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The above entreaty was sent into Cyberspace, cast like bread upon the waters over what some short-sighted naysayers may have once referred to as Mr. Gore's folly. Namely, the Internet. And shortly thereafter, my computer, powered by an untold number of gigabytes and other assorted lesser bytes, craned its neck toward the great beyond and received the following transmission:
"Mike, thanks for the message and the kind words. I was wondering when you folks back on terra firma were finally going to put the telephone and the typewriter together and figure this Internet thing out, but I tell you, you guys have got to get rid of all that http:// gobbledegook. It'll make you crazy.
"Now, in answer to your question about monkeying with fate, Yes, and No. That's the whole thing. We're dealing with the essence of reality itself here. Are we here or, as the song goes, is life but a dream? To be or not to be, and all that jazz. And if you really want to get philosophical, throw in Einstein's theory of relativity: E=MC2, anyone? However, the bottom line, to quote a phrase you 21st Century folk have come to revere a bit much, is just how good does this director fellow present his time continuum tale? Are there blatant anachronisms and troubling inconsistencies, or is the filmmaker able to spirit his story along by creatively exploring the dramatic possibilities of his chronological enigma? In short, does the mechanism support or hinder the rest of the tale? Best regards, Rod"
I responded immediately: "Mr. Serling, While it tends to get cute and gimmicky at times, for the most part Mr. Emmerich's script understands that its time warp idea must convey the message and not be the message. Hence the overriding theme is communication, specifically the communication between a son and his father. It gets a little schmaltzy, but your jab about the bottom line is right. We could use a little good-hearted corn between IPO debuts.
"Here's the story: Late one night, pondering weak and weary after a painful break-up with his mate, detective John Sullivan (Jim Caviezel) stumbles upon his deceased dad's old ham radio. Frank Sullivan (Dennis Quaid), a hero fireman, loved talking over the airwaves. In fact, he still does. Even though he's dead. Blame it on the Aurora Borealis, or some such phenomenon. You see, back in 1969 when the Mets were amazing, Frank, their biggest fan, is still alive. And he's sitting at the very desk, in the very house in Queens, N.Y., that, lo and behold, John is now sitting at in the year 2000. And they're both talking on the same short wave radio, to each other.
"Accomplishing this trans-dimensional feat, one might think that combining to solve a murder mystery would be the easy part. Not so. The sleuthing angle makes for high-tension derring-do. Feverishly trying to redirect the heinous inflictions of the Nightingale serial killer (his speciality is nurses), father and son hope to impact their destinies. Note: Mom (Elizabeth Mitchell) is/was a nurse. And that's just it: whether she is or was will depend on how the father and son shamuses make out. Numerous other fates hang in the balance.
"The life and death gambit also turns into a simpatico bonding experience for the radio sleuths. So, in answer to your question, yes. While the time warp angle is a fancifully engaging catalyst, it still leaves room for the rest of the story."
Having received my missive, Mr. Serling's prompt E-mail reply comes hurtling through the atmospheres: "Whew. That sure was a long 'yes' Mike. What are you writing, a movie review or something? Y'know, I never could understand what the critics were doing. Way too much analysation. Is it good or isn't it? That's what I want to know. That, and how the acting is? By the way, how are Quaid and Caviezel?"
Gosh, I think to myself, one of my creative idols and he doesn't put much stock in critics. But the show must go on and this review needs an ending. So I E-mail him back:
"Mr. Serling, Both leads are in fine form. They are indeed father and son. An interesting disparity in personality type adds a note of realism. Slightly puffy-jowled and emitting a delightful essence-of-Queens dialect, Quaid as Sullivan the elder is quick to laugh, a fun-loving optimist who rides a motorcycle. But he has a contemplative edge, and that's the trait his detective son inherited. In turn, brooding John has taken his dad's intuition and sharpened it, making him the resourceful detective that he is. After all, you have to be quite a gumshoe to chase criminals back in time.
"Unfortunately, it all gets rather bunched-up and hairy at the end. You have to take it on faith that director Hoblit's kaleidoscopic climax sports some semblance of consistency. It becomes near impossible to tally all the fates that are undone and all the new problems that arise when you tweak the past. And while I guessed the ending, I still can't believe I was right; that the filmmaker actually allowed himself to conclude the story with such a grand indulgence. Those who allow themselves to buy-in will enjoy it. But some filmgoers who just can't climb aboard that wavelength will feel Frequency is too farfetched."
Rod Serling's closing E-mail read: "Might be too farfetched, huh? Not quite as believable as a film critic corresponding over the Internet with a dead sci-fi icon, eh?"
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