Atlas Shrugged Movie Review

I finally got the chance to see Atlas Shrugged Part I. And I must say I was inspired, inspired to reread the book…and try my hand at writing a better screenplay. The one they used was amateurish, reminiscent of some recent mega church propaganda films.

OK, it wasn’t as bad as Avatar. And it didn’t offend me as much as the movie butcherings of Dune, Starship Troopers, or Lord of the Rings. But it was objectively bad. Surf Nazis Must Die had better dialog. Attack of the Killer Tomatoes did a better job of building up a mystery. Who is John Galt? Just show it within five minutes of the credits and kill all the suspense. This is as bad as Peter Jackson’s revealing the history of the One Ring in the opening scene of Lord of the Rings. The only reason the movie version of Atlas bothered me less than LOTR or Dune is that I have less love for the Rand’s book than for the other works. (Her words sparkled at times, but her philosophy was dangerously defective.)

Here’s a tip for rich fanboys who want to make a movie of their favorite book: hire a good screenwriter! You can skimp on sets, makeup and special effects; see Dr. Who from the Tom Baker years. You can save some money on actors as well. Big name stars are valued for their trademarks as much as their actual acting abilities. But if you have a crappy script, you have a crappy movie. Think of The Love Guru, Independence Day, or Star Wars—The Phantom Menace.

Atlas Shrugged does present some unique challenges. The book is huge, with way more dialog than can fit even in a miniseries. And the scenario is hopelessly obsolete: the passenger railroad lines have been nationalized for decades. The first problem we could mitigate by following the example of Hollywood films from Ayn Rand’s day, before the spaghetti western popularized sparse dialog and posedowns. Watch an old romantic comedy or detective flick. Back in the old days, the actors motor-mouthed. So should most of the characters in Atlas Shugged. The heroes are nerds, and Ayn Rand was fond of stimulants. (Speaking of which: there should have been more smoking and less drinking in the movie.)

The obsolete scenario presents a bigger problem. Today’s long haul passenger trains are museum relics run by the government: NPR on wheels, if you will. Having the grandchildren of robber barons struggle to save the line in 2016 just doesn’t work. Once possibility would be to switch from trains to airlines, but this interferes with the Rearden Steel plotlines. Another would be to go further into the future, long after air travel has been deprecated because of Peak Oil or anti global warming regulations. Yet another option would be to go retro, as in Brazil or Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Set the story in an alternate past, where the New Deal never ended. Maybe even shoot it in black and white.

The last option is the safest. Tinker with the technology and you tinker with the story so much that devotees will wince at the changes. Moreover, the technology in Atlas Shrugged is not the only thing which is now obsolete. So are the villains. The overt Kantian philosophy Rand loathed went out of style during the Me Decade. That which survived mutated into deep environmentalism. An updated Atlas Shrugged based on today’s Man-hating villains, might make an interesting movie, but it would offend the fans of the original. Better to make a story inspired by Atlas than to mutate it.

So, will I be writing that retro screenplay? No. I have a hundred higher priority items on my queue, ranging from writing a replacement operating system for Windows, starting a new political party, to becoming the All Being, Master of Time Space and Dimension. Also, my grass needs mowing.

Wanted: some Professional Fantasy Authors

Time for a break from politics. In fact, I need a break from a lot of things. My brain is thrashing from too many tasks these days and as a result I am getting less done. Tim Ferris, the great deprecator of multi-tasking, suggests reading fiction at the end of the day to get free up the brain for a good night’s sleep.

I need a good bedtime story.

I used to read science fiction, and still do at times, but I’m getting old. Cyberpunk and singularities disturb me, and the latest generation of British SF writers (Reynolds, Banks) are downright gross. These days I just want to escape.  I like the sense of wonder of SF, but I have enough of computers in my day job. Thus, my current hankering for fantasy.

So, I go to the local Books a Million and see what looks popular. Hmmmm, 5 volumes so far and each one is 600 pages…that’s a lot of bedtime stories…I’ll give this one a try…and come of with a real STINKER.  I have started four difference series by four different authors and quit each a fraction into the first volume. I’m stunned by the sheer awfulness of the writing.

I started with The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks. It’s a cheap Tolkien ripoff. That’s OK. I bought it expecting a cheap knockoff of The Master. A variation on a good theme is good enough for me. I just want a decent bedtime story. But I want a story! Not an outline of a story!! The writing in this novel is bad. Stunningly bad. I wrote better in high school. This is not a boast. My stories back then were all rejected by real magazines and rightfully so.  The standards for science fiction short stories were higher than for fantasy epics at the time it would seem. Had I skipped writing science fiction stories and gone straight to fantasy novels I might be a wealthy author today.

So I go back to the bookstore and pick up the first book in David Eddings Belgeriad.Paragraph for paragraph the writing is a bit better, tolerable even, but the story is abysmal. His dark lord is evil because he wants some box or something that he isn’t supposed to have. Why anyone cares is left unsaid. The prelude gives us too much information so we can anticipate every “revelation” many pages before our hapless main character gets the news. After following a child getting kept in the kitchen and otherwise herded around by an aunt who is obviously a great sorceress from ancient times for a hundred pages or so, I quit. Spoiler alert (for those with sub room temperature IQs): the main character is the last of a royal line hidden away from bad guys.

So I tried Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series. Lot’s of people like it according to shelf space his works take up. Here, at least, we start with a bit of action, and the dark lord is actually a bad guy. And so our hero, who conveniently turns out to be THE ONE, teams up with the great wizard in exile, and a ranger character who carries enough weapons to weight down a gorilla. It’s as if an eleven year old were to write a high fantasy novel and then a team of Associated Content writers paid by the word flushed it out.

My latest attempt is Tad Williams’ Shadowmarch. The reviews say he can write. Well, so could Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, I guess. Shadowmarch wins hands down for sheer quantity of similes per page. Like Eddings, Williams reveals way too much in his two clunky preludes before getting on with the actual story. I harrumph as only a middle aged over caffeinated PhD physicist can harrumph and File 13 this one with the rest.

What’s the deal? Years ago I was once apologetic to the English major types I knew for reading science fiction instead of “real” literature. To me a good story was about a gripping plot and interesting ideas vs. flowery language and subtle characterization. Little did I know! Even H. Beam Piper at his worst (cf. Space Viking) was positively Shakespearean compared to the above. I can think of no science fiction  novel as poorly written as these four fantasies.

Why are today’s heirs of Tolkien, Zelazny, and Vance? Who today can write at least as well as Robert E. Howard? I am not asking for perfection or even excellence, just a decent bit of escapism. I could even settle for Robert Jordan if someone could edit out the reams of clothing descriptions and bickering sessions that crowd out his (rambling and inconsistent) story. I actually made it through a half dozen or so of his Wheel of Time books before throwing the last in the fire when the author decided to stretch one day’s “action” into an entire volume.

Before ya’ll label me a complete grump, let me mention two excellent fantasy authors I have come across in recent years. George R.R. Martin had a truly gripping story going with his Song of Fire and Ice series. Alas, I despair of his ever finishing it. Patrick Rothfus’ The Name of the Wind is most excellently written, and it isn’t warmed over Tolkien by any stretch. I’ll pay for the hardcover of Book 2 when it comes out.

But it isn’t out. So I need something else in the meantime. Who else is good?