Perhaps the only precursor to today's arty time-leaping flicks is Terry Gilliam's 12 Monkeys, a tough story about a man adrift between the decades, attempting to stop a terrible virus from destroying the world. After staying in the present day (the 1990s) for a while, he's put in a mental institution where he begins to believe that the post-apocalyptic future is just a crazy hallucination.

The new wave of time travel flicks represented by Timecrimes and Primer use the idea of time travel to explore madness in the same way Gilliam did. In both movies, our time travelers are clearly going mad - in Primer, madness seems to be one of the side-effects of time travel. We see a similar trend on FOX series Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, where all the characters who have traveled through time struggle with madness and traumatic flashbacks. With madness-loving director David Cronenberg working on a remake of Timecrimes, and a new Terminator movie in the works, we're not likely to see an end to this trend soon.

Madness makes almost any story more literary*, of course, if only because it takes a certain degree of art to represent reality through the eyes of somebody unsure of what's real. Even healthy minds are time travelers: In our imaginations, we jump around in time constantly, comparing what's happening right now to an event ten years ago, or recalling vividly a person who is long dead. So perhaps the idea of time travel is particularly suited to complicated, literary stories. It's a simple way to translate mental states into plot devices.

But why is time travel the plot device that arty types want to steal from scifi right now? Why not create indie flicks about aliens or space travel? Possibly because it's hard to create non-laughable aliens on an indie budget - so don't expect lit writer Jeanette Winterson's recent alien novel The Stone Gods to get the arthouse treatment any time soon.

I think there might be something else going on here, though, something connected to many people's realization that humans won't be traveling to space en masse in the near future. That dream died in the 1980s, when the moon landing honeymoon was finally over. These days, we don't all share a dream that one day we'll go to the stars, the way kids watching the first moon landing did. Instead, perhaps the most widely-shared scifi-flavored dream is of escaping to the past or future, instead of to the stars.

Certainly the fantasy of escape is at the heart of Timecrimes, where a man called Hector strays from his wife by idly watching another woman undress through his binoculars. This small act of betrayal sets in motion a psychotic adventure with time machines, self-tripling, and unbearable guilt. Is the movie really about time travel, or just the consequences of sexual anxiety?

Anyone who has seen an ordinary time travel film like Back to the Future would hardly recognize Timecrimes as part of the genre. Hector is not trying to change the past in order to make the present better, or even just to revisit a beloved lost time. His travels back to the recent past are clearly surreal representations of his own knotty psychology where sexual desire somehow always leads to murder. Not exactly the typical stuff of science fiction.

Still, it is science fiction - at least, a version of what SF would be if completely unleashed from the idea of genre. What's intriguing about the new wave of time travel indies is that they are unafraid to turn the conventions of hard SF into metaphors. There is no effort here to be "scientific," or to create a plausible time loop scenario. Instead, we are treated to a genuinely startling exploration of unknown territory in the human mind. And we get a glimpse of what science fiction might look like in years to come.

* You can see metaphorical time travel cropping up in non-SF literary work too: Joseph Heller's famous war novel Catch-22 is about a man whose madness causes his very narrative to become unstuck in time. (Unlike a similar work, Slaughterhouse Five, where the narrator is literally, not metaphorically, unstuck in time.) And both Marge Piercy and Joanna Russ have written literary SF novels (Woman on the Edge of Time and The Female Man respectively) that mix time travel with possible madness.

Metropolis (1927)
With the economy imploding, we know what The Suits are thinking: Why not tap into the zeitgeist by remaking this stylish, silent, futuristic thriller about socioeconomic-class chasms? Added bonus: At the heart of the film is a hot stripper robot — total box office bullion! To paraphrase Nigel Tufnel, speaking about his precious vintage guitar in Spinal Tap: “Don’t touch it… don’t point, even.” No, don’t even look at it.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
After the success of his UFO-sighting film, Stephen Spielberg expressed interest in revisiting the property, which haunted our minds and stoked our imaginations as we pondering these mysterious aliens. Soon after, he made the cuddly E.T. instead. Smart man.

History of the World, Part I (1981)
It’s a joke, you see: what with history traditionally recalled in successive volumes. As much as we’d love to see the musical “Jews in Space” — which was teased in Mel Brooks’ cinematic romp through times of yore — we’d hate to see this stellar concept stretch into an SNL type skit gone too long. Plus we’ll always have The Schwartz.

The Thing (1982)
The late Vincent Canby, one of the New York Times’ greatest critics, once referred to John Carpenter’s remake of 1951’s The Thing From Another World as a "a foolish, depressing, overproduced movie." Which is naturally why we consider it a classic. Carpenter, the Sci Fi Channel, and Strike Entertainment (Slither, Dawn of the Dead), and have respectively tried to resurrect the property. And just last year, it was announced that the latter had succeeded, forging an (unholy?) alliance with Universal for a prequel. Nicely played, Strike, nicely played. But a prequel still feels like a sequel even though it is a prequel. (We’ll pause while you think that through.)

12 Monkeys (1995)
A dude goes back in time and hangs at a mental hospital while trying to stop an earth-plaguing virus, in this gripping, plot-twisting head trip. Anything more would simply be anti-climactic. Besides, what would you call it: 13 Monkeys? 24 Monkeys?

The Running Man (1987)
We know what you’re thinking. The awesome, sensational Running Man — about a to-the-death reality show for felons — would make a perfect obvious tie-in soon enough. It takes place in 2019! Which is coming up. Like, relatively soon. Too bad Death Race beat you to the punch. As we learned, the game show-as-moral-decay metaphor simply isn’t shocking anymore. Besides, we’ve been getting our fix of dystopian competitions from Japanese competition shows anyhow.

Akira (1988)
A thriller about a covert government op and a guy teeming with supernatural powers, this is an apocalyptic epic of sweeping beauty and challenging complexity. To attempt to improve upon — or even mimic — this classic would be utter hubris.

Armageddon (1998)
Despite popular disdain, the hysterically ridiculous doomsday asteroid flick made a killing, internationally, at the B.O. And we know you all too well, Michael Bay. We’d hoped you’d learned your quality-control lesson from Bad Boys II, but here’s hoping you will with Transformers 2.

Donnie Darko (2001)
Director Richard Kelly’s break-out movie was dark, intriguingly time-twisty, and made ghoulish use of a rabbit. It also went on to become a surprise cult hit, which is why the industry is so ready to juice it with a story about the creepy misadventures of his little sister (Sparkle Motion!) while on a roadtrip. (Nightstalker director Chris Fisher will helm the follow-up.) S. Darko, as it’s called, was said to have started shooting in May. But, as we learned from the original, it’s never too late to change fate and put this risky proposition out of its misery.

Ghost Rider (2007)
Nicolas Cage’s painful paean to the flame-headed motorcycle enthusiast made a decent chunk of change, so a follow-up is already in development. But it’s never too late to do the right thing and snuff it out of its misery. According to the actor, there’s been talk about “going international with that character. Taking him into Europe, having him go on a motorcycle.” Perhaps we should use that Penance Stare on the sinful filmmakers—apparently the fate of the Western world depends on it.

I Am Legend (2007)
The lucrative, Will Smith-starring adaptation of the Richard Matheson book initially found its stride, then missed the plot mark completely — that the infected vampire/zombies are, in fact, evolved humans — in its frustrating, off-putting second half. Still, not ones to pussyfoot around, Warner Bros., eager to cultivate another franchise, has obtained the sequel rights. But forgive us if we doubt Hollywood’s commitment to the fine source material, given the tendency to transform anything cerebral into a mindless popcorn flick.

Watchmen (2009)
Zach Synder recently took the high road and declared that he’s doubtful he’d direct a second Watchmen without the Hollywood-loathing Alan Moore’s involvement — which pretty much settles that. Or not. Once we figure out who owns the big-screen rights to the property, they can theoretically bastardize the bejesus out of it. Surely some things are sacred.

Below is the Eastern State Penitentiary, where our crazed antihero is sent in 12 Monkeys. Built as a reformist prison by Quakers in the nineteenth century, it was supposed to "cure" people of criminality by isolating them in monk-like cells. Unfortunately, it just made people crazier. The peeling paint looks almost like rotting skin.

And here is the forbidding Alton Estate, used in book-burning dystopia Fahrenheit 451. Though these buildings were originally considered stately and regal, you can see why the filmmakers thought they might also look like the barracks-like housing of a fascist country.

Want to see a dozen more intriguing scifi film settings? Check out Oobject's gallery.

• Planet of the Apes: Probably the most famous image from this film is ol' Chuck Heston riding up the beach and finding the Statue of Liberty buried in the sand, which means New York City is buried under a ton of coastline. "You blew it all up. You really did it. Damn you... goddamn you all to hell!" Sorry, Charlie.
• Escape From New York: While there's still a few people kicking it around New York, Manhattan has been turned into a maximum security prison, and of course they haven't been kind to the Statue of Liberty either. Director John Carpenter shot the film in St. Louis, Missouri and was able to convince city officials to turn off the power to ten city blocks each night to simulate the desolate city.
• Independence Day: New York City is bustling and full of life... until a giant flying saucer comes and zaps the place to hell. As expected, the Statue of Liberty buys it in this one, although it just looks like she might be taking a nap in the Hudson River, but the city didn't look fare quite so well.
• Deep Impact: New York City gets taken out by chunks of a comet that has been split in two in this 1998 movie. Several other U.S. cities supposedly get decimated as well, but it's Manhattan that we see getting blasted. A tidal wave created by the impact also takes out the Statue of Liberty, and pushes her head through the streets like a giant pinball.
• Armageddon: Two months after Deep Impact, Armageddon slammed into theaters, taking a good sized chunk of New York City with it. While the Statue of Liberty's plight isn't shown, we do get to witness the top of the Empire State Building coming off and slamming into the streets and bringing the observation level down to the ground floor. What a view.
• Artificial Intelligence: A.I.: Even the combined might of Stanley Kubrick and Steven Spielberg couldn't manage to put any intelligence into this film about artificial intelligence, nor could they save New York City from being flooded and smashed up like some child's Lego toyset. Although bonus points for having the Statue of Liberty survive, even though she's buried underwater up to her torch.
• Vanilla Sky: Tom Cruise wakes up to a bad day where he's the last person in New York City, resulting in a pretty spectacular shot in a desolate Times Square. The production was given unprecedented access to the location for filming, and the city let them shut everything down and empty it out one early Sunday morning just for this scene.
• The Day After Tomorrow: Director Roland Emmerich wasn't satisfied with blowing New York City to smithereens in Independence Day, so he decided to give the place a good going over in this film. New York gets battered by tidal waves, flooded, and then frozen to absolute zero in order to show you the dangers of global warming. Even the Statue of Liberty gets iced with sideways icicles.
• Cloverfield: All we know about this J.J. Abrams-produced movie is that some sort of giant creature starts tearing the city apart, and the Army tries to fight back. Plus, the thing whacks the heads off of Lady Liberty, and it goes sliding down a city street taking out cabs. For a thing built in 1886, she sure is pretty damned resilient.