--I missed the dedication at the end--who was it to?
Ray Harryhausen and Ishiro Honda, creators of some of the greatest monsters on the screen. Harryhausen was a master of stop-motion. Honda directed the original Gojira (1954).
Just got back from LimeRed btw. YOU AND ROB MUST COME HERE OK?
We'd love to! What's LimeRed?
Tell me about Cronenbergian telepathy?
I just thought of Cronenberg because it's artificial telepathy—mechanically assisted—and because of the potential for body horror, which the film occasionally alludes to: the drivesuit's spinal interface with its slightly insect-legged, clicking contact points, the brain-destroying properties of the Drift, the way that the damage to a Jäger is felt as pain by its pilot.
One thing me and the ninja girl were musing on was how much you gain of the other person's memories in drift, and how much you retain upon waking.
I thought the movie implied quite a lot: there's a repeated refrain of pilots acknowledging the things they don't have to say to each other (although sometimes it is important to say them nonetheless) because they've already felt them in each other's minds. We see this with Raleigh and his brother, with the father-and-son Hansens, with Raleigh's experience of Mako's memories of the destruction of Tokyo. Rob pointed out that right after Newt and Hermann come out of the Drift, they're finishing each other's sentences and speaking in unison. There are ways in which the Drift is still the great missed opportunity of the film for me, though—I really expected it to make more of the fact that Raleigh and his brother were in each other's heads when Yancy died. They never got the chance to unplug from either Gipsy Danger or each other. Raleigh tells Mako she might still feel some of his brother's memories in there. Having fragments of a dead man you loved always in your head is an incredibly evocative image of trauma. If we were going to get that one stunning memory of Mako's, I would love to have seen a similar ghostscape for Raleigh.
no subject
Ray Harryhausen and Ishiro Honda, creators of some of the greatest monsters on the screen. Harryhausen was a master of stop-motion. Honda directed the original Gojira (1954).
Just got back from LimeRed btw. YOU AND ROB MUST COME HERE OK?
We'd love to! What's LimeRed?
Tell me about Cronenbergian telepathy?
I just thought of Cronenberg because it's artificial telepathy—mechanically assisted—and because of the potential for body horror, which the film occasionally alludes to: the drivesuit's spinal interface with its slightly insect-legged, clicking contact points, the brain-destroying properties of the Drift, the way that the damage to a Jäger is felt as pain by its pilot.
One thing me and the ninja girl were musing on was how much you gain of the other person's memories in drift, and how much you retain upon waking.
I thought the movie implied quite a lot: there's a repeated refrain of pilots acknowledging the things they don't have to say to each other (although sometimes it is important to say them nonetheless) because they've already felt them in each other's minds. We see this with Raleigh and his brother, with the father-and-son Hansens, with Raleigh's experience of Mako's memories of the destruction of Tokyo. Rob pointed out that right after Newt and Hermann come out of the Drift, they're finishing each other's sentences and speaking in unison. There are ways in which the Drift is still the great missed opportunity of the film for me, though—I really expected it to make more of the fact that Raleigh and his brother were in each other's heads when Yancy died. They never got the chance to unplug from either Gipsy Danger or each other. Raleigh tells Mako she might still feel some of his brother's memories in there. Having fragments of a dead man you loved always in your head is an incredibly evocative image of trauma. If we were going to get that one stunning memory of Mako's, I would love to have seen a similar ghostscape for Raleigh.