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.