2009 may stand as the golden year for real 3D films. Nearly all 3D films shown in theaters that year were filmed with stereoscopic cameras or rendered from original 3D animated assets. As soon as Hollywood caught wind of the money-making potential for extra 3D sales, the studio heads scrambled for ways to convert already-filmed 2D movies into 3D. This led to a boom in 3D conversion outfits, many of them with animators working overseas in Mumbai. And so began the era of real vs. fake 3D.
I started Real or Fake 3D in 2010, at a time when about half of 3D movies coming out were natively filmed with 3D cameras, and half were converted in post-production. At the time, I heard a torrent of complaints from moviegoers about headaches or annoying 3D effects (think wrenches and fists flying out of the screen). While some demanded their money back, most moviegoers continued to line up for 3D blockbusters like Tron.
Since that time, 3D conversion technology has improved substantially. I now get emails about once a week about whether Transformers 2 or Gravity or some other converted 3D film is actually real. Inevitably, I'll look-up said movie or cross-reference the links these readers send me, and it turns out the movies are actually fake 3D, but the directors are adamant that their process is as good as the real thing.
Normally when I watch a fake 3D film, it is with a group, and I don't get to veto the decision, such as when I saw Tron, Thor and Prometheus. Nearly every other real 3D film I've seen, I saw by myself or with just one or two other friends. Movies like Hugo and Cave of Forgotten Dreams were meant to be seen in 3D because the directors took the pain-staking effort to film them in 3D. Yes, the cameras are much more expensive. Yes, it takes a lot of time and effort to convert your whole production pipeline into 3D. But this is what makes the results of a well-done native 3D film all the more sweeter.
When it came time to watch Gravity, I looked up the movie on my own website, remembered that I had put it in the fake column, and so I made sure to buy the 2D movie tickets. The movie was awesome, and I immediately felt pangs of regrets seeing it in 2D. When Sandra Bullock's character is stuck to a retracting arm of the shuttle, and she is spun around, I really wanted to feel like I was in free-fall to Earth.
The next day, when I told a friend that I had seen Gravity, his first question was, "Did you see it in 3D?" Then a few days later, I got a tweet from another reader trying to correct Gravity's entry on Real or Fake 3D. He sent me a link to a series of behind-the-scenes clips, and I admit I was impressed. I could see how they would extrude the geometry and re-shape Sandra Bullock's body for 3D, and for a few days, I thought to myself, "What if I have it all wrong? What if conversions are as good as the real thing?"
Maybe conversions were in fact like the re-coloring of black-and-white movies. Without knowing that classics such as It's a Wonderful Life were re-colored, it may not bother you the first few times you see it. Now that I know they were re-colored, it's hard not to see the cheeks of James Stewart as an overly fluorescent pink, or his various co-stars' blond hair as unnecessarily platinum. But for most people it's fine. Maybe it's the same with 3D conversion. In the behind-the-scenes for Gravity, the artist moves these gray extruded 3D shapes representing the depth map inside the space capsule, and it doesn't look like too much information is lost when they simulate 3D. Maybe stereoscopic 3D isn't that crucial. As Anthony Lane of the New Yorker says, movies are already in 3D.
So I decided to watch Gravity again, this time in 3D, to see if it was any better. I stepped into an empty theater during a matinee showing, and prepared to leave with a blog post announcing my apostasy. I could imagine the headline, "Author of Real or Fake 3D Says 3D Conversions Are As Good As The Real Thing." Within that fantasy was a proud assertion of my honesty. Here I was, the purveyor of a site that makes money delineating real vs. fake 3D, announcing that the distinction no longer matters.
After having now seen Gravity in both 3D and 2D, my verdict is that real 3D still matters. The scenes that I expected to blow my mind didn't. I rarely felt a sense of free-fall, and it didn't seem at all like the wild ride I had when watching Avatar. The problem is that 3D conversions have to mute many of their effects lest the illusion is shattered or they induce headaches. The result is that converted 3D films are a little flat. Oftentimes they veer towards just being pop-up books with a few digital 3D visual effects, like flying wrenches bounding into your face. When Sandra Bullock's character swings around miles above Earth, I expected to feel the same way that I felt in Avatar when Jake jumps off a cliff while learning how to fly. But I didn't.
To truly get that immersive feel, to get that sense that all your surroundings have disappeared and you are a living breathing member of the set you are watching, the movie has to be shot natively in 3D. Gravity is probably the best converted 3D film, but even the best 3D converted film can't compete with the real thing. Will this change a few years from now? Perhaps. Until that time though, my site will still be relevant.
I'm experimenting with something other than the blog format to collect my ideas. So if you use this channel to keep tabs on all things Philosophistry, I recommend instead subscribing to my twitter @philosophistry or visiting philosophistry.com for links to my latest thoughts. I will still use this blog, to post project announcements and one-off web specials.
Men either have less freedom or more freedom when it comes to dress than women do. True, anybody can dress however they want, adorning themselves with all sorts of shapes and colors that fit their imagination, but to dress stylishly, one has to consider the existing, acceptable stylish genres for their gender.
For men in a cosmopolitan city, there are anywhere from 2-4 genres of attire that, when followed fully, lead to something that could be considered a stylish ensemble. For example, in Austin, TX, there are three genres to choose from. There is the hipster adorned with a willfully eclectic mix of styles, retro or ironic sunglasses, and unusual, but of-the-moment colors (at one point, it was purple, and recently it was maroon). There is the uniform that could be called "white liberal" from those who shop at Whole Foods, who like the hipness of hipsters, but don't like how loud they are, and at the moment, tend to wear shoes sold by Toms, the company that donates a pair of shoes for every one you buy. Thirdly, there is the stylish dress of the more traditionally employed, such as those working in finance, who tend to pick a blur of styles from the hipsters and white liberals, but from 5-10 years ago, while throwing in flairs of attitude and class, such as maintaining a popped collar, or still wearing Lacoste shirts.
If a man doesn't dress in a genre associated with his demographic, he can only create a facsimile of style. He can have matching colors, have forms that fit well, and pay for a coherent haircut, but if he doesn't fit within those above three genres, something will always seems off or incomplete about his ensemble.
Women also have genres to choose from. Two of the genres for men mentioned above also exist for women: the hipster and the white liberal. However, the number of genres for women are not on the order of 2-4, but on the order of 12-16. And since women spend more effort outdoing each other in fashion, appearing unique has larger currency for them. For a woman to appear stylish, she really has two options: to either choose from a pre-made genre for her demographic (whether it's a platinum-blonde inspired from The O.C. or a bangs-bedecked cutie-pie à la Zooey Deschanel), or she can create her own genre and ensemble, as long as it adheres to general principles of aesthetics.
One of the worst historical misconceptions among mainstream Americans has to do with Vietnam. Vietnam appears in the public imagination as a singular blemish, the one time when America wasn't living to its true nature. The truth is that most wars before Vietnam were "Vietnams." Most wars before Vietnam were led by an aggressive elite against significant public opposition. Anti-war critics in those wars were jailed and/or intimidated with McCarthyism-like tactics. As a result, these wars were conducted under false pretenses, with the public being force-fed glossy narratives.
"Nearly all wars" includes the Civil War, the Revolutionary War, and even World War I. There appears to be only one war beyond reproach, and that's World War II. But such a singularly slam-dunk-of-a-war situation is rare, and it probably only seems beyond reproach because of how much of a boon it was for the United States economy and its supremacy.
2013 is the first year of the 2000s that feels like a departure from a turn-of-the-millenium mindset. It even feels like the first real year of the decade.
Part of this has to do with the fact that nobody could ever settle on an appropriate way to call the first decade of 2000 (are they the "aughts"?). Another reason is because of 9/11, which made it so that the late aughts could never escape the echoes of 9/11 (thanks to the wars of Afghanistan and Iraq.) And just as Obama got elected, which was supposed to be a palate cleanser, the Great Recession happened, which anchored the next 4 years to the aughts as well.
But 2013, unlike 2012, feels like a break-away from the early 2000 years. It's the first real year of the new tens. Any talk of apocalypse seems ridiculous now. When 2012 came and went without a Mayan apocalypse, it hammered the final nail in the coffin for millennial Armageddon scenarios. Even predictions about an impending Singularity, which reached a zenith of attention in 1999, no longer seem "ten years away," but rather something that maybe will happen in 2065 or 2089. (Or will it even happen?)
When you re-encounter someone who you've spent a long time away from, their face always seem more compressed than normal. In our imaginations, the facial memory of our loved ones becomes elongated and exploded, as features disappear, and salient ones remain, like ornaments on a Christmas tree. Their real face is tighter and more whole. The first impression from a long time apart, as you see them through the windshield of their car when they pick you up from the airport, is an eerie feeling. Perhaps Picasso was onto something with his depiction of jigsaw faces.
I noticed two kinds of people at Stanford: those who got there naturally, and those who got there artificially. To get there artificially means to have set getting to a good school as a goal, striving for it, doing meta-learning and psyching up, and very deliberately architecting your high school years toward getting there.
To get there naturally means to have worked hard in high school, yes, but without much personal strain. You did community service because you liked it, not because you wanted a line on your college apps. You worked hard for As but without sacrificing having fun and "being a kid." If anything, getting As was part of a fun social activity for your cohort in the AP and gifted classes.
Likewise, there are the successful who are the apparent result of their ambition. Think Hillary Clinton. Yes, they have some talents that are naturally suited to the positions they have attained, but the much greater source for their high station and accolades is their diligence and determination.
And then, there are the successful who are the apparent result of their natural talents. Think Joseph Campbell, who could've written more books, garnered millions in speaking gigs, but was content to stay at Sarah Lawrence College for what seems like at eternity. His successes are a more authentic expression of his being, and more likely to have been garnered with joy.
History is ultimately about the cannabalization of the Top 10 wealthiest by the next 90 wealthiest. The rest is just footnotes. This is the essential pattern that emerges from Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. The American Revolution was just a war between the New Rich (George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, et. al) and a few British landowners. The Civil War was just a war between the New Northern Rich and the few slaveholding landowners who owned most of the South. Continuing with this pattern, the Great Recession of 2008 was just a war between Goldman Sachs and Lehman Brothers (with Goldman Sachs winning, gloriously).
Cash is inherently bubble-producing. "Nothing makes money like money," as the saying goes, and so as the rich become the ultra-rich, they eventually create a tumor. The situation is unsustainable, and when the bubble pops, the second layer of wealthy individuals are ready to reclaim the seized territory or government handouts.
The rest of history is simply about the minimal goods that the rich can give the poor to keep the system in tact.
The idea behind user-generated reviews is that with a large enough sample size, you will eventually reach the truth about the quality of a product or establishment. However, what isn't often noticed are the strange ways that the accuracy varies depending on the sample size.
For example, a friend of mine in San Francisco complains that all the Yelp reviews for restaurants in a certain neighborhood are always 4 stars. Not 3.5 and not 4.5, but just 4. The reason being is that every establishment there has hundreds of reviews and at that sample size, you're actually just getting an over-representation of the legion of vocal supporters of their favorite local establishment.
But four hours away, in South Lake Tahoe, there is the opposite problem. Since there are only a few reviews for most establishments, they're all the random stinkers from patrons who were burned by their experience.
The ideal sample size for reviews, then, is actually somewhere in the middle. If you have too many reviews, a biased sub-group will be over-represented, and if you have too few, there will be too much noise that doesn't get smoothed out.
So much of the excitement about futurism is in answering age-old grand questions about life, such as, "Are we alone?" However, there's really four types of alien life-forms that we could encounter, most of which aren't that exciting.
At the most basic level, there's things like pulsing bacterium, oxidizing froth, and plants. Pretty much discovering life that is immobile or semi-immobile is nearly equivalent to discovering a planet with interesting chemicals on it, which happens every so often. Encountering this would simply tell us that automata is easier to evolve than we thought. This discovery would be as interesting as discovering multi-cellular organisms on Earth that don't need oxygen. That discovery barely registered a blip in the news.
The next level of interestingness would be the discovery of living things like camels, reindeer, or fish. These are independently moving, non-vegetable-style animals, i.e. the kinds of things that could become pets. That would be interesting to some extent, but after the initial excitement, they would spark as much curiosity for humans as the presence of strange marine life. There are at least 750,000 undiscovered species in our oceans, and that number is likely to remain that way for a long time. At this point, we could say, "We're not alone," but try asking a solitary sailor on a boat far into the ocean if they feel alone. They likely wouldn't get any solace knowing there are strange creatures swimming beneath them.
The next level would be aliens that are sentient and advanced enough to have a culture. Perhaps they don't have any skills for space travel, so they're definitely less intelligent than we are. At this point, "Are we alone?" An answer to that could be similar to the discovery of the New World by Europeans. During that era, the world must have seemed as large to humans as our universe seems to us today, and so to discover a whole new continent with previously unknown living people and culture must have been mind-blowing. And yet, it's difficult to find stories about just how earth-shattering this was to the scientific community or even ordinary people.
Finally, the forth level would be sentient aliens that have already dominated space travel. In which case, they would have discovered us first, or they already have. That may provide us with the similarly wondrous scenes from science-fiction movies like Contact. But this outcome is not the likely scenario for discovering aliens. It's ten times more likely that we'd discover a new world of savages, a hundred times more likely we'd discover a new ocean of marine life, and a thousand times more likely we'd simply discover exotic bacteria.