The Americans, an FX drama about two undercover Soviet agents living with their two children near Washington, D.C., in the 1980s, is hurtling toward the conclusion of its sixth and final season. Though it has always kept its hand in the action and intrigue of the spy game, its recent seasons have become more moody, brooding, punctuated with anxious silences—one acquaintance of mine felt it lost its mojo and stopped watching—yet the action has recently picked up again as the show maneuvers its pieces toward a resolution. Continue reading
In 1973, a movie called Westworld, written and directed by Michael Crichton, was released. It’s easy to say what it was about: two visitors to an Old West amusement park that’s mostly populated by androids are terrorized by a robot gunslinger run amok. It was straightforward, so simple as to seem nearly crude now, and nearly mindless (in comparison to the sophistication of early modern robot tales such as Karel Čapek’s R.U.R. and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis), but it embodied a long-bubbling fear about machines, automation, and the dehumanizing effects of technology (many shots are devoted to the highly computerized control room and the inscrutable exchanges of the technicians), and it made potent use of the entertainment world’s oldest special effect, actors, in the form of Yul Brynner’s black-clad, glint-eyed, swaggering gunslinger.
In October 2016, HBO launched a series called Westworld, created by Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy. (Spoilers lie ahead.) Much remains the same, but much is different. Continue reading
Say a male phonetics professor rescues a female guttersnipe from the gutter, teaches her to speak the English of the upper classes, and passes her off as a duchess—what then? As nearly everyone will recognize, this is the situation presented by the Lerner and Lowe musical My Fair Lady and, before that, by Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, which is currently being presented by the Bedlam company in New York. Nowadays the play seems more obvious than it must have when it was first presented, roughly 100 years ago, in part because the musical has made the story familiar, in part because the source myth—that of Pygmalion and Galatea—is itself still familiar, and in part because numerous debates have made us well aware of the role language and speech play in social distinctions. Yet, if Shaw’s play is obvious, it’s also subtly provocative, and it’s capable of resonating in ways not addressed by Shaw. Continue reading
If anything were needed to demonstrate the great plasticity of the mystery as a form, Gnomon would do it. In a future England where privacy has been all but abolished for the sake of greater social order, a woman dissident with the myth-inflected name Diana Hunter dies while resisting an interrogation. A woman police inspector, Mielikki Neith, is assigned to find out why she died and what if anything she was trying to hide. So begins a whopper of a tale by Nick Harkaway, published in Britain last fall and in America early this year, in which the contents of Hunter’s mind can be probed retrospectively, further mysteries unfold like origami flowers, and the controlled, rational, material world clashes with realms of magic and disorderly human desires as objective third-person narration butts up against first-person accounts.
My friend Duncan was perhaps not really a polymath, but even back in high school he was something in that direction. He was interested in the history of firearms. As luck would have it, there was a shop in our area of University Park (one of the wealthy enclaves within the city of Dallas known as the Park Cities) that specialized in such things, a place called Jackson Arms, which he visited often; he owned an antique that, as I recall, he identified as a matchlock, rather than a flintlock, rifle; he could name all the parts of these devices and used to tantalize my ears with strange-sounding terms such as “frizzen” and “tang.” Continue reading
In the spacious kitchen of a house in Houston occupied by a surgeon, his wife, and their children (one of whom was a friend of mine), I once saw a decorative sign saying, “Behind every great man there’s a woman telling him he’s wrong.” The man of the house was known in my neighborhood to be a surgeon and, I think, a member of the cardiac unit at Houston Methodist that did groundbreaking heart transplants. Less was known—at least to me as a young teenager—about the woman who stood behind him or, more likely, beside him. Continue reading
One of the prominent stories of last year was the skyrocketing price of things called bitcoins. On January 1, 2017, a single bitcoin was worth about $1,000. Today, it’s worth about $13,000, and it neared $19,000 at one point. (Here’s a graph.) That’s pretty crazy, considering that it’s not easy to say what a bitcoin is or why it’s worth anything at all. If you go by its price, it sounds like a speculative investment, yet it was designed to be a currency. In fact, it’s both—like light, a bitcoin has two aspects—and this makes it peculiarly interesting. Likewise, it’s easy to find out what a bitcoin costs at any given moment, but it’s harder to talk about its value, and this too is interesting, at least for people who enjoy finding odd nooks and crannies in the overall scheme of things. Continue reading