The Illusion of Depth

When I launched this series last month I said that we wouldn't be focussing exclusively on feature films (although there will still be plenty of those; don't worry); we would also be showcasing some short films, a few television episodes and even a couple of ballets. Well, this is the week that I make good on all that (and there will be others to come). We're going to have a triple bill no less ( quadruple , if you count the "Out of the Inkwell" cartoon) all directly relevant to the topic at hand.  Don't worry; there's no need to panic; I did tell everyone that there would be a lot more diversity in this series, but I guess this is finally the moment when we can fully dispense with any archaic notions about this being just a "weekly film night". (And if anyone still persists in referring to it as "Vicky Park Flicks" after all these years I will personally descend upon them with the very Hounds of Hell. And we will show no mercy...) Moll...

When I launched this current series ( The Grok, the Glunk and the Golem ) last month, I said we would be exploring "Artificial Intelligence" in literature, in art and in popular culture, as well as in real life. We are now almost five weeks into the series and have thus far encountered a 2000-year-old mud man (in a 105-year-old film), a group of emancipated fictional characters (a 50-year-old production of a 104-year-old stage-play) an insurance salesman whose entire Reality turns out to be a TV sitcom, and a mischievous (100-year-old) cartoon clown with a talent for tormenting his animator. I trust everyone has been enjoying my selections thus far (and we're just getting started, believe me) but I'm sure I can hear some voices from the back of the hall wondering "Where are all the killer robots at?" I know, I know. Most depictions of A.I in popular culture (no matter how serious they profess to be) ultimately seem to culminate in murder-bots, killer sex-dol...

The child ahead of him received its candy bar and raced off. Ragle laid down his fifty-cent piece on the counter. "Got any beer?" he said. His voice sounded funny. Thin and remote. The counter man in white apron and cap stared at him, stared and did not move. Nothing happened. No sound, anywhere. Kids, cars, the wind; it all shut off. The fifty-cent piece fell away, down through the wood, sinking. It vanished. I’m dying, Ragle thought. Or something. Fright seized him. He tried to speak, but his lips did not move for him. Caught up in the silence. Not again, he thought. Not again! It’s happening to me again. The soft-drink stand fell into bits. Molecules. He saw the molecules, colorless, without qualities, that made it up. Then he saw through, into the space beyond it, he saw the hill behind, the trees, the sky. He saw the soft-drink stand go out of existence, along with the counter man, the cash register, the big dispenser of orange drink, the taps for Coke and root beer, the...