An Inconvenient Truth

James Lovelock

Having finally overcome my illness last year, I have finally been able to visit Britain again (or “the land of the Sasanach”, as I called it when I was sick). The British Science Council had arranged a series of seminars featuring many preeminent scientific minds, and they thought me worthy enough to send an invitation to participate in the audience. They suggested I might be entitled to my own seminar if I were to publish my now legendary magnum opus on biology. I chucked A Trifling Matter: For Posterity into the back of my wardrobe a couple of years ago and told the scientific community I would publish it when biology had finally caught up. The text is a product of a decade of armchair research, which catalogues the entire human genome and exhausts the entirety of human nature. I wrote it using Wikipedia, a calculator, and a my superlative insight into the human character. I imagine they may have allowed me to speak on another branch of science, but the constant referral to Britain as “them across the water”, while I was ill, hasn’t endeared me to them.

Richard Dawkins’s paper on genetics looked interesting initially. However, when I read he was claiming that all atheists had a shared gene which made them the sole bearers of rationality, I thought I should give it a miss. I eventually decided to attend James Lovelock’s paper. It was difficult to discern what Lovelock’s paper was on, as the description I was sent was so littered with sensationalist words like ‘rebel’, ‘contrarian’, and ‘prophet’. After a few perplexed minutes of reading, it seemed to be about the history of Batman. Despite my recent failure to get my Joker book published, I was intrigued. I admire the rebellious contrarianism of this prophetic soothsayer. His rebellious rebellion rebels against the mainstream powers-that-be of the scientific community, and one cannot help but be amazed at his prophetic ability to foresee and foretell that which only reveals itself to those with such prescience. The prophetic prophet profits from his prophetical prophesies, rebelling rebelliously in an act of rebellion.

As surprising as ever, Lovelock had managed to get his paper on the decline of good Batman stories green-lit by the Science Council. Before they had even read the synopsis, many incredulous scientists were criticising him for making a mockery of science, and the controversy ensured a full theatre for his talk. I was lucky to get a seat, as even noteworthy scientists, such as the ‘I Fucking Love Science’ Facebook administrator, were denied access (It turns out there was a strict ban on hyperbole. The administrator was quoted as saying it was “the worst day of his life”). As I sat in the packed theatre, watching the slideshow of various Batman incarnations, I could sense tension in the air. Eventually, a nonagenarian man shuffled through the crowds onto the platform. An assistant followed him, wheeling a large vat and some other equipment. Lovelock gave a perfunctory greeting to the crowd and then began his paper. After a brief outline of the evolution of the Dark Knight, from his first appearance in Detective Comics in 1939 to the Christopher Nolan trilogy, Lovelock predicted that the worst is yet to come. “Ahead lies a fate that will make us all beg for a film as good as Batman and Robin,” he told us. “Many of you assume that I’m referring to Ben Affleck being cast in the upcoming Batman versus Superman film, but this is a mere fraction of the problem.” Lovelock contended that Hollywood has depleted its stores of irony and levity, and that quality self-parody has long since disappeared. In a foolhardy race to create “grittier” and more realistic superhero films, the custodians of the Caped Crusader’s adventures have restricted themselves so much that we can no longer refer to him by that name. The term ‘Boy Wonder’ will never be salvaged. 

The crowd soon began grumbling, and there were mutterings about the value of realism, and the dire quality of Joel Schumacher’s farcical movies. Lovelock had anticipated this dissent, and he soon quelled the would-be antagonists. “Your so-called realism is a pretty illusion.” “Batarangs, ridiculous expectations of the human body, impossible plans and foresight, and a pathetic Bat-voice undermine any realism claims, as do the  many minor continuity errors.” The crowd seemed particularly affronted when Lovelock claimed Will Arnett’s Batman voice in The Lego Movie is better than Christian Bale’s. He then portrayed a bleak picture of the future, where DC films will be mechanically-plotted, unendurable turds of mediocrity, living off the blinkered loyalty of fanboys. The fans will defend mélanges of muted colours and jaded dialogue, preventing us from ever enjoying a DC film again. Stirring more controversy into an already tense room, Lovelock proposed that embracing constant “rebooting” (a pet hate of lovers of cinema) may be our only hope, as the material might finally fall into truly creative hands. Hell finally broke loose when the elderly speaker suggested that Batman Returns was the zenith of the Dark Knight’s celluloid outings, “perhaps pipped to the post by the 1966 Adam West film”. Not since Bob Dylan went electric in the Free Trade Hall that same year had an English crowd been so outraged. “You’re just a troll, Lovelock!” cried one astrophysicist; “Why don’t you stop insulting us,” shouted a microbiologist. “Tell us about climate change.”

Seemingly unfazed, the venerable speaker walked slowly over to the vat by the side of the platform. He slowly donned elbow-length, industrial rubber gloves. Perplexed, the angry voices subsided. Removing the vat’s lid brought silence to the room. “You want to know my views on climate change?” he asked with menace in his voice. “We’re all doomed! The game is over”. Presenting one of many clumps of his own fecal matter, which he had kept preserved in the vat of his own piss, he declared, “The shit has already hit the fan!” Then, with strength unexpected of a man of such advanced years (even his throw is contrary to popular belief), he began flinging the clumps at the audience. A stampede ensued, as the terrified crowd fled in horror. My memory is sketchy after that, aside from Lovelock’s maniacal laugh, which will stay with me forever. I later regretted not attending the Dawkins paper instead. Somebody told me that Richard Dawkins made his audience dress as sheep, and then he had them follow him on all fours across a field littered with bull shit. I think he was joking.

Lovelock at the end of the talk.