevaluate them, sometimes revisit some favorites to see if they are still favorites or perhaps to replace them with new discoveries.

02 – To reshuffle ideas and reorganize memories.

I have been making lists for many years, and I must confess that once in a while I look at an old list and have no idea why I included or excluded something from it. Yes, any list of my favorite foods would include sushi, and there it is, but where is the paella? I love paella, how could I forget the paella? And was I drunk when I listed Philippe de Broca’s Le Magnifique among my top movies from the seventies? I don’t even remember it that well. Time to shake and reorganize these lists. Perhaps I will watch Le Magnifique again, possibly followed by paella and a good Rioja.

03 – To present ideas in a quick and simple way.

Many of us, perhaps too many, seem to want to know everything but would not take the time to learn anything. Because there are other things to do and we don’t want to miss them. Combine TL;DR (too long; didn’t read) with FOMO (fear of missing out) and you have someone eager to consume information in the smallest portions available. Lists can provide that ideal format, very short and direct, a promise of immediate knowledge.

Or, perhaps to rebel against frenetic consumption, lists can be less direct and more convoluted, like this one. Unless you are only reading the headings and ignoring all the verbiage, in which case this list, to you, is also short and direct. But you would be missing all the fun.

04 – To generate conversations.

You may learn more about a person from their answer to “what are your three favorite movies” or “what are your favorite places in the world for a long weekend” than what you would get from more habitual queries like “where are you originally from” or “what do you do for a living”.

In some cases you don’t even need to see the contents of the list, as the choice of what to list can already be a powerful statement. The person making a list of “the healthiest ways to prepare your tofu” is probably a very different individual than the one telling you about “the most delicious ways to grill pork ribs”.

Great conversations usually happen when the lists are very similar with just one or two exceptions. If you like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, and you see them in my list of top crime writers, and also see Jim Thompson there, an author you haven’t read, you may want to learn more about him and perhaps try some of his novels. (Incidentally, Jim Thompson is one of the most interesting hardboiled novelists. But that’s a story for another time.) If you and your friend have both included John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Lester Young, and Stan Getz in your respective lists of top five jazz saxophonists, it may be interesting to see your friend try to defend Kenny G as his fifth pick. Even if we consider such defense an impossible task, the first four picks show that you already agree on many things in this particular topic, and the conversation should at least be amusing and stimulating. (Defending Kenny G as one of the best jazz sax players is as unwise as defending Jar Jar Binks as one of the best characters in Star Wars. Unless, of course, you embrace the non-canonical theory of Binks as the Sith Lord secretly controlling all events around him. Perhaps that’s the only way to defend Kenny G: call him Darth G.)

05 – To pretend we can bring order to chaos.

A list is in itself an attempt to organize things or ideas. Even unordered lists create a system with two categories, one of things that are in the list and the other of things that are not in the list. Lists help us create an appearance of order.

Establishing a set of internal guidelines can take this a step further and enhance the sense of organization. I like to work with a few self-imposed guidelines when creating my lists. For example, when listing favorite movies from a certain period or in a certain genre, I usually restrict it to only one title per director. Also, since the decisions about what to include and what to exclude are hard enough, sometimes I save myself from the extra distress of having to order the items internally. Instead, I list my selections in chronological or in alphabetical order. Guidelines like these can reinforce the sense of a solid structure with sturdy internal order.

It can be very satisfying to have these lists, categories, rules, selection criteria, with everything ending up neatly organized. But, of course, it’s all pretense. Life, as Shakespeare famously wrote, “is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”. Hey, that’s a great quote. You should put it on a list.