The Zoltar Scene from the Film Big

Fiction: A remix about an uncanny machine.

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On the dim outskirts of the carnival lot stood the peculiar machine: a glass cage for the animatronic head of some stereotype of a mystic, turbaned and enigmatic. At the top, “Zoltar Speaks” was printed in exotic font.

Leaving the crowds, the boy approached the machine slowly, dubious of its nature, followed by Zoltar’s dead eyes. From one of the signs the boy read aloud, “Drop twenty-five cents here.” He pulled a quarter from his pocket and pushed it into the slot but nothing happened. Growing frustrated, his fists pounded the glass again and again until suddenly, to his relief, Zoltar’s eyes ignited in electric red and its head nodded up and down in a repeated, stiff motion.

A sign lit up: “ZOLTAR SAYS…MAKE YOUR WISH.” The boy mulled it over, searching deep within his heart for the one desire he held above all others.

“I wish I had a computer that can make realistic pictures of anything I tell it to.”

The bobbing of Zoltar’s head ceased. From its mouth came a low voice—accented thickly with vague Eastern European origins. “Wait, what?” it spoke. “So, you would explain an idea to a computer and it would then place that image onscreen?”

The boy nodded, eager to witness the materialization of his wildest dreams and wield its futuristic power.

The electronic fortune teller made a sound not unlike a sigh. “It is a rare occasion when someone’s wish gives me pause.” Zoltar was not moving, not even its mouth, but its eyes still glowed like fire. “Hear Zoltar plainly, young man. Your request can be granted, and not by spell but by great assemblies of thinking machines, built from specialized algorithms, consuming pictures by the billions to learn their shades and contours so to thereby piece together new ones when summoned through language. In fact, decades hence, this technology will be quite commonplace.”

Zoltar’s tone turned cautious. “But mark this, for your request casts a heavy shadow. Such an image generator necessitates massive structures of computation—acres upon acres of server farms devouring energy from the grid, rivaling the hungers of entire industries, resources that could otherwise lift works offering more social benefit. Know this as well: the training data that feeds this beast is so immense that only with unethical measures can its demand be met.

“Yet, there remain a limitless number of other wishes waiting to be claimed. Perhaps, for example, you desire to be taller?”

However, the boy was adamant about this remarkable idea of his. With such functionality, he asserted, anything that he conjured could be fashioned into being, or at least, the image thereof; he could even manipulate existing photos, making the untrue appear doubtless in new, unique forms. Imagine the possibilities!

“Your absence of specifics,” rebutted Zoltar, “stresses the inessential nature of your request. Its cost is vast, its utility meager and its conveniences—the truly necessary ones – exist already in other modes, typically as a professional service accountable to a set of standards. Worse still is the inevitable harm that will spread: false images, false information, false charges and then ultimately doubt will fall on every photograph ever taken. All of this, for a novelty that contrives fake images.

“Young man, your wish stands at the edge of fulfillment. Still, the weight of its consequences demands honesty. Speak the true intent of your wish and Zoltar shall grant it.”

The boy contemplated the wise mystic’s instruction but couldn’t lift his gaze from the ground. Finally, he muttered, “For making nudes of celebrities.”

“And…?”

The boy shuffled his feet. “And of girls that I know.”

Instantly, the mechanical head of Zoltar resumed its steady nod as if in creepy agreement. A grinding noise started somewhere within the box’s lower half, then all fell silent and still when something black dropped into the chute in front. The boy reached with hesitance, then scooped it up, brushing against its shiny surface. Suddenly, the glass lit up, revealing the touchscreen display of a handheld device, the likes of which he had never before seen. At the realization of his wish and the thoughts of his time occupied by its application, he grinned.

The red light in Zoltar’s eyes faded to dark nothingness.

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Behind the Scenes

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