I, Robot

As a critic and writer, specifically a screenwriter, I am aware of a curious fact: I occupy a very unique position: As a critic I criticize the writings and literary works of others. As a screenwriter I write and know, at some point, my writing will face justified criticism by critics. But with a certain regularity I find these roles juxtaposed, with very interesting results. Results that tend to lend to the revelation of a truth, a fact few are willing to acknowledge and embrace: The Hollywood Machine is dying by inches, has been dying by inches for decades, now, and is now taking the publishing industry with it.

Why? Because both, more often than not, have abandoned that which made them what they are: The writer.

Now I know it would be easy enough to point out that because I am a writer and a critic, such remarks about loyalty and betrayal of loyalty are tempered with an undeniable prejudice. I won't deny this: I do bring a prejudice to my works as a critic and writer, but it is a prejudice that is necessary: For my writings to succeed on as many levels as possible I must acknowledge my source material.

That I do, I suggest, says much about my longevity as critic (ten years plus) and writer (more years than I readily admit to; but I am safe in saying dirt has been around longer than I have).

The Hollywood Machine, specifically, increasingly does not acknowledge its source materials and, as writer and critic, I opine I know why: Because, more often than not, the source material is far superior to what results upon the silver screen.

Take as proof the latest Will Smith summer-time movie vehicle: "I, Robot". Much has been made of the fact this flick is based on the work of the same title by the late Isaac Asimov.

Here's the thing: A careful consideration of both efforts reveals a nasty fact, an ugly truth: The only connection between the two works is, in fact, the title.

All right: So the creators of this movie cite the Three Laws of Robotics, as set forth by the good doctor, years ago.

But. . . watching this movie one tends to realize something: This movie has almost nothing in common with the far superior novel of the same name. Almost nothing.

So why make it? Why betray the source material so horribly?

As Deep Throat once put it: Follow the money.

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