More Than Meets the Eye

I think alien movies are really interesting, and much like zombie movies, there are fascinating human undertones embedded in the films' very natures. For instance, it is quite odd that in the vast majority of alien movies the aliens are of a single moral/ethical viewpoint- the aliens are either good and benevolent (ET, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Contact), or, more frequently, evil and malevolent (Predator, Independence Day, War of the Worlds). It should be noted that when I say "alien movies" I don't mean "space movies." Alien movies generally involve a one or more extra-terrestrial intelligences visiting our world. Space movies involve aliens and (generally) humans interacting in space, and quite necessarily, those aliens have a range of moral/ethical viewpoints. I think that the nearly unanimous portrayal of aliens visiting earth as strictly "good" (they want to be friends with us or share ideas) or strictly "evil" (they want to kill us for fun or to consume our resources) is extremely telling of where we are as a people today.

It is assumed in nearly all alien movies that the visitors are of a technologically superior background than we are; after all, we can't very well pack off to some inhabited alien planet on a whim. This naturally sets up an interesting premise for either the "us vs. them" alien movie, or the "us & them" alien movie: "How do we stand up to the awesome destructive power of [whatever]?" or "What characteristics do we share in spite of our vast differences?" Take one of these, top with a thin-layer of plot, find some CGI guys, and we'll see you next summer.The fact that they are technologically superior isn't what makes them interesting, but the fact that they have come so far borne of a single mindset is.

This singularity of thought is either encouraging or disturbing, but in all likelihood the most unrealistic thing about all alien movies. The aliens in Independence Day, for example, are unanimously fine with systematically killing every living thing on the planet. Not one single alien stands up and says, "you know, those earthlings seem like real nice, albeit quaint, organisms; we might be better off moving along." Of course, it wouldn't have been a very interesting movie if they had (or would it... more on that in a bit), but the fact that we take it for granted that they won't and that we immediately know that our salvation must come from us and not a moral objection from our would-be oppressors is disturbing on many levels, not to mention relevant in today's (and our recent past's ) tumultuous ethical climate (e.g. does preventing Iran from acquiring the potential to make nuclear weapons protect us, protect others, or enable us to enforce our will upon them?). Or for an trickier ethical tango, consider the benign aliens of ET. Is it all plausible that if your child became lost and was tortured by strangers, that you would simply pick them up and leave, especially if you possessed the capability to extract vengeance on those responsible? You might say yes, but when actually faced with this situation, I am guessing you wouldn't.

The single-mindedness of aliens in alien movies serves as either a way to pit our own virtues against something intrinsically foreign and evil, or as an implausibly perfect model to which we can hold ourselves up. Each way of thinking presents its own set of problems; the first allows us to justify our actions and continue along our devastating way until either we're dead or we become the destroyers, while the second sets us up for failure at every step or forces us into unresolvable moral dilemmas. Yet there are a few alien movies that manage to shuck the singularity. I say there are a few, but I can only think of one1 at the moment: Transformers (the new one).

Now, I understand that the movie was not critically acclaimed or universally loved (apparently, Optimus Prime's lips are more important than the actual merits of the movie), but I think that this might be one of the best, and definitely most distinctive, alien movies ever made. However, this is not a review of the movie, but rather an exploration of the "alien movie sub-genre," a term which, by the way, I loathe almost as much as the pretentious people who would use it (not to mention the movie critics). Transformers is unique (or at least, pretty unique) in that there are two distinct groups of aliens who visit the planet, and whose morals, while not running the entire good-evil spectrum, are quite a bit more varied than the single-dimensional ones found in other movies of the ilk.

The Decepticons (those are the bad guys) are not without their wiles. In fact, they spend much of the movie sneaking about trying to solve the mystery of where their leader is. They do cause some havoc, however, but even in the heat of battle, they are more concerned with achieving their main objective than killing everything in sight. Not only does this make them more interesting as characters, and better villains, but it also makes it easier to identify with a Decepticon. You might be thinking that is a bad thing, but if you are, for example, a child, who is sneaking around being mischievous, you might think better of it if you recognized your actions as similar to a Decepticon. Similarly, Autobots (those are the good guys) demonstrate a wider range of moral and ethical thinking than your average alien. ET, for instance never really considered if it was right or wrong to rely on his human friends for help. The Autobots certainly have a code that they act by- don't hurt humans- but it isn't dogmatic. In fact, some of them have to be reminded of it, which implies they have a choice about it. They even have to consider rescuing one of their own over achieving their other goals- "no Autobot left behind" isn't a phrase in their operations manual.2

(to be continued... check for edits, footnotes, and a conclusion soon)

The Phone is Ringing

It was nice talking to you... Yes, maybe I will see you soon... Oh- that's sweet of you... You too... OK. Bye.

That last 'bye' is spoken like the distance between it and when we would see one another again was unbearably vast.

I snap my phone closed and turn towards the woman sitting next to me. We've been together for a while, but the look on her face tells me that the nature of our relationship is about to change.

"How is She?" There isn't anger there, but there isn't curiosity either. Only a hint of sorrow- like one of those flavors hidden in a nice wine.

The problem with the question is that the answer is unimportant. No matter what I say, things are going to be bad, and yet I still have to answer. I know the response before I even know what I am going to say.

The best thing that could have happened would have been if there was no question. If the sound of my phone snapping shut didn't stab the moment, but rather signaled the resumption of our intimacy as if I had just talked to someone of no consequence. But that didn't happen. Our moment is gone.

"She's doing well," honesty and policy. I begin to rapidly recount Her end of the conversation, but I've been infected by Her rambles. I try as hard as I can to spin our similarities as something other than similarities, but I know what I am saying sounds like.

It sounds like we grew into adulthood together, that we were each other's first love, that we've known each other for a decade. It sounds like we are the closest two people to ever live on separate coasts.

But the part that isn't understood is the Bob Barker part. Closest two people, without going over. We will never spill into one another as we once did. We have been back to the well and the water was like poison to us. We never said as much, but we both know that we know it was.

The problem is, as my rambling is almost complete, that the silence across from me- so far away now, though she hasn't moved- doesn't know, and will never know, that. I've been nothing but truthful, but I know if I told her, she would hear a lie. I know, because she asked the question to begin with.

I finish and start probing her eyes with mine. I am looking- hoping- for love there.

Here comes the flood of disbelief, jealousy, and anger. Here it is, all wrapped up in a nice little package.

"That's nice."

"It IS nice, isn't it?" I've worked myself up at this point. Quite uncharacteristically.

The silence is stunned.

"You know, if She were He, you would actually be interested in what I said, but instead you sit there and feign indifference. I'm here, with you, and happy. Happy for what we have, and eager for what we could have. Your passive aggressiveness is killing me."

I go on, but over the tirade I hear the phone ring. I continue through it.

It rings and rings, but I am red with passion. I care. I'm emotive. I'm so red that the silent, stunned face has faded. I can't see it, and I don't really care. But there's something weird about the ringing. Seems so far away...

And a voice. A calm, inquisitive voice. So familiar. But it is with the phone, so far away...

I rage on and on, explaining everything about She and I there is to know. I explain how it will never work. The silence is gone by now, and all is red. But I can still hear that distant phone and voice. Is it getting closer?

Suddenly, I feel a jolt. The red drops away to reveal the silence with her hand gently on my shoulder.

"Hey goofy- you nodded off- answer your phone."

I pick it up; She is calling. I don't answer. I wait until it stops ringing and turn it off. She knows I'm home tonight, but I also know that She knows why I didn't answer.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be," she says softly, calmly, with tired affection. "Maybe it isn't such a bad idea." She moves me onto my back and rests her head on my shoulder as we run our legs down the couch together.

She's asleep first, and as I am falling back again, I realize that she didn't even ask me who it was.

Standing in Line

I'm standing in line again, and I'm yellow today- the only yellow I have.

I've seen you in that shirt before, she says, what's it about?

I point to my shirt:

Well, I used to stand in line at this place.

That should have been the end, but she can tell there is more to it than that, but doesn't say anything.

I would stand in line and on most mornings, She would serve me.

As soon as the words spill out, I realize that I've crossed some boundary

She? Oh- I see... she trails off, but in an encouraging way.

I'd known Her for a while then. We spent a summer standing in line at that very same place together. That summer was cool during the days and hot at night. She had this apartment right above the town square. Her bedroom was all windows and in it we floated over many of those summer nights together. The curtains, the sweat, and the sound of the waterfall.

I shrug and point back at my shirt

But that was all before She worked here. When She served me, she served me like the guy who never tips. But I did tip, and I tipped well. I tipped like a man in church- filling the Offering- hoping to buy back his soul. But, She was the tender and I the patron and our talk was ever on the present and never on the past. Finally, I moved on, and on my way out, I bought this shirt. I liked the design, the color, and the irony. I liked to remember that place.

Yes, it is sort of funny that way, isn't it? She smiled and continued, What ever happened to She?

Well, turns out She contacted me after a while. We hadn't spoken in a long time- besides, I had moved on- so I told her I thought that speaking to me now was very odd. But She pressed the matter, and soon a summer past seemed more present. We started growing close again, cautiously, but definitely.

But hadn't you moved away?

I had, but it didn't seem to matter to either of us. We spoke of our similar, transient situations, and that connection seemed to smooth our path. Of course, she opened up more than I did. Not surprising- that was always the problem. But we moved forward together. And a few months later I had to go back for a few days. We decided to meet.

Wow! And did you?

We did. A couple of times, actually. I took her to a fancy dinner. I never told her, but a pen broke while in my pocket and I went to buy new clothes right before we were to meet. The dinner went well. We talked. There was wine. We left, and I left a good tip. But at her doorstep, it was clear that even with all of our talking, we still hadn't communicated. I had asked for too much, even though all I wanted was a few more moments. During the aftermath and final fallout I told her we had come so far, but she had retreated. She forgives me- though for being open, I don't know why I asked it of her- but I doubt we'll speak again.

Is that sad for you?

Hard to say. Maybe if I burned this shirt, I would know.

What would you say?

I laugh.

I'd say,"Goodbye Blue Monday."