e're an awfully jaded people, those of us seeking entertainment here at the beginning of what comparatively speaking is still a brand-spanking-new millennium. At one time, looking up at the stars and picking out the shapes of gods and animals was enough to fill our minds with dreams. But these days, it seems that we only pay attention to space when a disaster rubs our collective noses in it. And as for being inspired by spectacle, some of us even look at the state-of-the-art, bullet-time effects of The Matrix Reloaded and yawn. "Been there," we say. "Done that. Can't you do better?" We're surrounded by bread and circuses so Brobdingnagian that they would blow the mind of an average Roman, and yet, for denizens of the year 2003, often ... it just isn't enough.
I'm just as guilty of this sort of ingratitude of the imagination as anyone else. I eagerly went to see The Matrix Reloaded, hoping that it would have the same powerful effect on me as did the first film, but unfortunately, it just ... didn't. Yes, I was entertained, and yes, the thrill of watching Neo battle dozens of Agent Smiths could not be denied. And yet—the element of something new and unknown was missing, and there were times when I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, waiting for the talking to end and for the movie to just get on with it, to show me something larger, something louder, something just a little bit more impossible.
That scared me. In speaking with others, I've learned that I'm not the only one to come away undazzled. And so, I wonder—Is that what we've come to? Have we developed some strange sort of attention-deficit disorder of the soul?
Bigger bangs await us in theaters in the near future—the trailers for T3: Rise of the Machines and Freddy vs. Jason that shared the screen with Keanu held out the promise of more extravagant stunts and even bigger scares. But still, I worried.
What if my appetite for fantastic images should increase at a greater rate than the world's ability to satisfy them? Would I—would all of us—be fated to live forever hungry?
That was now, this is then
Were our parents like this? Or our grandparents and their grandparents before them? I tried to sort all that out recently when I visited Baltimore's American Dime Museum. The American Dime Museum is dedicated to preserving the relics of those sideshows of curiosities that toured the country from the mid-19th century until they were put out of business by more modern entertainments. The museum's collection is overflowing with thousands of phantasmagorical historical artifacts, some of which were real (a la a miniature mansion built of matchsticks) and some of which only purported to be real (such as the preserved body of a captured sea serpent).
In a glass case along one wall stretches what was originally ballyhooed as a "Mummified Indian Woman and Child 6,000 Years Old," quite an exaggeration for something made 100 years or so ago of sawdust and plaster. Hanging at eye level is a fish covered with dubious white feathers, a mutation supposedly brought on by its need to survive in deep icy waters. In the day when these items were still new, carnival barkers would keep them carefully hidden, and then use their most persuasive patter to convince gullible customers to plunk their dimes down for a glimpse, a lesson—to sell the sizzle more than the steak—that Hollywood's hucksters have never forgotten.
Since we now clearly see these manufactured marvels as hoaxes, you might be tempted to laugh at those ancestors of ours who could once have been captivated and deceived by such an assortment of oddities. And while it's true that is one of the possible side effects of visiting, there's more to be gained at the American Dime Museum than a sense of smugness. Take a moment to imagine the audience for these strange objects. Envision the world in which they lived. If you find yourself able to get into the right frame of mind, then the sawdust turns to wonder.
Earth was a smaller globe then. Maps may not have had "Here There Be Dragons" inscribed at their corners any longer, but there was still a great deal humanity did not know. It was a far easier era in which to be shocked and amazed, a time without radio, television or the Internet. When confronted with this sort of concrete evidence of unexplained phenomena, it was far easier to be dazzled. Who knew what mysteries and wonders might lie on the other side of the planet, when so few had seen it?
As far as our ancestors were concerned, sideshows such as these delivered to their generation all the spectacle and wonder that The Matrix Reloaded promised to ours.
And who's to say which of us is better off?
Scott Edelman started his trek to the editor-in-chief position at Science
Fiction Weekly decades ago, when he began working as an assistant editor at
Marvel Comics. Between these two positions, this four-time Hugo Award nominee in
the category of Best Editor was the founding editor of the
award-winning magazine Science Fiction Age, in addition to editing
Sci-Fi Universe, Sci-Fi Flix and Satellite Orbit. Currently, he also edits SCI
FI, the official magazine of the SCI FI Channel. His short stories can be found in the recent anthologies Angel Body and other Magic for the Soul and The Book of More Flesh.
