Narcissism Central

playing and dreaming Uncharted 3

2014-07-16T14:40:00.001-07:00

There’s an irony in the continual assertion of ‘immersive’ qualities in Uncharted. While it has the detail and animation to seem consistently ‘real world’, the world which Naughty have constructed is a childhood fantasy, dream realms for which their characters – human seeming but really sculpted from perfection, can fill with their ego and exploits. It’s jarring, much in the same way the often spoken upon ludo-narrative dissonance (that is the protagonist being a humanized everyman that ruthlessly butchers hundreds of third world mercenaries) and while the mechanics of the world are essentially fantasy, it wears the thin veil of the real world. Because what is the world we’re really in right now? The characters are all written to fit in a generic simulacrum of modern time people and so in that regard Nathan Drake, the protagonist, is a simulacrum of modern traits (smartarse, American) but he comes from nowhere specifically. We learn, in flashbacks to his childhood, that Nathan Drake is a fake name. Even as a child he is in the process of inventing himself, making the name and stealing Sir Francis Drake’s ring, so to frame himself as a descendant of greatness. This is exactly the same process the developers are going through, creating a hero bigger than any one person, real or fictitious. We learn that Drake was raised in a catholic orphanage, where he learned Latin. This too sounds like an invention – a character mockingly calls it ‘Dickensian’. It is, and like everything about the game and its characters taking place against a wan, facelessly modern background. Rootless and baseless, just like the carefully unspecific details behind everyone. It may sound pedantic, particularly in comparison to the games pulp influences – but we knew with Indiana Jones the understated but crucial fact that he was a Harvard professor. Where is Nathan Drake? Why do we gravitate towards him?

The answer is simple but not sufficient. He’s the hero we dream to be. It’s an escapist fantasy. True. But in filmic and novelized examples of similar pulp, we’re at a distance from our subject. And there’s more talking. The action, in which Indiana Jones may end up killing a few bad guys feel incidental and reactionary, briefly portrayed but not lingered over. But things are very different with video games. Firstly, Uncharted is a shooting series. This means there is less time talking than there is shooting, or more precisely, killing. We are also more intimately inhabiting the space of the hero and doing so for much longer. We can perhaps indulge in Drake more easily if he were constrained to a two hour film in which we see everything the filmmaker wants us too – but with games we have a more active role in creating our own perceptions.

Uncharted then operates an awkward space. It wants to be like the controlled frames of a cinematic adventure, but it has to deal with us and our imperfections as players, as well as action game conventions. There is less time for a real world than there is for a pretty world and that leaves us with a game that strides an unsettling place that looks modern enough for us to believe we are human, mortal and real people in the moment –to-moment excitement (Oh no! Drake almost fell to his death again!) but with extended periods of time there is something not quite right, the world around Drake seems a cardboard set in front of which he poses, trying to look cool. Somehow I find it easier to deal with a world in which the fantasy is upfront. In a fantasy like Prince of Persia 08 or Lord of The rings, we can view behaviour and actions within a context that is made clear to us. Even the 2008 reboot of Prince of Persia, which contained the mildly irritating anachronism of ancient Iran being inhabited by two glib Americans was quelled by the games grandiose and magical fantasy world – one that elicited a suspension of disbelief instantly and cleanly. What about Uncharted? If we don’t look too closely, we can believe that we’re in some Nepalese Warzone (as in the second game) but if we do look we might just wonder when and why this is exactly happening. The world and Drake are an everyman in that they end up feeling generic.

Uncharted 3 attempts to address some of these issues, but ends up mostly failing. By this point in the series I did not think I would be taken in by another entry. The more you play, the more the stunning environments feel apart from the game. Tone has also been an issue, after the first game they’ve tried juggling light-pulp with darker drama, and it can sometimes feel clumsy. To date the the game with the cleanest suspension of reality was the first one. Partially because we had not seen many protagonists like Nathan Drake before in video games; slim figured, real sounding, plucky and reacting vulnerably to danger. But also because the game was so contained; its setting was a small abandoned island. Confined to this one area the whole thing felt like an intimate scuffle, the world itself easily identifiable by pulp adventure tropes. We were the hero because we needed to be, there were pirates because pirates are assholes. When the Ancient Gold turned out to be cursed so as to turn people into Zombies it was thrilling – but also funny because it was recognizable amongst the light-hearted landscape of referential pulp. By the end our three heroes sailed off into the sunset with a chest of Gold. Every aspect – pirates, uninhabited islands, lost treasure and rogue- become- hero protagonist fit seamlessly within certain Narrative and cinematic gestures. It was put-on, put perfectly so, like the flagrant cinematic genre fantasies you might find in a Tarantino film.

There are moments like that in later games, a dramatic reservoir-dogs walk across a London street with companions- it makes me think, to what degree do I keep playing these games because I’m taken in by Nathan Drake’ strut?

***

When I was a kid the first favourite game I had was Crash Bandicoot. Also by Naughty Dog, and also with a protagonist strut that fascinated me. I was so wound up in Crash I would mimic his mongaliodal movements, swinging my head from side to side as I threw up my arms. I was so fascinated by him, what the fuck was he? When did he wear jeans? The world of his seemed more like ours and less of the dreampop of Mario and Sonic. There were cryptic, human tribespeople who would kill me for merely trespassing on their land. The geography was of the real world, not floating in psychedelic colours. There were a series of fucked up animal creatures, possibly created by the scientists villains, having escaped and maybe, like Crash does at the start of the first game, washed up on the shores of a nameless island. There was a whole mystery about it and I tried to find every hidden cut scene and piece together a story in my head that would neatly connect the fucked up animal humanoid things to the magical floating mask men.

I realize now that Naughty Dog has always followed trends with genre. In the ps1/n64 they made platformers (Crash Bandicoot) with ps2/xbox it was sandbox action adventures (Jak and Daxter) and with the PS3 it’s all about shooters (and most recently survival shooters with The Last of Us) but they’ve carved out an identity for themselves, most consistently with their animation and environmental design. With Crash Bandicoot, there was all this mystery that was their just to add colour to a forced perspective plat former, but there was also this whole implied ecosystem you could take away from it, as you worked you’re way through a couple of islands as a strange fucked up animal. In a context where the hero is only the hero because he had a funny wolfish grin on his face, hostility between all made sense. It didn’t need a princess and an evil king. Then with the following instalments that element got obscured until it was lost. Naughty Dog had gained success with the character so they kept him and changed everything else, making more varied but less intriguing platformers, with warp rooms and time travelling, there was no longer a centralized setting. What was lost would not return until the character was sold and Crash Twin-sanity was made, years later.

Jak and Daxter and Uncharted follow a similar course. They all start out on a mysterious couple of islands, making a very isolated first game, with touches of atmosphere. Then things ramp up and change. I’m not trying to bore you with the argument that Uncharted is a better game than it’s sequels – it simply isn’t, the second and third game are better shooters and are better paced. There is less atmosphere but the environments are more detailed and there are occasionally a few cool ways of interacting with it. No longer is it entirely look but not touch. But they resonate with less mystery.

I do think there is something lost though and I think that might be why I get so wrapped up in the way the characters move. Naughty Dog want you to love their landscape, you climb all over the damn thing, practically hugging it, but the only constant for us in an often loud, abrasive series is Drake. The series to me ultimately becomes about him and his body, the way it moves and what happens to it. It goes back to the vulnerability that made him so interesting to begin with, but is constantly coming into conflict with being a power fantasy shooter. A power fantasy dressed as a vulnerability fantasy sounds like gaming neurosis and maybe that’s partially why I have such complicated feelings towards an ostensibly simple, mainstream action series.

***

Uncharted 3 wants to be about fear. It’s as if the developers realize they can’t keep making his physical vulnerability compelling, so they decide to wax psychological on it, camp British villainess telling him that he ‘gets off an all this’ so what’s he really scared of? The answer is pretty simple, he’s got parental issues, probably manifesting themselves as abandonment issues, which can only be deepened by the kind of picaresque lifestyle he seems to leads. Also people afraid of being abandoned often abandon others, and isn’t It interesting that in the unspoken space between each game Drake presumably leaves his One-True-Love Elena to get back into a life of bone breaking thievery and unlicensed archaeology. So in a way, though these games always have too many gunfights and the enemies always soak up way too many bullets to maintain mobility and tension, there’s an effort to psychologically develop Drake and bridge the dissonance. There’s even attempts to make him less generic, as I mentioned earlier, and they don’t go all the way or convince except once; a scene which shows Drake to actually be a nerd, much to the contrast of both his friends and the invisible ‘everyman’ (When Sully knows some history Drake is about to tell them, him and Chloe fist-bump) Drake is an obsessive nerd and he fears absence, specifically a parental absence that Sully has filled. Sully being the guy who is almost getting killed most of the time, usually because of Drake. These are some pretty cool developments that promise early on for there to be an evolution in the series, except narratively rather than simply tighter gameplay. It’ doesn’t deliver though because these themes are not expressed in a whole lot of ways besides text. The plot is nonsensical and the only way the developers can seem to find to express fear through mechanics is being chased by giant spiders. Yeah. I’m pretty sure spiders as absent parental metaphor was not the most thought out or intended part of the story.

Their attempts to marry gameplay to narrative theme are entirely in isolated instances. For instance there are a lot of chases in this game, meaning Drake is on the whipping end of a lot of conflict. Some of these chases (like the giant spider one) move with a shaky, constantly moving camera that gives the feeling of a dream. An early one has army men in suits rising up from the small streets of Cartagena, and whether intended or not, it feels a bit surreal. More so they add psychological fuck-buggery to Drake’s endless traumas. So to list a few, he’s fallen on his back from high heights, been punched, shot, tortured, almost drowned, almost frozen to death and more. Now we can add being drugged with hallucinatory chemicals. The conceptually best part of the game (in that it marries the physical and psychological pain together, of being alone and also having your life at risk) is when you wander aimlessly through the desert, lost, dying and losing your mind. It was kind of perfect for me because it wasn’t just a union of the suffering Drake’s endured, but also because all you do is move him along, entirely tethered to his all-too-human stumbling gait. Obviously the whole game can’t be like that, but from all the sequences I’ve played in this series (including the awesome yak-stroking village in the second game) it seemed to represent the heart of the games appeal, at least to me. But the world is as it is and so Drake has to somehow find his way to the bad guys at random, take their guns and kill them all. I knew it was coming, but I guess I almost fooled myself into expecting something more unique. The conceptual glimpse at wandering hopelessly through a desert really seems to suggest it.

And mechanically, these games are fun. They have good, gradually building but eventually balls-out set-pieces and they get you from one to the other with personality. But they’re mechanically at odds with themselves. Movies depend on pacing, and the flawlessness of the hero to win. But we die. We die a lot. It breaks the game down. The perfect, utopian uncharted game would be one where you couldn’t die but where the game reacts and diverts to accompany your failings. Ah well.

At this point I’m probably sounding like a crazy person who has a few issues and an abusive-relationship with these games. And I kind of do, to be honest. They’re not my favourite games by any stretch, but I’ve played Uncharted 2 five times, more than any other game. By the end of this, having gotten Drake through a collapsing ship in a storm and a desert, with the creators showing this hurt so palpably upon his body I’m kind of exhausted. These games are fun and exhausting in equal measure. There’s always a point in these games (and it was in The Last of Us too) where I go into a trance, where I’m not exactly enjoying the game in the same way. I’m under some magical compulsion to get the characters to the end because goddamit, they’re so tired and I’m so tired, I can’t just leave them there in limbo. I’ll be dreaming in the day of their walking animations, climbing, falling. Can’t leave them. So I get them to the end so we can both fucking rest. But I guess it’s like Drake, I think I’m out but I’m pulled back in. The adventure still rings in my ear. I keep coming back.

Uncharted 2: Sleepy Stoner Diary

2013-05-13T09:09:00.001-07:00

So it was about 1: 30 AM and I realized if went to bed now I would probably not bother to get up for school the next time, or at the very least arrive stupidly late. Which normally would not trouble me, however this week is my final in school ever. Ever. Aside from university, but that doesn't count because I can go to lectures in pyjamas or something. So I figured I might as well show up. So I elected to stay awake and annoy my girlfriend by sending her offline facebook account of my nightly misadventures. Which was playing Uncharted 2. It's a bit weird, occasionally lucid and genuinely stoned. So yeah.

To Beth's Facebook

okay so i feel high and I've decided to fuck conventionality and stay up all night and go to school tomorrow. I just had a mug of coffeee and i feel insane and ready go. Think the guitar to European Son and how it keeps going,

if i get the caffine low I'll get another mug

your Facebook account is my witness to this night

1:41am - Brushing my teeth

1:48am - Considering reading but that can make you tired

1:49: Put Uncharted 2: among thieves into my playstation. That's the game i talked to you about ludo narrative dissonance the main character is a likeable smartarse who seems very human and has a slim figure but at the same time he kills thousands upon thousands of third world mercenaries. I've never been able to put my hand on whether or not i think this game is good or great - I've played it four times. perhaps the fifth offers clarity of judgement.

1:52am - The soaring intro music calls back to the old school Indiana Jones adventure serials of the past. ancient treasures and purple monkeys and shit. i know this game beat for beat yet this excited me. I select medium difficulty as I've already played it on the hardest (because I'm a man) and aint got nothin to prove

1:54am Consider stopping this update list because it may be insufferably pretentious and deprive me of my lover but then remember I'm just indulgent enough to keep going with it

1:55am Nathan drake wakes up bleeding on a train in the barren wilderness of nepal (snowy and shit) it then turns out the train is hanging off of a cliff, and in a clever shift of perspective vertigo is instilled into the player and drake falls, clinging to the end of the train. game starts now. fucking hell of an opening, always will be 'oh crap' drake says

1:58 - climbing a train. god i love this

2:00 the snow is so pretty in this game. the art directors are so amazing they deserve concubines made of candy

2:02 drake flashes back to planning a heist with a British dude who just said 'bobs your uncle' he may be British but the writer sure isn't

2:04 'How's your thirteenth century Latin, mate?' is a good line

2:08 'Karma's a bitch' another good line

2:09 - the lovely orchestrations are so much cooler when delivered by ear penetration headphones. I can feel the great jolt of music swell and thrust inside me, eliciting such joy that I almost gasp

2:11 another flashback to drake planning to dick over the British chap with his new exotic girlfriend - who is either British or Australian depending on how the (very good) voice actress feels. they have off screen sex. No one uses a bloody condom in fiction. bastards

2:16 so now we're on a long flashback that extends for several hours. its a heist on a very pretty and very real palace in the also very pretty Istanbul. Nothing like robbing those pesky foreigners! Drake insists that they use tranquillizer pistols. which is hilarious given how many mercenaries he kills. mercenaries who come from poor countries and were probably forced into that line of work to support families. Yay american!

2:35 - 'relax Ghandi they're tranquillizer guns!' he says to drake, the fucking murderer

2:41 all that shit about pacificism and drake just killed his first guy by shoving him of a ledge. trolololol

2:47 oh hohohoh it turns out the English character betrays the american protagonists for no reason other than because he's a dick! didn't see that coming!

I suppose my longing for a homo erotic bond developing between two characters with different cultural backgrounds, one heavily influenced by the other, manifesting itself in sexual power politics between the two, the British man hungering for more of the Americans' goodness yet slightly repulsed by how he feels after a night with him, his individuality overwhelmed and muted for the Americans assertive charm. The american has a natural way of making other his own, yet he understands a lot of who he is is owed to the British and his demure sensibility, reminding the america of himself when he was younger. Sigh. I suppose my cross continent man romance will have to wait. Another game, another story.THIS ENGLISH MAN IS A DICK YAY AMERICAN PROTAGONIST

2:54 Nathan drakes (the american) is rescued from Turkish prison by his old pal and mentor sully from the first game. he brings along the girlfriend, who Nate assumed double crossed him as well. 'No offence sully, but you've never been the best judge of character, ESPECIALLY, when it comes to women'

2:57 so now we're going to Borneo to search for a lost city Marco Polo tried to find. I'm feeling tired. NO IM NOT UGEHIGEHG MAN SHRIEK

2:58 - Nate asks Chloe for a diversion 'give me five minutes in [Russian bad guy name] tent' to which she replies ' Five minutes? that's great I wont even have to get my top off' Oh you smug characters you!

By the way I don't expect you to read any of this/ That would be insanely indulgent. I'm just being eccentric

3:02 'I'm sweating like a hooker in a church' thanks sully

'You bought a hooker to church?' 'Why not?' lolololol

3:04 - and the shooting begins. kill me.

3:05 - When I think about it there is something so sexual about this game. There's a huge emphasis on your characters form. His sleek yet slightly bulging shoulders, and narrow hips. You see him constantly stretching to climb and fling himself over obstacles. The animation and motion capture is as delicate as any I've ever seen. The visual effects make his shirt glisten after going for a swim. You spend hours looking at this dude from behind. Hmm.

3:13 so playing this on medium for the first time in years I am afforded a lot more mobility in fire-fights than I was on harder difficulties. This fits with the pace and style of the game, given the nimble, area traversing characters and their vulnerable seeming bodies. This give the play a consistency of tone and feel. Yet in harder difficulties you're basically held static behind cover until you carefully eliminate baddies. I wish in creating more difficult levels designers would think more about some core experience they would like to preserve rather than artificially making it harder for the sake of it. In this case, as you are weaker and enemies stronger it forces you to become less mobile, whereas harder difficulties should force you to utilize the wonderful geography more, making things more kinetic and chaotic rather than slowed and precise. Nerd.

3:18 I have some pot left over from a few weeks ago when I was hanging out with some friends. Ima take a break from the game and open the window.

3:23 got a mug for an ash tray

3:36 this game is really pretty. Oh gosh there are modes to play this game in black and white and Sepia. and it is fabulous. I feel like the dirtiest of hipsters now, playing this in a classical sepia tint

3:39 Okay so even though sepia gives everything this photographically mythic quality, i am probably not in the best state to be playing it this way. Changing it back to colour. Which is good because i just go this bit where you're in a dark cave and you light this resin on fire, giving you a torch of blue flame. Now we're making our way with the darkness illuminated by blue light, leaking over the walls. All the action , and yet it's always the little moments which are most enchanting.

3:42 so we're walking by tonnes and tonnes of ripped up skeletons from Marco Polos crew and i'm supposed to be shocked like the characters are but i'm not because i play video games and this isa pretty typical sight for me. Digitally speaking

3:45 so now we're going Nepal Yay! the globe-trotting is exciting but I miss the intimacy of the last game; it all took place on one island in which you followed in the footsteps of Sir Francis Drake, who our protagonist claims was his ancestor. The singular setting was its own character and there was something very personal about it all.

3:52 'you go meet your girl in Nepal i'm going somewhere warm' wise words Sullivan, wise words. Also in the same exchange a butch Cassidy reference. yay for good films!

3:53 a character just said 'Throw a little gasoline on the fire' because you love David Bowie

3:56 so I just played a cool bit where the camera comes around to face your front and you run away from a huge armoured car. It's a throwback to the old boulder chases from Crash Bandicoot, except here i'm shooting the boulder as i run. It's nice to see creators i grew up with referencing a mythology around them but for the record, i prefer boulders.

4:06 'Oh is that an ancient Tibetan ritual dagger in your pocket?' 'Or maybe im just happy to see you'

4:08 okay so now we're at one of the best bits in the game. Nate wonders around a Nepoleze Warzone chitchatting with his girlfriend. The casual image of these two thieves needling their way unnoticed as a larger and unrelated conflict goes by is a very smart way of making us feel cool. KOOL

4:10 Of all the incredible geography in the game the ordered chaos of the Neploze war zone has got to be the most visually inventive aside from maybe the lost city which we got too later, which is a stunning flight of fantasy. There's more opportunity for creativety here than in the jungle miasmas we've been in thus far. also I'm such a nerd and strangely coherent ...

4:21 'powers out and the girl is trapped... i swear to god if there's a zombie around the next corner' the game has stunning lighting but its visual language could be better at directing you to where you need to go. Though when considering the vastness of colour and panorama, that i still find my way means it's probably quite good anyway

4:23 Oh god i just jumped onto a Pakistani flag pole! and yesterday was the election there! I was meant to stay up late playing this an annoying you

4:26 I just took cover behind a bathtub in a devastated apartment. For some reason i really liked that i did that.

4:30 so i just got to this cute bit where you get to the top of a hotel and there's a clean swimming pool. It sticks out, and the creators know what happens when they leave that there and we have control. We jump in. So they leave a little dialogue interaction to anticipate this, which gives the game unimaginable warmth. I was just told by Chloe, Nate's girlfriend that I am 'So unproffesional' Damn right, i'm playing video games at 4 am before a day of school.

4:38 I AM GOING TO STAY AWAKE

4:48 - Drake just happens to run into Elena, his journalist ex girlfriend in the middle of our Nepalese war zone. She introduces herself to Chloe as 'last years model' It's a funny, knowing line that puts a finger on how the characters, particularly Drake, look to us and each other. Over- Attractive thrill-seekers and daredevils - immortals who test fate encounter after encounter, drifting from tryst to excitement to tryst. So she's mocking Drake, his tastes and lifestyle, but in a way it's joking at the way we look at this game too. I just wish this thinking penetrated to the characters and their behaviour more, rather than simply being sharp dialogue. The game is full of sharp dialogue, but in the end it seems there are two types of writing (well there isn't i'm pretending there is for the sake of my point) Writing that tries to convince you it's human and writing that truly is human. All the sharp dialogue (delivered with magnificent spontaneity and personality) is very convincing, but man, it doesn't ache.

4:57 they try to, in the third game, make our perception of Drake (and his own self image) a serious part of the narrative, by telling us that he lied about being a descendant of Sir Francis Drake to give himself a sense of greatness. That idea of greatness and perceived greatness is fascinating, especially to us, the player who wish to escape into our vicarious heroes. I just wish that critical attitude was more deeply seated within the series rather than trotted out in a few cut scenes in the final game.

5:23am I dont want to play any more. I'm going to make a Panini

Love you xxx

-

Taha

Artistic forms, the increasing invalidity of writing, and the inextinguishable force of music

2012-03-13T13:40:00.003-07:00

This is not me dissing writing. I love writing. I want to be a writer more than anything else. Writing is the form of which I engage with the world. From a young age, my mind would look at standard spaces in houses and parks, and process them in a photographic, picturesque way. To deal with constant slew of striking images, I often narrated what happened in my head, like writing a mental autobiography. This is true of people I've met, and places I’ve seen. So, in a sense, writing is fundamental to my being. At the same time, I've always had something of an inferiority complex towards other artists, particularly of the purest artistic forms: Music composition and painters/drawers. Writing takes maturity, meditation, and wisdom. 'Writing prodigies' are unheard of. Don't tell me about Christopher Paolini. He's bereft of any ideas other than regurgitated, spunk-stained Tolkien. However People with rare ability in music composition and visual art just 'get it' like a math genius. Provided the composer has skill in a particular instrument, he can quickly pick one up and play out a composition, and prove he is good. I could read a poem I have written, but words are literal, and thus even if I am a good poet, my skill is much more subjective. Music, and to a lesser degree images, are abstract. Some compositions are so stirring words fall at their feet helplessly, only able to describe the bare surface. The same is with a great painting. You might have people like Jackson Pollock who are a little more contentious, but if you look at a Renaissance era master, his talent in aesthetic beauty is self-evident. In other words, Da Vinci may not be one of your favourite painters, but he was indisputable brilliant at painting, as was Mozart at composing.

This bothered me always, because there is an inevitably invalidity to words. Also because i can't draw or read/write/play music (yet!) However, I still think words are rapturously beautiful, and as important in our everyday lives as other art-forms. So my sense of inferiority is, to some degree, flighty and jealous. At the same time I can't help but feel some degree of truth in these thoughts, and as a mantra of mine is absolute honesty will always lead to good. (As in absolute honesty that my life has no meaning and further purpose may at first be devastating, but when addressed is the only way for me, or anyone to achieve true liberty in life) So I as I always do, I read. I read about music and art, and on the philosophy of perception and aesthetics (Emmanuel Kant, Fredrick Nietzsche)

I have a conclusion. Not a conclusion that changes my ambitions. In fact, as I suspected, it made me more comfortable with them. And that is, in philosophical terms, music is the ~~most important form of art. The most enduring~~. Closest to the essence of life. This is of course following the philosophy of Kant, which can be argued with. Kant, and many others, believes that everything we see is a perception unique to every individual. No human sees things as they really are, but as representations of what they really are. This makes sense to me. It explains why beauty is subjective, and why what looks beautiful may not always feel sensuous. Or, in some films and music, images and places are evoked without ever bringing them up. Just look at the absurdist masterpiece ‘Synecdoche, New York’ (Favourite film ever, by the way) So that essentially denotes any visual form. Even photography, as raw as it, will rely on the perception of the photographer when he chooses to take the picture, and the individual who looks at the final image. Simplified: What is green to me is purple to you.

One can denote, and this is in broad, almost irrelevant philosophical terms (as it was before and will be till the day language falls) writing even more than the visual form. Writing, unlike sound or sight, is a human invention. Though I shudder to say it, it’s a…. a tool which we invented for communication. That our dreamy imaginations managed to turn this tool into a dazzlingly nuanced and effusive form of expression is I think a triumph of the human race. But this does not distract from the fact that in all its aesthetic beauty, and emotional range, it’s fundamentally artificial. This doesn’t mean you shouldn't read. Don’t be stupid. Many of the best writers (Samuel Beckett) have been aware of this invalidity, and reflected in in their abrsudist writing. Art forms like surrealism, absurdism, and Dada are all aware of the invalidity of our creations, particularly language, which is why they seek to make art of the meaningless and incomprehensible. It’s part of why Beckett was a great writer, and also part of why Paul Auster (a post-modernist writer, and responsible for one of my favourite novels) can get a bit tiresome when, among his surrealist absurdism, continually writes about writers talking about writing, and metaphysically reflecting on writing. It’s interesting in some cases, but not continually, as it essentially reiterates a sadly inevitable fate.

Why I think Music is different, is because I’m not sure if it’s a representation of anything. It could be argued that music, with their own set of aesthetics is an obscured representation of what actually is, but I’m not convinced, and neither were philosophers like Fredrick Nietzsche. Music does not even attempt to try and represent anything in life. It is not created from observation, but is a sheer force of will. It cuts though both physicality and shallow image right to the centre of your brain; and stimulates all of it. Whereas other forms are merely representations, Music is life, and not one that always needs to be learned. It’s a form that is fundamental to us all, because it’s believed by some psychologists that we all possess some innate knowledge of our humanity. This is complicit with the objectivity with musical geniuses. Whether you like Beethoven or Chopin more, Mozart was undeniably a genius. He wasn’t so much writing compositions as channelling something he had since infancy, or as Peter Schaffer described ‘taking dictation from God’

“…Inextinguishable suggests something that only music itself can express fully: the elementary will of life. Only music can give an abstract expression of life, in contrast to the other arts which must construct models and symbolise. Music solves the problem only by remaining itself; for music is life whereas the other arts only depict life. Life is unquenchable and inextinguishable; yesterday, today and tomorrow, life was, is, and will be in struggle, conflict, procreation and destruction; and everything returns. Music is life, and as such, inextinguishable.”

-- Carl Nielsen (Composer)

Thought Nugget: Porn and Erotica

2012-02-06T12:20:00.000-08:00

I think what bothers me about porn is that how faceless and clumsy it is. I dont think the concept of erotic fiction is flawed, though. How is blood and violence accepted entertainment, but not sex? Sex is natural, violence is not, and is far more a 'perversion' of our natural instincts than sex. But they both should be depicted because they both are in life.Honest, erudite,cutting and unpretentious storytellers would understand that all sorts of impulses fuel life, including sexual ones. I think the perverted, sadistic torture/rape can be born, not from sexual freedom, but from someone's who's erotic impulses and desires are repressed so much they manifest themselves in ugly, violent ways. The problem with most porn is more to do with simple untactful silliness, with their puerile noises, and how they seem to always be in elaborate positions that serve no other purpouse other than to give the camera a clear view- its not more pleasurable that way (im assuming) Obviously i dont know for sure, but I dont think anyone would have sex like that unless they were trying too hard (hoho)

Sex and erotic freedom is a mature matter that deserves to be catered to with respect and artistry. This is not so with ubiquitous internet porn, which would rather try and cater to angsty thirteen year old boys.

- Taha

So....2011

2012-01-06T09:58:00.000-08:00

I know there are things I’ve missed. This is meant to be more of a stream of consciousness more than anything. Just trying to get end year thoughts out of my system. Skim-reading recommended.

As always, it seems to be the fashion of bloggers and journalists to reflect on the last year’s lot of pop culture. I suppose we delude ourselves into thinking an entire year of art, some mind-blowing, some mind-numbing, can be defined in a few hundred words. Yet, here I am, dutifully trying to make sense of 365 (366?) days of art. Why? Probably because stringing together single statements on the/my highlights of the year with segues is easier than designating them out for a detailed analysis. So for what little it’s worth, here’s my lazy reflection on a year in passing, for Games, Films and Comics. *Yawn*

Firstly, this year was an all-rounder of greatness, and a definite improvement over 2010. However, to get the most of it, it really did take a look in the cracks and crannies that people often ignore. If you got your hands a little dirty (AKA searched around on the internet a little more) then you would’ve been vastly rewarded, so much so that I pity those who routinely lapped up the mainstream stuff. Not that this year was lacking in mainstream quality. In films, there was perfectly fine blockbuster action with stuff like ‘Captain America’ or Steven Spielberg’s ‘War Horse. But that’s really all it was, ‘perfectly fine’ I felt the same way about War Horse in the theatre; an impressive piece of old-fashioned spectacle, but nothing more, with exploitable characters and emotions that tread well-worn formulas. More notably, we had Martin Scorsese’s ‘Hugo’ which I loved. However it’s devoid of pacing, and advances with groggy slowness, and is completely devoted to a Scorsese finding an outlet for his awe-struck love of movies, particularly those of George Melies. Its disregard for convention and personally fuelled existence makes me suspect it’s going to take a while to catch on, and will probably mean more to movie-buffs than to the children it was marketed to. Besides that, there was the mega event of the final ‘Harry Potter’ which was good but rushed, and Pixar’s very first failure in the form of ‘Cars 2’ which is filled with so much love and puns on classic spy films that I’d much rather watch a classic spy film. Speaking of spies, atmospheric director ‘Tomas Alfredson’ (Let the right one in) filmed an adaption of John Le Carre’s famous spy novel ‘Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’ – a deconstruction of the James Bond myth, with a chillingly terse tone, and spies who’s faces bear the sadness of W.H Auden. Probably one of the best things to come out of this year.

However, if you looked in the cracks, you would’ve’ also found ‘Drive’ an arty act of virtuoso movie-making, dripping with the paint of 80s pulp movies and sexy Muscle Cars. It’s slow, showing its violence in devastating sporadic bursts, and adds more quiet intrigue to its characters than it does simple words or stock-roles. There was also ‘Take Shelter’ and ‘The Future’ which both shared a speculative dread for what is to come, whether it stagnation, or a disaster that ruins everything as it is now. They both feel like what would happen when people come to a comfortable, copasetic time in life. The Future in particular, is awkwardly uncomfortable and scary in how its upper-middle class characters begin to hurt themselves and each other. It’s so disconcertingly affecting in this way that I’m not sure I even like it. But it’s thought-provoking and irksome in a way that’s admirably powerful and brave.

Unfortunately we didn’t get too many games that seemed to contain an auteur driven expression of soaring, earth shaking audacity like what we would see in this year’s ‘Tree of Life’ (Which I have not seen) I would say ‘El: Shaddai: Ascension to Metaron’ which combines Religious philosophy with flashy stupor-inducing techno-visuals comes close. Unfortunately, I can’t get fully behind it because I haven’t finished it yet. The combat system has a smooth balletic quality, allowing you to spin a yarn of moves with simple controls rather than overwrought combos. Unfortunately its combat is over-exhausted with a game that feels padded, especially at boss fights. So for now, I’m going to have to say it takes a sidestep just before it reaches brilliance.(As far as soaring ambition goes, there’s also XenoBlade, a game that appears as the next evolution of JRPGS, but I haven’t got to play it yet) Other ambitious (and also big-name events) for gaming this year included the expansive Fantasy epics ‘Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim’ and ‘The Witcher 2’ They’re well-worth the time, but The Witcher is still a sequel to a 2007 game, and Skyrim does what the creators have strived to do since the first Elder Scrolls game. Still, The Witcher 2 is a strong push in the right direction for RPGs. Its choices are presented naturally through the narrative, as opposed to big ‘point of no return’ forks in the road, and the conflict is not lazily thrown onto some evil coming over the hill, but all through the politics and relationships of its startlingly human characters. And the feeling I have when I want to play Skyrim is the same as when I want to take a walk in the park. It doesn’t exactly work as a game, but it sure as hell does as a place. A place to be, to wander, and to witness, all for the sake of its natural beauty.

Most impressive to me though, was, again, easily missed small-hits. Probably indie title ‘Bastion’ was the best, a tragedy both elegiac and inspiring, wrapped in the tightly fitting clothes of an old-school Zelda-like adventure. Back a second- Those tightly-fitting clothes are so remarkably crafted that Bastion really draws attention to the uneconomical, overstuffed mess of mainstream games. It seems it’s now in fashion to be bigger, even when it’s not better. Most guilty of this are Uncharted 3 and Assassin’s Creed: Revelations. With Uncharted, developers Naughty Dog show how little they seem to understand their own games. It was not the shooting, or overwrought explosive set-pieces that made the original game so captivating, or the second games so obsessively playable. But it to them it is, with manufactured Hollywood inspired explosion after explosion, gun shot after gun shot, and faceless hoards of baddies for the hero to kill. Uncharted used to be a fun as an interactive tribute to old pulp cinema; the kind filled with lost islands, cocksure heroes, and silly villains. With the third game, it’s become more of a tribute to the by-the-numbers system of Hollywood, spewing out manipulative action ‘comedies’ with plot holes that have swallowed up most of the actual plot. Uncharted 3’s script has so many traits people would recognize as a sign of bad writing. Most people would also only need one of them to make up their mind. And don’t get me started on how it depicts London.

Revelations on the other hand, is more tragic because Assassin’s Creed was to this point one of the best things I could hope to play. Unrivalled in cultural and historical artistry, the panache of its animation, and flavour of all its vast characters. The story is best dismissed, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget Ezio’s smarminess. The first game was ascension of new generation tech, and also the erudite lengths creators in our medium could go. Number 2 (the peak of the series) painted on beauty in the form of Renaissance Italy, and a washed-out visual style that made the game like a moving water-colour masterpiece. The third (Brotherhood) added a multiplayer about brains and observation, drawing attention to the infinitesimal subtleties of its animation and A.I behaviour. What’s Revelations gift to the prosperous series? Grenades. Grenades?! Yes grenades. And grenade crafting. Riveting. So now, instead of taking a carefully calculated plan of navigating architecture to get behind the enemies, you can just blow them up from afar. Revelations adds nothing but clunky artifice that resembles the cooperate Coca-Cola gaming of Call of duty, betraying the serene and innovative beauty of the earlier games. The artifice is also present in Assassin’s Creed’s increasingly bloated and arbitrary monetary system, and this what games like Bastion work as a counter to. Also a counter: Rayman Origins, an onomatopoeic cartoon platformer that has the rare quality of evoking Dr. Seuss or The Beatles more than it does Mario or Megaman.

Oh, and we shouldn’t forget the early year joys of LittleBigPlanet 2 and Portal 2. Did you like these 2’s too? While I haven’t played LBP2 as much LBP1, I do believe it’s objectively better. It’s more of a game-sized expansion than a completely different game, with all of the previous title still there. It also manages to find a way to extend its tools to fill in the gaps our imaginations were previously needed for, but without cutting away the first games innocuous toybox charm. To accompany this is a first-rate single player, with kooky levels and kookier characters. Each world itself is basically an indulgence of a characters personality, and they’re all so detailed and lathered that they could each serve the setting for an entire game. And I hope I never forget Larry Da Vinci, who is exactly as he sounds; an amalgam of the erudite wise guru and a modern unpretentious hipster. That’s LittleBigPlanet in a nutshell. The finest of old-school platforming dressed in affably modern hipster clothes.

Portal 2 on the other hand, was not as well- paced as the first, nor as chilling, dignified, and sublime. Indeed, Valve’s passionately bubbling tribute to science and its affecting capabilities, is flawed in some areas. But then, look at what I just wrote. That’s enough to be great. And I know I will never forget Stephen Merchant as Wheatley, a moronic mouthy robot whose purpose and aim as a character runs in circles like an on/off switch. He is a robot, after all. But whatever status he is, he’s always the same endearing mouthy moron, filled with more of a personality than most organic video game characters.

Things I haven’t got around to: Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Batman Arkham City, Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, Golden Sun, and probably others that have slipped my mind.

Comics seem to be following a similar pattern. There was still high-quality joy in the mainstream; Scott Snyder and Jock’s ‘Batman: The Black Mirror’ used Gotham City as a mirror for the new Batman (Dick Grayson) which his perfectly suited to the reflexive impressionist swipes of Jock. There was also Mark Waid’s lark reinvigoration of Daredevil. Both were great, but they’re not mainstream as can be, Daredevil being a bit of a niche character by Marvel standards, and Scott Snyder being something of a newcomer on the mainstream superhero scenes. The year also seemed to lack big work from the biggest names, like Geoff Johns, Grant Morrison (who are both part of DC’S new reboot, but that’s still in a warming up phase) or Alan Moore. If we were to expand our horizons, then we would see Craig Thompsons sumptuous ‘Habibi ‘an exploration of Arabic culture and myth. It engages both sides in this, the low-brow exploitation side and the high-brow artistry. Fiction that captures both ends of our mind; aesthetic desires and intellectual meditation is to me, the most honest kind of fiction. Also: American Vampire (Scott Snyder) and Criminal: The Last of the Innocent (Ed Brubaker), both of which I missed.

Let’s backtrack to DC’s big reboot. It was okay, on the whole. There’s enough good to justify it, though admittedly superhero comics are so self-indulgently stagnant that a reboot on this level would be justified anyway. Something I noticed however, was the best of it was art driven. The writing is fair, but it’s more of a crutch to the art (like what J.H Williams is doing with the Ghostly ‘Batwoman’ or how Francis Manapul uses his panels to depicts the infinitesimal vibrations and movements of its hero in The Flash) The rare moments where it doesn’t: Jeff Lemire’s Animal Man, Scotty Snyder’s Batman, and Grant Morrison’s Action Comics. These contain a half-way meeting point between writing and art, and it’s part of why they’re so good. It’s also interesting to notice that the comics where the art is a crutch to the writing (Geoff Johns’ Justice League) is usually much less readable than the art being the main force. Perhaps this tells us something about the nature of the medium. Geoff Johns in particular is a writer who prefers a Hollywood screenplay style of writing, with back and forth, naturalistic conversation building a world rather than a quickly progressing plot. This is all good and well if you take in the entire story in one well-paced burst, but these are comics. Reading this style of comic writing is like getting a ten minute slice of a Hollywood blockbuster every month. Probably better to read it when it’s released a collected trade, or ‘Graphic Novel’

One comic of the new DC reboot I haven’t made my mind up on, is Wonder Woman. Again, it’s among the best, but more for art than writing. It’s a joy to see Cliff Chiang reimagine the Greek pantheon in a slick 21^st century ink. And writer Brian Azzarelo is good in staging his battle sequences (or should we be thanking the artist?) His script is an attempt to subvert the Greeks Gods, which is an idea I love, as I’ve done it myself, But so far, he hasn’t done anything more subversive than a stage play I handed in for my eleventh year of British schooling, which is kind of strange. Cause, yknow, he’s an adult with a lifetime of experience, and I’m not. And he’s being paid, and I’m not. His renditions of the Gods definitely sting with decadence, but they also hold enough glamourized reverence that they remain the same power fantasies they were before any subversion. Personally, I would’ve made a satirical mockery of them, not showing Ares as slick, but rather a drunken fool getting into bar-fights (off the top of my head) Then, I would build up the story and characters in a way that eventually reflected the power and essence of the old Greek myths. That would be the final point; somehow we got from a drunk abusing his god powers in silly bar fights, or a king that sleeps around a lot, to a massive-earth shattering scale of Gods. The myths may seem big to us, but they were born in stupors and intimate flesh. To make a mockery also, is I think the kind of jolt the Greek Gods need, especially with how much they’re blandly re-written with a ‘modern day’ concept. Just as long as the satire was actually going somewhere. Still, Wonder Woman is good, and far better than the overbearing tumult the series was before the reboot.

That’s enough I think. *Yawn*

What do we take from this? The often preached argument of keeping a varied pop-culture diet, comes to mind, but I don’t see much point in forcing people to examine the indie and arty when they don’t want to. Instead, I would advise you go with what the wind brings you, rather than what the billboards tell you.

- A rather ashamed Taha

Rayman Origins

2012-01-04T11:01:00.000-08:00

Rayman Origins is a great game because I can’t fully explain why. Something about its supple, roly-poly level-design just clicks. Its endless sea of preposterously desultory worlds and constructs disarm my critical mind of ‘Designers do this so we know to do this which equals this effect’ but instead transports me to a nostalgic time where I played adventure platform games like Crash Bandicoot or Rayman 2, for no other reason than to see what I would do next. Every couple of levels, I wonder ‘what are the default floating platform/swinging vine/enemy going to look like in this area?’ Well, it certainly won’t be easily recognizable as a ‘default’ anything. Its imagination is too far-reaching for that.

And yet, this insurmountable visual ebullience is never overwhelming. There’s brevity to Origins’ hand-drawn images, one that works to support its design. Somehow, amidst the flagrant colours, I’ve naturally found a way to play this game. This is what I can’t fully explain. I seem to have picked up the instincts to know how to operate each level with grace, and when I fail, each time I’m convinced it is my own fault, and usually even smile at myself for failing, eager to get another shot. The same cannot be said of another recent platformer ‘Sonic Generations’ It’s overly lush and complex backgrounds are pretty, but they violently tussle with its level-design. As much as I try, I have not yet learnt how to play Sonic Generations, instinctually or otherwise. It’s Rayman Origins’ marriage of aesthetics and level design that makes it so compulsively playable that I’m filled with the same wild-eyed enthusiasm its title character ‘Rayman’ is. The world is illogical enough to include, a limbless hero, unattainably delectable fairies (who are also a little clumsy), fountains of watermelon juice, and treasure chests that flee when found by Rayman, somehow consciously knowing he’ll bash them open. And yet, it’s all carefully constructed in a way that produces its own internal logic to navigate each world.

Rayman was created by unattainably delectable (but-also-a-little-clumsy) fairies, to be a hero of the melancholy forests that have always served as an identifiable anchor to the largely undefined universe. Yet, as in Rayman 3 the world lies in languid perfection, until Rayman accidently, or sub-consciously, creates the enemy through his own lazy blunder. It’s a funny sentiment, but it could be the driving force of earnest stories (and has) If the world is perfect, then what does the defined hero do? Rayman exists to be a hero of the land, just as the unattainably delectable fairies exist to be unattainably delectable, but also clumsy enough so Rayman gets a chance to save them. So we need villains, and that’s why Rayman has to accidently make them. (He snores too loudly that a next door race of ‘Black lums’ go rogue on peace-deprivation) This funny sentiment has been quickly accelerated by my imagination, but in Origins, it exists as merely as a small funny sentiment in a background of funny sentiments, usually in the form of visual inventiveness and level names (so far I’ve climbed through ‘Jibberish Jungle’ and taken a dive into the ‘sea of serendipity’) With all these aimlessly cute sentiments, The world Rayman inhabits exists to be a happy defiance of logic and reason. But as a defiance of this nature, it’s perfectly wound, from the colours to the design to the sound effects (which are indistinguishably merged with a superb original score) to the weird characters. Both Rayman and his world are just the right combination of cheeky and bliss. Not too cheeky as to be mean-spirited, and not too blissful as to become a sanitized family-friendly dope. To play Rayman Origins is not just to play a virtuoso platformer by masters of the highest class, but to submit yourself to an idea nursery of such nourishing imagination, that it deserves the right to not make sense.

This is one of my favourite games of 2011.

- Taha

Good Critics

2011-12-12T13:35:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention, that with my recent preaching of ‘write personally’ I have forsaken some of my old writings, including the first couple of reviews that were put on this blog. Looking back at them I can see the thinking: I was applying the analytical tools I had acquired through my own thoughts, at through the avid reading of my favourite critics (Mostly of games and Films) I structured it to start with a grabbing and vaguely personal sentiment, and then launch into the rest of the film from there. But it wasn’t enough. For in trying to be like my favourite critics, I ended up mimicking their voices, which is defiant of what makes them so good. Those reviews in question (Example: The King’s Speech review) use a good enough level of language, and they make perfectly fine points. But they aren’t really developing the ‘voice’ that made my favourite critics so great; and still has a plodding stiffly structure rhythm, that is a little reflexive of the un-artful, abominably bored, impersonal checklist form of reviewing that I’ve always loathed (See: IGN, Gametrailers.com, and many, many more)

This led me to reflect as to why exactly I am attracted still to the opinions of critics, and why it’s always a select few, and the problem with my earlier mind set. Let’s start with Film. I tend to read Roger Ebert, The New York Times (Usually A.O Scott or Manohla Dargis) The Chicago Tribune (Usually Michael Phillips) and The Guardian (Usually Peter Bradshaw) Peter Travers (Rolling Stone Magazine) and the late Pauline Kael (Known for creating the term ‘Kiss Kiss, bang bang) Then for Games: Mostly Yahtzee Croshaw, and Tom Chick. For the sake of brevity, I am going to focus on a few of these people, though a lot of what I say will probably apply to all of them.

Let’s look at Yahtzee and Mr. Ebert first. Both have received high amounts of acclaim, and have made for themselves a public name based on their criticism, and have had works published. If you’re really into films, you’ve probably heard of Ebert, and if you’re really into games, then you’ve probably heard of Yahtzee. So revered is Ebert as a critic, that he’s sought out as a pundit on all things; politics, religion etc. And as I mentioned, Yahtzee’s voice has been sought out in the form of a novel. Why do people long for the words of these writers in so many formats? Would they feel similarly enticed if Yahtzee and Mr.Ebert plodded out by-the-numbers academic essay that moved blandly from symbolism-to-character-development-to-history-to-writer-influences-to-motifs-and-summary. Of course they wouldn’t. They would’ve either dismissed this as ‘Something I could write’ or have fallen asleep before they could scroll to the bottom of the page. If you read Ebert, you’ll see his reviews are usually quite short, cutting to what he personally found striking about a film, making some broader points here and there, but usually not some kind of earth shatteringly thorough analysis. Yahtzee similarly, presenting each week an approximately five-minute video, in which he rambles in his famously blase persona, to which each game is ‘Guilty until proven innocent’ Ebert’s writing is also sprinkled with life-encompassing sentiments, humour and witty musings. I think what makes them great is not that they vomit 50,000 words on examining every inch of their art, but rather succinctly choose words that cut to the heart of the work, capture the essence of what it is, so much so that if they’re opinion is negative, you still might be tempted to check the film/game in question out, because they’re descriptions are so evocative, and it sounds like something you might like. There’s an indelible tone of conversation that permeates they’re writing. Reading they’re opinions is not me ‘Wanting to be told what to think’ as it has often been ignorantly dismissed as, but rather me engaging my mind into a conversational tone with the critic. I love the solitary charm of my fiction, but I also love to discuss them. Why? Because they inform life. They change you in small (and sometimes big) ways, and there’s a need to share that with others. So the reason Ebert’s opinions are probably so sought out for all matters, is because he used an intense understanding of film as a subtle ladder to talk about life. Not in a broad philosopher- like way, but in a way that acknowledges the way even the most far-fetched stories interact and relate to our lives. This might sound odd in the case of Video games and Yahtzee, but I have a subtle example.

In his review of ‘Crackdown 2’ (a game in which the player is let loose to muck about in a huge cartoony city) Yahtzee complained that the game wanted to much for you to mess around in the chaotic sandbox, as opposed to the previous game, which tried to push you into a main structured quest. His ultimate sentiment was that messing around when the game wants you to, psychologically defeats the point of it. We messed around because of the maniacal joy of not doing what we’re told. This isn’t just games; this is everything, like the gleeful mentality of child’s play. I’m not old enough to play with a BB gun? Well now I want it more. Or even for teens; there’s a roguish joy to ditching school work to hang out with a girl all day. The girl/in-game messing around is great too, but part of it is initially driven to break out of the ‘system’. I doubt that Yahtzee was thinking all that when he wrote the review, but then in natural, stimulating conversation, we are often unaware of the sweeping magnitude of some statements.

As for the matter of ‘cutting to the core’ or capturing the essence of a work of art, I think a good example of it would be Peter Bradshaw’s review of ‘The Illusionist’ a quietly mesmerizing French film about a travelling stage magician, who at one points becomes the accidental father-figure of a young girl, who is so mystified by his gentle, oddball charm, that she follows him around various cities, as he clings to his dying craft. Like many films about the life of an introverted maverick, it challenged my analytical standards. I loved it for doing that, but I still had to turn to some critics for an interpretation to satisfy my scrutinizing mind. Bradshaw sums up the quietly mesmerizing film in a quietly beautiful way:

‘Admittedly, one has to adjust to the gentle, undemanding pace of this movie, which does not force its insights and meanings but allows them to meander into view, a pace which suddenly jolts into a higher gear when Chomet and Tati show us how The Illusionist loses his faith in his vocation. There is something shocking in the way he deliberately, angrily sabotages a trick with short and long pencils, thus upsetting and bewildering a little boy. But the real magic, the magic he has created, is happening behind his back, and under our noses. The Illusionist is an intricate jewel’

The ‘real magic’ Bradshaw is referring to, is the experience and maturity the benign magician has granted the young girl who followed him, who during the moments he loses hope In his trade, has found mutual love with a young man. That was the magic, but Bradshaw implies it like a poet, and that understatement, is what makes his point powerful and heartfelt.

So, in synergy with the conversational tone, there is an artful writer, who can move us in way that can occasionally approach the magic of the very art it is they write about. They are artful, because they ‘cut to the essence of the piece’ which I think means they are good writers because they are able to relate complex ideas in simple terms, or, if we are to abide by these rules, make the complex seem simple.

A great example of that is Tom Chick’s review of Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, a sprawling mess of a fantasy epic, with a bevy of endless quests, lore, combat possibilities, and enchanting world interaction. Not to mention the glitches, and amorphously intestinal levelling structure. Yet in the mess of the beauty and glitchy carnage, Tom Chick grounds the game in a perfectly definitive statement, and makes simple, creative sense of it all:

‘This is Skyrim at its best. When you accept it on its own flawed and often brittle terms. When you look past the FedEx delivery quests, almost all of which come down to going someplace to get a doo-dad. When you let the lore and dialogue and scripting carry you along. When you embrace what it's trying to do instead of scrutinizing what it actually does. When you just let it happen. This is when Skyrim will reward you most richly. Not when you're trying to win, or beat it, or get to the end, or level up, or earn the achievements. Not when you're playing it like a stat-based RPG, or a single-player MMO, or a challenge. Skyrim is putatively a game. More accurately, it's a narrative loom.’

A ‘narrative loom’! Now that’s a great writer. And having played a little of Skyrim, I now have no desire to write a review of it. I couldn't describe it any better, especially when you read the rest of his perfectly succinct review.

I think, what I have learned from this, is that good criticism is both artful and natural, and isn’t about comparing dick-sizes via how much you can nit-pick. If what made these critics great, is relating how the game/film captures ones imagination, and by extension informs and inspires us, then It makes sense that in future writings, I ought to write a raw emotional/intellectual response to the work of art. That’s what the late Pauline Kael was famous for, and it’s why she was great. But I shouldn’t try to be her, a sophisticated intellectual with a lifetime of experience to draw from. Because I’m not. I’m a sixteen year-old, and have to acknowledge that. So if I like some vapid crap, because it has lots of sex and blood in it, I need to be upfront and honest about it. I think that would develop me more as a writer. A little more ‘youthful’ in my ‘musing’. In that way, I can one day appear to be a fully-formed person purely through my words, just as the best critics do.

- Taha

The Most Striking Films of the Last Decade

2011-12-11T15:02:00.000-08:00

I have to be honest; I don’t really understand how to make lists. I get why it's attractive; Trying to justify what you like the most, and then putting it into a stiff binary order is like another way of defining yourself. This is my list, and there will be none quite like it. It's a timeless representation of what you were like back then. But tastes change, so maybe it isn’t timeless. But my problem is, I just can't see how one can justify the seemingly arbitrary choice of 'This film about a depressed sex addict is all-out better than a film about batman, even though they are not in any way comparable, and engage my mind in completely different ways'. Sometimes I want to watch a film that meditates on sex addiction, sometimes I want to see batman punch a guy. Sure, there are different degrees of liking, but when a work of art reaches great to me, it becomes unquantifiable against the other 'great' works I have. Thus, I decided to list films from the last decade that may not be the 'best' but for my current mind-set, were the most impactful. I don't know who I'm writing this list for. Probably myself.

Synecdoche, New York - Directed by Charlie Kaufman

The Triplets of Belleville - Directed by Sylvan Chomet

Ratatouille - Directed By Brad Bird

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Directed by Michele Gondry

Where the Wild things are -Directed by Spike Jonze

Curious Case of Benjamin Button - Directed by David Fincher

A Serious Man- Directed by the Coen Brothers

The Departed - Directed by Martin Scorsese

Catch Me if You Can - Directed by Steven Spielberg

Public Enemies -Directed by Michael Mann

Moon - Directed by Duncan Jones

The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford - Directed by Andrew Dominik

Sweeney Todd - Directed by Tim Burton

There Will be Blood - Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

The Dark Knight - Directed by Christopher Nolan

Adaptation - Directed by Spike Jonze

Wall-E - Directed by Andrew Stanton

For Future Consultation

- Taha

Rambling off the white page

2011-12-10T09:01:00.000-08:00

I felt like writing some random, raw and naked creative prose, so i sat down and just went where my fingers took me. Thus I call whatever you are about to read 'I don't even know' Why? Because I really don't know what the fuck I did. If I had been accused of having broken into a bank with the help of prostitues, all within the time it took me to write this, then I couldn't say you were wrong. I really don't know what happened. I don't even know.

And so Andrew Smith toppled out of his shabby hipster apartment in Rome, with the same dishevelled twenty-some -thingness of his loosely worn clothes and wavy hair, which was neither here nor there, just like the clothes abandoned around his room, punctuated with stacks of CDs, which blared out his twenty-somethingness taste in British and American rock music. Like a message of his exotic idiosyncrasy carried through hermetic sound-waves. The Italian neighbours did not notice any irregularity. But Andrew, prided on his quixotic heritage took every step with a brazen energy that seemed to think its swagger demanded attention. He was a bloody-bloomin brit, graduated in classics, who proudly walked the streets as if a magical archaeologist of all the unattainable wonders of Rome. A rollicking adventurer into the unknown, who talked to the Italian shop-keepers and tourists with a deliberately placed British inflection, in his otherwise perfect Italian accent. The Italian shop keepers and tourists noticed no irregularity. He made huge strides through crowds of young Italian girls, with a slight British smile, though his homemade pasty-white skin had been tanned since living in Rome for several years. But look at me! He thought. I’m a specimen from the land of tomorrow come to charm and tame the wild dames of this far off universe! The Italian girls noticed no irregularity, other than his peculiar swagger, which seemed to imply his legs had structural difficulty. Or just that his pants were full of crap. Those two things actually were noticeably British.

- Taha

P.S I'm not racist, being a brit myself. I do like other Brits. Most of them. Some of them.

How to Write Good fiction

2011-11-12T18:20:00.000-08:00

Here’s the little secret on how to write good Fiction: there isn’t a secret

The truth is, there is no real way to teach writing. One of the best lectures on the matter was when a writer (Sinclair Lewis) walked on stage and simply told the hotly anticipating audience to ‘Go home and Write’

I am not qualified to give Writing advice, but if I was, it wouldn’t make this list more meaningful, as no one can ever be fully qualified to do this.

There are no rules. There are principles, but they are unique to each writer, and are constantly shifting, from story to story. With all the technical terms and expressions, you’d think there just might be a scientific way to do it. There isn’t. So in offering writing tips, all I can do is search the deepest parts of my mind and soul, and present a naked list of my raw and most importantly personal principles. This is November 2011. I’m saying that because these principles can easily change, and if I eventually grow out of them, I don’t want the spacemen of the future thinking that the elitist idiot 16-year old hubristic me represents the dashingly charming 26 year old me. Just Saying.

1) Write not just because you want to write, but because you have to write. There are so many ways to express yourself, why choose writing fiction, something that is often a cryptic and layered affair? Because it allows you to express the otherwise inexpressible; your most personal, compulsive emotions and thoughts. This brings me to my next point…

2) Smooth Segway strike 1! Usually write personally.

Unless you have a really earth-shatteringly Kubrickian reason to be impersonal, don’t be. Don’t think that being impersonal will make your work more accessible because it won’t. One of the most sublime oddities of storytelling is that the more personal the work is to the author, the more likely it is to be personal to others. Though being proudly and intimately infused with your work is not to say you shouldn’t ….

3) …Be Subtle (Smooth Segway strike 2!)

Hitting someone on the head with your ideas and feelings can often be lead to the reader/viewer/whatever feeling completely detached from the piece, with the heavy hand cutting through the natural connection between man/woman/whatever and page/screen/stage/whatever. Understating thoughts on the surface is a way of us slowly realizing the point. That sudden pang of realization is what makes the writers understatement an emotional or mental overstatement in our heart and mind. Don’t underestimate the audience’s intelligence, and don’t assume a lack of compassion either. This brings me onto my final point…. (It’s a smooth Segway hatrick!)

4) Feel deeper than you think.

Simply being clever is not enough to be a good writer. In fact, that’s the easy part. Intelligence is the bare minimum of a good writer. Who wants to knowingly experience something made by an idiot? Even if the story is a fun, fast, flowing action extravaganza, as opposed to a philosophical study, it should still be intelligently made. The Scott Pilgrim vs the world movie, for example, understands how to put together a film, and understands the balance of humour and drama. That’s because they people who made it are smart, they just don’t have to show it by making a needlessly complex plot. Being overtly complex for the sake of looking clever is like having an’ intellectual’ circle jerk. Except you’re not actually being intelligent, you’re just indulging in your own academic knowledge, which is not the same as being wise.

What sets you apart from all the other smartass philosophy/Literature majors, is your feelings. That you have something welling up inside you, an ineffable force of feeling that can’t be described literally, but must be shared. So you put the audience through the same state of mind as you feel. This requires a great attempt of introspection on your own feelings, and trying to present them in a way that is engaging and thought-provoking.

Often, we try to psychoanalyse the great artists. We try to come up with some logical reason as to why they resonated among us so much. And yet, this thinking is flawed, as they were great artists because they expressed something that could not be understood any other way. That is why a squarely congruent conclusion is rarely met. Like with the recent film ‘Nowhere Boy’, that tells the story of a young John Lennon. But what do we learn from his emotional strife? It’s an interesting story, with the wide palette of relationships, involving the sophisticated drollness of his aunt/guardian, and the strangely charged (and short lived) relationship with his ebullient mother, Julia. Not to mention the unconventional and freethinking edge of his youth. But what does that have to do with his music? Why was he so good? The film doesn’t reach any kind of point or explanation, much to the dismay of critics. But with the remarkably idiosyncratic combination of angst, melodrama, humour and wistfulness in Lennon’s early life, I was able to draw something from the film. Had I written a review of it, I would’ve ended simply on this: ‘John Lennon played good music because he felt so deeply’

This is not to say, that being a melodramatic sob will make you a good writer. God no. It’s more understanding your heart and the experiences that fuel it, and knowing when to employ it, and within what frame. Whether an elegiac tragedy, a farcical comedy, or an inspiring adventure.

Now go and Write!

- Taha

Anonymous

2011-10-30T06:55:00.000-07:00

You've heard this, right? The Oxfordian Theory? It's this crazy idea that Shakespeare didn't write his plays, on account of being a peasant, who are of course, all stupid. It was originally proposed by Delia Bacon in 1850, who said they were written by a committee led by her relative Sir Francis Bacon. Well she obviously isn't biased. She also died in an insane asylum without a shred of evidence. What a crazy theory, right? No wonder it's dead. Wait, what? It's not? haha. Good one. Oh you were being serious. Oh dear

It seems that since 1850 the theory has been constantly molded and contrived around different authors. Every time one gets shot down, the conspiracy theorists make another, until they finally realized that without solid evidence, it'll kept getting shot down. Thus they decided to pick one man; Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford. He didn't publish his plays, apparently, because of his status being to high to mingle with lowbrow entertainment. That makes sense, I suppose. I don't want this to be an angry rant against Roland Emmrich's 'Anonymous' which proposes the theory. I'd be a hypocrite, If I denied 'Anonymous' the right to exist, and yet cited 'Amadeus' as one of my favourite movies. I'd also be a hypocrite for liking Shakespeare's plays, as he bent facts to create great character drama all the time. And I do see the appeal of Anonymous. The rich, lavish Victorian art design, and the Tarantino-esque joy of manically toying with historical and literary figures of such pomp reverence.

My disdain for Anonymous (which I have not seen, though I do want to) is not that it speculates with preposterous ideas, but that I'm not sure Roland Emmrich maintains my view on 'why a crazy historically distorted movie could be fun' Apparently he does truly believe his film, which means everything is shot in and earnest light. Shakespeare himself is depicted (allegedly), as a cheating, backstabbing, whore mongering peasant, cause y'know, peasants suck. On the other hand Edward De Vere is shown ingratiatingly as 'the woeful Earl' who simply wants to write plays, but can't because of what's expected of him. Oh dear. I hope he has enough fancy Earl money to cry into. Such exaggerated, 'hollywoodized' portrayals in an earnestly made Shakespeare-was-stupid film doesn't sound like it will be compatible with my tastes. I would love to see a satirical view on figures like Shakespeare, like what we might see in Black Adder, or how Mozart was depicted in Amadeus. But to solemnly build such a meretriciously crude travesty of one of the most important figures in storytelling and culture is just silly, and partially insulting to the very craft Roland Emmrich works in.

There was no pretense that what was written in 'Macbeth' actually happened.
Furthermore,Amadeus may have shown Mozart as an unfaithful drunk, but it didn't deny him the right to his sublime music.

By ~~Shakespeare~~ Taha

Writing Within Restrictions Part 2: Character

2011-10-30T06:15:00.000-07:00

If you haven't read part 1, then click here

As for Part 2:

Aphrodite in Greek literature has always appeared beautiful and elegant. These qualities most likely come from her heritage as a Goddess. Perhaps if she was born a mortal with the same qualities, she would not hold that elegance granted to her. She might be dirty and unappealing. Obviously aged, cheap attempts to enhance appearances, and very obviously having slept around.

Speech/mannerism Style: Constantly under the façade of an elegant and well-spoken accent. It should be superficial and half obvious to the audience. As with all the God projections, she will be erratic, and whenever she is suddenly affected by some genuine emotion (a sudden lust for a character, for example Theseus who is new and young) she will break down into an unstructured mess of words, slang and constant inflections. Her accent will break down to an unrefined state, and she her posture break down. When the character is acting, she holds a high head, forward thrust breasts and other model-like poses. When she breaks down her posture will change to a slanted and slightly crooked state, where she desperate for some sort of sexual gratification. Casually gazing eyes will in an instant turn wide-eyed and callow.

Ares Projection

Unlike Athene, Ares does not so much inhabit the plotting and tactical parts of war as much he does the sadist pleasure in bloodlust. He seems swept up by the tumult bombast of it all, and this is because he can fight well. Unfortunately, this makes him seem somewhat arrogant, and also immature. He is a powerful warrior because he is a God, and as God acts oblivious to him quick temper or lack of thoughtfulness. As a God, this is okay, as Gods believe themselves to be perfect, and dwell in the superficial. Ares thus can have a rambunctious affair with Aphrodite, and can justify himself as the ‘warrior’. However in real life he isn’t simply declared a top class fighter by his father, instead he has to practice and gain strength like anyone else. And being a good fighter may not be enough to hold his own in the real world. While Ares might not stupid, I would like to play on his temerarious and thoughtless nature, revealing a tender fraternity to his smart and more cultured brother (Apollo) that leads to an insecurity in which he seems to elevate himself as the leader, in his almost megalomaniacal complex of control and power. His inability to socialize or understand his brothers/sister will be what distances him, and makes him think he is clear-headed and thus should take control.

Speech/Mannerisms: He will walk with an authoritative swagger, and try to speak in way that demands respect and attention, He will overbearing, but despite his childish efforts, his team mostly refuses to take him seriously, often ignoring or shooing him. He then acts like a child who is not getting enough attention, spluttering vocally, turning red and stamping his feet. Aphrodite consistently seduces him for her own gratification; however he believes he is striving forward in his gruff masculinity.

From the DCAU^

Artemis projection

Artemis is portrayed as woman who abstains from intercourse, keeping independent and proud. However she seems disdainful of men to the point of snobbery, and I wish to accustom to this aspect. Her misandry and cold, blasé sophistication is something I will turn into insecurity. The scorn she holds for men (and flirtatious women) will be due to trauma and/or her sheer chilling fear she has of social interaction, being manipulated and her inability to relate to another human being. Despite being the smartest in the group next to Apollo, she cannot lead the party. She tries to cover up her sorrow with her animals, and when she is alone with them, she begins to act naturally, as will be depicted.

Mannerisms/speech style: She will walk around with large, but precise steps to show intellectual worth, and also show her pride. She will have her head tilted upwards, looking down in conversation. Efficient in her words, but take a long time to speak them, as if her voice is worth listening to for as long as possible. However when alone with her animals, she will take more modest stances, and while still not a proverbial girly female, she will appear relaxed and at peace.

A problem that could be encountered with this character could be that; in spending so much type with animals, she could be detached from her siblings, and thus also lack humanity, believing animals to be better company.

Apollo projection

Apollo is significantly harder to flaw. He always seems far too relaxed in mythology. So for this reason, the point of this character will be more based around the idea that he is far too flippant and laid back to be a leader. He’s the most mature; however he will also be in a blasé state of elevating himself due to being cultured and artistic. Not snobbish or pretentious, just very self-indulgent. Since Theseus is an outside who breaks what the God projections expect from human behavior, he will face conflict when he finds out that Theseus is not intimidated by condescending artistic babble.

That said, his flaw can inhabit a smaller part of the script than his partners, and can serve as somewhat of an anchor. After all, Theseus needs to initially see them as adventurers/travelers worth joining in the first place.

A problem in which he can encounter could involve his flippancy, and how when the rest of his team is left in ramshackle despair, he is not able to tie them together, as he is far too removed from them and their problems, never taking enough interest.

And that's just about enough of me posting old coursework. I'll try to make some new blogs posts

-Taha

Writing and Me

2011-09-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

Please read: I was in a woozy and ramshackle state when I wrote this, so I don’t really know what the intention was. Don’t be mean. I wrote this a while ago, but there's something so raw, so naked, that keeps bringing it back to my mind.

It’s hard to describe why exactly I like writing. Obviously I admire storytelling and artistry, but the actual process of writing is quite different to simply creating worlds and characters. It’s an odd sensation to say the least; ostensibly it involves having a good range of language, and knowing how to creatively apply it. But that’s not quite it. Actually Sitting down, on a keyboard is exhilarating, like a drug. There’s a sudden, sweeping feeling of elevation, as my fingers quickly click and clunk, working in what I can only describe as instinctual copasetic synergy. Such enervation. It’s like your fingers are connected to the world of Tron (Trontopia??). My mind does not register its fingers individual movements; instead it seems stuck in some abstract holy land of rhythms, ideas, and emotions, desperately attempting to interweave them. I think it’s all in my mind, the stories I mean. Seriously, I think the whole goddamn works of Shakespeare number two are stuck in there; it just doesn’t transfer through my digitally seduced fingers.

- Taha

Miss Gee by Auden: Analysis

2011-09-25T10:56:00.000-07:00

'Let me tell you a little story
   About Miss Edith Gee;
 She lived in Clevedon Terrace
   At number 83.

 She'd a slight squint in her left eye,
   Her lips they were thin and small,
 She had narrow sloping shoulders
   And she had no bust at all.

 She'd a velvet hat with trimmings,
   And a dark grey serge costume;
 She lived in Clevedon Terrace
   In a small bed-sitting room.

 She'd a purple mac for wet days,
   A green umbrella too to take,
 She'd a bicycle with shopping basket
   And a harsh back-pedal break.

 The Church of Saint Aloysius
   Was not so very far;
 She did a lot of knitting,
   Knitting for the Church Bazaar.

 Miss Gee looked up at the starlight
   And said, 'Does anyone care
 That I live on Clevedon Terrace
   On one hundred pounds a year?'

 She dreamed a dream one evening
   That she was the Queen of France
 And the Vicar of Saint Aloysius
   Asked Her Majesty to dance.

 But a storm blew down the palace,
   She was biking through a field of corn,
 And a bull with the face of the Vicar
   Was charging with lowered horn.

 She could feel his hot breath behind her,
   He was going to overtake;
 And the bicycle went slower and slower
   Because of that back-pedal break.

 Summer made the trees a picture,
   Winter made them a wreck;
 She bicycled to the evening service
   With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

 She passed by the loving couples,
   She turned her head away;
 She passed by the loving couples,
   And they didn't ask her to stay.

 Miss Gee sat in the side-aisle,
   She heard the organ play;
 And the choir sang so sweetly
   At the ending of the day,

 Miss Gee knelt down in the side-aisle,
   She knelt down on her knees;
 'Lead me not into temptation
   But make me a good girl, please.'

 The days and nights went by her
   Like waves round a Cornish wreck;
 She bicycled down to the doctor
   With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

 She bicycled down to the doctor,
  And rang the surgery bell;
 'O, doctor, I've a pain inside me,
   And I don't feel very well.'

 Doctor Thomas looked her over,
   And then he looked some more;
 Walked over to his wash-basin,
  Said,'Why didn't you come before?'

 Doctor Thomas sat over his dinner,
   Though his wife was waiting to ring,
 Rolling his bread into pellets;
   Said, 'Cancer's a funny thing.

 'Nobody knows what the cause is,
   Though some pretend they do;
 It's like some hidden assassin
   Waiting to strike at you.

 'Childless women get it.
   And men when they retire;
 It's as if there had to be some outlet
   For their foiled creative fire.'

 His wife she rang for the servent,
   Said, 'Dont be so morbid, dear';
 He said: 'I saw Miss Gee this evening
   And she's a goner, I fear.'

 They took Miss Gee to the hospital,
   She lay there a total wreck,
 Lay in the ward for women
   With her bedclothes right up to her neck.

 They lay her on the table,
   The students began to laugh;
 And Mr. Rose the surgeon
   He cut Miss Gee in half.

 Mr. Rose he turned to his students,
   Said, 'Gentlemen if you please,
 We seldom see a sarcoma
   As far advanced as this.'

 They took her off the table,
   They wheeled away Miss Gee
 Down to another department
   Where they study Anatomy.

 They hung her from the ceiling
   Yes, they hung up Miss Gee;
 And a couple of Oxford Groupers
   Carefully dissected her knee.'

-- W H Auden

Two Stylistic forces seem to juxtapose each other within the words of ‘Miss Gee’. One is deliberately misleading; a tonal façade than hides what the poem is actually about like a cloak. The other ‘Stylistic force’ lies underneath that cloak, and crudely contrasts against the initial tone.

That initial tone is a strikingly light and whimsical one. The poem’s repetitive structure (4 lines a verse with an alternate rhyme scheme) is reminiscent of playful nursery rhymes, or even a limerick. That kind of evocation is further cemented by the immediate subject matter; and odd ball tale about a dainty old woman with a funny name. Notice the seemingly arbitrary aspects of Ms Gee’s life that the poet focuses on at first. ‘She lived at Clevedon Terrace… at number 83….Her lips were thin and small, and she had not bust at all’ It’s as if a humorsome poet is simply having fun with his wordplay – Something a lot of children poems do; creating repetitively catchy rhymes/tunes modelled around off-beat and simple set-ups. Perhaps this kind of manipulation is present to make the later sections all the more shocking, with its innocuous disposition being misdirection to what is actually an emotionally dampening poem.

As the poem escalated, it seems to be more cynical, nihilistic and even existential. The ostensibly ‘playful’ focus we initially saw on arbitrary aspects of Miss Gee’s life was perhaps a subtle way of showing us the entirety of her mundane life. As readers, we will feel more shocked and sympathetic if the drabness of Ms Gee’s life comes as a sudden realization later on, and not the writer telling us from the outset ‘Her life is boring and uneventful’. The innocence of the character makes the reader sympathize (She talks like a child ‘make me a good girl please’ and dreams fancifully like a little girl to) but the tone of the poet seems cold and distant, as if he doesn’t want us to simply feel empathy. This is what I find puzzling about Miss Gee. The detached and somewhat apathetic language makes me think this isn’t just about us feeling sorry for Miss. Gee, but something more. We end up with some gruesomely gratuitous moments following her death (from cancer) ‘They hung her from the ceiling, yes they hung up Miss Gee; And a couple of Oxford Groupers, Carefully dissected her knee’ Which brings to mind meat that hangs from the ceiling in the back of butchers/resteraunts, simply waiting to be consumed. What is the point? To show how life can be meaningless and dull, with apathetic human beings? Fair enough, but the whole ‘human’s sucks’ is echoed more than enough in fiction, and is often done by well-off westerners who’ve never even imagined living homeless in some eastern warzone. ‘Oh the woes of our civilized and comfortable western life!’ This may sound mocking of me, but I can get behind a story like that. But it has to have the writer inject some kind of unique voice of their own, which Auden doesn’t seem to do. He’s probably comparable to Miss Gee’s doctor who plainly states to his wife ‘Cancer’s a funny thing’ – Cold and detached. It isn’t spiteful, but not lamenting either.

I realize that not every work of art has to be joyous celebrations of its medium. I’ll quickly get behind some cultural deconstructionist, a tragedy writer, and even some playful Schadenfreude. Yet, Miss. Gee is none of those things. And in the same way Auden muses on Miss Gee’s depressingly tiresome existence, I similarly muse on his depressingly tiresome poem.

Miss Gee’s a funny thing

- Taha

Grant Morrison is a beautiful artist

2011-09-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

And fucking awesome. Needed to be said.

And I want to thank him. He reminded me that fiction was at its core a joyous ritual, a joy I had lost in a sea of quasi-misanthropy and cynicism.

Time to Think a little Lighter, and Dream a Little Brighter.

- Taha

Acting Style and Stanislavski

2011-09-09T11:33:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, most theatre was very exaggerated. Certainly when one looks as far back as ancientt Greek plays, it’s easy to see hyperbolic energy flowing off the often bizarrely expressive masks, and the over-the-top satirical hand/body gestures. Of course exaggeration is a valuable dramatic device in all of storytelling, particularly in the genre’s of Science Fiction and Satire, but if one is not careful, it can often lead to a loss of subtlety, as the exaggeration may seem like it’s ‘hitting you over the head’ with its ideas, or ‘cleverness’. That might possibly be why so much modern storytelling today seems to be highly naturalistic, working as direct mirror to our lives, and not adding any kind of kinetic spice (Other than unfathomably attractive stars etc..)

Even if that isn’t the reason for the current state of storytelling (There are probably a lot of factors) , the trend of naturalism owes a great deal to the work of Constantin Stalivlaski. A Russian who lived between 1863 and 1938, worked as an actor and theatre director, he revolutionized stage acting with his own more realistic style. This change he brought about would have ripple effect that crossed into all storytelling mediums involving actors, so his legacy also extends to films, and even the voice acting in Video Games.( Though his methods would apply a lot less to Voice actors). He did this by bringing about his own ‘System’ of acting, simply called ‘Stalislavski’s System’(Though he originally had a lower case S for ‘system’ so as not to seem overbearing)

This system is also what probably led to bring about the term ‘Method Actors’ Actors who don’t simply act but ‘become’ the role, through heavily immersing themselves in every aspect of the character’s life style. They essentially construct the character alongside the writer, as they pay attention to what they think the character is supposed to be like outside of script, in order to fully embody he/she. This isn’t necessarily better. Robert De Niro probably thinks so, literally working as taxi driver before he was filmed in Martin Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’ but other actors like Anthony Hopkins might reply with a snarky ‘Why don’t you just act?’ Stalislavski would likely approve of De Niro.

Staleslavksi believed in a psychological realism that actors embody, much like De Niro in Taxi Driver. Thus his system essentially involves rebuilding the way you behave. Things we take for granted, such as the way we stand, the way we use allocated space, and the way in which we hang our heads, is all broken down. When you see all the little pieces of what makes a human behave as he does, you can then reconstruct the pieces to seem like a different person all together. In this regard, Actors are almost like Jigsaw puzzles, however these puzzles can actually be made to make a variety of pictures, not just one. All you need to do is take apart the original picutre (The actor as himself) and put together a new one.

The inspiration for Stalivlaski to take such an approach probably came from the actors he admired most; tragedians such as Maria Yemolova and Tommaso Salvini. This makes a lot of sense. Comedy often works best when the hilarity is made hyperbolic, further exposing silliness/wit that makes it so funny. As the opposite to Comedy tragedy should logically work well with the opposite strategy, which is why more melancholy sombre tones are usually attached to tragedy, as the poignancy is amplified by the soft/modest tone, which contrasts against whatever the tragedy is. Conversely, exaggerated tragedy runs the risk of becoming irritatingly melodramatic, and even offensive, since the audience may feel that the proper reverence isn’t being given to the subject matter. Tragic topics seem to work better with the ‘artistic truth’ that Stalivlaski tried to attain in his system, as it isn’t trying to cheaply manipulate your sympathies around a dreary/shocking subject. His fondness of tragedy must be why he ultimately applied the naturalistic style to the whole medium of theatre.

Those who prefer the garish over the sedate, Batman and Superman over Sherlock Holmes and Huckleberry Fin, may blame Stalislavski for introducing a trend that would later encompass a lot (if not most) of modern fiction. But we still have fantastical adventures of hyperbole. And as an ardent follower of all things Storytelling, I will always appreciate the variety each style can bring. Stalivlaski’s style isn’t right or wrong, it’s just one very valid way of doing things.

That all for today, I hope you enjoyed it!

-Taha

P.S Part 2 of 'Writing within restrictions' should be up soon ;)

Writing Within Restrictions Part 1: Plot and Meaning

2011-09-02T12:31:00.000-07:00

A complaint I often hear from young writers about mediums like Comic Books and film is that they rarely allow for complete freedom to the artists. Like having to take into account a complex character history, or the intended audience. This leads to the term 'artistic compromise' - a term treated with far more contempt than it deserves. I'm all for artistic freedom, where would be without it? Not somewhere nice, that's for sure. But restrictions aren't always a bad thing. They can be what keeps your work succinct, as you can no longer run away too far with your thoughts. It also means that your creativity has to be thoughtfully modeled around a core concept/character/theme etc, and isn't something random like 'THE ANT WHO SOUGHT TO TAKE OVER THE UNIVERSE' (Though I personally love the sound of that, it'd still be very easy to produce trash from it. Narrower subject matter would do better to keep a writer on track)

Over the course of a few months (Which concluded last July) I chose to write a play script for my Drama GCSE,and the restriction there were fairly rigid. I had to work in a pool of existing characters (Theseus,Athena, Aphrodite, Apollo and Ares) and stay true/acknowledge their basic symbolism. The plot had to be sandwiched with the mythology of Theseus, taking place during his first journey to Athens. All within 12 pages (meaning I had little time to invent my own characters)

That was pretty daunting at the time, but I think I managed to do it with a reasonable level of quality. I don't put much stock in academic grading/accolades, particularly with opinionated subjects like the Arts. But for what it's worth, I got an A* in the script and accompanying coursework. I don't actually like the script too much, but I think I got my ideas across, and those ideas I believe in.

This isn't a guide on how your supposed to write characters within restrictions, because such a thing doesn't exist. There'll never be any 'right' way. It's just my own basic character profiles, their personalities, and relevance in the story. It's merely how I did it with my GCSE, and what I think stands as an example of a way it can be done.

1) The Stimulus Material (A pre-existing script with ideas and characters my own writing had to relate to)

The original stimulus (by Neil Duffield) involves a few overseeing Gods, controlling the lives of genuine humans as if they were chess pieces. The writer attempts to delve into deep emotion with drama that shakes two separated brothers to the core. Theseus is completely haunted by the discovery of his long lost father's kingship, and seeks a sense of belonging he seems to think his father has taken away. This links to the very universal theme of identity, something Theseus lacks, and something people usually require to fit in with life, move on, and grow.

Story outline

Theseus meets a group of travelers in the wilderness with whom he joins with (strength in numbers)

The group are mortals; however, their personalities are derived from the four gods in the stimulus material. Revenge and jealousy exist within this group, and it will be depicting the way the Greek Gods are very human, puerile and not fit to control or influence someone as intelligent as Theseus. The group behaves in an almost silly melodramatic style, while Theseus remains melancholic and natural. This will set up a contrast, the non-naturalism seeming even sillier due to being put beside a normal, intelligent, and charismatic lead.

The group’s dispute shall be numerous and petty, all diminutive echoes of the Mt. Olympus Gods. Theseus will eventually learn that he is better on his own, making his way alone to Athens, where his own people lie. He will find relief from the almost scary thought of being ruled by clueless fools. The development will lead to a point where the message should seem to be this: Gods/Leaders often exist in their own little world, largely ignorant of the world they control and affect, and are not fit to rule people like Theseus.

The camp in which Theseus is staying with the mini Gods has two distinct sections; Theseus' area of normalcy, and the mini Gods area of surreal, and overemphasized social issues, all/most of which could be easily solved by intelligent people who were sufficiently in tune with the word and its nature. (I.e. not Gods) It reduces the God’s problems to that of an inane and self-indulgent soap opera, with incredibly transparent emotions.

Objectives/Intentions

The implication is that to truly know how to deal with humans, to strive and long to be in a world with imperfect beings, one must understand the imperfect humans, and thus must be one of them. The idea of a creator is too abstract, and too vague for us to truly find everlasting belief in. To truly be free, we must be independent from a so-called ‘higher’ level of thinking.

The closest a God could ever be to human, is exactly the over-emphasized caricatures my travellers inhabit, as they don’t have the experience, memory and thinking that a normal human would have. Attempting to fake or imitate something as complex as human nature can be met with very little success.

Theseus sees the equivalence of Gods, isolated individuals who control and influence that which they do not understand, he leaves and goes gives the kingdom of humans (Athens) a leader, giving it back to the chaos of war and human’s art and greed. They are free. The anti-God message could easily be further applied to anti-authority, or at least authority that invests a lot of power in a few individuals.

I want to use the dialogue and stage directions to be able to show how the two sides of naturalism and non-naturalism seem to coexist in this world. In writing it like this I want to be able to allow actors the opportunity to explore the themes raised earlier and showcase them to the audience.

You see? I'm not stating that's all super profound, but it did manage to take a largely meaningless script (Duffield's story was largely a loud clamor of different caricatures) and give it my own meanings, through subverting it. I do that even more with the characters, which will be the subject of Part 2.

Stay Tuned Folks!

- Taha

Violence and Entertainment

2011-08-31T07:27:00.000-07:00

Literature, whether it books, film or video games, has constantly been under attack. Whether it the personal beliefs of the creator or one aspect of the story believed to be ‘distasteful’.

Of course as time progressed, books became a gold standard for us, and escaped any fundamental criticism, this criticism being the kind that comes from your typical suburbanized *peaches and daisies* smiling bimbo, who shrieks at her husband ‘Think of the children!’ for merely whispering ‘damn president’s a wasp’

Unfortunately, the acceptance of books in culture did not stop these pitchfork wielding activists. They instead turned on the new; first films and now of course video games.

They accuse the mediums as a whole of promoting sexism, violence and racism.

While all these accusations are incredibly disagreeable, there is one argument that these pathetic believers have levelled at all storytelling mediums, one argument that has always been around, and one that makes my blood boil like it never has before when involving art. And that is of course, the idea that fictional violence is somehow ‘wrong’, and should not be part of entertainment.

The tone of these pathetic whinets argument implies that those who enjoy fictional violence are barbaric, and that violence is merely a device tacked on to true ‘art’ or entertainment. Their argument is silly and pointless. I don’t think this, I know this. Since as far back as the beginnings of what inspired/created our modern cultures, violence (both real and fictional) has not only been a part of entertainment, but actually was, and still is entertainment.

For example the Greek poet and Philosopher ‘Homer’ was an incredibly well-respected man, who is one of those little-ancient Greeks who is said to have had a huge influence on our culture and literature. For the sake of brevity I’m butchering a lot of huge essays on this guy, but overall, we modern people seem to think of him as a man who did everything right when it came to influence. I’m sure your typical violence hating parents won’t disagree with that. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they also wanted you learning about him. They probably wouldn’t have a shred of doubt in thinking it worthwhile to read one of his epic poems. So isn’t it quite …ironic, that one passage in Homer’s ‘Iliad’ depicts Achilles (having just killed Prince Hector) tying the prince’s corpse to his chariot, and then riding around the city of Troy, the dead body of a hero violently getting slashed and knocked by the uneven ground, and becoming brown and murky from all the dirt. This sequence is horrific, sadistic, and is incredibly taunting to the people of Troy, these people being those whom idolized Hector. And despite this, it really seems to tell us something about Achilles, about his attitude to the war, and his disdainful personality. It does so in a way that someone merely telling us couldn’t. It’s a brilliant and arguably moving moment of characterization. ‘Oh but it’s only a book!’ the whinging parents say. ‘You can’t see it happening! Not like in a film or game!’ True, but if the writer is good enough (which in the case of ‘Iliad’ he most certainly is) the words can create an image that feels so real and close to us, that it no longer matters. It no longer matters that we can’t directly see the conflict and no longer matter if the reader isn’t particularly imaginative. The words guide us through. ‘b-but… Homer’s culture had slaves and public execution!’

Shut up. How the hell does the few bad things one civilisation does completely outweigh the good? The discoveries? and the intelligence? For Christ sakes, the ancient Greeks had a basic idea of what electricity was. And besides, if the space men of the future follow that logic, the all civilisations and generations (Including our own) will be rendered stupid.

Clever characterisation aside, I think we as all humans just generally enjoy the simple novelty of one human doing harm to another. Perhaps this is very cynical of me, but I think that deep down, even the most, noble and self-righteous prick has some anger or hate for a type of person. A certain stereotype and /or demographic perhaps. This primal rage is something I think we all feel, we just have different wallpaper for it.

Of course most sensible and clear minded people know better than to actually go through with any violent fantasies they may have about that stereotype group. So what do they do? They turn all their hatred on the bad guy. Now it’s Darth Vader and robot Hitler that embody everything you hate-not traffic wardens. You see, it’s stress-relief. It’s healthy.

-Taha

Tim Burton VS Christopher Nolan: Battle of the Bats

2011-08-25T08:01:00.000-07:00

Among my friends, it’s no secret that I prefer Nolan’s portrayal of the Batman mythos to Burton’s. Hell, even ‘Batman Begins’ one of Nolan’s lesser films was probably better than Burtons 1989 film ‘Batman’. It just so happens that a Bruce Wayne/Batman origin story involving an interesting, if underdeveloped twist on Ras’ al Ghul, is significantly less aggravating than a facile gangster story that 1989 attached to the beloved Joker.

Thinking back to the 1989 version, I realize that it isn’t bewilderingly special to begin with, ignoring the cultural push, the masterful set/production design and laudable performance by Michael Keaton. Batman 1989 is severely crippled, thanks in part to writing of the Joker. It completely and utterly misses the point of the notions that made Alan Moore’s graphic novel so brilliantly poignant and insightful. I am of course referring to ‘Batman: The Killing Joke’ which Burton astonishingly cites as the key influence (It’s also the first comic book he ever ‘loved’ which is far more presumptive)

‘The Killing Joke’ constructs a sympathetic origin story, in which a sane Joker is an unlucky shmuck, and an unsuccessful comedian, who is struggling to support his pregnant wife. He is anxious and sincere, and in full belief that his comedy act will pick up. Conversely, in 1989, the Joker is originally a hackneyed gangster, who happens to be at the top of the food chain named ‘society’. He is unctuous, and temerariously jumps into situations of murder and theft in his world of organized crime. He also happens to own a lavish house, inhabited by an equally lavish super-model looking wife. The implication in 1989, The Killing Joke, and The Dark Knight, is that the joker is a product his environment, and exists to juxtapose batman, who in both 1989 and The Killing Joke indirectly causes the Joker to fall into the pit of acid that results in his insanity. In ‘The killing Joke’ the Joker turns up for a theft job because he can no longer cope with the countless bills, and we get the sense that the crime job slot was only available to the weakling because of Batman’s prowling legacy scaring away most professionals.

1989, TKJ and TDK all proceed to belittle Batman to a psychopath like his murderous counterpart, reducing him to the ambiguous and emotionally lost men found in the hyper-masculine noir stories of self-gratification. He is on the same level as the Joker in psychological security, and merely existing causes the Joker to emerge from the other side of society. Unfortunately this isn’t so abundant in 1989, as Batman’s intervention in the Joker’s accidental creation merely causes the misdirection of a dastardly top class criminal, and that doesn’t even begin to touch the level of tragedy found in a poor, desperate Joker driven to crime through desperation, or Heath Ledger’s broken and obsessive ramblings about his carved face, each of his explanations being a contradiction. TDK’s Joker is drenched in contradiction and mystery, projecting his retched past onto other faces. Even his gleeful cackle sounds disjointed, revealing inner pain. 1989 however presumes to spell out Nicholson’s Joker in a way that doesn’t equate to the desired effect. It also doesn’t have a thing to do with being a comedian, as if becoming the Joker is part of a ‘buy one get one free’ offer on comic-book insanity that night. The Joker is clearly a parody of his surroundings, however society doesn’t oppress 1989’s Joker, in fact the only reason he became the Joker was because his gangster boss wanted the Joker’s wife. Furthermore, they over-expose Nicholson, whereas TDK was more of a meticulously planned kaleidoscope, allocating the right amount of time for each of the main characters.

The rest of 1989 fares better, though I found it absolutely bizarre that Alfred would allow the clueless ‘Vicky Vale’ into the cave without Wayne’s consent.

I deeply admire the audacity 1989’s screenplay takes with an amoral and more introverted Wayne, however it still felt indecisive in what to make of his condition, particularly when compared to the Nolan brother’s script, in which Wayne’s arrogance is clearly a façade to gloss over his insecurity and desperate persistence in clinging to the thought that he and Rachel Dawes can still be together.

Coming to a close, the key non-joker moment that elevates Christopher Nolan’s ‘The Dark Knight’ beyond Tim Burton’s ‘Batman’ is for me, that one sublimely subtle moment of characterization, involving two addresses and a self-aware contradiction.

- Taha

Great Video Games: Bastion

2011-08-21T04:07:00.000-07:00

What makes the new indie title ‘Bastion’ so endearing, is above all, how nearly every aspect is tuned to feel personal. An experience, whether game, film, or novel, will always benefit from feeling personal to their respective viewer/player. Feeling a close connection like that is at the stem emotional attachment, and that attachment is what’s going to eventually cause someone to gush about that piece of fiction to all their friends. The exception is if you’re trying to make a point about being cold and impersonal, ala Stanley Kubrick. But chances are, you aren’t Stanley Kubrick. SuperGiant Games aren’t, but that doesn’t make Bastion any less beautiful.

Firstly, the game is made from love. Writer and director Greg Kasavin states "Our goal is to make the kinds of games that spark people's imaginations like the ones they played as kids." And that it certainly does, evoking the fantasy images of SNES games like Zelda, Final Fantasy and Secrets of Mana, all which felt like magical games entailing their own version of the archetypal ‘heroes Journey’ But this isn’t the stagnant kind of nostalgic evocation. Bastion isn’t simply restoring nostalgic images like the Ocarina of Time remake is, it’s restoring nostalgic energy. So while Bastion may have the whimsical air of old snes adventures, it strives to be something more.

Enter the in-game narrator, voiced by Logan Cummingham, who’s exquisitely virile voice adds a world-weary cowboy sensibility to the fantasy, creating a completely unique world. This world, we see at the end, waking up as a character known only as ‘The Kid’ and finding the world in an apocalypse known as the ‘calamity’. This may seem banal, but Bastion carefully avoids the clichés of hefty exposition quickly explaining its cause and effect, or an overwrought cut- scene showing generic explosions and running civilians. Rather, it has the narrator (One of four characters in the game) gravely describe the world as you discover it. That’s part of why it feels so personal. Narration can be missed depending on your actions, how you fight, what you find, and other general behaviour. On the surface it seems simple, but the writing has a special respect for brevity and cadence, giving a melancholic atmosphere. Simple statements that are contrastingly small to the damage done by the calamity are made, and through that, the writer rebuilds the importance of loss that a world can face through an apocalypse, which is something we’ve taken for granted in narratives. ‘Words can’t describe what happened. But they’re all I got’

Logan Cumingham is a revelation. He isn’t simply a good voice actor speaking lines plainly, like Nolan North often does. He’s elevating them, and working melodically with the writing, creating an entity that can’t exist without either. Together, words and voice find a poetic rhythm, and inject it into the game’s world, giving every aspect a flavoursome Je ne sai quoi ‘The city was the most beautiful place in the world. We all knew that. But some people yearn for what they can’t see. And that’s why you go to Prosper Bluff, ain’t it?’ It makes every moment feel like some mythic ballad, furthered by its beautifully mournful soundtrack.

It may seem silly that by this point in the article, I’ve only really talked about style and narrative. But this isn’t the kind of game which you can describe as having ‘better story than gameplay’ or vice versa, because they’re one in the same. It’s through interactivity that the story is told, and the amalgamation is perfect. Never does the story overwhelm the gameplay, as the language of how you play doesn’t change when narrative elements are being implemented (except at the end) so you can essentially ignore any and all the nuances of the writing and story, since they’re so slight, everything done within the stock animations of each character/enemy type. A good example is a nice moment early on in the game, where a group of the same enemy type surround you, and their leader, a bigger version of them confronts you. Upon defeating him, I expected his minions to move in, but instead little hearts plopped above their heads. I realized that in defeating their leader, I had become the alpha-male of the pack. Bastion has lots of nice little moments like these.

The levels are mostly linear, organized with narrow floating platforms, which have no invisible walls to block you falling.. Bastion is such a minimalistic game, that it makes this appropriate. The way you use the space your given is an important part of tactics, and is directly related to the tools you use within in them. There are various weapons in the game, and each has their own rhythm to them. With two load outs, you essentially get freedom within linearity. And make no mistake; each weapon is completely unique. This isn’t the kind of game where a new upgrade counts as a new weapon. They all have their distinct language, and it’s important to see how they relate to each challenge. A careful combination can feel almost like a meticulous origami piece; firm and impressive, yet easily unfolded given the right attitude. (or in this case enemy type) The combat also isn’t separate from the narrative, each weapon getting their own lore and flavour, which again, contributes to how personal the game feels. ‘Kid falls on a Breaker’s bow that ain’t broke’

It’s nice to see a game in which the grandiose scope of the world is left mostly to one’s imagination. The writing chooses to build it up the calamity slowly, and structure it around four characters, each with distinct motivations and histories (except the narrator, who’s ambiguity puts a nice twist on the reliability of our perceptions) It gives the whole game a feeling of inward intimacy, which we don’t get as often as we should in video games.

-Taha

The King's Speech Review

2011-08-19T16:58:00.001-07:00

There is a stunning moment in The King’s Speech, where we know exactly what is going to happen. Even if the film wasn’t based on a true story, our assumption would still probably be right. I am of course talking about the pre-Word War II speech of King George VI (Colin Firth), a man condemned to speaking with a stammer. As for the aforementioned moment, despite knowing the outcome I was still completely mesmerized. Outside of the King’s speaking box, we see a group of associates and family, including Firth’s wife Queen Elizabeth. (Helena Bonham Carter) She is stiff, pale, anticipating, hoping and mentally begging that the sound produced is not an awkward cut of stutters and syllables. Oh how embarrassing that would be! Not just for me, but for dear George! I know your majesty, I feel the same way. I sat there, completely stiff, worrying about a character I cared for, and worrying that I’ll be embarrassed on his behalf for disappointing the intent audience. I can’t think of any scientific explanation as to how I felt this way, though I can hazard a guess that it just comes down to plain good filmmaking. A host of good decisions energize the film, decisions about, focus, style and treatment of its history. The decisions made with the climactic sequence of Firth’s speech all work wonderfully, and as I watched the film, I came to respect the choices more and more. They didn’t decide to simply play the original voice recording (I’m fairly certain that Firth is talking) over footage of Britain. There is footage of Britain’s reaction, people pouring into the streets, and listening with so much intent and silence that it seems as if their lives depend just as much on their King’s words as it does on the deployment of troops. We cut back to see Firth’s fearful expression, and his therapist (Geoffrey Rush) keeping a warming expression, whilst carefully mouthing the words and breathing signals. It is as charming a way to conclude a buddy relationship picture as any of the recent whimsical animated films, while also as enervating as any recent action-thrillers.

I had two distinct fears with ‘the King’s Speech’, one was an either dull, or contrived ending. No worries there. The other, is that the film would devolve to an easily imagined proud and dignified British drama with a stiff upper lip; obsessed with its history and the tiny details which surround it. Again, I was pleasantly surprised. David Seidler wisely chooses to give little significance to the history, instead just concentrating on the characters and their development. This is part of what the film does fairly well. Firth’s character is a man who seems either forced or desperate to inhabit the proverbial royalty that is expected of him, but at heart he is a man of simple and mellow tastes. The contrasting buddy is Geoffrey Rush, who goes against what is expected of him, and is proud of his apparent eccentricity, replying ‘I take that as a complement’ when Firth notes his uncouth behaviour. The art direction too reflects the tenuous historical significance, going for a slightly more stylised look than expected. It’s still clearly Britain, and clearly royal, with opulent clothes and palaces that would have been expected. However certain sets, including the misty streets of London carry an almost haunting quality that gives the film a remarkable sense of place. The mist that covers the streets centres out the two characters walking through it, while also omitting light onto them. It feels a little like David’ Finchers usual lighting style played in reverse.

So far this review has been written in tone of a gushing critic, who just can’t wait to explain to you the artfully tuned aspects, and exclaim how it’s one of the very best of this year! But alas no, that is not the case, though the film is certainly good.

Though a shiningly well-presented film, whose script bristles with deft world-play and humour, is at heart a fairly banal story. It’s furthered only by actors working with hearty dialogue, and not by the director infusing a unique visual sensibility with a well- known tale. Disney have often done this in the past, returning to their simple themes in varyingly creative ways. Tom Hooper allows the film to sit sleepily on the actors, giving them the power, as opposed to make things feel rich with cinematic flow. The exceptions are the speeches themselves, in which the direction thrusts in with full force, turning those scenes into agonizingly tense moments, working with Firth’s tremendous performance to create scenes that very much capture the trepidation and burgeoning stress that resides in public speaking/performance (I’ve felt it) Unfortunately the speeches play little to the films overall attempts at reaching narrative substance. It’s squarely tries to make Firth out as an ‘ordinary man’, and in doing so the film isn’t either hot or cold. The ‘misguided ordinary man’ tale doesn’t ever find a moment to really surprise us with profound insight, never daring to be intensely moving or despairing. Combine this with a formulaic plot, and you have a king who by the end isn’t all that interesting. The script and actors are too charming for us not to feel invested, but the solemn direction of making us try to see the king as an everyman just isn’t all that insightful or interesting. It is rather unfair for me to criticize the direction of a film in this manner, after all, it is what it is, and I should try to measure that film against what it’s trying to be, rather than what I want it to be. But the formulaic plot makes it very difficult to think of this as much more than light entertainment (barring the incredible speech scenes) and also because the customary nature of Firth’s character is drawn attention to earlier in the film. It is done so by a fantastic Guy Pearce, who seems to have walked in from a better film.

Mr.Pearce plays Prince/King Edward VIII, and does so with subtly eccentric demeanour that pervades every line, even the most sincere. I felt both cold and sympathetic towards him, his dissonance over his questionable love and what Britain want from him is jarring in a way that having a speech impediment simply can’t match. Even if you are the King. So when he gets whisked away, the focus pulling onto Firth, I feel like the carpet has been swept away from beneath my feet somewhat. Firth’s story is ceaselessly watchable, but goddamit, I want to see Guy Pearce have dinner with Hitler.

Though ultimately the film is enjoyable, filled with enough humour to counter the heavily earnest scenes. Most of why it’s worth watching comes back down to the tremendous performances by Pearce, Rush, Firth and Helena Bonham Carter. Some of them are even involved in a few moments that may have seemed a tad trite, were it not for their acting grabbing you by the collar, demanding affection. They also very much enjoy their words, every single one feeling milked for its vocal beauty (as is the stammering) On a completely unrelated topic, Stephen Fry once asked ‘But do they froth and bubble at the joy of language?’. The King’s Speech certainly does.

- Taha

Hereafter Review

2011-08-16T14:37:00.000-07:00

At the heart of the follies I’ve found in Clint Eastwood’s ‘Hereafter’ is a matter of highly personal views and distaste, and to write about the film without its inclusion would feel insincere and incomplete. The matter of personal distaste is I don’t much care for the afterlife. Or rather my afterlife, or those around me. I don’t care about my death, because after it nothing will matter. Whether I end up in heaven, hell, or the endless fields of Elysium; it won’t matter. I’m dead; I can’t make any meaningful actions to affect my afterlife, other than trying to be a good person, which I do compulsively anyway. ‘Hereafter’ doesn’t make me care, but it does attempt to avoid this scepticism in two ways; one includes making it more about the different ways in which the dead affect the living (and often mourning) rather than vice versa. The second way includes severing its ‘version’ of the afterlife of all cultural, historical and religious ties, which counterproductively also limits its potential level of philosophy. The thinking probably is that this way it could be an all-encompassing perspective on the afterlife, and universally tap into all human emotions on the subject, rather than alienating anyone who isn’t of any religions alignment, or not educated in ancient cultures. The folly here is that in striving to apply to everybody, it’s ultimately personal to nobody. This is only furthered by its anti-plot structure.

The structure here follows three separate protagonists on their very own stories which all intertwine at the end via coincidence. They include: Matt Damon, as man who earned a great living by exploiting his ability to communicate with the dead. He gave it all up, for the obvious existential reasons. Now he works a difficult construction job, trying to step out of the dead’s shadow (which his opportunistic brother continually reminds him of) There’s a French reporter whose career and lifestyle change drastically upon facing an NDE, which gives her powers similar to Damon. Finally a young British boy, who’s been taken away from his alcoholic (albeit loving) mother to stay with foster parents. Conveniently this coincides with the loss of his twin brother (who he treated as an older leader)

This is called an Anti-plot structure. It has its merits (Pulp Fiction, anyone?) but here it stifles the characters. As I’ve already said, from a philosophical standpoint the films idea of the afterlife is flawed and uninteresting at the first hurdle, but there is potential in making a story that highlights the personal woes of people whose lives revolve around the dead, and thus begin to lead morbid lifestyles. Unfortunately the mostly amble along meaninglessly. The English boy spends all his time in the film looking to communicate with his brother, and finding nothing but pretentious speakers who don’t help. These scenes contain not a shred of development or rich characterization, and it’s only through sheer luck that he achieves his goal. And yet when that happens, the conclusion to his fraternal relationship amounts to nothing more than a generic ‘You have to grow up and stop needing me’ and ‘Mum needs you to look after her’ (Not exact quotes) The French lady is similarly ambling, as she essentially just takes a frenetic interest in the afterlife, eventually losing her job and becoming a writer. That’s really it, except drawn out mercilessly, with pointless meetings she has at work and with a one dimensionally demonized ‘bad boyfriend’ It’s hard to understand the point of the scenes with the boy and the woman, or where they’re leading, or why we should care. The screenplay does try so shamelessly hard to make you sympathize, though, with some graceless exploitation of real world events (the Boxing Day tsunami, and London underground bombing) which don’t amount to anything, and look as if they had walked out of a chintzy Roland Emmerich disaster film. It seems awfully backward for a screenwriter as acclaimed as Peter Morgan

The exception and highlight is the bulk of Matt Damon’s story, exempt of any manipulative exploitation. His dilemma is compelling from the outset. Building his career as a communicator with the dead brings up obvious existential stress. Is a man who talks more with the dead than the alive truly alive? Or a ghost? He is established as not very social, which seems to make sense. His only co-worker at his previous job was his brother, and the glimpse we get of his construction job has him working with relatively older looking men. He has an awkward disposition and a cute fascination with Charles Dickens, both of which traits that Damon’s naturally plain honesty is suited to. He joins an Italian cooking class, and gets paired with an attractive and single woman (Just like always) Sure it has the air of a silly sitcom, but the lightness and humour is appreciated when the rest of the film is so indulgently lugubrious. It gets appropriately darker when Damon brings the girl home so they can cook dinner for themselves. There’s a growing sense of escalation in how Damon constantly tries evading any discussion about his past life, which makes for some healthy tension. Eventually she finds out (thanks to the omnipresent film entity known as the ‘automatic answering machine’) and begins to politely press him to show her. Again, Damon’s natural honesty is suited to when he eventually does. We learn that the girl had a complicated past with her father (alluding to sexual abuse) after finding out how real Damon’s powers were, she politely leaves. She isn’t at the next cooking class, nor in the rest of the film. The story is poignant on its own, but it also works as a tragedy on a symbolic level. In order to commune with the dead, Damon must hold hands, which triggers a rush of that person’s mourning-related anxiety. Both in fiction and real-life, the reaching out of hands (particularly when in joining with another hand) is a universal sign of intimacy, and is used marvellously in a film like ‘Moon’, in which the extension of the hand marks the characters blind attempt to search for any sense of emotional attachment. Through this we learn, that symbolically Damon has been cursed to find a rush of cold emotions every time he would try to reach out and forge his own warm emotions. Despite this, his story is of too much paucity to make the film worth recommending, especially since Damon also has a disappointing conclusion. (His story ends on a romantic note, but it’s even more contrived and underdeveloped than the earlier cooking class dynamic)

Most disappointing though, is that this is a Clint Eastwood film. As with the most popular directors, Eastwood has achieved ‘auteur’ status, with his own idiosyncrasy; which is often a merger of the traditional iconic heroes he played, and his own original sensibility as a director. (See: Unforgiven, Gran Torino) That kind of unique filmmaking voice combined with a wide philosophical subject matter like the afterlife should amount to more. Eastwood instead distances himself stylistically from the film, much the same way its version of the afterlife is from any profound cultural or philosophical implications.

- Taha