Reviewing Metropolis, Wells wrote:"Never for a moment does one believe any of this foolish story; for a moment is there anything amusing or convincing in its dreary series of strained events. It is immensely and strangely dull. It is not even to be laughed at. There is not one good-looking nor sympathetic nor funny personality in the cast; there is, indeed, no scope at all for looking well or acting like a rational creature amid these mindless, imitative absurdities."

The visual differences between Metropolis and Wells' Things To Come are staggering. And if it's necessary to pit these two films against each other in cinema bloodsport, it's difficult to determine a winner. The raw creativity and invention of the images in Things To Come still resonate over seventy years later: workers float through a bright industrial landscape of bubbling fluids in huge transparent vats and spiral staircases that go on forever. The images associated with Metropolis are certainly less fantastic, but iconic. It seems that history has already chosen a winner, and it's Metropolis in a cyborg landslide.

Both films serve as cautionary tales to the audience, but Things To Come tells a much more interesting story with a much wider scope. It is simply epic, regardless of its short running time. Metropolis warns us of removing the human element from our visions of the future, but Things To Come does what is required of great science fiction: It holds up a tremendously ornate mirror to our own prejudice and assumptions, and then requires us to make (and live with) our own decisions.

In Things To Come, a world war launches in 1940, and lasts 30 years, until nobody can remember why it started. The world descends into medieval squalor, and Everytown is run by an evil Boss — until a flying machine, piloted by Cabal, a representative of a group of enlightened scientists and thinkers, appears. The Boss and Cabal fight for control, until Cabal drops "Peace Gas" and wins. And we see 70 years of progress pass by in a montage, as humanity rebuilds its shattered world. But then in the year 2036, in an idealized future utopia, we see the battle between luddites and the representatives progress play out again, as the luddites seek to sabotage the futuristic Space Gun. It never stops.

You can watch the whole thing online at the Internet Archive.

This is just one of Kate Beaton's many historical comics, which chronicle the events in the lives of historical figures (albeit with great artistic liberties). This is her second Jules Verne comic; the first co-stars Edgar Allan Poe. And she's also taken on the unhappy life of Mary Shelley.

[Hark, a Vagrant]

Paolo Soleri, who coined the term "arcology" to describe a super-dense hyperstructure that houses tons of people in a sustainable manner, is building Arcosanti, a nascent arcology, out in the Arizona desert between Phoenix and Flagstaff. So far, it's still fairly small, and is supporting itself by making Soleri's ceramic and brass bells — a lot of the cool-looking structures are actually foundries for the bell-making, or casting tons of concrete for more structures.

Journalist Simon Bisson visited Arcosanti, and took a ton of photos. (There are more at his Flickr stream):

The idea of a sprawl-free city seems attractive and smarter for our long-term survival. And the two great barrel vaults look amazing in the middle of the desert, as the sun goes down. But after visiting the site, Bisson has a couple of concerns:

However I'm left with some disconcerting thoughts.

The society that's grown up around Arcosanti reminds me of the guilds that built the great cathedrals of Europe. It's not difficult to see the arcology as a secular cathedral, a project that will take generations to complete and that will never be what Soleri dreamt all those years ago. Perhaps that's not a bad thing.

One thing did seem clear: it's in the wrong place. If arcologies are to replace the urban sprawl of a city with a new, intentional community on a human scale, then the desert (as beautiful as it is) is the wrong place for Arcosanti. It should be in a city, in a Detroit, a LA, a New York, a London, a Moscow, a Hong Kong. It shouldn't be isolated, a new Taliesin for Soleri's architectural disciples. It should be a visible sign of a different way to live, of a new city. Make it La Sagrada Familia, big, vibrant and reaching in the heart of Barcelona, not a hermitage in the desert.

[Simon Bisson on LiveJournal]

Be glad that when you were a teenager, you didn't have an aunt like the person who wrote to the Journal's "Book Lover" column to ask this question:

My 13-year-old nephew is a voracious reader, but he tends to limit his reading to science fiction. He recently read "Brave New World," because he thought it was sci-fi. Any suggestions on how to expand his horizons to include other genres?

Anyone with half a lick of sense will know that a 13-year-old who's voluntarily reading Huxley is doing just fine and does not require an intervention. But the WSJ's book columnist, Cynthia Crossen, is a nicer person than I am, since she refrains from telling the aunt what an idiot she was being.

Instead, Crossen gives auntie a smart (if slightly muddled) lecture on the wrongness of misplaced snobbery, and admits that not all SF is equally great. Then she recommends that instead of stopping the allegedly trash-loving nephew from reading SF, the aunt should steer him towards the good stuff:

So Aunt B.'s mission is to gradually nudge the boy along the spectrum from Godzilla and 50-foot women to H. G. Wells, Mary Shelley, Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov, Philip K. Dick, Robert Heinlein and Douglas Adams.

Then he'll be ready for some great contemporary science-fiction writers: William Gibson, China Miéville, Neal Stephenson, Connie Willis, David Mitchell, Kazuo Ishiguro and Richard Powers.

Remembering an early encounter with science fiction, George Orwell wrote: "Back in the 1900s, it was a wonderful experience for a boy to discover H.G. Wells. There you were, in a world of pedants, clergymen and golfers…and here was this wonderful man who could tell you about the inhabitants of the sea, and who knew that the future was not going to be what respectable people imagined." That's a gift indeed.

Le voyage dans la lune (1902)
French cinema pioneer Georges Méliès' silent classic is generally considered the first great sci-fi film, with the first great indelible image in movies, of the rocket ship hitting the moon smack in the eye. With his tale of scientists who shoot a rocket from a cannon to the lunar surface, where they meet hostile aliens, Méliès knew he had a hit; alas, Thomas Edison pirated the movie and made a mint from it in America before Melies could taste that sweet overseas box office. Watch the whole silent film below; it's only eight minutes.

Cat-Women of the Moon (1953)
The early 1950s saw a spate of movies built around lunar expeditions. This is one of the silliest — and, in the right light, the most fun. Did you know that there were giant spiders on the moon, or that in lunar caves the air is breathable enough to take off your space mask? The tale of a race of hot chicks on the moon planning to take over the earth has been parodied often, most notably in 1987's Amazon Women on the Moon (which often apes this film shot for shot), but for campy laughs, it's hard to top the original.

2001: A Spacy Odyssey (1968)
It's hard to come up with enough praise for the lunar segment of Stanley Kubrick's mind-expanding space opera. Plotwise, very little happens, save for the discovery of the monolith on the moon that sends Dave Bowman hurtling toward destiny But oh, those visuals! Even while trying to depict commercial space flight as an ordeal as mundane as airline travel, Kubrick still makes it look graceful and lovely. Same thing on the moon's surface, where eerie quiet coexists with beautiful desolation.

Space: 1999 (1975-77)
The whole series (shot in Britain for ITV and syndicated in America) took place on the moon, though not in our solar system. The premise of the show saw the moon sent careening out of earth's orbit and into deep space after a nuclear waste dump on the far side of the moon exploded (oops!), leaving the crew of Moonbase Alpha to fight for survival in hostile encounters with strange creatures. The season 2 opening credits told the story economically, as you can see.

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988)
Terry Gilliam's overstuffed fantasy did have one minimalist sequence: its trip to the moon. That's because the production ran out of money, so Gilliam's plan for a vast set and a cast of thousands was canceled. Instead, Gilliam settled for a cast of five and a lunar city that consisted of little more than the former Monty Python animator's production sketches shuffled about. The changes worked, however, resulting in an austere yet enchanting sequence in which the human characters encounter the king and queen of the moon, two giants with detachable heads. As the jealous king, Robin Williams brings his usual bagful of crazy, but just imagine the sequence if Gilliam's first choice, Sean Connery hadn't bailed when the money got tight.

A Grand Day Out (1989)
The short that introduced the world to Wallace & Gromit (and to claymation king Nick Park) features a wonderfully daffy story that has the tweedy inventor and his silently suffering dog building a rocket in their basement in order to fly to the moon to satisfy their jones for cheese. This 20-minute short is as brilliant and hilarious as the rest of the Wallace & Gromit tales, and if you haven't seen it, or can't remember the unique nature of the creature our heroes meet on the moon, you must watch now.

Space Cowboys (2000)
Clint Eastwood's adventure about four oldtimers — NASA also-rans who didn't quite have the right stuff — who get another chance to blast off as seniors is a surprisingly sentimental story. But the finale, in which an ill-fated member of Clint's team finally gets his wish to reach the moon, gives the movie an unexpectedly lyrical and moving final shot.

The Time Machine (2002)
This update of the H.G. Wells story (and the 1960 George Pal film) isn't that great (even if it was directed by H.G.'s great-grandson, Simon Wells), but it's on this list for its striking sequence of lunar destruction. Time traveler Guy Pearce learns that, in the early 21st century, we sent demolition teams to level the lunar landscape in order to build condos on the moon, and, well, we broke it. D'oh! Watching the moon crumble over the heads of panicky earthlings is an awesome and horrifying sight.

Bruce Almighty (2003)
Given God-like powers, Jim Carrey emulates Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life, except his ability to lasso the moon to give it to his gal is literal. Who wouldn't swoon the way Jennifer Aniston does to see such a magnificent moon, almost close enough to touch? Unfortunately, Carrey learns the next day, his moon-yanking stunt caused tidal waves in Asia. Gravity's a bitch.

Bruce And Grace Romantic Evening - The funniest movie is here. Find it

Watchmen (2009)
During the revisionist-superhero saga's celebrated opening-credits montage, there's a brief moment that pays homage to a celebrated urban legend. When Neil Armstrong lands on the moon, Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup) is already there, taking his picture. Armstrong can be heard saying, "Good luck, Mr. Gorsky!" It's a reference to the old joke (which some believe came from an actual Armstrong utterance), in which Armstrong supposedly followed up his boffo "That's one small step for man..." line with a reference to something he'd heard a neighbor's wife say years before, that she wouldn't give her husband a blow job until the kid next door walked on the moon. Alas, it's not true. Armstrong never said it. Snopes says so.

First, here's a quick disclaimer. The vast majority of science fiction is to some extent concerned with a heroic individual struggling against a large, probably oppressive society - so a huge amount of science fiction could be considered libertarian to some degree. What sets apart the books on this list - and there are certainly tons of others out there that would make worthy additions - is that they are actively concerned with exploring explicitly libertarian philosophy in a science fiction setting, and many on the list below have been specifically singled out as such by libertarians themselves.

1. News from Nowhere; or, An Epoch of Rest: Being Some Chapters from a Utopian Romance by William Morris

Of all the utopian books that appeared towards the nineteenth century (the most famous of which is probably Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward), one of the very few that saw a perfect future as fundamentally libertarian was 1890's News from Nowhere. Written from an anarchic-socialist perspective, Morris imagines a future where the community controls the means of production and existing social structures are a thing of the past, with cities, money, divorce, and courts all now obsolete.

2. Men Like Gods by H.G. Wells

There are a bunch of potential candidates when it comes to Wells's writings on libertarian utopias, but his 1924 book is by far the best. Scientists from our world stumble upon a parallel universe with an Earth thousands of years more advanced than ours. No governments exist because children are firmly indoctrinated to understand one single, solitary point: respect the autonomy of others. With this one simple rule in mind, there is no need for social institutions, and the people of that world spend their days enjoying their genetically engineered perfection and all the free love they can handle.

3. "Late Night Final" by Eric Frank Russell

This 1948 short story looks at a spaceship in orbit above the planet it has come to invade. As the crew learns how to communicate with the anarchic natives down on the surface, the command structure slowly crumbles. Eventually, presented with the opportunity of a peaceful, completely free life down on the surface, the invaders abandon their ship until only the captain is left. Russell's 1962 novel The Great Explosion also follows bumbling militarists from Earth as they encounter three long-isolated colony worlds that have since evolved into rather unusual societies. The third and most positively portrayed planet, K22g, has become a peaceful, libertarian society whose people call themselves Gands after their inspiration, Mohandas Gandhi.

4. The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester

Originally published in 1956 as Tiger, Tiger!, Bester's novel of teleportation and revenge foresaw many of the elements that continue to dominate science fiction to this day. Of particular interest to libertarians is his depiction of corporations, oppressive mega-conglomerates that rival governments in their scope and power. The novel's protagonist, Gully Foyle, is defined by his growing individualism and self-reliance - the characteristics of the quintessential libertarian hero - which he uses to gain vengeance on those who abandoned him in his hour of need.

5. "The Last of the Deliverers" by Poul Anderson

Anderson's 1957 story imagines a world where limitless solar energy has made the geopolitical order of the Cold War obsolete. The world is now organized into countless little autonomous communities, and people are free to do pretty much whatever they want. Although there are enough people who still want to raise crops or make goods to prevent societal decay, most people spend their time pursuing leisure activities such as sex and hunting. To the interest of nobody, the last two true believers in the old world order - one a capitalist and the other a communist - pass the time arguing the relative merits of their systems, totally ignoring the fact it's all academic now anyway.

6. Emphyrio by Jack Vance

This 1969 novel follows Ghyl Tarvoke of the planet Halma, where the ruling lords have outlawed mass production by the populace and use the resulting masterworks of the world's artisans - which they then mass produce - as the linchpin of their interstellar trade. Following the example of Halma's legendary hero Emphyrio, a figure of liberty and rebellion, Ghyl leads a revolt against Hamla's aristocracy, rocking the foundations of the planet's society.

7. The Dispossessed: An Ambiguous Utopia by Ursula K. Le Guin

Set in her Hainish Cycle universe, this book won both the Nebula and Hugo award in 1974. Among other topics, Le Guin explores the society on Annares, a large, habitable moon of the planet Urras on which revolutionaries from that planet settled so that they might realize their dreams of an anarchic utopia. Two centuries later, the revolution has stagnated and hierarchical structures are reemerging, even if no one on Annares is willing to admit it. Le Guin wasn't kidding when she put "ambiguous" in the title - lots of anarchists and libertarians believe Annares is portrayed in a fundamentally positive light, while capitalists tend to see Annares as an outright dystopia.

Also worth checking out is 1973's "The Day Before The Revolution", which depicts the historical and ideological background of Odonianism, the anarchic thought that pervades the worlds of The Dispossessed. There's also the introduction to her short story collection The Wind's Twelve Quarters, which offers a succinct summary of why she finds anarchy so interesting to explore:

Odonianism is anarchism. Not the bomb-in-the-pocket stuff, which is terrorism, whatever name it tries to dignify itself with; not the social-Darwinist economic 'libertarianism' of the far right; but anarchism, as prefigured in early Taoist thought, and expounded by Shelley and Kropotkin, Goldman and Goodman. Anarchism's principal target is the authoritarian State (capitalist or socialist); its principal moral-practical theme is cooperation (solidarity, mutual aid). It is the most idealistic, and to me the most interesting, of all political theories.

8. Pretty much anything by Robert Heinlein

If you're looking for science fiction with a libertarian perspective, you really can't go wrong with Robert Heinlein, particularly his later works. His constantly evolving politics, tempered with an always iconoclastic belief in individual freedom, led him to place seemingly contradictory ideas in his books, from his advocacy of the sexual revolution in Stranger in a Strange Land to the complicated militarism of Starship Troopers.

But The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is probably his most comprehensive exploration of his libertarian ideals, not to mention one of the most successful attempts to couch his beliefs in a compelling narrative. One of the book's main characters, the "rational anarchist" Professor Bernardo de la Paz, explains at length how government - any government, even democratic ones - is an inherent threat to individual freedom. Considering the repressive lunar society presented in the novel, it's a difficult point to argue, although Heinlein is the first to admit that once the revolution is over most people would rather choose the security and laws offered by some new government over the uncertainty of true freedom.

9. Absolutely everything by Robert Anton Wilson

Probably the only author who exceeds Robert Heinlein in fusing science fiction and libertarian thought is Robert Anton Wilson, who has written several trilogies that are equal parts futuristic yarns and philosophical explorations. The Illuminatus Trilogy! (coauthored with Robert Shea) is primarily concerned with anarchism, with several appendices ostensibly written by the books' several anarchist groups that provide extensive theoretical ruminations on the topic. 1979's Schroedinger's Cat trilogy looks more directly at libertarianism, considering an alternate universe in which the Libertarian Immortalist Party has turned that world's United States, known as Unistat, into an authority-free utopia.

10. Wheels Within Wheels by F. Paul Wilson

Wilson's 1979 novel looks at a massive conspiracy that threatens the liberty of an entire interstellar Federation. As Pete Paxton and the granddaughter of his old partner, Jo Finch, struggle to uncover the truth, they must face Machiavellian political operators and a ruthless telepath. The novel is a classic example of the struggle between individual defenders of liberty and shadowy governmental figures who look to take freedom away for their own ends, but that's not why I included it on the list.

The book is also the inaugural winner of the Prometheus Award, a yearly honor given out by the Libertarian Futurist Society for the best science fiction book that explores libertarian themes. Past winners have included Harry Turtledove, Neal Stephenson, and Terry Pratchett; a full list of past winners can be found here and is as good a place as any from which to develop a libertarian science fiction reading list. (You also really can't go wrong with awards that have given special honors to Patrick McGoohan for The Prisoner and Joss Whedon for Serenity. You just can't.)

12) Searle in Sunshine.

Okay, I may be the only person who really loved Danny Boyle's blazing space opera about a doomed crew trying to reignite the sun. That's okay, I can be right all on my own. I especially love the way the character of Searle, the ship's psychiatrist, surprises you in his final moments. He's kind of a prurient asshole for most of the movie, obsessed with looking into the sun with as little filter as possible. He's a pretty terrible therapist. But when the chips are down, he knows he's the most expendable crewmember. When four crewmembers from the Icarus II get trapped on the wrecked ship Icarus I, with the airlock damaged, Searle agrees to stay behind so the rest of the away team can get back to the Icarus II. He helps blast the others out the airlock, then exposes himself to the sun, dying the same way as the Icarus I's crew.
If you're going to be a creepy therapist, the least you can do is self-immolate to save the rest of us.

11) Woody in Mission To Mars.

This is a pretty terrible movie overall, but a fantastic death scene. Our heroes have to abandon their vessel. And then Woody, played by Tim Robbins, leaves the others and launches himself at the Resupply Module (REMO), but after he attaches the line from the other astronauts at the REMO, he keeps moving towards the planet. His wife, Terri, wants to go after him, but Woody knows she'll die in the rescue attempt. So he takes off his own helmet and dies of depressurization rather than let her die for him. (Thanks to Meredith for the suggestion!)

Runner up: Speaking of depressurization deaths, Graeme really wanted me to include Cally's death from Battlestar Galactica. But I didn't really think her death was awesome. Sorry, G.

10) Graham in "The Sleeper Wakes" by H.G. Wells.

One of Wells' weirdest stories involves a man known only as Graham, who sleeps for over 200 years and wakes to find that he's not just the richest man in the world, but actually the owner of the entire world. He eventually discovers that the White Council, which governs in his name, is oppressing everyone, and he helps a revolutionary named Ostrog to mount a revolution. But afterwards, Ostrog starts oppressing people just as badly as the White Council had. So finally Graham gets mad. This time, it's personal — he gets into an airplane and rams a whole bunch of Ostrog's air fleet. (Remember, this was written in 1910.) Finally, he rams his plane into Ostrog's, then spirals to Earth, knowing that the revolution will prevail at last.

Runner up: Someone suggested Hari Seldon from Forward The Foundation, but I haven't read that book and couldn't find much about it or track down a copy. Was his death truly awesome? Let me know.

9) The Controller in Doctor Who, "Day Of The Daleks"

"Day Of The Daleks" is probably not on my list of the 100 greatest Doctor Who stories of all time, but it has a few really amazing moments. The greatest of these is where the Controller finally stands up to his Dalek masters. All along, the 22nd century bureaucrat has been fooling himself that he can help the Daleks govern the human race and actually do some good along the way, helping people when the Daleks aren't looking. But after a few chats with the Doctor, he finally realizes you can't work within the Dalek system. He helps the Doctor escape, and when his coverup fails, the Daleks decide to exterminate him. "Who knows?" he says. "I may have helped to exterminate you." Awesome.

Runners up: Various people suggested the deaths of various Doctors, but none of them really jumped out at me as especially cool. One person suggested Adric, and I'll protect his/her identity, to save him/her from the inevitable scorn of the masses.

8) Lt. Paul Wang from Space: Above And Beyond.

"Everybody's favorite tortured bipolar guy," Lt. Wang, callsign "Joker," gives his life to hold off the aliens while everyone else gets away. "This is for you!" he shouts as he pours ammo into the enemy. Commenter oconnellmd suggested this scene, and I can see why.

7) Certain people in Blake's 7, "Blake"

I'm going to show an unusual degree of restraint and not say who dies in this episode. Let's just say it's an incredibly fitting end for the saga, one which makes all of the stuff that comes before seem cooler because it leads up to this. In my write-up on how to discover Blake's 7, I actually advocate watching the last episode first. At the very least, I think this is one spoiler that makes you appreciate the rest of the show more. But don't take my word for it: watch for yourself.

6) Pham Nuwen from A Fire Upon The Deep by Vernor Vinge.

Pham Nuwen is animated by the Old One, a super-powerful artificial intelligence, and he dies fighting the Blight, another super-A.I. First Pham downloads as much of the Old One into his brain as possible, overclocking his human brain by containing this massive superhuman intelligence, which will inevitably destroy him. And then he launches the Countermeasure, an advanced weapon which moves the boundaries of the Slow Zone far enough to enclose and destory the Blight. But the Countermeasure also has the effect of terminating Pham at the same time:

The Countermeasure's writhing had slowed. Its light flickered bright and then out. Bright and then out. She heard Pham's breath gasp with every darkness. Countermeasure, a savior that was going to kill a million civilizations. And was going to kill the man who triggered it.

Almost unthinking, she dodged past the thing, reaching for Pham. But razors upon razors blocked her, raking her arms.

Pham was looking up at her. He was trying to say something more.

Then the light went out for a final time. From the darkness all around came a hissing sound and a growling, bitter smell that Ravna would never forget.

(Thanks Annalee!)

5) The T-800 in Terminator II.

After Arnold Schwartzenegger's T-800 helps Sarah and John Connor defeat Robert Patrick's mean T-1000 by blowing it up and knocking it into molten metal, Arnie knows he has to go too. If there's anything left of the T-800, the technology could be used to reconstitute Skynet and bring the badness down on our heads. So Arnie gets Sarah Connor to lower him — slowly — into the molten metal. He gives a thumbs up as he descends to his robo-fondue doom. (Thanks, Annalee!)

4) Biggs from Star Wars.

I was seriously considering making Obi-Wan the coolest death from Star Wars, but really, screw that guy. First of all, as he points out himself, he comes back a thousand times more powerful afterwards. And secondly and more importantly, he's kind of a big martyr, as everyone points out in the awesome parody Hardware Wars. And Biggs doesn't have any super Force powers, or the ability to come back a thousand times more anything. All Biggs has is a X-ing, a can-do attitude, and an awesome porn-stache. And he's the greatest wingman ever, taking enemy fire and blowing up so that Luke can nuke the death star and get all the glory afterwards. And look how stoic Biggs is in this deleted scene from Episode IV, telling Luke he may never come home again because he's off to join the rebels:

When does baby Biggs get his own episode of the Clone Wars cartoon? Preferably with a little baby mustache?

3) Spike from Cowboy Bebop.

Martian bounty hunter Spike Spiegel gets into a duel with his former best friend, Vicious after Vicious' Red Dragon gang has killed Spike's girlfriend Julia. Spike finally decides to face the past with Vicious that he ran away from three years earlier, and he storms the Red Dragon headquarters, killing a bunch of its members as he climbs. Vicious manages to slash Spike with his katana, but then Spike shoots Vicious dead. Spike comes down the stairs, wounded and weakened, to face all the remaining members of the Red Dragon. Spike makes a gun with his fingers and says "Bang"... then collapses. Most people seem to assume Spike dies of his wounds, and it's not hard to find tons of people online listing this as one of the coolest death scenes in all anime, or all Asian films, let alone science fiction.

2) Someone from Anathem by Neal Stephenson.

Since this book just came out and it's a bit of a major spoiler, I won't say who dies and how — click here if you've already read the book and/or don't care about spoilers.

1) Spock from Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan.

I'm not putting the pointy-eared green blooded Vulcan first just because I know I'd get lynched otherwise. I'm not even including the death of Spock because I pretty much memorized all the dialog from that scene as a little kid. I'm including it because it's the template of how to do a memorable, important death in a science fiction epic. The movie isn't ABOUT Spock at all, but it still feels as though the whole film has been leading up to his death. A lesser film would have been more clumsy and obvious about giving Spock a bunch of cool moments leading up to his death, and trying to manipulate us into feeling the Spock love before he snuffs it. Instead, we do get plenty of cool Spock moments, including giving Kirk his present and mentoring Lt. Saavik. But it's woven into the rest of the movie, and the film's running theme of the "no-win situation" and the impossibility of cheating death every single time help to set up the death of Kirk's best friend way better than a scene where Spock talks about what he's going to do when he retires and goes back to Vulcan. The result is one of the most amazing moments in Trek history, one of those moments where you can really beleive Trek is a sweeping saga instead of just a zany adventure with green women and Saurian brandy.

Runner up: I can't believe I left out Roy Batty in Blade Runner, as various commenters have pointed out. Especially since I went on a whole tangent about Roy's amazing death scene in my rant about why there shouldn't be a BR sequel earlier in the day. Suffice to say the Roy Batty death scene is definitely one of the all-time classic, and easily up there with Spock's.

[Deputy Dog]

Talking to MTV, Goyer talked about his approach to adapting HG Wells' story:

My take is kind of an extrapolation. It actually deals with a nephew of the first character. It’s got some of the characters from the H.G. Wells book, but it’s kind of a continuation... It kind of crosses a lot of genres. It’s very steam punk.

One of those other genres includes the spy movie - The plot revolves around the Invisible Man becoming a spy for the British government and sneaking into "imperialist Russia", according to the writer. And if you think that you know what kind of movie to expect, Goyer's happy to tell you that you ain't seen nothing yet:

I don’t want to give too much away, but I took what being invisible could mean to the next logical extreme... We do a lot of crazy things in it that are sort of far beyond what anyone’s done with it yet.

Image from DP Challenge.

David Goyer May Bump ‘Magneto’ To Make Way For ‘Invisible Man’ [MTV Movie Blog]

I love the random toothy guy, and the picture of the Starship Enterprise zooming across the top of one of those books. Hey, if it's science fiction, it must have the Enterprise in it, right?

Check out more War of the Worlds covers for minutes of diverting amusement, and upload your own!

War of the Worlds Book Cover Collection [Chez Zeus via Core77]

Fuller originally envisioned a vehicle that was “part aircraft, part automobile, with wings that unfolded,” a top speed of 120 mph, and a positively thrifty fuel consumption of 30 miles per gallon. The first Dymaxion car debuted in July 1933, minus the wings or an unfolding tail fin, but with “an awkward periscope” in place of a rearview mirror. Only three were ever made. To cement Dymaxion’s futurist status, “H.G. Wells was photographed in front of the car for the cover of Saturday Review. He talked about using it in the film version of his novel The Shape of Things to Come. (The film appeared in 1936, but without the Dymaxion.)” [New York Times]