Gareth Edwards’s new blockbuster, The Creator, couldn’t have picked a better moment to arrive on the big screen. A sci-fi epic from a director who plays best in theaters (his previous films include Rogue One and Godzilla), The Creator is set in a world where artificial intelligence inhabits its own stratum of society, as a robotic underclass invented to serve humans. When he started co-writing the movie with his Rogue One collaborator Chris Weitz in 2018, “AI was up there with flying cars and living on the moon,” Edwards recently said. Now it’s a topic of constant global discourse, hailed and feared as an innovation that is reshaping societal norms on a daily basis.

The machine intelligence in The Creator is a far cry from the enigmatic chatbots dominating the news in 2023. In the film, AI has evolved into a species unto itself, a cadre of humanoid robots who initially function as part of American society but are eventually forced to leave the country after a cataclysmic incident sparks a global human-AI war. This is all explained in a brief, cable-newsy preamble, before the viewer is plunged into the middle of a conflict that practically never lets up. Here the topicality grows trickier, because The Creator is not really about AI as we currently understand it. Rather, it’s a broader metaphor for every insurgent foe America has fought since World War II.

This is not new for the sci-fi genre: Star Wars was designed by George Lucas, rather explicitly, as a Vietnam War allegory, with its Rebel Alliance imagined as a sort of Viet Cong resisting its larger imperial oppressors. The Creator functions along the same lines, but it boldly underlines how America has become the bad guy, seeking to wipe AI off the planet even though all of the world’s robots have already fled to Asia. Much as in James Cameron’s Avatar films, the U.S. military is presented as fearsome, ruthless, and largely immoral; it creates a terrifying orbital platform named NOMAD that circles the skies, dropping gigantic bombs on targets near and far.

All of this is fascinating—but it’s also largely background noise. The Creator is not too interested in world-building beyond these basics. Its protagonist, Joshua (played by John David Washington), is an undercover operative embedded with a group of robot guerrilla fighters, and the film follows him as he falls in love with a rebel fighter named Maya (Gemma Chan); he eventually deploys to Asia in search of a mysterious superweapon that takes the form of an adorable robot child named Alphie (Madeleine Yuna Voyles). The pace of the movie is relentless, chasing Joshua behind enemy lines; barely five minutes goes by without some massive explosion or exchange of gunfire.

[Read: The coming humanist renaissance]

This action takes place against many stunning backdrops: The Creator looks tremendous, partly because Edwards shot the film in gorgeous landscapes around the world (mostly in Thailand), taking every advantage of this natural beauty instead of depending on CGI sets. It’s an approach to blockbuster action that’s far more engaging than the empty, grayscale battle zones of several recent superhero films, and it looks just as good or better than Edwards’s previous two blockbusters, despite being made on a far smaller budget.

It’s just unfortunate that the story is overflowing with familiar tropes. Alphie, the well-meaning superweapon who functions as the film’s MacGuffin, descends from a long line of cute-kid characters designed to curry audience sympathy, but she lacks any real personality. Joshua’s love interest, Maya, is off-screen for almost the whole film, confined to a few ethereal flashbacks that leave her feeling like an underdeveloped plot device. Though Washington does his best to infuse Joshua with some real grit and spirit, the spectacle of The Creator is the film’s real star, which isn’t quite enough to sustain a running time of more than two hours.

Even so, The Creator is a high-level craft achievement that is undeniably cool on a big screen. I was intrigued by many of the ideas bubbling away within the movie’s larger world; I wanted to know more about the AI warriors and civilians Joshua encounters, and the society around them. American imperialism has been portrayed as villainous in other movies, but there’s some transgressive thrill to the film’s bluntly negative depiction. Still, the allegory stays thin throughout, light on details but easy for any audience member to recognize. Here, robots are just another Rebel Alliance to rally around. They’re easy to root for, yes, but they’re mere clones of underdogs past.

Anon Nampa was arrested in 2020 after making the call for change during mass anti-government protests.

This past December, Elon Musk’s extended family gathered for Christmas. As was their tradition, they pondered a question of the year, which seemed strategically designed for Elon to answer: “What regrets do you have?”

By that point in 2022, Musk had personally intervened in Russia’s war by controlling Ukraine’s internet access; had failed to tell his on-and-off girlfriend and co-parent Grimes that he had also fathered twins with one of his employees, and had been forced by a judge to follow through on a $44 billion purchase of Twitter; then fired most of its staff and alienated most of its advertisers. His main regret, he told his family, according to an account in Walter Isaacson’s new biography, Elon Musk, “is how often I stab myself in the thigh with a fork, how often I shoot my own feet and stab myself in the eye.”

In Isaacson’s study of the world’s richest man, the reader is consistently reminded that Musk is powerless over his own impulses. Musk cannot control his desperate need to stir up drama and urgency when things are going well, Isaacson explains. He fails to show any kind of remorse for the multiple instances of brutally insulting his subordinates or lovers. He gets stuck in what Grimes has dubbed “demon mode”—an anger-induced unleashing of insults and demands, during which he resembles his father Errol, whom Isaacson describes as emotionally abusive.

To report the book, Isaacson shadowed Musk for two years, answering his late-night text messages, accompanying him to Twitter’s office post-acquisition, attending his meetings and intimate family moments, watching him berate people. Reading the book is like hearing what Musk’s many accomplishments and scandals would sound like from the perspective of his therapist, if he ever sought one out (rather than do that, he prefers to “take the pain,” he says—though he has diagnosed himself at various moments as having Asperger’s syndrome or bipolar disorder or post-traumatic stress disorder).

Choosing to use this access mostly for pop psychology may appeal to an American audience that loves a good antihero, but it’s a missed opportunity. Unlike the subjects of most of Isaacson’s other big biographies, including Steve Jobs, Albert Einstein, and Leonardo da Vinci, Musk is still alive, his influence still growing. We don’t need to understand how he thinks and feels as much as we need to understand how he managed to amass so much power, and the broad societal impact of his choices—in short, how thoroughly this mercurial leader of six companies has become an architect of our future.

What does it mean that Musk can adjust a country’s internet access during a war? (The book only concludes that it makes him uncomfortable.) How should we feel about the fact that the man putting self-driving cars on our roads tells staff that most safety and legal requirements are “wrong and dumb”? How will Musk’s many business interests eventually, inevitably conflict? (At one point, Musk—a self-described champion of free speech—concedes that Twitter will have to be careful about how it moderates China-related content, because pissing off the government could threaten Tesla’s sales there. Isaacson doesn’t press further.)

The cover of Elon Musk shows Musk’s face in high contrast staring straight, with hands folded as if in prayer, evoking a Great Man of History and a visual echo of the Jobs volume. Isaacson’s central question seems to be whether Musk could have achieved such greatness if he were less cruel and more humane. But this is no time for a retrospective.

[Read: Demon mode activated ]

As readers of the book are asked to reflect on the drama of Musk’s past romantic dalliances, he is meeting with heads of state and negotiating behind closed doors. Last Monday, Musk convened with Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan; on Tuesday, Israel’s prime minister publicly called him the “unofficial president” of the United States. Also, Neuralink, Musk’s brain-implant start-up—mostly discussed in the book as the employer of one of the mothers of Musk's 11 known children—was given approval from an independent review board to begin recruiting participants for human trials. The book does have a few admiring pages on Neuralink’s technology, but doesn’t address a 2022 Reuters report that the company had killed an estimated 1,500 experimented-on animals, including more than 280 sheep, pigs, and monkeys, since 2018. (Musk has said that the monkeys chosen for the experiments were already close to death; a gruesome Wired story published Wednesday reported otherwise.)

Isaacson seems to expect major further innovation from Musk—who is already sending civilians into space, running an influential social network, shaping the future of artificial-intelligence development, and reviving the electric-car market. How these developments might come about and what they will mean for humanity seems far more important to probe than Isaacson’s preferred focus on explaining Musk’s abusive, erratic, impetuous behavior.

In 2018, Musk called the man who rescued children in Thailand’s caves a “pedo guy,” which led to a defamation suit—a well-known story. A few weeks later, he claimed that he had “funding secured” to take Tesla private at $420 a share, attracting the scrutiny of the Securities and Exchange Commission. Isaacson covers these events by diagnosing Musk as unstable during that period and, according to his brother, still getting over his tumultuous breakup with the actor Amber Heard. (Ah, the toxic-woman excuse.) He was also, according to his lawyer Alex Spiro, “an impulsive kid with a terrible Twitter habit.” Isaacson calls that assessment “true”—one of the many times he compares Musk, now 52, to a child in the book.

The people whose perspectives Isaacson seems to draw on most in the book are those whom Musk arranged for him to talk with. So the book’s biggest reveal may be the extent to which his loved ones and confidants distrust his ability to be calm and rational, and feel the need to work around him. A close friend, Antonio Gracias, once locked Musk’s phone in a hotel safe to keep him from tweeting; in the middle of the night, Musk got hotel security to open it.

All of this seems reminiscent of the ways Donald Trump’s inner circle executed his whims, justifying his behavior and managing their relationship with him, lest they be cut out from the action. Every one of Trump’s precedent-defying decisions during his presidency was picked apart by the media: What were his motivations? Is there a strategy here? Is he mentally fit to serve? Does he really mean what he’s tweeting? The simplest answer was often the correct one: The last person he talked to (or saw on Fox News) made him angry.

[Read: What Russia got by scaring Elon Musk]

Musk is no Trump fan, according to Isaacson. But he’s the media’s new main character, just as capable of getting triggered and sparking shock waves through a tweet. That’s partially why Isaacson’s presentation of the World’s Most Powerful Victim is not all that revelatory for those who are paying attention: Musk exposes what he’s thinking at all hours of the day and night to his 157.6 million followers.

In Isaacson’s introduction to Elon Musk, he explains that the man is “not hardwired to have empathy.” Musk’s role as a visionary with a messianic passion seems to excuse this lack. The thinking goes like this: All of his demands for people to come solve a problem right now or you’re fired are bringing us one step closer to Mars travel, or the end of our dependence on oil, or the preservation of human consciousness itself. His comfort with skirting the law and cutting corners in product development also serves a higher purpose: Musk believes, and preaches in a mantra to employees at all of his companies, that “the only rules are the ones dictated by the laws of physics. Everything else is a recommendation.”

By presenting Musk’s mindset as fully formed and his behavior as unalterable, Isaacson’s book doesn’t give us many tools for the future—besides, perhaps, being able to rank the next Musk blowup against a now well-documented history of such incidents. Instead of narrowing our critical lens to Musk’s brain, we need to widen it, in order to understand the consequences of his influence. Only then can we challenge him to do right by his power.

Chaithawat Tulathon has been involved in Thailand's progressive political movement for more than five years.

Teo Boon Ching, a 'middleman' in a global criminal network, was arrested in Thailand after an undercover operation.

The 43-year-old steps down so party can name member to serve as parliament's opposition leader.

New prime minister promises to hand out cash, reduce energy prices and boost tourism to stimulate sluggish economy.

BANGKOK (AP) — Thailand’s new Prime Minister Srettha Thavisin vowed to act quickly to relieve the country's economic problems in his inaugural speech to Parliament on Monday, following four months of political uncertainty while parliamentarians were unable to agree on a government.

Read more...

BANGKOK (AP) — Xinyu Wen traveled to Thailand in June, planning a two-week vacation around Bangkok's Pride parade.

Read more...

Gig workers say platforms such as Grab and Foodpanda have cut their pay rates without explanation.