The Devil Lives Inside My Playstation 3, and He Hates the Utah Jazz Just Like Everyone Else

Consider this an angry video game review of NBA 2k12. Not because the game’s not good. It’s great. Amazing, even. This is an angry review of NBA2k12 BECAUSE I HATE IT!!!! The great Tool song “Intolerance” has a brilliant chorus consisting of three words sung and screamed over and over: “Lie, cheat and steal! Lie, cheat and steal! Lie cheat and steal!”

Lie, cheat and steal. Exactly. That’s how to win. I cannot wait to have a son to teach these things.

There isn’t any reasonable explanation for what happened to my beloved 1997-1998 Utah Jazz squad earlier today against that same year’s version of the Spurs. It had to be blatant cheating by an artificial intelligence that’s been somehow infused with a sadistic jerk’s personality. Karl Malone was scorching. So was John Stockton, hitting his teammates in stride for easy buckets. Jeff Hornacek hit a couple 3s for me, and I used him late to sink go-ahead free throws (after his customary face wipe that doubles as a shout-out to his kids.) My roll players – original “Big Dog” Antoine Carr, Bryon Russell, Shandon Anderson and Stockton’s great backup Howard Eisley – hit big, clutch shots and got the home crowd of creepy white folk fired up.

All the Spurs had against the Jazz’s chiseled granite defense was David Robinson, scoring over and over again on Greg Ostertag, who is an all-time, ultimate weak link and the biggest reason – I will always believe this – that Utah didn’t win a title. Even bigger than Jordan’s greatness. Ostertag was so terrible. (Thanks again, Shaq, for slapping the Jazz center all those years ago. From the Deseret News in 1997: The players reportedly exchanged words concerning comments made by each other after Utah eliminated Los Angeles from the Western Conference semifinals last season. O’Neal abruptly ended the conversation by slapping Ostertag on the head with an open left hand. The blow knocked the Jazz center, who did not retaliate, to the floor and dislodged a contact lens. Ostertag went on to score just two points in Utah’s 104-87 season-opening loss to the Lakers that night.)

I love the Jazz. Always have. I wear a purple Karl Malone jersey stretched tight against my down jacket when I snowboard, and I’m wearing a white, purple and royal blue Malone jersey as I type this (the one with mountains across the chest). The Mailman gets grief for never winning a championship, but he grabbed 14,000 rebounds and is the second all-time leading scorer in NBA history. At 37, he was in better shape than anyone else in the league. He averaged 25 points and 10 rebounds and worked like a madman to develop a jump shot and improve his free-throw shooting drastically. All you haters, know this: Karl Malone was better at basketball than you will ever be at anything. He had a wonderful career.

NBA2k12 has this game mode called “Greatest,” where you pick from a selection of 15 all-time-great players and then try to win one of that player’s classic games. Wilt, Dr. J, Bill Russell, Magic, Hakeem and even Michael Jordan are among the guys you can control. Win the game as that player’s team, and you permanently unlock both squads to play against any team in the game. So, if I beat the late-90s Spurs with the late-90s Jazz, I could use either team to play against the likes of, say, the current Miami Heat.

Obviously, I want the old Jazz team to play with. Badly. Problem is, the old Spurs are great, with young Tim Duncan and a still-strong Robinson. I keep losing. It’s so frustrating.

This time, though, was different. This time, the whole Jazz team was feeling it. I got behind huge early, but by halftime I’d used Stockton and Malone – Malone posting up, Stockton nailing open jumpers when Mailman was double teamed – to build a two-point lead.

Yada yada yada…. It’s the end of the game. I’ve managed to hold on despite a crazy effort from Robinson. I’m leading by two points with seven seconds left. Spurs point guard Avery Johnson hits a buzzer beater in Stockton’s face. Overtime. This little point guard who was notorious for his shaky jumper hit a buzzer beater on the road. Weak.

Whatever, though. In overtime I was cooking with fire again. The twin towers of Duncan and Robinson were handling Malone, but Big Dog Carr nailed a huge baseline jumper and Anderson and Russell stepped up with slashing drives to the rim for tough lay-ins against the Twin Towers. I was, once again, up two points with under 10 seconds left. Avery Johnson, once again, hit a buzzer beater over Stockton AND Russell (whom I’d taken over to help defensively on that stupid little point guard with the voice of a Disney cartoon character).

Double overtime.

NBA2k12 is the reason I have a Playstation. The game blows my mind. It’s controls are intuitive, to the point where you feel like you can easily pull off any move appropriate within the action of the game. You have to play smart. Shooting 3s all game long will guarantee a loss; you’ve got to work the ball around and be open if you want to hit from long-distance. On a team like the Jazz, I’ve got to establish Malone in the post, then start using him to find open shooters, and mix in some pick-and-roll. As Jordan, I can basically do anything, but using one player to shoot every time is a stupid and unsuccessful way to play, even with the ’96 Bulls. And constantly going for steals on defense is another way to lose.

The graphic are stunning. This almost looks like a real game, with the players all acting like they would on a real court. Malone takes forever before shooting a free throw, babbling to himself as he dribbles the ball and spins it into the air.

But it cheats. It just cheats. In double overtime, I was down four points with about a minute left when a missed shot turned into a fast break for the Jazz. Stockton hit Malone, who had only Stephen Jackson between himself and the rim. Malone bulled through the smaller, weaker Jackson, and put up a layup that rolled out of the hoop. I forced another missed shot on defense, and got the exact same fast-break play again. Malone, again, botched the layup. Game over. The Jazz is still unavailable to me for use in other games.

The cheating god damn Playstation deserved a speedy flight from my hands toward a violent end against the wall. It hurts so bad to be so close and then get robbed. Avery Johnson doesn’t hit two straight buzzer beaters in Utah, and Malone doesn’t miss two easy layups in double overtime.

It hurts, but I’ve been screwed before in dumb games. What’s so much worse this time is that I understand the feeling of watching the Jazz lose this way, maybe more so this time because I controlled them as they fell apart.

NBA2k12, like I said, is an amazing game. I hate it.


Kevin Durant’s Love May One Day Doom LeBron James

Last year, Oklahoma City Thunder superstar Kevin Durant caught fire playing basketball at Rucker Park in Harlem, New York. He scored 66 points in one game, eight short of the park’s all-time record. (Rucker has a legendary basketball history of cultivating tough New-York talent, and players who have eaten elbows there include Wilt, Kareem, Dr. J, Iverson and Kobe.)


In front of 2,500 fans, Kevin Durant also hit five straight 3-pointers, all from a greater distance than the NBA 3-point line. After his fifth one, fans charged the court and celebrated with the Oklahoma City Thunder all-star.

This was last summer, when Durant used a personal street-ball circuit to tune up for the NBA season. tried to get in touch with Durant as he was dominating pickup games in New York, L.A., and at multiple stops in between. The response was “He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want any publicity. He just wants to ball.”

That’s pretty cool. Durant looks like he would be pretty cool. He’s tall (listed at 6-9 but probably taller) and skinny, snake-smooth and athletic, with a face that wears the relaxed demeanor of a ninja poker player.

And he loves basketball. He also loves just being an athlete. During the labor lockout that delayed the start of this NBA season, Durant was sitting at home and tweeted this: “This lockout is really boring..anybody playing flag football in Okc..I need to run around or something!”

In nearby Stillwater, a flag football team of students at Oklahoma State was about to play an official game. They invited Durant. He showed up, played quarterback, and threw four touchdowns.

From NewsOKC blogger Darnell Mayberry:

Playing quarterback and corner, Durant stepped in as a surprising celebrity ringer and dominated while helping his team to victory, according to those in attendance. In the process, Durant turned Halloween 2011 in Stillwater into an unforgettable night. A night that folks in a crowd that started off meager but quickly grew into an estimated count of 500 will someday tell their children about. And those who witnessed Durant on the field Monday night left with an understanding the non-believers somehow still lack: Kevin Durant is just a different breed.

Couple things. Firstly, this is why Durant – at 23 already the best scorer in the NBA, numbers-wise – is going to get better and better until he retires one day as an all-time great. To be truly fantastic at something, you have to enjoy it enough to keep doing that thing over and over and over. (Malcolm Gladwell wrote a whole book about this, called “Outliers.”) Durant’s a gym rat who loves the game, and this totally reminds me of something out of David Halberstam’s definitive Michael Jordan biography “Playing for Keeps.”

Jordan had worked a “Love of the game” clause into his contract, which said he could played basketball anywhere, anytime he wanted. Jordan would be driving by basketball courts, see some guys playing, then pull over and join them. (Can you imagine?) This is what one coach told Halberstam about Young Jordan: “He was going to be a great player… not just because of the talent and the uncommon physical assets but because he loved the game. That love could not be coached or faked, and it was something he always had. He was joyous about practices, joyous about games, as if he could not wait for either. Not many players had that kind of love. All too many moderns players… loved the money instead of the game. But Jordan’s love of what he did was real, and it was a huge advantage.”

Durant appears wired the same way, which is wonderful.

The coolness factor is big, too. When he signed his $85-million contract extension with Oklahoma, Durant made the announcement on Twitter. It included “I love yall man for real, this is a blessing!” Much was made of the comparison between that nice, simple statement and LeBron James’s infamously douchebaggy one-hour ESPN show “The Decision,” when he announced he was leaving Cleveland to play with Dwyane Wade in Miami. (Ohio will never forgive him.)

That difference is there, certainly. Durant vs. LeBron could superficially be considered a matchup between selfless baller and soulless self promoter, between a humble guy who says he’s lucky to be in the league and someone who said his top goal is to become a “global icon.”

As ever, the real story is cloudier than the easy narrative. Durant appears in some pretty terrible commercials, and it’s probably easy to stay put in Oklahoma City when the team is so young and talented and deep. I feel like there’s no way LeBron leaves Cleveland if he had the same sort of squad around him there as Durant has now in Oklahoma. And LeBron puts in off-season time on street courts, too, which we rarely hear about.

What we’ve seen so far in this finals series is that LeBron’s the better player of the two – he can’t shoot as well, but he’s much better at defending, passing and rebounding. Durant is younger than LeBron, though, and has the drive and love to keep improving. One day Durant will take LeBron’s championship trophy, and then he might not give it back.

Let’s not forget that the Oklahoma City Thunder only exist because officials with the city of Seattle screwed over Sonics fans, giving up the impassioned legal battle to keep the team with a last-minute sellout that handed Kevin Durant and the Sonics to a gang of well-connected billionaire oilmen in Oklahoma. Love got creamed by money in that one.

Bend the Knee to King LeBron

Should this fragile finals edge (up 2-1) hold, and should LeBron James win his first championship with the Heat (Let’s not count eggs yet. Chokers usually have the lead before gagging commences.) we are certain to see stories detailing how some sort of change in LeBron’s attitude or psychology enabled him to finally secure that elusive gold trophy.

Let’s be real, though. LeBron James is an incredible, singular basketball player, and he has been since he entered the league out of high school in 2003. Just for fun, I looked up chapters about him in two great, fairly recent basketball books.

This is what Bill Simmons wrote about LeBron in “The Book of Basketball” (this was taken from an article Simmons put online in 2009. “Doc” is Julius Erving):

I figured out LeBron’s ceiling. At least for now. At age twenty-four, he’s a cross between ABA Doc (unstoppable in the open court, breathtaking in traffic, can galvanize teammates and crowds with one “wow” play, handles himself gracefully on and off the court) and 1992 Scottie Pippen (the freaky athletic ability on both ends, especially when he’s cutting pass lines or flying in from the weak side for a block), with a little MJ (his overcompetitiveness and “there’s no way we’re losing this game” gear), Magic (the unselfishness, which isn’t where I thought it would be back in 2003, but at least it’s there a little) and Bo (how he occasionally overpowers opponents in way that doesn’t seem fully human) mixed in… only if that Molotov NBA superstar cocktail was mixed together in Karl Malone’s 275-pound body. This is crazy. This is insane. This is unlike anything we’ve ever seen.

In “The Art of the Beautiful Game,” Chris Ballard goes into deep detail about LeBron’s physicality. The rest of the NBA is in awe of his athleticism. He can cover the length of the court in fewer strides than other players, and when he drives to the hoop he hits like an NFL linebacker, often leaving defenders genuinely hurting. This section on his defense, in particular, is really interesting:

Draw a circle of, say, six feet around most players, and that is how much space they can patrol – call it their defensive radius. For James, make your circle almost twice as big. “He can be all the way in the lane on that skip pass and still close out [on the wing on the shooter],” said Cavs assistant Mike Malone. “And it’s not a guy like me closing out; it’s ‘Holy shit, this is a big guy coming at you.'”

… In essence, James has become the coolest toy any defense-inclined coach could imagine – long, powerful, fast and smart.

My fiance and I teamed up with my parents (Happy anniversary!) to win last night’s Geeks Who Drink pub quiz at El Farol. (Mondays at 7. Always a great time.) The team name I made up was “Bend the Knee to King LeBron.” My mom’s from Ohio, and she was furious for about an hour. The quizmaster, who asks the questions and keeps score, is also from Ohio. She hated the name too, and told me as we were getting our prizes (free tapas!) that LeBron’s a puss for bailing on Cleveland. Jordan wouldn’t have done that, she said.

My response was “Fat Shaq.” Cleveland spent years trying to put good players around LeBron, and it was a sad failure. LeBron may have failed to clinch big games as a Cavalier, but he can’t score 100 points by himself. Remember the teammates he was given to win with? You think a title is possible when Larry Hughes is your second best player? Larry Hughes was a brick machine in the playoffs. So was Mo Williams. Antwan Jamison tried, but was way past his prime. Wally Szczerbiak? Donyell Marshall? Without LeBron, these teams would have been some of the worst of all time. With him, they made the finals and kept leading the NBA in wins.

And Fat Shaq? That was sad. (Then he played one more year with the Celtics and things got even sadder.)

Teams win championships, not players. Jordan’s brilliance was complemented by the pieces around him, including Scotty Pippen and Phil Jackson, who’s probably the best coach I’ve ever seen in any sport. LeBron James’s transcendent ninja skills have been bolstered in these playoffs by teammates playing well. When Shane Battier hits his threes, the Heat win and LeBron is declared to have learned how to win. When Shane Battier misses his threes, the Heat lose and it’s because LeBron can’t step up when it matters.

If Miami pulls this off, don’t be swayed by the stupid, lazy narratives ESPN will cram into our eyeballs like Roy Batty’s thumbs. It will not be because LeBron is suddenly playing with more speed and power and passing and lock-down defense. It will be because he finally got high-level help.

After “Prometheus”: I. Am. Bald.

I was of course in line for “Prometheus” on Friday afternoon when a startling pattern emerged from the twisting, single-file queue before me. My fellow moviegoers were male, chubby and alone. They wore loose-fitting cargo pants or shorts. They were bald.

Some of the balds were bald like a cue ball is bald. Others had grown their hair to George-Costanza length. The majority of the balds, sadly, had that thin, whispy thing going, where the strands hang far from one another over a pale meadow of flesh stretched taut across the skull.

My own excitement for “Prometheus” has been borderline manic. Over recent months, I have occasionally said the word “Prometheus” out loud at random moments for no reason at all. (“Prometheus!”) Quieter instances at home have been jolted by me suddenly singing out loud to my dog about how truly wondrous this movie would be. I have talked about “Prometheus” constantly, and hopefully you’ve seen the two blog posts I wrote. (Here and here.)

Those blog posts lost quite a bit of nerd juice in the editing process (tales of old college professors and of watching “Aliens” for the first time 20 years ago on a black-and-white TV were scratched). And yet still they came out soaked.

I am bald.

What drives me and the rest of the bald brotherhood to be this way, so enthusiastic about “Prometheus” and “The Watchmen” and the Batman “Arkham” video games? Looking at all those other me’s in that darkened theater, I thought about my life and whether the things that bring me joy are sufficient and worthy.

I am lucky to have a happy, satisfying home life. I pray these men who joined me at the movie Friday do as well. Or, I would pray for them, if our makers weren’t so obviously mean and indifferent toward us.

So far as a review goes, how’s this? “Prometheus” was one of my favorite movies before I even saw it, and it was better than I’d hoped.

Good Luck, LeBron

LeBron James has a son named Bryce Maximus.

That kid’s middle name can only be Maximus because his dad loves the movie “Gladiator.” (“Gladiator” is directed by Ridley Scott, who also directed “Prometheus.” Moving on….)

This fact makes me like LeBron more, but it’s irrelevant.

At a time when the NBA is experiencing a golden age of awesome young talent, LeBron James is by far the best player of them all. His size, speed, skills and mind for the game make the man a singular talent.

I’m happy and a little honored to be watching someone this good play so often and at such a high level.

That his son is named Maximus means nothing in relation to why I watch him, but it’s a fun thing to know.

LeBron’s exit from the Cleveland Cavaliers – he announced the move on a terrible live interview show called “The Decision” – left the sports world steaming. He now polls as one of the most hated professional athlete, alongside legendary horndog Tiger Woods.

LeBron didn’t understand at the time of “The Decision,” and still may not understand, why everyone got that angry. The answer is that sports fans lack rationality, that there is something unquantifiable and close to love that links us with our teams.

Here’s the thing about LeBron, though: He is so good he transcends fandom. Or should. To focus on his flaws – and they are many – is to miss the masterpiece before our eyes. We should be grateful to watch him right now, not mad about something stupid he did years ago.

Judge not. Spilled milk.

Tonight is the biggest game of LeBron’s life so far. Eastern Conference Finals, Game 7, against a Celtics team of proud warriors. Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen are future hall of famers at the end of their careers. They have won a championship together before, and are desperate for another. A loss tonight would probably put a figurative end to their glorious careers. Even if they keep playing, it won’t be for much longer and they aren’t likely to get this close to a title again.

LeBron is still questing after his first title, and every failed playoff run is another excuse for the army of reactionary sports haters to rain criticism like acid from the sky.

Tonight’s game, in other words, is about as heavy and important as they come in professional sports. If LeBron were not who he is, this would not be so.

It’s starting right now, as I type this. I hope LeBron wins. But it’s all right if he doesn’t.

“Prometheus” Preview Part 2: On Corporations and “Alien”

How the hell long has director Ridley Scott been planning to make “Prometheus”? Could be since 1979, when he unveiled his spaceship-horror classic “Alien,” famous for an exploding-chest scene and the shiny, black, murderous, merciless alien monster with a stabbing killer boner for a tongue. (It has sharp little teeth and screams.)


Scott’s been touring the press to promote “Prometheus,” and he keeps saying it’s based on a weird and unexplained story arch from a single scary scene in “Alien.” Three crew members of the ship Nostromos board a crashed ship to investigate its distress signal. Inside is a giant alien skeleton seated in (maybe even fused to) a massive telescope or gun. The mysterious Space Jockey (as “Alien” nerds have named the skeleton) is long dead, with a hole in his chest.

Shoulda ran as soon as they saw this guy.

His crashed ship is loaded with hundreds of waist-high eggs. One of those eggs opens, and shoots a spider-like sucker alien onto the face of Younger John Hurt. (As opposed to Older John Hurt, sadly tainted by “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.”) They take Younger John Hurt back to the Nostromos. A rude baby monster interrupts dinner by bursting from his chest.

Because a massacre ensues, no one bothers to go back and further investigate the mysterious Space Jockey. Over three sequels and two goofy spinoffs with Predator, Space Jockey’s existence is never explained, even though he’s got something to do with where these slimy, evil monsters come from.

It’s exciting to see Scott getting back into the “Alien” franchise. The original was a product of late-70s horror effects, and the game has obviously changed big-time since then. Scott’s completely on board with huge effects that can be wholly digital. The creatures on “Prometheus” are going to be pretty realistic and scary, I’d bet.

There’s another more over-thought, Flip-Side-In-Santa-Fe-esque reason Ridley Scott may be revisiting “Alien,” and it has to do with America’s economy and the Supreme Court case called “Citizens United.”

Well, not really. It is about corporations, though.

Consider what’s actually going on in “Alien.” There are a few early scenes when two sweaty grunts on the Nostromos start whining about how unfair their bonus payments are compared with the other five members of the crew. (The ship is towing thousands of tons of special ore through deep space for the Weyland-Yutani Corporation.) The pair are later seen griping that the rest of the crew never goes down to the Nostromos’s engine deck, where the real work gets done.

Why are the towing pros in “Alien” even investigating a crashed ship with a giant skeleton monster on board? Because their own ship woke them up from cryogenic sleep, halfway through the multi-year trip home, to go get one of the aliens. Slowly we learn that their employer, through the ship’s computer called “Mother,” is manipulating events so the creature is brought back to earth to be studied and turned into weapons.

The employees are as expendable as expendable gets. The company has planted an evil android on board named Ash. Everyone else thinks Ash is human, until he becomes willing to kill them all to preserve the monster. Parker knocks Ash’s head off with a fire extinguisher.


The late 1970s was an era when companies started taking on an ethos that bottom-line profits were more important than workers. “Alien” was about gory spaceship carnage, but it was also about the realization that our bosses don’t give a shit about most of us any more.

What do you think we’re in store for now, with “Prometheus,” in the time of the 99 percent versus the one percent and corporate personhood? Scott might be playing his thrills completely straight, but there is probably more to it. The best horror and science-fiction movies are so often a reflection of what’s happening politically or socially in our grand reality. Don’t be surprised if “Prometheus” has something to say about corporations and the way they treat people.

I cannot wait.

“Prometheus” Preview Part 1: On God and “Blade Runner”

Ridley Scott directed “Prometheus,” which comes out on Friday. He also directed “Blade Runner,” which came out in 1982. Based only on what’s been written so far about “Prometheus,” the new film appears to share a common theme with “Blade Runner”: What would it be like to speak with God and ask about the meaning of our lives?

Heady stuff. Fortunately, Scott’s a genius with a fanboy streak. At the same time as his flicks are farming existential soil, they’re also kicking ass. “Blade Runner” is most obviously about a man hunting killer androids. “Prometheus,” it appears, is about surviving horrible alien monsters.

Before tackling the big theme of “Blade Runner,” let’s first consider what we know about “Prometheus.” This is from the New York Times’ summer movie preview article:

In news conferences and in conversation Mr. Scott has evinced sympathy for the notion — popular in some circles, including the Vatican — that it is almost “mathematically impossible” for life on Earth to have gotten to where it is today without help.

“It is so enormously irrational that we can do this,” he went on, referring to our conversation — “two specs of atoms on a carbon ball.”

“Who pushed it along?” he asked. Have we been previsited by gods or aliens? “The fact that they’d be at least a billion years ahead of us in technology is daunting, and one might use the word God or gods or engineers of life in space.”

The characters in the film journey on a spaceship called “Prometheus” toward what they think will be the home of the aliens who created life on earth. Prometheus was a titan in Greek mythology who took fire from the Gods and gifted the flames to humans. Prometheus was tied to a rock for that crime, and an eagle ate his liver over and over, day after day, forever.

According to “Prometheus” character (and internet video star) Peter Weyland, fire was our first piece of technology:

Weyland says that because he can make androids indistinguishable from humans, that means “We are the gods now.” (“Now” being 2023.) One of the crew members aboard the ship Prometheus is David, an artificial human played by Michael Fassbender. This is what Damon Lindelhoff, “Lost” creator and “Prometheus” screenwriter, had to say about this in NYT:

In keeping with its Promethean theme the movie is laced with generational conflict, Mr. Lindelof said. There is, for example, the robot David. “Hey, a bunch of humans seeking out their creator,” Mr. Lindelof explained. “David knows exactly who created him, and he is not impressed by his creator.” He can see, hear and think better than humans and is stronger than they are too.

Who knows what people are in store for when they meet their makers? And these people are toting along a creation of their own, built in their likeness! The gods didn’t like Prometheus giving us fire, so they’re sure to disapprove of this.

“Blade Runner” had killer robots, but those robots had a specific purpose. They were built to be like people, except with better strength. They were built to be slaves in off-world mining operations. They were also built with a fail-safe, in case they forcefully took their own freedom: a four-year lifespan.

This is the subtext to “Blade Runner.” The most powerful part of the movie isn’t any action scene, it’s the conversation between super replicant Roy Batty and Dr. Eldon Tyrell, the man who made him.

Tyrell: “What seems to be the problem?”

Batty: “Death.”

Tyrell: “Death? I’m afraid that’s a little out of my jurisdiction. You-”

Batty (moving closer and getting a little scary): “I want more life, father.”

In the end, of course, we can’t have it. The first name Eldon means, in Hebrew, “God is the judge,” and a judge doesn’t hand out immortality. Tyrell tries to appease his greatest creation by saying “The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long.” Batty thanks his father by kissing him on the lips and then brutally gouging both Tyrell’s eyes out.

Over the course of fighting the Blade Runner Rick Deckard (played by Harrison Ford), Batty sticks a nail through his own failing hand in a very obvious reference to Jesus Christ. When Batty dies at the end, he lists some of the more amazing things he’s seen and then says those moments will all be gone when he dies, “Like tears in rain.”

Actor Rutger Hauer gets creepy as Roy Batty in “Blade Runner”

These huge themes in “Blade Runner” are important to consider with the release of “Prometheus.” In the former, a great man actually gets to ask his maker why we die. In the latter, I’d expect, the same sorts of questions come up. Instead of a shrug and some reassuring words, though, the non-answer appears to be vicious alien attacks.

I cannot wait.

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