WEIRDLAND: The Martian, Antiheroes & Hackers, Mr Robot (Reality of the naive)

Sunday, September 06, 2015

The Martian, Antiheroes & Hackers, Mr Robot (Reality of the naive)

During a manned mission to Mars, Astronaut Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is presumed dead after a fierce storm and left behind by his crew. But Watney has survived and finds himself stranded and alone on the hostile planet. With only meager supplies, he must draw upon his ingenuity, wit and spirit to subsist and find a way to signal to Earth that he is alive. Millions of miles away, NASA and a team of international scientists work tirelessly to bring The Martian home. His crewmates concurrently plot a daring, if not impossible, rescue mission. As these stories of incredible bravery unfold, the world comes together to root for Watney's safe return.

The Martian is based on the novel by author Andy Weir. It landed at number 12 on the New York Times Best Seller list for hardcore fiction when it debuted in March, 2014. Some believe The Martian will be the next Gravity. But with Matt Damon playing a foul-mouthed comic book loving astro-botanist, this thriller definitely has a personality all its own. Source:

Matt Damon takes the prize by bringing angst and that crucial piece of everyman believability to Max as we share his pain and POV. Exactly how he morphs from a mere factory floor monkey and into the person trying to burn down the rich people is as engrossing as it is hard to watch. At the least, he’s a strange anti-hero and an unlikely proponent of the “Down with Elysium!” movement. “Elysium” runs on a motor powered by transhumanism. In the former, it was about understanding xeno culture by literally mutating into the alien; this time, it’s about machine augmentation of the human form. Source:

Hollywood Reporter: -The word "antihero" is thrown around a lot in TV. What do you think of it and how it applies to Mr. Robot?

Sam Esmail: -It's weird because all of a sudden antiheroes are flawed characters. Aren't all people flawed? I find it odd. The weird thing is that everyone gets so impressed. When you don't have a main character that's flawed, I don't know how you relate to that person. Maybe it's a testament to what shows used to be and this preconceived notion that you had to have a likable guy who appealed to everybody. There's a sense of phoniness about that. It's almost as if you're an observer and you can't empathize with a person. We obviously take a lot of risks with Elliot, but the important part is to make him compelling. Source:

Up close, the first thing you notice about him is his mouth. It would be easy to say his eyes, which are wide-set and intense—part of what makes his vigilante hacker so compulsively watchable. But it’s his mouth, with permanently pursed lips and a slanted grin, that gives his face its personality. And as for those eyes, where Elliot’s show disconnect and paranoia, Rami’s are kind and engaging. He’s also almost hypnotic with his eye contact. He’s small (5-foot-7), but there’s a wiry manliness about him; he has a large presence, but few pretensions. Even when I ask the Los Angeles native to stand in the middle of Crosby Street with “New York City” sprawled across his chest in cashmere. He is, after all, the city's newest antihero. And he's embracing it. Source:

"What I wouldn't give to be normal. To live in that bubble. Reality of the naive." He said. His eyes locked into mine. I could name every shade and hue of green and blue in his eyes if someone asked me to, know every line and feature on his face even in the dark, but the depth of the emotions he sometimes displays never ceases to surprise me.  "If you were like everybody else, then you wouldn't be Elliot, we never would've met, and I wouldn't be standing right here in front of you." He smiled, he doesn't smile very often, but when he does, his eyes turn the brightest shade of green. I touched his hand, half expecting him to flinch, or pull away, but he doesn't, and I continue to lace our fingers together. His palm was warm, his skin burning against my own, and there is a new kind of fire igniting within his gaze. "You're right." He doesn't say anymore, and bites his bottom lip. I wonder if he feels the tension too, this indescribable heat between us that just keeps building and building, until we have to separate or else it will consume us. "I always am..." I smiled at him, and I catch a glimpse of him looking down at my lips, our eyes meet again, and I feel him pulling me towards him, until there is no space between us. His scent is intoxicating, like soap and cigarette smoke, with just a hint of mint.

His black hoodie feels worn and lovely beneath my touch as I find myself clinging to him, his lips suddenly pressed against my own. I kiss him back, this feels right, so right that I start to think I might turn into a saint, if this keeps up. I moan into his mouth and his grip on my waist tightens, there would be bruises, I can tell, but I don't mind, as long as it's him. He takes this chance to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue into mine, and I could taste him, the nicotine and mint driving me into a high. He lifted me up, his arm around my waist and the other gripping my ass, my thighs pressed against his hips. He carried me to his bed, not once breaking our kiss, even when he lowered me onto the mattress. He thrust his hips, creating sweet friction between us, we are so close now. I never knew I could feel so exposed and naked, while fully clothed, until he looked at me, his eyes slowly undressing, his lips lightly caressing. And it was then that I realized how deliciously dangerous he is, how wonderfully wicked.

Elliot wasn't around when I woke up earlier this morning. The rain pelted the streets like bullets; painting everything a gloomy shade of gray. I heard the sloshing of footsteps, I looked up and was met with vibrant Green eyes. Elliot. He looked at me oddly, a half smile played at his lips. "Hey, you're back!" I said, the surprise evident in my voice. He nodded, and glanced down at the bag I held close to my chest. He looked at me, his brows drawn together. The air around us is heavy, but not uncomfortable. Electric even. "Wait, where are you going?" I turn back to him, smiling softly. His voice pulling me back. "I-I bought lunch." He held up a bag of Chinese take out. He looked as if this is his first time asking someone to have lunch with him, buying and sharing a meal with someone. I stared up at him, his eyes reflecting my own. "Are you asking me to join you?" He shrugged his shoulders, I took it as a yes and nodded. The more I look at him, the more I see how guarded he really is. But I also see the cracks on his perfect wall, the loneliness quietly seeping through; unnoticeable if one doesn't look close enough. I know the feeling all too well.

The walk back up to his apartment was silent, the only sound that can be heard was the shuffling of our shoes against the scratched floorboards. He reached for his keys, and I noticed the slight tremor of his hands. I wanted to reach out and steady his hand, but I didn't. Instead, I pretended not to notice. He held the door open for me. I know it shouldn't have made me smile, something so simple and mundane, shouldn't have made my heart rate go up like a bullet train, shouldn't have made the blood come rushing to my cheeks. But it did. Lunch was a quiet affair, much like any time spent with Elliot. I don't know why, but somehow I feel sad for this strange boy. Maybe it's the lack of photos and picture frames hanging on his walls, or the lonely air of solitude that surrounds him, no matter what he does. I could feel him looking at me, but I try not react, keeping my attention on the soapy sponge in my hands. "You said you ran away from home, why?" His question caught me off guard, I didn't have time to compose myself. I smiled bitterly to myself, it's funny how he doesn't speak very often, but when he does talk, it always hits a home run. I turned to him, leaning against the sink. "I can't really tell you all the details right now. Let's just say, one day I realized how sickening my life was and I needed an escape, so I ran away." He didn't say anything else, but his expression made me feel like he knows something. He smiled, and I felt my heart flutter for a brief moment.

I try not to ponder over these feelings I get when I look into his eyes, I don't want to read into all of this too much. An attachment is the last thing I want right now. I went to grab my things when suddenly the lights went out. I walked back to the living area, bumping into everything, when I collided with Elliot, He groaned in pain as we fell on the hardwood floor. I had him pinned to the ground, our limbs tangled together. Somehow the dark made it feel as though we needed to speak in hushed voices. "I'm fine." His voice was low, and I could feel his breath on my cheek, brushing over my lips. We are so close I could almost taste him, he felt warm against the coldness of the dark. I swallowed the lump in my throat and my mouth felt so dry. I winced in pain as my hair got caught in the zipper of his hoodie. "What's wrong?" He asked. "My hair is caught." I sighed. I gave up and slumped back onto Elliot, I felt his body tense up against me before slowly relaxing. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, I don't know what possessed me to do it, but he just felt so... So human.

Warm, breathing, unlike the cold, robotic man I thought him to be when I first saw him just the previous night. I felt him wrap an arm around me, and I sank deeper into his warmth. He maneuvered us carefully in the dark until we were sitting on the floor, I sat between his legs, still nestled against him. Isn't this strange; We barely even know each other, yet here we are pressed together in the dark, on the cold floor of his lonely apartment. If this isn't fate, then I don't know what is. "Hold still, I'm going to pry your hair out of the zip. Lean in a bit so I don't accidentally pull at your hair." I leaned into him, my face pressed against his collar bone as his nimble fingers worked the zip. Soon my hair was free and the lights suddenly turned back on. Our eyes locked together, his were wide and alive with color and light. Each layer and hue etching itself into my mind, burning itself into memory. "You can crash here tonight, if you want, Lilah." He whispered. I didn't realize how tightly I was clutching at his sleeve, I was paralyzed. The look on his face, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. And the way he said my name stirred something in me. Source:

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