![]() ![]() Religious exceptions can be made to the mandatory re-sleeving process, predicated on the belief that the soul should be released to continue on to heaven. Morgan originated this concept in the 2002 novel that inspires the series, and it lends itself to its own version of existential examination. If a stack is destroyed, as Bancroft's was, that's the end of a person's life unless they have the means to back up their consciousness elsewhere, ready to be implanted into their clones (again, something only the richest of the rich can afford) whenever the need arises. Responsible for Kovacs' resurrection is the astronomically wealthy Laurens Bancroft (James Purefoy, at his most sinister and patrician), who charges Kovacs with solving his murder. Initially this bears uncomfortable similarities to the kind of whitewashing perpetuated in the live-action version of "Ghost in the Shell," but Kinnaman's version of Kovacs has an explanation beyond "this star will sell this series." Such is the case with Takeshi Kovacs, an elite soldier with a Japanese mother re-activated in Bay City, a San Francisco-esque city after a 250-year slumber wearing the body of a white guy played by Joel Kinnaman. The quality of sleeves most receive depends on one's resources, leading to instances in which the maturity, cultural identity or experiences of a consciousness does not match the body into which it is re-sleeved. Consciousness is downloaded into these small devices through our lifetimes and can be transferred into new bodies, called sleeves, when our old flesh gives out. In "Altered Carbon," mankind has achieved a sort of synthesized extension of lifespan via devices called stacks. ![]() On the contrary, it's nearly audacious in its conscientious effort to pander to fans of "The Matrix" and "Fifth Element" and may have been left wanting by "Blade Runner 2049." For "Altered Carbon," Kalogridis has created a perfect serialized action piece for the sci-fi addict: part-revolution tale, part-romance, with the kind of bitchy intrigue usually seen in shows like "Dynasty." Just because "Altered Carbon" wears its influences like flair on its collar doesn't mean the show isn't fun. Yet.īut if the world reflected in Laeta Kalogridis' series does come to pass, you might want to sign up for some weapons training and invest in penny stocks. Most of that paragraph describes the world presented in "Altered Carbon," by the way. Earth-bound remnants of mankind, meanwhile, get splattered with rain and air conditioner moisture on streets illuminated by crass neon signage. As time passes, those luxury buildings climb ever higher, tall enough to block out the sun, making even rays of natural light a luxury affordable only to the wealthiest. One Percenters already live above us all, sequestering themselves in penthouses and exclusive communities removed from the scarcity and struggle with which the bulk of humanity lives. Even the daytime scenes have a dimness to them.Īudiences may readily accept this construct because it's been imitated in countless science fiction films and series over the ensuing 36 years since the theatrical release of "Blade Runner," but also because given the direction the world is heading in, a dark, impersonal and highly automated future feels pretty likely. Netflix's "Altered Carbon," debuting its 10-episode first season on Friday, emulates the look and feel of Scott's sci-fi classic down to the grimy streets teeming with unwashed civilians, beckoning holograms and the lure of flesh and cheap thrills. But the take Ridley Scott realized in 1982's "Blade Runner" feels increasingly likely nowadays, what with the widening gulf between the richest of the rich and the rest of us. ![]() No "Jetsons"-style age awaits us, with the exception, possibly, of flying cars and robot housekeepers. Surely you've noticed by now that the dominant science fiction vision of the future make it plain that, in so many words, the world of tomorrow ain't bright.
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