Nebula Awards Showcase 2010
Page 35
The outlaw had kept pace with our flight and had stopped with our stop; he didn’t look winded at all, or concerned, or worried. Just blank and drooly.
“Oh, he can have coffee, too, if he wants,” the Zu-Zu answered. “Come on, Udo. We’re only a block from el Mono Real. I’m perishing.”
“Ayah, so,” Udo agreed, as though he was actually going to go with the Zu-Zu for coffee, thus leaving me to wait and see if the outlaws caught up with us.
“Hey! What about Jack’s gang?” I demanded.
“Are you kidding, Flora? I think at this point they probably know better than to mess with us,” Udo said. “Come on, let’s get coffee.”
“And what are you going to do about Jack?”
The Zu-Zu was already drifting down the street, a blot of imperious spookiness who didn’t seem to care if we followed her or not. Udo glanced at her and then back at me, and took two steps in her direction. “Turn him in tomorrow, Flora. Come on.”
“I have to get home, Udo. I’ve got a curfew, remember, and so do you.”
“Don’t be a stick—”
The Zu-Zu had stopped and turned. “Udo!”
“Come on, Flora,” Udo said, half-pleadingly.
“I have to go home, Udo. You can go get coffee, if you want—with your pallid girl and your zombie pard. But I have to go home.”
Udo stood up straight and said loftily, “Then go. No one is stopping you.”
And with that, Udo trotted after the Zu-Zu, Springheel Jack close on his heels, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the empty street.
MEDIUM WITH A MESSAGE
JODY LYNN NYE
Since mass entertainment began, in the theaters of ancient Greece, or perhaps just as likely around a Neanderthal’s campfire, stories often came with a maxim, a warning, or a moral intended for the public welfare that the storyteller wanted to get across to his listeners. “The gods would be angry if we are disobedient to their will.” “Obey the king, the senate, your master, your father.” “Do not waste the bounty of the earth.” “Have compassion for the weak and the poor.” “Do not fear the stranger, for he may have gifts to give you.” An effective and compelling script, well acted, and set perhaps just a little outside their own sphere of existence, would amuse the members of the audience and give them something to think about later. Sneak an idea into their subconscious, and you can change the world for the better. Some playwrights were more subtle in their approach than others, but their intention was the same: to change the world’s mind for the better by presenting a new idea in a way that was palatable to the audience.
For over a hundred years, science fiction films have provided an excellent medium for the promotion of new or important ideas. Tolerance, new technology, ecology, warnings against nuclear war, pollution, communism or the dehumanization of mankind have all been tucked into—or plastered across—feature films.
The trend began early in cinema. George Melies’s ground-breaking film From the Earth to the Moon (1902) was not even plausibly scientific, but it introduced a visual representation of rockets and space travel. Audiences could now aspire to land on the moon. The idea was planted; though it took nearly seventy years to come to fruition, it excited the imagination of audiences throughout that time.
Much more a warning than an idea to which to aspire was Fritz Lang’s 1927 silent blockbuster, Metropolis. The epic black-and-white film was based partly upon a novel by the director’s wife, Thea von Harbou, as well as other science fiction novels and stories of the day and Lang’s observation of society in post-war Europe. Future society became divided between the haves and the far larger population of have-nots to the point where there is little to no contact between them. The latter live only to supply the wants and whims of the former. Their misery goes unobserved by the privileged class until the son of the dictator falls under the influence of Maria, a mysterious and eloquent woman, sees the broken half of society for himself and vows to put an end to slavery and poverty.
A similar warning that mankind could become dehumanized by dividing itself into the social elite and the working drones came in the George Pal version of The Time Machine, based on the novel by H.G. Wells. Those remaining dregs who had a purpose, however base, would retain intelligence, while those who existed only to enjoy life would lose their potential. As the Morlocks had become cannibals who preyed upon the ethereal Eloi, Wells’s story was an extreme example of the divergence of the two halves of humanity’s potential. Filmmakers have rarely claimed to be social architects, but a visual representation of horror is a powerful inducement to an audience to retain all of its faculties.
The original film of The Thing (1951), directed by Howard Hawks (listed as producer, but reportedly also its director), was based upon Who Goes There? by John W. Campbell. Its subtext reflects the public fears of the time about atomic weapons and invasion by dangerous enemies that can masquerade as friends. The substitution of creatures for human beings was a frequent theme, including such movies as The Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, remade in 1978). At the time, paranoia over communism and other movements to destroy society was widespread. Invasion made the hidden monster real instead of philosophical—you could not tell by looking who was the enemy who would destroy you until it was too late.
Fear of nuclear weapons was a pervasive theme, usually characterized as causing the uprising of ordinary creatures mutated into giants by radiation, such as Them, about giant ants, and The Beginning of the End, featuring enormous grasshoppers wreaking havoc upon Chicago. The most popular in this vein has to be the Japanese cult film, Gojira, or as it was renamed in the United States, Godzilla. The original film saw the giant lizard awakened as a result of atomic explosions. Along the way, Godzilla became beloved, even a hero, when fear of bombs gave way to fear of environmental pollution, and he defeated the eponymous enemy in Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster. (The closing song, translated from the Japanese, begins, “Savior! Savior!”) A more heavy-handed production was The War of the Worlds (1953), an adaptation of H. G. Wells’s novel. Its special effects evoked the horror of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the silhouettes made of soot that were all that was left of victims of the invaders.
Directed by Robert Wise, The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) offered the opposite thesis, in which humankind itself was the enemy of nature, by introducing an intelligent alien who brings a warning that Earth must be destroyed if it did not embrace peace. The way in which the characters treated the messenger, Klaatu, suggested that humankind wasn’t ready for interstellar peace, but perhaps one day it could be.
Science fiction had its first A-list picture in 1957 with Forbidden Planet, starring Walter Pigeon and Leslie Nielsen. The plot was based upon William Shakespeare’s The Tempest in a futuristic setting. Like The Tempest, it showed humanity’s greed and folly, but held out hope it could become wise in time.
Disney joined the SF legions with a big-budget picture, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Jules Verne’s story of a disaffected sea captain whose unique submarine, the Nautilus, predated modern nuclear submarines. Sick of humankind, Captain Nemo had turned his back upon the land in favor of the ocean. Beings who dwelled in its depths took only what they needed from nature.
One of the most haunting films with a theme of preservation of the environment was Silent Running (1972), a Douglas Trumbull picture that starred Bruce Dern as Freeman Lowell. The ship carrying the last of Earth’s precious forests is ordered destroyed by the powers that be. Lowell cannot in conscience carry out the order, and goes on the run. His only helpers on board are three small worker robots—drones—who were the precursors to Star Wars’s R2D2: Huey, Dewey and Louie. The story is a tragedy because the freighters are ordered to jettison their irreplaceable cargo in the interests of immediate profit. Lowell sacrifices himself rather than allow the last of Earth’s forests to die.
This year’s winner of the Nebula for best script, WALL-E, offers the gentle story of a lonely robot who finds romance among
the trash left behind after humanity departed for the stars. The stark landscape of rotting discards and rusted machinery throws into sharp relief the single living plant that WALL-E discovers. There could be no more poignant reminder that our ecology is fragile, but Pixar did not shove it down the audience’s collective throat—instead, we are drawn to care more about the feelings of a mechanical trash collector, cheer on the heroics of a complaisant human starship captain who learns to fight bureaucracy and his own indolence, and rejoice in not one, but two love stories. We can’t help but notice the desolation of Earth, and should go away resolving to live greener lives.
Still, you can ignore all that and just sit back and enjoy the movie.
AN EXCERPT FROM THE NEBULA AWARD-WINNING BEST SCRIPT
WALL-E
WALL-E is an exceptional movie on many levels. It not only used animation to tell a strong story with a message, but managed to bring emotion and pathos to animated robots. Writing a script for a movie that had so little dialogue had to be a challenge and the two excerpts that follow show how this was done for the Nebula Award- winning movie.
EXCERPT 1
An air of enchantment.
Eve is taken aback.
WALLY
(beeps)
[Come on in.]
She drifts through the sea of knickknacks.
Becomes spooked by a SINGING BILLY BASS FISH.
Threatens to shoot it, but Wally calms her down.
He is compelled to show her everything.
Screenplay by Andrew Stanton and Jim Reardon • Original Story by Andrew Stanton
and Pete Docter • Directed by Andrew Stanton • Executive Producer John
Lasseter • Produced by Jim Morris • Co-Producer Lindsey Collins •
© Disney/Pixar. No reproduction without permission.
Hands her an eggbeater . . .
. . . bubble wrap (so infectious to pop) . . .
. . . a lightbulb (lights when she holds it) . . .
. . . the Rubik’s Cube (she solves it immediately)
. . . his Hello Dolly tape.
Curious, she begins unspooling the tape.
WALLY
(loud beeps)
[My tape!!]
He grabs it back. Protective.
Inserts it carefully into the VCR. Please still work
The movie eventually appears on the TV.
Plays a clip of POYSC.
Wally is relieved.
WALLY
(beeps)
[What do you think?]
Mimics the dancing for Eve.
Encourages her to try.
She clumsily hops up and down.
Makes dents in the floor. Rattles everything.
Wally politely stops her.
WALLY
(beeps)
[How ’bout we try a different move?]
Spins in a circle. Arms out.
Eve copies.
Spins faster, and faster . . .
Too fast.
Accidentally strikes Wally. He flies into the shelves.
Eve helps him up from the mess.
Wally’s LEFT BINOCULAR EYE falls off.
Dangles from two wires.
Eve GASPS with concern.
Wally placates her.
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Fantasy Writers of America
EXCERPT 2
EXT. TRUCK—NIGHT
Wally motors outside.
Turns over his Igloo cooler to clean it out.
Pauses to take in the night sky.
STARS struggle to be seen through the polluted haze.
Wally presses the PLAY button on his chest.
The newly sampled It Only Takes A Moment (IOTAM)
plays.
The wind picks up.
A WARNING LIGHT sounds on Wally’s chest.
He looks out into the night.
A RAGING SANDSTORM approaches off
the bay . . .
Unfazed, Wally heads back in the truck.
IOTAM still gently playing.
. . . The massive wave of sand roars closer . . .
Wally raises the door.
Pauses.
WHISTLES for his cockroach to come inside.
The door shuts just as the storm hits.
Obliterates everything in view.
INT. TRUCK—SAME
Wally alone in the center of his shelter.
Unwraps a BNL SPONGECAKE (think Twinkie).
Lays it out for the cockroach to sleep in.
It happily dives in.
Wally collapses himself into a storable cube.
Backs into an empty shelf space.
Rocks it like a cradle . . .
. . . and shuts down for the night.
Outside the wind howls like the Hounds of Hell.
INT. WALLY’S TRUCK—NEXT MORNING
Wally’s CHARGE METER flashes “WARNING.”
He wakes. Unboxes.
Groggy and lifeless.
Stumbles outside.
EXT. ROOF OF WALLY’S TRUCK
The morning sun.
Wally fully exposed in its light.
His front panel splayed out like a tanning shield.
A solar collector.
S/Legal/Mktg/Licensing/Science Fiction Fantasy Writers of America (Wall E)
(Disney to SFFWA 07 09 09).doc License Agreement—Science
Fiction Fantasy Writers of America
S/Legal/Mktg/Licensing/Science Fiction Fantasy Writers of America (Wall E)
(Disney to SFFWA 07 09 09).doc
EXCERPT 3
His CHARGE METER chimes full.
Solar panels fold away into hiding.
Wally, now awake, collects his lunch cooler.
Heads off to work.
. . . and accidentally runs over the cockroach.
Horrified, Wally reverses.
Reveals the FLATTENED INSECT under his tread.
The cockroach simply pops back to life.
No biggie. Ready to go.
Relieved, Wally resumes their commute.
EXT. WALLY’S WORK SITE—THAT MORNING
A SERIES OF “WALLY AT WORK” MOMENTS:
CU of Wally’s hands digging into garbage.
CU of trash being scooped into his chest
compactor.
A cube lands by the cockroach.
Wally discovers a BRA in the garbage.
Unsure what it’s for.
Tries placing it over his eyes, like glasses.
Tosses it in his cooler.
Wally finds a set of CAR KEYS.
Presses the remote lock.
Somewhere in the distance a CAR ALARM CHIRPS.
Plays with a paddle ball.
The ball keeps smacking him in the face.
He doesn’t like it.
Wally discovers a DIAMOND RING in a JEWEL
CASE.
Throws out the ring. Keeps the case.
The jewel case drops into the cooler, then . . .
. . . A RUBBER DUCKY . . .
. . . A BOBBLE HEAD DOLL . . .
. . . AN OLD BOOT . . .
. . . A TROPHY . . .
Wally finds a FIRE EXTINGUISHER.
Activates it.
FOAM blasts in his face.
It’s tossed far, far away from his cooler.
Wally’s shovel hand strikes something solid.
Faces a REFRIGERATOR much larger than himself.
Now what?
CU on fridge door.
A WELDING BEAM moves down its center.
It emits from between Wally’s SPLIT BINOCULAR
EYES.
THE ACCEPTANCE SPEECH OF BRADBURY AWARD WINNER, JOSS WHEDON
First given by Ben Bova in 1992, the Bradbury Award is for excellence in screenwriting. It was named in acknowledgment of Ray Bradbury’s contributions to the fie
lds of science fiction and screenwriting. While it is not a Nebula Award®, it is awarded as part of the Nebula Awards Banquet. This award is given only when a work or body of work is exceptional. Past winners include James Cameron for Terminator 2, J. Michael Strazinski for Babylon 5, and Yuri Rasovsky and Harlan Ellison for 2000X—Tales of the Next Millennia.
Joss Whedon was in Canada working on a movie at the time of the banquet. Anyone who has watched Serenity, Dollhouse, Buffy, or any of Joss Whedon’s creations is familiar with his sense of humor. When his name was announced for the award, a screen lit up and he made the following acceptance speech.
What’s this? How do I come to be in this room full of luminaries? When mere moments ago I was in Canada, filming a film?
Aha, I have fooled you. My image is being beamed to you through a waveavatronic electron machine that causes you to see me although I am not here. That’s right: this is the future. This is one of the many future gadgets you will soon learn to enjoy. Future is my business, because I write fictionalized scientific, or as the kids call it nowadays, fi sci. And right now, I’m very honored to be, not physically but spectrally, among so many people that I admire, especially you, and you . . . and that hot chick over there—why are you even here? I would like to be with you physically, but I can’t, because I’m filming a movie that I feel certain will cause you to take this award back away from me.
But, if I could be there, I would probably say something exactly like what I am saying now. Which is simply that there is no bigger influence on my writing, really, than Ray Bradbury. He is the forefather of us in so many ways. Nobody made fi sci more human, more exciting, the horror, the engagement. It’s stayed with me my whole life, before Stephen King, before Frank Herbert, before so many people I admire, Bradbury was the first. This award is something that I will genuinely treasure when I actually get to be near it physically.