Last night as I was watching "I, Robot" for the umpteenth time, I was struck by how much I like movies based on novels or stories by Philip K. Dick, and how intensely I dislike his writing. This particular story was originated by Isaac Asimov, but it always makes me think of PKD. I was also thinking this while watching the latest director's cut of "Blade Runner" at the Uptown Theatre last week. "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" was the most ho-hum story I've read in a long time. Who cares about hallucinatory horned toads? Good grief. Then you call the repairman on your husband because his completely manufactured religious experience is on the fritz? This is one instance in which the movie was better than the book.
Back to I, Robot... Now those who know me will know that I am endlessly fascinated by what defines humanity, and how we can mirror or pantomime that to put others at ease when it doesn't come naturally. (A primer for my un-sympathetic and un-compassionate self.)So the robot Sonny's struggle to be accepted by Spoon as a unique individual and eventually a friend is interesting to watch. I didn't read the story it's based on. I won't pretend to have an opinion on it aside from one informed by experience. I don't like Dick.
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