Brad Templeton, chairman of the Electronic Frontier Foundation and more importantly, science fiction-related blogger, has a long blog post which is going around the Internet about how the finale of Battlestar Galactica is "The worst ending in the history of on-screen science fiction." I cannot disagree with the premise, nor the massive amount of detail he includes in the post. However, I do think that the post's narrow focus on the massive mistakes of the final episode distracts from a larger, perhaps more interesting point: Battlestar Galactica's form of storytelling made it almost inevitable that the finale was going to be a disappointment.
The BSG episode form was built to increase dramatic intensity. Most television shows built their episodes as stand-alones, which include enough exposition at the start to explain their universes so that anyone can jump in and understand. This is often combined with references to the rest of the setting, so that they also can increase long-time viewers' knowledge of how the universe works. The storyline focuses on a handful of characters each episode, generally with two stories, a main A story and a secondary B story. The A story generally has the more important characters doing somewhat expected things, while the B story often has more intense, comic, or experimental things going on. The characters involved in the two (occasionally three) stories can intersect, but the themes almost always intertwine. The episode's storylines are resolved by the end of the episode. This familiar, procedural format tends to make surprises fairly unlikely.
Battlestar Galactica took a more fractured, ensemble-based form. Instead of each episode having a self-contained story, each episode tended to have one storyline specific to that episode, and a little bit of everything else shown in pieces. The most obvious example of this is the first season's story of Helo and Athena on occupied Caprica. Every episode in the first season had a few minutes worth of this storyline, which was totally unconnected to anything else going on in the series until the very end of the season. There was no particular reason why this couldn't have been done entirely in a single episode. Likewise, virtually every episode in the first season also had something about Tigh's alcoholism, the Chief's relationship with Boomer, Apollo's relationship with Starbuck, or Roslin's cancer.
By focusing on every character at once, the storyline became fragmented. These fragments do two things to a storyline: 1) they ratchet up the intensity, and 2) they make strong resolutions unlikely. The best parallel for this comes not from television, but instead from fiction, particularly the epic fantasy mega-series such as The Wheel of Time or A Song of Ice and Fire by Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin, respectively. Both of these series are built around narrative shock after narrative shock, a massive, world-shaking climax at least once per book, characters consistently dying (and then being resurrected - sound familiar?).
The books are massive - usually between 700-1000 pages, largely because they often have ten or more point-of-view characters, who often take part in, or discuss, the same events. The POVs change with each chapter, often ending with semi-cliffhangers, leading to a narrative intensity based around one character being in mortal danger, another about to receive an incredibly important piece of information, a third falling in love, while the one you happen to be reading about is doing research in a dusty library. It's a great way to maintain reader interest; a fantastic method for having large books with lots of sequels; a brilliant plan for creating a detailed, well-populated setting; and most importantly, a guaranteed, sure-fire method for being totally unable to finish a story well.
The essential problem with the fractured-POV approach, which both Galactica and the fantasy mega-series have, is twofold: first, it forces the writer to come up with situations of increasing intensity to hold the viewer's attention (Tigh has sex with Caprica! Gaeta turns evil and sings! Boomer turns evil and doesn't sing! Adama becomes an alkie!); and second, the increasing complexity and intensity leads to one of the greatest banes of serialized storytelling, the "retcon."
Retcon, short for "retroactive continuity," is a device by which the writer of a story changes an explanation of what happened in the past in order to tell the story they want to tell in the present. It's most common in comic books, which have their decades of plots, deaths, and resurrections. Perhaps the most famous example is the X-Men's Dark Phoenix Saga, in which Jean Grey becomes so powerful that she goes insane and threatens the universe, and ends up committing suicide. A few years later, writers wanted to bring Jean Grey back, so the storyline was retconned so that it wasn't her who became Dark Phoenix, but rather...well, I'm not really sure, but it was some kind of clone/embodiment who was like, but not, Jean Grey.
Retconning can be used in ways that benefit the story. The Warcraft video games, for example, began as virtually plotless strategy games, but as they progressed, they've become incredibly detailed complete universes. In order to make the detail of later games make sense, the storylines of the original games have been retconned to be filled with relative details. Retcons can also be used to explain apparent mistakes by the writers.
However, in general, retconning simply makes it look like the writers are making it up as they go along. They're changing the rules, and if they change the rules, the storyline loses emotional impact.
Battlestar Galactica, from the middle of the third season until the end, had a storyline which was dominated by retconning: the "Final Five." The problem which created the Final Five was simple: by the end of the New Caprica storyline, we'd seen seven Cylons, with no particular reason why we hadn't seen the last five of the promised twelve models. So Moore created an explanation: the Final Five were special, and not spoken of. Which is fair enough. But then Moore had to ratchet up the intensity. So several major and minor character were retconned into being Cylons. The history of the Cylons themselves was retconned into existing before the war against the Twelve Colonies 40+ years before. And the entire storyline of the show changed from a complex examination of the ethics of leadership in desparate situations and whether humanity deserved to survive into a simple good vs evil struggle, where one evil Cylon with mommy issues tries to destroy all humans and most Cylons.
And now comes word of the ultimate in retcons, the TV movie "The Plan," which is supposed to totally explain everything that the Cylons did at the start of the series, according to the crap that the writers made up at the end.
By the end of BSG, the show was almost completely different from its stellar starting point. Consistency, both in storyline and in characterization, had been thrown out the window. Is there any wonder, then, that the ending was a crushing disappointment? The methods that Battlestar Galactica used to maintain interest and build intensity were, just like the fantasy mega-epics, initially thrilling, but eventually tiresome. This kind of storytelling is the rough equivalent of a microwave dinner. It's fast, it requires very little work, and it's edible. But it's not likely to be anywhere near as good as a meal made with care.
So how could Battlestar Galactica have done better at unfolding its story? There are several other TV shows that may provide some kind of answer - a subject for a near-future post.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Smile Time - Be Kind Rewind; After Life
I've been having several half-ideas which could be fleshed out on paper, but I haven't gotten them done just yet. I'm going to start trying to write something at least once per week, so look for something on Mondays. We'll see how it goes.
I have something of a reputation for preferring depressing movies. It's not necessarily because I actually prefer them, I think, but rather that I think that it often makes for more effective storytelling which breaks out of the tension-climax-resolution-happy! clichés. I may roll my eyes at a tacked-on happy ending, but I'm perfectly content to watch a movie which makes me smile.
Be Kind, Rewind, which was released within the last couple of years to a resounding thud, was just such a movie. Mos Def and Jack Black play video store employees who manage to delete the contents of all their videos. Their solution, such as it is, to the requests for movies which come in, is to reshoot the movies DIY and rent them to the customers the next day. The concept is a dangerous one, particularly with Jack Black ready and waiting to mug the movie in mediocrity, but it was written and directed by Michel Gondry. Gondry takes a DIY approach to his films and music videos. He does special-effects heavy flights of fancy like The Science of Sleep or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, while refusing to use CGI, leading to White Stripes music videos done painstakingly with LEGOs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q27BfBkRHbs
A famously playful DIY director making a movie about playful DIY movies of famous movies is ripe for a Baudrillardian analysis, particularly when Black and Def remake a documentary, When We Were Kings (Black is Ali). Yet the movie neither falls prey to pretension nor slapstick. It's exuberant, joyful, funny, and endlessly charming. Just watch the first remade (or "Sweded") movie-within-a-movie, Ghostbusters: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMdwkpVV0QA
Perhaps it's the DIY concept which makes Be Kind Rewind so charming, as it has that in common with the Japanese film After Life. But where Be Kind Rewind has the initial plotline of a generic slapstick underdog comedy, After Life has a sweet, comforting story built around death.
The film is set in an isolated high school, staffed by twenty or so men and women in a very corporate environment. They have constant meetings, worry about meeting their quotas, and so forth. Then their clients are introduced, and the setting is further revealed. All of the clients are recently deceased, and the school is the first stage of their journey, where they pick out a memory that they wish to relive for the rest of their existence. The staff then uses their meager resources to recreate the scene. One man, a would-be pilot, wants to experience his first flight. The clouds are recreated by cotton balls dangling from a wire on a pully, a decidedly Gondry-esque touch.
Some dramatic tension is generated for the movie when a few of the clientele either cannot or will not choose a memory from their lives. This leads to revelations about the staff of the facility, which leads to either fascinating plot twists or unbelievable coincidences, the latter of which drags down the ending of the film. But the charm of the sequences where the memories are chosen, scripted, and most of all, produced and filmed, are what make After Life so memorable. It, like Be Kind Rewind, is in many ways, about the application of imagination to memory.
There aren't many clips from it online, but one, and a trailer, can be found by looking for it under its original name, Wandafuru Raifu. In this one, an adorable older woman talks about her memories of dancing and her older brother.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QO5VuFzgu6A
I have something of a reputation for preferring depressing movies. It's not necessarily because I actually prefer them, I think, but rather that I think that it often makes for more effective storytelling which breaks out of the tension-climax-resolution-happy! clichés. I may roll my eyes at a tacked-on happy ending, but I'm perfectly content to watch a movie which makes me smile.
Be Kind, Rewind, which was released within the last couple of years to a resounding thud, was just such a movie. Mos Def and Jack Black play video store employees who manage to delete the contents of all their videos. Their solution, such as it is, to the requests for movies which come in, is to reshoot the movies DIY and rent them to the customers the next day. The concept is a dangerous one, particularly with Jack Black ready and waiting to mug the movie in mediocrity, but it was written and directed by Michel Gondry. Gondry takes a DIY approach to his films and music videos. He does special-effects heavy flights of fancy like The Science of Sleep or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, while refusing to use CGI, leading to White Stripes music videos done painstakingly with LEGOs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q27BfBkRHbs
A famously playful DIY director making a movie about playful DIY movies of famous movies is ripe for a Baudrillardian analysis, particularly when Black and Def remake a documentary, When We Were Kings (Black is Ali). Yet the movie neither falls prey to pretension nor slapstick. It's exuberant, joyful, funny, and endlessly charming. Just watch the first remade (or "Sweded") movie-within-a-movie, Ghostbusters: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMdwkpVV0QA
Perhaps it's the DIY concept which makes Be Kind Rewind so charming, as it has that in common with the Japanese film After Life. But where Be Kind Rewind has the initial plotline of a generic slapstick underdog comedy, After Life has a sweet, comforting story built around death.
The film is set in an isolated high school, staffed by twenty or so men and women in a very corporate environment. They have constant meetings, worry about meeting their quotas, and so forth. Then their clients are introduced, and the setting is further revealed. All of the clients are recently deceased, and the school is the first stage of their journey, where they pick out a memory that they wish to relive for the rest of their existence. The staff then uses their meager resources to recreate the scene. One man, a would-be pilot, wants to experience his first flight. The clouds are recreated by cotton balls dangling from a wire on a pully, a decidedly Gondry-esque touch.
Some dramatic tension is generated for the movie when a few of the clientele either cannot or will not choose a memory from their lives. This leads to revelations about the staff of the facility, which leads to either fascinating plot twists or unbelievable coincidences, the latter of which drags down the ending of the film. But the charm of the sequences where the memories are chosen, scripted, and most of all, produced and filmed, are what make After Life so memorable. It, like Be Kind Rewind, is in many ways, about the application of imagination to memory.
There aren't many clips from it online, but one, and a trailer, can be found by looking for it under its original name, Wandafuru Raifu. In this one, an adorable older woman talks about her memories of dancing and her older brother.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QO5VuFzgu6A
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
John Woo and Dynasty Warriors
A Better Tomorrow; Hard Boiled; Red Cliff
One of the things I've been attempting to do over the last year or so particularly is fill in the gaps in my movie knowledge. I've started trying to build my knowledge of Hong Kong cinema, and have been doing so by checking out two of its most well-known directors, Wong Kar-Wai and John Woo - ironically, near-total opposites in style. Where Wong's films are languid and beautiful, Woo is well-known for being the king of the action genre, the inventor of "gun fu." Woo recently returned to Hong Kong and Chinese cinema with an epic based on the Three Kingdoms, Red Cliff (or Dynasty Warriors, for the gamers out there).
Woo's breakthrough film was A Better Tomorrow, released in the mid-80's in Hong Kong. It was not only Woo's breakthrough, but also a very young Chow Yun-Fat. In a single scene (which the internet, unfortunately, cannot seem to provide a clip for), both demonstrate why they'd become huge stars later. Chow Yun-Fat, playing a Triad hitman, prepares for an assassination by dressing like a badass, then hiding a series of guns in several potted plants along the way to the back room where his target awaits. As he starts the hits, he fires all his bullets, moving back and pulling out the hidden guns so that he doesn't need to reload. Although the scene ends with a direct warning that crime doesn't pay - he gets shot through the shin and is crippled for the remainder of the movie - the badassness of both the director and the star are firmly established.
Unfortunately, the rest of the film is a regrettable melodrama, apart from that scene. The story concerns an older brother who works for the Triads and his younger brother who becomes a cop. There are several scenes of the former trying to reconcile with the latter, but he just keeps getting caught up in his sordid past in horribly uninteresting ways, at least until the hyper-violent yet surprisingly dull shootout finale.
Woo's last Hong Kong film before he left for Hollywood was 1992's Hard Boiled, which also stars Chow, alongside a new breakout star, Tony Leung. Hard Boiled is a much more accomplished action flick, with just enough character development to make the massive action sequences interesting. Chow plays a cop investigating a gun-running operation, which is also being infiltrated by Leung, an undercover policeman. Chow's police skills are rather questionable, as his only talent seems to be shooting the hell out of everything, but logic isn't really what you look for in an action movie.
Hard Boiled has three major action sequences, which include a few iconic moments: In the first scene, a shootout in a restaurant ends with Chow Yun-Fat sliding down a staircase with two pistols blazing setting the standard for the action. A second bit, in which he breaks up a gang war, alone, by rappelling into the middle of the action with a shotgun, seems rather ludicrous, but it does introduce him to Leung's character.
Chow and Leung eventually form something of a team, turning the second half of the film into more of a buddy movie. The final third of the movie is a massive shootout, illogically located in a hospital, which the characters destroy with gleeful abandon and seemingly endless ammunition. I'm not an action movie connoisseur, so take this with a grain of salt, but this may be the most exquisitely choreographed gunfight filmed. The most famous part of it is a 2 minute, forty-two second long shot which sees Chow and Leung fighting off thugs while moving down a corridor. Leung accidentally shoots a fellow policeman, after which he and Chow argue about it in an elevator, and as soon as the elevator arrives, the two jump back into action.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bozxgVQ9m0
This is quickly followed by a duel between Leung and the chief enemy henchmen, whose breathless chase involves the two scampering down a hallway almost on their knees, firing at each other through overhead windows.
My final foray into Woo's filmography was his latest film, Red Cliff. When I found out this movie existed, I simply had to see it. I've been a fan of the Three Kingdoms saga ever since I was first introduced to Dynasty Warriors. I've read the novel as well as played many of the games. The battle of Red Cliff, or Chi Bi, is one of the major turning points of the Three Kingdoms story. This version is a no-expense-spared epic, filled with big stars, telling a story so big it was split into two different movies. To think of it as a Chinese Lord of the Rings would not be terribly far off the mark.
*Note: Red Cliff is supposed to be released as a single film for American audiences at some point soon. The Chinese version, with English subtitles, can still be acquired without looking too hard....)
One of the main things which separates the Three Kingdoms from many Western stories, such as Lord of the Rings, is that in the novels (and surprisingly, many of the games), the lines between good and evil are blurred. Cao Cao, the antagonist, is brilliant and ruthless, but he is also arguably the only man who can prevent China from totally collapsing with the end of the Han Dynasty. Most of his crimes are also committed by the ostensible "good guys" in their rise to power. The film removes these grey areas, and instead treats Cao Cao as merely ruthless, a horny old bully. The protagonists - in the film, Tony Leung's Zhao Yu and Takeshi Kaneshiro's Zhuge Liang - are treated as almost entirely good, even though their warmongering and rivalry in the novel are far less heroic. (Ironically, Leung and Kaneshiro were the two male leads in Wong Kar-Wai's Chungking Express, playing characters almost opposite of Zhuge and Zhao's near-superheroes.)
In addition to a somewhat generic villain, Red Cliff also falls apart somewhat in the second part, as the multitude of characters start to change in importance. Like Lord of the Rings, Red Cliff diverges most from its source material by giving its female characters significantly more to do than the original medieval, or medievalist, authors had them doing. In this case, the tomboy Sun Shang Xiang (one of the best Dynasty Warriors!) is practically the star of the second half of the film, as she infiltrates the enemy camp and provides information to the strategists across the river. Zhao Yun's wife, Xiao Qiao (arguably the lamest Dynasty Warrior), is much less interesting, but ends up being the focus of the film's climax, as she takes it upon herself, thoroughly uninterestingly, to cross the river and distract Cao Cao so the final attack can succeed. Which she does. With tea, and obvious metaphors.
All that said, these disappointments are relatively minor for an extremely competent, occasionally gorgeous historical epic. Red Cliff's high point occurs towards the end of the first film, when master strategist Zhuge Liang lures Cao Cao's cavalry into the "yin yang" formation, a beautiful troop setup seemingly designed to allow historical superheroes to be their badass selves. One by one, Gan Ning, Zhao Yun, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun come out to take on Cao Cao's cavalry. The fight choreography is top-notch, and any Three Kingdoms or action fan should come out grinning. Happily, the yin yang scenes are on Youtube, in three parts (25 minutes - the main action starts at about 8:20 in the first part with Gan Ning.
part one
part two
part three
One of the things I've been attempting to do over the last year or so particularly is fill in the gaps in my movie knowledge. I've started trying to build my knowledge of Hong Kong cinema, and have been doing so by checking out two of its most well-known directors, Wong Kar-Wai and John Woo - ironically, near-total opposites in style. Where Wong's films are languid and beautiful, Woo is well-known for being the king of the action genre, the inventor of "gun fu." Woo recently returned to Hong Kong and Chinese cinema with an epic based on the Three Kingdoms, Red Cliff (or Dynasty Warriors, for the gamers out there).
Woo's breakthrough film was A Better Tomorrow, released in the mid-80's in Hong Kong. It was not only Woo's breakthrough, but also a very young Chow Yun-Fat. In a single scene (which the internet, unfortunately, cannot seem to provide a clip for), both demonstrate why they'd become huge stars later. Chow Yun-Fat, playing a Triad hitman, prepares for an assassination by dressing like a badass, then hiding a series of guns in several potted plants along the way to the back room where his target awaits. As he starts the hits, he fires all his bullets, moving back and pulling out the hidden guns so that he doesn't need to reload. Although the scene ends with a direct warning that crime doesn't pay - he gets shot through the shin and is crippled for the remainder of the movie - the badassness of both the director and the star are firmly established.
Unfortunately, the rest of the film is a regrettable melodrama, apart from that scene. The story concerns an older brother who works for the Triads and his younger brother who becomes a cop. There are several scenes of the former trying to reconcile with the latter, but he just keeps getting caught up in his sordid past in horribly uninteresting ways, at least until the hyper-violent yet surprisingly dull shootout finale.
Woo's last Hong Kong film before he left for Hollywood was 1992's Hard Boiled, which also stars Chow, alongside a new breakout star, Tony Leung. Hard Boiled is a much more accomplished action flick, with just enough character development to make the massive action sequences interesting. Chow plays a cop investigating a gun-running operation, which is also being infiltrated by Leung, an undercover policeman. Chow's police skills are rather questionable, as his only talent seems to be shooting the hell out of everything, but logic isn't really what you look for in an action movie.
Hard Boiled has three major action sequences, which include a few iconic moments: In the first scene, a shootout in a restaurant ends with Chow Yun-Fat sliding down a staircase with two pistols blazing setting the standard for the action. A second bit, in which he breaks up a gang war, alone, by rappelling into the middle of the action with a shotgun, seems rather ludicrous, but it does introduce him to Leung's character.
Chow and Leung eventually form something of a team, turning the second half of the film into more of a buddy movie. The final third of the movie is a massive shootout, illogically located in a hospital, which the characters destroy with gleeful abandon and seemingly endless ammunition. I'm not an action movie connoisseur, so take this with a grain of salt, but this may be the most exquisitely choreographed gunfight filmed. The most famous part of it is a 2 minute, forty-two second long shot which sees Chow and Leung fighting off thugs while moving down a corridor. Leung accidentally shoots a fellow policeman, after which he and Chow argue about it in an elevator, and as soon as the elevator arrives, the two jump back into action.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bozxgVQ9m0
This is quickly followed by a duel between Leung and the chief enemy henchmen, whose breathless chase involves the two scampering down a hallway almost on their knees, firing at each other through overhead windows.
My final foray into Woo's filmography was his latest film, Red Cliff. When I found out this movie existed, I simply had to see it. I've been a fan of the Three Kingdoms saga ever since I was first introduced to Dynasty Warriors. I've read the novel as well as played many of the games. The battle of Red Cliff, or Chi Bi, is one of the major turning points of the Three Kingdoms story. This version is a no-expense-spared epic, filled with big stars, telling a story so big it was split into two different movies. To think of it as a Chinese Lord of the Rings would not be terribly far off the mark.
*Note: Red Cliff is supposed to be released as a single film for American audiences at some point soon. The Chinese version, with English subtitles, can still be acquired without looking too hard....)
One of the main things which separates the Three Kingdoms from many Western stories, such as Lord of the Rings, is that in the novels (and surprisingly, many of the games), the lines between good and evil are blurred. Cao Cao, the antagonist, is brilliant and ruthless, but he is also arguably the only man who can prevent China from totally collapsing with the end of the Han Dynasty. Most of his crimes are also committed by the ostensible "good guys" in their rise to power. The film removes these grey areas, and instead treats Cao Cao as merely ruthless, a horny old bully. The protagonists - in the film, Tony Leung's Zhao Yu and Takeshi Kaneshiro's Zhuge Liang - are treated as almost entirely good, even though their warmongering and rivalry in the novel are far less heroic. (Ironically, Leung and Kaneshiro were the two male leads in Wong Kar-Wai's Chungking Express, playing characters almost opposite of Zhuge and Zhao's near-superheroes.)
In addition to a somewhat generic villain, Red Cliff also falls apart somewhat in the second part, as the multitude of characters start to change in importance. Like Lord of the Rings, Red Cliff diverges most from its source material by giving its female characters significantly more to do than the original medieval, or medievalist, authors had them doing. In this case, the tomboy Sun Shang Xiang (one of the best Dynasty Warriors!) is practically the star of the second half of the film, as she infiltrates the enemy camp and provides information to the strategists across the river. Zhao Yun's wife, Xiao Qiao (arguably the lamest Dynasty Warrior), is much less interesting, but ends up being the focus of the film's climax, as she takes it upon herself, thoroughly uninterestingly, to cross the river and distract Cao Cao so the final attack can succeed. Which she does. With tea, and obvious metaphors.
All that said, these disappointments are relatively minor for an extremely competent, occasionally gorgeous historical epic. Red Cliff's high point occurs towards the end of the first film, when master strategist Zhuge Liang lures Cao Cao's cavalry into the "yin yang" formation, a beautiful troop setup seemingly designed to allow historical superheroes to be their badass selves. One by one, Gan Ning, Zhao Yun, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun come out to take on Cao Cao's cavalry. The fight choreography is top-notch, and any Three Kingdoms or action fan should come out grinning. Happily, the yin yang scenes are on Youtube, in three parts (25 minutes - the main action starts at about 8:20 in the first part with Gan Ning.
part one
part two
part three
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Burn After Reading; Army of Shadows; Irma Vep
Having finished Battlestar Galactica (and I may post about the ending, presuming I can control my laughter) the Renaissance Poet and I have moved onto movies.
First up was last year's Burn After Reading, which I had desperately wanted to see ever since catching the trailer, which made it look like a new Big Lebowski: "Hey, it's a wacky Coen brothers comedy about people doing dumb shit for money!" I was somewhat disappointed in watching it, as it wasn't a genial comedy about blundering losers like The Big Lebowski, but rather more of a tragi-comic farce along the lines of Fargo - a film I admire, perhaps, instead of really enjoying. Still, Burn After Reading isn't without significant charms. George Clooney's charisma manages to turn a serially philandering sex-and-sex-toy addict into a likeable character, and Brad Pitt appears to enjoy himself immensely as an idiotic sidekick, well outside the normal confines of his usual Big Time Movie Star roles.
I'm a sucker for resistance stories, and who better to resist than the Nazis? So I was excited to check out the unearthed classic French Resistance film Army of Shadows. The Renaissance Poet's francophobia kept us from watching it for a while, but I finally convinced her in a moment of weakness/procrastination.
Army of Shadows is a stark character study of what would make a successful resistance fighter, and the end result is rather unpleasant. The hero of the film looks like a middling bureaucrat, but he is posessed with an opportunistic survivalism. Whenever he, or any other character in the film, displays anything other than survivalism, such as loyalty, heroism, love of family, or any kind of hesistance, they are punished. And perhaps most tellingly, the Resistance of the film spends far more time attempting to weed out traitors than it actually does successfully fighting the Nazis.
Ironically, the film was critically panned in France for its apparent Resistance sympathies (the director, Melville, was in the Resistance) at a time when Gaullism was at a low point in popularity. I'm not sure how people who actually saw this rather depressing movie came to that conclusion. Army of Shadows was perhaps not as excellent as I had hoped, but it is an intellectual success, if not an entertainment success.
One of the sources from which I'm picking out movies to watch is The New Cult Canon series at the Onion A.V. Club. Many of the films on the list are ones which I consider favorites (The Big Lebowski, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang), and several other were interesting and well-worth seeing (Donnie Darko, Pi, ...uh, Manos: The Hands of Fate). So I was interested to check out Irma Vep, which appeared to promise some fun postmodern excitement.
It didn't deliver. Going back and rereading the writeup from The New Cult Canon, it appears to be about the film I saw. But it just never grabbed my interest. It appears to be more of a playful intellectual film for movie critics and movie makers. It has some assorted charms: Maggie Cheung plays a marvelous blank slate that every other character projects their desires onto; the wardrobe lady who befriends is a charming, charismatic, possible junkie; and the ending is so audacious and bizarre that it's almost impossible not to laugh. But those moments never really seem to cohere into a strong story.
The writeup indicated that Irma Vep is in many ways a spiritual successor to French New Wave cinema, which may help explain what I don't understand about it. I know little-to-nothing about New Wave, which is something I should probably rectify if I want to write about movies.
Next up, a far more entertaining set of films: Primer; Battle Royale; Chungking Express; and maybe A Better Tomorrow.
First up was last year's Burn After Reading, which I had desperately wanted to see ever since catching the trailer, which made it look like a new Big Lebowski: "Hey, it's a wacky Coen brothers comedy about people doing dumb shit for money!" I was somewhat disappointed in watching it, as it wasn't a genial comedy about blundering losers like The Big Lebowski, but rather more of a tragi-comic farce along the lines of Fargo - a film I admire, perhaps, instead of really enjoying. Still, Burn After Reading isn't without significant charms. George Clooney's charisma manages to turn a serially philandering sex-and-sex-toy addict into a likeable character, and Brad Pitt appears to enjoy himself immensely as an idiotic sidekick, well outside the normal confines of his usual Big Time Movie Star roles.
I'm a sucker for resistance stories, and who better to resist than the Nazis? So I was excited to check out the unearthed classic French Resistance film Army of Shadows. The Renaissance Poet's francophobia kept us from watching it for a while, but I finally convinced her in a moment of weakness/procrastination.
Army of Shadows is a stark character study of what would make a successful resistance fighter, and the end result is rather unpleasant. The hero of the film looks like a middling bureaucrat, but he is posessed with an opportunistic survivalism. Whenever he, or any other character in the film, displays anything other than survivalism, such as loyalty, heroism, love of family, or any kind of hesistance, they are punished. And perhaps most tellingly, the Resistance of the film spends far more time attempting to weed out traitors than it actually does successfully fighting the Nazis.
Ironically, the film was critically panned in France for its apparent Resistance sympathies (the director, Melville, was in the Resistance) at a time when Gaullism was at a low point in popularity. I'm not sure how people who actually saw this rather depressing movie came to that conclusion. Army of Shadows was perhaps not as excellent as I had hoped, but it is an intellectual success, if not an entertainment success.
One of the sources from which I'm picking out movies to watch is The New Cult Canon series at the Onion A.V. Club. Many of the films on the list are ones which I consider favorites (The Big Lebowski, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang), and several other were interesting and well-worth seeing (Donnie Darko, Pi, ...uh, Manos: The Hands of Fate). So I was interested to check out Irma Vep, which appeared to promise some fun postmodern excitement.
It didn't deliver. Going back and rereading the writeup from The New Cult Canon, it appears to be about the film I saw. But it just never grabbed my interest. It appears to be more of a playful intellectual film for movie critics and movie makers. It has some assorted charms: Maggie Cheung plays a marvelous blank slate that every other character projects their desires onto; the wardrobe lady who befriends is a charming, charismatic, possible junkie; and the ending is so audacious and bizarre that it's almost impossible not to laugh. But those moments never really seem to cohere into a strong story.
The writeup indicated that Irma Vep is in many ways a spiritual successor to French New Wave cinema, which may help explain what I don't understand about it. I know little-to-nothing about New Wave, which is something I should probably rectify if I want to write about movies.
Next up, a far more entertaining set of films: Primer; Battle Royale; Chungking Express; and maybe A Better Tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
NullDC
I have never known a video game system which has received as much love from gamers as the Sega Dreamcast. While many gamers like a system, or like many of the games on that system, or adopt it likes a sports team to become "fanboys" and cheer on their Xbox or Playstations, the Dreamcast is beloved almost as a pet. When they die, I have had friends bury them.
There are several reasons for this. Part of it is that the Dreamcast had a far larger number of classic games than it should have. Part of it is that those games were fun and interesting, and that got transferred to the system to some extent. Part of that is the system's design, which allowed for four controllers instead of two, making party games easier. The graphics card also seemed to be made for bright colors and enthusiastic animation, leading to a fun, cartoony style (a style duplicated to some extend by the Gamecube and Wii.) The system also had its somewhat charming flaws, most notably, it sounded like a small weedwacker when it was spinning CDs. Perhaps most importantly, it was an underdog from the beginning, and within a year, it was clear that it was going to fail financially. That, combined with the quality of the games themselves, made the system something of a cause celebré.
As time has gone by, it's also become lost. The Dreamcast itself was a finicky machine, and wore down fairly regularly. Its games didn't sell enough to be found in used stores for more than a few years afterwards. I'm one of those Dreamcast-lovers, but I haven't played one in five years, or owned one in seven. Many of the games have been ported to other system (like Space Channel 5 to PS2 or Ikaruga and Skies of Arcadia to Gamecube), or have surpassing sequels (like Soul Calibur 2). But some remained unplayable.
It was one of the happiest days in my recent life when I found NullDC. It's a Dreamcast emulator for PC. It works. It works well. Damn well. The interface is a bit clunky, and it doesn't have gamepad support (though 3rd party applications can add that) but...I don't have a Wii. But I have Samba de Amigo again. Actually, I have Samba de Amigo 2000, the Japanese sequel which was never released in the US. And just seeing Jet Grind Radio made me giggle happily, although it'll require more configuration to be playable.
But more than that, just seeing that Dreamcast logo and hearing the sound makes me gleeful. It'll make you happy too, if you have the Dreamcast love.
There are several reasons for this. Part of it is that the Dreamcast had a far larger number of classic games than it should have. Part of it is that those games were fun and interesting, and that got transferred to the system to some extent. Part of that is the system's design, which allowed for four controllers instead of two, making party games easier. The graphics card also seemed to be made for bright colors and enthusiastic animation, leading to a fun, cartoony style (a style duplicated to some extend by the Gamecube and Wii.) The system also had its somewhat charming flaws, most notably, it sounded like a small weedwacker when it was spinning CDs. Perhaps most importantly, it was an underdog from the beginning, and within a year, it was clear that it was going to fail financially. That, combined with the quality of the games themselves, made the system something of a cause celebré.
As time has gone by, it's also become lost. The Dreamcast itself was a finicky machine, and wore down fairly regularly. Its games didn't sell enough to be found in used stores for more than a few years afterwards. I'm one of those Dreamcast-lovers, but I haven't played one in five years, or owned one in seven. Many of the games have been ported to other system (like Space Channel 5 to PS2 or Ikaruga and Skies of Arcadia to Gamecube), or have surpassing sequels (like Soul Calibur 2). But some remained unplayable.
It was one of the happiest days in my recent life when I found NullDC. It's a Dreamcast emulator for PC. It works. It works well. Damn well. The interface is a bit clunky, and it doesn't have gamepad support (though 3rd party applications can add that) but...I don't have a Wii. But I have Samba de Amigo again. Actually, I have Samba de Amigo 2000, the Japanese sequel which was never released in the US. And just seeing Jet Grind Radio made me giggle happily, although it'll require more configuration to be playable.
But more than that, just seeing that Dreamcast logo and hearing the sound makes me gleeful. It'll make you happy too, if you have the Dreamcast love.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Nuggets
I have, in the past, been accused of being a Beatles-hater. This is somewhat unfair. I like the Beatles, I own most of their albums. Only one other band has more MP3s on my computer. Etc. The reason I get the accusation is that I don't go in for the Beatles-worship which seems to be almost mandatory. My pushback against this hagiography reached its high point with the release of Across The Universe, a film I had no interest in seeing.
"Look," I'll say, "The Beatles were a good band. They were a very good band. They had perhaps the longest run of consistently good new music in pop music history. But they're not the Only Band 'Gainst Whom All Others Must Be Judged (and Found Wanting)." To a certain extend, the music of the '60's has become, to music fans but not experts, a history of The Beatles, with The Rolling Stones and maybe Bob Dylan or Hendrix tossed in for good measure. Even groups like The Kinks, who actually had a similar musical trajectory as The Beatles, with poppy dance hits turning into increasingly bizarre but occasionally wonderful concept albums, appear dwarfed by the Fab Four. The Velvet Underground are held up as the counter to the mainstream groups like the Beatles. A group like The Zombies is still somewhat popular, and to be honest, I'd take their two best and most famous songs, "She's Not There" and "Time of the Season" against any two Beatles songs.
But bringing up The Kinks and The Zombies isn't exactly daring in saying that there was other, non-Beatles-based rock'n'roll in the 1960's. Which is where the Nuggets collections come in. The original Nuggets LP was released in the 1970's as a reissued collection of buried treasures from psychedelic and garage rock in the 1960's. It became a big influence on punk rock, if for no other reason than Patti Smith Group guitarist Lenny Kaye helped put it together. In recent years, Elektra records reissued the original LP with three other full-length discs of American psychedelia. They followed that up with a British and foreign box set, Nuggets II, and more recent psychedelic songs, in Children of Nuggets.
I recently went through my music collection, trimming some places and filling in gaps. I added the Nuggets songs to my collection, to my almost universal enjoyment. It also gives me 60's-style rock music that's not the canonical Beatles and Stones, and in some cases, may almost be better.
Here's one from the original LP, The Knickerbockers' "Lies," which could almost pass a lost Beatles track.
(I have no idea if these embeds will transfer from the blog to Facebook. Only one way to find out!)
Here's another Nuggets I piece of British Invasion pop, The Remains' "Why Do I Cry"
Another notable thing about the bands in the collection is that they have the best band names. I guess it's from before they all got taken. The Primitives, The Smoke, The Sonics, or this one, The Poets, a Scottish group.
The Nuggets II collection from "the British Empire and beyond" has a different feel, which I somewhat prefer. The music seems deeper, darker, and a little more stripped-down. The Wimple Winch's "Save My Soul" is decidedly not a Beatles song.
The Children of Nuggets collection is a bit more hit-and-miss. Some of it sounds simply like old songs with more modern instrumentation, a combination which doesn't always work. One of the places where it works best, however, is in the odd XTC side project, The Dukes of Stratosphear. The Dukes are occasionally called a psychadelic rock parody, but that seems unfair. This is an homage. Maybe a winking one, but an homage nonetheless. (song should be playable on the right of this link)
The place where the Nuggets collection really fit into my own collection became clear when I heard the Them track from Nuggets II, "I Can Only Give You Everything." Them became famous primarily for introducing singer Van Morrison (of "Wild Nights," "Gloria," and "Brown Eyed Girl" fame) to the world, but the song became something of a punk anthem, covered by Richard Hell on his second album. As I mentioned in the "15 albums" meme, Richard Hell was one of my gateways into being a music fan, but my parents were also Van Morrison fans, so deep in my nonconscious mind, there are several Van Morrison tracks. This song brings it all together - proto-punk meets British invasion, Beatles meet Stones, pop meets rock.
"Look," I'll say, "The Beatles were a good band. They were a very good band. They had perhaps the longest run of consistently good new music in pop music history. But they're not the Only Band 'Gainst Whom All Others Must Be Judged (and Found Wanting)." To a certain extend, the music of the '60's has become, to music fans but not experts, a history of The Beatles, with The Rolling Stones and maybe Bob Dylan or Hendrix tossed in for good measure. Even groups like The Kinks, who actually had a similar musical trajectory as The Beatles, with poppy dance hits turning into increasingly bizarre but occasionally wonderful concept albums, appear dwarfed by the Fab Four. The Velvet Underground are held up as the counter to the mainstream groups like the Beatles. A group like The Zombies is still somewhat popular, and to be honest, I'd take their two best and most famous songs, "She's Not There" and "Time of the Season" against any two Beatles songs.
But bringing up The Kinks and The Zombies isn't exactly daring in saying that there was other, non-Beatles-based rock'n'roll in the 1960's. Which is where the Nuggets collections come in. The original Nuggets LP was released in the 1970's as a reissued collection of buried treasures from psychedelic and garage rock in the 1960's. It became a big influence on punk rock, if for no other reason than Patti Smith Group guitarist Lenny Kaye helped put it together. In recent years, Elektra records reissued the original LP with three other full-length discs of American psychedelia. They followed that up with a British and foreign box set, Nuggets II, and more recent psychedelic songs, in Children of Nuggets.
I recently went through my music collection, trimming some places and filling in gaps. I added the Nuggets songs to my collection, to my almost universal enjoyment. It also gives me 60's-style rock music that's not the canonical Beatles and Stones, and in some cases, may almost be better.
Here's one from the original LP, The Knickerbockers' "Lies," which could almost pass a lost Beatles track.
(I have no idea if these embeds will transfer from the blog to Facebook. Only one way to find out!)
Here's another Nuggets I piece of British Invasion pop, The Remains' "Why Do I Cry"
Another notable thing about the bands in the collection is that they have the best band names. I guess it's from before they all got taken. The Primitives, The Smoke, The Sonics, or this one, The Poets, a Scottish group.
The Nuggets II collection from "the British Empire and beyond" has a different feel, which I somewhat prefer. The music seems deeper, darker, and a little more stripped-down. The Wimple Winch's "Save My Soul" is decidedly not a Beatles song.
The Children of Nuggets collection is a bit more hit-and-miss. Some of it sounds simply like old songs with more modern instrumentation, a combination which doesn't always work. One of the places where it works best, however, is in the odd XTC side project, The Dukes of Stratosphear. The Dukes are occasionally called a psychadelic rock parody, but that seems unfair. This is an homage. Maybe a winking one, but an homage nonetheless. (song should be playable on the right of this link)
The place where the Nuggets collection really fit into my own collection became clear when I heard the Them track from Nuggets II, "I Can Only Give You Everything." Them became famous primarily for introducing singer Van Morrison (of "Wild Nights," "Gloria," and "Brown Eyed Girl" fame) to the world, but the song became something of a punk anthem, covered by Richard Hell on his second album. As I mentioned in the "15 albums" meme, Richard Hell was one of my gateways into being a music fan, but my parents were also Van Morrison fans, so deep in my nonconscious mind, there are several Van Morrison tracks. This song brings it all together - proto-punk meets British invasion, Beatles meet Stones, pop meets rock.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Battlestar Galactica
We've starting watching Battlestar Galactica, timing it perfectly so we begin right after the last episode airs. I suppose there's an advantage in starting after the end, in that you rarely have to wait. Though you can't necessarily say "I was there from the start!" but that and a nickel will buy you a cup of coffee, I hear. By the way, this is the first blog post I'm linking to Facebook, which ought to increase my readership by approximately 10000%.
Note - we've watched the pilot miniseries and the first two seasons.
Battlestar Galactica is ridiculously intense at times, mostly when it focuses on the ship which gives the show its title. As a military space opera, it succeeds beyond, well, any other science fiction show I've seen. The three-episode arc where a second Battlestar shows up in the middle of the second season, for example, is nailbiting stuff, and well played by the producers, who build intensity with various characters' ethical choices, instead of just making them action hereos.
As soon as the show gets outside the strict confines of the military, it starts to either get bizarre, annoying, or just plain bad.
Supposedly, there's 50,000 civilians hanging out with the Galactica. They have a President, who apparently does things other than argue with the Commander/Admiral. They have elected representatives, who apparently do things other than argue with the President. They have a media, who apparently do things other than argue with, well, everybody. But other than that, what?
The show only focuses on the civilians when they behave bizarrely. For example, there's an evil reporter, or there's Cylon sympathizers sabotaging the fleet, or a black market apparently fulfilling the fleet's desparate need for child sex slaves. Seriously, there's a room full of children for sale, implying that the fleet is overrun with wealthy pedophiles above and beyond what might be expected from a relatively tiny population. Why? The point of the child market was to establish the black marketeers as people who were as evil as they could be, in such a way as made sense to a primarily American audience. An American black market for child slaves would be that evil, therefore, it's portrayed in that light, regardless of the logic of how that looks for a 50,000-person fleet on the run from an existential threat.
That is the basic logic of civilians on the show - their entire society is assumed to be basically American, and ignored until it interacts with the military. The President and Vice President are basically the only important civilians. The cartoonishly powerhungry former terrorist/anarchist, Tom Zarek, is the only civilian who ever demonstrates any kind of depth, largely because he's the only civilian other than the administration to appear more than once. He's also the only person to ever mention that recreating the former society might not be the most effective way to proceed.
An interesting story (though perhaps not intensely riveting television) could be told about the attempts to recreate society in a fleet on the run. Money would be worthless at first. The economy would start as barter, and slowly establish itself as goods were produced. What goods would be produced, when, where, and how. What recreation would come to exist. And what political structures would come to exist.
The last point became especially pertinent in the second season finale, which focused on the presidential election. An election in a tiny group of 50,000 voters (well, less, given that many are likely children) is not likely to be a media-driven, poll-based event, but more likely a small-town mayoral election, where visiting people and shaking their hands becomes more likely to win votes. This would be especially easy in a fleet where people are packed into ships.
As I mentioned during the episode, "My disbelief is not being suspended. It's very well pended right now." The effects of the election tripled that. The idea that the election was a referendum on living on a colonizable planet, with this decision entirely invested in a single person, the President, completely removed all vestiges of the the civilian fleet as anything other than a plot device for the show's writers. Checks and balances? Gone. The military's prediliction for coups and mutinies at the drop of a hat? Nowhere to be found. Instead, we get a clearly insane, suspected traitor being elected in order to sign a executive order, as the role of President somehow became that of totalitarian dictator.
As the show has progressed, the lack of logic behind anything except the military's main characters has become a bigger and bigger flaw. Examining this flaw seems to be making the awesomeness of the first season and much of the second seem more and more flawed itself - like its success is built on deliberately ignoring important plot points, which, as the show progresses, become more and more obvious. I've heard decidedly mixed reviews of Seasons 3 and 4, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a large reason why.
Still, despite the silliness of the election and how the story got to this point, I do like the idea of seeing the surviving humans under Cylon occupation. I'm a sucker for resistance stories.
Note - we've watched the pilot miniseries and the first two seasons.
Battlestar Galactica is ridiculously intense at times, mostly when it focuses on the ship which gives the show its title. As a military space opera, it succeeds beyond, well, any other science fiction show I've seen. The three-episode arc where a second Battlestar shows up in the middle of the second season, for example, is nailbiting stuff, and well played by the producers, who build intensity with various characters' ethical choices, instead of just making them action hereos.
As soon as the show gets outside the strict confines of the military, it starts to either get bizarre, annoying, or just plain bad.
Supposedly, there's 50,000 civilians hanging out with the Galactica. They have a President, who apparently does things other than argue with the Commander/Admiral. They have elected representatives, who apparently do things other than argue with the President. They have a media, who apparently do things other than argue with, well, everybody. But other than that, what?
The show only focuses on the civilians when they behave bizarrely. For example, there's an evil reporter, or there's Cylon sympathizers sabotaging the fleet, or a black market apparently fulfilling the fleet's desparate need for child sex slaves. Seriously, there's a room full of children for sale, implying that the fleet is overrun with wealthy pedophiles above and beyond what might be expected from a relatively tiny population. Why? The point of the child market was to establish the black marketeers as people who were as evil as they could be, in such a way as made sense to a primarily American audience. An American black market for child slaves would be that evil, therefore, it's portrayed in that light, regardless of the logic of how that looks for a 50,000-person fleet on the run from an existential threat.
That is the basic logic of civilians on the show - their entire society is assumed to be basically American, and ignored until it interacts with the military. The President and Vice President are basically the only important civilians. The cartoonishly powerhungry former terrorist/anarchist, Tom Zarek, is the only civilian who ever demonstrates any kind of depth, largely because he's the only civilian other than the administration to appear more than once. He's also the only person to ever mention that recreating the former society might not be the most effective way to proceed.
An interesting story (though perhaps not intensely riveting television) could be told about the attempts to recreate society in a fleet on the run. Money would be worthless at first. The economy would start as barter, and slowly establish itself as goods were produced. What goods would be produced, when, where, and how. What recreation would come to exist. And what political structures would come to exist.
The last point became especially pertinent in the second season finale, which focused on the presidential election. An election in a tiny group of 50,000 voters (well, less, given that many are likely children) is not likely to be a media-driven, poll-based event, but more likely a small-town mayoral election, where visiting people and shaking their hands becomes more likely to win votes. This would be especially easy in a fleet where people are packed into ships.
As I mentioned during the episode, "My disbelief is not being suspended. It's very well pended right now." The effects of the election tripled that. The idea that the election was a referendum on living on a colonizable planet, with this decision entirely invested in a single person, the President, completely removed all vestiges of the the civilian fleet as anything other than a plot device for the show's writers. Checks and balances? Gone. The military's prediliction for coups and mutinies at the drop of a hat? Nowhere to be found. Instead, we get a clearly insane, suspected traitor being elected in order to sign a executive order, as the role of President somehow became that of totalitarian dictator.
As the show has progressed, the lack of logic behind anything except the military's main characters has become a bigger and bigger flaw. Examining this flaw seems to be making the awesomeness of the first season and much of the second seem more and more flawed itself - like its success is built on deliberately ignoring important plot points, which, as the show progresses, become more and more obvious. I've heard decidedly mixed reviews of Seasons 3 and 4, and I wouldn't be surprised if this was a large reason why.
Still, despite the silliness of the election and how the story got to this point, I do like the idea of seeing the surviving humans under Cylon occupation. I'm a sucker for resistance stories.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Dollhouse
I've been watching Dollhouse on Hulu since its premiere. Part of it is that I feel so left out by the Firefly fandom - catching up on it several years later, I realize it's a great show. But my outrage only goes so far, after all, I had no idea it existed when it actually aired.
Unfortunately, Dollhouse isn't half as interesting, though it's certainly not bad. I'm rather enjoying it so far, when I watch, but there's not much there after the episode. The show seems to be lacking a thematic core. Most successful science fiction shows have major themes which drive the concept of the show, as well as its individual episodes.
There are potential themes for exploration. In addition to those mentioned above, the show's premise is rife with possibilities for questioning the concepts of consent, rape, slavery. But it's avoided those like the plague in a thematic sense, even as they exist within the direct narrative. That's probably wise, given that it's on network television. I'm not sure I'd continue watching. So instead we're left with a show that appears to be primarily a fairly interesting story, with an amoral heart.
Unfortunately, Dollhouse isn't half as interesting, though it's certainly not bad. I'm rather enjoying it so far, when I watch, but there's not much there after the episode. The show seems to be lacking a thematic core. Most successful science fiction shows have major themes which drive the concept of the show, as well as its individual episodes.
- The X-Files was built around concepts of belief, knowledge, and faith. How do you know what you know, and why do you believe what you believe?
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon's biggest hit, was essentially an update of Spider-Man: a fantastical parable of what growing up meant, and how "with great power comes great responsibility."
- The new Battlestar Galactica focuses on the moral decisions of leaders, and when the ends justify the means, and when they don't.
- Firefly is subtler than the others, but I think it is at its best when it focuses on resistance against an extraordinary power. The show has a tinge of sadness - it's about what happens after the war is lost, not the war itself (which is another reason I find the Serenity movie disappointing, in that the war has suddenly appeared and become winnable, in 120 minutes.)
There are potential themes for exploration. In addition to those mentioned above, the show's premise is rife with possibilities for questioning the concepts of consent, rape, slavery. But it's avoided those like the plague in a thematic sense, even as they exist within the direct narrative. That's probably wise, given that it's on network television. I'm not sure I'd continue watching. So instead we're left with a show that appears to be primarily a fairly interesting story, with an amoral heart.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Stubbs the Zombie
Here's a game I came across, most interestingly, because of its soundtrack. It's a collection of indie-rockers who cover various 50's and 60's pop hits, like The Raveonettes doing "My Boyfriend's Back." The music meshes fairly well with the game's theme, a somewhat Fallout-like science fiction zombie holocaust based around bad sciffy movies. The game itself is fairly fun, but short and completely linear, meaning it's pretty well disposable.
The fascinating soundtrack, however, leads me to a question - why don't game designers hire commercial DJs or bands to create game music more often? Generally, they either choose licensing already popular songs, or having game composers make the music.
I'd love to see some DJs making music for games, especially if they're science fiction-oriented. If I had a massively budgeted game, I'd give RJD2 (or someone along those lines) a call. Music can be such a memorable, important part of a game that it seems a shame to not be more daring with it.
The fascinating soundtrack, however, leads me to a question - why don't game designers hire commercial DJs or bands to create game music more often? Generally, they either choose licensing already popular songs, or having game composers make the music.
I'd love to see some DJs making music for games, especially if they're science fiction-oriented. If I had a massively budgeted game, I'd give RJD2 (or someone along those lines) a call. Music can be such a memorable, important part of a game that it seems a shame to not be more daring with it.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Civilization IV, modding, and grand strategy
Epic strategy games (or, 4X games) tend to have a similar problem. The start of the game is significantly more difficult and interesting than the rest of the game. Every choice matters at the start, but once a certain level of infrastructure is reached within the game, the human player will almost always defeat the AI. I wish I could come up with a clever term for this problem, but it's the main reason that I end up being more frustrated with games that are otherwise exceptional, such as Rome: Total War.
Civilization, being the king of the 4X game, has this problem as well. But the main reason I keep returning to Civilization's recent incarnations is its customizability. Civilization IV, in particular, was made for modders to play with on multiple levels. It's not as user-friendly as its predecessor, but much more powerful. So you get mods like "Fall From Heaven," which posits itself as a sequel to Master of Magic, and the fascinating "Rhye's and Fall of Civilization" (RFC).
"Rhye" is the screen name of the modder, and first achieved fame for his "Rhye's of Civilization," a Civ3 mod which demonstrated his gift of taking the basic concepts of the game, and making them more streamlined, historical, balanced, interesting, and, oddly, attractive.
The most important development for RFC, his Civ4 mod, is the concept of "stability." Stability, in-game, is basically the historically accurate acknowledgement that empires aren't always defeated by opposing empires, but often collapse themselves. The Mongol empire which exploded across Eurasia was not conquered by its rivals, but rather, broke into smaller pieces which were eventually absorbed by other political entities.
Stability also functions as a mechanism to keep the game interesting regardless of the player's power. Instead of merely competing with the insufficient AI, the player is forced to compete with the complex stability mechanism, which encourages infrastructure-building and measured expansion. In perhaps the cleverest aspect of stability, economic stability is tied to growth - and there's only so much growth possible short of founding or conquering new cities. Thus, a civilization has to keep growing (but not too fast) or end up stagnating. And if a teetering civilization happens to lose even a small border city, it can collapse.
There are still several problems. The stability model isn't terribly transparent. It can't be, really, otherwise it would be too easy. I do think that a happier medium could be found. New players especially are going to find it too abtruse.
The other major problem is that the penalties of collapsing stability are a bit off. Having a bad stability may mean that a city or two at random declares independence. Collapsed stability means that all cities, except the player's capital, declare independence or return to their original owner. There's not a whole lot of room between total collapse and slight annoyance.
Still, it's a major step towards solving the biggest 4x problem or being too easy after the initial part of the game.
Civilization, being the king of the 4X game, has this problem as well. But the main reason I keep returning to Civilization's recent incarnations is its customizability. Civilization IV, in particular, was made for modders to play with on multiple levels. It's not as user-friendly as its predecessor, but much more powerful. So you get mods like "Fall From Heaven," which posits itself as a sequel to Master of Magic, and the fascinating "Rhye's and Fall of Civilization" (RFC).
"Rhye" is the screen name of the modder, and first achieved fame for his "Rhye's of Civilization," a Civ3 mod which demonstrated his gift of taking the basic concepts of the game, and making them more streamlined, historical, balanced, interesting, and, oddly, attractive.
The most important development for RFC, his Civ4 mod, is the concept of "stability." Stability, in-game, is basically the historically accurate acknowledgement that empires aren't always defeated by opposing empires, but often collapse themselves. The Mongol empire which exploded across Eurasia was not conquered by its rivals, but rather, broke into smaller pieces which were eventually absorbed by other political entities.
Stability also functions as a mechanism to keep the game interesting regardless of the player's power. Instead of merely competing with the insufficient AI, the player is forced to compete with the complex stability mechanism, which encourages infrastructure-building and measured expansion. In perhaps the cleverest aspect of stability, economic stability is tied to growth - and there's only so much growth possible short of founding or conquering new cities. Thus, a civilization has to keep growing (but not too fast) or end up stagnating. And if a teetering civilization happens to lose even a small border city, it can collapse.
There are still several problems. The stability model isn't terribly transparent. It can't be, really, otherwise it would be too easy. I do think that a happier medium could be found. New players especially are going to find it too abtruse.
The other major problem is that the penalties of collapsing stability are a bit off. Having a bad stability may mean that a city or two at random declares independence. Collapsed stability means that all cities, except the player's capital, declare independence or return to their original owner. There's not a whole lot of room between total collapse and slight annoyance.
Still, it's a major step towards solving the biggest 4x problem or being too easy after the initial part of the game.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Here in Renaissanceland, we're working our way through the first three seasons of Buffy. After a whole lot of Firefly and some Babylon 5 (which will get its own post soonish), it seemed a fairly natural progression. We're a few episodes into season 3.
The most interesting thing about Buffy is how small it is, and how big it wants to be. Sunnydale is a small town. Sunnydale High seems small enough that most people know each other. The credited cast is six or seven characters -although some characters, like the principal or Buffy's mom, should be in the opening credits.
But Buffy wants to be big. Buffy is the only Slayer, or at least she should be. Vampires affect the world only when they come to Sunnydale. The fate of the world, or humanity, is threatened multiple times. And the show just doesn't have the budget to demonstrate that.
During the second-season episode "Phases," in which Buffy battles a werewolf, there is a brief stock footage shot of a sunrise over a town. This is a completely normal cinematic method for conveying things like dawn, but was a first for Buffy. More than anything else in the show, the two or three-second shot indicated that there was a town here! with houses! and people! as opposed to a collection of sets.
The second season of Buffy generally got around this by increasing the emotional impact of the big storylines. The fate of the world was relatively unimportant, compared to the fate of the relationship between Buffy and Angel. This led to a fairly satisfying climax, despite the fact that the big fight for the fate of the world took place in a medium-sized apartment with Buffy, Spike, Angel, Drusilla, and two generic henchmen.
The third season has been somewhat odd, in that Buffy appears to have received a "budget" and is using many more extras. Both of the first two episodes involved masses of people and bad guys.
Both myself and the Renaissance Poet have seen episodes from later seasons and have been fairly unimpressed, but we both remember season 3 fairly fondly. So it's likely that we'll stop, or at least take a hiatus from slaying, after season 3.
The most interesting thing about Buffy is how small it is, and how big it wants to be. Sunnydale is a small town. Sunnydale High seems small enough that most people know each other. The credited cast is six or seven characters -although some characters, like the principal or Buffy's mom, should be in the opening credits.
But Buffy wants to be big. Buffy is the only Slayer, or at least she should be. Vampires affect the world only when they come to Sunnydale. The fate of the world, or humanity, is threatened multiple times. And the show just doesn't have the budget to demonstrate that.
During the second-season episode "Phases," in which Buffy battles a werewolf, there is a brief stock footage shot of a sunrise over a town. This is a completely normal cinematic method for conveying things like dawn, but was a first for Buffy. More than anything else in the show, the two or three-second shot indicated that there was a town here! with houses! and people! as opposed to a collection of sets.
The second season of Buffy generally got around this by increasing the emotional impact of the big storylines. The fate of the world was relatively unimportant, compared to the fate of the relationship between Buffy and Angel. This led to a fairly satisfying climax, despite the fact that the big fight for the fate of the world took place in a medium-sized apartment with Buffy, Spike, Angel, Drusilla, and two generic henchmen.
The third season has been somewhat odd, in that Buffy appears to have received a "budget" and is using many more extras. Both of the first two episodes involved masses of people and bad guys.
Both myself and the Renaissance Poet have seen episodes from later seasons and have been fairly unimpressed, but we both remember season 3 fairly fondly. So it's likely that we'll stop, or at least take a hiatus from slaying, after season 3.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Again? Him?
I'm on Civilization again. Given that I've talked the hell out of Civilization, particularly the "Historiography of Civilization" series that I wrote and published initially on this blog, I'm not sure what more I can say, especially as technical limitations are preventing me from really getting into it. Also, the civfanatics.com forums tend to be the liveliest places for Civilization-related discussions. I suppose that that means you can say a lot about the importance of a vibrant modding community.
Meanwhile, I'm having far more interesting thoughts and discussions about television, and so to truly be "renaissance," Renaissance Gamer may become about more than simply games.
Meanwhile, I'm having far more interesting thoughts and discussions about television, and so to truly be "renaissance," Renaissance Gamer may become about more than simply games.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Ogre Battle
I've moved on from Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, to another game I've never finished. Course, I finished FFTA twice, so perhaps this'll do the trick.
Ogre Battle is an interesting, well-respected JRPG (or very close to). In describing it, virtually everything short of what the player actually repeatedly does is almost identical to any other tactics-style game. Small groups of mostly personalityless troops are sent on a series of engagements in order to stop some evil fantasy bad guys. The most important part of the game is the customization of the individual units, and using them in proper conjunction with each other. Mostly, this is done by picking which classes and formations the units are in.
The major difference is that Ogre Battle is real-time, and affords very little control over the troops during combat - you macro-manage. In a tactics game, you micromanage every little move the troops make. Both of these things end up making the games highly repetetive, which is more than slightly ironic, given that the gameplay is nominally totally different.
Ogre Battle is an interesting, well-respected JRPG (or very close to). In describing it, virtually everything short of what the player actually repeatedly does is almost identical to any other tactics-style game. Small groups of mostly personalityless troops are sent on a series of engagements in order to stop some evil fantasy bad guys. The most important part of the game is the customization of the individual units, and using them in proper conjunction with each other. Mostly, this is done by picking which classes and formations the units are in.
The major difference is that Ogre Battle is real-time, and affords very little control over the troops during combat - you macro-manage. In a tactics game, you micromanage every little move the troops make. Both of these things end up making the games highly repetetive, which is more than slightly ironic, given that the gameplay is nominally totally different.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, part 2
Fascinating addendum to my FFTA completion/beating post: I finished the storyline of the game yesterday, and discovered that the game continued after that. In fact, there were significant parts of the game available afterwards, as I discovered in some Gamefaqs research, leading to an alternate/second ending.
My mental response to this was to think that I hadn't played the game well enough. First, I was having trouble making any kind of progress on the side quests, which have a certain order and logic to them. Second, I didn't like my character selection very much. Alchemists were bleh, I wanted a Mog Knight, Sniper, and Elementalist, etc. So even though I had finished the storyline, I felt that I was not able to complete the game, and thus I felt compelled to start over.
This was an interesting compulsion. First I complain about my inability to finish these kinds of games, then I do so, and feel the need to do it again? Second, what if my current party was already pretty good, and starting over was a waste of time? Well, that required research - which I did, into character stat growth, item finding, etc. Finally, why should I start again when acquiring Final Fantasy Tactics A2 - likely a superior version of the same - was a possibility? I remember how I got so excited about the new version of Sid Meier's Pirates! that I played the old one to get myself ready...and then got quickly bored of the new one when it did come.
Then I thought "so what? I feel like doing extra research and starting a new game. Why the hell not?" So I did. This is a rare reaction to me finishing a game
My mental response to this was to think that I hadn't played the game well enough. First, I was having trouble making any kind of progress on the side quests, which have a certain order and logic to them. Second, I didn't like my character selection very much. Alchemists were bleh, I wanted a Mog Knight, Sniper, and Elementalist, etc. So even though I had finished the storyline, I felt that I was not able to complete the game, and thus I felt compelled to start over.
This was an interesting compulsion. First I complain about my inability to finish these kinds of games, then I do so, and feel the need to do it again? Second, what if my current party was already pretty good, and starting over was a waste of time? Well, that required research - which I did, into character stat growth, item finding, etc. Finally, why should I start again when acquiring Final Fantasy Tactics A2 - likely a superior version of the same - was a possibility? I remember how I got so excited about the new version of Sid Meier's Pirates! that I played the old one to get myself ready...and then got quickly bored of the new one when it did come.
Then I thought "so what? I feel like doing extra research and starting a new game. Why the hell not?" So I did. This is a rare reaction to me finishing a game
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Final Fantasy Tactics Advance
I'm playing Final Fantasy Tactics Advance for the third time. I never finished it the first two times, and thinking on it a little bit further, I'm realizing that I very rarely finish "tactics" games that don't have "Shining Force" or "Dynasty" in the title, much as I love them at times. This includes console games like Final Fantasy Tactics (and Advance, I've yet to play A2), Disgaea, and Suikoden Tactics, but also PC tactics games like Fallout Tactics or the transcendent Jagged Alliance 2.
This week's Escapist includes an article about how rare finishing games can be. I think the author raises several valid points, but I'm particularly interested in how I personally fail to complete games of a genre that I enjoy so thoroughly. Tactics games usually aren't bad, and some of these are outright classics. The problem, I think, lies in the form the games usually take, particularly in how they dole out challenges to the player.
Most linear games offer a straightforward progression to the player: as they progress through the story, new strengths/abilities become available. The new enemies they face are stronger than the previous ones, requiring the use of the new strengths/abilities. This can be going up a level, getting a bigger gun, gaining conversational options, or learning a new magic spell. The new strengths/abilities act as both a reward for previous progression as well as a necessity for further progression.
Tactics games are generally more complex in terms of developing characters' strengths/abilities, and less linear than most games in terms of storyline. The progression of the characters is therefore detached from the progression of the game's storyline. It is entirely possible, in Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, to build up a party of characters who will be virtually unbeatable. It's also possible to attempt to do simply the storyline of the game, and in so doing, have a terribly difficult time. The game can adapt its difficulty somewhat, but not overly much. Making the game more or less of a challenge obviously can prevent the player from being entertained.
But it's the detachment of the reward of new abilities that, I think, makes these games feel unsatisfying to me. The storyline is generally pretty perfunctory in tactics games, with the gameplay and character development being the main point. The character development (it a statistical fashion, not in terms of writing) becomes so important, in fact, that having a good collection of characters becomes the main point of the game. That is, figuring out how to use, or abuse, the game system in order to be more powerful than the game intends is the bigger reward. "Beating the game" really means "beating" in this case. Alternately, in the case of a game like Disgaea, making the most powerful characters and unlocking all the coolest stuff seems so imposing that everything else in the game becomes less fun - I've attempted that one twice and never gotten further than the fifth set of levels.
This is why Shining Force and Dynasty Tactics work well for me. Both are limited in their complexity: Shining Force by being rather simple, linear, JRPGs, and Dynasty Tactics by having strict turn limits, preventing excessive character-building. They're easier to complete, but I'm not sure that makes them better games.
This week's Escapist includes an article about how rare finishing games can be. I think the author raises several valid points, but I'm particularly interested in how I personally fail to complete games of a genre that I enjoy so thoroughly. Tactics games usually aren't bad, and some of these are outright classics. The problem, I think, lies in the form the games usually take, particularly in how they dole out challenges to the player.
Most linear games offer a straightforward progression to the player: as they progress through the story, new strengths/abilities become available. The new enemies they face are stronger than the previous ones, requiring the use of the new strengths/abilities. This can be going up a level, getting a bigger gun, gaining conversational options, or learning a new magic spell. The new strengths/abilities act as both a reward for previous progression as well as a necessity for further progression.
Tactics games are generally more complex in terms of developing characters' strengths/abilities, and less linear than most games in terms of storyline. The progression of the characters is therefore detached from the progression of the game's storyline. It is entirely possible, in Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, to build up a party of characters who will be virtually unbeatable. It's also possible to attempt to do simply the storyline of the game, and in so doing, have a terribly difficult time. The game can adapt its difficulty somewhat, but not overly much. Making the game more or less of a challenge obviously can prevent the player from being entertained.
But it's the detachment of the reward of new abilities that, I think, makes these games feel unsatisfying to me. The storyline is generally pretty perfunctory in tactics games, with the gameplay and character development being the main point. The character development (it a statistical fashion, not in terms of writing) becomes so important, in fact, that having a good collection of characters becomes the main point of the game. That is, figuring out how to use, or abuse, the game system in order to be more powerful than the game intends is the bigger reward. "Beating the game" really means "beating" in this case. Alternately, in the case of a game like Disgaea, making the most powerful characters and unlocking all the coolest stuff seems so imposing that everything else in the game becomes less fun - I've attempted that one twice and never gotten further than the fifth set of levels.
This is why Shining Force and Dynasty Tactics work well for me. Both are limited in their complexity: Shining Force by being rather simple, linear, JRPGs, and Dynasty Tactics by having strict turn limits, preventing excessive character-building. They're easier to complete, but I'm not sure that makes them better games.
Another Renaissance
I'm using a Phoenix Down on this blog. I've been intending to write more about games, and figured I may as well use an already-existing blog.
I'd like to use this as a mental exercise to find what's interesting about whatever I happen to be playing right then. Every game should have something fascinating or noteworthy about it. If not, I shouldn't be playing it.
I'd like to use this as a mental exercise to find what's interesting about whatever I happen to be playing right then. Every game should have something fascinating or noteworthy about it. If not, I shouldn't be playing it.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Retrofuturism
Imagine what Nintendo could do. They own two of the most beloved franchises in gaming: Zelda and Metroid. Every few years, they release a new version of these games, and they’re great games – they’re just essentially the same as the previous versions. You know, when you’re playing a Zelda game, that you’re going to get a boomerang, just as you know when you’re playing a Metroid game that there is a morph ball in your future. Yet, still, glimpses of potential can be seen in recent versions of these games.
The reason that Zelda and Metroid have this potential, and a new game doesn’t, is that they are franchises, and franchises have automatic advantages over other games in their presentation. They have instant setting. Much less exposition is required in a Star Wars game than a non-franchise game, because the gamer knows that they’re fighting against an evil empire using lasers. The sounds, music, and graphics are constant reminders of this, while another game would be forced to create that feeling on its own. Zelda and Metroid have this.
Nintendo has dramatically changed other franchises, most notably, its flagship Mario games. The original single-screen games that the famous Italian plumber first appeared in was replaced by fast-paced, scrolling games, which in turn were replaced by slower, secret-hunting adventure-style games. Along the way, Nintendo decided to make other styles of games using the franchise: Dr. Mario, Mario Kart, Mario Party, and most importantly, Mario RPG and its successors, Paper Mario and Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga. These role-playing games which used the trappings of the previous Mario games were tremendous successes, because they added to the franchise without dramatically changing it, and they used the conventions of the Mario games in a different form to achieve different styles of fun.
I’m not suggesting that Metroid Power Tennis appear in your local game shop anytime soon. But I am saying that maybe it’s time for Metroid to be something other than simply exploring a planet with ice and fire caves for power-ups. Maybe it’s time for Metroid to use another form a storytelling, say, one that includes other characters. Imagine Samus exploring a space station that has people in it, offering obstacles and aid. The same exploration style of gameplay which works so successfully could be enhanced with improved storyline. The most recent major Zelda game, The Wind Waker, offers a glimpse of the improvements which could be made. By far, my favorite part of the game takes place early on, when Link arrives on an island looking for a quest, to find the island destroyed, and a curse placed on the entire game world, drenching it in a rainstorm in the middle of the night. The player must return to town and sneak around, attempting to the magical items discovered so far in order to discover what other people are doing. The combination of manipulation of the game world with adventure and character interaction forms a terrific gaming experience, which the rest of the game, while quite good, does not possess. If things like this were done consistently throughout the game, the results could be astonishing.
I should note that I have not played Metroid Prime: Echoes. For all I know, it's a role-playing game set in a metropolis with an innovative conversation system. I doubt it, but who knows? Maybe Nintendo is one step ahead of me.
The reason that Zelda and Metroid have this potential, and a new game doesn’t, is that they are franchises, and franchises have automatic advantages over other games in their presentation. They have instant setting. Much less exposition is required in a Star Wars game than a non-franchise game, because the gamer knows that they’re fighting against an evil empire using lasers. The sounds, music, and graphics are constant reminders of this, while another game would be forced to create that feeling on its own. Zelda and Metroid have this.
Nintendo has dramatically changed other franchises, most notably, its flagship Mario games. The original single-screen games that the famous Italian plumber first appeared in was replaced by fast-paced, scrolling games, which in turn were replaced by slower, secret-hunting adventure-style games. Along the way, Nintendo decided to make other styles of games using the franchise: Dr. Mario, Mario Kart, Mario Party, and most importantly, Mario RPG and its successors, Paper Mario and Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga. These role-playing games which used the trappings of the previous Mario games were tremendous successes, because they added to the franchise without dramatically changing it, and they used the conventions of the Mario games in a different form to achieve different styles of fun.
I’m not suggesting that Metroid Power Tennis appear in your local game shop anytime soon. But I am saying that maybe it’s time for Metroid to be something other than simply exploring a planet with ice and fire caves for power-ups. Maybe it’s time for Metroid to use another form a storytelling, say, one that includes other characters. Imagine Samus exploring a space station that has people in it, offering obstacles and aid. The same exploration style of gameplay which works so successfully could be enhanced with improved storyline. The most recent major Zelda game, The Wind Waker, offers a glimpse of the improvements which could be made. By far, my favorite part of the game takes place early on, when Link arrives on an island looking for a quest, to find the island destroyed, and a curse placed on the entire game world, drenching it in a rainstorm in the middle of the night. The player must return to town and sneak around, attempting to the magical items discovered so far in order to discover what other people are doing. The combination of manipulation of the game world with adventure and character interaction forms a terrific gaming experience, which the rest of the game, while quite good, does not possess. If things like this were done consistently throughout the game, the results could be astonishing.
I should note that I have not played Metroid Prime: Echoes. For all I know, it's a role-playing game set in a metropolis with an innovative conversation system. I doubt it, but who knows? Maybe Nintendo is one step ahead of me.
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