Typically, I get upset when bits of my childhood get repaved and built on. I’ve watched my old neighborhoods go from being nice little areas where poor people were quarantined to being big plastic SUV yuppie fests.
George Lucas has been guilty of this horrible, soulless repaving. I remember Star Wars as being something simple and pleasant, but with the DVD versions he turned the original trilogy into a CGI muppet nightmare, and don’t even get me started on the strange teen soap-opera trilogy about balancing the checkbook of the Intergalactic Trade Federation.
Someone got it right, though.
But first a little back story on how I came to know this…
This quarter, my team is running a contest on our DVD giveaway. I’m not sure how many grand prizes there are, but we’re giving away a bunch of Creative Zen Portable Media Centers.
To get the crowds more excited about the DVD and the contest, we (the presenters) have been equipped with Zen PMCs.
This put me in a weird spot. I found myself suddenly in the possession of a really cool piece of hardware, but nothing to do with it. I don’t watch much TV, I listen to CDs instead of MP3s/WMAs, and I’m not the type of person who takes 3,000 blurry snapshots and then makes slideshows out of them to watch later.
That covers most of the capabilities of the PMC: Movies/TV, music, and photos – none of which particularly interested me. I love the device, but didn’t know what to do with it.
It hurt. It’s like going into a Krispy Kreme knowing that you don’t eat donuts. Everybody around you seems to be having a great time, but something deep within your being is offended and recoils from the sight of lips wrapping around the moist and chewy frost-covered deep-fried bits of sugar being held together by fat and flour (although Chris made me eat one once, and it was pretty damn good – but once it enough, as I could tell it was a Gateway Food to the dark side).
I had to do something about it. I resolved to get something onto the PMC that I could watch. I didn’t even care that much what it was.
I decided to grab some episodes of the new Battlestar Galactica – the series I rolled my eyes at the first time awareness of it entered my little gray folds and wrinkles.
I expected to hate it. I grew up with Battlestar Galactica (and Buck Rogers), and fully expected to find it a weak and pointless makeover of one of the sunniest televisual experiences of my earliest years on this accursed planet.
What happened instead is I fell in love with the stupid bloody show. All the actors kick ass, the scripts are great, the effects are snazzy, I love that Starbuck is a woman, and the music is “different” in a good way.
I started reading the blog (no RSS feed, though – hello-o-o-ooo-oooo…), reading the actors’ bios, looking at screenshots, and craving more.
I feel like something is wrong with me. This isn’t the kind of show I like. I can’t put my finger on what’s different about it. I just don’t know.
Out of this newfound interest, I went and grabbed a few episodes of the classic series. I think the last time I had seen an episode of the original Battlestar Galactica, I hadn’t even been toilet-trained yet (although I did already know how to code :).
I couldn’t believe it. The new series kicks ass all over the old one. There isn’t even any comparison.
And I’m so bloody-stinking glad that, this time, when someone decided it was time to tear down part of my childhood and rebuild it, he did it right.