Characterization and Sexuality in Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

     Several months ago, I promised a return to the analysis of this fascinating film to supplement what I said earlier about its espionage element.  It is now time to look at Valerian and Laureline as a couple.  Here, as with the earlier topic, Luc Besson departs from the usual paradigm of space opera and science fiction in general.  When women are present in the genre, which is not always the case, they assume a passive function from the earliest days of Flash Gordon or Rocky Jones serials.  They are usually simple objects of sexual desire, sighing Dale Ardens or Vena Rays waiting to be won (usually rescued from alien menace) by the heroic beefcake male leads.  This model persisted well into the 50's and 60's in the case of spacegoing women like Ann Anderson in It!The Terror From Beyond Space or “Irish” Ryan in Angry Red Planet.  There were some mild exceptions, as when Beverly Garland's Claire Anderson in It Conquered the World tries ineffectually to kill the okra-like alien or when Gloria Talbott's Marge Farrell struggles psychologically with her doppelganger husband in I Married a Monster From Outer Space.  However, it is usually men with weapons who eventually get the job done (in the latter case, with an assist from German shepherds).    The woman's options are limited, even as  Claire takes up arms in a fit of romantic jealousy and Marge tries to get help from her gynecologist.  Anne Francis's ingenue role of Altaira in Forbidden Planet and Faith Domergue's more intellectual Ruth Adams in This Island Earth still fit within this category, despite certain nuances. 

     Those women who did display sexual strength or aggressiveness in early sci fi films were often portrayed as fiendishly motivated to the point of ridicule. Cat Women of the Moon is a comical example of this, as are the more serious (?) Queen of Outer Space and Queen of Blood.  Since the latter was based on a Soviet forerunner, one can see that this pattern of female passiveness was not strictly limited to Hollywood.  Queen Cleolanta of the Rocky Jones television series and its spin-off films, while not really a man-killer, is unmistakably labeled as a freakish woman, plagued by penis envy and troubled relations with the males on her homeworld of Ophiucus (oddly pronounced on screen as something close to “officious”).  Only at the end of the plot loop and under the benign influence John Banner's Bavarro (in his pre-Sergeant Schultz days), does she do a “face turn” and assume a more properly passive approach to things.

     Of course, later movies did begin to widen the role of the spacewoman, giving her unprecedented strength, as demonstrated by Sigourney Weaver's Ridley in Alien or Helen Mirren's Tanya Kirbul in 2010.  Neither female figure, though, is really involved in an intimate relationship, so the impact of a strong female presence in the heterosexual couple is not realized.  Star Wars' Princess Leia, is certainly a special case, for her complex character evolves from adorable supplicant to tough prisoner (“Aren't you a little short to be a storm trooper?”) to worthy comrade warrior, to deliverer of Han, to slave, to Diane Fossey-like ewok-whisperer to legitimate hookup for Harrison Ford.  Despite this depth, it is the nearly porno image of Slave Leia that seems to stick most firmly in the memories of many fans, to the point that some objected to her posthumous turn as a senior stateswoman in Last of the Jedi.  In fact, it is worth noticing that other women in the latest Star Wars films have met with increasing hostility from some audiences that decry the “feminization” of the series.  This can be linked to a backlash that has grown to include certain critics of Blade Runner 2049 and even Wonder Woman.  Part of the sci fi public is unusually troubled by the tendency to present female protagonists in more realistic and multi-dimensional roles.

     It is in this context that we must consider Valerian.  Besson shaped his film uniquely and developed the comic strip original in interesting ways.  For one thing, he did not allude to Laureline's background as a time traveler from the medieval world, perhaps because Americans still see fainting damsels in distress rather than the strong, independent female figures that often appear in the real Middle Ages, from Joan of Arc to Eleanor of Aquitaine, Marie de France to Louise Labé, Héloise d'Argenteuil to Hildegard von Bingen.  Besson is able to reference Laureline from the beginning as a very matter-of-fact person who, though not unmoved by Valerian's beautiful face, rejects his status as a tombeur de filles with a huge digital black book.  She makes it clear that she will not consider consent unless he shapes up and undergoes a major psychological shift.  This effectively reverses the sex roles, making the “normal” factor of heroism irrelevant.  They will have to cooperate as equal partners in a common mission whose outcome does not necessarily entail a sexual reward for the male.  Moreover, Valerian is the one who is allotted the duty of self-examination that is normally foisted off on the object of desire.  His position is complicated by the fact that he doesn't seem to know where to begin because his previous line of conquests has been so effortless. 

     Into this dilemma comes the crucial catalyst of the shape-changer Bubble.  The dance that Bubble performs before the goggle-eyed Valerian is far more than a standard Hollywood set piece.  In fact, the numerous nods in the performance to motion picture precursors such as The Blue Angel and Cabaret only serve to underline the fact that this performance tops them all, inasmuch as it goes beyond the level of illusory seduction to hit at the very heart of desire.  Bubble is the ultimate in seduction, yet her real shape can never succeed in attracting Valerian – only offering him a ghost of pleasure.  The spy becomes aware of this through the shock of revelation and simultaneously develops the quality of compassion, as he realizes that the ultimate in sexual attractiveness is all the more painful to the seductress than to himself, the object.  Bubble's unrequited love becomes an exemplum to Valerian, leading to a discovery of humility that has more in common with chivalric romance than the explosathons of most contemporary action movies.  After Bubble's sacrificial death, Laureline can finally judge the questing knight who has shown his worthiness, not through self-realization of a predetermined destiny, but through the agonizing elective process of change. 

     Yes, this is conceptually “deep.”  It postulates a level of appreciation much more intricate than the standard fare of movies and television, just as the savoring of a fine wine requires more than the instant gustatory satisfaction of a bottle of Coke that is always going to taste the same.  It is worth the time and the effort.  If sci fi is to remain a viable, inventive genre in this rapidly changing world, it depends just as much, if not more, on this type of psychological inception as it does on the refinement of eye-catching design or special effects. 

Capek and the Talinians of Forlani Saga

     Karel Capek was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but his writing career coincided almost precisely with the period of the first Czechoslovakian Republic, between World Wars One and Two.  He was a close associate of the Czech president Masaryk and thus at the crossroads of all the developing political theories of the time, from Communism to Fascism.  These new ideas are often reflected and satirized in his works.  Best known perhaps for coining the term "robot" in the play R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots), he was never afraid to deal with dark, dystopian perspectives.  These sort of visions predominate in the novel War With the Newts, originally in Czech, and thus known by various titles in the many languages that it was translated into.

     Capek's newts originate on Earth, in the Pacific near Indonesia, where they are discovered and quickly bred and exploited by humans, who also experiment on them scientifically.  Soon they proliferate to form a slave race that performs all sorts of work on and under the water for their masters, who scorn and mistreat them.  Eventually they revolt, at first secretly through sabotage and clandestine activities, and eventually in an open conflict.  Because they quickly neutralize human navies, far less at home in the water than they are, the advantage swings to their side and they begin to aquaform the Earth into an ideal liquid habitat for them, leaving only a few grim islands where the surviving humans in turn become their subjects.

     This work, which was rapidly recognized as a political allegory, parallels Wells's War of the Worlds and Food of the Gods in many ways, especially in the disorganized and pathetic reactions of human beings to the "invaders."  It serves as an implicit influence for all sorts of modern sci fi works, from the Planet of the Apes movie cycle to such B-movie examples as Empire of the Ants and more thoughtful efforts like Alien Nation and District Nine.  Even the recent zombie cycle The Walking Dead can list Capek as a distant relative.  

     For us, War With the Newts offered both rich biological source material and opportunities for social commentary.  We started in our universe with the postulate that evolution on alien worlds could be very different from that on our planet, which was shaped by various cosmic accidents that could take place in varying ways in other systems, or not at all.  Why not a planet where the evolutionary thread was never interrupted by a Permian extinction, so that amphibians became the alpha life form?  There is nothing to prevent an amphibian life form to develop with all the manipulative limbs of a human -- or even more.  Of course, the approach to fire might be radically different or even absent, but undersea volcanic sources could even furnish the beginnings of a metal technology. Furthermore, being amphibians, newt-like creatures would not be excluded from exploring on land and accessing many resources available to mammalian or other evolutionary groups.

     Our newts in the Forlani Saga universe come from the watery world of Talini, where they developed advanced organization, communication, and technologies. They were not a space-faring race until they experienced First Contact with neighboring planetary civilizations and though they do not excel in space transport, they can travel as passengers with relatively little trouble between systems.  There are numerous parallels for this on our own planet, from Filipino sailors serving on supertankers to African bush pilots of aircraft that their own nations could not build (at least not in the present economy).  Moreover, their adaptability to many divergent liquid environments allows them to become valuable "manpower" on many worlds, fostering a remittance system to their own relatives and the possibility of sooner or later having fleets of their own.  

     In Life Sentence, the reader first encounters Talinians in work teams on the aquaplanet Song Pa, where they engineer jobs for the resident squid-like inhabitants who possess a higher tech level.  Disguising his identity as an indentured human worker for the Song Pai, our protagonist Klein toils alongside Talinian crews in his daily duties.  Their mutual communication takes place via electronic tablets, since humans, Talinians, and Song Pai have vastly diverse vocalizing systems that render sound communication virtually impossible.  Klein exchanges favors with a Talinian nicknamed Fatty, who provides valuable information to the Earthman and later delivers news of his survival to Entara and other friends on Forlan. This allows them to re-establish contact with him just when he most needs their help, for his pursuit of revenge leaves him severely injured and near death (again).  

     In the second novel of the series, Spy Station, Entara and her eldest daughter Ayan'we, delegates to the Zonal Peace Conference form a strong alliance with the chief Talinian delegate, the wise old Kee'ad of Tionar.  They bond with other species, as well as AI individuals of the Robotic Guild, to campaign for peace between bellicose factions, as spies for the warmongers attempt to subvert the conference for their own purposes.  Tionar also becomes an important friend for Ayan'we as she faces difficult choices in her private life.  At the end of the novel, he accompanies the Forlani who leave the space station and helps Ayan'we reach Earth, where she plans to solve her life problems with Klein's daughter Amanda. Other Talinians are already busily working to salvage civilization on our world, which has been decimated by a plague that nearly exterminates the natives.  Henceforth, human Earthlings may not be exclusively dominant, but may share their planet with Talinian and robotic colonists.

     Our Talinian newts are one way of exploring the possibilities of evolutionary plurality.  Their approach to conflict will be quite distinct from human "normalcy." Their priorities in existence will offer relativistic alternatives to the ones we take for granted.  The possible permutations of a water-based life form are unlimited and can make contemporary speculations like Waterworld or Aquaman quite limited in comparison.  Just imagine how the very notion of place takes on whole new dimensions in the eyes of an amphibious creature that was never framed by human precedents!  

Forlani Saga Newsletter #4

Hello again to friends of the Forlani Saga,  

Fun at the Book Fair at Cityspace in downtown Charlottesville.

We'd like to thank all of you who came out to get your copies of Life Sentence and Spy Station at the Charlottesville Book Fair yesterday, and a special welcome to our new members: Martin, Jean, Ben, Bob, Dave, Crystal, Emily and Becky.  It was a fine event, expertly organized by Carolyn O'Neal of the Blue Ridge Chapter of Virginia Writers Club.  We were especially happy to say hello again to some readers who had already enjoyed Life Sentence and who shared their admiration with us.  

Short Story Published

Recently our short story "Whipping Boy" was published in the Creatures, Crimes and Creativity 2017 Anthology.  It deals with a time in the relatively near future (22nd century), when our loaded prisons begin to accept substitutes, first typical humans and then later clones, for criminals rich enough to pay the System to avoid serving out their sentences in person.  When one clone begins to realize he is different from some of the other prisoners and to ask thorny questions, fellow inmates begin to reveal the bitter truth.  Will they tolerate this naive, but curious newcomer or subject him to prison discipline?  Will he ever live to get his own tattoos?  The anthology is a limited printing, but we plan to republish this story with others in a collection.

Spy Station Gets 5 Stars

The first reviews are in on Spy Station, released weeks ago, and they are top rate -- five stars on Amazon.  We hope the rest of you who have ordered the book will add your voices as soon as you can.  Just go to our page and scroll down to the Add A Review button.  https://www.amazon.com/Spy-Station-Forlani-Saga-Book-ebook/dp/B075R3V1RH 

Life Sentence and Spy Station are a great gift bargain

On Amazon Kindle, you can get either novel for $2.99 or both for $5.98.  The printed books are $18.50 and $12.00 respectively.  Treat yourself to a great reading experience, too.  This is the time of year in Iceland, the world's top country for literacy and rates of reading, when people stock up on books for their long winter nights and we should imitate that example.

Next Events

We have been invited to speak at several conferences.  These include the Agile Writers Conference in Richmond in January, Mysticon at Roanoke in February, and Ravencon in Williamsburg in April.  We plan on adding some local signings in the Fredericksburg area as well.  More to come on these and on the progress of the third series novel, Earth Regained.  For now, we wish you Happy Holidays and continued fine reading.  Jim and John Gaines

Futures Before the Internet: of Star Trek and Blade Runner

 

   Since the mid 1990s, the thrust of American technological progress has come through the commercial Internet.  Streaming video, smartphones and MMO games such as Destiny are but some of the many advances that owe their mass adoption to Internet connectivity.  It is difficult to imagine a world today without the ad-supported commercial Internet, so much that a vast amount of today's futuristic science fiction stories don't even try.  What kind of a world would exist without the ad-supported Internet--or, possibly, if it was replaced by something else?  Some of the more interesting approaches to creating a speculative world without the commercial Internet have been demonstrated by two sci-fi franchises created before its existence.

   For all the sophisticated technology shown on the various Star Trek series, none of them has ever demonstrated a world in which the Internet as we know it exists.  This is a world which has incorporated, over the course of several series, video games that have become so sophisticated that they can simulate actual life experiences (the Holodeck), androids that have become nearly human (Data), starships that can travel considerably faster than light, and matter replicators that could create numerous objects.  Of course, since the Star Trek world is both post-capitalist and post-scarcity, any online connective system that exists in it would likely be very different from the ad-laden, user-data hungry Internet of today, but actual storylines involving "hacking" and the data side of technology can be surprisingly rare over the course of the various Trek series.  Even the latest series, Star Trek Discovery, which has gone out of its way to conform to the tropes of "Prestige TV" in utilizing a darker atmosphere and a very serialized narrative, still does little to explain how a world of such technological wonders would exist without the current Internet.  As its narrative continues to evolve, it seems more preoccupied with conspiracies in the Klingon Empire and the bizarre "Tardigrade Drive" creature than how its technological wonders could work.  Ultimately, Star Trek has always been defined by its striving for a better future than a painstaking analysis of exactly how such a future could work, and Discovery seems likely to maintain this legacy over the course of its run.

   Another pre-online culture sci-fi series that has not incorporated the modern commercial internet is the Blade Runner films.  The first Blade Runner, though set in 2019, was released in 1982, before online services were widely available; its portrayal of a world 37 years from its release date is understandably different from our own.  Its visual aesthetic, of blocky shapes, bright neon, and visible "cyberpunk" technology seems very different from our current 2017 reality.  And yet, it is a world that, if different from ours, is in many ways parallel to it; although there is no "Internet" in Blade Runner, computers clearly have some form of searchable databases and online connectivity.  It is a world that is far more advanced than our own in many ways (complete with flying cars!) and  no less commercially oriented, with gigantic neon billboards for corporations and loud audio advertisements bombarding the citizens of the future megacity Los Angeles at every waking moment.  If not quite the same as our current timeline, Blade Runner in many ways anticipated it from the perspective of the early 1980s.

   The unique aesthetics of this world make a return in its sequel, this year's release Blade Runner 2049.  The various Star Trek series have very different looks in terms of production design; the bright colors of the 1960s original series seem particularly jarring when contrasted to Discovery's comparatively shadowy hues.  Unlike this, the two Blade Runner films strongly resemble each other; 2049 retains the blocky look, flying cars, and gigantic billboards of the original, as well as its dark, noirish color pallete.  But a closer analysis reveals that the advertising technology of 2049 has grown far more advanced than its precursor, with eerie, aetherial holograms populating the sides of buildings and numerous digital billboards...and even the main character, "K"'s apartment.  The "Joi" hologram in K's apartment serves partly as an incredibly sophisticated evolution of the various "personal assistants" available now like Amazon's Alexa; like these, she can obey voice commands and search requests for her owner.  But she is far more advanced than any currently available personal assistant; she is able to perfectly read the emotions of K, arrange her holographic appearance in any manner he desires, and respond to his wants better than a human being could possibly hope to.  The Joi holograms have such an uncanny ability to intuit human emotion that K's final encounter with one occurs in a haunting way that will have the viewer question the motives and programming of them during the entire film.  Though 2049 lacks the familiar "social networks" of our age, it presents a world in which the soul of our Internet--the advertising--has become so incredibly sophisticated that it can achieve an almost human status in our physical world.  What will happen if that technology that Silicon Valley has invested so deeply in--the adware of our current "primitive" Internet--becomes so advanced that it no longer needs a computer screen to reach into our lives?  This is one of the true questions that 2049 poses for our age, as much as the techno-utopianism of Star Trek's seemless replicators was a project of the now-lost optimism of the 1960s.
 

Horror in an Age After Imagination

   This October, in a month of candy, costumes, and commemorative rock music, take a minute to ponder the fates of our original cinematic horror icons.  Vampires have become identified more as the stars of trashy YA romance lit such as the Twilight series than as the classic Lugosi inspired figure.  Frankenstein's Creature is rarely seen onscreen anymore, and succesful films featuring it are even rarer.  Mummies are perhaps the rarest of all, and the last major film featuring a mummy, a poorly reviewed Tom Cruise starring vehicle, inspires little confidence. What's happened to these creatures that once haunted our dreams?

   When these creatures first appeared onscreen, there was still an element of surprise and awe in seeing a legendary horror made flesh. Films about legendary horror creatures date to the very dawn of commercial cinema; the first Frankenstein film dates all the way back to 1910!  During the silent era, the cinematography, makeup, and stylistics of monster films rapidly became more sophisticated, particularly in 1922's Nosferatu, an unlicensed adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula novel.  Early sound films such as 1931's Frankenstein, the beginning of the classic Universal Monsters series, could not match the wondrous cinematography of Nosferatu, but featured amazing acting from horror stars such as Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.  These films, relatively short (especially by modern standards), and far from the most expensive of Universal releases, were among the most resonant in an America racked by the poverty wrought by the Great Depression and racked by the racial cruelty of Jim Crow laws.  This was a transitional phase in America, a country where people still rarely left the state of their birth and could be awed by Karloff as a mysterious, Egyptian stranger who just may have powers from beyond the grave.  It was a nation that could only see its injustices mirrored in the horrors endured by Frankenstein's creature because the Code and other censorship of the time prevented the honest depiction of racial and other injustices endured by millions of Americans.  In a darkened theatre, in an imaginary realm of shadows and darkness, Americans confronted the strange and the mysterious in the only environment that felt safe to them in a changing, foreboding world.

   Then the worst thing that ever happened to the American horror genre occured--the victory of the Allies in World War II.  America enjoyed a burst of postwar prosperity as the only nation involved in WWII that had not seen its manufacturing centers bombed into a ruin.  In the period of success and equality that followed the war, class equality and incomes grew, racial injustices were slowly rectified through the efforts of civil rights leaders, and the once-formidable Universal Monsters became little more than a punchline in a joke.  It's quite telling that their last collective appearance, in 1948's Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, was a solely comedic one; the "classic" Universal Mummy would also make a last apperance in a comedy, the 1955 film Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy.  The Abbott and Costello Mummy film represented the end of Universal's interest in its classic monster films and the death of mainstream Hollywood's interest in horror themes, as the studio's only remaining use for its old creatures was as matinee rereleases and fodder for local TV horror hosts.  The banner of memorable horror releases during the 1950s fell to those nations that were far more devastated than America by WWII, ranging from Japan's Godzilla to Britain's Horror of Dracula.  Products of anguished and wounded nations, these films were more graphic and brutal than the American horror that had preceded them, and those foreign studios that had created them, Japan's Toho and Britain's Hammer, frequently had superior production budgets and better directon than the remaining low budget American horror fare.

   Only as America's involvement in Vietnam lingered on and as storm of societal unrest gathered, did major Hollywood studios finally regain their interest in horror films.  Even as releases like Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist gathered critical acclaim, the classic monsters (no longer were they Universal-made) were typically relegated to poorly made schlock like Dracula vs. Frankenstein and Frankenstein's Castle of Freaks.  Even during the 1980s, a decade full of sexual trauma over the AIDS crisis and the end of the "free love" era, the old creatures were mostly displaced by newer slasher film villains like Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger.  The legendary creatures would receive one last loving homage, the memorable 1987 release The Monster Squad.  A sort of "horror Goonies", this movie managed to make its creatures both funny and scary at the same time, and featured great monster design and makeup which resembled that of the Universal creatures while retaining enough imagination to not being totally derivative of them. Sadly, the aim of horror had already moved past the age of matinees and and films that could still be seen by children; The Monster Squad did not fit the appetite of an audience that had come to value gore and lurid thrills above all else, and the film bombed as a result.

   Now, in the late 2010s, Universal has finally taken interest in its back catalogue of horror films once more. However, the early results are...not optimistic.  Universal's interest in its legendary creatures is no longer a thing of mists and shadowy castles but the stuff of massive franchise crossovers; the studio wants to invest hundreds of millions into creating a "Dark Universe" to rival the imaginary worlds of Marvel and DC, and fling boatloads of expensive CGI at its viewers while doing so. The Dark Universe's first release, the 2017 remake of The Mummy, is emblamatic of this; much of the film isn't even about the mummy itself so much as it is about Tom Cruise's hero character interacting with a pseudo-SHIELD organization that fights monsters around the world.  The mummy wanders around and does stuff, draining the life force of men to sustain herself (conceptually, she's more a vampire than mummy, although I don't know if the screenwriters considered this too heavily) and sets boldly get exploded, but this is a film entirely devoid of imagination, of the striving for the mythic darkness that the old Universal films and even older silent films evoked.  This is the product of an age beyond suggestion, beyond subtlety, beyond thought itself, and in its cynical attempts to rip off the "Marvel model", it evokes another poorly regarded entry in a long-running series, Godzilla: Final Wars, which also pilfered Marvel's SHIELD model of a secret organization and featured CGI-laden fights that were perfunctory and unsatisfying.  There has been no further movement on the Dark Universe following The Mummy's disappointing summer release, suggesting Universal has put its legendary menagerie to rest once more.  Could Universal regain the old vital spirit of madness, that spark that once animated its creature in 1931 while Dr. Frankenstein yelled "It's Alive!"?  Such a thing would mean that our own cinematic dark age, the Age After Imagination, would finally be coming to an end.     

Zombies Redux

     Before chairing a panel at Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity that was largely devoted to zombies as a focus of speculative fiction, I had promised to return to the topic, so here are some further thoughts.  The first thing that struck me from talking with John Maberry, Lester Yokum, F. J. Talley and Sandra R. Campbell (and at an earlier panel on the topic with Weldon Burge an Belinda Gordon) was that zombies, or more properly neo-zombies are now ubiquitous, just folks you might meet around the neighborhood.  I'm surprised they haven't been taken up by Sesame Street.  Americans have become so inured to them that there are now whole sub-genres of fiction devoted to zombie romance, zombie comedy, etc.  Their role as agents or creations of an impending Apocalypse is so mundane in American culture that it no longer gives rise to disputes or surprise.  Indeed, that familiarity may eventually begin to breed a certain contempt, since according to the adage tout beau, tout nouveau, a fad that ceases to draw a spark of recognition is often doomed.  Will zombies soon become the new kid in town who loses his cool when people start to take him for granted?

    Maybe not yet, because zombies have rooted themselves deeply in the sub-structure of American capitalism, below the personal level.  The former Wall Street operative become Wall Street critic Michael Keyser often lambastes zombie banks and zombie finance that rise from the apparent death of insolvency to feed off the flesh of the living citizens, fashioning the bizarrely counter-intuitive economy that has progressed over the past two decades.  Behind the "too big to fail" approach to debt and banking is the same haunting attraction/fear of death that spawns the zombies of page and screen. Americans have existed  for decades now on the edge of a financial precipice, always conscious that the tilt of a recession, a housing crisis, sudden workforce downsizing, medical emergency, a credit disaster, or other series of unfortunate events could set off a dizzying social descent that can dispel family cohesion like a mist and send the proudest middle-class wannabes straight to the homeless shelter without passing go.  Apocalypse is all too obviously now.  

     The Christian heritage fuels zombie angst.  After all, wasn't Lazarus the original neo-zombie?  Didn't Ezekiel prophesy that the Valley of Dead Bones would rise again?  Wasn't Jesus himself a kind of zombie forerunner as he grasped the hand of doubting Thomas and thrust it into the wound in his side? Doesn't nearly every liturgy include a Credo calling for faith in the resurrection of the body?  And what sort of body? What Sunday School teacher has not had to deal with a child's innocent question about whether they will emerge from the grave with rotting flesh?  What has been a sure path to canonization in the Roman Catholic Church, if not the capacity of a dead body to unnaturally refuse to decay?  It is somewhat ironic that, apart from Ancient Egypt, it has mainly been our Christian churches and the Communist Party that have given undertakers and embalming a glorified role.   Afraid of death, we recoil against our own organic condition, reluctant to let go of that dear fleshy karma and distrustful of even the most perfect dharma that could await us.  We sing about that strength of faith in the final verse of Luther's mighty hymn ("let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also..."), but how many quaver at the difficulty of putting it into practice?

   We have to face it: zombies have, in a way, become cozy.  While zombies have to be initially horrifying to elicit the desired chemical response in the audience, making them willing to pay $12.00 (not counting over-priced concessions) to sit and be scared for 120 minutes in a gigaplex theater, the end effect is to desensitize the public to death.  Especially when so many pathetic characters deserve it. As with any other sort of violence and gore, this ultimately serves the purposes of the State by making for a compliant citizenry.  More willing to step out into harm's way if ordered to do so and not complain about the VA hospital. To live placidly on top of a toxic waste dump.  To shelter in place as the tidal surge approaches, when the lawgivers have forgotten to implement an escape plan. To accept to be collateral damage.  To take for granted that those pills might have side effects.  Zombies might actually be the ideal subjects.  Give them a Good Conduct Certificate.

   It is significant that the popularity of zombies has come at the expense of the good old staple of horror, the ghost.  What trick-or-treater, besides Charlie Brown or ET, dresses up as a ghost?  I think I can tell you why: ghosts are unforgivably individualistic and downright scornful of the flesh.  They are ectoplasmic anarchists.  Ghosts don't just stumble about in crowds, they think, they plot, they are selective, they have definite preferences.  They care very much about how humans perceive them, or don't.  I remember the affable ghostly couple in the old television program "Topper" who were always playfully manipulating the feckless Leo G. Carroll, alternately thwarting and protecting him.  Who ever heard of a ghost without a personality? A ghost is nothing but an individual who persists once the body is gone, while a zombie is a (partial) body that persists after the individuality has gone.  It says something about the United States as a culture that we have all but forgotten about the ghosts of individualism to embrace the depersonalized fungibility of the zombie.  

     This lamentable truth does not, I maintain, mean that the zombie is inevitably doomed to be dismissed as an insignificant character type.  Indeed, I believe the future of the zombie genre lies in a further development -- the anti-zombie.  The very differentiation of zombie literature into sub-genres such as zombie romance and zombie comedy promises that zombies will regain that which they lost, that is ti say, personalities.  I would foresee zombies who become conscious of the limitations of their zombified state and search for an anterior consciousness, rather like some of the latter-day Borg in the Star Trek universe who had to deal with the anguish of having to function without the mindless conformity of The Collective.  Seven of Nine in "Voyager" showed that, with the requisite pectoral development, a zombie could actually manage to steal the show from less interesting human characters. The anti-zombie could then join many other mass culture phenomena such as the X-men, the Watchmen, and Spiderman, who have do adapt to their sheer freakishness through understanding, self-discipline, and cunning.  

What an explosion of Russian interest in our blog the past couple of weeks.  Welcome to our new friends.  Let's start a comment thread and give us some updates on what's new in Russian science fiction!  We want to know.