My disappointment in Denis Villeneuve and Dune.

First of all, I thought Arrival was a fantastic film. It worked for me on almost every level, and I ended up crying after the “reveal” at the end of the movie. Few movies (or books) cause me to react that way. It’s in my collection.

I was tentatively looking forward to Blade Runner 2049. The original remains a classic, and one of my all-time favourite movies, but sequels rarely do the original justice. However, I was disappointed. While it was visually interesting, and I enjoyed watching it, no single scene provided any kind of meaningful impact on the rest of the movie or on what had happened in the original movie. At the end of each scene, I was able to say to myself, “Okay, this scene could be removed, and nothing would be lost in the bigger picture.” By the end of the movie, I’d literally said that about every scene, making the entire movie somewhat pointless. So, while I’d say it was a “fun popcorn movie,” I didn’t think it offered anything of intellectual value, or was anything more than just something riding the coattails of the movie that had come before it.

Then there’s Dune. The trailers didn’t appeal to me all that much, and I felt the movie itself lived up to (or down to) what I thought of the trailers:

  • It tried far too hard to be “epic,” at the expense of actual story.
  • Scenes were slow, and there was always dramatic music—often signalling drama in a way that didn’t match the information being relayed.
  • As with Villeneuve’s past movies, the visuals were impressive. But without anything to back them up, they just seemed like wasted resources.
  • I’ve read the books several times, so I know the story well. But the writing glossed over character background and plot points all the time. Things just suddenly happened without explanation. I know what the explanations are, but if I’d gone into the movie without having read any of the books, I would have been left scratching my head at some of the events and motivations.

In short, I was bored and frustrated. I never felt engaged with the story or any of the characters. In fact, I just wished the movie would end so I could move on to a more enjoyable way of spending my time. When something is a chore to sit through, you know something’s wrong. I thought the visuals and music were all just smoke and mirrors, designed to make you think something important was happening, but really hiding the fact that the screenplay was lacking in exposition.

While I could generously say that Villeneuve had little to do with the screenplay, there’s no way I can avoid blaming him for the plodding pace of many of the scenes that simply highlighted for me the fact that nothing was explained properly.

For example, I’d rather see Paul Atreides spend half the time he does trying to avoid the hunter seeker sent to kill him, if it only meant there could have been some kind of voice over or other narrative device that explained exactly what was happening during that scene. There was some tension in the scene, but not nearly as much as there should have been.

The same could be said for Paul’s encounter with the Bene Gesserit and the Gom Jabbar. For anybody not already familiar with the story, it’s clear that something is happening. But the way the scene is put together, and the way in which Timothée Chalamet has been directed to act out the scene, makes the dynamics involved and Paul’s internal thoughts and feelings unclear.

The end result is that for the entire movie, I felt as if my emotions were being played with in the form of the in-your-face music and visuals, seemingly used just for a forced “epic effect” rather being a natural extension of the story that builds to something epic without trying. I also felt that my intelligence was being insulted by the lack of background and exposition, as if it’s assumed that everybody already knows the story, and that the story is just a second-class vehicle for a long music video.

The David Lynch version of Dune deserved much of the criticism it received. However, despite that, it did a much better job of explaining the characters, their motivations, and the story. I felt far more engaged with Kyle MacLachlan’s portrayal of Paul, and the directing of the two scenes I’ve specifically mentioned. It had many more moments of “camp,” and induced eye-rolling and groans at times, but it at least kept my interest. It was another one of those “fun popcorn movies,” where I could put my mind on autopilot and just enjoy watching the movie as it unfolded. It was campy, but it never seemed as if it was trying to be anything else. So, I could appreciate it on the level it presented itself on.

In contrast, I found Villeneuve’s Dune to be boring, frustrating, pretentious, manipulative, and insulting. I am quite honestly amazed that it’s garnered the praise it has, not least of which its being nominated for all kinds of film awards.

Naomi Osaka’s press ban.

Naomi Osaka has said that she will avoid press interviews after any of her matches at the French Open. Participating in these interviews is part of contracts signed by players on the tour, and she’ll be fined $20,000 for each one she avoids.

The response has been mixed.

Most people say they understand, but that taking part in press conferences is part of a player’s responsibility.

But I say good for her. If she doesn’t want to give a press conference, she shouldn’t have to. And if she’s willing to pay the fine, then that’s okay too. If I really disliked talking to reporters—especially right after a match, and in particular if I’d lost—I’d be happy to do the same thing. Assuming I could afford to do so, as she can.

Different people handle things differently, and I’ve rarely let other people’s expectations of me dictate how I behave. Far more often than not, especially later in life, I think it’s very important to be exactly who you are.

Gordon Ramsay’s new show: 24 Hours to Hell and Back.

I’ve only just discovered this show in its second season. It’s similar to Kitchen Nightmares except that hidden cameras are used.

But here’s my question: How can the owner of a restaurant not know that their restaurant is being filmed by hidden cameras? If the owner doesn’t know (and several episodes make it appear that they don’t) from whom is permission to install the cameras given? Nobody in any of the episodes I’ve seen is shown giving approval for this. But surely the producers of the show aren’t breaking the law by installing cameras without somebody’s legal permission.

The fact that this isn’t explained throws the legitimacy of the show in general into question. If it is the owner of the restaurants who give permission, then the reactions they show are fictional and they are provided to the audience only for entertainment purposes. In other words, if this is faked, there’s no reason to assume that anything else is real.

It reminds me of other shows where the audience is shown a surprised reaction by somebody as they encounter somebody else. But in order for the audience to see this reaction, there must be a camera crew somewhere. In fact, more often than not, the camera crew is positioned inside a house or apartment when somebody knocks on a door and surprises them. If they’ve already admitted such a crew into their home, there’s no way that they can possibly be surprised by the person coming to the door. At best, it’s a reenactment of what their reaction originally was.

But on Ramsay’s show, it can’t even be a reenactment. If the owner of a restaurant gave permission for hidden cameras to be installed, then they can’t possible be surprised by the fact that hidden cameras were installed.

Did my computer drink too much caffeine?

I recently starting having a strange problem. Video on my computer became “jerky.” For example, things would look normal for about a second but then the video would “pause” for a fraction of a second before resuming. The audio was just fine, but I kept seeing this slight “jerk” in everything I looked at, including TV (WinTV, from my cable input), video files (both VLC and PowerDVD), as well as computer games.

I can’t say when this started exactly, but I’m guessing a couple of months ago. It didn’t make things unviewable, but the more it happened, the increasingly annoyed I became with it. Finally, I’d had enough. I hunted down the problem and fixed it.

The problem was related to the “NVIDIA High Definition Audio” driver. When I removed this, and rebooted, the jerkiness disappeared. I’ve had my graphics card for a while now, and things used to work just fine. I don’t what changed, but this was the culprit. (I don’t need that driver anyway, since I use HDMI-connected Bowers & Wilkins speakers—which I think are fabulous.)

That would have been the end of the story except that, shortly after this was resolved, I noticed that the jerkiness had returned—as had the audio driver. Some process on my computer was automatically reinstalling it. Whether it was an NVIDIA driver update, or something that Windows itself was doing, I wanted to prevent this from happening again.

To fix it, I ran Device Manager, observed that my video card was on PCI bus 1, and then disabled the entry for the “High Definition Audio Controller” that was also on PCI bus 1. After doing this, the custom installation of the NVIDIA graphic driver no longer indicated an option for its high definition audio component, and it never reappeared in my list of installed software.

I found Star Trek: Discovery best left undiscovered.

I turned it off after the first 10 minutes and stopped watching it. I almost never do this with anything (at least in the middle of a show), and I’ve watched every episode of every Star Trek series up until now. But I found the dialogue in the script so unappealing that it held no interest for me whatsoever. Not only was I completely disinterested in anything either of the two characters had to say, but there was no context given for anything that happened. Even looking beyond the writing (which I found sterile), I was annoyed that the Klingons were presented as yet another “reboot” of their conception—making them not fit into any of their previous portrayals. Even trying to forget about all of the lore from everything that’s gone before (as the producers clearly want to reimage everything), there still wasn’t enough about it to make me even want to remain interested. I could have kept watching for the entire hour, hoping to get a figurative foot wet in the universe, but I just didn’t care enough to do so. It failed to provide any kind of hook to rope me in, and I couldn’t force myself to follow it based on any kind of “brand loyalty.” It’s visually interesting. That’s about the only good thing I can say about it.

Instead, I will continue to watch The Good Doctor, which, although not great and burdened with cliches, and still struggling to provide a genuinely interesting narrative arc after the first three episodes, I still find myself enjoying …

Really blocking popups.

Strangely, despite what you would think, most browsers still allow popups—even if you’ve disabled them in the normal UI. With Chrome, you can download one of several different popup blocker extensions. With Firefox-based browsers, you can go to about:config, search for dom.popup_allowed_events, and remove all of the entries there. (This does not prevent new windows or tabs from opening when you click on a legitimate link and, so far, I haven’t encountered a site where a desired popup is blocked; but, even if so, you can still allow popups from specific sites.) I’m not sure what’s available for IE as I never use it under normal circumstances.

Living without privacy.

Some time ago, I reactivated my inactive Facebook account. I hate Facebook and pretty much everything it stands for. Even though I totally support social activity, I think Facebook is probably the worst example of how to not implement something. I think it encourages a belief in activity that’s mostly meaningless and superficial, and it completely wipes out any kind of privacy you might have. So, why in the world would I reactivate my own account?

First of all, I’ve set all privacy and application settings to the most restrictive. Second, I’ve made sure I don’t have any friend linked to my account. Why the latter? Because one of the most restrictive privacy settings you can have still allows friends of friends to see you. Which is completely absurd. If you only want to be known to a specific, small set of people—it’s impossible to do that on Facebook. If any of your friends is friends with somebody else, those other people can see you too. Last, I never post anything on it.

The single reason I have an activated account is so I can post the occasional comment to Toronto’s event blog site, BlogTO. BlogTO relies on authenticating users with a Facebook identity provider. This means they don’t need have to implement their own database of users and passwords and can, instead, rely on Facebook for authentication. But, after I increased the security of my web browser, I discovered I could no longer post comments—or even see any existing comments.

I gradually discovered the settings that are required to both create and view Facebook-authenticated comments on BlogTO:

  • Prevent tracking activities by known sites – This setting must be disabled. Unless you allow Facebook (and every other known site in the world, as there seems to be no granular control over the setting) to track you, the Facebook Comments Plugin will simply not be displayed. This means you can neither post a comment yourself nor see comments that anyone else has posted.
  • Allow popup windows – If you don’t enable this setting, the Facebook authentication dialog box that BlogTO activates will simply never be seen. With just the above setting, you’ll be able to see other comments but never post your own. However, you can at least limit the sites from which you allow popups to just BlogTO and any other site of a similar nature where they are required for needed functionality.
  • Allow all cookies – If you don’t enable this setting too, something strange happens. The Facebook authentication dialog box will repeatedly, in a loop that never ends, appear and disappear again. I’m sure this has something to do with third-party cookies. Again, however, there is no granular control by which the browser can be told to only allow third-party cookies when visiting a particular site. As with tracking activity, it’s a setting that must be applied globally. In this case, however, cookies can be set to expire after a single session so at least they don’t follow you from session to session. (And, with cookies anyway, there is granular control—allowing cookies to be kept for specific sites that are frequently visited and where that makes a difference.)

So, what tracking activities are now taking place by Facebook and every other website I visit that implements them? I have no idea. I should probably investigate and determine exactly what the implications are. I have some assumptions (such as websites determining the geographical location of the computer I’m using to browse and post from) but it could be more than that. The fact that I don’t care enough to immediately investigate is telling. I’ve made reasonable efforts to maintain my privacy as much as possible but, even for me, there is a line I don’t cross between functionality and security. Sites are tracking me in some way—and any BlogTO posts I make are still accompanied by a little picture of myself as well as the fact that I’m associated with Trent University—but I don’t care enough to get rid of those things. Just think of the millions of people who care even less and use a fully unrestricted Facebook every single day?

A True Story by Paul Villard.

When I was quite young, my family had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished oak case fastened to the wall on the lower stair landing. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I even remembered the number – 105. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked into it. Once she lifted me up to speak to my father, who was away on business. Magic! Then I discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an amazing person – her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing that she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody’s number and when our clock ran down, Information Please immediately supplied the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-receiver came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the toolbench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be of much use crying because there was no one home to offer sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver and held it to my ear. “Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two, and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.” “I hurt my fingerrr-” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. “Isn’t your mother home?” came the question. “Nobody’s at home but me,” I blubbered. “Are you bleeding?”. “No”, I replied. “I hit it with the hammer and it hurts”. “Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it on your finger. That will stop the hurt. Be careful when you use the ice pick,” she admonished. “And don’t cry. You’ll be alright”.

After that, I called Information Please for everything. I asked for help with my Geography and she told me where Philadelphia was, and the Orinoco–the romantic river I was going to explore when I grew up. She helped me with my Arithmetic, and she told me that a pet chipmunk–I had caught him in the park just that day before–would eat fruits and nuts. And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why was it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to whole families, only to end as a heap of feathers feet up, on the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern, for she quietly said, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow, I felt better.

Another day I was at the telephone. “Information,” said the now familiar voice. “How do you spell fix?”. F-I-X.” At that instant my sister, who took unholy joy in scaring me, jumped off the stairs at me with a banshee shriek-“Yaaaaaaaaaa!” I fell off the stool, pulling the receiver out of the box by its roots. We were both terrified–Information Please was no longer there, and I was not at all sure that I hadn’t hurt her when I pulled the receiver out. Minutes later, there was a man on the porch. “I’m a telephone repairman. I was working down the street and the operator said there might be some trouble at this number.” He reached for the receiver in my hand. “What happened?” I told him. “Well, we can fix that in a minute or two.” He opened the telephone box exposing a maze of wires and coils, and fiddled for a while with the end of the receiver cord, tightened things with a small screwdriver. He jiggled the hook up and down a few times, then spoke into the phone. “Hi, this is Pete. Everything’s under control at 105. The kid’s sister scared him and he pulled the cord out of the box.” He hung up, smiled, gave me a pat on the head and walked out the door.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then, when I was nine years old, we moved across he country to Boston-and I missed my mentor acutely. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back at home, and I somehow never thought if trying the tall, skinny new phone that sat on the small table in the hall. Yet, as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversation never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had when I know that I could call Information Please and get the right answer. I appreciated now how very patient, understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way back to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour between plan connections, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister who lived there now, happily mellowed by marriage and motherhood. Then, really without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.” Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice that I know so well:”Information.” I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you tell me, please, how to spell the word ‘fix’?” There was a long pause. Then came the softly spoken answer. “I guess,” said Information Please, “that your finger must have healed by now.” I laughed. “So it’s really still you. I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during all that time….” “I wonder,” she replied, “if you know how much you meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls. Silly, wasn’t it?” It didn’t seem silly, but I didn’t say so. Instead I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I come back to visit my sister when the semester was over. “Please do. Just ask for Sally.” “Goodbye Sally.” It sounded strange for Information Please to have a name. “If I run into any chipmunks, I’ll tell them to eat fruits and nuts.” “Do that,” she said. “And I expect one of these days you’ll be off for the Orinoco. Well, good-bye.”

Just three months later, I was back again at the Seattle airport. A different voice answered, “Information,” and I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” “Yes,” I said. “An old friend.” “Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally had only been working part-time in the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago.” But before I could hung up, she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Villard?” “Yes.” “Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down.” “What was it?” I asked, almost knowing in advance what it would be. “Here it is, I’ll read it-‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean'”

I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.

Paul Villard

Originally published June, 1966 Readers Digest; reprinted with permission in the December 1999 issue of the Singing Wires newsletter, TCI club.

Overcoming the 3 pings of death.

Many years ago, I bought myself an all-in-one espresso machine—a Delongi Magnifca. I’ve used it all the time since to make myself café au laits. Several years after I bought it the grinder broke. I took it in and had it repaired. Just a few years ago the milk frother unit broke. I decided not to get it repaired that time—as I didn’t want to be without it—so, instead, I bought a standalone Breville milk frother. It worked really well.

When I was still working in the office, I’d have a couple of café au laits each Saturday and Sunday—and just regular coffee when I was at work.  Now that I’m fortunate enough to be able to work from home, my drinking habits have changed. I have a café au lait once each morning and another one at night a little while before I go to sleep. (I’m lucky enough to not be affected by caffeine in the same way as most people—it either never affects me at all or it actually acts as a bit of a sedative.)

Over the years, the frother unit would beep 3 times occasionally when I tried to start it. After either wiping it or reseating it, it would work normally. I’d read about this in Amazon reviews but it didn’t bother me that much. Until a couple of weeks ago. No matter what I did it just kept beeping. I finally discovered the problem wasn’t with the unit itself (which costs around $130) but the little frother “disc” that sits inside—and which only cost me $6 from the Breville website (the cost of shipping was $12, if you can believe it).

This is actually a disc used for cappuccinos. If you pour the milk as soon as the machine is done, you’ll get a café au lait. For a cappuccino, you let the milk sit a bit—so you pour a thinner milk at first, and thicker foam ends up at the top. While I waited for the replacement unit, I swapped this disc out for a latte-producing disc, that essentially just heats the milk without frothing it nearly as much. I’m not really sure if there is some method of cleaning these things that would have let me prolong its life, but I figure buying a new one of those little discs every 2-3 years isn’t so terrible.

Here is a pictorial version of this story:



The elusive Seamonkey.

The browser I use is SeaMonkey, which is the “original” browser from Mozilla. Although Mozilla is better known for Firefox, the two share the same code base. Because I used to be quite involved with QA and code triage work on SeaMonkey, you can still see my name “in lights” if you go to the URL “about:credits” in any of the Mozilla browsers. (This may be my sole objective claim to fame.)

There haven’t been any Windows nightly builds of SeaMonkey since November of 2015. I finally got curious and decided to take a look. Apparently, official nightly builds have stopped because they are moving over to Visual Studio 2013 – among various other things. But I managed to find a link to “unofficial” nightly builds, and am now running a 64-bit Windows build from February 8th. Just a recent build is nice (I always maintain a bit of a bleeding edge life when it comes to technology) but grabbing a 64-bit version was an unexpected surprise.