I saw Avatar over the weekend, and I have a few reflections on the movie and movie-going experience. They range from the mundane to the philosophical. Spoilers appear with no warning other than the one you're reading right now.

1. Although she is 20 now, and (I think) less prone to embarrassment at being seen with me in public, I am still sensitive to the fact that my older daughter doesn't particularly want to be associated with some cranky old guy making a scene. It is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I did not say the following: "Twenty-six dollars? TWENTY-SIX DOLLARS??!!?? Hello? Excuse me? I said I wanted to pay for movie admission for two, not buy dinner for a family of five!" I think they jacked the price up on account of the 3D. At least I hope they did.

2. What's with the 3-hour movies? Didn't James Cameron himself kick off the current "movies should run three hours" trend with Titanic? (Then Peter Jackson sealed the deal with the Lord of the Rings trilogy.) Memo to Hollywood: very few movies should ever run more than two hours. Most can probably be done effectively in about 90 minutes. Citizen Kane runs one hour and 59 minutes -- you're telling me that Michael Bay needed an additional 25 minutes in order to tell the story of Transformers properly?

This is an important consideration, and not just from an "I have to pee" perspective. If you have not already done so, take 70 minutes and treat yourself to Redletter Media's outstanding seven-part take-down of Star Wars Episode One. Part 1 is here.

Note: these videos are laced with profanity, sex, and (oddly) violence. They also add up to being one of the funniest things I've ever seen...on Youtube or elsewhere.

Anyhow, somewhere along the line the critic points out that one of the errors Lucas made, both in Phantom Menace and the loathsome "special editions" of the original trilogy, is trying to cram as many visual details into every single fame as possible. This practice clutters up each scene with a lot of useless junk. Sometimes you need less detail; sometimes you need more. When in doubt, go with less. And the same principle applies to scenes, storylines, characters. The longer a movie runs, the more likely it is that it will include extraneous content that detracts from the real story and / or message. This is the major problem with Avatar, as we will see.

3. What is it with 3D glasses? Avatar is by far the most effective use of 3D technology in the history of movies, but I still spent the first 30 minutes of the movie trying to rub a phantom smudge off my glasses. There was no smudge. Those glasses do something to your field of vision that nature never intended. The smudge was in my brain. 3D glasses mess with your brain -- should we be worried about that?

4. As Stephen has already pointed out, Avatar spews a heavy dose of PC Hollywood ideological crapola. Interestingly, I very much doubt that Cameron set out to make a political statement with this film, or even realized , after the fact, that he had made such a statement.The PC philosophizing is half of the extraneous material that got added to this movie. The brain-dead battle sequence is the other half. In fact, I think the former got added as a pretext for providing the latter.

So what's the movie really about, then? It's about a disabled man who is given the opportunity to explore an amazing planet and interact with the natives as one of them. The real effort here went in to creating the aforementioned planet -- that's the true heart of the movie and (I suspect) the source of Cameron's passion for this project. He wanted to make a movie about this planet, and an interesting way to get us into it was to have us follow a human being who becomes a part of the place in a way he never expected.

But that's not enough, of course. We need conflict. We need drama. We need a huge overblown action-movie climax. (Bonus points to anyone who can identify which of the preceding statements is offered ironically.) Wait, you know what would be cool? Gunships -- 22nd century helicopters, heavily armed, and some kind of big-ass mothership. And explosions, lots of explosions. And, like, wait -- dinosaurs fighting armored military craft!

So for that, all we need are some James Cameron stock characters -- the Paul Reiser ruthless corporate weasel from Aliens and the psycho Navy SEAL from The Abyss (only now with a whole squad of brainwashed psychos under his command.) You take those characters and then you add a half-thought-out backstory about how Earth is an ecological disaster area. Then all you need are some basic assumptions about how humanity, having despoiled its own planet through greed, exploitation, and brutality, is now ready to move on to do the same things elsewhere.

Again, I don't know whether Cameron believes any of this -- maybe he sort of vaguely assumes it's all correct -- but I don't think any of it was his point. I think he just wanted to pad out his Cool Planet movie with an extra hour or so of junk and a big stonking battle sequence in the end. This does not in any way excuse Cameron, of course. Actually, it makes what he did worse. After going to all the trouble to create something new, he throws in a pile of stereotypes and cliches apparently without realizing what he's done to his movie. Say what you will about the people who made Pocahontas -- at least they were trying to make Pocahontas. In his effort to make his awesome movie even awesomer, James Cameron took something truly unique and potentially wonderful and let it slide off into an inadvertent Pocahontas remake.

Nice going.

5. Let's talk a little about this whole "unique and potentially wonderful" business. Avatar is a beautiful movie. We get to experience that first night in the Pandora jungle in a way that is something beyond movie-watching. It's as though Cameron has given the audience a vivid, waking dream. I can't remember a sequence in any other movie that spoke so directly to my imagination.

Sadly, few filmmakers even try to address the imagination any more. They seem to believe that overwhelming the senses with spectacle is what telling a story is all about. (I refer the reader once again to Michael Bay's Transformers. I can only reference the original; haven't seen the sequel.) The Pandoran jungle is evocative; it makes children of us, reminding us of a time when we could easily believe that the world is full of wonders. It reminds us of why we like movies -- why we originally liked movies.

But there's more. Pandora is a mysterious place. And, in spite of the pantheistic overtones of some of the dialog (and in spite of J. Storrs Hall's argument to the contrary) the mystery is not one derived from magic and fantasy. The Pandorans are the beneficiaries of some highly advanced biotechnology. Unlike our Gaia (whom we killed, because humans are so mean and nasty) the Pandoran Earth-Mother is a sentient being, apparently a self-created / highly evolved "artificial" intelligence residing on the vast compouter that is the planet's biosphere. This same computer system is used to store the memories (if not the personalities) of all of the inhabitants who have gone before. Sigourney Weaver's character is uploaded into this system when an effort to "cross-load" her personality to her avatar body fails.

And it gets better. The Pandoran Mother has done something for her children that Gaia never did for us -- built in cables and interfaces. The Pandorans can jack into other species or directly into the network itself. It's also likely that they can connect with each other, although this is never explored. (I found it a bit disappointing that when the two lovers got together they kissed rather than plugging straight into each other.)

This is the stuff of serious science fiction. These are interesting and challenging ideas, accompanied by visuals that stir the imagination.

Cameron had the opportunity to make a truly great movie here. If he had left out the hackneyed material mentioned above and introduced a conflict worthy of the astounding world he created, he would have pulled it off.

6. Our hero is a jerk. First he's more than ready to sell out the indigenous people so he can get his legs back. Then he decides he's "in love" with his alien squeeze, but doesn't feel compelled, before entering an LTR with her, to let her know that:

-- He's not really the guy she sees. This is a fake body. He's really a different species and about half her height. (Hey, this kind of stuff is important to women.)

-- He's been working for the other side and knows that they plan to dig up all the Stupidnamium under the tree. (Seems like getting the word out on this little tidbit ought to take precedence over everything else.)

She has every reason to dump him when she does, and I see no reason why she would subsequently trust him or ever take him back.

Once he decides that he's really for the Pandorans, he starts killing human beings in order to defend them. Maybe this is the morally correct thing to do under the circumstances, but it seems like he was just working for the humans. I don't see why anyone would ever trust this guy.

And one more thing. At one point our boy makes the statement that humanity doesn't have anything they (the Pandorans) need. That's an interesting thought coming from a guy in his condition. Has he met up with any Pandorans who took an unfortunate tumble off one of those tree limbs? How do the Pandorans deal with paraplegics or quadriplegics? He comes from a civilization that offers a pretty nice wheelchair, corrective surgery (which circumstances conveniently deny him for plot purposes) and ultimately a fully functioning substitute body.

That's significantly better than "light beer," and I don't think the Pandorans could even match the wheelchair.