Warlord of Mars, classic Golden Age Sci-Fi space opera, about to be blazoned on the big screen.
Why the sudden rush to sci-fi heroes and comic book superheroes? And why does Hollowierd have to keep digging up dead authors and spanking them crosseyed? Because they can't sue anymore? Phil K. Dick, Robt. Heinlein, Arthur Clarke, Dr. Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Phillip Jose Farmer and Ursula K. LeGuinn (on the SciFi Channel, no less,)...and some of them aren't even allowed to be dead yet before they see their might and majesty ruin'd by some splotchy, barely post-pubescent director with delusions of grandeur.
Yeah, I'm tired, but durn, I'm getting to where I'm afraid to go into the theater anymore, for fear of seeing yet another of my cherished childhood memories ravaged. And I'll be the first to admit that Peter Jackson's treatment of the Holy Trinity was utterly marvelous, but that was, I firmly believe, a one in a hundred shot. Just look at "Daredevil." Go on, I dare you.
Watch out, Mr. Bradbury, they're already beaten down "The Martian Chronicles," now they're redoing "Fahrenheit 451," as if the original super-low budget franco-version wasn't bad enough. And they don't even have the decency to let you make it to your grave before it's release. Next thing you know they're going to try to film wonderous Uncle Einar and his green silk-gossamer-sail wings. Oh, my aching head.
Give me the rustle and smell of a good book and the candlepower wattage of my brain any day.