I hope this will be my last post in this tangled I, Robot thread, a skein that's getting more meta by the minute. SF writer John Scalzi posts a blog entry in response to my boycott here:

http://www.scalzi.com/whatever/archives/001028.html

So you don't have to hunt through the comments to his post if you don't want to, I'll reproduce my response here:

There's never a shortage of loud, frantic summer action pictures to choose from, and I enjoy one that's reasonably well done as much as the next guy. A loud, frantic summer action picture, though, that's had the title of a book of subtle cerebral pleasure grafted onto it but none of the essence—that's a level of commercial cynicism and disrespect I can't support with my wallet.

Yes, Hollywood is venal. That's an axiom. But what point beyond coaxing butts into seats is there in invoking a well-known (not to mention -loved) work if no kernel of it is retained in the end product? (I, Robot—flavored with FD&C Asimov No. 5!) I was no fan of Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings films, but at least they're recognizable as a relative of the source material. They at least attempt to deliver on the promise of the title.

I was a big fan of Blade Runner, and you've already pointed out how the soul of Dick's novel remains intact despite the changes in detail, or quite possibly because of them. That's a good example of a successful conversation between a book and a movie. I, Robot strikes me as more a non sequitur—if not a vicious denunciation.

I understand that Hollywood is what it is, and I'm sure I won't change it. But that doesn't mean I have to mindlessly suck from whatever diseased teat it jiggles in my face. We get the Hollywood we deserve.

Now I'll wipe the foam flecks from the corners of my mouth and get back to real work.