Science fiction movies, as a class, are generally so bad that when anything even approaching quality comes off the reel, the reviewer/fan is sorely tempted to anesthetize objectivity and send up indiscriminate fireworks. But, consciousness doth make cowards of us all: the same aesthetic criteria applied to other aspects of art must apply to science fiction (hereinafter sf). Otherwise, it must be put in a “special” category—like the scribblings of retarded children or Norman Mailer— which is why this reviewer cannot call 2001 one of the greatest movies ever made.
The tragedy is, it might have been.
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