Vika’s Desktop

19 Jan 2015 by Aleatha Singleton

As Jack begins his preflight check in the Bubbleship, Vika touches the center of the glass surface to power up the desktop that keeps her in contact with Sally on the TET and allows her to assist and monitor Jack as he repairs the drones on the ground.

The interface components

The desktop is broken up into five main screens. The central screen is the TETVision map, which is a radar map used for communications, and monitors the Bubbleship, drones, and scav activity.

To the left of the TETVision map is a Hydro-rig status feed that keeps Vika informed of the water collection progress. Then on the right of the map is the drone status feed, which provides drone vital statistics, deployment and fuel status.

The upright section of the desktop contains two screens. The top screen is the TET system status feed, which monitors the TET’s orbit, and communications status. The second screen monitors the weather systems and wind velocity vectors, which would have an affect on the Bubbleship and drone flight safety.

Quick power-up

Powering on the desktop is virtually instantaneous and is as simple as touching the center of the table. One possible explanation for the speed is that the desktop goes into sleep mode and is in an always-on state. There are a couple of scenes in the film when the TET is able to access the desktop remotely that would support this assumption.

A possible method of power-down would be to tap and hold for a determined period of time. Sadly, there is no film footage that shows Vika shutting down the system.

Multiple versus single user

The scale of this desktop is a bit large for a single user who needs to access life-saving information quickly. The display size and setup in the film is generally used for collaborative space so that multiple people can comfortably view and manipulate the data at the same time.

This large scale causes Vika to constantly lean over the table to see information for various reasons including glare, reach and angle of the displays. This could be stressful on the body when interacting with the desktop over long periods of time each day.

A better solution

Vika is only shown interacting with the TETVision map and not with any of the other feeds. If the map is the only screen that is interactive, a more ergonomic setup could be utilized to minimize glare and reach. This would allow Vika to see the vital information at a glance and still enable her to comfortably interact with the TETVision map.

Don’t forget the user’s needs

Overall, Vika’s desktop is a beautiful piece of technology that performs its function very well. However, in a real-world situation, it is important to remember that Vika will be using this equipment for possibly long periods of time and needs quick access to vital information. Having to roll back and forth between screens during an emergency situation could mean the difference between life and death for Jack while out in the field.

COURSE OPTION ANALYSIS

15 Dec 2014 by Christopher Noessel

vlcsnap-2014-12-11-00h47m31s85

When Ibanez and Barcalow enter the atmosphere in the escape pod, we see a brief, shaky glimpse of the COURSE OPTION ANALYSIS interface. In the screen grab below, you can see it has a large, yellow, all-caps label at the top. The middle shows the TERRAIN PROFILE. This consists of a real-time, topography map as a grid of screen-green dots that produce a shaded relief map.

STARSHIP_TROOPERS_landing_trim

On the right is a column of text that includes:

The title, i.e., TERRAIN PROFILE
The location data: Planet P, Scylla Charybdis (which I don’t think is mentioned in the film, but a fun detail. Is this the star system?)
Coordinates in 3D: XCOORD, YCOORD, and ELEVATION. (Sadly these don’t appear to change, despite the implied precision of 5 decimal places)
Three unknown variables: NOMINAL, R DIST, HAZARD Q (these also don’t change)

The lowest part of the block reads that the SITE ASSESSMENT (at 74.28%, which—does it need to be said at this point—also does not change.)

Two inscrutable green blobs extend out past the left and bottom white line that borders this box. (Seriously what the glob are these meant to be?)

At the bottom is SCAN M and PLACE wrapped in the same purple “NV” wrappers seen throughout the Federation spaceship interfaces. At the bottom is an array of inscrutable numbers in white.

Since that animated gif is a little crazy to stare at, have this serene, still screen cap to reference for the remainder of the article.

vlcsnap-2014-12-11-00h47m37s145

Design

Three things to note in the analysis.

1. Yes, fuigetry

I’ll declare everything on the bottom to be filler unless someone out there can pull some apologetics to make sense of it. But even if an array of numbers was ever meant to be helpful, an emergency landing sequence does not appear to be the time. If it needs to be said, emergency interfaces should include only the information needed to manage the crisis.

2. The visual style of the topography

I have before blasted the floating pollen displays of Prometheus for not describing the topography well, but the escape pod display works while using similar pointillist tactics. Why does this work when the floating pollen does not? First, note that the points here are in a grid. This makes the relationship of adjacent points easy to understand. The randomness of the Promethean displays confounds this. Second, note the angle of the “light” in the scene, which appears to come from the horizon directly ahead of the ship. This creates a strong shaded relief effect, a tried and true method of conveying the shape of a terrain.

3. How does this interface even help?

Let’s get this out of the way: What’s Ibanez’ goal here? To land the pod safely. Agreed? Agreed.

Certainly the terrain view is helpful to understand the terrain in the flight path, especially in low visibility. But similar to the prior interface in this pod, there is no signal to indicate how the ship’s position and path relate to it. Are these hills kilometers below (not a problem) or meters (take some real care there, Ibanez.) This interface should have some indication of the pod. (Show me me.)

Additionally, if any of the peaks pose threats, she can avoid them tactically, but adjusting long before they’re a problem will probably help more than veering once she’s right upon them. Best is to show the optimal path, and highlight any threats that would explain the path. Doing so in color (presuming pilots who can see it) would make the information instantly recognizable.

Finally the big label quantifies a “site assessment,” which seems to relay some important information about the landing location. Presumably pilots know what this number represents (process indicator? structural integrity? deviation from an ideal landing strip? danger from bugs?) but putting it here does not help her. So what? If this is a warning, why doesn’t it look like one? Or is there another landing site that she can get to with a better assessment? Why isn’t it helping her find that by default? If this is the best site, why bother her with the number at all? Or the label at all? She can’t do anything with this information, and it takes up a majority of the screen. Better is just to get that noise off the screen along with all the fuigetry. Replace it with a marker for where the ideal landing site is, its distance, and update it live if her path makes that original site no longer viable.

landing_comp

Of course it must be said that this would work better as a HUD which would avoid splitting her attention from the viewport, but HUDs or augmented reality aren’t really a thing in the diegesis.

Narratively

The next scene shows them crashing through the side of a mountain, so despite this more helpful design, better for the scene might be to design a warning mode that reads SAFE SITE: NOT FOUND. SEARCHING… and let that blink manically while real-time, failing site assessments blink all over the terrain map. Then the next scene makes much more sense as they skip off a hill and into a mountain.

Planet P Uplink

8 Dec 2014 by Christopher Noessel

When the Roughnecks respond to a distress call from an outpost on Planet P, they quickly learn that it is a trap. Rasczak tells Dizzy to immediately summon an evacuation. To do so she uses this “uplink” interface. It has five components.

A handheld speaker microphone, similar to what is seen on CB radios. It has a momentary talk button.
A “green screen” monochrome monitor, featuring a column of text on the left.
A keyboard (QWERTY? It’s hard to tell from the scene, but she does type on it.)
A 6×12 array of illumined, steady-state buttons on a vertical panel near the monitor.
Two rail-guarded toggle switches on the right side of the array.

When working on the uplink, she presses a few of the array buttons, types a few keys while looking at the green screen, and presses a few other array buttons. Moments later we see her with the mic in hand saying, “Mayday. This is Roughneck 2–0 to battlegroup. Do you read?” while pressing more array buttons and afterward flipping the top rail-guarded toggle.

Most of the components are familiar, feeling related to either a CB radio or desktop computers, with the exception of that big array. What is that thing? Note that though some of the buttons are illuminated, and they change, they don’t change as a result of being pressed by Dizzy. Watch the close up as she moves her hand to the rail-gaurded toggle. Some buttons fade and others get brighter, but not the ones she touches.

What object in a communications interface…

Warrants display as a simple rectangular array with labels
Has a state that can be usefully represented by degree of illumination, and that can change over time

I’m no expert in secure space communications, but I can’t think of anything that makes sense. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. This thing is violating even more fundamental interaction design principles.

It looks like a bunch of buttons. Dizzy clearly thinks they’re buttons, since she’s pressing them as if she expects some result. But there is no result. What kind of an explicit instruction could a user give where they don’t care about having explicit feedback? I don’t think there is one. If it’s worth the instruction, it’s worth at least receipt of that instruction. Even keys on a touch keyboard illuminate for a fraction of a second to tell the user, “Yep, got it.”

Either this interface isn’t really interactive—in which case it violates the principles of affordance by falsely looking interactive—or it is interactive, but violates the principles of feedback. Either way it is a terrible interface. Just terrible. I get it, it’s a throwaway interface meant to quickly convey “future” and “radio,” but its terribleness is enough to warrant major caution when looking to this as a model of future interactions.

Proton Pack

31 Oct 2014 by Christopher Noessel

The Ghostbusters wear “unlicensed particle accelerators” to shoot a stream of energy from an attached gun. Usefully, this positively-charged stream of energy can bind ghosts. The Pack is the size of a large camper’s backpack and is worn like one. The Proton pack must be turned on and warmed up before use. Its switch, oddly, is on the back, where the user cannot get to it themselves.

This makes for some awesome comedy, but is sorely unusable. If a ghostbuster was alone, he’d have to remove the pack to get at the switch. It also means that a sneaky antagonist could approach from behind and disable the thing mid-busting. Not the wisest design. Better would be to put this switch on the pack on a lower, anterior corner so the ghostbuster can switch it himself.

To prevent accidental activation you’d want to recess the switch in the housing, and maybe even require a button hold or a two-hand trip for extra security.

There is a display that lets an observer know that the pack is working. It’s a column of blue LEDs that continually progresses upward. Similar to the activation switch, this signal should be placed so that the actual wearer can see it in use, and so that the signal isn’t blared to everyone standing behind him, lest it die and the Ghostbuster need to bluff to buy time.

Ectogoggles

27 Oct 2014 by Christopher Noessel

When the Ghostbusters are called to the Sedgewick Hotel, they track a ghost called Slimer from his usual haunt on the 12th floor to a ballroom. There Ray dons a pair of asymmetrical goggles that show him information about the “psycho-kinetic energy (PKE) valences” in the area. (The Ghostbusters wiki—and of course there is such a thing—identifies these alternately as paragoggles or ectogoggles.) He uses the goggles to peek from behind a curtain to look for Slimer.

Far be it for this humble blog to try and reverse-engineer what PKE valences actually are, but let’s presume it generally means ghosts and ghost related activity. Here’s an animated gif of the display for your ghostspotting pleasure.

As he scans the room, we see a shot from his perspective. Five outputs augment the ordinary view the googles offer.

1. A plan position indicator (like what you see on a radar) sweeps around and around in the upper left hand corner, but never displays anything (even when Slimer appears.)

2. A bar graph on the left side that wavers up and down until Slimer is spotted, when it jumps to maximum. The bar graph adheres to the basic visual principle of “up means more.” The bar graph is colored with a stoplight gradient, with red at the bottom, yellow in the middle, and a bright screen-green at the top. Note that the graph builds from the bottom until it hits maximum, when its glow slides to the top to fully illuminate only the uppermost block. This is a special “max” mode that strongly draws the user’s attention.

3. There is a 7-segment red LED number display just below the graph, which you might think is a numerical version of the same data, but we only see it increment steadily from 03094 to 03051 during the first scan, then after a cutaway to Ray’s face, we see it drop to 01325 and continue to increment steadily until it hits 1333, where it remains steady and begins to blink. It hits this maximum about a half a second before the graph jumps to its max.

4. In the very lower left is a red mode label reading “KER,” which blinks until the numbers hit 01333 in the second sequence, when KER disappears and is replaced with a steadily-glowing green “MAX.”

What the heck is KER? I don’t think there’s any diegetic answer. Ker might be an extradiegetic shout-out to Rick Kerrigan, who was production supervisor for Entertainment Effects Group / Boss Film Studios for the film, but that’s just a guess. Otherwise I got nothin’. Anyone else?

5. In the lower right is a blurry light that blinks red until Slimer is spotted, when it blinks the same screen-green as the bar graph, sweep, and MAX label.

Narratively, this is a tone interface, that doesn’t add anything to the plot, and only helps us experience and understand how it is the busters do their busting. As a tone interface, making these changes would help improve believability without affecting the plot.

How to better support busting

The immediate improvements you could make to this as a “real” ghostbusting tool are fairly obvious:

Make the plan position indicator, you know, work.
Have the numbers match the graph, or, if they’re actually measuring different things, put the LED display on the other side of the view.
I’d change the graph color indicating no-PKE to black or dark gray. Red often connotes danger, and really, if there’s no PKE, you’re safe from the supernatural. Plus the blackbody radiation spectrum has a more physical reference and is therefore more immediate.
You could even lose the bar diagram—which requires looking away from the view—and replace it with a line around the view that changes color similarly. This puts the augmentation in the periphery.
Lose the distracting blinking red light entirely. It draws attention at a time when the Buster’s eyes need to be on the view, and it’s just duplicating information already provided in a better way by the graph.

But we can do those improvements better. In the augmented reality chapter of the book, I identified levels of awareness for these devices. The ectogoggles are an example of the simplest type, of sensor display, with the sweep giving an unfulfilled promise of the second type, location awareness. We can make even bigger improvements by considering the other levels, i.e. context and goal awareness.

Context Awareness

Context awareness implies a more sophisticated system with image recognition and display capabilities. Could the paragoggles help draw attention to where on the view the PKE is most concentrated, and how those readings are trending? Of course this wouldn’t be so important when the ghost is actually visible, but if it could lead his eyes to where the ghost is most likely going to be, it would be more useful and save him even the microseconds of an eye saccade.

A second aspect of context awareness is object or people recognition. If the goggles could recognize individual ghosts, the display be improved with some information about this particular ghost—or its category—from a database. What’s its name? What methods have failed or worked in the past to control it? Even if it doesn’t know these things, it can provide an alert that it is an UNKNOWN ENTITY, which is spooky sounding and tells the Ghostbusters to be on high alert since anything could happen.

Goal awareness

Lastly, they could be improved with goal awareness. The Ghostbusters aren’t birdwatchers. They’re there to capture that ugly spud. Can it help guide each person as to the best time to gear up the proton packs (or do it for them), where to position themselves as well as the trap, and finally when and where to fire? Certainly someone as scatterbrained as Ray could use that kind of assistance.

Darth Gozer

20 Oct 2014 by Christopher Noessel

Star Wars happens a long, long time ago. Gozer is an ancient God. Both have taken forms with pale, disgusting, flaccid surfaces. And then…there’s this.

I’m not saying that Gozer was a Sith, but I’m not not saying it, either.

Rescue Shuttle

7 Oct 2014 by Christopher Noessel

shuttle01

After the ambush on Planet P, Ibanez pilots the shuttle that rescues survivors and…and Diz. We have a shot of the display that appears on the dashboard between the pilot and copilot. Tiny blue columns of text too small to read that spill onto the left. One big column of tiny green text that wipes on and flashes. Seizure-inducing yellow dots spazzing around on red grids. A blue circle on the right is probably Planet P or a radar, but the graphic…spinning about its center so quick you cannot follow. There’s not…I can’t…how is this supposed to…I’m just going to call it: fuigetry.

KLENDATHU CASUALTIES: 308,563

25 Sep 2014 by Christopher Noessel

The initial invasion of Klendathu is disastrous, and our hero Rico suffers a massive penetration wound in combat, with an Arachnid digging its massive, thorn-like pincer straight through his thigh.

Rico is (spoiler alert) mistakenly reported as deceased. (There’s perhaps some argument for outfitting soldiers with networked biometrics so this sort of mistake can’t be made, but that’s another post.)

After returning to dock, Ibanez hears reports about the military disaster, and sees a death roll scrolling by on a large wall display. Three columns of off-white names tick along, surname first, with an initialism indicating whether the soldier was killed, wounded, or missing in action. At the very top three legends summarize key information, WOUNDED IN ACTION 2,548; KILLED IN ACTION 205,515; and MISSING IN ACTION 105,753. Largest of all is the KLENDATHU CASUALTIES: 308,563. (I know, the math doesn’t add up. It’s possible I misread the blurry numbers.) But the screen could use some more deliberate graphic design.

While surveying the display, she remarks that, “It’s strange, there’s almost no wounded at all.” Though that information is there for her, the typography is hard to read. If this is in fact something that the viewer is meant to understand from looking at the screen, some color coding would help this be seen at a glance. In the comp below, you’ll see wounded are colored yellow, and it’s immediately apparent how few there are in this one screen.

At the moment she approaches, the display is showing surnames that begin with “M”s. Ibanez approaches the display and types out Rico’s last name on the keyboard. The keys she touches indicates it’s a QWERTY layout.

After hitting one of three large keys on the right hand side, the text scrolls quickly to the “R” surnames, and a big, red, all-caps overlay tells her that RICO, JOHN D. was Killed In Action. The text is set against a black rectangle with a pale blue glow. There is an identifier MI34-95 and—if the KIA was not enough of a clue—it also says DECEASED.

After a moment, the text animates back into the list, with the black background, blue glow, and red text fading.

Though the presentation of this morbid information seems cold, it fits both the society and the fact that this is a military display, that has little time for emotional caretaking. Getting the information to the requester quickly and unambiguously—as this display does—fits the bill.

Rodger Young combat interfaces

23 Sep 2014 by Christopher Noessel

The interfaces aboard the Rodger Young in combat are hard to take seriously. The captain’s interface, for instance, features arrays of wireframe spheres that zoom from the bottom of the screen across horizontal lines to become blinking green squares. The shapes bear only the vaguest resemblance to the plasma bolts, but don’t match what we see out the viewscreen or the general behavior of the bolts at all. But the ridiculousness doesn’t end there.

There’s also Barcalow’s screen, which has an amber graticule of the planet below them, and screen-green rounded-rectangles falling in soft arcs down the screen. These rectangles are falling far faster than the dropships (the only thing descending to the surface we see), and are falling in semi-random vectors across nearly half the arc of planet.

Ibanez’ interface might make sense, since it shows the same spinning graticule of the planet below (though at a completely different orientation), with an overlaid shrinking rectangle. Maybe that’s the corridor of her optimal flight path? Maybe, it’s missing any 3D cues that might actually help with that task. Oh, but look! It also has the familiar spinning pizza graphic in the upper right.

Granted, the dots might indicate plasma bolts from the bugs, and the falling rectangles might indicate the dropships trying to make their way to the surface, and the rectangle might indeed indicate the corridor of optimal flight path, but why on Earth is this information on separate screens being used by separate crew?

Imagine playing a videogame distributed among three players where one sees the goal, another sees the obstacles, and a third sees the other players. Sure the chaos of shouting instructions and information at each other might be fun, but you’d have little hope of success. Given these terrible screens, the main surprise is that anyone in the Federation survived the trip to the Bug Planet at all.

Addendum. I’d failed to notice these flailing bar charts that attract attention, but the type of which is too small to be read. Only adding to the pointless of the interfaces in this scene.

Tattoo-o-matic

3 Sep 2014 by Christopher Noessel

After he is spurned by Carmen and her new beau in the station, Rico realizes that he belongs in the infantry and not the fleet where Carmen will be working. So, to cement this new identity, Rico decides to give in and join his fellow roughnecks in getting matching tattoos. The tattoos show a skull over a shield and the words “Death from Above”. (Incidentally, Death From Above is the name of the documentary detailing the making of the film, a well as the title of a hilarious progressive metal video by the band Holy Light of Demons. You should totally check it out.)

To get the tattoo, Johnny lies back in a chair, and a technician of some sort works briefly at waist-high controls beneath a nearby screen. Then the technician walks away while Johnny’s tattoo is burned with blue lasers onto his arm.

At the upper left corner of the screen a display reads SELECTED above the image being burned into Rico’s arm. (With white indicating no color.) Beneath it, is a square divided into four quadrants is filled with unintelligible numbers scrolling along, above the words AUTOMATIC SEQUENCE CONTROL. Down the center of the screen beneath the word LASERS is a column filled with boxes showing sine waves and their corresponding frequencies from the shorter blue wavelengths moving down to yellow, red, and finally a double-lined white waveform. At the right of the screen is a large screen-green rectangular grid on which the selected pattern wipes in from top to bottom as the corners blink in red and yellow.

There are two main problems that are apparent in the scene.

1. We don’t need the technician

What does the technician do? Essentially, he presses a button and then walks away. Even as Johnny’s friends rush him out of the room in celebration, no one stops them to pay, which seem to indicate that everything has already been taken care of before he sits in the chair. Also, we notice that Johnny’s arm has not been strapped down, wrapped in healing bandages, or secured in any way. He stays relatively still throughout the procedure, but it seems a safe assumption that not all customers will be stoic soldier types who are able to sit still while their arm is literally charred by lasers in front of their own eyes. The machine must be able to compensate for movement, either by adjusting the lasers or shutting off completely, so, again, no technician is necessary. Also, when a fellow roughneck pours liquor over Johnny’s arm while his skin is in the process of being vaporized by lasers, the liquor doesn’t ignite in a horrifying fireball as we might expect, indicating that the lasers must have scaled back their intensity just in the nick of time—this is a pretty context-aware system with a lot of built-in error correction. Maybe they’re there for insurance purposes but given what we see in the scene, they serve no real purpose. Assuming the Death from Above design was one already in the machine, he could have completed the entire transaction himself from start to liquor-soaked finish.

A group of four individuals showcasing matching tattoos on their arms that read 'DEATH FROM ABOVE', with decorative graphic elements around the text.

2. The screen doesn’t make sense

As the image of the selected design scans into view on the right side of the screen, we can see that there is no exact correlation between the parts of the image on screen, and the parts of the image on-skin. The wireframe wipes in from top-to-bottom. The tattoo is finishing up in the middle. The tattoo is already 90% complete when the animation begins. The blinking numbers, the wiggling sine waves. It doesn’t mean anything and isn’t useful. So all told, the information on the screen initially appears complex, but given the total automation of the system it’s actually quite simple: Here’s what’s happening, and here’s the progress.

But maybe it’s not for the technician

Maybe it’s not for the technician at all. You can imagine that while having your skin seared by painful, painful lasers, all that fuigetry would be a welcome distraction, and a progress bar would be a welcome reassurance that it won’t last forever. With this in mind, the main problem with the screen is that it should be facing the customer, who is the real user.

Sci-fi interfaces

Stop watching sci-fi. Start using it.

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