While the Neo-Nazi inspired society of Gattaca hasn’t come to pass, some of the science that drives the movie already has. Don’t worry, geneticists aren’t inspecting every human embryo, removing undesirable traits and creating the “master race”. They are, however, able to make genetic modifications to living tissue and enhance traits for strength, intelligence, and cognitive function. It’s already been done in animals, so the only logical next step is human testing, right?
Strangely enough, most of the genetic alterations seen in 1997’s Gattaca are either already possible or expected to be possible in the very near future. Designer babies are a very real thing, and it’s now possible to have our entire genome mapped and sequenced in order to screen for debilitating diseases.
Don’t be surprised when parents start pumping out Super Babies. It’s inevitable.
Nearly 20 years after its big screen debut, Contact is still regarded as one of the most complete and accurate science fiction films ever made. It makes sense, seeing as the book that inspired it was penned by none other than the beloved Carl Sagan.
Jodie Foster’s attempts to find extraterrestrial life via radio signals and the deconstruction of an alien language using mathematical equations are both rooted in very firm science. SETI is a massive scientific undertaking that uses (surprise, surprise) radio frequencies in its search for ET and his pals. The Arecibo Message set parameters for the (hypothetical) translation and decryption of alien language, as math is essentially considered a universal language.
“[Deep Impact is] almost a lesson,” said NASA astronaut Tom Jones. “To find a movie that was accurate to asteroid physics was a nice surprise.” Hey, if a real-life Space Cowboy says it’s on par, it’s getting put on the list.
It gets the nod here for a few other reasons, too. First, the whole ‘amateur astronomer discovers the doomsday comet’ thing is believable, as non-pros contribute quite a bit to the astronomical community. Next, the government’s plan to divert the comet with a nuclear missle is probably exactly what we would have come up with back in 1998. Or 2016. Whatever. Double next, the catastrophic super-tsunami that occurs after fragments of the comet splash down in the Atlantic is considered highly accurate by one particularly well-known authority on science, Neil deGrasse Tyson.
Lastly, Deep Impact accurately predicted our first black President. I see you, Morgan Freeman.
Japanese scientists and renowned criminologists have recently announced that they are very, very close to perfecting the PreCrime technology – PreCogs and all – seen in Minority Report.
Totally kidding, but you should still click the link.
Steven Spielberg’s 2002 futuristic crime drama displayed some pretty advanced technology – it was, after all, based in the year 2054. Spielberg consulted with a variety of scientists and tech experts over the course of production, creating what many consider to be the most realistic and plausible environments in sci-fi history.
Some of his predicted technologies have already been realized, like gesture-based computer interfaces, and retinal scanners, while others are still in the early stages, like the facial recognition-driven advertising software.
Fun Fact Round 2: Philip K. Dick wrote the book that inspired this movie, as well! The man was a genius!
Probably not one you expected to see here, eh? Believe it or not, Spike Jonze’s 2013 RomCom / Sci-Fi mashup is based around (and rooted in) entirely plausible speculative science. A fully self-aware and sentient AI is no new plot device, but Jonze’s vision and story introduces quite a bit of technology that is (surprisingly) only a few years away.
Since the film is based in a not-so-distant future, there’s not a ton of science or fiction to speak of. However, the science that it does rely on has garnered praise from authorities like Ray Kurzweil, renowned computer scientist, inventor, and futurist. (Futurists are scientists that try to systematically create and explore predictions and possibilities about the future. Thanks, Interwebs!)
Kurzweil had this to say about the film:
“[Her] compellingly presents the core idea that a software program (an AI) can – will – be believably human and lovable. This is a breakthrough concept in cinematic futurism in the way that The Matrix presented a realistic vision that virtual reality will ultimately be as real as, well, real reality.”
Putting his mystical futurist powers on full display, Kurzweil suggested that we would see certain tech from the film (like that trash-talking videogame character and the itty-bitty face cameras) as early as 2020. Sadly, he doesn’t think we’ll see AI as advanced as Samantha until 2029.
Guess that means I’ll remain single for another decade or so…
The final act of Interstellar was, for lack of a better way to put it, total shite. There’s just no denying that. Before the whole “strange Limbo Bookcase” thing, however, the film was ripe with jaw-dropping intergalactic visuals and engrossing storylines. More importantly, Christopher Nolan’s 2014 space blockbuster featured some of the most realistic and accurate depictions of both speculative science and provable physics theories in the history of Hollywood.
Nolan and his crew worked tirelessly with Kip Thorne, a professor of theoretical physics at the California Institute of Technology, to portray scientifically-accurate black holes and wormholes. They deserve massive props for their passion and commitment to the sciences and to the film itself. In classic fanboy fashion, they later published two papers detailing the entire process in lots of science-y science words. Hell, even their theories on time travel and relativity are firmly rooted in well-documented research.
Dr. David Jackson, who printed one of the papers in a 2015 edition of The American Journal of Physics, paid Nolan & Co. a huge compliment: “Publishing this paper was a no-brainer…The physics has been very carefully reviewed by experts and found to be accurate. The publication will encourage physics teachers to show the film in their classes to get across ideas about general relativity.”
To date, no other film has been able to do what The Martian did in 2015. It’s touted as the most scientifically accurate movie ever made, thanks largely in part to the wonderful novel (same title) by Andy Weir. Astronauts, scientists, and fans alike can’t stop raving about just how well Weir’s fictional novel (and the subsequent film) captured the human elements of space travel; every piece of the puzzle, from the astronaut’s team-first attitude to Watney’s survival strategies, wereclever and correct.
Theinflatable HAB is already in the works. The “poo-tatoes” are sustainable and achievable. Even the Rich Purnell Maneuver had roots inreal life science, although many considered it to be a clever Hollywood plot device. Turns out that the whole ‘gravity-assist trajectory’ thing was conceived back in the 1960’s by Michael Minovich and put into effect by NASA for the 1977 launch of The Voyagers, a twin-craft designed to take a tour of our solar system’s furthest reaches.
Indeed, the Star Wars saga taps into the very storytelling devices that have structured myths and religious tales for centuries. And with every new film, fans are able to reinforce their unique communities in a world that has grown, in many ways, increasingly isolated.
A universal hero
Lucas freely admits he based his Star Wars epic on the “hero’s quest” that mythologist Joseph Campbell, in his 1949 book Hero with a Thousand Faces, argued underscores many myths and religious tales.
According to Campbell, hero quests have similar trajectories: the hero leaves his ordinary world and ventures to a place of supernatural wonders. He faces a series of trials to prove his mettle, survives a supreme ordeal, is granted some sort of boon or treasure and returns home to share his knowledge or treasure with those he left behind.
Following this formula, Lucas substituted his own characters for the heroes, villains, and saviors of earlier hero quests.
Take Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope: the hero (Luke Skywalker) leaves his ordinary world (Tatooine) after receiving “a call to adventure” (Princess Leia’s hologram message) and learns he has the special talents of a Jedi. A supportive mentor (Obi Wan Kenobi) offers supernatural aid (light saber) and guidance. Then Luke faces a series of trials to prove his mettle (storm troopers, Jabba the Hutt), survives a supreme ordeal (Death Star, Darth Vader) and returns home wiser and victorious.
I became fascinated with how culture is transmitted through fairy tales and myth. Fairy tales are about how people learn about good and evil…it’s the most intimate struggle that we cope with – trying to do the right thing and what’s expected of us by society, by our peers, and in our hearts.
These stories typically appear during times of doubt and can help viewers reclaim the goodness and innocence in themselves, reminding them they can overcome the evil they see in the world. When Lucas set out to create Star Wars – against the backdrop of Vietnam, Watergate and the assassinations of the Kennedy brothers and Martin Luther King, Jr – he had his work cut out for him.
Lucas acknowledges he wrote Star Wars because he believed our society was in dire need of fairy tales, myth and fantasy – a “new myth” would provide a “New Hope” for an audience that had grown cynical and demoralized.
Today’s anxieties are just as acute. Exhausted by the wars in the Middle East, faced with global terrorism and beset with economic woes, the American people yearn for a mythic narrative that will reaffirm their view of the world, with a traditional American hero who will triumph over evil and ensure “everything will turn out okay.”
Looking into the mirror
Lucas is sometimes accused of promoting escapism. But he’s actually tapping into some key facets of the human condition. After all, it’s in the telling of mythic or religious stories that we attempt to answer fundamental questions like “Who am I?” and, ultimately, “What does it all mean?”
It’s no wonder, then, that in an increasingly secularized society, many find themselves gazing away from the pulpit, instead finding meaning in the stories playing out on screens in living rooms and movie theaters across the country.
Film is sometimes described as a “dream screen” – a mirror, when held in front of an audience, reflects both the personal and collective subconscious of our culture. It’s a place where all our hopes, fears and desires find expression.
Considering Star Wars’ mythic foundation, it’s not surprising that it packs such a powerful, emotional punch, stirring the hearts of passionate fans yearning to see the next chapter of the Star Wars universe.
Myths are about creating meaning, reinforcing connections between the I and Thou, and mending the rift between the sacred and profane. They give us heroes we can identify with, who allow us to eventually realize that divinity is not outside the self, but within. In the beginning, Luke might be the character you wanted to pretend to be. With time “playing Luke” helps you become the person you always wanted to be.
Transcending the screen
If all roads of the hero’s journey lead inward, then film, as a shared cultural artifact, begs us to take the first step.
Unlike a simple, standalone artifact (such as a piece of pottery), film is a shared experience. For the audience, the story, its characters and unique props (like the lightsaber) become stored in an emotional and psychological cache. Filed into memory, they become part of the viewer’s personal history and identity.
Rather than Star Wars existing as something outside of viewers, it takes root within. Many were exposed to the Star Wars films as children. Some acted out scenes at home and at school, investing time and creative energy into a fictional universe and characters who became like an extended family. For them, their “best birthday ever” became indistinguishable from the experience of playing with friends, the cutting of the cake – and their new Star Wars action figures.
In this way, Star Wars no longer remains just a film; it becomes much more.
For this reason, minor changes in the Star Wars narrative can unnerve fans. Denying that Han Solo shot first is like finding out you’re adopted; it’s akin to changing your fundamental understanding of the truth.
Forging connections to the past
Star Wars has further transcended the screen in the form of t-shirts, action figures, theme parks, and in cosplay and fan fiction.
As powerful as any holy relic (which, among believers, can provide affirmation and emotional support), buying and collecting Star Wars merchandise can trigger memories of the past. Accessing positive memories and tapping into nostalgia have been shown to be a critical component of forming a meaningful personal narrative, and the simple act of picking up a toy light saber can return fans to childhood, to a time when they felt happy and secure.
Even if someone didn’t have the rosiest childhood, he or she can still escape to the Star Wars universe, creating an alternate reality where cherished friends, caring mentors and happily-ever-afters await.
Situated in an advertising and media landscape that often overpromises and underdelivers (“Buy this and you will be happy”), the world of Star Wars helps fans create meaning when they might otherwise be unfulfilled.
Cosplaying for community
Watching a Star Wars film or buying Star Wars memorabilia doesn’t only remind us of the “good old days.” It serves a more meaningful purpose: it builds community in a world that has grown increasingly isolated, that has traded the physical for the virtual.
If the decline of social capital in public life (which includes religion) is partially responsible for this phenomenon, the rise of technology is equally at fault.
On the other hand, Star Wars, via play – whether it’s cosplay or swinging a light saber with a friend – demands social interaction, communication and engagement. (Some theorists have even argued that play served as the seed from which all human culture, including religion, evolved.)
Waiting in line for days to buy tickets, wearing your favorite Star Wars t-shirt to school and dressing up as your favorite character at a convention are all social touchstones – icebreakers that facilitate a sense of community and belonging.
It is in this shared storytelling space where history lives and meaning dwells. As cultural critic Lewis Hyde writes, meaningful stories can induce a “moment of grace, a communion, a period during which we too know the hidden coherence of our being and feel the fullness of our lives.”
Once upon a time, we gathered around fires to tell stories. Today we assemble in movie theaters to watch with wonder and awe the flicker of our stories on the screen.
Star Wars is, of course, different from religion in a number of ways. But it still allows us to transcend the everyday and enter a sacred realm – a place where we can glimpse the Holy Land of our better selves and become the heroes we want to be.
“One doesn’t expect Dr Frankenstein to show up in a wool sweater,” wrote political commentator Charles Krauthammer, ominously, in the March 1997 issue of Time magazine. He was referring to British scientist Dr Ian Wilmut, who eight months earlier had successfully created Dolly, the world’s most famous sheep, by cloning her from another adult sheep’s cell.
Krauthammer’s criticism was unsparing. “This was not supposed to happen,” he insisted. Dolly was “a cataclysmic” creature. But PPL Therapeutics, the company responsible for funding the science behind Dolly, was undeterred, and four years later produced five cloned female pigs. Again, the news provoked outrage. Lisa Lange, a spokeswoman for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, echoed Krauthammer when she dismissed justifications of cloning: “There’s always a reason given to validate these Frankenstein-like experiments.”
Invoking Mary Shelley’s myth of Frankenstein is standard fare in arguments over controversial science. In 1992, Boston College English professor Paul Lewis coined the term “Frankenfood” in a letter to the New York Times that argued for stricter FDA regulation of genetically modified foods. “If they want to sell us Frankenfood,” he wrote, “perhaps it’s time to gather the villagers, light some torches and head to the castle.” Dr William Davis, author of the bestselling book Wheat Belly, refers to modern strains of wheat as “frankenwheat,” and then blames them for nearly every chronic illness imaginable. And 19 years before Dolly, in-vitro fertilization pioneer Dr Patrick Steptoe tried to preempt such criticism when he defended his role in the birth of Louise Brown, the world’s first “test-tube” baby. “I am not a wizard or a Frankenstein,” he pleaded.
Steptoe was wise to dissociate himself from Frankenstein. Research suggests that story archetypes – encoded in powerful, culturally pervasive myths – may play a crucial role in how people process new information. In their studies of jury verdicts, for instance, psychologists Nancy Pennington and Reid Hastie found that jurors made decisions, in part, by fitting the evidence into previously defined narrative structures.
The persuasive power of these structures has led Rutgers law professor Ruth Anne Robbins to argue that attorneys should represent their clients as “archetypal heroes” (her example of choice is from another modern myth, Harry Potter). Heroes are more likely to be perceived sympathetically, while villains – Dr Frankenstein and Dr Steptoe alike – will be perceived as criminals, independent of the evidence.
Indeed, myths appear to lead consistently away from the truth, not toward it. Researchers from the University of Oregon have found that pairing statistics with narratives detracts from accurate evaluations of risk. And in a 2014 British study of vaccination intentions, subjects exposed to the powerful narrative archetype of a conspiracy – complete with “secret acts of powerful, malevolent forces” – were more likely to fear vaccines, despite access to evidence of vaccine safety.
The Frankenstein myth is particularly potent, since it recapitulates elements of the world’s most famous myth. Temptation leads Adam and Eve, like Dr Frankenstein, to acquire forbidden knowledge, which results in a cataclysmic fall from grace.
The potency of this narrative – the sinful knowledge seeker who departs from nature – worries New York University bioethicist Arthur Caplan, who believes it can shut down rational, nuanced dialogue. He told me:
You have to be very careful about deploying these powerful myths. There’s no reason to believe that technology, in general, is inherently dangerous or out of control. Not only that, Frankenstein can narrow our focus to biological and reproductive science. Other technologies, weaponized satellites and military technology, those don’t attract the same kind of criticism.
People don’t just live by archetypal myths – they are constituted by them. Group identity, from religion to politics to race, depends on an investment in the truth of a few indispensable stories, which in turn serve as shorthand justifications of one’s preferred moral and social order. “When you tell a story about your client, you pick a storyline that people can identify with,” Robbins explains of her approach. This helps explain why mythically justified beliefs are so resistant to evidence: changing them means changing oneself.
The biasing power of myth is disconcerting, but it also points to a potential solution. If, in some cases, narrative can trump scientific evidence, perhaps literary criticism can come to the rescue.
Take the myth of Frankenstein. As Krauthammer, Lewis, and Davis tell it, genetically modified organisms are dangerous, unnatural and disgusting, and those who oppose them are the archetypal heroes. The villains are foolish, power-hungry scientists like Wilmut and Steptoe, whose unchecked hubris threatens to plunge mankind into darkness.
In the original tale, however, Dr Frankenstein’s creation is no monster, but rather a kind, gentle Creature. Tragically, the Creature soon learns to fear humans, who, terrified by his appearance, drive him away with stones and never come to understand his true identity.
The real villain in Shelley’s story is neither Dr Frankenstein nor his creation – it is the intolerant, torch-wielding villagers. Only after experiencing their cruelty does the Creature become a monster, exacting revenge on those who refused to give him a chance. This is the real myth, the original myth, and it suggests a radically different moral and social order than the more familiar version. If we embrace it, maybe the evidence about controversial science will start to tell a different story.
The central message of Tomorrowland is that optimism about science and its role in the future is preferable to the fashionable despair of dystopia and destruction. And what better symbol of American scientific progress and idealism than the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA)? While much of Tomorrowland is concerned with the more pulpy and outlandish… Continue reading →
