Topless Robot, a really cool nerdy blog, had a contest to find awesome nerdy theories. There are a lot of gems in there, but the one that semi-blew my mind the most was the one that attempts to justify midichlorians in the Star Wars universe as a Sith creation. You can read the whole thing at the link, but I’m going to describe a few of my favourite aspects of the theory.

Here’s the setup. Midichlorians are not the cause of Force powers, they are a parasite which feeds on light side Force powers, a parasite designed by the Sith long ago. In addition to feeding on the light side, midichlorians die in the face of the dark side.

So what does this explain? Well, when a Jedi comes up against a Sith they always seem to lose the battle for a while before coming back and winning the day. Why? Well the Sith’s dark side Force powers start to kill off the midichlorians and eventually the Jedi’s powers increase because of the decrease.

What’s more, because of the universal pairing of Force powers with midichlorians — and the Jedis’ failure to understand that correlation does not equal causation — the Jedis have this idea that if you don’t have a midichlorian count you cannot have Force powers. And so the Sith are able to operate in plain sight by merely exerting their dark side powers to limit their exposure.

It’s a really clever theory and there are a few more nuances I’d encourage you to read about at the original post.

Just before Kings was cancelled, the fifth episode aired and I found the initial love affair I had with the show dwindling; the characters weren’t as fully developed as I’d have liked, the stories often resolved themselves too easily, and overall the show didn’t seem as good as it once did.

I think that, should I go back and watch the series anew at a later date, I’d find that the quality had not dissipated but rather the realization that the show is “almost brilliant” had simply been delayed.

In robotics there is a term for that eerie feeling we all get when we see a robot that almost duplicates a perfect human being but has very slight flaws and discrepancies. It’s called the Uncanny Valley. These slight discontinuities jar the mind and make us feel at unease. We don’t feel that unease when looking at a robot like C3PO or R2-D2 or WALL-E because they are not human and the differences are notable and numerous. They become a sort of living cartoon, something we accept as a human analog because we can cobble together empathy based on the few anthropomorphic cues available.

I believe that there is similar valley that exists in the world of television. Most television exists before this valley; the characters are entertaining and endearing, but not wholly real. Then there are the special few shows that exist beyond the valley; those shows have such a well-defined universe, such believable characters, that we are enveloped by the show, taking it in as more than mere entertainment. Kings, unfortunately, existed in the abyss betwixt.

Kings was a show that was too good but not good enough. The early comparisons I made to Carnivàle were a sign that the show was attempting to achieve the greatness that lies beyond the valley; where a show will be talked about and analysed for years after. But it didn’t make it there. Maybe Michael Green didn’t have the writing chops to match Daniel Knauf, or maybe the show would have achieved that greatness over the course of the series. Either way, in my mind, Kings sits somewhere in that valley, reaching for more, and not getting the chance it deserves.

Dan Meth posted his Trilogy Meter and because I’m a pedant and a geek I thought I’d raise a little umbrage over a couple of points.

First off, a lot of these aren’t trilogies. Trilogies need to have a consistent narrative and at least some semblance of progressive story. If the next Batman movie isn’t by Christopher Nolan then those three movies put together are not a trilogy; at least, not necessarily. Back to the Future is a trilogy because the story is consistent throughout and each movie sets up the next. Going back to my point about films changing hands mid-trilogy belying the term, the X-Men films switch from Bryan Singer to Brett Ratner for the final film. But, and here’s where it gets tricky, they are still a trilogy because the second one sets up the Dark Phoenix storyline that the third one carries out, however poorly.

I honestly can’t say much about Rambo, because I haven’t seen any of them, but at the same time my intuition regarding Rambo is that the films merely follow the same character. Are any three consecutive Bond films a trilogy simply because the same character heads the film? I give the Die Hard movies a pass because the third one involved Hans Gruber’s brother, but it was different from the previous two in almost every other way. Similarly, I have trouble considering the Indiana Jones movies a trilogy; but there is a tenuous theme that runs throughout the movies regarding the growth and development of Indiana Jones that qualifies them, but I flip-flop on this subject.

We tend to have this desire to collect films into sets of three, even when they’re not a set of three. Which brings me to my biggest question about this chart. Which trilogy does it mean when it rates Planet of the Apes? Does it mean the first three Planet of the Apes movies? Because I don’t see how you could interpret those as a cohesive trilogy. The second one ends with the world being incinerated by a doomsday bomb. The third, fourth, and fifth movies are a wholy different animal and are in fact a consistent trilogy with an overarching storyline threading through the three films.

Not everything is a trilogy, but our pattern matching monkey-brains still have a fascination with the number three. The same circumstances don’t make movies a part of a trilogy. The same actors don’t make a movie a part of a trilogy. The same characters don’t make a movie a part of a trilogy. A consistent theme or ongoing story does. I know I’m being finicky about this, but people throw the term trilogy around for any set of three films and they’re not all trilogies.