This follows the -- or a -- standard operating procedure for science fiction: start from a base of reality, the more au courant the better, and take off on a logical extension of no matter what length. The base of reality here is Virtual Reality. "Falling, Floating, and Flying," summarizes the unsympathetic and unideal wife of the mad (or merely obsessed) scientist, therewith bringing us up to date. "So what's next? Fucking?" Well, no. Or not only. The scientist (Pierce Brosnan, whose obsessiveness is reflected in his disregard of comb and razor) has a higher aim: "Virtual Reality holds the key to the evolution of the human mind." It is hard to see how. What instead seems to hold the key is that nameless serum, or magic potion, or fictional convenience, that supplements those Virtual Reality sessions with goggles and glove, and that brings about the transformation of a gentle-souled simpleton (Jeff Fahey, disregarding not just comb but hair tonic as well) into a mental prodigy who makes you think of Cliff Robertson's Charly, and then into a telepathic, telekinetic, megalomaniacal mass of "pure energy" that makes you think of the super computer in Colossus: The Forbin Project. You will need to look no further to find the underlying Frankenstein myth. The problem is that it's all too easy and tempting to think of other movies than this one. The ostensible subject of Virtual Reality whizzes past you like a local stop glimpsed through the window of an express train. Based on a story by Stephen King; directed by Brett Leonard. (1992) — Duncan Shepherd