Book Binging: I, Robot
Why read one book when you can read several? Truth be told, I've gone for a good month or so without reading a book so it isn't surprising that I've gone on this most recent book binge.
When I saw that I, Robot by Isaac Asimov was finally coming out as a movie I could barely contain myself. The re-make of Stepford Wives was memomorable only because it had the I, Robot preview. I bought another copy of the collection of stories to remind myself of the basics. I can't believe I forgot so much. The story lines I remembered and the main characters came back to me easily enough. What I forgot was how much I loved Asimov's writing. I forgot the grace of his logic, the unerring clarity of his prose and the unflagging optism his work contained. Reading I, Robot again made me feel like a 10 year old, sweating out a hot summer day on the couch, not hearing my mother calling for me to do this thing or that thing because the stories were too good to put down. I forgot how I cried in April 1992 during a performance of My Fair Lady at my high school when, somehow, I found out that he had died. I cried for him but mostly I cried for me because I always thought I'd get to meet him. I forgot how I read everything of his I could get my hands on, the fiction and the non-fiction, until, finally, sometime during the summer of my junior into senior year of high school I could read no more because I had gorged and was too spent to keep reading him. I didn't pick him up again until I ran across Yours, Isaac Asimov: A lifetime of letters. It was in the bag that got stolen that night I got held up at gun point in the parking lot of my apartment complex when I lost my voice screaming for help as the hooded gun man fled. The bag, book and voice were eventually recovered but I couldn't bring myself to pick it up again because everytime I tried to read it my throat closed up and I could feel rounded metal against my temple. Despite all this that I've forgotten I have always remembered that Isaac Asimov was my first favorite author. I'm not sure but I think he mostly still is.
Which made the viewing of I, Robot, the movie so much more horrific for me. I watched as the stories, characters, and yes the 3 Laws got twisted around a shoe commercial. Gone is the logic. Gone is the clarity. Gone is the optimism. In their stead is smarmy, smug one liners that don't begin to do Asimov justice. I have since found out that the filmakers have indicated that the movie was "suggested" by the work of Isaac Asimov. "Suggested" is the best description of the diluted product you see on screen. I look forward to reading Harlan Ellison's screenplay of I, Robot, the one that didn't get made into a movie.
When I saw that I, Robot by Isaac Asimov was finally coming out as a movie I could barely contain myself. The re-make of Stepford Wives was memomorable only because it had the I, Robot preview. I bought another copy of the collection of stories to remind myself of the basics. I can't believe I forgot so much. The story lines I remembered and the main characters came back to me easily enough. What I forgot was how much I loved Asimov's writing. I forgot the grace of his logic, the unerring clarity of his prose and the unflagging optism his work contained. Reading I, Robot again made me feel like a 10 year old, sweating out a hot summer day on the couch, not hearing my mother calling for me to do this thing or that thing because the stories were too good to put down. I forgot how I cried in April 1992 during a performance of My Fair Lady at my high school when, somehow, I found out that he had died. I cried for him but mostly I cried for me because I always thought I'd get to meet him. I forgot how I read everything of his I could get my hands on, the fiction and the non-fiction, until, finally, sometime during the summer of my junior into senior year of high school I could read no more because I had gorged and was too spent to keep reading him. I didn't pick him up again until I ran across Yours, Isaac Asimov: A lifetime of letters. It was in the bag that got stolen that night I got held up at gun point in the parking lot of my apartment complex when I lost my voice screaming for help as the hooded gun man fled. The bag, book and voice were eventually recovered but I couldn't bring myself to pick it up again because everytime I tried to read it my throat closed up and I could feel rounded metal against my temple. Despite all this that I've forgotten I have always remembered that Isaac Asimov was my first favorite author. I'm not sure but I think he mostly still is.
Which made the viewing of I, Robot, the movie so much more horrific for me. I watched as the stories, characters, and yes the 3 Laws got twisted around a shoe commercial. Gone is the logic. Gone is the clarity. Gone is the optimism. In their stead is smarmy, smug one liners that don't begin to do Asimov justice. I have since found out that the filmakers have indicated that the movie was "suggested" by the work of Isaac Asimov. "Suggested" is the best description of the diluted product you see on screen. I look forward to reading Harlan Ellison's screenplay of I, Robot, the one that didn't get made into a movie.
Labels: book binging
posted by i at 10:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home