Nebula Awards Showcase 2006

by Gardner Dozois

  She wondered how it felt, to walk naked along a roadside like Felicia Felix-Mentor. She considered trying the experiment, when she realized that night had fallen. (And where was the tap-tap, and all the other traffic, and why was the road so narrow?) But once shed, her dress, her shift, her shoes would be a terrible armful. The only efficient way to carry clothes, really, was to wear them. So thinking, she plodded, footsore, around a sharp curve and nearly ran into several dozen hooded figures in red, proceeding in the opposite direction. Several carried torches, all carried drums, and one had a large, mean-looking dog on a rope.

  “Who comes?” asked a deep male voice. Zora couldn’t tell which of the hooded figures had spoken, if any.

  “Who wants to know?” she asked.

  The hoods looked at one another. Without speaking, several reached into their robes. One drew a sword. One drew a machete. The one with the dog drew a pistol, then knelt to murmur into the dog’s ear. With one hand he scratched the dog between the shoulder blades, and with the other he gently stroked its head with the moon-gleaming barrel of the pistol. Zora could hear the thump and rustle of the dog’s tail wagging in the leaves.

  “Give us the words of passage,” said the voice, presumably the sword-wielder’s, as he was the one who pointed at Zora for emphasis. “Give them to us, woman, or you will die, and we will feast upon you.”

  “She cannot know the words,” said a woman’s voice, “unless she too has spoken with the dead. Let us eat her.”

  Suddenly, as well as she knew anything on the round old world, Zora knew exactly what the words of passage were. Felicia Felix-Mentor had given them to her. Mi haut, mi bas. Half high, half low. She could say them now. But she would not say them. She would believe in Zombies, a little, and in Erzulie, perhaps, a little more. But she would not believe in the Sect Rouge, in blood-oathed societies of men. She walked forward again, of her own free will, and the red-robed figures stood motionless as she passed among them. The dog whimpered. She walked down the hill, hearing nothing behind but a growing chorus of frogs. Around the next bend she saw the distant lights of Port-au-Prince and, much nearer, a tap-tap idling in front of a store. Zora laughed and hung her hat on a caution sign. Between her and the bus, the moonlit road was flecked with tiny frogs, distinguished from bits of gravel and bark only by their leaping, their errands of life. Ah bo bo! She called in her soul to come and see.

  KATHI MAIO

  Kathi Maio was the film editor of Sojourner for many years, and for the last fifteen years has been the film columnist for The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. She contributed the film essays to Nebula Awards 29, Nebula Awards 30, and Nebula Awards 31, and is the author of two books of film essays, Feminist in the Dark and Popcorn & Sexual Politics. She lives in Malden, Massachusetts.

  FILM: THE YEAR IN REVIEW

  KATHI MAIO

  SF and fantasy fans have been known to grumble about the dearth of quality films in the genre. I’ve been known to grouse about that topic myself. But as I sit down to write this particular essay, taking a quick overview of the year in film, I find myself in a glass-half-full frame of mind.

  After all, we may see a shortage of really first-rate science fiction films each year, but the same could be said of historical dramas or romantic comedies. With the field of SF and fantasy, at least Hollywood usually delivers a healthy quantity of movies in the genre. (The same could certainly not be said of detective and mystery films—another popular culture formula of which I am quite fond.) Make enough films of a particular type, and you’re bound to produce a few treasures. And so it was in 2004.

  Oh, yes, there were plenty of disastrous exercises in the cinematic arts that year. And one or two actually cultivated a theme of disaster. Of these, most notable was The Day After Tomorrow. A climatological variation on the big, brash, FX-loaded blockbuster wannabes Roland Emmerich has been cultivating since Independence Day (1996), Day After Tomorrow fast-forwards our fears of global warming into a full-fledged ice age. And accomplishes it all practically overnight.

  The media pundit and activist response to the movie was actually more entertaining than the film itself. Environmentalists (including former VP—or was that president?—Al Gore) tried to use the movie as talking points to warn of dangerous real-life scenarios. Meanwhile, conservative commentators pointed to the film as an example of the vast left-wing conspiracy that is Hollywood. (Ironic, that, since the film was released by Fox.)

  It was all puffery and hype, but at least it was out-of-the-ordinary puffery and hype. In this case, the film needed all the help it could get.

  Although the subject matter of the film is undeniably powerful, its exploration left much to be desired. Written by director Emmerich, along with Jeffrey Nachmanoff, the movie does CGI snow, water, and ice quite well. It’s the human story that fails to capture much interest. Which is a shame, since the film stars Dennis Quaid as the scientist, Jack Hall, who tried to warn the world, and Jake Gyllenhaal as his estranged school-age son, Sam. Both are fine actors, but they can do little here except look worried and determined as they slog through water and snow.

  In keeping with Emmerich’s filmic mannerisms, we know that most of the extras in the movie are destined for a Popsicle fate. And we know that a few of Jack Hall’s colleagues and buddies will perish bravely. We can also predict that, counter to all logic, Hall and his offspring will survive and rebond as father and child. Even mom (a physician played by the totally wasted Sela Ward) survives in this one, after rejecting her first chance at rescue to stay at the cold, dark hospital with a half-blind, cancer-ridden child. It’s just the kind of plot device thrown in to tug at our heartstrings. Yet it is so calculated that it is incapable of actually touching us.

  As long as you expect nothing more than hackneyed humanity from a millennial disaster film, The Day After Tomorrow doesn’t fail completely. The same can’t be said of some of the other films labeled disasters for completely different reasons.

  One such movie was Van Helsing, a film made out of more spare parts than the Frankenstein monster—which just happens to be one of the many requisitioned characters to appear in it.

  Writer/director Stephen Sommers was clearly hoping that lots of classic monsters (including Dracula and his brides, Frankenstein, and Mr. Hyde) and nonstop action would make some money. And it did. It just didn’t make for a good movie.

  Star Hugh Jackman, in the title role, and Kate Beckinsale, as his partner in Vatican-sponsored vampire hunting, never connect with each other or their audience. Even so, Sommers leads them through their battering paces in pointed pursuit of a Van Helsing sequel. Whether this will happen is still unclear. Perhaps if we all wear garlic and carry a power crossbow we can ward off another such film.

  I don’t mean to dismiss sequels as automatic stinkers, however. As per usual, several of the SF and fantasy films of 2004 fell into this category. And, all in all, the sequels were better movies than the majority of original films of the same period.

  Most lauded of the sequels was the final installment in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Return of the King. Although actually a 2003 release, since it won the 2004 Nebula for best script, I am compelled to mention it here. But what is there left to say about this film that won more Oscars and other awards than you could shake a sword at?

  Certainly director Peter Jackson and his coscreenwriters Fran Walsh and Phillippa Boyens did an amazing job with a monumental task of adapting Tolkien’s dense, multiplotted, and war-intensive novel. The CGI effects were remarkable, but no more impressive than the way the writing and editing layered and crosscut the many story threads as to maintain emotional contrast and energy in a very complex and long film.

  That said, to my mind, Return of the King was actually the weakest of the three films in the trilogy. Too many plotlines were given short shrift so as to leave plenty of time for the perpetual battle sequences. Why is Eowyn standing next to Faramir at the end of the film? Those who never read the novels (and there are one or two
such viewers) wouldn’t have a clue. A few more of these character-enriching areas should have been explored. If the filmmakers needed to save screen time, they could have lopped off a few of the movie’s extra endings.

  Perhaps I am just in the mood to be a naysayer. Dare I opine that screenwriter Steve Kloves and director Alfonso Cuaron did just as good of a job adapting another whopping big novel called Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban? Oh, there are still problems with expunged plot elements here. And such antics can annoy fans of the novel as well as possibly confuse those who haven’t read the adapted source material. Nevertheless, this third, beautifully moody and atmospheric film in the Potter series shows that the young wizard’s maturation saga still has the power to delight young and old alike. (Although Richard Harris’s Dumbledore is sorely missed!)

  Another sequel that can be enthusiastically enjoyed by both children and adults is Shrek 2. With Shrek and his now ogre-ish bride happily married, where’s the conflict? It emanates from Fiona’s royal parents (that is to say, Shrek’s horrified in-laws), of course. Then there’s the numerous machinations of an avaricious fairy godmother with her own family agenda to promote. Besides little life lessons on self-acceptance—this time for Shrek as well as Fiona—the movie has plenty of cultural references, witty banter, and a few interesting new characters like Antonio Banderas spoofing his Zorro success as Puss in Boots.

  Although the novelty of the characters is lost in Shrek 2, the film makes up for the loss with a ceaseless sense of fun and our continuing affection for the story’s characters. The same could be said for another second in a series, Spider-Man 2. Although there is nothing cartoonish about the way return helmer Sam Raimi and screenwriter Alvin Sargent tell their comic book-inspired tale.

  When we meet Peter Parker again, he is a student struggling to make a living, keep up with schoolwork, and still maintain his rigorous self-imposed duties as Spider-Man. Something’s gotta give. For starters, Peter forgoes developing his relationship with his true love, Mary Jane. But as his life continues to unravel (and his powers become erratic, at best) Peter decides that it’s his Spidey identity that needs to be jettisoned from his life.

  Superherodom is not, however, easy to quit. So Spidey continues to battle his own demons, as well as a new unintentional supervillain, Doc Ock (well played by Alfred Molina).

  Can Spider-Man 2 be that rare sequel that isn’t just as good, but is actually better than its predecessor? I think so. Sam Raimi’s direction is even more assured and stylish than in the first outing. And Tobey Maguire’s endearingly conflicted hero is someone we deeply care about and can easily relate to.

  It’s a little harder to identify another comic-book lead appearing in his first movie. He is a Dark Horse comic hero, created by Mike Mignola, called Hellboy. The film version, written and directed by the very talented Mexican director Guillermo del Toro, has to spend a great deal of time on story background and setup, but never loses the audience for a minute. It seems that during World War II, Nazis, Rasputin, and several scary assorted cronies had attempted to open up a portal to hell in order to summon all manner of dark forces forth in aid of the Third Reich. A plucky band of Allied foes, including a paranormal scientist named Trevor “Broom” Bruttenholm, manage to foil the plot. But not before the gates of hell opened long enough for a red monkey-ish devil baby to pass through. Broom saves and raises the creature.

  Decades later, Broom (John Hurt) is still fighting the good fight against dark forces. And he is now aided by his adult adopted son, Hellboy (Ron Perlman), along with government agents and other, shall we say, unusual cohorts.

  The plot of Hellboy is both complicated and simple. It’s your basic good versus evil (and I mean way evil) story. The difference between Hellboy and, say, Van Helsing is that the action isn’t unrelenting. We are given a chance to breathe, soak up the fantastical atmosphere, and learn to care for the characters. Notable among these is the titular hero. Hellboy looks bizarre, and often sounds like something out of a hard-boiled detective pulp. Yet there is a melancholy gentleness about him, too. (Clearly, this was the perfect role for Mr. Perlman!)

  You wouldn’t expect a big red guy with a club fist and horn stumps on his forehead to be a romantic hero. But when you see Hellboy with Liz Sherman (Selma Blair), his even more melancholic and pyrokinetic sweetheart, you realize that’s exactly what he is.

  A movie that so deftly mixes action, horror, comedy, and romance deserves a wide audience and, yes, even a sequel. Not so other comic-book heroes to launch onto screens in 2004.

  One of the biggest duds in this category is the Halle Berry vehicle, Catwoman. The screenplay by John Brancato, Michael Ferris, and John Rogers is an out-and-out mess. And the direction, by Pitof, is neither playful nor exciting. As for Ms. Berry, she is as beautiful as ever, but she is never able to find her character. She is never believably mousy as her ad designer true self. And although she looks mighty hot in dominatrix leather, her superhero alter ego never really convinces, either.

  Bouncing off of walls is a nice trick, but having a personality and a purpose is even more important. As for Catwoman’s predictable romance with a generic cop (Benjamin Bratt), it is about as emotionally involving as one of those cans of tuna her confused character gobbles down.

  The utter failure of Catwoman in 2004 as well as other high-profile projects like 2005’s Elektra have caused some to speculate upon the impracticality of the female action hero as a box-office draw. Although it’s true that the base audience for superhero action movies is probably adolescent and male, I doubt that the reason Catwoman failed is that young men don’t really want to see empowered kick-ass women. Catwoman failed because it was a bad movie.

  If the writers and directors of Hollywood (also mostly male) can ever create a good movie with a convincing female action hero, I predict that audiences of all genders and ages will embrace it. But for now, the female-centered fantasy films that are released tend to be of the gentler and more romantic variety.

  In 2004, one of these starred Elektra and Alias star Jennifer Garner. Clearly wanting a change of pace from kicking asses right and left, Ms. Garner made her romantic-comedy screen debut in a little, very Big-ish movie called 13 Going on 30.

  The film opens with a late-eighties pubescent lass named Jenna facing down her birthday, hoping to be accepted by her school’s clique of popular girls. Her best friend and would-be suitor, Matt, tries to tell her to stay original, but she wants only to be cool. When her party turns into a humiliating disaster, Matt’s gift of wishing dust allows her to jump past the awkward years and become “thirty, flirty, and thriving.”

  She’s got the career and the wardrobe and the sexy boyfriend. But somewhere during that time leap, Jenna lost her soul. And the rest of the movie consists of our heroine peeling back the bitchy, glam career gal, and refinding her inner child, as well as her first boyfriend (adult Matt, played by Mark Ruffalo).

  Screenwriters Josh Goldsmith and Cathy Yuspa (who also did a number on the modern working woman in their 2000 fantasy, What Women Want) don’t make it clear how sweet young Jenna became the harridan her coworkers perceive her to be. Perhaps just growing up and becoming successful is enough to make a woman into a treacherous, adulterous, secretary-terrorizing shrew.

  If Jenna’s time-warp character makes little sense, luckily no one told Jennifer Garner. She has charm to burn, and a knack for physical comedy. She almost makes the movie work. Almost.

  An even better fantasy with a female hero can be found in a fractured fairy tale called Ella Enchanted, starring another equally appealing actor, Anne Hathaway. Given the “gift” of obedience by a very inept fairy shortly after her birth, the plot consists of Ella’s quest to get the curse lifted and to save her home from the cruel control of her evil stepmother and her two nasty stepsisters. Of course, a prince comes into play, along with his power-hungry uncle (played, in a nice twist, by the Princess Bride’s leading man, Cary Elwes). Into the mix goes oppressed ethnic groups (in th
is case, giants and elves), who find an able champion in Ella.

  It’s all undeniably silly, and quite entertaining. Forget about Catwoman . Here’s real girl power.

  Girls and boys, and teens of all description, are obviously the target audiences for many fantasy films. In 2004, there were a wide array of films pitched to the young. Some, like Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, had a built-in audience. Yet in the case of that film, written by Men in Black II’s Robert Gordon from three of the best-selling children’s books, the ready-made audience was likely disappointed. Although the opening and closing animated sequences were a perfect match, not so the live action. The problem is partially tone. But in large part the issue is the film’s big-name star, Jim Carrey. Histrionic without being particularly humorous, Carrey was probably urged by director Brad Silberling to ham it up to his heart’s content. Alas, this ends up being a disservice to the film as whole, and to the development of the Baudelaire orphans in particular.

  A Series of Unfortunate Events is less than good, but at least it’s not as bad as Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, an idiotic little tale for the teenybopper set. It’s not even worth mentioning, except that as I watched I realized that the biggest problem the film had was that it was trying to bring a cartoon to life. Which begs the question, why would anyone want a cartoon brought to life? Similar ruminations came to mind while watching another 2004 feature, The Polar Express. Directed and cowritten (with William Broyles, Jr.) by fantasy and science fiction master Robert Zemeckis, the film is considered a breakthrough in “performance capture”—the translation of human action into computer animation. It was supposed to be magical, but it gave me the creeps.