Earl's 2026 Oscar Predictions

I've seen every film on this ballot save for Avatar: Fire and Ash, so technically I suppose this is the best-informed about the Oscar nominees that I've ever been. All this means is my guesses have a tiny bit more weight to them than they normally would, but who can predict the tastes of the Academy's actual voters? Not me. 
 
Here's how I rank the ten Best Picture nominees, starting at the bottom and working my way up:  

• F1: Beautiful score and visuals, painfully predictable story
• Frankenstein: Incredible makeup and costumes, but adds nothing new to the myth
• The Secret Agent: Love the surreal bits and the cinematography, the rest feels fairly rote
• Marty Supreme: Competently told but predictable
• Hamnet: Beautiful production design and a powerful, transcendent finale
• Train Dreams: Just lovely start to finish
• Sinners: Bold, exciting, scary, a powerful metaphor for the Black experience
• Sentimental Value: Engaging, with heart-rending performances
• Bugonia: Superb acting, suspenseful, with Yorgos' trademark surreality
• One Battle after Another: Captures the chaos of the world we're enduring right now
  
  
  

The Last Labyrinth, the Lost Ending

Gwendolyn Womack's new novel, The Last Labyrinth, is a well-paced, well-written romantasy time travel story that uses music as its magic. But it has one fatal flaw. 

The setup: Womack's heroine, Magellan, is a modern woman, a musical prodigy who can play any instrument like a virtuoso, even if she's never touched it before, and she doesn't need sheet music. As the novel opens, we learn that Magellan has a talented roommate, Wren, a singer, who tries to bring Magellan out of her shell a bit; Magellan has a number of phobias that keep her pretty much confined to her apartment, except when she's out performing. One night, the skies all over the world light up with an aurora the likes of which humanity has never seen, at impossibly low latitudes. It's around this time Magellan receives a mysterious diary, purported to be that of  Gwenddydd, Merlin's sister. (This framing--that of powerful women being identified only in relation to the men in their lives--recurs throughout the novel, to good effect). 

While Magellan is playing at a wedding, the world begins to unravel, thanks to the auroras. In a panic, she runs off to play the venue's pipe organ, and this transports her to 1829, where she meets Rhys, a handsome bachelor who happens to be caught in a financial trap, needing to wed a rich bride to save his family estate. 

Meet-cute and time travel shenanigans begin. Magellan learns that to save the world, she must assemble four movements of a symphony. She has half the first movement, and she discovers Fanny Mendelssohn has the second. To gather the other movements, she must collaborate with other important women musicians of the past, all while surviving not only the differences in language, culture, and technology, but the demonic forces who try to stop her from saving the world. Thankfully, she has Rhys at her side, who's no Superman but does have a talent for languages--very useful given their circumstances. 

The plot serves as a great vehicle for the romance and for Womack's point about talented women being overlooked by history, and how that fault persists over the centuries. It's also fun seeing how the predestination paradoxes play out. 

Here's my issue: We learn that the final confrontation will happen when Magellan returns to 2026, when she'll put the final movement of the symphony together and somehow gather all the world's musicians to play it together, the only way to seal the rip in the universe. 

The novel ends before we get to that moment, with the ultimate fate of the world and the characters we've come to love unresolved. It's fine, of course, for novels to end on a note of ambiguity, but this really feels like the writer just ran out of steam and didn't have the means to craft the epic finale she envisioned. 

The novel is still worth reading; it's clever, exciting, suspenseful, and warm. Magellan is a great heroine, and Rhys is flawed but worthy partner for her. I really wanted to see them triumph, though. 

There's no word of a sequel, nor is there a hint of one in the author's afterword. It feels like this is the novel Womack decided to deliver. That's her right, but I really wish she'd given us that grand finale. 

Earl Has a Brain in a Jar and Gemini Has Earl in a Jar

It's AI slop, the slop being the brain sloshing around in a jar. Are we not entertained? Unfortunately, I am entertained. Digging my own artistic grave. 
 

DANGER LIVE BRAIN MAD HUMAN

In this jar a living brain
A silent scream its one refrain
While I consider, stern and smug
My floating captive in its jug
"This would give me
A whole lot of negative karma in Fallout: New Vegas" 
 

New Closet Space

 

If only I had one of these at 1:1 scale to store all my movies...

Robinson's Crusade

 

In the far future, a conductor is chosen as the next master to inherit stewardship of the Holywelkin Orchestra--basically the ultimate one-man band, the musical instrument of the era. But he gets hooked on drugs, throwing his future into question, only to have an epiphany, go blind, and get his mojo back, kicking the habit just a couple of pages after he picks it up. Time passes, and the blind master plays concerts to the many human colonies from Pluto to Mercury while a mysterious cabal of people try to kill him. A human sect has mathematically proven that free will doesn't exist, that determinism is the truth of our existence, but the novel ends with a kind of refutation of that premise thanks, I think, to music? Heck if I know. My interest faded about halfway through the novel, mainly because, as usual, Robinson is great at developing big concepts, but his characters are so robotic it's really hard to care what happens to them.  

Would I have enjoyed this novel more if I understood the first thing about music? Maybe. 

Still Better Off with Image Editors

Years ago, I tried to clean up this damaged photo. My efforts were unsuccessful, but I think I'd do better if I tried again today. But I thought using Gemini to fix it might yield interesting results. 

 

The photo is a lot sharper now, but holy hallucinations, Batman. The Atari 400 has been replaced by an Atari 2600, and the Atari 400 games have been replaced by Atari 2600 games. And a stack of audio cassettes has replaced the CX40 joystick atop the Atari 410 program recorder. 

Further prompting fixed some of the issues. But not all. 

That's enough fiddling for now. The Atari 400 is there, but its yellow buttons are from the Atari 800 model. I also find it amusing Gemini put an audio cassette into the 8-Track player. 

Presentation Matters

Sylvia felt a bit weak and sore in the wake of our COVID-19 booster shots yesterday, and all she wanted for supper was some saltines and guacamole. So I served it up in high style, dinner in bed for my little princess. 
 

Not a Haiku

Not a haiku, this
Soft whispers of rain on rock?
Yes, but not e--

DJ Wrecking Ball

When the house is full of party people
Peeps in the church and peeps in the steeple
But you're out of snax and out of trax
So all you have left are panic attax

That's when you call
That's when you call
That's when you call

DJ Wrecking Ball

DJ Wrecking Ball
With his exquisite beats
He's got rhythm unique 
And two ten-toed feet

DJ Wrecking Ball
He swings it like a flail
Because his rhymes never fail
And all comparisons pale
DJ Wrecking Ball, that one guy down the hall

To you he may seem strange 'cause his brainz been rearranged
But he has broken his chainz and he's stoppin' them trainz
He's spinning discs with flix of his wrists 
All his music consists of true hits and it fits
Like your love fills a glove and the pattern's revealed
He's got true DJ appeal like a wheel that don't squeal 'cause it's greased and released
To the wild, a wild child, round and firm to the berm and the squares they all squirm

You called him you got him, obeying your whims, widdershins
Like a Benz as it darts 'round the bends
And it ends
And it ends
And it ends

Zeno Needs a Pair of Doc Martens

Achilles races

Can't overtake a tortoise

Damn fool Zeno

 

57 Trips around the Sun

Here's a photo of me in Ottawa at the House of Commons (in the PM's chair) at age 18. 

I asked Gemini to age that version of me up to 57. 

The real me, a few minutes ago. Alas, Gemini was too optimistic. 

Caspian Fiasco and Delgard Darvish

I'll say this about generative AI tools; if nothing else, they're handy for creating portraits of Dungeons & Dragons characters. Pete is starting an online D&D campaign next month, and I'm trying to decide between the rich, spoiled swashbuckler above or the taciturn wanderer in exile below. I simply ask the engine to create an oil painting in a particular style, describe the character's appearance based on my character sheet's ability statistics and their list of equipment. 

That being said, these works appear pretty lifeless to me and can't capture the spirit of what a talented human artist can achieve--artists that the AI engines have frankly, ripped off without compensation, because I don't think the fair use doctrine really applies here. Once again, as technology advances, we come closer and closer to the day when no one will be able to work. We desperately need mechanisms to redistribute the wealth that's come from all these productivity gains so that even more people aren't starving in our streets. That could be a role 90% of us could be playing sooner than we think. 
 

Still Almost Maybe Nearly Famous

Every once in a while, I search "Earl J. Woods" on the Internet to gauge my level of infamy. Fortunately, my infamy remains low, but just a few minutes ago I discovered a new hit: my name appeared on a long list of people associated with something called the Western Front. 

At first, this alarmed me. In an instant, I thought: "Western Front? Either people think I'm a crazed militia member, or I'm on an enemies list of a crazed militia." 

Neither is true. As their website states, "Western Front is a non-profit artist-run centre in Vancouver." Whew! My apologies, Western Front. 

As I'm turned out, I'm listed on the site because in 2010 I attended an exhibit put on by my cousin, artist Keith Langergraber, and brought along "Finger Puppet Star Trek" for exhibition, the first and only public showing of a movie I made with some friends from the University of Alberta Star Trek Club. Note that "Finger Puppet Star Trek" was not made in 2009, as claimed above; it was actually made sometime in 1991 or 1992. 

Coffee Table Crash Landing

I tried to get Gemini to create a photo of the time infant Sean jumped off our couch in Leaf Rapids into a glass-topped coffee table, shattering it. Sean suffered no harm, and happily played with the shards of glass for the span of nanoseconds it took for Mom to rush over and grab him to inspect him for wounds. 

Gemini refused my initial prompt, which was something like "a one-year old baby jumps off a green couch and through a green glass-topped coffee table without being hurt." Gemini's safeguards prevented the tool from embracing my vision (phooey), so I changed the prompt to something like "a bald, very small male person..." before the stuff about the accident. The action and 1970s decor are captured fairly well, but the "baby" is a bit uncanny. Cute duck, though. 
 

Cole Position

When we got together to work on some estate stuff this morning, Sean presented me with an early birthday present: a grab bag of carefully created knick-knacks designed to appeal to my taste. My favourite item was this little statue of David Lynch as the FBI's Gordon Cole from Twin Peaks. He now occupies a place of honour in our theatre room. 
 

Cozying Up to "Ko'Zeine"

After the action, suspense, and heartbreak of episode six, episode seven delivers a quieter character study in "Ko'Zeine." Making good use of the A story/B story format often used in the 90s Star Trek shows, "Ko'Zeine" focuses on the personal struggles of four cadets during the "All Worlds Day" break. Darem and Jay-Den wind up on a Kionian moon, which is to host Darem's long-arranged marriage. Meanwhile, Careb declines to leave the Academy for the holidays, and for duplicitous reasons on her own, Genesis returns to the Academy rather than visit her father, a Starfleet admiral. 

What follows is a fairly laid-back, somewhat predictable hour of character development. It's perhaps the weakest episode of the season so far, but it's nice to see an hour exploring issues that have caused teenage angst since time immemorial: lying for stupid, fear-based reasons and freaking out over the idea of being caught, not knowing how to reconnect with a girlfriend after you've had a fight, and being forced to make decisions very early in life that will impact your path for decades to come. 

Tig Notaro is the highlight of this episode, as she often is, just by playing a version of herself. I'm so glad she came over from Discovery. 

There's really not much to say about this one. The actors do their usual credible job, the stakes are relatable, and several interpersonal relationships move forward in a way that feels organic. It's not a memorable episode; nor is it objectionable. 
 

VULTURE MAN HORROR

What mad work of genius is this? I can't wait to find out. 
 

Hour of the Gun

This is Bill Arnotte, a friend of William Woods, my grandfather. 1941. From context, it looks like Bil was in the militia with Granddad during World War II. 
 

That's a Lot of Lumber

This photo is dated 1940, so the kid can't be Dad. The taller one, though, could be Granddad. 
 

Artless Sequence

Generative AI has not yet mastered sequential art. Huzzah! I am, however, still amused. 
 

Doctor Empathy, M.D.

 While Sylvia and I were watching The Pitt a couple of weeks ago, a demented idea popped into my head. 

Imagine an emergency room doctor who never learned how to be dispassionate, how to remain composed and professional when faced with the daily horrors of the ER. This hypothetical doctor can hold his emotions in check for the first few minutes of diagnosis and treatment, but then he breaks down in tears and has to complete his work while sobbing brokenly, whether he's treating a broken toe or a mortal gunshot wound. 

In a real-world setting, I would expect that such a doctor would be eventually dismissed for his effect on morale--both patient morale and the morale of everyone else in the ER. 

But imagine further that this emotional doctor also happens to be a preternaturally gifted genius who saves people in even the most desperate medical circumstances. Time after time, he saves patients that no one else could have saved. Once, his colleagues called him Doctor, Empathy, M.D., with the M.D. standing for "Mucho Depressing" instead of "Medical Doctor." But now, they see him with a mixture of bewilderment and awe, calling him "Master Diagnostician," "Master of Disease," or "Medically Divine." His colleagues can find Doctor Empathy exasperating, but they can see the value of his work, so they devote themselves through getting Doctor Empathy through each shift with his--and their--sanity intact.

I think this might make a pretty good dramedy. 

Animated Baby Yoda Reads Bond

 I only just noticed that Gemini has a generate video function. I tried it out on yesterday's photo of Baby Yoda, simply telling Gemini, "Have the stuffed toy swipe the screen to turn pages." Crazy. Looks like a couples of pages wiped him out, though. 

Baby Yoda Reads Bond

 

Come, Let's Review "Come, Let's Away"

SPOILERS BELOW for "Come, Let's Away,"
Episode Six of Star Trek: Starfleet Academy

I came to the latest iteration of Star Trek with low expectations, given my disappointment with Star Trek: Discovery and its last three seasons in particular. But I must say, I feel like the show keeps getting better with each successive episode, and "Come, Let's Away" is certainly its best hour yet. 

Once again, I'm glad that the showrunners have learned you don't need world-ending stakes to create suspense and meaning in science fiction. I note this because the stakes for this episode change as the story progresses, to excellent effect; it starts as a training exercise, entertwined with the fate of a budding relationship, progresses to a hostage situation, and then pulls the rug out from under the audience with an 11th hour turn that reveals the stakes are higher than this cast has ever faced--and as a bonus, the good guys lose in a big way by the time the curtain drops. Characters we came to enjoy over the course of the first five episodes meet their final fates here in a way that feels organic and earned, relationships evolve naturally, and we learn things about our protagonists and, in a welcome return, one of our chief antagonists--Paul Giamatti's Nus Braka. 

Indeed, there are couple of scenes with Nus Braka and Holly Hunter's Chancellor Nahla Ake that are utterly compelling, a master class in acting from both performers. 

Crucially, the plot points all make sense, too, progressing logically, and none of the characters are stupid; they make good decisions, they have backup plans--and they still lose, because the opposition is just a couple of steps ahead. It's great to see--proper drama with relatable stakes. 

Come, let's bring on the last three episodes of season one! 

P.S. I do have thoughts on last week's episode, "Series Acclimation Mil," but I haven't put them to . . . well, not to paper, but to screen. I haven't decided how I feel about the episode yet, because there are parts I genuinely love, and parts I have reservations about, and I haven't decided if the problems are with the episode or my perception.