Rebel Moon, Chapters One and Two – A Bridge to Nowhere

One of two posters created by Sachin Teng.to announce the release of the R-rated versions of Rebel Moon.

For the past two seasons, Kora (Sophia Boutella) has been living a quiet life in a farming village on the moon of Veldt. While she remains tight-lipped about her past, the people of the close-knit community have come to accept her as one of their own. Alas, Kora’s idyll is shattered with the arrival of The King’s Gaze, a dreadnought under the command of Admiral Atticus Noble (Ed Skrein) of the imperialist Motherworld. Ordered by his sovereign, the Regent Balisarius (Fra Fee), to crush an insurgent cell operating in the sector, Noble has made the detour to Veldt to resupply his ship’s stores for the campaign. While Noble arrives with an air of geniality, the mask quickly slips. After murdering the village’s headman Sindri (Cory Stoll) and his wife, Noble demands the entirety of the village’s harvest in nine weeks, leaving behind a platoon of soldiers to ensure compliance with his demands.

Kora’s plans to flee the moon are interrupted the following night when the Motherworld soldiers attempt to gang rape villager Sam (Charlotte Maggi). Putting her experience as a former elite soldier of the Motherworld to use, she slaughters the entire platoon save for Aris (Sky Yang), the one soldier who stood in Sam’s defense. Realizing the village has no choice but to fight, Kora seeks out harvest overseer Gunnar (Michal Huisman) for his contacts with the insurgents, and together they ride to the spaceport of Providence in search of transport. In a seedy brothel they encounter Kai (Charlie Hunnam), a smuggler and rogue who offers Kora and Gunnar passage aboard his ship as well as leads on more potential allies. The three recruit the exiled prince, blacksmith, and griffin tamer Tarak (Staz Nair), the cyborg swordswoman Nemesis (Bae Doona), and the disgraced Motherworld general Titus (Djimon Hounsou). The party eventually picks up the trail of the resistance cell and plead their case to its leaders, the siblings Devra (Cleopatra Coleman) and Darrien Bloodaxe (Ray Fisher). The Bloodaxes ultimately pledge their support, with Darrien himself joining the group along with a squad of loyal fighters. This windfall is short-lived, as the whole group is led into an ambush by Kai, who decided to sell them all out to Admiral Noble to fund his retirement. In the ensuing battle Kai is killed along with Darrien Bloodaxe and all his fighters save for Milius (Elise Duffy), while Kora is able to kill Noble in single combat. The survivors lick their wounds and return to Veldt, heartened by the fact that Noble’s death will force the dreadnought to abandon its mission and return to port…

…only to discover upon their arrival that Noble has been resurrected and the dreadnought is still on its way, leaving them less than a week to bring in the harvest, share their backstories, teach the villagers to fight, and come up with a plan to defeat The King’s Gaze before it sacks the village.

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It has taken me a long time to figure out how to approach Rebel Moon. Any discussion of Rebel Moon has to contend with the fact that this first installment of the project consists of two versions of two films, which necessitates a lengthy explanation of the behind-the-scenes machinations that led to this unusual state of affairs. On top of that, Rebel Moon is the brainchild and passion project of director/cinematographer/writer Zack Snyder, a highly polarizing filmmaker even at the best of times. It is very easy to succumb to groupthink when discussing Snyder, either to dismiss his films out of hand and resort to clichés and name-calling, or to pump his work up with breathless superlatives while avoiding any discussion of their substance. Finally, I have had to figure out how to process my own contradictory feelings about these films in a way that makes sense on the page. These movies have a lot of problems, but something about them fascinates me. Rather than dismissing them and moving on with my life, I have spent actual years of my life grappling with them, trying to figure out why they are what they are.

What follows is a long, meandering essay where I dig through everything I’ve learned about Rebel Moon over the past two years – the history of its development, the various works of art that inspired it, and the complicated relationship it has with those inspirations – and tease some reason out of all the sound and fury and maybe, just maybe, come to a final verdict on Rebel Moon as a whole.

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2025: Thank God That’s Over With

Thanks to the proliferation of AI, I’m going to have to start sourcing images from movies rather than search engines. Greatest archive known to man, and five years it’s ruined. (This is from Lost Highway, by the way.)

2025 was an awful year for me by whichever metric you care to name. I don’t particularly want to get into the gory details, so I will simply say that I was less inclined than usual to partake in new aesthetic experiences. That said, there were a handful of bright spots amid the sturm und drang, a few wayward artifacts that proved far more engaging than expected. Let me tell you about them.

Art

Far and away my great obsession for 2025 was Glass Life, the 2021 video installation by photographer/multimedia artist Sara Cwynar. I stumbled across it last January at the National Gallery, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. To put it simply, Glass Life is a 20 minute video collage across six screens. The three main screens are given over an endless scroll of images – photos, printouts, video clips, assorted objects – mounted on panes of glass or traveling by conveyor belt, all while the narrators (Paul Cooper and Sara Cwynar herself) deliver a jumbled monologue made up quotations from various philosophers and essayists discussing the Internet, capitalism, semiotics, or what you will. Directly opposite the main screens – the “viewers” behind the real-world viewers – are three secondary screens featuring the female swimmer character who ventriloquizes elements from the monologue as a sort of a sedate distaff Max Headroom. Naturally, an installation of this type can’t really be translated into a medium like this text-heavy blog post without losing itself, but this video should give a general idea of what Glass Life looks and feels like in the wild.

Now I imagine most people who view Glass Life see it as little more than flashy pretension, but this work truly captivated me. If I had to explain why, I would say that Cwynar has accomplished the minor miracle of capturing the experience of the modern Internet in an offline medium. I mean, it’s all there. The endless scroll, the eye flitting between image a dozen times a second, no thought or idea lasting more a moment before being shouted down by the next one, the stink of commerce that hangs over the medium, the relentless commodification of women’s bodies, the impulse to hoard pictures, text, and music in an endless gallery you never revisit. Above all, it distills that disquieting feeling that all this online life is bad for you, but you’re still here, you’re still clicking, you’re still watching and commenting. Of course there’s a lot more going on in Glass Life than merely reflecting the Internet back at us, but it was the hook that snagged me.

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Spooktober Reading: Kingdom of the Wicked, by Ian Edginton and D’Israeli

At the age of seven, Chris Grahame was stricken with a series of headaches so severe they led to prolonged blackouts. Unable to determine any physical cause, his family doctor advised his worried parents to keep him in bed and keep a close watch on him. Alone in his room for days at a time, young Chris turned to reading, voraciously consuming the library books provided by his father. The books stirred Chris’s imagination, inspiring him to take up the pen and build a world of his own. His great creation was Castrovalva – a land “where wonders are as free as air and impossibilities fall like spring rain”, populated with characters and ideas gleaned from toybox and storybook alike. Even after his recovery, Chris filled notebooks with drawings, descriptions, and stories of Castrovalva, detailing his adventures with Fuzzbox the teddy bear, old Bob Dog, and the gallant Captain Flashheart. With its endless summer days, Castrovalva seems the ideal panacea for lonely young boy.

Such idylls cannot last. With the unexpected death of his father via coronary, Chris closed the book on Castrovalva, never to return. As he passed into adulthood he married, started a family, and turned his creativity to a career as a children’s author. By the first decade of the 21st century, Chris Grahame has become one of the pillars of contemporary children’s literature in Britain, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes J. K. Rowling and Phillip Pullman. Yet despite the accolades and film deals waved in his face, Chris remains a humble, retiring figure, happier in front of his keyboard than on the publicity circuit.

It is during one of these promotional events that Chris suffers a blinding headache, the first since childhood. Returning home, he succumbs to a blackout, only to awaken knee-deep in a mud-soaked battlefield, surrounded by a platoon of teddy bears in khaki uniforms. Recognizing old Fuzzbox among their number, Chris learns the horrifying truth: he has returned to Castrovalva, but the land now lies in ruin, broken and bleeding. The Great Dictator, from his base in the Land Under The Bed, has assembled a massive army to lay siege to Castrovalva, putting its storybook inhabitants to fire and sword, bomb and bullet, shell and gas. While Chris soon returns to the land of the living, he finds himself dragged back to Castrovalva again and again, introduced to some new degradation of the world he made. And at the center of it all is the enigma of the Great Dictator himself, the one character Chris did not create, yet who wears Chris’s face as if it were his own.

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One Episode of an Odyssey: Metal Garden

Splash screen for Metal Garden.

Metal Garden is the debut project of indie game developer Alexandra “tinerasoft” Herout, released this past March on both Steam and itch.io. I was able to sit down and play it a few weeks back, and I from the first beat I was captivated. I’ve developed a taste in recent years for “boomer shooters”, first-person shooters made by independent developers that harken to the classic shooters of the 1990s and 2000s. But in spite of being a short experience, Metal Garden does quite a lot to distinguish itself from the pack. Graphically, the game draws its influences from the titles of the early and mid-2000s rather than the 1990s; the first Halo is perhaps the most obvious influence, but there are elements of Half-Life 2 and even Shadow of the Colossus woven into the game’s world. More importantly, Metal Garden stands out from its contemporaries by being, of all things, a mood piece. The game is less interested in its mechanics – though they are by no means neglected – as it is in leading the player through its evocative landscapes. Metal Garden is very interested in capturing a particular atmosphere, common among its aesthetic inspirations but increasingly hard to find in modern game, and building a setting in which this atmosphere can take root and blossom.

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Recent Reading 2025: Beneath the Trees Where Nobody Sees by Patrick Horvath

“It’s like Dexter meets Richard Scarry!”

In discussions of Beneath the Trees Where Nobody Sees, the 2024 comic debut of writer/artist Patrick Horvath, this one sentence comes up again and again in marketing copy, interviews, and online comics discussions. On a basic level it’s a sensible analogy. The comic, after all, is about a small-town serial killer hiding in plain sight in a world where everyone is some variety of anthropomorphic animal person. “Dexter meets Richard Scarry” immediately puts a clear image in your head, gives you an idea of what to expect in the comic, and gives you a way to sell the comic with a single sentence.

But while I don’t dismiss the utility of that sentence, there is something about the very glibness of it that rankles. The evocation of both Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter novels and Richard Scarry’s Busytown books set up certain preconceptions and expectations in the reader, while simultaneously downplaying Horvath’s own take on the concept. But to get a better idea of what Beneath the Trees (henceforth abbreviated as BTTWNS) is going for, we must venture deep into the woods ourselves and dig into the loam to see what nasty surprises await us.

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Recent Reading 2025: Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

My favorite cover, from the 1990 Penguin Books paperback edition.

As I mentioned back in my 2024 roundup post in December, I’m trying to get back into the habit of writing regularly again by turning this blog into a reading journal. Rather than spending months writing bullet-point outlines for grandiose essays I never write, I’m going back to basics. Every time I finish a book (or maybe a movie, or a TV show, or whatever) I’ll write a few hundred words of my impressions and post it without getting lost in the weeds of endless drafting.

Naturally, I’ve decided to start this project off by reading one of the greatest works of dystopian science fiction ever written. Of course, the great advantage to writing about Nineteen Eighty-Four is that no element of it needs to be explained. Thanks to its place in the modern canon, everything about George Orwell’s novel – Winston Smith, Julia, O’Brien, Oceania, Airstrip One, Ingsoc, Big Brother, the Ministries, the Thought Police, the Two Minutes Hate, Victory Gin, Newspeak, crimethink, and doublethink – have been part of our collective imagination for decades. On the other hand, with over half a century of criticism and responses surrounding the text, finding any new angle of attack or an interpretation that hasn’t been discussed at length is a daunting task.

But we’re not here for new interpretations, are we? We’re here to read about what I, some guy who first read Nineteen Eighty-Four in middle school and rereads it every few years, have to say about it. As it turns out, this most recent reread has given me some food for thought.

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2024: My Year in Cinema

End of Year 2024 Movies - Abandoned Theater

2024 was a surprisingly good year in film for me. Between the theater, DVDs, and various platforms, I saw exactly 70 movies. Well, to be perfectly honest that total is more like 64, since I saw several movies multiple times. But even that is remarkable; I have never been in the habit of going to the theater to see the same movie again and again, but in 2024 I did it for five movies. (As it turns out several of those movies have yet to receive a home media release, so it was a shrewd if expensive move on my part.)

Given the sheer number of films I took in this past year, I am going to break this post down into three categories: new releases, classics and new discoveries, and…The White Whale.

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2024: My Year in Reading

End of Year 2024 Reading - Abandoned Library

A week ago I made a little resolution to myself to stop spending so much time staring at the endless feed and get back to writing again. I’ve developed this whole neurotic complex around expressing myself in any medium – text, speech, what have you – and unfortunately the only way to get out of the endless loop is to just slam some words out and actually communicate with someone. To that end, I’m dusting off this blog and repurposing it as an online journal. I may put out a big essay if something strikes my fancy, but at this point the primary goal is to just start writing anything again.

So to shake some of the cobwebs off, I’m going to take a look back and briefly discuss some of the most interesting books I read over the course of 2024.

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2023: That Peculiar Feeling of Numbness

trappercabin-after

It’s been a long time since I wrote one of these year-end roundups. While 2023 was not a good year for me – to be frank, there have been no “good years” for me for a long time – it was a year that gave me some slight cause for hope. I read and finished more books in 2023 than I have in years, and I’ve gone out to see far more movies that I usually do. I’ve even been able to get out of the house more often, whether to the local independent theater, the National Gallery, or just some bookstore. Alas, this modest recovery has done little to help my writing; even something as basic as writing up an essay for this blog is still an ordeal of endlessly rewritten opening paragraphs and gnawing fear that I have nothing worthwhile to say, that I’ve lost the ability to express myself, and that no one cares what I have to say anyway.

But still, we must try. If nothing else, we must try, or else it truly will all be for nothing.

Now, despite this gloomy introduction, I did get to enjoy some nice things this year. So without ado, here are my highlights from 2023.

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Recent Reading: Burning Paradise, by Robert Charles Wilson

Burning Paradise - Cover

Hello again, internet.

It’s been quite a while since I last posted anything here at The Futurist Dolmen. Over the past few years I’ve devolved into a pattern of writing a single gigantic article on something at the end of the year, rather than a bunch of more sensibly-sized pieces every few weeks or so. It’s a bad habit for a writer to adopt, especially for a writer who’s already filled to the brim with insecurity about his own writing. To that end, I want to get back in the saddle and start posting to the Dolmen more regularly again. Now as it happens, I actually do have something major bubbling on the stove that I’m hoping to start presenting in the coming weeks. However, given how long it’s been since I’ve written anything substantial here, I felt it would be prudent to toss off a few shorter pieces just to shake the kinks out and acclimatize myself to a keyboard once again.

To that end, I recently dug through my bookcases and pulled out Robert Charles Wilson’s 2013 novel Burning Paradise. I actually bought this novel in hardback not long after it came out, but in my usual fashion I ended up stuffing it away in favor of some other new distraction. However, some of my other recent reading – which I’m afraid I must be coy about for the moment – jogged my memory of this book, so I pulled it down and worked through it earlier in the month. What I found was a modest work that doesn’t push the boundaries of its premise as much as it could have, but has become much more interesting a decade after its publication.

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