John Marlenko Jr. had followed in his father's footsteps, joining the Navy and pursuing special forces training to become a SEAL commando, a warrior. They put him early through Officers Candidate School upon his succeeding SEAL training, making it— as his father had, as they call enlisted troops going through OCS to make officer, rather than through the academy— stallion. A SEAL stallion by age twenty-two, presently of age twenty-four, on leave for two months after eighteen months of duty in the middle east, visiting his hometown of Austin.
Visiting a Western boutique, he buys a leather cowboy hat and boots, listens patiently but indifferently to the salesman's description of proper care for these articles, nodding politely but saying no thanks to the leather care products. Outside the store, John made a few calls to old friends, looking for someone to see a matinee at the new tech plaza, but everyone had plans for the day. So he went alone, the TV ads saying they accommodated the single viewer just as well as two, or twenty, or a hundred moviegoers. John put the hat in the pouch of his motorcycle, put his helmet on, started the bike, and rode out to the plaza. It opened for business more than a year ago, but there were hundreds of cars in the parking lot. At the box office he paid for a guided tour and waited service for one viewer. A cheerful teenage girl bounced up beside him, introducing herself as his hostess, showing him down a long corridor of entries into large theaters, opening into a great round room with doors into single rooms... "The single viewing hall," she said. "We have booths on the other side for couples and small families, as well as the big screens for general admission." She led him to an available room, seated him into the viewing chair, handing him a menu and cueing the tutorial video onto the convex, parabolic screen, lit from a projector that emerged from above. She played the tutorial, pointing out the cameras about the edge of the screen, saying they pick up on the viewer's facial expression and body language, adjusting the movie action for the best experience accordingly, and that one could watch the same movie multiple times, and see a different version each time. "All the acting is computer-generated," she said. "Even a lot of the scenery and music." Explaining further, that the computer took the composite filming of the actors, in various outfits and various readings and scenes, and computes a the movie on the go, information about the viewing uploaded in real time and the playflow sent back from the datacenter, she said, "truly a theater of the mind." John ordered a beer and fresh pretzel. "Coming right up!" she cheered, keying the order into her handheld tablet. "Your waitress will be here in a minute," she said, continuing the tutorial. "What if I don't like the movie afterwards?" John asked. "Surely that's possible."
"Yes of course," the girl said. "It just shows what it thinks you'll appreciate the most, compared to other versions rated by other viewers." She explained that he could rate the experience as the credits begin to roll. John asked about the length of the show. The girl informed him that, if he liked, he could set a preferred duration for the viewing, otherwise payable in twenty-minute blocks. "Without setting the preference, and the computer picking up a strong interest in the storyline, we've had people watch more than five hours."
"Set it for ninety minutes, please," John said.
"Sure thing," she chimed. The waitress arrived with John's order. The girl finished up the tutorial, asking John what he thought, saying it was all based on his expressions during the time they had been talking. "All of that was made up?" he asked and she nodded with glee. "Every bit," she said. "Netflix thinks you like those actors, or that you would."
"How about that."
"Would you like to select a movie, or let it choose for you?"
"Let it choose."
She drew his attention to a selector on the chair-side touch panel, showing how to prefer automatic selection for approximately ninety minutes. After a moment, the lights lowered and a movie started. She showed him how to order service at any time, then bowed happily and left the booth.
John Marlenko Jr. had followed in his father's footsteps, joining the Navy and pursuing special forces training to become a SEAL commando, a warrior. They put him early through Officers Candidate School upon his succeeding SEAL training, making it— as his father had, as they call enlisted troops going through OCS to make officer, rather than through the academy— stallion. A SEAL stallion by age twenty-two, presently of age twenty-four, on leave for two months after eighteen months of duty in the middle east, visiting his hometown of Austin. Visiting a Western boutique, he buys a leather cowboy hat and boots, listens patiently but indifferently to the salesman's description of proper care for these articles, nodding politely but saying no thanks to the leather care products. Outside the store, John made a few calls to old friends, looking for someone to see a matinee at the new tech plaza, but everyone had plans for the day. So he went alone, the TV ads saying they accommodated the single viewer just as well as two, or twenty, or a hundred moviegoers. John put the hat in the pouch of his motorcycle, put his helmet on, started the bike, and rode out to the plaza. It opened for business more than a year ago, but there were hundreds of cars in the parking lot. At the box office he paid for a guided tour and waited service for one viewer. A cheerful teenage girl bounced up beside him, introducing herself as his hostess, showing him down a long corridor of entries into large theaters, opening into a great round room with doors into single rooms... "The single viewing hall," she said. "We have booths on the other side for couples and small families, as well as the big screens for general admission." She led him to an available room, seated him into the viewing chair, handing him a menu and cueing the tutorial video onto the convex, parabolic screen, lit from a projector that emerged from above. She played the tutorial, pointing out the cameras about the edge of the screen, saying they pick up on the viewer's facial expression and body language, adjusting the movie action for the best experience accordingly, and that one could watch the same movie multiple times, and see a different version each time. "All the acting is computer-generated," she said. "Even a lot of the scenery and music." Explaining further, that the computer took the composite filming of the actors, in various outfits and various readings and scenes, and computes a the movie on the go, information about the viewing uploaded in real time and the playflow sent back from the datacenter, she said, "truly a theater of the mind." John ordered a beer and fresh pretzel. "Coming right up!" she cheered, keying the order into her handheld tablet. "Your waitress will be here in a minute," she said, continuing the tutorial. "What if I don't like the movie afterwards?" John asked. "Surely that's possible." "Yes of course," the girl said. "It just shows what it thinks you'll appreciate the most, compared to other versions rated by other viewers." She explained that he could rate the experience as the credits begin to roll. John asked about the length of the show. The girl informed him that, if he liked, he could set a preferred duration for the viewing, otherwise payable in twenty-minute blocks. "Without setting the preference, and the computer picking up a strong interest in the storyline, we've had people watch more than five hours." "Set it for ninety minutes, please," John said. "Sure thing," she chimed. The waitress arrived with John's order. The girl finished up the tutorial, asking John what he thought, saying it was all based on his expressions during the time they had been talking. "All of that was made up?" he asked and she nodded with glee. "Every bit," she said. "Netflix thinks you like those actors, or that you would." "How about that." "Would you like to select a movie, or let it choose for you?" "Let it choose." She drew his attention to a selector on the chair-side touch panel, showing how to prefer automatic selection for approximately ninety minutes. After a moment, the lights lowered and a movie started. She showed him how to order service at any time, then bowed happily and left the booth.