Linguistics professor Louise Banks leads an elite team of investigators when gigantic spaceships touchdown in 12 locations around the world. As nations teeter on the verge of global war, Banks and her crew must race against time to find a way to communicate with the extraterrestrial visitors. Hoping to unravel the mystery, she takes a chance that could threaten her life and quite possibly all of mankind.Written by
When Ian suggests the names for the heptapods, he is referencing Bud Abbott and Lou Costello's comedy routine "Who's on first". As the bit starts, Abbott states "Who's on first, What's on second, and I don't know is on third." several times. Costello doesn't understand and his questions of which player is on which base are taken as true or false statements needing affirmation or correction. For example "Who's on second base?" - "No, Who's on first." - "I'm not asking what's the guy on first." - "What's on second." - "I don't know the guy's name on second." - "No, he's on third base." - "Who's on third?" - "No, Who's on first." - "Who's on first?" - "Yes" and so forth. Both Abbott and Costello's bit and Arrival show the ease of misunderstanding while communicating. See more »
I used to think this was the beginning of your story. Memory is a strange thing. It doesn't work like I thought it did. We are so bound by time, by its order.
[coddling her baby girl]
Okay. Okay. Come back to me. Come back to me. Come back to me.
[later playing with her in the yard]
Stick 'em up! Are you the sheriff in this here town? These are my tickle guns, and I'm gonna getcha!
You want me to chase you? You better run!
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The main "Music By" credit correctly lists Jóhann Jóhannsson. Later on, In the Music Department credits, both for "Music written, arranged and produced by" and then "Orchestrations", Jóhannsson's last name is misspelled Jóhansson. See more »
Picasso was a Genius, he had so much to say, he could do it in the most abstract and cryptic way, and still be beautiful, poetic, meaningful.
Jackson Pollock was a talentless drunk who threw paint on a canvas and called it art.
If 2001: A Space Odissey is the Guernica, this movie is Number 8.
That's what most of the new wave Sci Fi has become: Poorly trying to remake 2001. This movie is the definition of Kitsch. 2001 is cryptic because it had to be, this movie is cryptic because they intentionally made it cryptic. Thing is, just like the linguist who never thought of starting with drawings and mathematical representations and went straight for words in the English language, we'll be lost trying to decode it because there's nothing to decode.
Something is cryptic if it has any meaning to begin with. Not all streams of numbers are cryptic, most are merely random. It is pointless to look for the Rosetta Stone to the Voynich manuscript because the Voynich manuscript is a meaningless fake.
Arrival is the Voynich Manuscript of movies, enjoy the nonsense, and don't look for any further meaning, because there isn't any.
If at least it had any action, It could be enjoyed with some popcorn, but on top of being meaningless, it's also a snoozefest. Do yourself a favor, sit this one out.
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