Dans les 80s, Zuzana Licko dessine les premiers caractères de typographie numérique, pour Macintosh, et co-fonde le magazine-fonderie Emigre. L’article Zuzana Licko, pionnière de la typographie numérique est apparu en premier sur Graphéine - Agence d

Last year, MACK Books published Architecture from Below, which anthologized writings by the French Brazilian architect, theorist, and painter Sérgio Ferro. (Douglas Spencer reviewed it for AN.) Now, MACK follows with Design and the Building Site and Complementary Essays, the second in the trilogy of books dedicated to Ferro’s scholarship. The following excerpt of the author’s 2023 preface to the English edition, which preserves its British phrasing, captures Ferro’s realization about the working conditions of construction sites in Brasília. The sentiment is likely relatable even today for young architects as they discover how drawings become buildings. Design and the Building Site and Complementary Essays will be released on May 22. If I remember correctly, it was in 1958 or 1959, when Rodrigo and I were second- or third year architecture students at FAUUSP, that my father, the real estate developer Armando Simone Pereira, commissioned us to design two large office buildings and eleven shops in Brasilia, which was then under construction. Of course, we were not adequately prepared for such an undertaking. Fortunately, Oscar Niemeyer and his team, who were responsible for overseeing the construction of the capital, had drawn up a detailed document determining the essential characteristics of all the private sector buildings. We followed these prescriptions to the letter, which saved us from disaster. Nowadays, it is hard to imagine the degree to which the construction of Brasilia inspired enthusiasm and professional pride in the country’s architects. And in the national imagination, the city’s establishment in the supposedly unpopulated hinterland evoked a re-founding of Brazil. Up until that point, the occupation of our immense territory had been reduced to a collection of arborescent communication routes, generally converging upon some river, following it up to the Atlantic Ocean. Through its ports, agricultural or extractive commodities produced by enslaved peoples or their substitutes passed towards the metropolises; goods were exchanged in the metropolises for more elaborate products, which took the opposite route. Our national identity was summed up in a few symbols, such as the anthem or the flag, and this scattering of paths pointing overseas. Brasilia would radically change this situation, or so we believed. It would create a central hub where the internal communication routes could converge, linking together hithertoseparate junctions, stimulating trade and economic progress in the country’s interior. It was as if, for the first time, we were taking care of ourselves. At the nucleus of this centripetal movement, architecture would embody the renaissance. And at the naval of the nucleus, the symbolic mandala of this utopia: the cathedral. Rodrigo and I got caught up in the euphoria. And perhaps more so than our colleagues, because we were taking part in the adventure with ‘our’ designs. The reality was very different — but we did not know that yet. At that time, architects in Brazil were responsible for verifying that the construction was in line with the design. We had already monitored some of our first building sites. But the construction company in charge of them, Osmar Souza e Silva’s CENPLA, specialized in the building sites of modernist architects from the so-called Escola Paulista led by Vilanova Artigas (which we aspired to be a part of, like the pretentious students we were). Osmar was very attentive to his clients and his workers, who formed a supportive and helpful team. He was even more careful with us, because he knew how inexperienced we were. I believe that the CENPLA was particularly important in São Paulo modernism: with its congeniality, it facilitated experimentation, but for the same reason, it deceived novices like us about the reality of other building sites. Consequently, Rodrigo and I travelled to Brasilia several times to check that the constructions followed ‘our’ designs and to resolve any issues. From the very first trip, our little bubble burst. Our building sites, like all the others in the future capital, bore no relation to Osmar’s. They were more like a branch of hell. A huge, muddy wasteland, in which a few cranes, pile drivers, tractors, and excavators dotted the mound of scaffolding occupied by thousands of skinny, seemingly exhausted wretches, who were nevertheless driven on by the shouts of master builders and foremen, in turn pressured by the imminence of the fateful inauguration date. Surrounding or huddled underneath the marquees of buildings under construction, entire families, equally skeletal and ragged, were waiting for some accident or death to open up a vacancy. In contact only with the master builders, and under close surveillance so we would not speak to the workers, we were not allowed to see what comrades who had worked on these sites later told us in prison: suicide abounded; escape was known to be futile in the unpopulated surroundings with no viable roads; fatal accidents were often caused by weakness due to chronic diarrhoea, brought on by rotten food that came from far away; outright theft took place in the calculation of wages and expenses in the contractor’s grocery store; camps were surrounded by law enforcement. I repeat this anecdote yet again not to invoke the benevolence of potential readers, but rather to point out the conditions that, in my opinion, allowed two students (Flávio Império joined us a little later) still in their professional infancy to quickly adopt positions that were contrary to the usual stance of architects. As the project was more Oscar Niemeyer’s than it was our own, we did not have the same emotional attachment that is understandably engendered between real authors and their designs. We had not yet been imbued with the charm and aura of the métier. And the only building sites we had visited thus far, Osmar’s, were incomparable to those we discovered in Brasilia. In short, our youthfulness and unpreparedness up against an unbearable situation made us react almost immediately to the profession’s satisfied doxa. Unprepared and young perhaps, but already with Marx by our side. Rodrigo and I joined the student cell of the Brazilian Communist Party during our first year at university. In itself, this did not help us much: the Party’s Marxism, revised in the interests of the USSR, was pitiful. Even high-level leaders rarely went beyond the first chapter of Capital. But at the end of the 1950s, the effervescence of the years to come was already nascent:  […] this extraordinary revival […] the rediscovery of Marxism and the great dialectical texts and traditions in the 1960s: an excitement that identifies a forgotten or repressed moment of the past as the new and subversive, and learns the dialectical grammar of a Hegel or an Adorno, a Marx or a Lukács, like a foreign language that has resources unavailable in our own. And what is more: the Chinese and Cuban revolutions, the war in Vietnam, guerrilla warfare of all kinds, national liberation movements, and a rare libertarian disposition in contemporary history, totally averse to fanaticism and respect for ideological apparatuses of (any) state or institution. Going against the grain was almost the norm. We were of course no more than contemporaries of our time. We were soon able to position ourselves from chapters 13, 14, and 15 of Capital, but only because we could constantly cross-reference Marx with our observations from well-contrasted building sites and do our own experimenting. As soon as we identified construction as manufacture, for example, thanks to the willingness and even encouragement of two friends and clients, Boris Fausto and Bernardo Issler, I was able to test both types of manufacture — organic and heterogeneous — on similar-sized projects taking place simultaneously, in order to find out which would be most convenient for the situation in Brazil, particularly in São Paulo. Despite the scientific shortcomings of these tests, they sufficed for us to select organic manufacture. Arquitetura Nova had defined its line of practice, studies, and research. There were other sources that were central to our theory and practice. Flávio Império was one of the founders of the Teatro de Arena, undoubtedly the vanguard of popular, militant theatre in Brazil. He won practically every set design award. He brought us his marvelous findings in spatial condensation and malleability, and in the creative diversion of techniques and material—appropriate devices for an underdeveloped country. This is what helped us pave the way to reformulating the reigning design paradigms.  We had to do what Flávio had done in the theatre: thoroughly rethink how to be an architect. Upend the perspective. The way we were taught was to start from a desired result; then others would take care of getting there, no matter how. We, on the other hand, set out to go down to the building site and accompany those carrying out the labor itself, those who actually build, the formally subsumed workers in manufacture who are increasingly deprived of the knowledge and know-how presupposed by this kind of subsumption. We should have been fostering the reconstitution of this knowledge and know-how—not so as to fulfil this assumption, but in order to reinvigorate the other side of this assumption according to Marx: the historical rebellion of the manufacture worker, especially the construction worker. We had to rekindle the demand that fueled this rebellion: total self-determination, and not just that of the manual operation as such. Our aim was above all political and ethical. Aesthetics only mattered by way of what it included—ethics. Instead of estética, we wrote est ética [this is ethics]. We wanted to make building sites into nests for the return of revolutionary syndicalism, which we ourselves had yet to discover. Sérgio Ferro, born in Brazil in 1938, studied architecture at FAUUSP, São Paulo. In the 1960s, he joined the Brazilian communist party and started, along with Rodrigo Lefevre and Flávio Império, the collective known as Arquitetura Nova. After being arrested by the military dictatorship that took power in Brazil in 1964, he moved to France as an exile. As a painter and a professor at the École Nationale Supérieure d’Architecture de Grenoble, where he founded the Dessin/Chantier laboratory, he engaged in extensive research which resulted in several publications, exhibitions, and awards in Brazil and in France, including the title of Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres in 1992. Following his retirement from teaching, Ferro continues to research, write, and paint.

The Book Club gives their verdict on Larry Niven’s RingworldEugene Powers/Alamy It was quite an experience, moving from the technicolour magical realism of Michel Nieva’s wild dystopia, Dengue Boy, to Larry Niven’s slice of classic science fiction, Ringworld, first published in 1970 and very much redolent of the sci-fi writing of that era. Not a wholly bad experience, mind, but quite a jolting change of pace for the New Scientist Book Club. I was a teenager when I last read Ringworld, and a hugely uncritical sort of teenager at that, so I was keen to return to a novel I remembered fondly and see how it stood up to the test of time – and my somewhat more critical eye. The first thing to say is that many of the things I loved about Ringworld were very much still there. This is, for me, a novel that inspires awe – with the vastness of its imagination, the size of its megastructures, the distance it travels in space. I was reminded of that awe early on, when our protagonist Louis Wu (more on him later) recalls standing at the edge of Mount Lookitthat on a distant planet. “The Long Fall River, on that world, ends in the tallest waterfall in known space. Louis’s eyes had followed it down as far as they could penetrate the void mist. The featureless white of the void itself had grasped at his mind, and Louis Wu, half hypnotized, had sworn to live forever. How else could he see all there was to see?” Advertisement That hugeness, that desire for exploration and knowledge and discovery, is one of the main reasons why I love science fiction. What else is out there, and what can we find out about it? From that field of murderous sunflowers on the Ringworld – what a scene! – to Niven’s image of our crew in space, looking at the bottom of the Ringworld and the huge bulge of a deep ocean protruding towards them, Ringworld has this in spades, and I lapped it up. “A man can lose his soul among the white stars… They call it the far look. It is dangerous.” I also very much enjoyed how Niven makes us pick up the breadcrumbs of where we are in time and in technological developments; at one point, Freeman Dyson, he of the Dyson spheres that inspired the Ringworld, is described as “one of the ancient natural philosophers, pre-Belt, almost pre-atomic”. I find that sort of thing delightful, and I was also (largely) amused by Niven’s aliens, from the cowering terror of the Puppeteers to the brilliantly named Speaker-To-Animals (we, the aliens, are the animals). I pictured Speaker as a huge version of our large ginger cat, and rather liked him. As I wrote earlier, though, this is a piece of writing that feels very much of its time, in terms of the somewhat plodding prose and sexist overtones, even if it succeeds (for me) in the wonderful, star-spanning maths and physics of it all. Niven’s characters are pretty one-dimensional. Louis Wu is quite annoying. There could be so much more to Teela, our token woman. And once the crew are on the Ringworld, it all feels a bit “then they went here, then they went there”, rather than being tightly plotted. Join us in reading and discussing the best new science and science fiction books Sign up to newsletter There has been some intense discussion about this novel on our Facebook page, and many of you felt similarly. “While I enjoyed it very much, I kept getting pulled out of the interesting scientific aspects of the story as well as the rollicking adventure by the sexist, boys club aspects. It’s a little sad that Larry Niven’s view of the distant future didn’t involve any advancement in men’s views of women,” said Jennifer Marano. “It reminds me of early spy movies. Beautiful woman who hasn’t sense enough to not be enamored by less than interesting or intelligent male with pretty huge ego,” said Eliza Rose. Alan Perrett was even less impressed with Louis Wu’s behaviour: “I have to admit to finding Louis Wu absolutely creepy. He treats the woman that he professes to love with contempt. He laughs finding out that she’s the result of a eugenics experiment and then, when looking at her, sees her dismay and then keeps laughing. I hope when I’m 200 years old I’ve learned a little more empathy than that.” Gosia Furmanik grew up reading science fiction from Niven’s era because that was what was available – but “eventually, the sexism and lack of female/diverse protagonists put me off sci-fi for a good 15 years”. She only got back into sci-fi when she discovered “that nowadays it’s easy to find books of this genre written by non-white non-men that don’t have this pitfall”. “Ringworld brought me back, not in a good way,” Gosia writes. “While not as blatant as in some of its contemporaries, cringy sexism nevertheless seeps out of this book.” It’s definitely true that Teela’s character arc was the biggest issue for most of us with this book. “I loathed the ending of Teela’s story and the explanation of how her luck led her to come on the mission. It seems a woman can’t have a meaningful existence without a man!” wrote Samatha Lane. Samantha also makes a great point about how “the male human is the most perceptive creature in the universe” created by Niven. “This arrogance about the sheer cleverness of humans stems from traditional humanism which puts humans at the centre of everything – as rational, special, superior beings. Combine that with the recent conquest of space (man landed on the moon the year before) and it’s like a bonfire of the collective ego,” she writes. New Scientist book club Love reading? Come and join our friendly group of fellow book lovers. Every six weeks, we delve into an exciting new title, with members given free access to extracts from our books, articles from our authors and video interviews. Sign up Onto the positives, however: Niall Leighton “enjoyed the sheer scale of the novel” and thinks it hasn’t “dated as badly as much science fiction of this era”, while for Andy Feest, “the science was probably the most interesting thing” (he found the characters “unenjoyable” and the chauvinism “a bit jarring”). Some readers approved of Niven’s heavy hand with the maths – it “definitely added to my enjoyment”, wrote Linda Jones, while Darren Rumbold “especially liked” the Klemperer rosettes. It didn’t work for all of you, though: Phil Gurski “was excited to read this classic sci-fi novel and really, really wanted to enjoy it but the technobabble kept getting in the way. I found it hard to keep up.” Overall, I think the book club found it an interesting exercise to dig into this science fiction classic and hold it up to the light of today. I think we’ll do another classic soon enough, and I’m listening to suggestions from readers who have tipped books by Ursula K. Le Guin, N. K. Jemisin and Joanna Russ as possible palate cleansers. Next up, though, is something a little more modern: Kaliane Bradley’s bestselling time travel novel, The Ministry of Time. Yes, it has a woman as its protagonist, and yes, it passes the Bechdel test. You can read a piece by Kaliane here in which she explains why (and how) she wrote a novel about time travel, and you can check out this fun opener to the book here. Come and read along with us and tell us what you think on our Facebook page. 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Titans of industry cannot come to terms. Despite the literal gap between them being a matter of feet—maybe 30 or so by my count—when their two locomotives come to a standstill in a tunnel with miles of track in either direction, Zsa-zsa Korda (Benicio del Toro, tyrannical, avuncular) is unable to bridge the final inches with Leland and Reagan (Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston, stone-faced). It’s an odd situation that becomes odder still when all parties realize the fate of their multimillion-dollar venture must now come down to a game of chance: and this one a bet on whether a Middle Eastern prince (Riz Ahmed) can sink a granny shot from below his knees while playing basketball’s ugly, redheaded step-cousin, HORSE.  It was at this exact moment I realized Wes Anderson had returned to full, magnificently daffy form. As easily the prodigal Texan’s best film in over a decade, The Phoenician Scheme rekindles much of the mirth that informed so many of Anderson’s early films. It is also the first instance one has had any narrative propulsion or tension since his last masterpiece, The Grand Budapest Hotel. While I would hesitate to place such lofty titles onto Phoenician, rest assured that it’s a balmy good time at the cinema where longtime fans get to again spend an evening with impeccably dressed cheats, droll scoundrels, and other variants on the unseemly father figure. Take del Toro’s Korda for instance. He begins the film by surviving what is jointly his sixth plane crash and assassination attempt. (The industrialist’s pilots fare less happily from his habit of falling out of the sky.) He isn’t sure who wants to kill him, but he seems confident it’s probably justified. Of his nine children, eight prepubescent boys live at home with him where their resentments already border on the homicidal. And the other offspring, a daughter he never really knew, wants nothing to do with him, even after he promises to bequeath her his entire fortune “on a trial basis.” Indeed, despite being a novitiate nun, Liesl (Mia Threapleton) has a tough time with forgiveness, especially when it comes to a would-be patriarch or patron. She does agree to at least get to know the old man, though, after he decides to gallivant around the world in a bid to save his empire (hence the aforementioned HORSE of fate). Rather boldly they even board plane after plane, alongside Korda’s ineffectual Swedish nanny-turned-attendant, Bjorn (a chipper Michael Cera doing an accent about three clicks south of the Muppets’ Chef). Together they meet a starry ensemble of walk-on cameos and eccentric business partners, my favorite of which is a preternaturally giddy Jeffrey Wright. Yet always operating beneath the surface is another tale of resentments between bad parents and their adult children. That plus a kooky murder mystery where Zsa-Zsa somehow keeps avoiding being the dead body. From the name of the protagonist alone, Anderson seems intent to signal to audiences with any degree of film knowledge that he is playing once more in the sandbox of his influences. It is hard to imagine a cineaste like Anderson, for example, hearing the moniker “Korda” and not thinking of anti-fascist Hungarian refugee-turned-British filmmaker, Alexander Korda, who directed aesthetic classics like The Thief of Baghdad (1940) and That Hamilton Woman (1941). Furthermore, Anderson pulls just as much from Korda contemporaries like fellow Hungarian ex-pat Michael Curtiz, particularly when Korda and Lisel wind up at a nightclub owned by Marseille Bob (Mathieu Amalric). And yes, another movie about traveling nannies and a precocious Liesl is alluded to as well. But the reason The Phoenician Scheme works so much better than Anderson’s last several movies is that while the filmmaker is visibly delighting in his references and what are almost assuredly private jokes between himself and co-writer Roman Coppola, the director also is avoiding the trap of becoming distracted by the aesthetics. Phoenician is still a beautifully designed world of straight lines and adroit square compositions, courtesy of cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel, where nothing feels natural. Not even the sun or tree vines discovered after Korda, Liesl, and Bjorn become lost in a jungle have any reality about them. But the simple pleasure of observing visual confections is not the be-all end unto itself that it previously was. The travelogue nature of the plot, in which a father and daughter go on an odyssey of unconventional boardroom meetings that include assassins, freedom fighters, and organized crime bigwigs, provides a skeletal structure where Anderson can graft on his increasing preference for narrative vignettes, but there is an emotional spine as well between Korda and Liesl that makes both the jokes and the pathos ebullient. Del Toro has never seemed bigger or more unshackled than as Zsa-zsa. Like most Anderson protagonists, Korda rarely speaks above a polite monotone, but his double-breasted confidence and adventurism provides del Toro with a refreshingly uninhibited floorspace. It also pairs nicely when bantering with Threapleton, a real discovery of a young talent who plays a nun with conviction, even as the twinge of curling judgment on her smile suggests she may never see Heaven. But then she dryly must channel the patience of Job when dodging the advances of a tipsy Bjorn (again, Cera is having too much fun) and the would-be buy-offs of an absentee father. The terrain of an unhappy adult and their aging parent is terrain Anderson has walked many times, but there’s a renewed vigor in his step in The Phoenician Scheme, perhaps because it is the first time he has crossed this territory where he is closer in age to the latter than the former. There is empathy for all parties, though, and new tricks to his whimsy, such as his elegant compositions repeatedly being shattered in close-ups where the camera is assaulted by various subjects filled with so much rage that they literally assail the fourth wall. The Phoenician Scheme is simply a lovely work from an artist with a fresh spring in his step. If you already count yourself among his admirers, it’s a return to form with moments of divine inspiration (just wait until you see who he cast as God). For the rest, it may not cause conversion, but it’s certainly worth sharing some communion wine over. The Phoenician Scheme premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on May 18. It opens in limited release on May 30 and wide on June 6. Join our mailing list Get the best of Den of Geek delivered right to your inbox!

The current era of Doctor Who has tried to shy away from resurrecting some of the series’ biggest bads for the 15th Doctor to face off against—but that’s not to say it has been devoid of classic villains. As we barrel towards the finale of the show’s latest season, we’ve been given another in the form of the Rani, a brief but brilliant icon of ’80s Who. Who Is the Rani? An amoral Time Lord scientist, the Rani, portrayed by Kate O’Mara, appeared in just two classic Doctor Who storylines in the 1980s: “Mark of the Rani,” where she teamed up with the Master to face off against the Sixth Doctor, and “Time and the Rani,” Sylvester McCoy’s debut storyline as the Seventh Doctor, responsible for his prior incarnation’s regeneration as she takes over an alien world in an attempt to manipulate evolution across the cosmos. O’Mara would appear onscreen once more as the Rani during the 1993 special Dimensions in Time, both a celebration for the then-cancelled show’s 30th anniversary and a charity drive for Children in Need that saw Doctor Who cross over with the long-running British soap EastEnders, and the Rani trap multiple incarnations of the Doctor and several of their companions in a time loop in Walford, for inexplicable reasons. Little is known about the Rani beyond her on-screen appearances. She was given a similar background and status as a foil to the Doctor as the Master: a sinister mirror that felt kinship with the Doctor for their shared status as renegades of Time Lord society, as well as contemporaries who studied at the Pyrdonian Academy on Gallifrey together in their youths. But while the Doctor fled their people in rebellion, the Rani was exiled from Gallifrey for engaging in radical experimentation as part of her obsession with science and evolution. An obsession she was willing to do anything for, at any cost. Unlike many classic Who villains, the Rani has a limited life in spinoff media, even more so than her already limited TV outings. O’Mara portrayed the Rani once more in the questionably licensed 2000 audio drama The Rani Reaps the Whirlwind, set after the events of “Time and the Rani,” and was set to reprise the role for Big Finish before her death in 2014. Instead, the Rani returned in a new incarnation for two Sixth Doctor audio stories, played by Siobhan Redmond—and was seemingly never to be heard of again until this year’s season of Doctor Who revealed that Anita Dobson’s mysterious “Mrs. Flood” character is in fact the latest incarnation of the Rani… before she herself promptly regenerated into another new incarnation played by Archie Panjabi. Camp and the Rani The Rani has perhaps an oversized imprint on Doctor Who fandom despite her extremely limited number of appearances. This is largely down to O’Mara’s performance as the character. While the Rani herself is absolutely dastardly, and Doctor Who itself never treats her as anything less than serious (even if her schemes are inevitably foiled), O’Mara played her as big and brash, vamping about the place in glamorous outfits as she snarls and shouts and cackles, woe betide any fool who gets in her way. A lot of classic Doctor Who has taken on a camp appreciation in recent years, but if that appreciation could be distilled into the embodiment of a single character, the Rani is exactly that. It’s that camp status as an obscure, yet loved favorite that also has led the Rani to take on a different kind of life in modern Doctor Who before her appearance last weekend. After the series’ return in 2005 made clear just how quickly it was willing to bring back monsters and antagonists from the classic era of the show, the Rani became a catch-all speculatory guess whenever the series presented a mysterious woman to its audience. The running joke was known not just among fans, but the creative team as well, who would jokingly acknowledge that she was always the first guess for any potential returning identity. That is, until modern Who‘s second showrunner, Steven Moffat, tried to clamp down on it. “People always ask me, ‘Do you want to bring back the Rani?’ No one knows who the Rani is,” Moffat said to SFX magazine in 2012. “They all know who the Master is, they know Daleks, they probably know who Davros is, but they don’t know who the Rani is, so there’s no point in bringing her back. If there’s a line it’s probably somewhere there.” Perhaps that was where the Rani fit best: known enough to be loved, not known enough to actually make her way back to TV… until 2025, that is. What Bringing the Rani Back Means for Doctor Who Aside from the end of a very long joke, the Rani’s awaited return simultaneously means a lot and very little. On the one hand, showrunner Russell T Davies has made it clear that while the Rani is a known name, her character is minor enough that the show can essentially do whatever it wants with Panjabi and Dobson’s iteration of the Rani, so whatever schemes they get up to in the final two episodes of this season, they don’t necessarily have to align with the kinds of things we’ve seen the Rani doing in the past. But at the same time, the Rani is very interesting for another reason beyond being herself: she is the first Time Lord to return since Gallifrey’s second sundering in contemporary Doctor Who continuity. The Time Lords were seemingly wiped out prior to the show’s 2005 return in an almighty war with the Daleks, only to be saved from that fate during the events of Doctor Who‘s 50th anniversary and following series, which saw Gallifrey isolated but returned to existence once more. During the climax of the 2020 season of Doctor Who, it was revealed that the Master had razed the returned Gallifrey and harvested the bodies of the Time Lords as a new army of Cybermen called the CyberMasters, only for those to be seemingly wiped out for good during the events of “The Power of the Doctor.” With the Doctor once again the “last” of the Time Lords, just how the Rani escaped not one, but two cataclysms on Gallifrey remains to be seen—as does whether or not her return could mean that the series is on the verge of restoring Gallifrey for a third time. Time will tell, and so will Time Ladies! Want more io9 news? Check out when to expect the latest Marvel, Star Wars, and Star Trek releases, what’s next for the DC Universe on film and TV, and everything you need to know about the future of Doctor Who.

With its unapologetically violent gameplay and hellfire aesthetics, Doom not only popularized first-person shooters when the franchise launched in 1993 but changed the gaming industry forever with its countless influences still felt today far beyond its genre. And despite its success, there are surprisingly few games in the core series once you discount the seemingly endless platforms the classic games have been ported to throughout the years. Fortunately, most of these games are clear winners that towered above contemporaries and have stood the test of time. With that in mind, not all Doom games are created equal, even if the gameplay and core premise has remained consistently intact for decades. Eschewing spinoffs like Ultimate Doom, Mighty Doom, or Doom RPG, here are all the mainline Doom games ranked from worst to best. 8. Final Doom (1996) This entry was very nearly left off this list entirely since some fans saw 1996’s Final Doom as a glorified spinoff—or little more than a standalone expansion of Doom II. But with its own PC and PlayStation release, along with a vocal fan base accumulated over the years, Final Doom does indeed count as its own installment in the franchise’s main line. The game also features a story that takes place after the events of Doom II, with the Doom Slayer repelling a hellish invasion of a colony on one of Jupiter’s moons before taking the fight to Hell itself. That said, Final Doom is easily the weakest game from the series’ classic era, recycling old assets instead of introducing new elements while presenting largely uninspired levels. The PS version is worse than the PC version, providing players with less than half of the original PC release and an overall weaker visual fidelity and presentation. Final Doom is best enjoyed by hardcore Doom II fans looking for something a bit different than the base game they know and love. 7. Doom 3 (2004) After a lengthy hiatus and high-profile personnel changes at developer id Software, Doom returned a decade after Doom II with 2004’s Doom 3. The game is more or less a rehash of the original game’s story where a research facility on Mars accidentally opens a portal to Hell, allowing demons to pour into our world. The game was ported to Xbox eight months after the initial PC release, received the Resurrection of Evil expansion in 2005, and was remastered with new content in 2012. Taking advantage of the advances of technical capabilities since the franchise’s heyday in the early to mid ‘90s, Doom 3 is a slower, moodier experience, favoring suspense and scares over wall-to-wall action, at least for the first half of the game. This makes Doom 3 something of an outlier in its overall gameplay and presentation, which is the most strikingly different in the wider franchise. However, the pacing for those earlier portions of the game really drags, especially for players used to the series’ penchant for just diving headfirst into the usual carnage. 6. Doom 64 (1997) When the Doom franchise made its way to the Nintendo 64 in 1997, it didn’t do so as a port of the existing games but rather as its own standalone title. Doom 64 is very much its own game, complete with an original story of the Doom Slayer being lured back into Hell by an elaborate trap set by the Mother Demon. A remaster of the game was released in 2020 for modern platforms, including original content that linked this game’s story to the revival trilogy that began in 2016. At the time of its release, players may have been experiencing franchise fatigue, not giving the game the credit it was due as more popular successors to Doom, like Quake and Unreal, took shape. To be fair, Doom 64 doesn’t reinvent the wheel, not adding much distinctly new. But it does refine the established formula with heightened atmosphere and engaging level design. Years later, fans are finally starting to recognize Doom 64 for what it really is—the last game released in the franchise’s classic era and the culmination of that initial cycle. 5. Doom: The Dark Ages (2025) People are going to look at this ranking and invariably think that a fifth place position means that Doom: The Dark Ages is a bad game. To be clear, it isn’t, The Dark Ages is a solid entry in the franchise; the series just has a list of absolute bangers that outrank it. True to its title, The Dark Ages blends the franchise’s penchant for sci-fi horror with dark fantasy as the Doom Slayer uses more medieval-inspired weapons to battle invading armies of demons across the cosmos. For sure, The Dark Ages is the biggest tonal departure within the revival trilogy, including more strategic combat and even vehicle-based levels to navigate. The gory sensibilities of Doom are still very much intact, fortunately, though the game’s insistence on having players rely on the Doom Slayer’s new shield may throw established fans off who are just looking to rip and tear. An expansion of what Doom can be without discarding the franchise’s core ethos entirely, The Dark Ages is a welcome big swing from the series that mostly connects. 4. Doom (1993) Obviously the entire franchise we’re talking about here wouldn’t exist without the original Doom released in 1993, not only serving as the series’ foundation, but a title that changed gaming forever. With all that said, when doing our best to remove nostalgia out of the equation and look at the game on its own standalone merits, that first Doom game still stands in the top half of the franchise but is narrowly edged out of the top three. The game’s premise is simple: when a dimensional portal on the moons of Mars accidentally serves as a bridge to Hell, the Doom Slayer stands alone in purging the invading demons from the research facilities with whatever weapons he can find. Join our mailing list Get the best of Den of Geek delivered right to your inbox! From its chugging heavy metal-inspired soundtrack to its over-the-top arsenal reducing hellish enemies to bloody pulp, Doom set the template for the franchise that has only been built upon to this day. The game spawned countless copycat titles while being ported to virtually every major gaming platform, a distinction that it continues to hold over 30 years since its initial release. Despite now having the roughest of edges, Doom holds up as one of the most straightforward and enjoyable first-person shooters of its era, both for nostalgia-minded gamers and those curious of the franchise’s roots. 3. Doom (2016) Though commercially successful, the middling response to Doom 3 and changes in the developer’s ownership had left the franchise languishing in limbo for over a decade, confined to the occasional port and remaster as id Software returned its focus to Wolfenstein. After undergoing years of various stages of development, it was 2016’s Doom that completely reinvigorated the flagship franchise, getting back to the fast-paced gameplay that the series was known for while also enjoying extensive updates for modern sensibilities. The game itself is more or less a rehash of the original story, with a human research facility on Mars descending into madness and being overrun after opening a portal to Hell. The 2016 Doom is also exactly what fans wanted after the more deliberately paced Doom 3, something that ditched the emphasis on tutorials and narrative and instead got back to gory gunplay in all its glory. Though the multiplayer aspect left some players wanting, the single-player campaign is among the franchise’s best, powered by a hard-rocking soundtrack composed by Mick Gordon. The kick in the pants that the series needed, the Doom revival lived up to the franchise’s example while bringing it deeper into the 21st century, guns blazing. 2. Doom II: Hell on Earth (1994) The original Doom set a high bar for first-person shooters moving forward. But it’s a bar that the direct sequel Doom II: Hell on Earth vaulted over when it was released in 1994. Picking up from its predecessor with the Doom Slayer fighting for the fate of Earth after it is invaded by the forces of Hell, Doom II would receive a number of expansions and ports after its launch, with the latest released as recently as 2024, adding an original episode with brand-new weapons and enemies to the venerable title. Everything that the original Doom did, Doom II does noticeably better, all while expanding on the premise with new enemies, fresh weapons, and even more inventive level design. From a technical standpoint, there is no huge leap in the graphical department or sound design, but rather in the complexity and size of the levels coupled with a larger number of enemies onscreen. Indeed, Doom II almost makes the original game feel like a first draft at times given how much it refines the overall experience despite only coming out a year after the franchise began. 1. Doom Eternal (2020) After successfully relaunching the franchise for modern audiences in 2016, the Doom revival got a direct sequel in 2020 with Doom Eternal. Taking its cues from Doom II, Eternal has Earth invaded by the armies of Hell and facing near-annihilation from the all-powerful Icon of Sin with the Doom Slayer as humanity’s last, best hope for survival. The two-part DLC epilogue The Ancient Gods has the Doom Slayer travel deep into Hell to confront the Dark Lord and vanquish the demon hordes for good. Though Doom Eternal may have divided hardcore purists about its inclusion of prominent narrative elements, platforming gameplay sequences, and tutorials, it is a clear refinement of what the 2016 revival began. The combat is as frenetic and engaging as it has ever been in the franchise, the arsenal is upgraded and expanded, and the hellish aesthetics the series is known for are in excelsis here. Simply put, Doom Eternal is the apex of the franchise, leaning into what the series does best while incorporating bold flourishes to build the mythology and subtly redefine what Doom can be.

Scholars for decades believed Harvard's document was a copy written in 1327. Credit: Lorin Granger / Harvard Law School Get the Popular Science daily newsletter💡 Breakthroughs, discoveries, and DIY tips sent every weekday. In 1946, Harvard Law School purchased an early copy of the Magna Carta for $27.50. Even adjusting to about $451 in today’s valuation, the historic document described as “somewhat rubbed and damp-stained” was a pretty solid deal. Initial estimates dated the artifact to 1327, just 27 years after King Edward I’s initial proclamation.  For decades, Harvard’s rare edition of the seminal governing document offered a potent written symbol of society’s journey towards recognizing inalienable human rights—but a recent reevaluation has shocked historians, as well as the document’s current owners. It turns out the university’s Magna Carta “copy” is actually one of now seven original manuscripts penned in 1300. Researchers reviewed the document using multispectral imaging and UV light scans. Credit: Harvard Law School “This is a fantastic discovery,” David Carpenter, a medieval historian at King’s College London said in the announcement from Harvard Law School. “[It] deserves celebration, not as some mere copy, stained and faded, but as an original of one of the most significant documents in world constitutional history…” Carpenter is a major reason the document received a fresh examination. While recently perusing unofficial Magna Carta copies online, he paused on the law school’s digitized version on its website. Although the archive listed it as a copy, certain aspects stuck out to him. For one, its described dimensions of 489 by 473 millimeters (about 19.25 by 18.6 inches) matched those of the six previously confirmed originals. Then there was the penmanship itself—particularly the large capital “E” on the first word, “Edwardus,” as well as the initial line’s noticeably elongated lettering. Carpenter and colleagues then used UV lights and spectral imaging to compare the Harvard edition with the six originals. Any textual variations between a supposed “copy” and the real documents would prove it to be an unauthorized later edition.  According to Carpenter, Harvard’s Magna Carta passed “with flying colors.”“This uniformity provides new evidence for Magna Carta’s status in the eyes of contemporaries. The text had to be correct,” he said. Harvard’s Magna Carta is now the seventh original known to still exist. Credit: Harvard Law School After reviewing additional historical accounts about the few remaining original documents, Carpenter believes Harvard’s edition to be a long-lost Magna Carta originally presented to a former parliamentary borough in Westmorland, England. That variant eventually was put up for auction in 1945 by Forster “Sammy” Maynard, an air vice-marshal and former World War I flying ace. Maynard previously inherited the document  from the archives of leading 18th century abolitionists, Thomas and John Clarkson. One of the Clarksons likely received the Magna Carta at some point in the early 1800s from William Lowther, the hereditary lord of Appleby manor. “Given where it is, given present problems over liberties, over the sense of constitutional tradition in America, you couldn’t invent a provenance that was more wonderful than this,” said Nicholas Vincent, a collaborator on the reevaluation project and a medieval historian at the University of East Anglia. “The work we do in the law, and pass on to new generations of students, is not simply the consistent application of logical principle,” explained Harvard Law School’s vice dean for Library and Information Services, Jonathan Zittrain. “It’s understanding how rare and precious self-governance across many differences can be, and how important it is to preserve and deliver upon it.”

During an excavation, amidst the Patagonian winds and hard rock, a fossil began to turn green. It was an unexpected reaction: the adhesive applied to protect the bones, fragile after millions of years beneath the ice, had interacted with plant matter trapped in the rock’s cracks. This greenish hue earned the fossil the nickname Fiona, like the ogre from Shrek.But Fionais much more than a ogre-themed name. It is the first complete ichthyosaur ever excavated in Chile and, even more remarkably, the only known pregnant female from the Hauterivian — a stage of the Early Cretaceous dating back 131 million years. Her skeleton, discovered at the edge of the Tyndall Glacier in Torres del Paine National Park — an area increasingly exposed by glacial retreat — belongs to the species Myobradypterygius hauthali, originally described in Argentina from fragmentary remains.The discovery, led by Judith Pardo-Pérez, a researcher at the University of Magallanes and the Cabo de Hornos International Center (CHIC), and published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, offers an unprecedented glimpse into ancient marine life — from how these majestic reptiles reproduced to how they adapted to oceans vastly different from those of today.An Ichthyosaur Maternity Ward in Patagonia(Image Courtesy of Irene Viscor)So far, 88 ichthyosaurs have been found on the Tyndall Glacier. Most of them are adults and newborns. Two key facts stand out: food was abundant, and no other predators were competing with them.Fiona, who measures nearly 13 feet long, is still encased in five blocks of rock. Despite the challenge, she was transported to a local clinic, where CT scans allowed researchers to study her skull and body. Her species was identified thanks to one of her fins. “There’s no other like it in the world,” says Pardo-Pérez. The limbs were remarkably elongated, suggesting this animal was built for long-distance swimming.Inside her, there were more surprises. One of them was her stomach contents, which revealed what may have been her last meal: tiny fish vertebrae. But the most striking find was a fetus, about 20 inches long, already in a position to be born.“We believe these animals came to Magallanes — the southern tip of Chilean Patagonia — from time to time to give birth, because it was a safe refuge,” Pardo-Pérez says. “We don't know how long they stayed, but we do know that mortality was high during the first few days of life.”One of the big unanswered questions is where they went next, as there are no records of Myobradypterygius hauthali, apart from a piece of fin found in Argentina. The most abundant remains come from southern Germany, but those date back to the Jurassic period, meaning they’re older.Palaeontologist Erin Maxwell suggests, “In many modern ecosystems, species migrate to higher latitudes during the summer to take advantage of seasonally abundant resources and then move to lower latitudes in winter to avoid harsh conditions,” she explains. “We believe Mesozoic marine reptiles may have followed similar seasonal patterns.”Sea Dragon GraveyardThe environment where Fiona was discovered — dubbed the "sea dragon graveyard" — also has much to reveal.According to geologist Matthew Malkowski of the University of Texas at Austin, the Hauterivian age is particularly intriguing because it coincided with major planetary changes: the breakup of continents, intense volcanic episodes, and phenomena known as "oceanic anoxic events," during which vast areas of the ocean were depleted of dissolved oxygen for hundreds of thousands of years.One such poorly understood event, the Pharaonic Anoxic Event, occurred around 131 million years ago, near the end of the Hauterivian, and still raises questions about its true impact on marine life. “We don't have a firm grasp of how significant these events were for marine vertebrates, and geological records like that of the Tyndall Glacier allow us to explore the relationship between life, the environment, and Earth’s past conditions,” Malkowski notes.Evolution of IchthyosaursReconstruction of Fiona. (Image Courtesy of Mauricio Álvarez)Don't be misled by their body shape. “Ichthyosaurs are not related to dolphins,” clarifies Pardo-Pérez. Although their hydrodynamic silhouettes may look nearly identical, the former were marine reptiles, while the latter are mammals. This resemblance results from a phenomenon known as convergent evolution: when species from different lineages develop similar anatomical features to adapt to the same environment.Ichthyosaurs evolved from terrestrial reptiles that, in response to ecological and climatic changes, began spending more time in the water until they fully adapted to a marine lifestyle. However, they retained traces of their land-dwelling ancestry, such as a pair of hind flippers — absent in dolphins — passed down from their walking forebears. They lived and thrived in prehistoric oceans for about 180 million years, giving them ample time to refine a highly specialized body: their forelimbs and hindlimbs transformed into flippers; they developed a crescent-shaped tail for propulsion, a dorsal fin for stability, and a streamlined body to reduce drag in the water. Remarkably, like whales and dolphins, “ichthyosaurs had a thick layer of blubber as insulation to maintain a higher body temperature than the surrounding seawater and gave birth to live young, which meant they didn’t need to leave the water to reproduce,” explains Maxwell.Whales and dolphins also descend from land-dwelling ancestors, but their transition happened over a comparatively short evolutionary timespan, especially when measured against the long reign of the ichthyosaurs. “Their evolution hasn't had as much time as that of ichthyosaurs,” notes Pardo-Pérez. “And yet, they look so similar. That’s the wonderful thing about evolution.”Read More: Did a Swimming Reptile Predate the Dinosaurs?Fossils on the Verge of DisappearanceOne of the key factors behind the remarkable preservation of the fossils found in the Tyndall Glacier is the way they were buried. According to Malkowski, Fiona and her contemporaries were either trapped or swiftly covered by underwater landslides and turbidity currents — geological processes that led to their sudden entombment.But the good fortune that protected them for millions of years may now be running out. As the glacier retreats, exposing fossils that were once unreachable, those same remains are now vulnerable to wind, rain, and freeze-thaw cycles, which crack the surrounding rock. As vegetation takes hold, roots accelerate erosion and eventually conceal the fossils once again.“While climate change has allowed these fossils to be studied, continued warming will also eventually lead to their loss,” Maxwell warns. In Fiona’s story, scientists find not only a record of ancient life, but also a warning etched in stone and bone: what time reveals, climate can reclaim.Article SourcesOur writers at Discovermagazine.com use peer-reviewed studies and high-quality sources for our articles, and our editors review for scientific accuracy and editorial standards. Review the sources used below for this article:María de los Ángeles Orfila is a science journalist based in Montevideo, Uruguay, focusing on long-form storytelling. Her work has appeared in Discover Magazine, Science, National Geographic, among other outlets, and in leading Uruguayan publications such as El País and El Observador. She was a fellow in the 2023 Sharon Dunwoody Mentoring Program by The Open Notebook and often explores the intersections of science, culture, and Latin American identity.