Let's take this movie. Science-fiction of the (slightly) brainier kind, near future, no aliens, but time-travel gone rogue and blow-dryer guns with funny names used by a bunch of badly dressed drug-addicts who all end up practicing a kind of perfectly choreographed future suicide. Well-woven enough, charmingly low-tech, yields some suprises, can you ask for more? So let's say it works, and you run along nicely. Until the pretty mom of the boy-who-will-turn-globally-evil beds the pretty gunman-with-a-knack-for-self-sacrifice into the exact same flower-pattern I woke up this morning.