A Year Of Solid Bangers (Hugo Cinema 1992)

This blog post is the thirty-fifth in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.

It was the 50th World Science Fiction Convention, and to celebrate this milestone, the Hugo rocket was electroplated gold for the first and only time. In Hall A of the Orange County Convention Centre, air conditioning struggled to keep up with the muggy humidity outside.

A member of the production team
for Terminator 2 was on hand
in Orlando to accept the award.
Despite our best efforts, we have
not been able to identify him.
(Image via Fanac.org)

Overall, the 1992 Worldcon was an enormous success. The Hugo Awards, however, were a somewhat chaotic affair. The ceremony was marked by a slide presentation that omitted some (but not all) of the best artist finalists, some finalists who were remembered had their names mispronounced, and an entire category was almost forgotten altogether. Oh, and the fanzine Hugo was initially presented to the wrong finalist following a mix-up.

To quote Evelyn Leeper’s contemporaneous account, “What a fuck-up!”

None of the Hugo Award shenanigans, however, overshadow the fact that the Best Dramatic Presentation category had provided WSFS members with a list of solid bangers to choose from. It’s rare that we say this but the short list that year did a very good job of representing the breadth and scope of North American SFF cinema.

There isn’t even a real weak link on the shortlist.

The movie that came last in the final WSFS vote was the supernatural dark comedy The Addams Family, a visually lush adaptation of the 1960s television series of the same name … that was itself adapted from the one-panel comics of Charles Addams. The plot is slight, being primarily an excuse to string a series of quick jokes together. But thanks to the incredible charisma of Raul Julia, the sly charm of Angelica Houston, and an outstanding performance from a young Christina Ricci, it’s 99 minutes of breezy fun. Although Variety and The Hollywood Reporter were less than charitable in their assessment of the movie, Sight and Sound’s review suggested “The film works as a celebration of unconventional togetherness thanks mainly to a collection of casting coups.” While none of us would have voted for it to win the Hugo, we all felt it was worthy of being on the ballot.

Based on a comic book series by Dave Stevens and directed by Joe Johnson (who would later direct Captain America), The Rocketeer was a box-office disappointment in 1991 but developed a cult following in the years that followed. The film centres around aviation stunt man Cliff Secord (Billy Campbell), who discovers a prototype jetpack and then has to use it to fight off Nazis that have infiltrated Hollywood in the 1930s. It’s a stylish piece of work made with evident love for the source material. The old-school filmmaking and general-audiences sensibilities of the production only help accentuate the era-appropriateness of this love-letter to classic Hollywood movies — there’s even a reference to Rondo Hatton in the movie! Most of our viewing group enjoyed the movie and were happy to see it on the ballot. Although Timothy Dalton is endlessly entertaining as a villainous actor in league with the Nazis, much of the rest of the cast is fairly tepid, particularly leading man Billy Campbell. In a mixed review in the Los Angeles Times, Kenneth Turan mocked Campbell as the bland leading the bland, but allowed that ”this film is so dogged, so insistent, so relentlessly earnest in its one-dimensionality that no option but partial surrender to such charms as it has seems possible.”

Every Hugo-finalist movie had a
contemporaneous video game adaptation.
There was Belle’s Quest on the Sega Genesis,
The Rocketeer on the NES, The Addams Family
on the Game Boy, Star Trek 25th Anniversary
on the PC, and a half dozen Terminator 2
games on various consoles.

For at least two members of our cinema club, Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country remains the high-water mark for the entire cinematic franchise. It was the last movie featuring the entire original Star Trek cast, and they went out on a high note. Written and directed by Nicholas Meyer (who’d previously directed one of the other great Star Trek movies The Wrath of Khan) Undiscovered Country engaged with real-world politics and commented on the collapse of the Soviet Union by way of analogous events that transpired in the Klingon Empire. All seven original series cast members — William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, Deforest Kelly, Walter Konig, George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, and James Doohan — are given solid character moments. Moreover, it’s one of the few Star Trek movies that doesn’t just posit that a utopian future is possible, but highlights the emotional labour involved in the soul searching and growth that humanity needs to work through in order to get there. Some of our crew wished it could have won a Hugo Award, but knew that in the context of what else was on the ballot in 1992, it just couldn’t.

Even the seemingly odd one out earned its place on the short list. The Disney renaissance was picking up speed in 1991, with their iconic production of Beauty and the Beast becoming the first animated movie to gross more than $100 million at the box office. Praised for its blend of traditional animation and computer graphics, it was also the first full-length animated contender for the Academy Award for Best Picture, and still holds the record for the most Oscar nominations for an animated movie. On top of all of this, the characters are engaging, the songs remain memorable, and the female protagonist has a little bit more agency than most other princess movies of this era. This film may be part of the princess-heteronormativity bootcamp, but it’s fairly innocuous in comparison with other films of this period.

It would be difficult to question the wisdom of Hugo voters in recognizing James Cameron’s Terminator 2. The movie sits comfortably high up on lists of the greatest science fiction movies of all time, given its cineplex-dominating, half-billion gross at the box office, given its multiple Academy Award wins, and given its groundbreaking digital effects. Moreover, on rewatching it, it’s surprising how modern the movie feels, even after more than three decades. More surprising in retrospect is that despite content that seems tame by the standards of 2026, organizations such as National Coalition Against Television Violence held pickets outside cinemas because they considered Terminator 2 too violent.

The design work and animation put
into the Beast character is impressive.
(Image via IMDB.com)

The plot is straightforward: there’s an evil robot (Robert Patrick) who’s trying to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong) and a good robot (Arnold Schwarzenegger) who’s trying to save him. Through 120 minutes, they fight and have chase scenes. But despite the simplicity of the plot, the writers don’t get lazy — none of the characters behave like idiots for the sake of increasing the tension. It’s taught, but internally consistent.

Although the digital effects for the liquid metal Terminator were the headline grabbers, a lot of low-tech old-school effects are used on the movie so seamlessly that they almost go without notice. Although he’s now mostly known as a director, James Cameron launched his career on the special effects side of the low-budget Roger Corman movie factory so he knew how to make a dollar stretch.

There are also a few works off the Hugo list that were distributed internationally and among independent cinema that merit discussion, such as Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s post-apocalyptic dark comedy Delicatessen, and the odd webstreamed movie Discovery of Television Among the Bees. But even these would have been unlikely to have made our shortlist in 1992.

James Cameron is one of the most Hugo-award-shortlisted directors, and Terminator 2 is arguably his masterpiece. In 1992, the Hugo Awards could not have done better on either the shortlist or the winner.

Hugo Framed Roger Rabbit (Hugo Cinema 1989)

This blog post is the thirty-second in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.  

The Hugo Awards ceremony held the evening of Saturday, Sept. 2, 1989 at the John B. Hynes Veterans Memorial Convention Center in Boston was one of the most lavish to date. Given that it was the 50th anniversary of the first World Science Fiction Convention, organizers had pulled out all the stops to make the event memorable.

Fred Pohl at the 1989 Hugo Awards.
(Image via File 770)

Master of Ceremonies Fred Pohl spoke from a lectern emblazoned with gold leaf laurel wreaths around the number “50.” Iconic author Isaac Asimov, who had long been a Worldcon mainstay, made what would be his final appearance at a Hugo Awards ceremony.

Given the splendor of the occasion, it is nice to note that when Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was honoured with the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation, the film’s producer Frank Marshall was on hand to receive the trophy. Contemporaneous accounts note that the big-name Hollywood mogul accepted the award with enthusiasm and participated in the evening’s fannish activities “with good humour.” It indicated a growing respect for the Hugo Award in Hollywood.

The win for Who Framed Roger Rabbit? had been widely expected and was one of the most decisive victories in any category in the history of the Hugo Awards. In the final tally, the movie had 560 first-place votes … while the runner up Big earned just 94. At a Worldcon panel on cinema the day before the ceremonies, Edward Bryant, Terry Erdmann, Craig Miller, Lee Orlando, and Evelyn Leeper had all predicted that the seamless blend of live action and animation would earn the movie a Hugo Award. Unusually, the movie was screened after the awards ceremony — and most of the audience stayed.

Working both as a satire of Hollywood self-seriousness and as a slightly bonkers noir detective story, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? remains entertaining and enjoyable 40 years after its release. If our cinema club had one complaint about the movie it’s that it was more of an oddball fantasy than science fiction. But those complaints are overshadowed by technical achievements. Given that this was near the end of the era of film compositing done entirely by hand, it might be difficult to convey to modern audiences just how incredible Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is as a piece of cinema craft. To better understand the level of planning and attention to detail required to seamlessly merge live action acting with animated elements, it’s helpful to look at other contemporaneous movies like Cool World that attempted the same trick. Such a comparison highlights the subtleties like the shadows cast on — and by — the animated elements, as well as the effect that the animated elements seem to have on objects in their presence. Even if — as Variety Magazine noted — the movie “loses freshness and oomph as it goes along,” Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was a very reasonable choice to take home the trophy.

Animator Richard Williams won an Academy
Award for his work on Roger Rabbit.
(Image via USA Today)

The rest of the shortlist was a bit of a mixed bag. There was Penny Marshall’s Big, which helped launch Tom Hanks to stardom; Ron Howard and George Lucas’s fantasy epic Willow; Rockne S. O'Bannon's buddy cop movie Alien Nation; and Tim Burton’s ghost story Beetlejuice. Most of the members of our club felt that several of these films did not warrant inclusion on the shortlist.

Penny Marshall’s Big retains some of its charm, but has aged poorly. Tom Hanks’ performance as a kid stuck in an adult body is engaging and amusing, and it’s clear why this movie helped launch him to stardom. But the movie’s romance is very cringy, and glosses over consent, power imbalance, and workplace ethics in a way that would not be accepted by modern audiences. What felt whimsical in 1988 now feels creepy and uncomfortable.

Our viewing group was divided over Willow; although some of us enjoyed the fable-like atmosphere and solid performances from Val Kilmer and Warwick Davis, others felt the movie represents possibly the nadir of George Lucas’ worst storytelling instincts. Either way, the movie’s leaden dialogue, clumsy pacing, and derivative worldbuilding adds up to less than what one should expect from a Hugo finalist.

When it was first shown, fan Evelyn Leeper was dismissive of Beetlejuice in her review, writing that “typical of Tim Burton movies, it has no plot.” Although the movie is stylish, and Geena Davis anchors it by offering a grounded and compelling performance, something is missing overall. The movie promises wackiness that it does not deliver, and suggests lines of conflict that are never fully explored. Is the villain of the movie Beetlejuice, or is it the family who moved in? Beetlejuice is again less than what one would expect from a Hugo finalist.

Disney was planning to remake Alien Nation in 2024,
but scrapped the project as being pro-immigrant
is now too controversial a position. 
(Image via Variety)

Alien Nation was a sleeper hit when it hit cinemas in 1988, and was well-enough regarded that it launched both a spin-off television series, and the career of Farscape-creator Rockne S. O’Bannon. The movie is essentially Rush Hour with aliens; a buddy cop story in which a racist old white police detective is partnered with a recently promoted extra-terrestrial gumshoe. Both leads James Caan and Mandy Patinkin take their roles with a level of seriousness that elevates the whole thing. The movie had some pacing flaws, and some cliched moments, but is strengthened by a refreshingly inclusive subtext. O’Bannon’s script implies that America’s strength is its acceptance of people regardless of difference. At least one member of our cinema club felt that this film should have been the winner simply because it was a well-made, old-school science fiction film.

Despite the mixed bag of nominees, there was a crowded and untapped field of SFF movies and television shows for Hugo voters to choose their nominations from. We are thus wondering why other films were left off the shortlist.

Steve De Jarnatt’s apocalyptic masterpiece Miracle Mile had gone under the radar for most. Iconic TV series Red Dwarf had an excellent pilot episode in the UK. Mystery Science Theatre 3000 hit the airwaves. And despite some issues with its second season, Star Trek: The Next Generation had a couple of great episodes such as Elementary, Dear Data.

There are two movies however, whose omission from the Hugo shortlist are especially notable: They Live, and Akira. John Carpenter’s They Live — an anticapitalist tale of aliens undermining American democracy — probably deserved consideration for the Hugo. It’s a movie with enduring value due to its metaphors about seeing structures of power through different lenses. Although it’s a lower-budget film, it’s directed with attention to detail and offers some superb camera work. In addition, Roddy Piper and Keith David have great on-screen chemistry.

Akira remains an iconic classic of science fiction
and should have been a Hugo contender either when
it hit Japanese cinemas in 1989 or on its American
release the next year. 
(Image via Criterion)

Animated cyberpunk action film Akira was a cultural juggernaut in Japan, and redefined what was possible in animated science fiction. Based on a successful graphic novel, it plays with systems of military power in a Tokyo transformed by nuclear blasts. It is as iconic a science fiction movie as has ever been made, and clearly deserved consideration for the Hugo Award. For many of our group, it was the movie that should have won. 

The 50th anniversary of the World Science Fiction Convention saw an extraordinary Hugo Award ceremony. Even if we had quibbles about the shortlist, it’s difficult not to celebrate what an extraordinary year it was for science fiction and for sci-fi cinema.

The Next Degeneration

Three months ago, right-wing billionaire David Ellison’s Skydance Media bought Paramount, the venerable and storied studio that is the home of SpongeBob SquarePants, Mission Impossible, and of course Star Trek.

As Variety has recently reported, Ellison’s short tenure at Paramount has already brought significant changes to the company. Management directives have included everything from hosting Mixed Martial Arts events on the White House lawn in celebration of President Trump’s 80th birthday, to firing executives who made the unforgivable mistake of being women, to blacklisting stars who have condemned the Israeli invasion of Gaza. 

New Paramount CEO David
Ellison is afflicted with resting
frat-boy face.
(Image via Paramount)

It is clear that Paramount now has a specific political perspective. It is also clear that the studio’s owner plans to expand their reach by acquiring additional intellectual property.

Given the long production schedules of television and cinema, the effects of this right-wing turn will likely not be immediately obvious. But it is likely that the next generation of Star Trek showrunners will be incentivized to curb the franchise’s progressivism, either directly or by the knowledge that advancing left-wing ideas is a career-limiting move in the company. Five years from now, it is almost inconceivable that whatever Star Trek is still being made by Paramount will depict labour unions or transgender characters without villanizing them.

Blogger Darren Mooney has ably pointed out that the series is not always as progressive as its reputational legacy, but recent incarnations such as Discovery and Strange New Worlds have certainly leaned into diversity, equity, and inclusion as essential elements of the franchise. This is in sharp contrast to the values of the franchise’s new owners, who have vowed to eliminate diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives at the studio.

We suspect that Star Trek is boldly going nowhere good.

The spectrum of political viewpoints expressed within canonical stories of a franchise that is considered to be acceptable exists within certain expectations governed by creators and owners. In the 1960s, Gene Roddenberry was prohibited from depicting a labour union in The Original Series, but in the 1990s labour organizing became part of mainstream Star Trek politics. In the 1980s, David Gerrold quit The Next Generation because LGBTQ stories were prohibited on the series, but by the 2020s, such stories were an essential part of Star Trek. This is the Overton Window of the franchise; the spectrum of political storytelling that is considered canonical.

Star Trek Picard was not our favourite series,
but they do have to be given credit for being
pretty clear on their position on I.C.E.
(Image via StarTrek.net)

This window shifts slowly. It is unlikely that there will suddenly be a Star Trek: Neutral Zone Patrol show where Dean Cain and an alien hedgehog first officer are heroic Starfleet officers trying to prevent Romulan immigrants from stealing Federation jobs. But It’s more likely that the show will maintain a patina of progressivism, while airing an increased number of episodes that implicitly endorse warrantless wiretapping, right-wing military adventures, or racial profiling.

There is a faction within every fandom that embraces the franchise as part of their identity. Someone isn’t just a fan of the television show Dr. Who, they identify as a Whovian. Someone isn’t just a fan of the television show Star Trek, they identify as a Trekkie. Someone isn’t just a fan of the television show Mercy Point, they identify as a Pointhead. There is often in-group slang and a rejection of criticism of the franchise coming from those outside of the group. Once you have pledged allegiance to a specific intellectual property, the ability to assess its output becomes more difficult.

This type of fan loyalty is already big business, with media properties monetizing commitment to community through slapdash sequels and merchandise. The most die-hard fans will continue to follow the franchise uncritically even when intellectual property is owned by someone whose overt political agenda informs the end product. For a franchise like Star Trek, which has built an occasionally insular partisan core of fandom, the most fanatical group is fairly well established. It is conceivable that Trekkies who once celebrated inclusivity, exploration, and social critique may find themselves complicit in endorsing a vision they did not initially share, simply by remaining loyal.

Two years ago this blog predicted that within a decade, one of the major streaming services would lean into culture war divisions in an attempt to build a walled garden that appeals to the increasingly extreme right wing political identity. That prediction is coming true faster than we had anticipated. Paramount Plus is on its way to becoming the Fox News of entertainment content.

Declaring allegiance to a specific corporate-owned franchise effectively puts one’s loyalty up for sale; whichever media conglomerate owns the property has its hooks in the fandom. The transformation of Paramount under Ellison illustrates how corporate ownership might reshape both the content of a franchise and potentially its fandom.

When allegiance to a brand eclipses critical engagement, even the most idealistic communities risk being co-opted by forces that run counter to the values they once championed.

Inconceivable! (Hugo Cinema 1988)

This blog post is the thirty-first in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.  

Confusion about program item locations, registration difficulties, and a convention committee that seemed to lurch from crisis to crisis. These are some of the reasons that the 1988 World Science Fiction Convention is remembered as a largely shambolic affair. Held in New Orleans on the weekend of September 1, it was described by Locus Magazine as “easily the most disorganized large-scale Worldcon ever held.”

The Metropolitan Auditorium in New Orleans
where the 1988 Hugo Awards took place has
lain vacant and in shambles since 2005.
(Image via NOLA.com)

The lineup to get into the Hugo Awards ceremony was also a mess, but once fans got inside the festivities were actually pretty entertaining. Toastmaster Mike Resnick had the audience roaring with laughter, and Gardner Dozois’ acceptance speech for his first Hugo Award was lauded as heartfelt and moving.

Not a single Best Dramatic Presentation finalist appears to have been in attendance for the ceremony, leaving Resnick to announce the award fairly quickly, hand the trophy to publicist Terry Erdman (who hadn’t even worked on the movie), and then move on.

Hugo voters had been enthusiastic in their support for The Princess Bride, with more votes being cast for the Best Dramatic winner than anything in any other category. With 493 votes, it eclipsed its nearest competitor Robocop, which garnered only 276 first-place votes.

The 1988 shortlist is a mixed bag. On top of Princess Bride and Robocop, there was Star Trek The Next Generation’s pilot episode “Encounter at Farpoint,” Arnold Schwarzenegger's Predator, and George Miller’s Witches of Eastwick. Two of these probably didn’t deserve to make the cut, but it’s difficult to think of other movies from that year deserving inclusion instead.

Perhaps the British anti-war low budget movie Friendship’s Death might have warranted inclusion on the ballot, or the classic Anime Neo Tokyo. Inner-Space, Batteries Not Included, and Spaceballs all have their adherents, but any of these would likely have been a marginal call. Harry and the Hendersons also came out that year.

It would be fair to say genre cinema was in a post-Star Wars lull. As unbelievable as it may seem in retrospect, there was not a single science fiction or fantasy film among the Top-5 highest grossing movies of the Hugo-eligible year. This had not happened in more than a decade, and has not happened since.

In fact, the highest-grossing science fiction or fantasy movie of 1987 was the mostly-mundane Witches of Eastwick, which earned $63 million and eighth in the box office rankings for the year (behind the mediocre Richard Dreyfuss cop comedy Stakeout).

David Foster Wallace dismissed Witches of Eastwick
author John Updike as “a penis with a thesaurus.”
(Image via New Statesman)

The Witches of Eastwick probably should not have been considered for a Hugo Award. It’s barely fantasy, and is a meandering and irritating movie. Based on a novel by Couples author John Updike, and brought to the screen by Mad Max director George Miller, it portrays three single women (Michelle Pfeiffer, Susan Sarandon, and Cher) who are seduced by a stranger who might be the Devil (Jack Nicholson). Each of the three women are portrayed as missing something in their lives, and the audience is supposed to accept that Nicholson’s devil has the power to change that. Insultingly, to the characters, each of them essentially gives up their career and artistic aspirations as soon as they’re with him. John Updike may have his admirers, but to us the portrayals of women and LGBTQ people in his works have aged extremely poorly, and Witches of Eastwick is no exception. There is also a tonal mismatch between the source material, the directorial vision, and the energy brought to the screen by the stars. As a reviewer in Variety Magazine noted, “Miller seems to become impatient with the material and tries to hike it up a notch toward the end with some inappropriate special effects.”

The Predator is probably not the best his planet has
to offer. The scorpion-faced alien is just a half-rate
nepo kid trying to pretend that he’s formidable
and worthy of his father’s affection.
(Image via Newsweek)

Released on the exact same day that summer, Predator is a well-constructed and highly quotable pulp adventure action movie featuring one of the best-designed alien creatures of that era’s cinema. The almost all-male cast is muscle-bound and somewhat cliched, with action beats interspersed with bro-handshakes between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Carl Weathers. But while Predator is on its surface a testosterone-fuelled jungle romp about heroic American soldiers put into conflict with a deadly alien who hunts them, it is often pointed out that the movie can be read as a condemnation of American trophy hunters who take high-tech weaponry with them on African safaris where they hunt whatever animals they can put their sights on. It’s a savvier movie than it’s often given credit for, and was a worthy Hugo finalist. As an interesting aside, as far as we can tell, Predator director John McTiernan is the first Hugo-winner to serve time in prison.

Probably the most anticipated science fiction event of the year had been on the small screen, as Star Trek launched The Next Generation — and earned a Hugo nomination in the process. Although the series would eventually become a classic, and possibly the most popular iteration of the franchise, it got off to a very rough start. The pilot episode “Encounter At Farpoint” is a fairly clunky two hours of television, with two plots that seem to work at cross purposes. On one side, the Enterprise D and its new captain Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stuart) gets accosted by a malevolent god-like being, while on the surface of a nearby planet half of the crew are trying to solve the mystery of how a city got built fairly rapidly. It’s rough around the edges, and occasionally very clunky in terms of dialogue. Whether or not this deserved to be on the Hugo shortlist probably depends on your affection for The Next Generation, but we would suggest “Hide and Q,” which aired on November 23 of that year, would have been a better pick.

However, two works on the shortlist — and indeed in that entire year — stood head and shoulders above the rest.

Given the militarization of police over the past three decades, the increasing corporate dominance of

It may be of fannish interest to note that in 1987,
Forrest J. Ackerman played the President of Earth
in the movie Amazon Women On The Moon.
(Image via Letterboxd)

America’s legal system, and the lack of accountability among those in power, Robocop’s grim satire seems more timely now than when it first hit cinemas. Directed by Paul Verhoeven, it’s an over-the-top social commentary peppered with immersive and organic worldbuilding and intense non-diagetic inserts. Depicting a near-future Detroit where the police force is being privatized, the movie follows a detective named Alex Murphy (Peter Weller). Murphy is killed and then brought back to life as a cyborg who must avenge his own murder. But the story is so much more than that, tackling the dehumanization of labour and the alienation of late-capitalism. The movie is occasionally witty, sometimes disturbing, and structurally perfect. Details introduced in the first act (e.g., the way Alex Murphy holsters his gun) are relevant to in the denouement (e.g. the reveal of who Robocop is), Some members of our cinema club argued that this is the most incisive and relevant science fiction movie made in the entire decade, as the movie offers brutal social commentary presented in an innovative manner.

Studios had struggled to market The Princess Bride, and as “Inconceivable!” as it might be now, the movie was widely regarded as a box-office disappointment. Opening on barely 800 screens, it hadn’t even cracked $30 million, and wouldn’t be popularly regarded as a significant movie for several more years. So the fact that fandom chose it as their favourite indicates that the Worldcon community was ahead of the curve. Told as a metafictional narrative read by a grandfather to his sick grandson, the movie follows a farm boy named Westley (Cary Elwes) on a quest to rescue his true love Princess Buttercup (Robin Wright). For at least one member of our cinema club, Princess Bride remains her “favourite movie of all time,” but some others found the delivery a touch too saccharine and the whimsy to be forced.

Although some of us still wish a more purely science fictional movie like Robocop could have won the Hugo that year, it’s difficult to quibble with the overwhelming vote of the 1988 Worldcon attendees. The Princess Bride was the film that represented the tastes of fandom voters that year. Considering the fact that it remains a cult favourite in the broader public, it’s probably the right pick for the award.

The Alien Conquest of Brighton (Hugo Cinema 1987)

This blog post is the thirtieth in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.

It had been an unusually cool August in Brighton, the English seaside town that hosted the 45th World Science Fiction Convention. But on the day of the Hugo Award ceremony the weather had turned pleasant.

The Brighton Metropole Hotel, site of the 1987 
Hugo Awards. (Image via Doubletree.com)

The event was held at the Brighton Metropole Hotel. It was possibly one of the most architecturally significant venues ever to host the Hugos, having been designed by Alfred Waterhouse, who was famous for the Natural History Museum in London and Strangeways in Manchester.

The ceremony had to conclude by 10 p.m. sharp, owing to timed fireworks that would conclude the Worldcon. This meant short shrift for categories without acceptors in attendance. Per usual, there was nobody present to accept the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation, but the win for Aliens was greeted by the audience with a robust cheer. It had won by a considerable margin.

Some weeks after the ceremony, Hugo Administrator Paul Kincaid stopped by the offices of 20th Century Fox and left the Hugo trophy with the receptionist.

It was an eclectic and interesting year for science fiction and fantasy film, with numerous and impressive titles failing to make the shortlist. The Park Plaza Mall was terrorized by security robots in Jim Wynorski’s send-up of Regan-era capitalism Chopping Mall. Autobots and Decepticons battled it out in the first — and best — big-screen outing for the Transformers. A rural British couple faced the aftermath of a nuclear war in Jimmy Murakami’s animated movie When The Wind Blows. And in the Russian movie Dead Man’s Letters, a scientist huddled in the basement of a decimated museum trying to imagine what he’d say to his son.

Clancy Brown is a memorably
great villain in Highlander.
(Image via IMDB)

A surprising omission from the shortlist is Russell Mulcahy’s Highlander, a stylishly directed epic about immortals destined to fight each other to the death. Although it was not particularly successful in the cinemas, the movie had decent buzz within fandom, and has held up better than most movies of the era. Mulcahy, who had a background as a music video auteur, took a rock-and-roll sensibility to the direction and livened up the editing with thoughtful transition wipes. It is impressive how clear and easy the movie is to follow given that the narrative is told in two parallel tracks, following the protagonist Connor McLeod (Christopher Lambert) in the present day in one and in the 1700s in the other. Notably, the soundtrack was by Queen, and featured several top-charting hits. Highlander is one of the most technically accomplished SFF films of the year, despite a leaden and hammy performance by Christopher Lambert.

But to be fair, there’s only really one movie on the 1987 shortlist for Dramatic Presentation that probably doesn’t belong there: Labyrinth, Jim Henson and Brian Froud’s follow-up to The Dark Crystal. Like many other Henson productions, the movie has some charm and is visually appealing, but the story meanders and blunders from event to event with little direction. Featuring David Bowie as the Goblin King, the movie is oddly paced with what little plot there is interrupted by largely irrelevant musical numbers. It does get some points for being the only non-remake, non-sequel movie on the shortlist in 1987.

Labyrinth was one of two musicals on the shortlist, which was the only time multiple musicals were shortlisted for the Hugo in the same year. Little Shop of Horrors (adapted from a Broadway play based on the 1960 Roger Corman movie of the same name) could be considered the first Kaiju movie ever shortlisted for a Hugo Award. It’s filled with top-tier talent (such as Rick Moranis, Steve Martin, John Candy, and Jim Belushi) and has an incredible amount of energy in the first half, leaving the second act in, well, second place. There was a fair amount of disagreement in our viewing club, with some of the viewers complaining that the music was “very Boomer,” and that the lead actress Ellen Greene was cloying in her theatrics.

Evil alien plant Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors
was voiced by Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops.
(Image via Letterboxd)

David Cronenberg’s The Fly is one of the few cinematic remakes that is generally considered to have outshone the original. Set almost entirely in the apartment and laboratory of scientist Seth Brundle (a young Jeff Goldblum), it centres on his relationship with journalist Veronica Quaife (an even younger Geena Davis) as an experiment causes him to slowly transform into a human-fly hybrid. The movie is carried by two truly terrific lead performances, and viscerally disturbing body horror. In another year, it might have competed for the trophy, but 1987 was a very strong year.

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home came in second in the final vote, and it’s easy to understand why. With the crew time travelling back to 1980s Earth to save humpback whales and humanity, it’s probably the most unserious of all Star Trek movies. It was, however, also one of the most engaging to watch, especially for those in our cinema club who are not hard-core Trekkies. This would have been at, or near the top of most of our ballots despite some dated gender dynamics in the (somewhat forced) romance between captain James T. Kirk and marine biologist Dr. Gillian Taylor (Catherine Hicks).

But the winner for Best Dramatic Presentation in 1987 was never in doubt. It’s easy to see why Aliens — the sequel to 1979’s Hugo-winner Alien — earned more than twice as many votes as its nearest competitor on the shortlist. The sequel sees Ripley return to the alien-infested planet, this time with marines and massive firepower. Much like the Hugo ceremony in 1987, it ends with fireworks. Aliens is a truly exceptional action movie that counterpoints the isolating horror of the original.

YASSSS QUEEN! Hashtag #Slay!
(Image via IMDB)

What is really stunning to see with the benefit of hindsight is just how efficiently written Aliens is, and the technical skill evident in the craftsmanship. Characters are introduced in as few lines of dialogue as possible, and yet seem fleshed out and real; as an example a female marine named Vasquez (Jenette Goldstein) has fewer than a dozen lines in the movie, but connects with the audience. It’s also worth noting that the pace of editing in Aliens is beyond anything contemporaneous audiences were used to, using almost twice as many cuts per minute than anything else on the Hugo shortlist that year. The overall effect is a percussive, and deeply engaging action movie that puts science fiction at the forefront.

The Hugo for Best Dramatic Presentation was just finishing its third decade in existence, and was now clearly one of the most popular categories with voters. More votes were cast with Aliens as a top choice than had been cast in the entire Fan Artist category that year, for example. The award had come into its own, and did it in style by recognizing a movie that is inarguably the best of the year.

All These Films Are Bores ... Except Ghostbusters, Attempt No Panning There (Hugo Cinema 1985)

This blog post is the twenty-eighth  in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.

In 1985, for the first time at a Hugo Award ceremony, trailers for each of the five finalists for Best Dramatic Presentation were screened. This technical achievement was slightly undermined, however, by a missed cue and the trailers suddenly being started in the middle of emcee Marc Ortleib’s introduction of the shortlist. But the presentation was greeted with cheers and good humour.

Capitalizing on the success of Stanley Kubrick's
enigmatic and mysterious 2001, Peter Hyram's
sequel offered tepid explanations and answers.
(Image via MGM)

Gone were the years when as few as four nominating ballots were required to get a movie on the shortlist. Even the least-nominated finalist in 1985 had received 40 nominating votes. While Worldcon voters were showing the category some much needed respect, the nominees were less enthused. As per usual — and as is still largely the norm — not a single one of the finalists in the category were on hand to witness the award’s presentation.

It had been a banner year for science fiction and fantasy movies. One of the most successful filmmakers of all time — James Cameron — burst onto the scene with Terminator. Beloved Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki had his breakout hit with Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. The BBC changed the shape of the Cold War with its harrowing and unforgettable depiction of nuclear war in Threads. John Sayles tackled racial alienation in his weird parable Brother From Another Planet. Somehow none of these films made the cut for the Hugo Award. Even beyond this lineup, there were credible works omitted from the ballot. Neverending Story has fantastical charm. Joe Dante’s Gremlins remains iconic. Repo Man and Buckaroo Banzai are cult classics.

Which all makes that year’s Hugo Award shortlist the more befuddling. Most of the movies honoured with a Hugo nod that year are … little more than fine.

The Last Starfighter eked onto the ballot with about half as many nominating votes of anything else on the shortlist. It’s a surprisingly pedestrian outing about Alex Rogan (Lance Guest), a young man from a small trailer park in California, whose prowess with video games leads to his recruitment as a pilot in an intergalactic war. Although portions of the film are charming — especially the comedic storyline involving a replicant android acting as Alex’s stand-in on Earth — the movie is stilted and filled to the brim with leaden performances. The New York Times put it bluntly: it is less inspired than derived.

The Search for Spock is rarely listed as anyone’s all-time-favourite Star Trek movie. It’s an oddly paced script with some clunky concepts. The whole “resurrection” storyline may have been preordained by the ending of the previous movie, but it mostly doesn’t work. That being said, the core cast offer a few endearing performances, and individual character moments are handled well. One notable aspect of the movie is Christopher Lloyd’s performance as Klingon captain Kruge, which would shape how all future iterations of the franchise depict the race.

Brother From Another Planet
is a masterclass in "show, don't
tell." Joe Morton is simply superb.
(Image via IMDB)

David Lynch’s lush, sweeping adaptation of Dune is unfondly remembered by many fans of Frank Herbert’s classic novel, but it has its merits. The cast is first-rate; often providing better performances than the more critically lauded remake. Leading in with an extremely long monologue, and pausing for a lot of exposition, the movie does feel ponderous. However, this set-up was appreciated by those who had watched the recent movies and had found them opaque. Some visual effects scenes were campy, but they were effective. Fundamentally though, the movie has too much story to tell over a relatively short runtime. In a one-star review, Roger Ebert panned the movie as an “incomprehensible, ugly, unstructured, pointless excursion into the murkier realms of one of the most confusing screenplays of all time.”

Of the movies on the shortlist, we’d suggest that Ghostbusters aged the best, despite at least one character’s overt sexism. The continuing series of inferior sequels makes it easy to forget just how much the original was lightning in a bottle. The movie offers viewers three top-tier comedians at the height of their game playing with a high-concept script. The amount of planning required for special effects is often at odds with the improvisational comedy that remains in the final cut, but somehow many of the lines still feel fresh. Conversely, the character of Peter Venckman (played by Bill Murray), who habitually harasses women, was seen as dated when the film was released and fast-forward worthy when rewatching today. Even the filmakers themselves chose to portray this as less than an admirable quality. This begs the question of why it was included at all.

Ghostbusters is a remarkably well-made movie,
one that remains enough appeal today that
a friend of the blog has authored a guest post
grappling with the movie's enduring appeal.
(Image via IMDB)

The winning movie that year was 2010: The Year We Make Contact, the sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s classic 2001. Languidly paced and cerebral, it’s enriched by several excellent performances including from Helen Mirren and John Lithgow. However, director Peter Hyrams (Timecop, End of Days) is no Stanley Kubrick and the sequel relies too much on exposition and lacks the beauty or the artfulness of the original. Looming nuclear conflict on Earth rarely has the emotional impact it deserves — it’s a strikingly cold movie.

It would be difficult to call the Hugo Best Dramatic Presentation winner the best science fiction movie of the year, but we had little consensus about what should have won. Some in our group thought Ghostbusters deserved the nod, others opted for the grittiness of Terminator, some liked the exuberant weirdness of David Lynch’s Dune, one person even thought the empathy of Brother From Another Planet made it more worthy of the award than any of the nominees.

In 1985, Hugo voters had incredible movies to choose from. They could have done better than 2010.

Marooned in the Undying Lands

Not too long ago, we lived at Francis Fukayama’s “End of History.”

It’s difficult to convey to younger SFF fans —
say those under the age of 40 — the degree to
which fears of Soviet domination once preoccupied
the public imagination, or the degree to which many
were convinced that democracy had
triumphed once and for all. 
(Image via CNN)

As risible or foolish as the idea seems now, in the early 1990s there was a near-consensus within the chattering classes that the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Soviet Union had ushered in the final triumph of American-style liberal democracy. According to those who subscribed to this theory, the Last Great Battle had been fought — and won. Social evolution had completed its mission; we had arrived at its pinnacle. The story of history had reached its resolution and now all that was left was to sail into the west.

With the benefit of 25 years of hindsight, it seems redundant to say that the Cold War was no Last Great Battle, and of course there was no White Ship and no Undying Lands.

There’s an obvious malaise to the idea that we have nothing left to achieve, or evolve into. If history is over, all that’s left is stagnation and of stasis. If the Last Great Battle has been fought, there are no more stories left to tell.

This idea of finality is ingrained into much of now-mainstream popular culture. Over the past few years, too many major SFF media franchises are stagnating in a post-eschatological malaise, seemingly afraid to venture into truly new territories. With little narrative momentum left, they seem marooned in the Undying Lands. They want their Last Great Battle, but don't have the integrity to accept the implied End of History.

It’s easy to think of examples: Star Wars, The Marvel Cinematic Universe, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Babylon 5, and more. In each, the evil empire has been defeated, good has triumphed, and history has ended.

Franchises with some degree of narrative integrity allow the story to be over in a dignified manner, and to avoid attempts to monetize the goodwill and nostalgia of fans. However, some are compelled by the mandates of corporate profit-seeking to endlessly create new instalments in their narrative universe — and have all struggled to define what’s next.

Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings may have been
released after 9/11, but principal filming on all
three movies had all occurred from 1999 to 2000.
It is the product of an End-Of-History mindset.
(Image via Entertainment Weekly)

One approach that several franchises have taken to avoid the End of History hurting revenues is to plumb the mythologies of their narrative universe through a series of prequels. Unsurprisingly, the relevance of these works diminishes over time and can even dilute the original narrative. For example, the Last Great Battle of Westeros in the television series Game of Thrones neither lived up to the hype nor left room for grand adventures afterwards. This has left HBO with little more than prequels on its production roster.

This is not a new phenomenon. John Christopher returned to his Tripods Trilogy — which ends with a Last Great Battle — to write a prequel in 1988. Once Katniss Everdeen had won her Last Great Battle, all that was left was a Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes. Battlestar Galactica went back to Caprica. And of Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, the less said the better.

Possibly the apotheosis of this trend has been Amazon Prime’s How Galadriel Got Her Groove Back The Rings of Power, a prequel of little interest to anyone other than the most hard-core fans.

But prequelization isn’t the only way that franchises attempt to deal with the End of History problem. The early years of the Marvel Cinematic Universe are generally regarded as creatively their most successful — in large part because they were building up to a universe-shaping showdown with their ultimate foe Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. To their credit, the decision makers of the Marvel Cinematic Universe have largely avoided the siren’s call of nostalgic prequelization, instead trying to continue as if the Last Great Battle hasn’t changed anything. The results have been mixed.

In the 1990s, no popular narrative embraced Francis Fukuyama’s ideas as wholeheartedly as Star Trek did; The Next Generation presented the American-analogue United Federation of Planets as the pinnacle of civilization; want had been conquered, social problems resolved, and now Jean-Luc and friends would act as emissaries of an idealized human society. But in a post-End-of-History world, this vision of Star Trek no longer makes sense. Since then with the possible exception of Deep Space Nine, the franchise has struggled to advance a coherent vision of what comes next; between stuck-in-the-past prequels (Enterprise, Strange New Worlds) nostalgic revisiting of past lore (Picard, Lower Decks) the franchise has often been treading water. 

The theory of an “End of History” has an obvious appeal; people tend to understand the world through a framework of narrative … and that all stories have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Perhaps it’s time to allow some of these franchises a dignified ending.

The Year That Science Fiction Won The Culture War (Hugo Cinema 1983)

This blog post is the twenty-sixth in a series examining past winners of the Best Dramatic Presentation Hugo Award. An introductory blog post is here.

At 1:30 p.m. on Friday, September 2, 1983 at the Baltimore convention Centre, a panel discussing the previous year’s best movies and television shows was held as part of ConStellation, the 41st World Science Fiction Convention.

In 1982, audiences flocked to see Spielberg's
watered-down and mawkish remake of
Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
(Image via Cult Following)

“It is obvious,” opined one of the panelists, “that E.T. will win the Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation.”

There seemed to be a consensus that E.T. — a $360-million blockbuster box-office juggernaut — was going to win the award … though some fans such as Richard E. Geis (who himself won a Hugo that year) groused that they were, “sick of the Steven Spielberg juvenile sweetness-n-light approach to SF.”

On the Sunday evening of the convention at the Hugo Awards ceremony (which featured a crab feast), however, the audience reacted with stunned silence — and then rapturous applause — as toastmaster Jack L. Chalker read out that Blade Runner had taken home the trophy.

It was not an uncontroversial decision; Blade Runner seems to have been championed by old-school science fiction fans and those who wanted the genre to take itself seriously, while E.T. was the choice of more whimsical fans. One fanzine churlishly chalked up Blade Runner’s win to nostalgia and a desire to give a Hugo to the recently deceased Philip K. Dick. 

Not all science fiction movies
of 1982 are certified classics.
(Image via IMDB)

It had been an impressive year for science fiction cinema. The Hugo shortlist featured classics like Blade Runner, E.T., and Mad Max: The Road Warrior alongside The Wrath of Khan (often regarded as the best Star Trek movie) and The Dark Crystal (which retains a cult following today).

Beyond the shortlist were even more important classics, almost too many to talk about in a blog post. John Carpenter’s The Thing remains one of the greatest science fiction horror movies ever made. Special effects juggernaut Tron kicked off the digital revolution in how movies were made. Don Bluth’s first movie as a director, The Secret of Nimh, is still beloved by younger audiences. Rainer Wenrer Fassbender’s Kamikaze 1989 brought the cyberpunk movement to Germany. French director René Laloux worked with famed illustrator Mœbius on an animated space opera Les Maîtres du Temps. John Milius brought Robert E. Howard’s Conan the Barbarian to the screen. In Poland, Piotr Kamler wowed audiences with the visually lush stop-motion of Chronopolis. Not to mention, that television shows Knight Rider and Voyagers! both hit the airwaves that year!

Rewatching these films with the benefit of 40 years of hindsight, the shortlist looks pretty darned good. Even Jo Walton (who has often griped about the Best Dramatic Presentation category at the Hugos) conceded that in 1983, “there’s not only a worthy winner in this category, but something that almost looks like sufficient nominees to be worth running it.”

The weakest movie on the shortlist is The Dark Crystal. Although the set design is lush and the technical details are impressive, the story is pedestrian and the dialogue is dull. It’s a standard fantasy epic in which a hobbit gelfling has to travel to mount doom the citadel and destroy a ring crystal shard. None of the characters are particularly memorable, other than in appearance.

The soundtrack to Mad Max is a bit too much like
Yakety Sax for our tastes, but the visuals are great.
(Image via SlashFilm)

Even early in his directorial career, George Miller’s talent for visual storytelling is evident in the kinetic, engaging, and over-the-top bonkers Mad Max: The Road Warrior. Watching it in the context of its era, it’s difficult to overstate how revolutionary it was for post-apocalyptic movies; compared to the frenetic violence of Mad Max, the previous decade’s offerings such as Omega Man, A Boy And His Dog, and No Blade Of Grass all seem quaint. Although we’re generally not fans of opening and closing monologues, Mad Max does enough visual storytelling to have earned its exposition. Despite his later descent into antisemetic buffoonery, it’s easy to understand why the young Mel Gibson became a star. Just 21 years old at the time of filming, he’s able to carry the movie on his performance.

Given that the franchise has become increasingly focused on nostalgia, it’s interesting to note that The Wrath of Khan is the first Star Trek film that is mostly looking at the past. Not only does the movie deal with an antagonist that had appeared in a previous episode, James T. Kirk (William Shatner) spends much of the film pining for the old days and contemplating his own mortality. One of the reasons this works is that — unlike another former Trek captain’s navel-gazing nostalgia fest — The Wrath of Khan also explores generational change. Some might argue that director Nicholas Meyer’s other Trek film is better but there’s a lot to love in this movie and it’s easy to understand why it placed second on the Hugo shortlist. It’s not just good Star Trek, it’s a good movie.

What aged less well, however, is E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. Despite good special effects, and Steven Spielberg’s skill with lighting and shot framing, we might argue that it doesn’t meet the standards of science fiction or of storytelling that should be expected of a Hugo finalist — especially in a cinematic year as strong as 1982. The movie often feels like an overlong sitcom episode with a pedestrian alien plot and wacky elementary school hijinks. Moreover, most of the younger characters are surprisingly mean to each other pretty much all the time; dialogue is delivered as yelling which can be exhausting for today’s audience. That being said, it was the top-grossing movie of the year, so clearly it resonated with audiences of the day.

Blade Runner is visually immersive, lush, and 
compelling. It's stood the test of time.
(Image via IMDB)

But Blade Runner was the Hugo winner, and it deserved to be honoured. Visually immersive and moody, it was a revolution in what serious science fiction could be. As Richard E. Geiss wrote at the time: “Blade Runner captures something on film I thought to be almost impossible -- the near-future claustrophobic paranoid polluted urban landscape so prevalent in most of [Philip K.] Dick’s more memorable novels.”

It’s also worth noting that the 1983 Worldcon was attended by an unusually large number of movie stars and cinema professionals. Makeup artist Rick Baker was in attendance to talk about Greystoke. Producer Gary Kurz (Empire Strikes Back) was there to talk about his Return to Oz. Jim Henson attended his second Worldcon in two years, this time to promote The Muppets Take Manhattan. The entire primary cast of The Right Stuff was in attendance, as well as the movie’s inspiration Chuck Yeager. In keeping with a continuing tradition, however, the movie that won the Hugo did not have anyone in attendance to accept the award.

There was little consensus in our group as to what should have won the Hugo for Best Dramatic Presentation in 1982, but we did agree that no matter what won the award, something truly great would be snubbed. Many of us wished The Wrath of Khan could have won, while others felt The Thing should have been honoured.

It was simply a great year for science fiction and fantasy cinema. 

Put This Fish In Your Ear

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy makes light
of universal translation, providing the protagonist
with a fish that lives in his ear and translates.
(Image via BBC)

In the fourth season of the British science fiction comedy Red Dwarf, starship captain Arnold Rimmer orders that greetings be broadcast in all known languages — “including Welsh.”

The joke highlights the sometimes ambivalent relationship that science fiction has with the reality of linguistic diversity. More than 3,000 languages on the planet have fewer than 1,000 living speakers and are at risk of disappearing forever. It’s worth speculating about the future of minority languages, and science fiction seems like as good a place as any to do that.

Linguistic diversity is important for a variety of reasons. Language is central to culture, and both shape our worldviews and influence our decisions and experiences. Because language encodes culturally specific knowledge systems, it stands to reason that having people who can think in different languages provides humanity different intellectual toolsets, the better with which to solve societal problems. In short, the whole of humanity is strengthened and enriched by linguistic diversity.

In space opera, matters of intercultural communication are often hand waved away through universal translators, the existence of a galactic standard language, or somesuch. As convenient as these plot devices are, their widespread use in genre fiction reveals assumptions about culture and minority rights that have often been unchallenged in science fiction.

For example, universal translators rely on the premise that there is a common meaning between words; that translation is nothing more than identifying a corresponding word in another language. Well known franchises portray a platonic ideal of unambiguous meaning behind words, something that can be losslessly conveyed from one sapient being to another. It’s obvious that the multivalent and chaotic nature of language belies such attempts. In extremely simplistic terms, how could a universal translator handle all the connotations of a word like “pontificate” without indicating that it is a reference to both religious leaders and bridges? Required context can only be built, not assumed. Signifiers evolve alongside cultural practices and are endowed with the meanings intended by their users.

Despite being born in Aberdeen, Montgomery
Scott does not seem to speak Scots (though
he’s fluent enough in Welsh to sing
Yr Hufen Melyn). It’s unclear if the Scots
language has survived into the 24th Century. 
(Image via Memory Beta)

Famously, The Next Generation attempted to grapple with this criticism in its fifth-season episode Darmok. In the episode, Captain Jean-Luc Picard struggles to communicate with the captain of an alien race — the Tamarians — who communicate only in metaphor and allegory. While it’s a superb hour of television about empathy and attempting to bridge communication gaps, it doesn’t tackle the loaded meanings of individual words. The universal translator is seamlessly able to translate metaphor in Tamarian sentences like “When his mind was fogged” or “Kimarnt, her head cloudy” despite the fact that weather patterns do not necessarily connote the addled perceptions or cognition for Tamarians that these sentences might imply for humans whose languages developed on Earth.

Within the universe of Star Trek, language and culture are mostly treated as separable concepts, and the latter seems to be predetermined by genetic destiny. Klingon society is shaped by inherent properties of the species biology rather than the weights of meaning embedded in their words. To be clear: language is continuously reshaped by evolving cultural practices and socially reproduced, bending most to those with cultural dominance.

While the goal of universal translators might be to bring people together, albeit with dubious technical premises, the idea of a ‘galactic standard’ implies an attempt at control that can be stifling at best (e.g., blind academic adherence to a style guide or your friendly neighbourhood “grammar cop”) and morally reprehensible at worst. The idea of a standard in its worst incarnation conveys that minority languages and consequently minority cultures have been — or are in the process of being — wiped out. Star Wars, which is one of the more famous examples of a fictional universe with a galactic standard language, depicts a setting where fascism has run rampant on several occasions (which may help explain the lack of linguistic diversity). The imposition of majoritarian language has often been used by an oppressor (the global dominance of English and Spanish is in large part the legacy of genocides).

Star Trek’s Vulcans provide another example. They are known for celebrating “Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations,” but the species seems to have only one language. Why is this? There are references to multiple ethnicities of Vulcan, which one must assume means that at one point there were disparate populations scattered across the desert planet’s surface, each of which likely had its own language. But by the time of first contact with humans, only the language Vuhlkansu remains as a common tongue (with Old High Vulcan used for some ceremonial purposes). By the textual evidence in Star Trek’s various incarnations, it seems clear that at some point in the past, many indigenous languages on Vulcan were eliminated. How many mass graves do the planet’s deserts hide?

Now, it should be noted that there have been sporadic attempts to broach the subject of language in SFF with a bit more nuance. In his Culture novels, Iain M. Banks describes a galactic standard language Marain, which he suggests is a “a means of expression which would be culturally inclusive and as encompassingly comprehensive in its technical and representational possibilities as practically achievable.” But even Banks’ descriptions of Marain betray a positivist approach to language based on ideas that some languages are ‘lesser’ than others. This is the sort of thinking (and expression) that leads to residential schools and the suppression of minority cultures.

Another interesting example of minority language representation in space opera is the Arthur C. Clarke Award-winner Deep Wheel Orcadia — a love story told in the form of an epic poem written in an Orkney dialect, with parallel text providing the English translation.

The horror movie Pontypool gets its name
from the Welsh town of Pont-y-pŵl. The movie
is more relevant today than it was
when it was first released.
(Image via IMDB)

And in 2009 Canadian director Bruce McDonald’s Pontypool provided one of the genre’s most incisive critiques of linguistic monoculture. The movie depicts a world in which the English language in Southern Ontario has become the vector for an infectious set of ideas, and only those who speak a minority language can survive. This could be read as a metaphor for the type of destructive rhetoric that has spread like wildfire through much of the English-speaking world over the past few years.

As of early 2023, there were 7,164 spoken languages on Earth, according to Ethnologue. Of these, just over 3,000 had fewer than 1,000 people who spoke them — that’s about 42 per cent of world languages that are on the verge of disappearing. This is a rapid movement towards the monoculturalization of our lignuistic landscape, but it's one that has gotten short shrift in genre work.

Science fiction often concerns itself with the ways in which the world and society are changing; particularly when it is changing rapidly. The rise of car-oriented culture led to individualist space opera. The rapid expansion of computing power led to cyberpunk. The rapidly changing climate led to cli-fi. But to date, the rapid destruction of language diversity does not have a corresponding movement in SFF.