Running Logan's Run

In Logan’s Run, I would assume the role of creative director. As creative director, I would be in charge of directing the visual facets of the set designs, as well as the visual direction of all 3D/visual effects scenes and frames. I believe that both sets and visual effects must have a seamless transition of direction and visual design. Otherwise, sets might appear very different from the visual effects, or the visual effects might appear really fake. 

The visual design of the overall film will appear very modern, futuristic, and outwardly green. There will be gigantic structures ladened in gleaming white metal, or decked with shrubbery and groomed plants. However, as the film progresses, and as the camera follows Logan throughout the domed city, the viewer discovers that the hedonistic city is not so happy and perfect as it seems from afar. Pockets of degradation, robotic control, and the brutality of the sandmen become apparent. The exterior parts of the city appear cleaned up and sterilized, but most of the interiors are dark or dim, trashed, smoke-filled from drugs and futuristic cigarettes, and overall messy. 

The color of the film will be bright and crisp in the exteriors of the city, while the interiors will be heavily saturated from club lights and dim lighting, pushing forward the hedonistic all-pleasures lifestyle of the young human race. Outside the domed city, the colors will be nearly desaturated as the environment is occupied by thick chemical gases and smog. 

There will seem to be an air of pressure about the domed city, where people keep secrets about the Sanctuary, and prefer not to think about whether there is life outside the domed city. Everyone appears superficial, absorbed in pleasure, and unwilling to think outside the oppressive system handled by robotic entities. 

The interiors will appear very well designed, almost like a Syd Mead kind-of world, where everything has a glossy surface. Large rooms lit by all kinds of saturated magenta and yellow-orange lights give way to the explicit sexual activity that goes on inside the thousands of clubs throughout all corners of the city. Blue and green lit rooms are rooms where many people smoke all manners of drugs; smoke would be everywhere. 

In essence, the entire domed city has been outlined and designed meticulously; there is no shred of any real nature; even all the plants and trees are constantly groomed and    genetically treated to put forth very green leaves. Some trees, especially for interior clubs, are genetically modified to have glowing leaves of various colors. 

The city exterior has sprawling plazas and parks with tightly mowed grass, also genetically modified to stay very green and healthy. 

The fashion of the humans is generally tight, or form-fitting clothing; humans are genetically modified to look good, healthy, fit, and attractive. Because the city is hedonistic, certain fashion trends are very revealing, even in public, and in business. 

Humbert's Love Story

“I was, and still am, despite mes malheurs, an exceptionally handsome male; slow-moving, tall, with soft dark hair and a gloomy but all the more seductive cast of demeanor.” - Lolita

Humbert Humbert, the deceptive (and delusional) narrator of his memoir, was very aware of his physical and intellectual attributes; he could not help but write of himself constantly. His memoir, published after his, and Lolita’s death is perhaps an extension and legacy to the narcissism that characterized Humbert’s behaviors and thoughts. 

If there was one word to describe Humbert, it would be Narcissist; not just a narcissist, but a narcissist with a capital N. In short, Humbert was full of himself, even to the point of laboriously convincing the reader that he is reliable. Humbert clearly saw himself as a striking figure, able to pick up any woman he so desired; for according to him, they would all come toppling unto his lap. Yet, Humbert, as a narcissist was clearly uninterested in others; they were all objects of varying worth. And like most narcissists, Humbert eventually began to cut others off, in an attempt to isolate himself with Lolita. It was all about his hedonistic journey, his trajectory towards his end goal. Such was the case with Valeria, and Charlotte. Valeria was nothing more than a means to an end - to rid himself of his deplorable addiction towards young prepubescent girls. And, despite Humbert’s dislike of Lolita’s mother, he marries her so that he can stay near Lolita. 

Humbert had an aura of egotistical preoccupation, constantly considering his personal preferences, aspirations, and needs above everything else and everyone else. He was very picky and critical of others, often noting qualities he found irritating or amusing; his very writing clearly shows the extent of his observation of others and his feelings about them. His object of obsession was what he regarded as “nymphets”, young girls between the ages of nine and fourteen who emanated specific elusive qualities. Whatever these elusive qualities were, they were only visible and beguiling to Humbert’s discriminatory sexual attractions. And in attempt to resurrect the past prepubescent experiences with the girl Annabel, Humbert ravenously sought for that perfect nymphet to devour. Summarily, it all becomes about satisfying his detestable lusts; even his professed love for Lolita is no love for her, or to her, but a love to his unholy desires. 

As Humbert’s world begins to tumble, and Lolita experiments sexually with others her age, Humbert becomes frantic; as he loses more control of that which consumes him, he enforces more and more restrictions on Lolita. In an attempt to preserve his object of obsession, he does whatever necessary to keep Lolita; he cannot lose his object of adoration, who satisfies his very lewd impulses. All the while, Humbert claims that it was Lolita who has seduced him; he endeavors to portray himself as the victim, bewitched by the temptations of Lolita. Just like a narcissist, the blame is shifted upon another; Humbert is the saint, but Lolita is the temptress. 

Stupefied by his paranoia, Humbert tries to stop the inevitable - that Lolita is trying to leave him. But as Lolita is taken away by her "uncle", Humbert cannot help but express his utmost rage that his very carnal treasure has been taken from him. Humbert was not flustered because he particularly cared for Lolita, or loved her, but because she was to him, the very object that satisfied every corner of his depraved and sacrilegious lechery. 

Without end, Humbert was obsessed and consumed with himself; in his self-centered world, people were objects, a means to an end, to eventually fulfill his nefarious desires with a nymphet. Is Lolita a love story? Yes, Lolita is a love story about a narcissist who unknowingly fell in love with his devilish passions leading to the point of rape, incest, pedophilia and murder. In the end, it was not Lolita who Humbert worshiped, but his compulsive desires and the hedonistic fulfillment he gained from them. 

The Haze

I opened my eyes; I must've just woken up, but I cannot remember why I was unconscious. All I know is that my back hurts, and there's a large gash on my right arm. I stand up and look around. The usual destruction and ruin everywhere; cars toppled over, empty roads, abandoned structures, that cold suffocating silence, that strange thick haze. I always wondered what it was. It certainly can't be fog.

I remember now that I fainted some time ago. Was it from hunger? Was it from my bruise? Either way, I kept walking down this deserted highway. I don't even know where I am going, or what I'm looking for. It's been a long time since I've seen another person. I miss my wife. She was a fashion model for that magazine called Vague, or Vogue, or something that starts with a V. Since I fled from what happened, I took a picture of her with me, and I look at it from time to time.

Man, was she an angel. I think she died. I can't even remember exactly how. Was it that long ago? I remember little of that awry day, when cars out of nowhere began crashing into each other, planes fell from the skies, construction cranes swung into unfinished skyscrapers. Many people died, but what was so weird was the strange thick haze that came out of nowhere.

I find myself climbing down the highway and onto a broken road in the city. Some buildings are just big piles of rubble and dust. I pass by this empty car that seems to have suffered no harm. For some reason, the car reminded me of another car. A black car waist-deep in the shore, no windows, no one inside. Hmmph, strange.

I kept walking through the city, wondering what I am looking for. My back still hurts, and the blood around my arm has dried by now. I know I've been walking for days on end, and even now I can't get used to the silence; something's not right about it. Something is especially not right about this blue haze either. And where did everybody go? Wish I could do something to figure out what happened, and what that cursed haze is.

I remember when I was once a respected scientist, but of what I don't remember. Man, what's wrong with me?

Now I am deeper in the city, desolate and quiet. Not even a bird is around to chirp or sing. But just then, I heard a noise, a crunchy sound, as if pebbles were falling. My heart beats faster than normal as I quickly look for the source of the sound. I hear it again to my left. To my left in the distance is a man searching an old car. Finally, another human!

"H-hello there!" I try yelling, but my voice comes out weak and parched, since I have not spoken in days. The man hears and turns around, but he looks rather strange. He has no face, rather a mask connected to some backpack. Either way, I walk towards him.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice altered behind that mask.
"I-I-I am Gerald. Gerald Kendrick, sir." I managed to say. All of a sudden I began remembering more and more of who I was. I was a biochemist, top of the field, with a large reputation.

"Kendrick? Sounds familiar. What are you doing without a gas mask?"

"I-I don't know. I don't where I am heading, or what I have been doing since everything went to hell."

The masked man pulled out a radio which crackled a few times. While he fidgeted with the device, he said, "It's dangerous to breathe the haze. I don't know how you've survived this long, but we need to get you out of here."

"breathe the haze? W-What's wrong with it?" I asked, afraid that perhaps I have been losing my mind from breathing it. The masked man ignored me and spoke into his radio.

"This is 251-I have a man here without a gas mask, named Kendrick." The device crackled and hissed.

The masked man turned his attention back to me and said, "What did you say?"

"What is wrong with the haze?"

"You haven't heard have you? The haze is human dust, Mr. Kendrick. You are breathing in human dust." The radio crackled again, and the masked man fiddled with it once more.


"Human dust? Human dust! You've got to be joking, how could there be so much human dust in the air? It's just-it's just not..."

But then it hit me, I now remember! My legs began to tremble. Oh no, this cannot be! How could I? It was my fault!

My eyes opened wide with horror; I remember what I was doing that morning when the world was rid of almost its entire human population. I remember doing an experiment. My research had led me to do the impossible: extract an inexhaustable source of electricity from human bodies.

I remember sitting there, nonchalant at what was about to occur. The experiment was to be done by extracting just a few electric charges from a large pool of recruits, and combine the charges into a stronger one. The combined electricity would prove stronger and cost efficient compared to current methods. But it went completely the other way. I remember seeing almost the entire pool of recruits explode into dust! Their glass receptor helmets shattered into pieces.

The surge of electric energy vaporized almost everyone in the world. It spread like wildfire, charge after charge, disintegrating certain people, and leaving others alive. Oh, what have I done? Gasp! My wife!

The masked man was still speaking on the radio, though rather quietly this time. "Hey boss, what was the name of the guy who made everyone vaporize? Uh-huh."

And now I stood shaking and trembling with grief and terror, as I remembered seeking my wife, only to find that she had vaporized as well. I remember a week ago looking for her car, only to find a blackened charred vehicle near the shore. It was empty except the ring I had given her on our wedding day.

"-So I have him? Bring him in?...affirmative. I will let you know. 251-out.", said the masked man almost in a whisper. It caught my attention, and I realized I was in danger. he knows who I am, and that I am responsible! I ran as fast as I could, my back in great pain, and my legs straining from the lack of energy. The man yelled after me, and chased me. I hear the man yell in the radio for help.

I kept running and looked back to see more masked men popping out of nowhere, running towards me. Some had rifles. But I kept running no matter how much it hurt. I ran into a nearby building, ravaged by what appeared to be a fallen plane. I hid inside a dark room trying not to pant or breathe hard. My heart thudded so loud, I was sure they would hear it.

I heard whispers, and muffled footsteps. My cheek felt wet and I realized I was shedding a tear. I was so scared. What would they do to me? I was perhaps the most wanted man in the world. And then a bright light flashed in my eyes and I heard a man yell.

"I've got him!"