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SAGAN, CARL (1934–1996). American scientist, writer, and actor.
Scientific advisor: Threads
(tv movie) (Mick Jackson
1984).
Film based on his work: Cosmos (and
produced and received special thanks and dedicated to) (Robert ZEMECKIS
1997).
Special thanks: For
All Mankind (documentary) (Al Reinert 1989); StarCraft
(videogame) (Chris Metzen, Matt Samia,
Mark Schwartz, Glenn Stafford, and Duane Stinnett 1998).
Although his official involvement with science fiction film was tangential,
Carl Sagan remains a crucially important figure
because he, more than anyone else, was able to legitimize the concept
of intelligent alien life that had long dominated science fiction literature
and film. If a major scientist was saying that such things might actually
exist, and probably do exist, then films about such things were no longer
kid's stuff or cultish fetishes. Notwithstanding the individual talents
of filmmakers like George LUCAS and Steven SPIELBERG,
the fact that films of the late 1970s and early 1980s like Star
Wars, Close Encounters of the
Third Kind, and E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial
attracted vast audiences and critical respect testifies in part to the
power of Sagan's constant proselytizing to the
effect that alien encounters, on Earth or in space, might be both probable
and desirable.
Since the world may never know precisely what Sagan was doing in Target
… Earth?—a film so obscure that it might actually be lost—our opinions
of his on-screen presence must be based primarily on the series he wrote,
produced, and hosted, Cosmos—ostensibly a straightforward science documentary, though enlivened with
science-fictional touches like a spaceship set and references to a posited Encyclopedia Galactica.
One cannot fault the energy, sincerity, and charm of Sagan's
performances as host, but the series as a whole was horribly miscalculated:
instead of aiming at the people who were actually going to watch the
series—space enthusiasts who already knew a great deal about the subject—Sagan
addressed the people who were not going to watch the
series—members of the general public who knew little if anything about
astronomy. The result was a series filled with colorful visuals that devoted
most of its time to condescending explaining things that I already knew in
words of one syllable. Sagan's determination to
agitate for increased space exploration also had a deleterious effect: I recall
one interminable segment that described how the Netherlands in the Renaissance became
a center for commerce and progress because of its energetic explorations of the
New World, arguing by analogy that modern nations could see the same beneficial
effects if they energetically explored outer space—the problem with the
argument being, of course, the fact that the Netherlands soon reverted to a
secondary status despite all their exploration and colonization. PBS poured a
lot of money into Cosmos, expecting
that schools across the country would eagerly purchase the series on
videocassettes and incorporate it into their curriculum; quite predictably,
they didn't.
Before Cosmos, Sagan had completed another sort of multimedia presentation
of marginal interest, a compact disc intended for alien audiences that
was placed on board the Pioneer space probes—although its bizarre mixture
of United Nations diplomats saying hello in dozens of different languages,
random photographs of Earth, and snippets of world music, if actually
encountered, would confuse aliens more than it would enlighten them. But
his most significant creative work was the science fiction novel Contact, finally published in 1985 after, it was whispered, some significant
assistance from Theodore STURGEON. An uneven
novel with some soaring moments, it was ill-served by Robert ZEMECKIS's
plodding film adaptation, although at least Francis Ford Coppola's belated,
and crass, attempt to claim part of the credits and the profits was indignantly
tossed out of court.
Although he continued writing books and articles, Sagan embarked upon no major projects in the final decade
of his life; perhaps it was the wasting effects of the leukemia that eventually
killed him, or perhaps the marijuana that he had smoked throughout his career
had finally dampened his spirit of initiative. Although stock footage earned
him posthumous credits for appearing on The
X-Files and a science documentary, efforts to keep his memory alive,
including an attempted revival of Cosmos,
have not been successful, and no other scientist has emerged to take over his
role. Arguably, however, it is a perverse testimony to the success of
Sagan's advocacy that today, the world no longer needs Carl
Sagan or someone like him.
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