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Posts Tagged ‘astronomy’

Brian Cox is great. Hey, I can’t always be controversial. He is. He’s doing so much to get people interested in cool sciencey stuff, with his Wonders series and the BBC Stargazing thing and whatnot. The first time I saw him in person was at his lecture for 2009’s TAM London, and it was also the first and only time I’ve felt like I was starting to get my head around this whole Standard Model business.

It's so beautiful... What does it mean?

But I’m wondering about something. Critical thinking blogger Crispian Jago recently recounted a thing on Twitter which, without his kind permission, I’m going to share with you now:

The tale of science communicator and the fortean in 4 short tweets…

Despite liking astronomy my father-in-law believes we never landed on the moon and the world will end in 2012

On Monday he tuned into to BBC Stargazing live just as Brian was talking about moon landing denial

Brian said something to the effect of all the idiots who believe we never landed on the moon will be watching ITV

Apparently my father-in-law muttered “fuck you Cox” and promptly switched to ITV.

So Brian was completely right

Now, first of all, the theory that the NASA Moon landings were faked is utterly ridiculous. The reasons people cite for doubting the accepted story cannot possibly be grounded in a thorough and intellectually honest assessment of the evidence. There’s a lot of idiocy surrounding the conspiracy theories, without a doubt.

Brian’s antipathy to such piffle while he’s trying to talk about real and interesting science is understandable. There are countless fascinating things awaiting to be learnt about the Moon and mankind’s efforts to visit it, without being distracted by such fatuous and implacably recurrent drivel.

On a similar note, Stephen Fry once went so far as to ban anyone who believes in astrology from watching his interesting-factoid-based quiz show QI. Once again, I can entirely sympathise with the frustration.

And yet…

And yet while it undoubtedly does succinctly communicate an important scientific point to dismiss astrology or Moon-landing hoaxery as worthless bullshit, it’s not the only thing we need to do to fix the problem that millions of people still believe it.

In the case of Crispian’s father-in-law, I don’t know whether he’d be open to learning more about why he’s so badly wrong about everything, or whether he’s so firmly committed to his preferred nonsense that no approach, however diplomatic, will ever shake him from it. But insofar as Brian was absolutely right about him, it feels like a fairly hollow victory.

Some people will cite a few individual bits of trivia about the flag on the Moon waving even though there’s no wind to blow it. Some people will point to the time their horoscope told them to expect a financial windfall, and they found a fiver on the pavement. Some people will laud a homeopathic preparation for curing their headache, after about the length of time during which headaches will normally go away.

And although it might not always be possible, I don’t want these people to switch over to another channel and be wrong somewhere else nearly as much as I want them to understand why these are terrible and unconvincing arguments.

I don’t want to sound too censorious here. Brian Cox really is great at talking about important stuff in a way that’s engaging and makes sense, and part of that should sometimes involve calling out irrelevant bollocks that doesn’t deserve any further attention.

But it’s worth remembering what the real victories of science communication are, when considering people who believe the wrong things. Maybe they’re just not right yet.

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Cosmos was one of the landmarks of modern science.

I’m not sure that’s an over-statement. Education, and enthusing and inspiring the public about the subject, has to count as a significant part of what modern science is.

In 1980, over the course of thirteen hour-long episodes, Carl Sagan brought numerous areas of science to life, introduced many wonderful and exciting concepts, and infused every moment with his passion and curiosity and delight at the pleasure of learning about the universe.

I can’t think of anyone of any note in the skeptical community who hasn’t either spoken with deep fondness of the impact that Cosmos (and Sagan generally) had on them growing up, or of the excitement of discovering it more recently, in the case of those who weren’t around to see it the first time. (I’m still working my way sporadically through the DVD box set.)

It’s such a beautiful project. Sagan died in 1996, and Cosmos was perhaps the most prominent part of his legacy.

More than thirty years later, we’re finally getting a sequel.

Another thirteen parts, entitled Cosmos: A Space-Time Odyssey.

The creative team behind this fantastically ambitious project include: the original series’s co-creators, Steven Soter and Ann Druyan (the latter also being Carl Sagan’s widow); Seth MacFarlane – or, to give him his full title according to most reports about this, “Seth MacFarlane yes really that Seth MacFarlane”; and Neil deGrasse Tyson.

Hell.

Yes.

Tyson is intelligent, engaging, and loves what he talks about. I cannot think of anyone more appropriate to step into Sagan’s colossal, if metaphorical, shoes. Possibly Phil Plait. But Tyson’s a fantastic choice.

It’ll be a couple of years before this turns up on TV, but I’m going to be optimistic that it’s worth waiting for.

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I told you yesterday I was having trouble keeping up the earnestness.

It all seems barely less terrible in that part of the world than it was yesterday, but there are other petty things worth getting annoyed about, in between just feeling sad.

Ben Goldacre has pointed to an article in the Daily Mail which is dripping with even more bullshit than you’d expect.

It suggests that a “supermoon” – basically the moon being closer to us than it usually is – could have caused the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. And by describing this as “the latest natural disaster” of its kind, it seems to take it as read that the moon has already been wreaking havoc in numerous other ways.

“Astrologers” are credited with predicting that, in just over a week, the moon will be closer to Earth than it has been in years, and so its gravitational impact will be increased, causing “chaos”.

The first problem with this is fuck astrologers. Astronomers – the ones who actually do science instead of just making shit up – have kinda been on top of the moon’s perigees and apogees – that is, the times when it’s closest or farthest from Earth – for quite a while now. And yes, at the upcoming perigee it will be a smidge closer than it has been for a few years, but not by much. It’s less than half a percent closer than it was in the February perigee, and it’ll be a while before it’s that close again.

The second problem is that this upcoming perigee is due on March 19th. Saying the extra gravity could have caused disasters on Earth in the past few days is like saying “Hey, better watch out for werewolves, it’s only a week and a half till the full moon!” It was at its apogee – the furthest point – less than a week ago. That means the moon was further away from us than usual when the earthquake hit.

All credit to Phil Plait for explaining all this to me so that I can re-explain it all to you. As well as for putting up some repetitive and monumental stupid in his comments thread.

But what’s even more hilarious and/or murderously infuriating is that the Daily Mail posted another article, TWO DAYS previously, which describes “bizarre rumours” about a supermoon triggering “tidal waves, volcanic eruptions and even earthquakes” being put about by “conspiracy theorists” and “lunar-tics” (which, by the way, isn’t even a pun, because that’s where the word ‘lunatic’ fucking comes from).

They actually apply some moderately competent skepticism further down that article, quoting actual scientists who do much to debunk the exact same bullshit that the same newspaper is quite happy to regurgitate barely 48 hours later once something scary happened.

Never mind that the moon isn’t at the perigee for more than a week, meaning it’s currently further away than usual, and so the earthquake in the pacific isn’t what the astrologers predicted at all. Come yesterday’s scare-mongering, all the science gets relegated to way down the page, below the picture, where they know most people probably won’t look. And the last word goes to the “small and vocal minority” who are daring to defy the stodgy old scientists by believing whatever fantasies they want.

Donations are still needed and appreciated at the Red Cross and Save The Children.

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Scott Adams, the cartoonist behind Dilbert, posted a thing yesterday.

He was considering a step-by-step argument, which seems to result in the likely conclusion that life on Earth was the result of a deliberate seeding operation by aliens. Read it through on his blog before deciding it’s nonsense. I’ve summarised it very coarsely, and it’s more lucidly reasoned out than you might think.

His point, though, was to ask his readers to spot the flaw in the logic, which he finds himself unable to do, despite assuming apparently a priori that there definitely is a flaw. He doesn’t lay out explicitly why he’s unconvinced by what seems to him like watertight reasoning, and you may in fact be in agreement with the conclusion yourself.

But, a few problems with it did occur to me as I was reading, so I thought I’d try fleshing them out here, in a purely speculative and thoroughly uninformed manner.

– Firstly, I think the principle of indifference may be being inappropriately applied.

This is a mathsy thing. The idea is, you can basically guess equally between a number of possibilities when you don’t know anything about what’s going on, and simply have a number of options presented to you. If I ask you to guess what playing card I just randomly picked out of a deck, for instance, you might just as well say the nine of diamonds as the seven of spades. Nothing stands out about any one option, so you can apply the principle of indifference, and treat them all as being equally likely.

But sometimes it’s inappropriately applied. One way I’ve seen this done before is to argue that our Universe is likely to be only a simulation. We think we live in a reality that really exists, but as we approach a time when it’s feasible to create a Matrix-like simulation in which conscious beings could live unawares, we have to consider that maybe we already exist in such a simulation.

But maybe the reality that’s simulating us is itself only a simulation, within a reality which is also only a simulation, and so on, Inception-style, with as many layers as you like. Then, the possibility that ours is the real reality, and we just haven’t created any universe simulations ourselves yet, is just one among indefinitely many. So (the fallacious argument goes) the odds on that being the case are vanishingly small.

The reason it’s not convincing is that all the various options – that our reality is real, or that we’re the first simulation, or the second, or the seventy-fourth – should not be treated as equally likely. The idea that our reality is real makes fewer assumptions about the plausibility or the existence of colossal universe-simulating machines, and can legitimately be given a greater weight than the other options.

Scott’s argument may suffer from the same false application of this principle. It says: we could soon be the first species ever to send spaceships to other planets and “seed” them with the building blocks of Earth-like life – or we could be one of many stops in an indefinitely long chain of other species which have already done that. That is, Earth may have been seeded by an alien civilisation, which itself was seeded by another, and another, and so on.

If you consider that we could be at any point in the chain, and treat them all with the principle of indifference, then it may seem unlikely that we just happen to be the first, “unseeded” life-forms in the cosmos. But there are different assumptions involved in “It’s already happened” than “It hasn’t happened yet”, and so, barring any other evidence which directly supports it, I don’t think we’re obliged to give the possibility that our own world was “seeded” so much weight.

– Because, don’t forget, there is no other evidence directly supporting the idea that this seeding is what’s happened here. However solid the arguments might be that it could happen, or that it’s virtually inevitable to happen with any life that reaches a certain threshold of intelligence, it’s all just speculation. Nothing wrong with that, but it’s not the same thing as empirical data. However unlikely you want to argue that the “unseeded Earth” possibility is, it’s entirely consistent with the current data, and it makes fewer assumptions about the Universe than the alternatives.

– I’m also not fully convinced that any intelligent life-forms would necessarily reach the point where this seeding of other worlds becomes both practical and desirable. There are various assumptions on which this rests, like our (or other life-forms’) ability to get that far technologically without destroying ourselves; the superior plausibility of the seeding option over any other methods for sustaining life; the eventual success of even a well planned seeding mission in giving rise to intelligent life again; and the timescale necessary for this to happen. (We have pretty good evidence that life on Earth has been evolving slowly for about a quarter of the age of the Universe. It can’t have happened that many times, going by this iteration rate.)

– We also have no idea how likely the possibility of alien life actually is. There’s so much uncertainty over so many variables of the Drake equation, that whether or not any other life has yet been able to arise anywhere else in the galaxy is still deeply contentious. A lot of things needed to be exactly right on Earth for life to get going and start becoming complex and interesting, and we don’t really know how rare those conditions are. The scenario of other aliens having got there before us is far from being a given.

Leave a comment if there are any more obvious points leaping out at you which demonstrate that one of us is going wrong.

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This is my 500th post on this blog.

It shouldn’t have taken more than 900 days to get this far, ideally, but we’re here now, and I think I’ve been getting the hang of it lately.

So, to celebrate, let’s have some comedy.

If you’re not familiar with Conservapedia, it is fucking hilarious. But today’s specific entertainment is the page on counterexamples to relativity. (Thanks to Brian Cox for bringing this to the attention of Twitter recently.)

The theory of relativity is a mathematical system that allows no exceptions. It is heavily promoted by liberals who like its encouragement of relativism and its tendency to mislead people in how they view the world. Here is a list of 30 counterexamples: any one of them shows that the theory is incorrect.

Yep, it turns out you don’t have to have a scientific background or spend years studying physics to be able to disprove Einstein. You just have to be sufficiently right-wing. That’s all it takes to be a genius!

Look, scientists don’t claim that relativity is perfect and complete and explains everything in the Universe flawlessly. Reconciling general relativity with quantum theory is one of the big unsettled problems of physics today. But in the arena to which they apply, the general and special theories of relativity are the best we’ve got. When there are discrepancies between nature and relativity, they tend to be smaller than the discrepancies between nature and any other theory. That’s why we bother with them at all.

It’s unclear what the Conservatards think would act as a superior alternative to relativity. Neither classical mechanics nor quantum mechanics is violently decried as an elitist liberal conspiracy, so clearly they’re not disapproved of very strongly. (Though, if you’ve passed high school physics, their thoughts on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle should give you a giggle.)

Some of my favourite bits:

– #5 is a question. It’s not even making a statement. Is it meant to be rhetorical?

– #7 seems to assume the Big Bang model of the universe, which is very much not Conservapedia’s usual style.

– #9 is a Bible quote. To disprove relativity. Which has literally nothing to do with anything.

– #11 completely ignores the theory’s consistency with any evidence, and just says that it’s wrong because it hasn’t led to any further “insights”. This is like insisting that, if you beat your friend in a game of basketball, you must be taller than him, and ignoring whatever happens when someone gets out a tape measure.

– #18 is even funnier: relativity led to the atomic bomb, which is bad because it kills people, therefore the theory is false. Seriously. Icing sugar has carbs and will make you fat; therefore the cake is a lie.

– #28 brings up the first chapter of Genesis, which is more like it (though destroys the usefulness of #7 as a counterexample). It also randomly decides that the firmament described in the Bible “likely refers to the creation of the luminiferous aether”. What the fuck an outdated theory essentially disproven by the end of the 19th century has to do with anything, or how it disproves relativity, I have no idea.

– Whoever compiled this list basically has no idea what any physics means. Even I can explain why #16, #20, #25, #27, #29, and #30 are just factually incorrect. And the Twin Paradox one wasn’t hard to look up. That stuff’s been experimentally verified too, for what it’s worth.

Oh dear, I was supposed to just present this without comment for your amusement, but I seem to have ended up rather rambling on. Terribly sorry.

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I don’t know the sky that well.

I mean, we’re not completely unfamiliar, the sky and I. We’re on friendly-nod terms, when we see each other. But we’re not what I’d call close. We don’t really hang out together much. I’d definitely miss it if it went anywhere, but I get the feeling it wouldn’t much notice my absence.

I imagine we all have friends who we’re not as close with as perhaps we’d like. And the sky has a lot going on in its life that I don’t know anything about, often because I never really bothered to ask.

So what does the sky fill all its space with? Well, you’ve got birds up there flapping around a lot. You’ve got buildings and other man-made structures towering up into it. You’ve got human-designed machines, like aeroplanes, helicopters, balloons, and whatnot. You’ve got a lot of weather happening: rain, hail, sleet, snow, thunder, lightning, not to mention clouds of numerous shapes, shades, and consistencies, and the very odd things the Sun sometimes gets up to. You’ve got your Aurora Borealis.

And then you’ve got the rest of the Universe. Well, not all of it, but even just the bit you can see in the sky is pretty extensive. Other stars, other galaxies, distant nebulae, passing comets. Planets like Mars or Venus, a bit closer to home, are often visible from Earth with the naked eye. Orbiting satellites, closer still.

And there’s a lot of stuff I probably haven’t even thought of. All the things I’ve mentioned so far have their own fields of scientific endeavour, with some people spending years studying them to acquire a high level of expertise. I am not an expert in aircraft, or architecture, or astronomy, or aurorae, or aviation, or… a synonym for meteorology that starts with ‘a’. A lot of the time, I really can’t speak with much authority on what I’m seeing when I tilt my head up and open my eyes.

This is my point. I often don’t know what I’m seeing in the sky. And neither do you.

The term ‘UFO’ is widely used to describe alien spacecraft – machines that have been piloted here from another planet by extra-terrestrial intelligences previously unknown to human experience. But a UFO is an Unidentified Flying Object. Once you’ve decided that it’s a spaceship, it’s not unidentified any more.

And if you make that call, that means that you’ve positively identified something you’ve seen in the sky. Something quite possibly far away, small, blurry, moving rapidly, obscured, and otherwise pretty damn hard to see. Positively identifying the exact nature of something like that, without getting any closer or using any more technical equipment to examine it, or in any way verifying your assessment objectively, isn’t easy. Especially if you’re not an expert in aircraft, astronomy, and all the rest – but even if you are an expert, there are limitations on your deductive abilities based on what you might be able to squint at in the far distance. You’d have to have gathered a lot of information, and have some serious expertise in analysing and processing it, before you could really claim such a thing confidently.

Astronomers use carefully calibrated telescopes to observe their chosen celestial objects of interest, and take detailed notes of exactly what they see and exactly where they see it, so that a coherent picture can be carefully pieced together over time by repeated verification of observations. Naturalists use binoculars to track animals such as birds, often going to considerable lengths to avoid disturbing them, and to get close enough to have a good look, so that they can be really sure exactly what they’re seeing. And ufologists… well, they have a tendency to just point at stuff in the sky, and say “Wassat? Must be aliens.”

Okay, that might be a little unfair on some of them. It’s not like there isn’t any room for a proper scientific discipline here. You could examine this stuff critically, and do all sorts of technical sciencey things like checking your facts. But the people who actually do that tend to conclude that there’s probably nothing to any of this. It’s been observed before that amateur astronomers are the perfect people to find some reliable evidence of an alien presence in the sky, given how much time they spend looking up there and how much more they know about what they expect to see, but it doesn’t happen.

The people who witness these extraordinary things in the sky that can’t possible be explained are usually unqualified amateurs with no specialist equipment or knowledge. Of course they can’t explain what that curiously moving point of light is. But for some reason they often decide that their lack of expertise trumps anyone else’s potential insights, and if they can’t think of a mundane explanation, then they decide it must be something completely outside mundane science’s ability to account for.

In short, the people with the expertise are better at identifying what they see, which makes those things no longer UFOs. The people who really stand by their alien stories tend to be the ones who really want to believe they’ve found something, and can’t let it go, needing to sift through to find a particular interpretation of a particular set of evidence which supports their idea, and focus on that to the exclusion of all else.

And the particular self-affirming flaw I’m talking about here is the point of the word “unidentified”. I’m always seeing stuff in the sky that I don’t know what it is, and can’t reliably identify, and the same must be true of alien-hunters. But it should seem odd that alien craft are all they seem to be any good at identifying. How many people who claim to be capable of spotting a flying saucer in the far distance with their own eyes, and reliably telling you how far away, how big, and how fast-moving that blurry smudge is over there, could also tell you anything about the position and luminosity of Venus?

And if it’s not very much, then how do they know that Venus can’t look exactly like what they think an alien spaceship looks like?

If something is truly an Unidentified Flying Object, then by definition you don’t know what it is. But the assertions made by enthusiasts so often amount to nothing more than an argument from ignorance: “What we’re seeing here has no explanation, therefore you must accept my explanation“. But it doesn’t work like that.

There’s a lot of things going on in the sky that neither you nor I could spot and describe precisely from a single distance glance. “Something unknown to me” is a simpler, and therefore preferable, explanation than “something unknown to me and from another planet“.

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In which I take the foolish and reprehensible step of holding a slightly different opinion from that of David Mitchell.

David Mitchell (the comedian, not the author, though he’s brilliant too (and there are apparently many others as well, many of whom I’m sure are also jolly good)) is brilliant. He’s been getting some play in the skeptical community lately because of some rather fun jabs that comedy duo Mitchell and Webb take at pseudoscience in their sketch shows, like the Homeopathic E.R. sequence. And he wrote an article this week, about this physics professor in the US who declared recently that Hollywood films should stick closer to science fact.

The first thing I’m prompted to wonder is why this is suddenly newsworthy now, when I’m sure there have been any number of scientists grumbling on very similar lines for years. And David’s main point has also been made a number of times before: the primary purpose of TV and film is to be entertaining, and it’s entirely correct that this should sometimes take priority over reflecting such petty details as the laws of physics with perfect accuracy.

Reality is unrealistic, after all. You don’t want everything in fiction to perfectly resemble the real world you already know and are bored with – that’s why you’re watching telly in the first place. I think I more or less agree with David’s assessment that:

Being realistic is a storytelling tool, like lighting, music and sexy actresses.

This doesn’t downplay its importance too much. If you’re telling a story, then storytelling tools are vital. If you don’t bother worrying about the lighting while filming, it’s likely to end up looking terrible; likewise, if realism is completely disregarded, your script will probably be a total mess. Realism is important, but to be used wisely as a tool of story-telling, wherever appropriate, not adhered to dogmatically.

Where I started to cringe a little was this paragraph:

How typical of a scientist to try to reduce film-making to a formula. He’s noticed that enjoyable science fiction sometimes needs to include the impossible, but streams of implausible events don’t make a compelling narrative. He’s right but he should have left it at that. The happy medium is found by using judgment not maths.

It’s the first sentence, really. I hang out with far too many science geeks, and read far too many scientists’ blogs and Twitter feeds, not to be acutely aware that reducing anything to a formula is not typically representative of what scientists always do. It’s usual poor tabloid reporting that produces that kind of nonsense. To some actual scientists, such formulae are anathema.

But despite that nagging quibble, he’s making basically a good point. The guy making these recommendations – Professor Sidney Perkowitz of the Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia – has reportedly suggested a limit of “one big scientific blunder in a given film”. Which is where it starts to get a bit silly.

David speculates that this is comparable to the “one coincidence to which good screenplays are supposed to be restricted”, but that doesn’t seem like a great analogy. Major coincidences happen sometimes in the real world, but rarely in big clumps, so multiple coincidences in your film will make it start to look unrealistic.

But scientifically impossible things don’t happen at all, so whether there’s one breach of the laws of nature in your movie or a dozen makes no difference as to its implausibility. Any such simple hard-and-fast rule is bound to be misleading and unhelpful.

One film I recently really enjoyed was called Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs. I’m about fifteen years older than its target audience, but it was warm and funny and energetic and had nifty pacing and great comic timing and for the most part it stopped short of being annoying in its zaniness. Two thumbs up. But it was full of completely impossible things going on that only make sense in a cartoon world – unsurprisingly, being an animated kids’ film – and if you were scientifically nit-picking your way through, you’d have no time left for anything else.

And I would dispute that there exists any precise definable line between stories where you can do stupid cartoon stuff, like drop anvils on your characters and have tweeting birds appear circling around their dazed heads, and sci-fi, where everything must make perfect sense. Just as much as I dispute that allowing “one big scientific blunder” per movie does anything useful to address scientific plausibility in cinema. What’s likely to be acceptable depends far more on the context and the internal logic of an individual film.

It’s also worth noting that sci-fi writer John Scalzi was way more put out by the bad science in the J.J. Abrams Star Trek movie than was astronomer Phil Plait. These are both guys who know a thing or two about a thing or two, but it’s clearly possible to forgive a lot that you know is technically unrealistic, in the right context.

And while it’s lamentable that it’s taken me this long to reach one of the most interesting points about all this, there’s one thing I’ve heard from scientists on this subject time and again: When big-budget sci-fi movies do get actual science advisors on board to try and make sure things stay somewhere within tentacle’s reach of reality, they almost never have to totally sacrifice huge swathes of cool stuff that they wanted to do. Very often, having someone who really knows their stuff just makes the science even more awesome.

The conversation will go something like:


“Okay, someone send the resident geek in here. And get me some more coffee. Ah, smarty-brain, there you are, how’s it going? Listen, what’s your nerdy take on this bit in scene twelve where James Bond goes solar-wind-surfing? That’s a thing, right, solar wind? So I figure we get him wind-surfing but, like, on the Sun. Pretty cool, right? Not really sure how we get him up there, though. Does the Space Shuttle go to the Sun? Could we get one of those sky elevator things I think I heard about that one time? China has those, right?”

“Yeah, look, I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this whole scene, none of it really makes any sense, and if you go ahead with it as it’s currently written then your audience are going to tear you a scientifically impossibly large new one for turning their favourite franchise into a joke.”

“Damn. Tina, cancel my breakfast with the Prime Minster of China, tell him he can keep his crazy moon escalators. Okay then, astro-boy, you’d better come up with some new idea that’ll give me an excuse to have Bond to take his shirt off and justify a special effects budget bigger than the GDP of several small countries.”

“Well actually, if you’d ever paid any attention in school, or indeed to any other human being in your entire life, you might be aware of this other thing you could do, which would still look awesome on screen and let you showcase the CGI expertise of your hordes of computer-literate underlings, with the added bonus that it’s not total bullshit.”

“You mean, giving a shit about scientific accuracy might not reduce the entertainment factor by crippling my ability to blindly throw in whatever cool stuff I can think of, and may even put me in a better position to make exciting and visually inspiring references to genuine scientific phenomena?”

“Yep. You want to do things that way then?”

“Make it so.”


Wow, that rather got away from me. Wasn’t expecting that to turn into quite such a flight of fancy. Probably a bit wordy and less funny than I think it is. Still, not in the mood to edit now.

A good example of the kind of thing you may have just skipped over is the occasional recognition in some sci-fi films that sound doesn’t travel in a vacuum, and so cool-looking explosions wouldn’t actually make any noise when observed from a distance. David likes hearing stuff explode, and is willing to forego some realism on that score, which is fine – there’s always got to be some suspension of disbelief for the sake of entertainment, and we all have our different limits – but as Phil Plait points out, a spaceship blowing up in perfect silence can, if done right, be eerie as hell. Knowing how the real world works can really add to a talented director’s repertoire.

Yikes. That was wordy. Have I covered everything? I feel I should sum up. Or at least redraft before I post this. Nah. Thoughts, anyone?

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