Majoring in Science at Hollywood U.

As a science geek, I take a keen interest in how science is perceived and presented in popular culture. This interest often takes me to the movies, which are certainly popular, if not particularly cultured.

The B movies of the 50’s are especially enlightening. Whenever a lab-coated scientist (usually Peter Graves) begins to uncover the cause (always radiation) of some bizarre occurrence, sit up and take notes. As he condescendingly enlightens the obligatory wide-eyed female, we learn that snakes are invertebrates, and the heart is a single cell, and why he and his brother, James Arness of “Gunsmoke”, are both 8 feet tall (radiation).

Of course, over the past 60 years we have learned not to fear radiation just because it makes grasshoppers, Gila monsters and actors mutate to horrifying dimensions. Now we know radiation is our friend and can be used to avert catastrophe. Planet-destroying asteroids or aliens heading our way? Nuke ‘em! Earthquakes destroying the West Coast? Nukes are the answer! The Earth’s core stopped spinning? Nukes will jump-start that rotation in a jiffy!

Still worried that radiation alone may not be enough to protect you? Hollywood offers a fail-safe personal safety plan: Be a dog. No harm will befall you if you are a dog. Lava may flow around you, earthquakes, aliens, meteorites, tornados or tidal waves may destroy your city, but you’ll come through it with your tail wagging.

If being a dog is not an option for you at this point, do the next best thing. Get a dog, and keep it near you at all times. If disaster threatens, grab the dog’s collar and don’t let go until the crisis is past. Then toss the mutt a Milk-Bone, secure in the knowledge that you’re ready for anything.

Even so, it might be a good idea for you and your Canine Personal Security Device to avoid the Hollywood sign. All disasters, even those not technically in California, go after that huge sign. (It used to be only ten inches tall, but, you guessed it, radiation!) The cone o’ safety emanating from your dog will probably shield you, but what if one of those giant letters has your name on it? We’ve all seen how doom can select a fleeing victim and carefully cut him (or her, but usually him) out from the panic-stricken horde.

Of course, if you’re a big star (in the non-irradiated sense) this probably won’t happen to you. Unless you are one week away from retirement, or show people pictures of your family, or direct the secret project that goes horribly wrong. Even Lassie couldn't save you then.

A classic disaster romp is “The Day After Tomorrow.” It practically oozes science, as global warming leads to rapid polar melting which leads to desalinization of the oceans which leads to currents shifting which leads to severe storms which no one saw coming because all the people (two) who were supposed to be watching the monitors were instead watching a soccer match or entertaining a lady friend. Of course they both die horribly, along with the lady friend, which seems harsh. She wasn’t neglecting her job.

The storms get worse, pulling super-cold air down from the troposphere and ushering in an instantaneous ice age. Then the ultimate, unthinkable disaster strikes; no cell phone reception. Everyone’s shivering too much to think of the obvious solution (nukes) so it just keeps getting colder, which is hard to make visually exciting, even with special effects and graphics from the Weather Channel, so the movie releases wolves from the New York City Zoo. Apparently cold, hungry New Yorkers deprived of cell phone service aren’t terrifying enough.

Sadly, the movie loses credibility near the end. The Cheneyesque Vice-President, who mocked the Warnings of Science that could have averted the tragedy, publicly admits he was wrong and apologizes. Like that would ever happen. Unless, of course, he had been exposed to radiation. And didn’t have a dog.