(Really thought this would belong well in this thread.)
I just came back from a screening of Galaxy Quest by the Black Hole Society here at ANU. It was a good night, which included a classmate finally discovering who it was who persistently kept posting on our online discussion fora! But I was particularly excited by it because Galaxy Quest is precisely the kind of movie that demonstrates how bankrupt our culture's philosophical approaches are to fiction and art, and to their role in epistemology and theology.
The storyline is familiar and predictable enough. The main cast of Galaxy Quest, an obvious parody of Star Trek, is a dishevelled, disillusioned group of actors long past their prime. They are abducted by real aliens who have intercepted their broadcasts and remodeled their society after the interstellar culture of the show, and who ask for their assistance against an evil invading tyrant. After a series of mishaps, and after the big ugly alien has boarded their ship and left it to self-destruct, the cast finally wear their roles and rescue the ship, fight off the big ugly alien, and find romance - and a reimagining of their show!
I personally could not stop laughing throughout the movie. Not just because of the star cast (punintended), but also because of the numerous physics gaffes, many of them obvious homages to previous scientifically-questionable space classics. From ship steering in outer space without any visible lateral thrusters, to improbably humanoid aliens (besides the oppressed, who are improbably similar to squid), to unrealistically uncushioned planetary landing pods, to - oh, the joys of being a physicist. It's almost as if they hired a science advisor and asked him "How many things can we get *wrong*?" (Either that, or they really were really bad at science!) But of course, that's not why I'm posting about this here.
I'm thinking and talking about this because of the movie's penetrating, almost uncomfortable analysis of entertainment and fiction. The main tension of the show, of course, is that the people the aliens are looking to for rescue are really actors, not starship captains. The aliens don't realize this, and refer to every episode as "historical document"; the actors don't know how to communicate this, and their first try at explaining their profession goes like this: "Don't you have anyone on your planet who does things contrary to reality?" They respond: "Oh, you mean deception? This is a trait we have learned only recently from the tyrant, who will often promise one thing and do another. We indeed know what this is, at great cost." Obviously the crew dares not broach the topic again.
When the tyrant boards the ship, Tim Allen (the captain) breaks under a moment of stress and declares that he is not actually a captain. In a pivotal moment, he commands the crew to show the tyrant the opening sequence of every Galaxy Quest episode, naming the actors and their roles, and the tyrant instantly understands - and he realizes that he can break the aliens. He forces Tim Allen to admit the truth to the aliens, in an almost heartbreaking scene where he has to explain that everything the aliens believe in them is a lie: "The ship? It's about this big (holds up thumb and forefinger)." In a moment which is almost biblical the chief alien replies in anguish: "But The Protector is real! And it is vast! In it there are many rooms! I have seen them!" And Tim Allen has to continue: "Those are sets decorated to look like the inside of a spaceship ... none of it is real, not the National Space Exploration Agency. Our beryllium core is just plaster wrapped in wires; our matter transporter is just Christmas tree decorations - oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry ... " The tyrant gloats, and the alien breaks down in tears.
I find it interesting that the movie chooses to make the revelation of fiction the second most pivotal and emotional scene in the movie. (The most pivotal and emotional one, of course, is where they beat the bad guy; more of that in a second.) Are we supposed to sympathise with the aliens? Not quite; they are portrayed as childish in their innocence. Their every emotional gesture is obviously fake: they laugh and cry in blocks, eerily like robots (for human actors!), impossibly polished and perfect. They all look like cookie-cutter exotic Asians, compared to the Caucasian cast. And their obvious lack of understanding of human culture is the source of much comic relief in the movie. They stare in awe at Tim Allen clad in nothing but pyjamas; they think one of the actors really eats bugs; when Gilligan's Island is mentioned they express deep grief at the fact that humans live in such conditions. We are meant to find that funny. They construct the ship in every detail as a replica of the representations of the ship on the show, so much that Tim Allen can call Galaxy Quest nerds back home to navigate the ship, and they copy everything, from a pointless corridor of dangerous crushing machines to a self-destruct button that stops with one second left. It is all meant to be a joke.
The fact that the aliens take fiction literally is meant to be a joke. And yet, what resolution does the movie offer us? When the tyrant is ousted, the alien proudly congratulates Tim Allen for a shrewd deception. Obviously this fine leader and his fine crew are real starmen, and not possibly actors; and in a sense, they *are* now really starmen. The aliens never learn that their "historical documents" are really just an evening TV show past its prime; an actor's ridiculous prosthetic forehead is falling to pieces, but nobody points to that and wonders why it is fake. The moment of heartbreaking revelation has been quietly swept under the carpet. In one sense, the resolution is that the fiction *has* become real, and that the actors are now starmen - but then the movie ends with the opening scene of a reimagined Galaxy Quest.
And suddenly the joke is on us. Just as the opening scene of the original series let the tyrant know that the series was fiction, the opening scene of this new Galaxy Quest reminds *us* that this is fiction. Have we really believed that this is real? Obviously not. Have we been lied to? In a sense; and yet we have swallowed it hook, line and sinker. We are stronger than the aliens; we are able to watch this stuff and justify its non-reality. The aliens were able to justify the non-reality of the series when it became actualized in their reality, when the Galaxy Quest crew really did rescue them; but we will have no such easy escape route. Tim Allen and Sigourney Weaver will not be approached by aliens from a distant nebula who desperately need their leadership, and the numerous physical mistakes in the movie I take to be an inside joke pointing to the non-reality of this show, its separation from our universe. Has Galaxy Quest then lied to *us*?
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Tim Allen tries to explain what "entertainment" is to the aliens, but fails miserably; even the tyrant only sees fiction as an opportunity to sow deception, not as anything intrinsically good in itself, possessing aesthetic value. And indeed what have we relegated fiction to today? Fiction sells. The whole debate over filesharing is really a question of how much society ought to pay for fiction; many are beginning to think that fiction is not even worth any monetary returns on an individual level. Artists are being told that a possibility might be for an "entertainment tax" to be charged from society in general, who would then be allowed to download and share as much as they want; an artist then has even less contact with his public, even less visibility, than a farmer who goes down to the weekend market and sells his produce in person.
We have forgotten that in fiction is truth. The truth does not come out of fiction as easily as it did in the movie, of course, where the very ship that was just a storytelling device has been realized in world-spanning detail. No, the truth of fiction in our universe is not that simple or easy; it is a complicated thing to grasp hold of. Storytelling is an art as ancient as civilization itself, even though its monetization and recent dehumanization are much more modern. What did you tell a story for, in the old days? For bread and mead? No, certainly for the beauty of what you told.
And also for the truth in what you tell. And in Galaxy Quest, even though the entire show becomes actualized in the aliens' construction plans, we are meant to learn that not all messages are equal. The aliens' attempt to physically reconstruct a ship based on the visuals of the show is a joke, and we know it is; we are meant to laugh when the poor driver doesn't understand the controls, and scrapes the ship against the side of the starport on his way out. And yet we learn that the aliens' society has been rescued and transformed based on the *ideals* and *ideas* of civilization portrayed in the show. The actors begin to embody their lines and their roles, and even more so the positive character traits that their stereotypes displayed on the silver screen.
We are meant to laugh when the aliens consider Galaxy Quest starship-building blueprints; we are meant to be thoughtful when they consider it a source of morality and motivation - and so, implicitly, are we. We certainly shouldn't watch the movie and then come away drawing up plans for warp drives and interstellar communicators. We should watch it and learn what it is to be a hero, what it is to fall in love (or maybe not), what it is to have a cause worth dying for. And isn't this what all good art teaches us?
And so I don't think it is so surprising if Genesis 1-11 is not so much God telling us how to build a world, as God telling us how to live as humans in the world that He has built.