Last night, I watched a good chunk of The Chronicles of Riddick, possibly the most poorly thought out sequel ever to have been made. I’m not able to say for certain, but I think it might just be Vin Diesel’s worst movie. Which is saying a lot.
To save you from having to watch it, I’ll tell you that it’s a follow up to Pitch Black, an awesome, relatively low budget sci fi picture with a limited scope and setting. For whatever reason, somebody decided that it was a good idea to take Diesel’s character, an anti-hero convict with great night vision, and turn him into the saviour of the universe. Chronicles tries very hard to be an epic, and as a result, feels like a movie trying very hard to be an epic.
This experience got me thinking. People seem to complain quite often that studios or individuals “ruin” their favourite things: off the top of my head, I’ll call out the Star Wars Prequels, Bob Dylan, and, pursuant to my recent thoughts, Charlie Brooker. The thing about this point of view is that recorded art has a permanence to it. When Dylan decided to start playing electric guitar, he didn’t go out searching for all the albums he’d made with an acoustic in order to destroy them and expunge that memory from existence. George Lucas didn’t have to unmake the original Star Wars pictures in order to make the prequels (although the remasters are a travesty).
And if our beloved artists change their direction, or their motivation, I don’t think they should be held to account for it by their fans. As The Book of The Way says, all things are subject to change. I don’t think it’s all that difficult to accept that when we’re blessed with a lasting record of our favourite things.
This is from the