Thursday, January 15, 2015

科學幻想到氣候幻想 (sci-fi to cli-fi)

科學幻想到氣候幻想 (sci-fi to cli-fi)
http://pnn.pts.org.tw

(Photo: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center/Flickr CC/goo.gl/Lw4qdK)文 / 林素純

《星際大戰》、《星際迷航記》、《回到未來》、《E.T外星人》、《異形》,這些堪稱經典的科幻電影,想必是許多「科幻迷」的收藏之一。科幻電影迷人之處,除了演員精湛演技外,更重要的是它擦掉了真實世界與可能世界的界線,把身處真實世界的觀眾帶進一個真實與虛幻重疊的境地。
近年電影技術一再翻新,科幻電影對於可能世界的模擬更趨真實,連帶也引發一些與電影情境有關的思考與討論。例如《駭客任務》中『母體』對於個人存在的掌控,而使得一些人對於自我的真實性(「我」真的存在嗎?)有所思索。《阿凡達》裡人類對於異族生存環境的侵略,讓人們再一次面對商業開發與自然環境潛在競爭關係;《露西》揭露人類智能的可能性,引起知識與心靈哲學問題的討論。
然而,隨著電影題材的多樣化,科幻電影不再只是以太空、時間、外星生物為描述對象,也把與人類生存習習相關的氣候與環境題材融入電影,透過動畫技術,擬真描摹因為氣候變遷、全球暖化或生存環境被破壞而出現的可能世界,例如《明天過後》被冰雪覆蓋的北半球、《末日預言》因太陽耀斑造成全球性的可能災難、《2012》裡因為自然災害而即將毀滅的世界、去年才上映的《星際效應》以地球環境惡化、乾旱、蟲害、糧食短缺、沙塵暴侵襲,已不再適合人類生存背景,延伸出一系列太空逃難計劃。
(Photo: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center/Flickr CC/goo.gl/Lw4qdK)
(Photo: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center/Flickr CC/goo.gl/Lw4qdK)
Dan Bloom 丹布隆表示:「我們需要超越抽象的科學預測以及政府的統計數據,試著透過電影或文學擬真,呈現氣候變遷對未來帶來的痛苦。」
Dan Bloom 丹布隆表示:「我們需要超越抽象的科學預測以及政府的統計數據,試著透過電影或文學擬真,呈現氣候變遷對未來帶來的痛苦。」
這一類以氣候變遷、全球暖化、生存環境遭破壞為題材的電影,雖然呈現手法仍帶科幻電影骨架,同樣有意把觀眾帶進一個真實與虛幻重疊的境地,但與科幻電影不同的是,這個想像中的境地不但無法讓人滿足科學奇想的樂趣,而且充斥著災難與驚恐。這類電影如果也能引發一些思考,那麼就是如何避免讓賴以生存的地球走向不可挽救的地步。
這類以科幻電影為骨架,以氣候變遷、全球暖化為血肉的電影,從2008年起已有一個獨立的名字:「cli-fi」。定居台灣的美國人 Dan Bloom 以科幻電影(science fiction)的英文簡寫「sci-fi」為對照,把這類以氣候環境為題材的想像電影(climate fiction)稱為「cli-fi」。
由於 Dan Bloom 的介紹與推動,「cli-fi」在好萊塢已不是陌生名詞及電影類型。值得一提的是,好萊塢已從去年(2014)開始,將 cli-fi 電影從科幻電影獨立出來,設置獨立的「cli-fi」電影奬,這過程可看得到 Dan Bloom 的努力。
不過,即使「cli-fi」與其電影奬的產出地在台灣,大部分國人尚不知這類型的電影已有這麼一個獨立名稱。Dan Bloom 熱衷於 cli-fi 電影,是出自於身為地球一份子的使命感,他說:「我們需要超越抽象的科學預測以及政府的統計數據,試著透過電影或文學擬真,呈現氣候變遷對未來帶來的痛苦。」

  • 本文作者為國立中正大學哲學博士候選人。
  • 本文為作者個人言論,不代表公共電視立場。
特色圖片:NASA Goddard Space Flight Center/Flickr CC/goo.gl/Lw4qdK

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Monday, November 17, 2014

What INTERSTELLWAR WAS NOT ABOUT: CLIMATE CHANGE! SIGH!

When INTERSTELLAR was shooting last year in Alberta, Canada, where much of the movie's first-hour scenes were shot, the local newspaper -- The Macleod Gazette, the local newspaper of Fort Macleod, Alberta -- ran some tantalizing details about ''Interstellar'' as Nolan and company were shooting on location in the Canadian town. =========================================== The Gazette followed the rundown of the movie as was then known — scientists who travel to a different dimension — and noted that the film centered on the tremendous destruction climate change had wrought on world agriculture. ================================== As a result, these time/space-tripping scientists are seeking out a place where crops can be grown. This was the first that the media has said anything about Interstellar involving climate change, but but it turned out to be wrong, since INTERSTELLAR is NOT ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE AND WHAT A PITY THAT IT DIDN"T GO DOWN THAT ROAD. Big fail!============================ ''Canadian locals spotted Interstellar crew members pouring sand all over Fort Macleod’s Main Street, setting the stage for the following day’s shoot. On Wednesday, McConaughey and John Lithgow were spotted driving a pick-up truck down the street in a manufactured dust storm, which within the film is likely the result of climate change. The many takes involved crew members manning fans to blow dust that created billowing dust clouds above the area that could be seen at a distance," the newspaper reported.======================= Btw, Paramount Pictures has refused to comment on ''rumors'' that Matt Damon had been added to the production.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Inventing ''Cli Fi'' Literature

How to write about what we’re doing to the planet? In what genre, what form? I grew up outside of a small town in northwestern Colorado, and in recent years spruce and pine beetles have devastated forests throughout the Rockies, turning evergreen slopes a dead maroon. Beetles have always attacked and killed the trees there, just as the Atlantic Ocean has always bred hurricanes and droughts have scoured California. The difference—which we give the name ''climate change'' or global warming —lies in the new frequency and intensity of these events. A 2013 study from the University of Colorado found that drought and warmer sea-surface temperatures best explain the trees’ increased susceptibility to the beetles, and warmer and drier conditions are almost certainly what the coming decades have in store for the American West. Meanwhile, on a drive through the mountains, great bristling stands of living green- and blue-needled trees alternate with brittle dead zones, and the mind slips among memory, evidence, and anticipation: landscape I saw as a kid, landscape I now see, landscape that I foresee. The experience itself is a bit like hesitating between literary genres. There’s the novel of memory (and couldn’t “À la Recherche du Temps Perdu” be translated, if you didn’t know better, as “In Search of Lost Weather?”); there’s the satire of contemporary life, complete with hand-wringing ruminations on the environment from the driver’s seat of a non-electric car; and there’s the work of science—or climate-science—fiction, set in the not-too-distant future, in which the coniferous forests of the West are no more.
Climate change has occasioned a lot of good journalism, but it poses as tremendous problems for imaginative literature as it does for electoral politics, and for many of the same reasons. The worst effects aren’t yet here, and even when global warming is the suspected culprit behind a hurricane or a drought, its fingerprints are never to be found on the scene of any particular disaster. Fictional characters, like flesh-and-blood citizens, have more urgent concerns than the state of the climate twenty years hence. Nor is it easy for people, real or imaginary, to feel any special moral relationship to the problem. Oil-company executives may be especially guilty, and environmental activists especially virtuous. The rest of us, in the rich countries, are culpable to such a similar degree that we might as well be equally innocent. So it is that a crisis at the center of our collective life exists for us at the margins of individual consciousness, as a whisper of dread or a rustle of personal implication. The main event of contemporary civilization is never, on any given day, the main event. It cannot be imagined as a punctual occurrence, like the “airborne toxic event” that hangs over DeLillo’s “White Noise” or the nuclear war, remembered as “a sudden shear of light and then a series of low concussions,” in the background to Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.”
Perhaps this is why climate change hasn’t yet left a literary footprint commensurate with its historical weight. [NOTE TO BEN: IT WILL IT WILL, AND IT'S CALLED ''CLI FI''] MATE! Ecological anxiety, to be sure, belongs to the atmosphere of plenty of realist fiction, and warmer, crazier weather darkly adorns many futuristic novels whose primary catastrophe has been unleashed by genetic engineering, peak oil, viral plague, or class warfare. Novelists not generally regarded as sci-fi authors have even set a handful of works in the drowned world of tomorrow. But few imaginative writers have dealt with the present-day experience of global warming in a direct and concentrated way. [BEN: please see the relevant pages for this at Wikipedia, there are TONS of cli fi novels out there now, from Nathaniel Rich's ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW to Barbara Kingsolver's FLIGHT BEHAVIOR. Please do some more reading, sir!]
The strongest work of cli-f -- to use a term t“10:04,”hat is trending now --  I’ve read is Ben Lerner’s novel  in which the significance of daily life—the books people write, the personal relationships they try to sustain—threatens to dissolve in the face of what is, for the narrator, “a future I increasingly imagined as underwater.” By the end of the novel, the underwater future has materialized, for a time anyway, in the shape of Hurricane Sandy, which in the fall of 2012 battered New York City and submerged its lower-lying districts. Even so, Lerner’s narrator, whose neighborhood and apartment are spared, feels that this future doesn’t quite include him. “Another historic storm had failed to arrive,” he says, then adds:
Except it had arrived, just not for us. Subway and traffic tunnels in lower Manhattan had filled with water, drowning who knows how many rats; I couldn’t help imagining their screams. Power and water were knocked out below Thirty-Ninth Street and in Red Hook, Coney Island, the Rockaways, much of Staten Island. Hospitals were being evacuated after backup generators failed; newborn babies and patients recovering from heart surgery were carried gingerly down flights of stairs and placed in ambulances that rushed them uptown, where the storm had never happened.
The passage is the exception proving the rule that the contemporary experience of climate change has so far eluded the grasp of literature. Lerner can write a novel, set in the present, that deals with the subject head-on, but only by becoming essayistic, journalistic (the narrator is aggregating news stories in his head; he is neither evacuating a hospital nor being evacuated himself), and, even then, only amid the heaviest weather yet visited on New York City this century. If climate change has, to date, proved hard to write about, that’s because it exists for most of us, to date, as something that afflicts different neighborhoods, distant cities, or future times.
A number of Octobers ago, I spent a few weeks in a cabin in Colorado that was also hosting an abundance of black flies. (The cabin was built, it so happens, from beetle-kill spruce, a form of lumber that is more available these days than before the beetles knocked off so many trees.) The buzzing of the flies persisted throughout my stay, in spite of energetic fly-swatting campaigns, and some time after leaving the cabin I had the thought that the noise of the flies, in my ears all day without often becoming the main thing on my mind, wasn’t altogether unlike my daily awareness of climate change. A sense of what we’re doing to the planet accompanies me all the time, but mostly as a distraction, a morbid static in the air. You try not to listen; sometimes, you can’t help it. Or so I found myself thinking, coming up with the idea for a play. It may say something about the difficulties involved in writing about climate change that I could figure out no way to face them other than by deploying the disreputable technique of allegory and the outmoded medium of the theatre.
An urban couple lives in an apartment thronging with flies. As the play opens, they’ve hired exterminators to rid their home of these bugs, these irritants. That was the explicit premise; the implicit part, gradually to become clear to the audience, was that flies have infested not only this particular dwelling but the world at large, and that their presence is a symptom of climate change. The couple’s effort at pest control fails, and the flies return. The couple resume their old routine, sometimes swatting at and sometimes trying to ignore the minor presence in their lives of what is arguably the world’s major problem. I liked the idea that, because this was a play, there would be no flies onstage. The reality that they intimated would thus be, in another sense, unreal. Because we are aware of climate change and, also, we are not.
It’s somewhat embarrassing, in the 21st century, to produce an allegory on any subject; the technique strikes us as both antique and naïve. I was able to keep writing and, above all, revising, because it seemed to me that climate change was such a vast development, with so many of its consequences available only to the imagination, that I had to deal with it allegorically or not at all. And I told myself that it had to be a play for the stage, instead of a novel or a screenplay, because the theatre, being confined to the use of a few actors and a handful of props, is a natural medium for allegory: the inherent poverty of its technical means allows for symbols and ideas to remain the abstractions that they are, even as the theatre grants them a certain invisible concreteness. The filmmaker or novelist, on the other hand, will be tempted to visually portray or physically describe just those things whose very nature is to exceed our capacity to depict them.
But was my cli-fi play, which I ended up calling “Buzz,” really a climate-change allegory? In writing it, I often forgot about my troupe of invisible flies, much as the characters do. At other times, I felt like they were more suggestive of perennial human problems like aging, disappointment, or decay. There was something intermittent about the meaning of my rather heavy-duty symbolism, and about whether the flies signified anything at all. But this, too, I thought, could work in the play’s favor. Objectively, almost everything we do is connected to climate change; subjectively, almost nothing. Except that from time to time the objective situation becomes a subjective truth.
In the end, I found that what I was writing had to be a comedy even more than an allegory. The scale of our planetary crisis dwarfs us as individuals and has so far defeated us as citizens, which meant that the efforts of any single household to confront the problem could only be joked about. “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness,” Nell says to Nagg in Beckett’s “Endgame.” Helplessness is a species of unhappiness, and my unhappy play about our deteriorating climate has at least had the merit of making me laugh more than anything else I’ve written. It’s sometimes suggested that peoples with especially calamitous histories —the Jews, the Irish— have especially comic sensibilities. If so, climate change may afford writers of all nations the chance to become comedians, even as they do not lack for tragic material. [BEN, again, please read Nat Rich's ODDS AGAINST TOMORROW. It came out two years ago...]
Benjamin Kunkel’s ''cli fi'' play “Buzz” is being performed in Brooklyn until November 22, 014. It was published in book form earlier this year.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

"To Honor the Earth: Reflections on Living in Harmony with Nature," by Dorothy Maclean and Kathleen T. Carr

a USA woman wrote===================== "For the past several years, I have been looking for environmental literature to incorporate into a college course class called "Nature, Animals and Humans: the New Paradigm." ========================== When I read "To Honor the Earth: Reflections on Living in Harmony with Nature," by Dorothy Maclean and Kathleen T. Carr, I realized I had finally found a dramatically evocative and useful core textbook, not only for the college course, but for high school and middle school curriculum as well. ======================== Although this gorgeous book was published in 1991, its words grow more timely and powerful as we perceive more clearly and respond more actively to the warnings Nature has giving us for the past 25 eyars about the deterioration of our planet's health. ===================== The last chapter, "The Promise of Ccoperation," is extremely healing and can help readers of all ages deal effectively with the despair they feel while witnessing the destruction of natural systems.========================= It shows them the avenues of spirit and action that can lead them to trust themselves to make a difference.

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

Doomsday climate lit and ''d-fi'' (pronounced as "DEFY")

A new genre has been emerging on the edges of ''sci fi'' and ''cli fi'' and it is being dubbed ''d-fi'' -- a genre that defies expectations, defies settled convictions, defies climate denialsts and defies gatekeeping literary critics. D-fi pulls no punches and tells as it may very well be: we are doomed, not now, but in 500 to 1000 years, 30 to 50 generations from now and what writers and movies need to do now is help prepare future generations -- our descendants -- for the dire and unspeakable fate that awaits them: the mass die offs of humans in those distant days due to major climate change and global warming impact events, and d-fi novels and movies will prepare readers in future times to prepare to die spiritually, mentally and physically, perhaps with designated mass suicides at certain meaningful times of year, such as Christmas, Easter, Passover, Summer Solstice, July 4th, Boxing Day, Thanksgiving.