Replicas mixes a classic sci-fi idea with some of the best emotion any director’s gotten out of Keanu Reeves and ruins it with nonsensical early character decisions that force unnecessary conflicts.
This movie is a miracle of casting, acting, scripting, cinematography, and action choreography with tender love scenes, kick-ass violence, awesome gay love, and a reaffirming message about the value of a life.
June 1, 1773: Wolraad Woltemade, then 65, rode his spirit-horse to pull sailors from the De Jonge Thomas shipwreck in Table Bay. On his eighth venture out, the spirit-horse gave its last and discorporated; it and Wolraad died heroes.
June 2, 1098: Bohemond of Taranto dripped an ethereal poison, strained from the tears, blood, and semen of ninety-nine hanged betrayers, in the waters of Antioch on the Orontes. Before the next morning, a traitor had admitted the besieging crusaders.
June 3, 1839: Lin Zexu began the process of destroying 1.2 million kg of opium, throwing it into the ocean. Despite Lin's apology to the ocean spirits, they sped the approach of British warships and the punitive action of the First Opium War.
June 4, 1996: The first test flight of Ariane 5 self-destructed after 37 seconds. A catastrophic software error had begun rapidly draining data into an adjacent universe, a potential cataclysm stopped by an control-room engineer unafraid to hit the button.
June 5, 1995: Cornell and Wieman produced the first Bose-Einstein condensate in history. On the same day in 1832, the June Rebellion launched in Paris. This is not a coincidence.
June 6, 1749: An improperly-bound messenger imp divulged critical information about the planned slave revolt in Malta, resulting in over a hundred executions.
June 7, 1991: A smart-aleck traveler lost a riddle contest with Mount Pinatubo but refused to honor the terms. This began the process that culminated in a massive eruption eight days later.
June 8, 1906: Theodore Roosevelt signed the Antiquities Act in an effort to preserve and protect certain fonts of magical power across the continent.
June 9, 1996: The French Open tennis tournament did not take place, though thousands remember it and many more watched something they *thought* was the French Open on television.
June 10, 1868: Prince Michael Obrenović III of Serbia was assassinated by a robot from the future.
June 11, 786: Idris ibn Abdallah, struck by an enemy soldier with a magic weapon during the Battle of Fakhkh, disappeared from space-time, reappearing in northwest Africa a year later.
June 12, 1240: The Catholic Church sponsored the Disputation of Paris, wherein one Franciscan monk used logic and spells against four rabbis in a public spectacle. The rabbis defended themselves ably, but the French predictably turned on them anyway.
June 13, 1514: King Henry VIII dedicated the ship Henry Grace à Dieu at Woolwich Dockyard. Then the most massive ship known, the dedication laid spells to protect the ship... which unintentionally functioned by keeping it from seeing action.
June 14, 1966: Pope Paul VI ended the 400 year-old Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a list of banned books and an ancient spell inhibiting the spread of information in Catholics. Learning a wide variety of topics became suddenly easier for adherents.
June 15, 763 BC: The Bur-Sagale eclipse dimmed Assyria briefly, releasing the demon Gorizd from its nearly three-century imprisonment.
June 16, 1819: The Rann of Kutch earthquake triggered a tsunami, killed thousands, and formed Sindri Lake and a natural, 80 km long dam. All so the giant Urvi could take a bath.
June 17, 1631: Mumtaz Mahal died. An otherworldly deity offered Shah Jahan a bargain: if Jahan built Mumtaz a mausoleum too perfect to alter by interring a body, they would return her to life rather than let her be interred. The result was the Taj Mahal.
June 18, 1972: A spiteful sorcerer channeled the emotional power of thousands of rioting fans to teleport Led Zeppelin from Vancouver to Seattle. Unfazed, the band performed there instead.
June 19, 1927: A feline soul reincarnated into the body of Henry Spira, who would go on to be an important animal rights advocate.
June 20, 1667: A changeling impostor was elected Pope Clement IX. Though he intended to simply enjoy Giulio Rospigliosi's retirement, his unintended elevation let him do many good works.
June 21, 1582: Akechi Mitsuhide betrayed the daimyō Oda Nobunaga, forcing Nobunaga to commit suicide. This stopped Nobunaga from conquering Japan with the power of the spirit possessing him... but his body was also never found.
June 22, 1783: Poisonous clouds from the Laki eruption in Iceland reached the shores of Le Havre, where French aeromancers promptly warded them away.
June 23, 1926: The College Entrance Examination Board administered the first Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) with an enchantment to make schools believe the results were important. Even today, few schools have sorcerous wards effective against the charm.
June 24, 1374: St John's Dance overwhelmed the people of Aachen, Germany after the inconspicuous death of one of the gods of joy, a now-extinct spirit. The god's energy flowed out into the city, causing the frenzied dancing.
June 25, 1786: Gavriil Pribylov raised the Pribilof Islands from the Bering Sea by sacrificing the Aleut memories and stories of similar islands to the thoughtvoid god.
June 26, 699: The Imperial Court confronted the ascetic and mystic En no Ozunu. After a battle between their various bound demons, En no Ozunu succumbed, accepting banishment to Izu Ōshima in consequence.
June 27, 2007: Tony Blair capitulated to diplomatic pressure from an adjacent dimension and resigned as British Prime Minister to become ambassador to the Ensthans.
June 28, 1911: The Nakhla meteorite landed in Egypt. Originally thought to be ejected by an asteroid impact on Mars, it's now known to be an attack on a psychic entity that was hiding in the mind of a dog, believed killed.
June 29, 1613: A command performance of Henry VIII so displeased the crown prince of the Fire Court that said esteemed person burned the theater to the ground. The court paid recompense to the one person injured in the act, whose trousers caught fire.
June 30, 1973: Nancy Mitford wrote herself a glorious life of joy and romance, and disappeared into it entirely, never to be seen again.
Only two bullets. One for him, and one for me if the first doesn't work out. If he lets me. There's every chance he won't, and I can't think of any other way this ends well. This doesn't end well.
That's the thought I'm deep inside when he walks in. The small bedroom is the space he lets me pretend is my own, so of course I leave the comforter rumpled just to spite him, and my hand buried in it is no concern. So he doesn't see the gun, and for a second I think I have a chance.
Maybe it was that thought, but he recognizes my intent the moment I move. I immediately feel his mind seize mine. It's arm wrestling but with raw will, and he's the champ. His will countermands my muscles, barely able to twitch against his command, dragging my thumb up to the clip release, dropping out my precious, so-important second bullet. He doesn't stop my tears. He never has.
Despite the futility, I drag the muzzle of the gun toward my own head. His mind forbids my muscles to do it, and it's like pushing a mountain. My muscles grind themselves to a halt, the unyielding strength of his will pulling my arm away.
He doesn't make me drop the gun. Maybe he knows that dropping it feels as much like death as eating the bullet. Maybe he feels safe because in my head, that bullet is for me. So when I give in and his mind yanks my arm away from me, it points straight at him. A finger twitch gives him the bullet meant for me.
I hadn't expected freedom at all. Somehow, in chasing the freedom I thought I could get, I managed to get the freedom I deserved.
Though perhaps hilarious at the time (as evidenced by the spinoffs), the humor leans so heavily on 1950s gender expectations that it’s hard to enjoy today.
The film’s magnificent title is out of sync with the emotional weight it tries to deliver, and Sam Elliot may be too understated an actor for the film’s ambitions.
"We're going to have more cases," said the Expert. "More cases means more death."
"This is bad," cried the Citizen. "We want less cases and less deaths!"
"Fewer," muttered the Pedant.
"What if we had less cases?" asked the Authority.
"Then we'd have fewer deaths," said the Expert.
"That's what I want," said the Citizen.
"Let's do that, then." The Authority nodded decisively.
"We can't just 'do that,' Mr Authority," said the Expert.
"Why not?" asked the Authority.
The Economist whispered, "If we don't, it'll be expensive."
"We need to take action that will produce fewer cases," the Expert explained.
"Then we're taking action by having less cases," declared the Authority.
"Fewer," muttered the Pedant.
"Yay!" The Citizen cheered. The Economist smiled.
"No," insisted the Expert, "having fewer cases is the consequence of an action, a result, not an action itself!"
"What kind of action?" asked the Authority. The Economist perked their ears.
"Expensive ones." The Economist booed. "Actions that aren't fun." The Citizen booed. "Ones that make important numbers go down." The Authority looked puzzled. "Down is bad," added the Expert. The Authority frowned.
"No, we'll do my thing instead," said the Authority. The Expert sighed.
The Citizen died.