I tried to come up with a snarky title, but I was hard-pressed to top "timeless appeal" -- another entry in our Adventures in IP thread

Not the worst IP proposal for a universe we've seen recently (remind me to talk about the return of Atlas Comics), but probably the most embarrassing to come out of a major production house (Legendary is the company behind, among other things, Dune).

 From Reactor:

Akiva Goldsman, the writer and producer involved with myriad film and TV projects including the recent Star Trek shows, Doctor Sleep, I, Robot, and Batman & Robin, is setting his eyes toward Irwin Allen’s 1960s sci-fi television shows Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Land of the Giants, and The Time Tunnel.

According to Deadline, Goldsman is working with Legendary Television to create “a unified vision for these stories, bringing modern sensibilities to their timeless appeal, and expanding upon his success in revitalizing the Star Trek universe.”

 

For those of you who have not wasted large parts of your lives watching second-rate movies on bad television, Irwin Allen was a producer mainly active in the '60s and '70s. He became famous for producing a string of disaster films, starting with The Poseidon Adventure—probably his best film—and The Towering Inferno. Today, however, he is best known for producing Lost in Space, a show that is largely remembered because a guest star, Jonathan Harris, decided to start rewriting his lines in a successful effort to avoid being written out of the show. (Harris's account has been confirmed by numerous sources, including his co-star Billy Mumy.)

Lost in Space was the second of four science fiction shows Allen produced in the '60s, the other three being Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (based on a profoundly silly but successful feature film that Allen produced and directed), The Time Tunnel, and Land of the Giants. The shows were not, by any standard, a "universe," but thanks to Allen's heavy recycling of sets, props, and costumes—and his already notorious overreliance on stock footage—they all tended to look the same.

The drive to accumulate intellectual property with any name recognition whatsoever has been going on for decades, particularly on the part of Disney and Warner Bros. This kicked into even higher gear with the emergence of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, for at least a few reasons. First, of course, were the billion-dollar-plus box office takes of these movies. Perhaps more importantly, though, it showed that lesser IP could be turned into major franchises. (Characters like Iron Man and Thor were decidedly second-tier before the MCU made them stars. The only reason Marvel gave them a chance was because the company had previously sold off the rights to their biggest names—the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, and Spider-Man.) Finally, the "universe" approach offered incredible opportunities for synergy. The critical and commercial success of the reimagined Battlestar Galactica added to the excitement.

So far, no attempt to recapture that magic has succeeded. DC has had decidedly mixed results. The Universal MonsterVerse basically died in its crib. The attempt to tie all of the Bond films together with Spectre got an overwhelmingly hostile reaction. Even Marvel has stumbled trying to come up with a second act after the Infinity Saga. Nonetheless, studios continue to dig up properties that are more and more obscure—and less and less suitable for revival.

The non-Lost in Space Irwin Allen shows are around 60 years old and were largely forgotten by the end of the decade. There are no plot elements or characters that lend themselves to adaptation, nor is there anything about the shows that suggests they should share a common universe.

 Is it possible to make a hit, even a hit that also happens to be a genuinely good piece of work? Of course it is. Have talented people in front of and behind the cameras saved studios from the consequences of bad executive decisions? Countless times. But make no mistake, that sound you hear in the background when you read a story about someone acquiring an increasingly obscure piece of IP is the scraping of the bottom of the barrel.

How can we possibly hope to rebuild after losing more than one half of a percent of our housing?

 Two months later and the Wall Street Journal is still pushing the drama (not to mention a couple of its favorite narratives).

Rebuilding Los Angeles Is California’s Economic Moment of Truth

As I've said before, I don't want to minimize the loss and personal tragedy experienced by the residents of Altadena and Pacific Palisades, but this has just gotten silly.

This is not San Francisco after the earthquake. The combined population of the unincorporated L.A. County community of Altadena and the L.A. City neighborhood of Pacific Palisades was somewhere around 65,000, with about two-thirds of them living in the Altadena. That's a lot of people experiencing a great deal of human suffering, but we have to keep some sense of proportion. Los Angeles County has around 10 million people. 

Other than four or so days of bad air and some admittedly scary reporting around the possibility of things spreading into much more densely populated areas, the fires had no direct impact on the vast majority of Angelenos. Other than some burn scars on some of the mountains, most of us haven't even seen any signs of the fires. To say that life goes on would be a massive understatement.

It would take some work to check, but it certainly seems like the press forgot about Hurricane Helene faster than they forgot about the L.A. fires, despite that storm killing hundreds and leaving hundreds of thousands displaced, though, in defense of the editors and reporters covering that other story, almost none of those houses belonged to movie stars.

Note to Elon: When people are accusing you of being a Nazi, blaming it on a George Soros conspiracy may not be the smartest move.

It's not often that I recommend a Motley Fool article over a Lawyers, Guns & Money post, particularly not one by Scott Lemieux, but these are strange times.

The markets, in general, have been doing horribly as of late, but Tesla is in a class of its own. Yesterday, the stock slid more than 15%, bringing it down more than 40% year to date. Most of the coverage, including the LGM piece, has stopped there, and if that were the whole story, the situation wouldn't be as bad as it sounds for Elon Musk, whose fortune overwhelmingly depends on the value of Tesla stock. Even with the ugliness of the past couple of months, the stock is still up almost 25% for the year. I'm sure that as you read this, there are Musk fans out there arguing that things are just returning to normal after the spike that followed the news of the Musk-Trump alliance and that things will level off when the company goes back to trading on fundamentals.

There are, however, two numbers that most writers are ignoring—numbers that have very disturbing implications for investors in the company.

108 and 21.

Tesla is a mature company. If it were a person, it could legally buy its own drinks. It also, even after yesterday's drop, has a price-to-earnings ratio over 100. That's about four times as much as you would expect from a mature tech company like Amazon or Facebook. It's about ten times as much as you would expect from a car company. Tesla is still priced like a start up.

Musk tried to reassure investors by telling them he believed a 1,000% increase in profits was possible over the next five years. Even with the "possible" qualifier, this would be an awfully ambitious claim, even for a company that was doing well. But Tesla's vehicle delivery numbers actually shrank in 2024, and 2025 was already looking to be worse before the head of the company—and retroactive founder—aggressively started destroying the brand. The company has a tiny number of badly received new products in the pipeline. The market is becoming more competitive, particularly with the rise of BYD. 

Now add on the branding disaster. Tesla owners are so embarrassed that they've been seen rebadging their once-trendy sedans and SUVs with the logos of other, less controversial carmakers. "Swastikar" is trending and producing some wonderful social media content—and some very pissed-off responses from fanboys. An ad campaign in Britain features the slogan: "Goes from 0 to 1939 in 3 seconds."

Musk's reaction may not be helping.

Unsurprisingly, Musk has disparaged Tesla Takedown as something astroturfed by wealthy liberals (and conflated the peaceful movement with attacks in which suspected arsonists threw Molotov cocktails at dealerships). On Saturday, he claimed without evidence on X that an “investigation” of some kind had revealed that wealthy philanthropists including George Soros, Reid Hoffman, and Leah Hunt-Hendrix were funding the groups behind Tesla protests through the Democratic fundraising platform ActBlue. Aside from misrepresenting how ActBlue works — it doesn’t fund anything but is rather a system through which donors can send money to Democratic political candidates and liberal organizations — Musk also pointed the finger at two more supposed financiers of Tesla Takedown, Herbert Sandler and Patricia Bauman, who died in 2019 and 2024, respectively.  

[Hoffman's take on Musk is especially insightful.]

But perhaps the most remarkable/saddest part of Elon Musk's 1,000% growth claim is that even if he could do it, it would only bring Tesla's market cap in line with other auto manufacturers. It's a situation where you need to win the lottery just to break even.

Ten years ago at the blog, March was pretty much Mars One month

It has largely been shoved down the memory hole, but in 2014 and 2015, virtually every major news organization was credulously reporting on a laughably obvious scam project that claimed it was on the verge of setting up a self-sustaining Martian colony funded by a reality TV show. The story was a triumph of lazy, sensationalistic journalism, fertilized by silly techno-optimism and Muskian bullshit about saving the planet by leaving.

Mars One has ended up where every reasonable person knew it would, but it's still worth remembering, if only to remind us to be more skeptical about the next "next big thing."

 

Monday, March 9, 2015
More on Mars One -- I expect this from ABC News but Sheldon?

Wednesday, March 11, 2015
More Martian musings – – reality shows and diet pills 

Tuesday, March 17, 2015
The Mars conversation I'd like to be having

Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Another Mars One update

Thursday, March 19, 2015
Elmo Keep's other must-read on Mars One  

Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Rocket Boosters 

Wednesday, March 25, 2015
At this point, the only things Mars One is likely to get into orbit are the wheels coming off of the bus

 Friday, March 27, 2015
Against a stupid meme, the gods themselves contend in vain 

Monday, March 30, 2015
No part of this project is credible 

Tuesday, March 31, 2015
I realize we're entering dead horse territory here -- UPDATED

These posts relied heavily on the reporting of Elmo Keep (for example). It's only fitting she has the last word.

Mars One Ends In Bankruptcy
by Elmo Keep
Feb 14, 2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

XKCD on DST

From XKCD

Monroe also suggests an alternate solution in the title text, averaging out the spring and fall changes and setting clocks 39 minutes ahead year-round. Commenting on this cartoon, the good people at Explain XKCD point out an unexpected benefit of the current system: in at least two separate cases, terrorists have blown themselves up due to failure to spring forward or fall back.

While Monroe's ideas are interesting, I'm still pushing for the plan where we set the clocks back one hour twice a month. Twenty-four slightly longer weekends and everything comes out even by the end of the year.

Have we mentioned how unfair it is to single out Arthur Conan Doyle?

Yes, I'll admit that falling for those fairy pictures was pretty embarrassing, but Doyle had lots of company in his belief in the paranormal, including some remarkably distinguished late 19th and early 20th century names.

Brigit Katz writing for Mental Floss:

Marie and Pierre Curie readily admitted that nature was rife with mysteries that scientists had yet to identify and study. “[W]e know little about the medium that surrounds us, since our knowledge is limited to phenomena which can affect our senses, directly or indirectly,” they wrote in 1902, acknowledging that they did not fully understand the origin of radioactive energy.

Pierre was particularly fascinated by the paranormal. Introduced to spiritualism by his brother, the scientist Jacques Curie, he confessed in an 1894 letter to Marie that “those spiritual phenomena intensely interest me.” He believed that the paranormal realm was relevant to “questions that deal with physics,” and according to biographer Anna Hurwic, thought that spiritualism might uncover “the source of an unknown energy that would reveal the secret of radioactivity.”

... 

Just a few days before his death in 1906, Pierre wrote again to Gouy describing the last Palladino séances he would ever witness. “[T]hese phenomena really exist and it is no longer possible for me to doubt it,” he proclaimed. “There is here in my opinion, a whole domain of entirely new facts and physical states in space of which we have no conception.”

Marie does not appear to have been as intrigued by Palladino as her husband, according to Susan Quinn, author of Marie Curie: A Life. She had other demands on her time and energy, including her two young children and the intense public attention that followed her Nobel Prize win. But at the very least, Marie doesn't seem to have come away from Palladino’s séances as a firm disbeliever in the possibility of a spirit world—because after Pierre died, she continued to communicate with him.

 

Curie had company. William Crookes and fellow Nobel laureate Charles Richet were two of the many scientists who devoted a large part of the time to paranormal research. Albert Einstein wrote the preface to Mental Radio. Respected publications published serious discussions about psychic and supernatural phenomena. Not everyone was a believer, but it was rare to find people in the "absolutely, positively no-way" camp either.

Nor were the Curies the only ones to make a connection between the fantastic scientific discoveries of the day and the possibility of the paranormal. When Edison stumbled on the first radio transmitter back in the 1870s (that’s another story we need to get into), he wondered if it might explain telepathy. When the later debunked N-rays were announced, scientists speculated that they too might explain psychic phenomena.

When you are constantly bombarded with news of the seemingly magical—be it cylinders that capture voices, strange rays that let doctors see through flesh, or communications that somehow travel instantly through the air—it would probably seem foolhardy to prematurely dismiss the possibility of something outside of our range of knowledge.

We, on the other hand, have two large bodies of knowledge to draw on when evaluating claims of the supernatural. First, we have well over a century of paranormal research where, when you take out the frauds and the fatally flawed test designs, you find no support whatsoever for these claims. Second, we have a century of research into physics that has effectively ruled out any possibility of these forces causing ghosts to walk or psychics to tell you anything that couldn't be learned from a cold reading.

You and I aren't smarter than Einstein  or the Curies, but we do know a bit more.

Clive James's example may be god-awful, but what about the point he was trying to make?

 Picking up on our discussion of this claim:

The best Hitchcock film was directed by someone else. Charade would not be as good as it is if Hitchcock had not developed the genre it epitomises, but Hitchcock could never have created a film so meticulous, plausible, sensitive, light-footed and funny.

Everyone now seems to agree that "the best Hitchcock film" is, at best, quite a stretch, but what about the broader claim that a [blank] film/book/song might be the work of someone other than [blank]?

There are lots of examples where imitations were better than the original and where plagiarists, from Robin Williams to Shakespeare, put out work superior to what they were imitating, but that's not exactly what we're talking about here. 

In this context, the term "Hitchcock film" effectively defines a subgenre (think North by Northwest—with the important caveat that not every film Hitchcock made qualifies as a Hitchcock film by that standard.

Saying someone defines a subgenre is a bit of a left-handed compliment. Obviously, you have to be successful and influential to get there, but that success and influence largely almost always exist within a larger genre. It also suggests that someone else could do it. While Charade is a silly example, it’s not that difficult to imagine someone else theoretically making a better Hitchcock film than Hitchcock. I don’t think you could talk about a Kubrick film in the same way. That said, it is worth noting that countless enormously talented filmmakers—in some cases, arguably more talented than Hitchcock himself—have tried their hands at the subgenre and, as far as I can tell, have all fallen short. François Truffaut, Roman Polanski, and Brian De Palma all come to mind.

What about in other media? An Agatha Christie mystery would certainly qualify as one of these personal-brand subgenres, and we could probably find someone to argue that Ngaio Marsh wrote better Christie books than Christie did (I’m not taking a position on this one, I'm just saying someone might) but it's a difficult point to argue. I would be more than willing to make the case that Dorothy L. Sayers wrote better novels, but here we get into one of the big problems with "better [blank] than [blank]" claims: if you improve too much on the original, at some point, it ceases to be a [blank] work. (Tellingly, if probably unintentionally, when Kenneth Branagh wanted to make Hercule Poirot more modern and three-dimensional, he did so by giving him the backstory of Lord Peter Wimsey.) Sleuth also comes to mind. It plays with the conventions of an Agatha Christie story but mainly to subvert them.

If you're good enough to have a subgenre named after you, usually you are good enough to outshine your imitators, but I finally came up with an exception—one so obvious I don't know why it took me so long to think of it. A writer whose very name is a widely used adjective, arguably one of the most influential writers of the 20th century, and yet someone who was routinely outdone at his own game.

H.P. Lovecraft wasn’t a very good writer. There were good, even sometimes great, elements in his stories, but the stories themselves never rose above mildly inept. I went back and reread some Lovecraft, starting with Dagon, and with the exception of a few passages, it took me back to my days teaching junior high English.

We won’t even get into the racism and anti-Semitism.

Lovecraft's writing often comes across as a crude first draft of what could be a very good piece of fiction in the proper hands, which may be why we saw an extraordinary group of talented writers picking up his ideas and running with them—even as he was still writing.

Although the Mythos was not formalized or acknowledged between them, Lovecraft did correspond, meet in person, and share story elements with other contemporary writers including Clark Ashton Smith, Robert E. Howard, Robert Bloch, Frank Belknap Long, Henry Kuttner, Henry S. Whitehead, and Fritz Leiber—a group referred to as the "Lovecraft Circle".^[16][17][18]

Everyone named in that paragraph was a much better writer than H.P. Lovecraft, and it is because of them—and the others who followed—that his works are better remembered today than The Great God Pan or the stories of Lord Dunsany.

 

A Blacker Black Box

From Matt Levine's newsletter:

There are two basic ways to use artificial intelligence to predict stock prices:

1. You build a deep learning model to predict stock prices: You set up a deep neural net, you feed it tons of historical data about stocks, and you train it to figure out how that data predicts stock price returns. Then you run the model on current data, it predicts future returns, and you buy the stocks that it thinks will go up.
2. You take some deep learning model that someone else built, a large language model, one that is good at predicting text. It is trained on a huge corpus of human language, and it is good at answering questions like “write a poem about a frog in the style of W.B. Yeats.” And you ask it questions like “write a report about whether I should buy Nvidia Corp. stock in the style of Warren Buffett.” And then it trains on the writing style of Warren Buffett, which reflects his thinking style, and its answer to your question — you hope — actually reflects what Buffett might say, or what he might say if he was a computer with a lot of time to think about the question. And because Warren Buffett is good at picking stocks, this synthetic version of him is useful to you. You read the report, and if robot Warren Buffett says “buy” you buy.

The first approach makes obvious intuitive sense and roughly describes what various quantitative investment firms actually get up to: There might be patterns in financial data that predict future returns, and deep learning is a statistical technique for finding them.

The second approach seems … sort of insane and wasteful and indirect? Yet also funny and charming? It is an approach to solving the problem by first solving a much harder and more general problem: Instead of “go through a ton of data to see what signals predict whether a stock goes up,” it’s “construct a robot that convincingly mimics human consciousness, and then train that robot to mimic the consciousness of a particular human who is good at picking stocks, and then give the robot some basic data about a stock, and then ask the robot to predict whether the human would predict that the stock will go up.” 

My impression is that there are people using the first approach with significant success — this is roughly, like Renaissance Technologies — and the second approach is mostly me making a joke. But not entirely. The second approach has some critical advantages:

1. Somebody else — OpenAI or xAI or DeepSeek or whoever — already built the large language model for you, at great expense. If you are on the cutting edge of machine learning and can afford to pay for huge quantities of data and researchers and computing capacity, go ahead and build a stock-predicting model, but if you are just, say, an academic, using someone else’s model is probably easier. The large language model companies release their models pretty widely. The stock model companies do not. You can’t, like, pay $20 a month for Rennaissance’s stock price model.
2. Because the large language model’s output is prose, its reasoning is explainable in a way that the stock model is not. The stock model is like “I have looked at every possible combination of 100,000 data time series and constructed a signal that is a nonlinear combination of 37,314 of them, and the signal says Nvidia will go up,” and if you ask why, the model will say “well, the 37,314 data sets.” You just have to trust it. Whereas robot Warren Buffett will write you a nice little report, with reasons you should buy Nvidia. The reasons might be entirely hallucinated, but you can go check. I wrote once: “One criticism that you sometimes see of artificial intelligence in finance is that the computer is a black box that picks stocks for reasons its human users can’t understand: The computer’s reasoning process is opaque, and so you can’t be confident that it is picking stocks for good reasons or due to spurious correlations. Making the computer write you an investment memo solves that problem!”
3. I do think that the aesthetic and social appeal of typing in a little box to have a chat with your friend Robot Warren is different from the black box just giving you a list of stocks to buy. This probably doesn’t matter too much to rigorous quantitative hedge funds, but it must matter to someone. We talked last year about a startup that was launching “a chatbot that offers stock-picking advice” to retail brokerage customers, and it seemed like the goal of the project was not “the chatbot will always tell you stocks that will go up” but rather “the chatbot will offer a convincing simulacrum of talking to a human broker,” who also will not always tell you stocks that will go up. You call the broker anyway. Now you can text the chatbot instead.

And so we also talked last year about an exchange-traded-fund firm that would use large language models to simulate human experts — ones with characteristics of particular humans, like Buffett — to make stock picks. Why use LLMs rather than build a model to directly predict stock prices? Well, because the LLM is already there, and the data is already there, and the schtick is a little more human than “here’s our black box.”

Anyway here’s a paper on “Simulating the Survey of Professional Forecasters,” by Anne Lundgaard Hansen, John Horton, Sophia Kazinnik, Daniela Puzzello and Ali Zarifhonarvar:

Though Levine does a characteristically great job laying out the questions in a clear and insightful way, on at least one point, I think he's not just wrong, but the opposite of right. The LLM may appear to be less opaque, but it is actually the blacker black box.

Normally, when we use the term "black box model," we mean that we know the data that goes in and can see the scored data that comes out, but the process by which it is arrived at is so complex and computation-intensive that we can't say exactly what happened. However, in practice, that's not entirely true. We can analyze the output, identify the main drivers of the model, and flag potential biases and other problems. We can perturb the input data, leaving out certain parts, and observe how the output is affected. In most real-world cases I've seen, you can reverse-engineer the model, creating something remarkably close that uses a manageable and, more importantly, comprehensible dataset and series of calculations. This simpler, reverse-engineered model won't use the same data as the black box, but it will be transparent, will very likely use the same categories of data and generally capture the underlying relationships and sometimes perform almost as well.

I have never done anything related to stock prediction, but I have worked with models predicting consumer behavior, and I'm betting that the underlying process is somewhat similar. Let's take the example of a credit card company building a black-box model to predict which customers are likely to default on their debts. In addition to transaction and payment history, the company has access to a huge amount of data from credit bureaus, vendors such as Acxiom, publicly available information, and macroeconomic data. We're talking about tens of thousands of variables going into that model. It is not possible for a person or even a team to go through all of these fields one by one, but at a more general level, it is possible to know what kind of data is going in and to maintain some standard for quality and relevance.

If your training data is everything that can be scraped from the internet, it is effectively unknowable. In the traditional black-box scenario, we know the data and the output; only the middle part of the process is opaque. With large language models, however, everything before the final answer is shrouded in darkness.

Your training data may include the writings of Warren Buffett, the text of A Random Walk Down Wall Street, and the archives of The Wall Street Journal, but it can also contain horoscopes, blogs from "buy the dip" Robinhood day traders, and market analysis from crypto investors. The style and word choice might resemble those of the Oracle of Omaha, but the underlying ideas might come from the Rich Dad Poor Dad guy.

 

The Grandiosity/Contribution Ratio -- another newly relevant repost

One of the recurring threads at the blog for years now has been the Lords of Ithuvania, the way we have collectively treated people who stumbled upon huge fortunes in the tech industry as super-capable, often almost Messianic figures who can solve any problem and who go unchallenged when making even the most delusional boasts—like claiming they can cure all diseases. That myth is now proving extraordinarily costly.

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

The Grandiosity/Contribution Ratio

From Gizmodo [emphasis added]

Zuck and Priscilla laid out the schematics for this effort on Facebook Live. The plan will be part of the Chan Zuckerberg Initiative and will be called simply “Chan Zuckerberg Science.” The goal, Zuck said, is to “cure, prevent, or manage all diseases in our children’s lifetime.” The project will bring together a bunch of scientists, engineers, doctors, and other experts in an attempt to rid the world of disease.

“We want to dramatically improve every life in [our daughter] Max’s generation and make sure we don’t miss a single soul,” Chan said.

Zuck explained that the Chan Zuckerberg Initiative will work in three ways: bring scientists and engineers together; build tools to “empower” people around the world; and promote a “movement” to fund science globally. The shiny new venture will receive $3 billion in funds over the next decade.
...

“Can we cure prevent or manage all diseases in our children’s lifetime?” Zuck asked at one point. “This is a big goal,” he said soon after, perhaps answering his own question.

Obviously, any time we can get some billionaire to commit hundreds of millions of dollars a year to important basic research, that's a good thing. This money will undoubtedly do a tremendous amount of good and it's difficult to see a major downside.

In terms of the rhetoric, however, it's useful to step back and put this into perspective. In absolute terms $3 billion, even spaced out over a decade, is a great deal of money, but in relative terms is it enough to move us significantly closer to Zuckerberg's "the big goal"? Consider that the annual budget of the NIH alone is around $35 billion. This means that Zuckerberg's initiative is promising to match a little bit less than 1% of NIH funding over the next 10 years.

From a research perspective, this is still a wonderful thing, but from a sociological perspective, it's yet another example of the hype-driven culture of Silicon Valley and what I've been calling the magical heuristics associated with it. Two of the heuristics we've mentioned before were the magic of language and the magic of will. When a billionaire, particularly a tech billionaire, says something obviously, even absurdly exaggerated, the statement is often given more rather than less weight. The unbelievable claims are treated less as descriptions of the world as it is and more incantations to help the billionaires will a new world into existence.

Perhaps the most interesting part of Zuckerberg's language here is that it reminds us just how much the Titans of the Valley have bought into their own bullshit.

 

More thoughts on criticism -- critics and reviewers

 Both reviewer and critic are honorable professions, with, if anything, the former being more valuable. The best reviewers by a wide margin used to be the team that put together Maltin's Movie Guide. As far as I can tell, no one has stepped up since to fill the gap, another case of the internet crowding out quality with crap.

The purpose of criticism is to deepen our understanding of a work and explore its connection to larger themes, genres, social issues, politics, psychology, etc. The primary purpose of reviews is to let people know whether or not they might like a movie, book, restaurant, or whatever.

It follows that the target audience of reviews is people who have not seen or heard the work in question. This doesn't mean that people won't sometimes seek out reviews after watching, reading, or listening to the work in question. Many of us like to compare our reactions to those of people who get paid to do this, but the reviews themselves are virtually never written for this segment.

It also follows that criticism is almost always most meaningful when the reader knows at least something about the subject. Here too, there can be some gray areas, particularly when the work in question is widely known or when it connects to larger questions about other topics. The book and the movie The Grapes of Wrath would qualify under both of these criteria.

Pauline Kael was probably our best movie critic, and yes, I know I'll get some pushback on that one, but historically that pushback has mainly come from people who strongly disagree with her assessment of various movies, which is understandable since Kael was also a terrible reviewer. If you try to boil down her thoughts about a film to "this part was good, this part was bad," she would seem arbitrary and erratic. The rule of thumb for reading Kael is that long is almost always good and short is generally bad. For this reason, literally, the last book of Kael's you should read is 5,001 Nights at the Movies, which unfortunately seems to be her most popular title.

Though heavily influenced by Pauline Kael, Roger Ebert was mainly a reviewer. Almost all newspaper movie critics are. It is difficult to be anything else, given the space constraints that almost all of them work under. Bob Chipman is one of those rare examples of a good critic who is also a good reviewer. Denby is a better critic than reviewer. The new guy at the New Yorker is a competent reviewer and a lousy critic, but we'll get to him in a future post.

It is important for a reviewer to have good or perhaps even more to the point, predictable tastes. This is particularly true when the reviews break with what you'd expect. A show like The Crown getting good notices tells you virtually nothing — it was all but grown in a lab to push reviewers' buttons. On the other end of the spectrum, when Siskel and Ebert both gave thumbs up to the over-the-top sex and gore of Re-Animator or when pretty much every review singled out William Fichtner's performance in the Grindhouse homage Drive Angry, you pretty much know you've got something good.

(Fichtner is one of the most reliable and underrated actors in Hollywood, so this was always pretty much a safe bet, but seriously, he is wonderful as the coolest satanic emissary you'll ever regret running across.)

With criticism, predictable or compatible tastes are often completely unnecessary. The director Barry Sonnenfeld likes Jerry Lewis comedies. I find them difficult to choke down. I do, however, enjoy listening to Sonnenfeld explain why he admires Lewis, and hearing him discuss those films that I don't care for deepened my appreciation of a number of comedies I am very fond of, including Men in Black.

 

Two completely unrelated news stories

From the Arkansas Times:

Bill deregulating raw dairy products passes Senate, heads to governor’s desk
 by Phillip Powell

A bill to deregulate the sale of raw, unpasteurized milk heads to Gov. Sarah Sanders’s desk after it was overwhelmingly passed by the state Senate on Monday.

If signed by the governor, House Bill 1048 would allow farmers who produce unpasteurized goat milk, sheep milk or whole milk to sell the product at farmer’s markets and to deliver the product to customers – greatly increasing consumer access to the product.

“The other side benefit of this bill is the goats whose milk is being drank might otherwise be executed, so it’s a PETA bill too, you’ll be saving goats,” the bill’s sponsor, Sen. Alan Clark (R-Lonsdale), said, referencing the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, ahead of Monday’s Senate vote.

The bill passed 33-1, with Sen. Stephanie Flowers (D-Pine Bluff) as the only “no” vote.

Farmers would still be limited to selling 500 gallons a month under a 2013 law, and they would still be required to properly label the product as unpasteurized, but buyers would assume liability for all illness that may occur after drinking the dairy product.

 

From Discover Magazine:

Bird Flu’s Spread Among Dairy Cows Appears to Be Picking Up Its Pace

 by Paul Smaglik

 

The first case of bird flu in cattle was reported on March 25, 2024. In less than a year, the virus has hit 973 herds, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

The United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) first issued an order to test cows that farmers intended to move between states last April. Then, in December 2024, the agency issued a federal order for milk testing. The order stipulated that unpasteurized milk samples be collected from dairy processing facilities nationwide and tested, with the results being shared with the USDA.

Since then, the virus has been detected in 17 states: 747 herds in California, 64 in Colorado, 35 in Idaho, 31 in Michigan, 27 in Texas, 13 each in Iowa and Utah, nine each in Minnesota and New Mexico, seven each in Nevada and South Dakota, four in Kansas, two in Oklahoma, and one each in Arizona, North Carolina, Ohio, and Wyoming.

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Complicating matters, it is unclear how many CDC employees are still employed to monitor the spread of the virus and how many USDA workers are still on the job to conduct the milk testing orders.

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The virus has been spreading in humans as well — but not as rapidly as in poultry or dairy cows, according to the American Veterinary Medical Association. So far, 69 people in the U.S. have tested positive for the virus. Of those, 23 cases involved poultry farm workers, and 41 involved dairy farm workers.

 

 

"There seems to be a plague of jellyfish and really a plague of anything is usually not considered good."

As previously mentioned ("The city would naturally form a line as it tried to get away from itself."), Patrick Boyle is one of the smartest and funniest people on YouTube. I can recommend every video I've seen on his channel, but this survey of failed mega-projects has a special place in my heart, hitting on favorites like the hyperloop and Neom.

To give you a taste of the style (though unfortunately without Boyle's perfect deadpan delivery), I ran some excerpts from the YouTube transcript through ChatGPT which worked perfectly (raising the question why doesn't Google use its AI to clean up its transcriptions?).

BBC reporters who visited Forest City in 2023 described seeing a children's train that someone forgot to turn off, doing endless loops around the abandoned shopping mall, playing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" in Chinese despite there being no children inside. Residents told the reporters that they were desperate to escape the city, which they called a "lifeless husk" that quickly erodes the sanity of anyone trying to live there... They probably shouldn't put that in their real estate listing.

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They’ve also built attractions like the stairway on the beach, which is supposed to be a tourist attraction. Apparently, it’s very Instagrammable, you know, the way tourists will travel miles out into the middle of nowhere to take a photo on the stairs and hang out on the crocodile-infested beach. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the crocodiles, didn’t I? Yeah, there’s crocodiles. In fact, that sign on the beach near the Instagram stairs is there to warn you about the crocodiles. No wonder they call it the Stairway to Heaven—there’s a good chance that you’re not getting out of there alive. That photo might be your last Instagram upload. Sorry, we seem to have taken a bit of a dark turn here.

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So next up, we have the Hyperloop. That'll be good—at least there won't be jellyfish and crocodiles everywhere. That's the good thing about the CGI-based mega projects; the designers can usually keep the wildlife out of them.

Thiel is Dr. Mabuse. Musk is Cobra Commander.

From Josh Marshall:

Against the backdrop of a month of chaos and destruction, something began to shift more or less in the middle of this week. I don’t want to overstate what it portends in the short term. Elon Musk remains firmly in the saddle. And even as many of Trump’s advisors grow concerned about the impact of Musk’s rampage, Donald Trump himself appears to be maintaining his support. The moment was captured yesterday at what are now the more or less constant CPACs where Steve Bannon tossed off a Nazi salute and Musk appeared in a “Dark MAGA” baseball cap sporting a chainsaw and basking in the adulation of the MAGA/CPAC faithful awash in the joy a certain kind of individual derives from destruction and pain. The picture itself is a key signpost in the story. Make a note of it. Musk himself posted it to Twitter, labeled with “The DogeFather” and flexing with the text: “This is a real picture.”

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2025 might be the first time in human history where we have a genuine supervillain walking among us. Humanity has spawned numerous monsters, of course: Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot. But I’m talking about the supervillain on the Gotham/Metropolis model. The glad-handing, fantastically rich, this-dial-goes-to-11 over-the-top weirdo with his raucous bevy of cheerleaders who is in fact evil and has a cartoonishly stupid but yet very real plan to take over the world. Look at that picture again. You can easily imagine running it over every 2025 political ad about the chaos and immiseration he unleashed on the country.

But what kind of supervillain? Peter Thiel is the shadowy, mysterious type—the one who manipulates everything from behind the scenes. Musk is the megalomaniac type, the kind who insists on telling the hero about his evil plan, with schemes so grandiose and badly thought out that they would probably foil themselves if no secret agent were available to step in.

With the possible exception of transgender rights, Peter Thiel is more ideologically extreme—sometimes much more extreme—across the board than Elon Musk (just read the infamous Cato essay where he gives his take on women's suffrage), but he is far less emotionally needy.

Musk has an insatiable craving for attention and adoration. He seeks out worshipful crowds. He tells improbable stories about punching out the high school bully (but only to those journalists unlikely to check out his stories). He pays people to play video games for him so he can go on Joe Rogan and claim to be one of the best in the world. (If he were a golfer, his partnership with Donald Trump would not survive their first game.)

Musk has limited impulse control, particularly when angry. Both men are petty and vindictive, but while Peter Thiel patiently waited years to destroy Gawker by secretly funding Hulk Hogan's lawsuit, Musk lashes out immediately to any perceived insult with public name calling, threats, and rage-firing. This last one drove managers at Tesla to advise employees to take roundabout routes around the building in order to avoid walking past the CEO.

The list of possible motivations for Elon Musk is long and complicated, but one thing you should keep in mind is that everything we've seen so far—the bullying, the erratic behavior, the certainty, the apparently deliberate dickishness—is all absolutely consistent with everything we've seen from him in the past.

If you are shocked by any of this, it just means you haven't been paying attention 

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the LLM part 2 -- a proof-reader, not an editor

I have two dictation options which, being a horrible typist, I use frequently. The first is Dragon NaturallySpeaking on my laptop, which works fairly well. The second is dictating email to my phone, which does not. Capitalization rules seem to be based on some kind of random number generator. Homonyms are, of course, a problem, but so are misheard and missing words. Correcting these mistakes can eat up most, and sometimes all, of the time saved.

It is also tedious as hell.

I decided to let ChatGPT take a crack at it and see how well it worked. Here’s the prompt I used.

"Edit the following paragraphs with explanations in brackets after each change with explanations.  : "

How did it work? It depends. On the part I was most interested in — homonyms, weird capitalization, and misheard or missing words — it caught almost everything I wanted it to. The other revisions it suggested weren’t particularly helpful. I believe I used just one of them, and that was because I had used the same word twice in the paragraph, not because of the reason given in the explanation

One of those unused suggestions struck me as a particularly interesting example of how differently ChatGPT "thinks." Here is the paragraph in question:

He used the windfall from the sale of PayPal along with funding from other investors to establish SpaceX, but the people actually in charge were highly respected aerospace veterans. They sometimes let the money guy wear an engineer’s cap and blow the whistle, but no one, including Musk himself, really thought he was running the train.

The only change the algorithm suggested was substituting "operation" for "train." Normally, I wouldn't have been that surprised that it didn't make the analogous choice—LLMs aren't really capable of creating true analogies—but I assumed it would associate the terms "engineer’s cap" and "blow the whistle" with the word "train."

The bigger point here is that large language models do represent an impressive advance in the way we talk to computers and they talk to us. While they come nowhere near living up to the hype, they can provide us with some genuinely useful tools, as long as we keep their limitations in mind.

So there. I’ve now said nice things about LLMs in two posts. I hope you’re satisfied.

"What was Clive James thinking?" Maybe the question is when was he thinking it?

From Andrew Gelman:

From The Dreaming Swimmer (1992), one of Clive James’s classic essay collections:

    The best Hitchcock film was directed by someone else. Charade would not be as good as it is if Hitchcock had not developed the genre it epitomises, but Hitchcock could never have created a film so meticulous, plausible, sensitive, light-footed and funny.

Whaaaa? We saw Charade recently, and it was . . . really bad. I mean, sure, I’ve seen worse movies, and the acting was fine for what it was, but, no, I didn’t think it was “meticulous,” “plausible,” “sensitive,” “light-footed,” or “funny.” I’d describe it more as a movie constructed to have these attributes without ever actually achieving them.

So then this makes me wonder: What was Clive James thinking? And, more generally, how to react when someone you admire has different tastes than you?

 

James' claim here may be indefensible but it's not inexplicable.

Tastes are neither fixed nor independent. They evolve over time, and though we might not like to admit it, they are influenced by peers and authority figures. The idea that Charade is, by any stretch of the imagination, a better film than North by Northwest would seem so absurd that no self-respecting critic would dare to say it in public. However, if we go back to the mid-'60s and look at what other critics were saying at the time, Clive James's take is far easier to understand.

 Admittedly, James appears to have written these comments about a quarter-century after Charade came out, but as a '60s intellectual who was interested in the arts, he probably saw the movie in the theater when it was released and followed the critical discussion surrounding both Charade and the Hitchcock films that followed, such as Marnie, Topaz, and Torn Curtain. It seems reasonable to suggest that his opinions about the film were formed in the context of the 1960s, particularly given the limited options he would have had for re-watching the film in the first couple of decades after it was released.

There were many factors that predisposed viewers like James to like Charade in 1963. In style and execution, it was the kind of slick entertainment that was fashionable in 1963. The big-budget (for the time), glamorous European location shooting added an air of sophistication. The supporting cast was excellent. Matthau and Coburn were in the process of breaking big. George Kennedy was an up-and-comer, only four years away from his Cool Hand Luke Oscar.   Cary Grant was Cary Grant—still one of the world’s biggest stars and the unquestioned master of this type of role.

Then there was Audrey Hepburn. It is difficult to overstate how charmed audiences were by Hepburn during her relatively short career. Critics used lots of words like "luminous." I have to admit I never really got the full appeal of Hepburn's innocent waif act, but people at the time could not get enough, particularly when she was cast in romantic comedies with much older leading men (Bogart, Harrison, Astaire, and Grant). Of course this was much more common in movies of the time, the age differences weren't normally nearly as obvious. Lauren Bacall seemed to be 18 going on 40 while Hepburn seemed to be 25 going on 14.

Charade unsurprisingly got raves. None of Alfred Hitchcock's 1960s films received better than mixed reviews upon release. It took Psycho and The Birds years to win over the critics, while the three films that followed are still widely considered second-rate entries into the canon. Critic and general asshole John Simon made a disparaging comment about Hitchcock imitators, then added that with films like Topaz, Hitchcock himself was now one of that group.

When Charade came out to glowing reviews, Hitchcock was in the strange position of being both too old-fashioned and with films like Vertigo, Psycho and the Birds, too ahead of his time. Even the well-reviewed North by Northwest (1959)was generally treated as something of an affectionate self-parody, like an old rock star showing he could still get the crowd on their feet when he ran through the hits.

If you go back and read criticism from the decade, you will find lots of people arguing that Hitchcock had peaked years ago, perhaps even around the time he left Great Britain. These comments have aged badly, but to be completely fair, the last decade of the director's career does unquestionably show signs of decline. While there are lots of critics who will champion Frenzy, everything else he produced after The Birds was decidedly minor.

Calling Charade the best "Hitchcock" film seems crazy today, but the opinion wasn't all that unheard of back when films like it and Marnie were coming out. Still just as wrong, but wrong with lots of company.