Fare. The human race may not fare well if the insects get too big for their britches. (Remember the word farewell.)
Because some woman told me it was good, I wasted a couple of hours of my life on a piece-of-shit book called The Bridges of Madison County. Several times in the book we’re told that the main male character is brilliant. Unfortunately, he never says anything more intelligent, insightful or profound than you’d get from a half-bright, half-drunk college sophomore. Bit of a letdown.
ETA: Inadvertently posted twice when I only meant to edit; I think this happened because it took more than five minutes for the original version of my post to appear. So I’m pissed-off and apologetic at the same time.
I particularly liked Sophie Noveau, the French Police expert on codes or some such. Without her, how on Earth would they have figured out that one particular coded message was in fact…written backwards? I remember when that first blew my mind…when I got that decoder ring from my box of Boo Berries.
Then there was that other pile of shit from Dan Brown where the brilliant programmer’s password was “three” and nobody could figure out that the mysterious emails coming from “N DAKOTA” were in fact an anagram of the programmer’s name. (Tankoda or something)
I read a novel once in which the heroine, who was portrayed as an amazing math genius, explained to a group of friends the odds of dice. Nothing complicated: like, your odds of rolling a seven on two dice are better than your odds of rolling a twelve, and here’s why. The other characters just boggled at her: Amazing! You are truly brilliant! Golly!
It was sort of funny.
Not as funny as the Ph.D. in Advanced Science, though.
I believe that was from Digital Fortress. The brilliant protagonist and his brilliant, plucky ladyfriend were also two of the worst linguists ever. He couldn’t figure out that the Spanish prostitute called “Dewdrop” might be named Rocío (Spanish for ‘dew’), and she couldn’t figure out that “My love for you is without wax” meant “My love for you is sincere.”
It did bug the heck outta me that the Delroy Lindo character was toiling in obscurity out in the desert somewhere, tinkering around with his land-submarine, when he’d already invented:
[ul][li]A metal that actually got stronger when heated, and[/li][li]A laser that could carve insta-tunnels through anything but the above-mentioned metal.[/ul][/li]
Dude, what the hell? Either of those would get you a Nobel and about a billion dollars. Why are you scrabbling in poverty?
I dunno how intelligent they were, but the schmucks who abandoned the safety and resources of a barricaded shopping mall in Dawn of the Dead (2004) deserved to be zombie-food.
In the movie The Changeling, George C. Scott and gets expert ghostie-ghoulie advice under the doorway of the University of Washington’s **Department of Parapsychology **.
The funny thing is that he’s only a plot idiot; he’s stupid when the plot requires him to be so. It might have worked (or at least been more amusing) if he had been a brilliant geneticist who was an idiot about everything else.
Remember that crapfest of a movie “I Robot”?
That version of Susan Calvin acted like she first met another human last week.
Asimov’s original version was snarky and condescending but knew damn well what made most people tick.
There was one in Rose Red too. But if you look on Google it seems there are actually such departments at various universities (University of Edinburgh has one, Andhra University and Bonn University want them), though perhaps not Washington.
I nominate the genius hacker in Jurassic Park who failed to think things through to such a degree that he ended up being eaten.
It was Digital Fortress, and it wasn’t just that “nobody” could get it. He was a crack cryptologist for the NSA! I kept waiting for the big reveal to be “he knew it all along and was in league with him,” or “he couldn’t figure out who would impersonate Tankoda like that,” because I thought it was pretty obvious that he would have figured that out right away.
Yes, Nimoy was majorly pissed at that. Another ep, which I’ve ragged on before, is The Paradise Syndrome, in which Spock pig-headedly burns out the Enterprise’s star drive trying to blow up an asteroid which will not hit anything important for months, when I, with a much lower IQ than a Vulcan walking computer, can think of six different Plan Bs, all of which should have been tried first.