The Man of Steel Has No Heart

Somewhere, in the infinite wibbly wobbly sort-of sphere that is the utterly incomprehensible concept of the space-time continuum there exists me. Not as I am now, but 5 years old. Cherub-cheeked, rosy-haired and about as mature as I am today. At this particular junction of the dimensions that make up our understanding of space, I am clutching an odd chunk of plastic. As it happens, this plastic is filled with electronics, connected to another full-bellied hunk of plastic (which happens to be totally cool see-through neon green, way rad). With just a jolt of electricity, these little marvels of technology transport me through another world, and that the time I am describing, I am currently in the world of Superman 64, for the Nintendo 64.

By any standards, the game is dreadful. Horribly programmed, ugly to look at, unresponsive, almost no audio track to criticize in the first place, and a complete disregard for the character of Superman. Yet it has gotten one thing right – I can fly. It lets me control Superman, in full three dimensions, and fly where I may please. I care not what my objective is or what asinine task the game demands of me – I fly. I spend hours and hours and hours of my life flying up and down the same repeating city block that passes for Metropolis. Why do I do it?

Because of the joy of Superman. Yes, for all his responsibility, pain, and burden, Superman represents equal parts joy, hope, and inspiration. This, for me, is the most essential element of Big Blue – so powerful it alone can possess my younger self’s mind through perhaps one of the worst man-made human experiences. Superman is just as much man as he is super- it doesn’t really matter, as cool as it may be, that he’s punching an evil dictator from War World through a skyscraper. What really matters is he takes the time to ensure the old man caught in the fire escape of said skyscraper is safe, secure, and personally delivered to the comfort of his ancient Cadillac before flying around to smack said evil dictator on the other side of the skyscraper.

Grant Morrison does this best in his All-Star Superman, where Kal-El takes the time on his way to save the world (by sacrificing his life, no less) to stop and comfort a troubled teenage girl, catching her just as she prepares to jump from a rooftop. “You’re stronger than you know,” are his words to her, and this is the ultimate message Superman tells us. We just need to summon the courage and resolve hop into a nearby phone booth and reveal the bright primary-colored tights and cape waiting underneath.

I took my time to explain that very vital element of Superman because Man of Steel seems to miss it, and without that, it doesn’t matter if their Clark Kent is made of steel, because there’s no true Superheart beating underneath those massive pecs.

Allow me this small defense; I have absolutely nothing against reinterpretations of classic characters. As a hopeful scribbling nerd, I hope to offer my own reimagining of our beloved modern pantheon to the world, be they DC or Marvel or Dark Horse or Millarworld or whatever. Some of my favorite books are Brian Michael Bendis’ Ultimate Spider-Man and the New 52’s Action Comics, for example. But these reimaginings give us fresh, new spins of the character while still retaining the essential, source “ness” of those characters. We learn more about ourselves and our favorite characters by getting to see previously hidden sides of them, yet the fuzzy outline that makes the character, the “ness”, is all there. Without that, points are rendered moot. Imagine, for example, a Spider-Man who  never really felt guilty about his uncle’s death, but fought crime because it was cool. I am sure you can already hear the furious pounding of keyboard keys already at my mere mentioning of the idea (for now it exists, adrift, in the superhero Zeitgeist, searching for some stereotypical fat cat Hollywood producer to sacrifice virgin actresses’ careers and many millions at its greasy altar). That doesn’t work because that’s not Spider-Man. Responsibility towards humanity, as a human, is an essential building block of Spider-Man, be it in the year 2099 or an alternate dimensional earth ruled by furries (unfortunately, the latter is as real as the former).

Man of Steel’s eponymous character is not the protector we all know. We invented Superman because even in the deepest pits of our despair, the Great Depression, we knew with enough hope and hard work, man could save itself. Superman saves everyone, before anything. In Man of Steel, Superman has no problem destroying his town of Smallville and most of Metropolis in epic fist fights when barren wastelands WITHOUT ANY CIVILLIANS to be doubtlessly crushed by debris, vaporized by heat rays, trapped by wreckage and pounded into pink-red mush by the sonic boom of Kryptonian heymakers are but a single leap away. Superman makes no real effort besides the occasional, “Hey, get inside your houses, it’s not safe.” The very same wooden houses promptly destroyed in the ensuing battle…

Look, I get it. This was supposed to a big summer blockbuster. It’s supposed to be huge, explosive, and a visual spectacle. And without a doubt, it is. It is an absolute thrill to see a visual medium push Superman’s godlike powers to the limit, rather than just have him catch some falling airplanes and call it a day. Christopher Nolan’s influence from the grim eyegasm of the Dark Knight trilogy is apparent here. (and while I’m talking about what I like, let me congratulate Hans Zimmer on what is his best work yet. A gripping, visual soundtrack that always hits the mark. I’ll be listening to it way more than I rewatch the movie). But Superman is not Batman – collateral damage, unavoidable loss, and massive guilt are NOT part of Superman. That’s the whole goddamned point – Superman is powerful enough to save everyone! This visual spectacle comes at the price of the Man of Steel’s soul, leaving him a metallic facsimile of our beloved Supes (though a handsome one). I felt uncomfortable and a bit shocked, honestly to watch Superman let all these people die. And as for the murder of Zod? I’ll get to that in a bit, don’t worry.

The action is intense, visceral (this is an adjective that just tends to follow Nolan around everywhere), and never lets up. But there is no joy in any of it. There is no hope, no happiness, except for a brief scene where Superman learns to fly and smiles a bit, and then promptly rushes off at the speed of mach 5 to..Surrender. Yes, a very heroic entrance for our caped hero. In the movie’s defense, it is an interesting conceit to show Superman surrendering, disarming if you will, as his first action in costume. He’s willing to sacrifice himself to gain the trust of the people he wants to protect. But the movie makes no attempt to demonstrate Superman’s true power before this – he stops no crime, he saves no one, people are just automatically suspicious and cynical of him. Why cynical? This is the movie’s biggest flaw for me. Its cynicism, and I think this is Nolan poking his bat-horned head in again.

Superman is not a cynic, not in the slightest. He’s the opposite. He’s freaking SUPERMAN. The uber-optimist. Nothing can stop this man, and nothing will stop him from doing what is good and right. So why does cynicism seem to ooze from every poor of this movie, from the muted color scheme to John Kent’s character, Superman’s adopted father? I have a huge bone to pick with the movie’s depiction of John Kent. In place of Jor-El, Kal-El is raised on Earth in the heart of America, a farm in BFE, Kansas. His adoptive father instills in him the values we Americans love to tout; integrity, honor, willpower, determination, the whole lot. John Kent should never EVER discourage Clark from being who he is. John Kent is the link between Earth and Krypton, really, alongside Martha Kent. So when a young Clark Kent asks his adoptive father whether he should have held off on saving the BUS FULL OF DROWNING SCHOOLCHILDREN with his superpowers, by no means should John Kent answer “Maybe.” I get it, John wants to keep his son safe from the evil guvernm’nt or whatever, and that’s completely justifiable – but he still should raise his son to be a good man. He even sacrifices himself, risking the death of his wife and dozens of civilians trapped from a tornado, because he doesn’t want Clark to be revealed. How is Clark supposed to grow up with confidence if his own FATHER is scared of him being himself? To really be accepted as a Son of Earth, and not just Krypton? I’m surprised Clark cared much for earth, from what we saw of his upbringing. Oh, and keep and mind the bus scene is one of the few truly heroic, protective things we ever see Clark Kent do (never do we see him do so in costume ). Why cast doubt on it? Why is it negative? Yes, yes, it’s a new Superman for a new age world, that’s dark and real and modern and gritty and not everything’s so clear cut as that old Boy Scout used to make it back in the 30’s…But that is garbage. Malarkey, or however the Irish spell it. The whole point of Superman is to serve of a reminder to us in the darkest of times that those old values STILL MATTER, not that they “maybe” do. (Interestingly enough, compare this depiction of Superman in our mini-recession to the depiction of him in the Great Depression...Just some food for thought on how we handle problems as a society today.)

This cynicism, which I strongly suspect to be carry-over from the Dark Knight trilogy, does not work with Superman. At all. It leaves a depressing, sour taste in my mouth. There is no joy in the movie. I mean, fuck’s sake, I don’t even think they snuck in a, “thank you, Superman!” (on further reflection, this is not surprising, considering that he doesn’t do much saving in the first place) I didn’t come to see Miracleman: The Movie, I came to see an updated, fresh take on the ultimate role model.

I could pick apart some plot points I’m disgruntled with – for example, why didn’t the hyper-evolved Kryptonians have a dozen other Kryptons already? Does no one really ever talk again about a 10 year old boy dragging a school bus out of the river? Why would Zod want to change the earth when he could take it over and remain super-powered, spawning an entire race of super-powered Kyrptonians at his disposal? How do those stupid helmets “filter out” Kryptonian solar-charged senses? I could go on, but I won’t, because honestly you could find plot issue with the best of superhero stories. Superhero fiction’s greatest strength, its incredible flexibility and infinite universes of possibilities, is also its greatest weakness;  endless plot holes. I would be willing to forgive all this if they had gotten CHARACTER right, which the movie does not. Only Martha Kent really felt on point for me, and despite some good performances and one-liners sprinkled throughout, everyone else was off or meh.

Now, on to the most obvious issue. The death of Zod. I’ll keep it simple. What. The. Fuck. Superman doesn’t kill. He knows everyone deserves a second chance, even bad people, and he will fight for that to. All he had to do was just fly out of the building, put his hand over Zod’s eyes, OR LEAVE METROPOLIS IN THE FIRST PLACE LIKE HE SHOULD HAVE DONE IF HE CARED ABOUT PEOPLE SO MUCH. Instead, he snaps Zod’s neck. Really? This is Superman, inspiration to humanity, a “god among them”? What a joke.

I’m going to go steam off my endless nerd rage. If nothing else, I hope this movie encourages people to pick up the excellent Superman titles DC is putting out today, and that the sequel is more on point. Also, the producers who decided to pick David Goyer’s script over those submitted by the likes of Grant Morrison? Damn them. Damn them all.

Keep thinking,

Jordan

Not Sure if Satire or Bad Writing or How (Not) To Reboot – Ninja Theory’s DmC

(Fair Warning: This is a fairly longer post, mostly because of my constant meandering and lack of structure - I just kept seeing more and more problems  in DmC's story as I kept writing. In my defense, the disorientating progression of this critique is intended to parallel the absolutely nonsensical storytelling of DmC and give the reader a sense of playing the game. You know?)

            When I was in elementary school, I convinced my mother to let me play Devil May Cry. By the end of the weekend I was facing a sort of existential crisis – how I could I be having fun with a game I spent most of my time losing in?

           

            Long story short, that little anecdote saves me the trouble of praising the glories of DMC1, 3 and 4, the depths of their combat and establishment of the “Extreme Stylish Action” subgenre (whose masterpiece is still P*’s Bayonetta, in my opinion). Instead, I’d like to suggest something that may seem a bit odd…The Devil May Cry series is the closest we’ve come to a Quentin Tarantino-directed video game. Don’t click that red X, just give me another paragraph.

           

            Tarantino movies are defined by, among other things, a perfect balance of satirical and dramatic tone, over-the-top action and violence, witty writing rich with characterization, and the genuine love of film apparent in them Tarantino makes his games with. The DMC series had all of this, too. The tone of the games constantly flipped between out-right over-the-top foolishness, inviting the player to laugh, fist pump and “woah, dude,” in response to protagonist Dante’s missile-surfing, skyscraper-running, back-flipping, hash-slinging, mash-flinging action. Yet the more dramatic aspects of the story – Dante’s struggle of acceptance for his humanity, his strained relationship with his brother Vergil, the grief he hides for his mother, etc. are told with the proper tone, making them genuine. The action, or gameplay, of DMC1, 3, and 4, are some of the finest to ever grace a video game, beckoning nerds with spare time and quick fingers to plump its unfathomable depths. The characterization is excellent and subtle (take my word on this – I’ll expand when I contrast it with DmC later), the game’s story and gameplay compliments its ludo-narrative well (the story the gameplay mechanics tell), and the games are clearly made by people who love good games; they’re just so god damned (hah) fun.

            DmC is not. It’s none of those things. I highlight the achievements of the DMC series in order to demonstrate how DmC is a reboot of a series/story continuity/whatever phrase you like done in the absolute worst way possible. I won’t comment on the gameplay, beyond the ludo-narrative elements I want to watch on, but I subjectively find them flawed, particularly compared to the high standard upheld by DMC1, 3, 4. But I will argue that DmC’s storytelling is absolutely hopeless, and welcome anyone who would contest that after considering my argument.

            Let’s start with the issue of tone. Like I mentioned in my earlier post on John Green’s Looking for Alaska, tone is perhaps the most impactful element of storytelling. It can completely change how a story is perceived. For example, a story about a baby falling of a swing and dying can be a tragedy or a very funny anti-joke, depending on how I choose to tell it to you. DmC has absolutely no idea what it wants to do with its tone, an idea Adam Sessler mentions in his review of DmC. The opening sequence, where a hungover, naked Dante wakes up from a threesome and has to get dressed mid-flight, his trailer parked tossed into the air by a giant demon (complete with CombiChrist pillaging the player’s ear canals), suggests that the tone will be satirical. Okay, I thought, as I booted up the game. I could deal with this. Most people, particular Occidental gamers, have always had trouble taking DMC stories at face value, so why not have a laugh with DmC? Let the story match the crazy action and just make the game fun.

            But then they start with some weird pseudo V for Vandetta “government evil fight the capitalist bourgeoisie oppression they control our lives” bullshit that is completely mishandled, filled with metaphors that make no sense and just some absolutely HORRIBLE WRITING.

           

            I have to address this first before anything else, even if it’s not in order. Littering your dialogue with “Fuck you” and sex puns does not make you edgy or mature, as convinced as Ninja Theory seems to be. It makes you seem childish – the entire game sounds like it was some 12 year old’s cocoa-puffs-and-chocolate-milk-induced fever dream. What follows is what Ninja Theory’s storyboard meetings must have gone like.

            “Then Dante says fuck you and the Evil Slurm Queen from Futurama says FUCK YOU and they have a totally sweet fight and Dante makes a clingy pun and then he fights some totally hot Witches but they’re evil but you can see their tits and then he argues with Vergil and Vergil makes a joke about how his dick is bigger HAHA HA HA HA HA FUCKING HA!”

            Polluting your dialogue (because that’s all it is, just garbage) with excessive swearing and other taboo “adult” subjects either lends the impression of being an immature teenager, which this game is, or satire, which this game completely fails to capture. The tone is just never consistent. One second Dante’s flying around the room chopping people up with scythes and axes and shit and then the next Vergil explains Mundus’ control of humanity by “debt”. It makes no sense and the cheesy writing makes nothing better. The writing is shallow, replacing characterization with these attempts to be seen as “cool” and “edgy”. It’s the very worst of 90’s comic books in video game form. It’s hopelessly immature, and worse, it tries to be smart, like the obnoxious who blows up your Facebook feed with Tea Party memes and political quotes considers himself an expert on government corruption when he has no idea what he’s talking about.

            That brings me to the game’s major problem. Ninja Theory tries to set-up DmC’s plot as a sort of V for Vendetta tribute. Demons have taken over our government/media/culture, functioning as Big Brother types, and our slowly manipulating us and harvesting us for souls. The demons drag Dante into Limbo to do their fighting, their plane, literally turning the world against DmC’s protagonist, revealing everything’s hidden evil nature. Dante is set up as the typical punk rebel, Vergil the cold and calculating strategist behind the movement, and Kat, is Dante’s love interest (I…think…More on this in a moment…) and damsel-in-distress. All of these characterizations fail.

           

            Let’s start with Dante and Vergil. So they’re supposed to be Nephilim, the crossbreed of Angel and Demon, the only beings with the power to slay the Demon King (because whatever). They’re the son of Sparda, who serves only a sperm donor, and daughter of Eva, an angel. Neither of them is very important, because they accomplish, or have accomplished, absolutely nothing, by the DmC’s story begins. They just happen have Dante and Vergil – they could have been any other demon and angel, and for all storytelling purposes, nothing would have changed. Sparda seems to have held no place in Mundus, the Demon King’s, army, despite being called his second-in-command. The story doesn’t even bother replacing Sparda in Mundus’ army (though, to be fair, you could interpret Bob Barbas, a veiled caricature of Bill O’reilly of the very thinnest veil’d kind, to be Mundus’ second-in-command, but the story never addresses it and fuck this game, they did not think this through at all). Dante’s and Vergil’s parents have no real significance beyond the story telling the player in the early story’s flashbacks sequence, “Hey, Sparda and Eva are pretty important, okay?”

           

            What the hell is going on with the Angels anyway? Where the hell (hah) are they? While Dante is being dragged into Limbo, Mundus has effectively taken over the world, are the Angels too busy being bad plot devices to summon the ennui for a little more dues ex machina? Why don’t they ever bother to help? Limbo itself is so very ill-defined by the game, besides being a place where the art directors masturbated until they ran out of creative ideas. Is it controlled by the Demons – shouldn’t a “limbo” space also be controlled by angels, if we’re going by traditional Judeo-Christian myth? I would shut up if the game could just throw me a bone and establish, “Uh, angels can’t touch Limbo Dante, but you’re Nephilim, a halfie, so you and the Demons can,” or maybe even, “Mundus killed all the angels after he found out his second-in-command slept with one and produced a being that could kill him.” Instead, we have the ill-defined Limbo of DmC, a race of Angels completely MIA. DmC’s story doesn’t even try to explain this – they just left the plot hole gaping wide open!

            Mundus is stupid, while we’re speaking of him. Clearly, while Dante and Vergil were infants, and he was strong enough to kill their parents, he let them live. Okay, sure, if he did that then no story would exist (oh shame), I’ll grant that. But why doesn’t the story try to justify any of Mundus’ actions? Throughout most of the game he has complete control of humanity and access to the best McGuffin ever, the Hellgate, which effectively makes him immortal as long as he stands next to it. What is he waiting for, this motherfucker is the DEMON KING. DmC ITSELF ESTABLISHES HIM AS CRUEL, BLOODTHIRSTY AND SADISTIC ALBEIT IN THE MOST SHALLOW WAYS POSSIBLE BUT STILL GOING BY THE GAME’S BRAINDEAD LOGIC AND PUDDLE-DEEP CHARACTERIZATION HE WOULD HAVE NO REASON TO SPARE DANTE OR VERGIL OR JUST FART AROUND AND LAUGH AT HUMANITY WHILE HE HAS THE POWER TO CONSUME/KILL THEM ALL/WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTED TO DO ANYWAY IT’S NOT SO CLEAR EITHER ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS THROW US A FUCKING BONE NINJA THEORY DON’T JUST DO THINGS, EXPLAIN THEM, WE WILL SUSPEND OUR DISBELIEF.

            Sorry, I’ve been holding that in for a while, and I had a Film Critic Hulk impression I’ve been dying to share (whaddya think?).

            So our villains don’t make any sense. How about we try again with our heroes? We’ve already established their “Nephilim” storytelling mechanism is alright in conception, but failed in execution. It’s too vague and filled with holes. The character themselves  are equally as inept. Dante is a prick. He’s always been a prick in past DMC games, but in DmC he’s an unlikeable prick. This is opinion, I am aware – people do like things like Jersey Shore and the Republican Party, after all – but I will argue that he is a badly developed character. We don’t get much in the way of backstory. Perhaps in the only interesting ludo-narrative moment in the game, Demon O’Reilly gives us a news biop on Dante’s paste as Dante fights demons in an overdramatized Fox News parody segment. After Dante’s parents were killed by Mundus, Mundus had him sent off to an orphanage…Because…FUCK YOU! (as DmC’s writers would say)

            In said orphanage, Dante appears to have realized his captors were demons, killed them while still a child, and ran off. How the hell did he survive X amount of years on the run from Mundus? The game claims Mundus is this all-knowing powerful Demon King with eyes and ears everywhere- how did one of the world’s two only Nephilim escape him! Scratching that, how the hell does Dante get around? Part of the problem with Limbo is it’s so ill-defined how much it affects the “real”, physical world. Some scenes we see Dante and demons able to interact with the real world, yet sometimes we can’t, yet some objects are affected while others aren’t…What gives?! It’s okay to have a mysterious plot device, but it needs to be consistent, for the story to play by its own rules and logic. DmC even “rebels” against those. So has Dante been noticed by humans…Has he not been? What does this punk do for a living, and where did he get that deliciously douchey haircut? Why doesn’t Limbo ever just crush him under a bunch of buildings, as it constantly tries to do but just never succeeds…Because…The writers didn’t want it to? Again, again, a-fucking-gain, all Ninja Theory had to do was explain this – maybe Kat’s psychic powers were keeping Limbo at bay, Or Nephilim exert some influence it – but the plot is so badly written they never ever ever ever ever consider this.

            As a character, Dante is this rude and immature punk, who, by the end of the game, has developed into and immature punk...Who wants to bone a human. Seriously, that’s all Ninja Theory’s got. The big motivator for Dante to ‘change” and “develop” as a character is his love interst with Kat, the human psychic/witch/whatever the writers need her to be vaguely recruited by Vergil before the game began. Yet his interactions with her are limited to

            Kat: Please help us!
            Dante: Tcch, whatever. Fine. Fuck you.

            Vergil: It’s gonna get rough.

            Dante: I like it rough *rapeface at Kat*

            Kat: Well, I guess you’re less of a dick than your brother and the only non-Demon with a name in this story, I’m hooking up with you.

            Dante: Woah, the demons are invading your hideout because the writers need them to, I SUDDENLY CARE ABOUT YOU KAAAAT.

            The most we really get is that Dante finds her attractive…Which even by the game’s logic doesn’t make a lot of sense, because he constantly brags about all the women he sleeps with. This is at least partly true, we can gather form the threesome he participates in the hilariously stupid opening sequence (again, tone more confused than in-the-closet eighth grade boy). Why does he feel so attached to Kat? It must be love, but the story never bothers to develop it. Because they both had troubled childhoods, which they discuss for all of ONE SCENE? I’m not buying it, especially since his love for Kat is supposed to be what keeps him from killing his brother (oooh, more on this in a moment).

            So Vergil. The game wants Vergil to be the cold, manipulating, strategist, in the tradition of popular anarchist heroes like V. The closest the writing gives us to this is that he can “hack” things. Which he “taught himself” while on the run from Mundus (I’ve already discussed the plot holes apparent here). Okay, great. So what? That’s all this guy’s got. He even admits, in an exchange, that Dante is stronger than him (though Vergil gets the last word in when he says he has the bigger dick…Mature Themes, Ninja Theory). He’s pathetic and weak. Being physically weaker than Dante is actually an interesting dynamic, I’ll grant them, but they never explore it or utilize it. He doesn’t even come across as smart or manipulative – he sort of begs Dante to join and Dante just happens to want to get it in with Kat, so it works out for him. I’ve read online some critiques of this (I would credit them if I could remember where I read it, but if someone could notify me I will ASAP) that suggest Vergil’s character would improve from being manipulative, colder, withholding secrets from Dante and Kat, forcing them to do what he wants rather than just asking them. But he never does this. He just sort of asks Dante and Kat to do whatever he wants and then, in the final fight with Mundus, needs Dante to constantly save him.

            Another aside – what the hell is a Hellgate (hah)? They never explain this. It’s some sort of well of immortality…that gives Mundus unlimited power…Which he needs to subdue humanity…To use their souls as a farm…To consume and grow in power…which he needs to activate the Hellgate…The Hellgate that grants him unlimited power and immortality…WHAT IS GOING ON HERE NINJA THEORY?!  Our villain has absolutely no motivations, which completely nullifies the plight of our heroes. The Hellgate doesn’t even resonate thematically with DmC’s poor-man’s Marxism. DmC’s punk attitude and themes draw heavily on anti-authority, The Man is everywhere and keeping us down (represented by the demons everywhere). How does the Hellgate into this? When Dante and Vergil destroy it, it drags the Limbo demons into the human world, which I get symbolizes, very obviously, the rebel anarchists throwing off the veil of oppression and opening humanity’s eyes to the corruption all around them. But…So fucking what? Dante and Vergil never discuss this as their purpose. They just want to kill Mundus because…I think because he killed their dad? Revenge is a fine motivation, but the game constantly dresses itself up as this anti-establishment piece when it is just wearing the vestments of that genre and absolutely REEKS of pseudo-intellectualism.

            And believe me, I’m the finest pseudo-intellect around. I know it when I see it. In concept, using DmC’s story as a vehicle for a story on government corruption is interesting. It’s been done before, and clearly much better, but hey, it would have been interesting to see the Devil May Cry franchise’s themes take a new direction…But they were handled without any sense of tone, thematic resonance, logic, or any of that. The game just feels so god damned SOULLESS (hah). The music drones constantly over everything, the dialogue is 50% fuck, 50% drivel, the characters are flat, the plot makes no sense, and the gameplay consists basically of color-coded attacking. It’s boring, mindless, soulless. If the game is  satirical a meta-commentary on media lobotomizing its consumers with the illusions of participating in the very rebellion (hah) the media it feeds the consumers is STOPPING BY ITS VERY CONSUMATION, cool. But it’s obviously not. It’s not smart enough.

Oh, and the child molestation and rape subplots, and the bullet-abortion? Keep it classy, Ninja Theory. (Disclaimer: These are all fair games in storytelling, and if video games are going to evolve as art they should not be afraid to engage darker or taboo subjects...But not just doing it for the absolutely tasteless sake of fucking doing it, because it's dark, broooooo!)

            The most insulting part of the entire story, really, is what it represents. The death of story. Of people accepting garbage in place of what was once genuine art; the original DMC series. Someone, for some reason, decided at some point DMC, despite its consistent sales, was no longer good enough, and DmC would be a better gamble. Blasphemy. Most people make fun of DMC’s story, but I disagree. Yes, it was simple and devoid of many complicated themes or greater commentaries on society DmC pretends to be full of, but that’s all DMC’s story needed to be. As works of art, video games function differently than other mediums, and we must recognize that sometimes a good video game story stays out of the way. DMC always placed its gameplay first; the game feel of being Dante, this ultimate power fantasy where you can just take time out of your day and not give a fuck, you’re flying down a building shooting demons and surfing missiles!

            That said, DMC’s story is still strong. Simple, yet effective. Its themes and tone is consistent. I will use DMC3 as a brief example. (The ideas I am going to discuss here I have also read floating around on the net. I can’t remember where, but if I do find them, or someone points them out to me, I will give credit where credit is due ASAP).

            DMC3’s story climaxed in 3 points; Dante’s 3 fights with Vergil, the first of which taking place at the very beginning of the game. These 3 points serve to highlight critical points in our character’s character development, reflected in the plot development of the game.

            The first fight Dante has with Vergil, he challenges Vergil with his guns. Guns are a symbol of his humanity – human weapons he has adopted as his own. Dante refuses to even acknowledge their father’s existence, Sparda, denying his demonic heritage. He does not talk about him and ignore mention of him. Vergil has already embraced his demonic heritage. Dante loses the fight badly. At this point, we know both brothers share strong familial ties, yet Dante cares about humanity, his adopted culture, and Vergil wants to dominate it, choosing to embrace instead the elitism of his heritage.

            The second fight, Dante challenges Vergil with Rebellion, the sword left to him by their father, Sparda. The sword is emblematic of Dante’s demonic heritage. Dante know acknowledges his heritage, jokingly referring to his father as the “old man”. Vergil is still set in his ways, and the two fight. The fight is a draw. At this point, Dante is beginning to accept his heritage and its evil, yet is not allowing it to define him. He can still fight for good, for the humanity he has learned to love. Vergil is still pissed off and wants to kill people.

The third and final fight, Dante challenges Vergil with his own fists, or himself. His own body, the fusion of human and demon. Dante has fully embraced and come to understood they are part of who he is as a person, but he cannot be defined by the sins of his father. Vergil, however, is defined by the sins of his father; he lets his familial legacy consume him, which ultimately destroys him- Dante wins this fight.

            The themes are simple, yet strong and effective, appropriate to the game. They don’t pretend to be anything they are not. It is a simple story of identity crisis, one anyone can relate to, and the demon metaphors for identity are handled well without any pretention, unlike DmC’s. These subtle story elements are part of Dmc 1, 3, and 4’s stories (though strongest in 3, in my opinion).

            So, long story short, DmC fucked up everything the DMC franchise stood for but took the story’s name anyway. Good job Ninja Theory.

Keep thinking,

Jordan

The End of My Childhood : Amazing Spider-Man 700/ Superior Spider-Man 1

I’m going to try to get through this without any more (excessive) nerd-gushing or rivers of tears; if I don’t stop soon I may drown. The Amazing Spider-Man, in its 50 years of comic book history, has hosted some of the greatest and worst stories ever told in comic books (same goes for the art). But throughout it all, one thing has remained constant; Peter Parker. Mr. Parker is the heart of Spider-Man, the true source of the power that makes Spidey an idol, a hero, and very loveable, something few other comic book titles can claim. When the man underneath the mask is the true source of power behind a superhero – not the hammer of a god, billions of dollars in gadgets, not cosmic rays or military black ops – a hero has truly become an amazing character (there are more of these puns, and I am not sorry).

            More than anything else, Peter Parker is what made Spidey my favorite superhero of all time. Undeniably, there have been better comic books, speaking from a critical point. The same may go for characters; I am willing to admit there may exist other characters with more complex backstories, less bullshit retconns, supporting casts that have not always functioned as crutches, etc. But, in my opinion, (and I am sure in many others) none of them are better at being heroes. Despite having one of the coolest super powers ever, they do nothing to aid the very human drama of the Parker Luck (in fact, you could say they only make it harder). Peter Parker is constantly (under good writing direction0 suffering in one capacity; be it at the receiving end of a cybernetic tentacle lash, girl troubles, lack of rent, trouble with the Avengers, whatever it may be, Parker has never gotten a break. But he never gives up. Sure, there aren’t many good superheroes who do give up, but it’s Peter Parker’s freaking uncle (who takes the award for best supporting cast member in comic book history easily) who coined the phrase that is driving philosophy behind social responsibility (that the heart of all good superhero stories lie at, really, in one way or another).

“With great power...” Peter Parker coughs, dieing in Doc Ock’s diseased body, “Must come great responsibility.” Dock Ock finishes, after living through all of Pete’s life after Peter manages to establish a brain link via the same technology that Ock used to switch their bodies in the first place.

Peter Parker’s legacy is so powerful that he successfully converts his first supervillain ever (really, look it up) into using Spider-Man’s body for good! Peter Parker’s sense of responsibility, duty, courage and capacity for sacrifice is so strong that Peter’s death is his greatest victory, really – he could never bring himself to kill Doc Ock…And now Peter has him fighting the good fight!

To me, ASM #700 is a well-written love letter to Peter Parker, who for me, Dan Slott, and am sure many other Spidey-lovers out there is the true heart and soul of the character, what makes him so powerful. Slott has managed to distill Spidey’s webbed quintessence, so to speak, and exposed it for all of us to examine. Peter Parker’s death scene is a testament to this; his idea of paradise is not wealth, success, victory over his enemies, power, or any of that, but finding the loved ones he has lost in his endless struggle at peace, and being forgiven and praised. Peter Parker does not truly think of himself, much like readers do, as just Spider-Man; his undeniably a person, flawed and fragile, yet so very strong because of it, rather than in spite of. It is truly heart-warming, and if you can’t at least recognize the sentimental value Slott has touched upon, I think you just don’t understand the heart of Spider-Man.

You see, all of ASM # 700 has reminded us that the amazing Spider-Man we have grown to love over fifty years is truly at his best, his strongest, his most courageous, when he’s most like Peter Parker. This is truly the prototypical Modern Age Comic – a clear display of affection, understanding, and love for the storied legacies these characters have created, yet an eagerness to re-imagine, to humanize, let loose the imagination, and create change (or the illusion of).

And that brings us to Superior Spider-Man # 1. I picked it up alongside ASM #700. I have high hopes for the book. Dan Slott has proven he understands the Webhead as well as any Spidey fan, and it will be interesting to read his reimagining of it. I have no illusions that, some years down the line, marvel will bring Pete back and make lots of money – no good hero stays dead. But for now I believe the Superior Spider-Man presents an interesting direction for Spider-Man stories to explore, a darker Spider-Man willing to push the boundaries of the traditional Spidey morality (literally held back by Peter’s conscience, coexisting in his body alongside Doc Ock’s brain, struggling for control).

The first issue of SSM introduces us to this tone, and does a pretty effective job of it. Stegman’s art is good and, in my opinion, superior to Ramos’ on the last issues of ASM, which became a little less stylized and simply more unproportional towards the end of his run. Slott’s dialogue, as always, is engaging. Spidey-Ock strikes a fine line between the traditional Spidey quips and his snotty, “SCIENCE!” personality. Spidey-Ock also allows Slott to bring in more of the hard science elements that used to be essential to Spidey’s crimefighting (and also explored on Slott’s ASM run). I’m fairly certain Slott wants to use this angle to further explore the issue of the moral lesson at the heart of almost every superhero origin – “I won’t kill, even evil people, because every live is valuable”. Slott teased us with this during the Spider Island event, and it was made abundantly clear in ASM # 700 – until he has absolutely no other option left, Spidey still tries to save Dock Ock’s life, even when brain-switched. Dock Ock’s brutality is effective – even at the end of ASM # 700 we see him knocking Scorpion’s jaw off because, unlike Spidey, he did not hold back with his super strength, unwilling to hurt someone. There is some potential here for some great philosophizing on this time-tested ideal, and in the context of the story – the death of one of the oldest and most beloved super-powered proponents of this morality – is made all the more effective. I

At the moment, I’m still concerned about Spidey-Ock’s relationship with MJ. Sure, I have nothing against Peter Parker and Mary Jane reuniting – I believe their relationship/marriage is not necessarily bad, just another story element that can be utilized effectively by a skilled writer or clumsily mismanaged by a bad one. But MJ doesn’t know Spidey-Ock is not entirely Peter anymore. I like to imagine Peter’s consciousness keeps Spidey-Ock from doing anything, but the implications, frankly, are gross. I hope Slott discusses this more; I’ve seen a few hints in the beginning of SSM that MJ detects something is a little off with Peter. Hopefully this issue will be addressed (and could potentially be an interesting plot point), rather than ignored, as again; the longer it goes silent, the easier it is to think the worst. Not so much a plot hole as it is just a pot hole in the story – uncomfortable to get through and desperately needing to be filled in order to smooth out the overall plot.

Besides that, however, I feel we need to give Slott a chance on SSM before decrying the end of ASM another Clone Saga. Slott’s proven his chops with his heartfelt ending of ASM; give him a few dozen issues to play with the new status quo he’s created and see if he can make any good stories. Reading SSM #1 clearly shows us Slott has much more planned, that he’s barely scratched the surface. If not, we can partake in the time-honored comic fan tradition of flooding the internet, sending death threats via mail of both the physical and digital varieties, and burning down houses.

Keep thinking,

Jordan

Bioshock 2 and Video Games as Art

Bioshock is one of my favorite games ever, and is really one of the few pieces of genuinely potent ammunition gamers have in fighting the “are video games art” battle against the naysayers (who are all mostly snobby middle-aged men who will die before I do and leave video games culturally accepted as a significant form of entertainment and thought). Its popularity was well-deserved and I hope it serves as a model for future game designers and writers in creating thoughtful narratives and interesting gameplay that is associated with said narrative not by “and then” clauses but “therefore” clauses. (In other words, the gameplay and story are not two separate entities but entertwined)

But I just needed to gush a bit. Greater minds than I have already tackled Bioshock and generated thought-provoking and intelligent critiques.
(see http://clicknothing.typepad.com/click_nothing/2007/10/ludonarrative-d.html)

Instead I’d like to discuss Bioshock 2, partly because I’ve only just gotten around to playing it and partly because I simply haven’t personally seen any discussion about it on the level the original Bioshock was critiqued.

This isn’t a game review, and, because I am so fond of them, this critique is rife with spoilers. I’ll focus on the games narrative and ludic (I know, I’m borrowing) elements and try to understand how they come together to create a comprehensive story, or in what ways they fail to come together.

Let’s start with the audio logs, a phenomenon pretty much singlehandedly begun by Bioshock, as far as my gaming knowledge extends. Rather than directly hammer the player with exposition, the player encounters audio logs left behind by the usually long-since-dead citizens of rapture, and often by their corpses that completes the stories on the audio logs. These logs featured monologues (with excellent voice acting and writing, for the most part)  that progressed the story, filled in background details, or effectively created atmosphere. This useful method of delivering story has since been copied and (mostly) misused by many other modern games, and Bioshock still remains the king of doing audio logs right (more on this in a bit).

One of video games’ most unique opportunities as an art form is to create atmosphere. Atmosphere, or game feel, or whatever you want to call it, is unique to video games and can truly involve a player in its world by making the world feel real, not just look, sound, or read real. Bioshock accomplished this so well and made its Objectivist critique so much more powerful and its plot turns so much more effective, from a storytelling point, by making the player invest himself in this textured, organic world of Rapture.

Bioshock 2, unfortunately, has a nasty case of “sequelitis” and mostly gets it wrong. The art direction, environments, and sound design is still on point; though perhaps these elements feel less effective because we’d already seen the world of Rapture in the first Bioshock and did not experience as much surprise. The audio logs do not help enhance the world of Bioshock 2; they instead do the opposite and create disconnections.

In Bioshock 2, the audio logs are mostly those of Sofia Lamb, a few of Andrew Ryan, and many other key players in the plot. This is fine, but when you’re trekking down a hidden passageway you only managed to access by dint of electro bolt’ing a jammed door open and find a store of weaponry and loot, it’s pretty surprising to find a personal diary entry from Sofia Lamb, a psychologist and main villain of the game’s narrative, just lying around. Sure, the audio logs are still well-written (though I do have some problems with them I’ll get to next) and acted, but why the hell am I finding these things scattered everywhere I go? Some locations I find them in make sense, like those detailing Eleanor Lamb’s care under Sofia Lamb in her old daycare, but why am I finding them scattered across Rapture in a storage closet, or some other unlikely area? The original Bioshock mostly featured random citizens from Rapture and always made sure it’s audio logs fit in their surroundings; Bioshock 2 does not accomplish this and creates a big disconnection. It may not seem like such a big issue, but it is a pretty confusing plothole in a franchise so concerned with telling a cohesive, well-structured and intelligent story.

The main reason I have a problem with this is because it ruins the game’s atmosphere, or game feel. Instead of finding an audio log and having my spine chilled when its owner reveals the corpse laying on the bed next to it committed suicide after refusing to splice up like her neighbors gone rabid, I am confused as to what a recording of Andrew Ryan’s grumblings on Sofia Lamb are doing lying around an underwater subway station. The reason this is such a big problem is because game feel is the video game medium’s strongest artistic tool in affecting a player and creating a compelling story. This disconnect concerning the audio logs throws a serious wrench in Bioshock 2’s atmosphere if you stop and think about it for a second.

On the subject of game feel, Bioshock 2’s ludic (or, roughly, specific story-related gameplay elements) elements also disrupt the game’s atmosphere. In the original Bioshock, you are just as new to this incredibly foreign and hostile environment as the character you play as. There’s a reason, at first, you die in two bullets and struggle taking down a handful of enemies; you’re just an average dude. But by the end of the game you can take a few more shots (with the help of some mystical healing drugs) and with some strategizing, utilize your genetic mutations to take down groups of advanced enemies. This progression is great, and helps the player understand the story of the (literal?) genetic rat race that the Objectivist utopia of Rapture has devolved into by directly forcing them to play it out.

Unfortunately, this design makes no sense in Bioshock 2, even though it is imitated perfectly. The player begins the game struggling to handle foes and dying very easily to most enemies, which would make sense if you were another average person, but not when the player is Delta, one of the first and most powerful Big Daddies that has a giant drill attached to his arm. Story-wise, it makes no sense to be so weak; part of the Bioshock story is the build up of the Big Daddy enemies as the most fearsome creatures around, at the top of Rapture’s ecology. If the story wants the player to believe they are a Big Daddy, why make them feel like they are just a dude who happens to have a drill for an arm? The enemy Big Daddies still take tons of punishment and are able to act as they did in the previous game, but the player cannot.

Admittedly, yes, by the end of Bioshock 2 the player is much more capable than ever before, but there is a strange feeling of being made of flesh rather than pressure-proof steel. This ludic storytelling element of vulnerability the player feels works so well in the story the first Bioshock does but works directly against the narrative of Bioshock 2. This vulnerability would make sense when the player faces a foe the story indicates they are supposed to feel vulnerable against- the Big Sisters, for example – but not when facing an average splicer the story of Bioshock makes clear is no threat to a Big Daddy.

Back to the audio logs, and this time I’d like to discuss the story they tell. The original Bioshock delivered a very thought-provoking examination of Ayn Rand’s Objectivist philosophy, particularly through the brilliant character of Andrew Ryan (get it?), founder of Rapture, Objectivist paradise. This examination even echoed on a meta level, exploring why we as human beings concede independence in certain situations, like playing video games, and are willing to mindlessly heed instructions without further thought. Bioshock 2, admirably, recognizes this story has been told and done so masterfully, and instead decides to tackle the opposite in Sofia Lamb, the collectivist.

Sofia Lamb functions as an anti-Andrew Ryan. Where Andrew Ryan preached the importance of the self and Objectivism, Lamb preached disregarding the self and the importance of society as the whoke, even functioning as a single organism, or her cult-like “Family”. Lamb’s Family takes over after Rapture has fallen apart and Andrew Ryan’s death, and the driving force of the plot is that she is making the player’s daughter, Eleanor Lamb, by dint of science and ADAM (no, really, that’s the explanation) into the perfect Utopian Big Sister, completely unaware of the self and devoted to the goals of the Family.

Props for originality and attempting something new. I enjoyed the story, for the most part, but honestly never felt it directly afflicted the player as it did in the original Bioshock. I know it’s not really fair to critique a work of art directly relative to another work, but as a sequel, one can at least the former work as a point of comparison, no? Bioshock 2 never really forces the player to directly confront or deal with issues regarding Lamb’s Collectivist philosophy. It seems to just sort of exist because Ryan was a selfish megalomaniac, and now we need something new. The decisions left to the player, such as sparing certain members of the Rapture Family, or rescuing or harvesting Little Sisters, function more as little morality tales instead of resonating with the game’s overarching theme of Collectivism. Those choices are fine, but they feel arbitrary and disassociated from the game’s major theme, and more like other characters have told you, “Hey, this person was a jerk, you could kill them, or maybe forgive them, whatever, up to you dude, no prob.”

As a game, Bioshock 2 is pretty fun, but ultimately fails to grasp what makes the original title’s story such an impressive piece of art. As a work of art, I don't think it strikes any particular chords. The story it tells is better than the average slop most developers stick their unfortunate games with, but does not develop its theme well or accomplish any succesfull thought-exploration or critiquing, in its narrative or ludic storytelling elements.

All that said, it’s still pretty fun to run across a room at someone frozen solid and then shatter them into tiny little pieces with a giant drill arm.

What do you think? Did you like the game? Why or why not? Am I spouting drivel? Don’t let me get away with it!

Keep thinking,

Jordan

Looking for Alaska and the Problem of Tone

Before I dig into Looking for Alaska, I’d like to make it clear I think John Green is one of my favorite human beings. The world would be a better place with more people like him. He’s caring, kind, likeable, has a sense of humor, and has done a lot for youth literacy and people who need help in general. I am sure there many people out there who discovered the power of reading thanks to Green, and for that service, Green will always command my respect.

But something about Looking for Alaska does not sit well with me. Something about it makes me uncomfortable, and I honestly had difficulty making it through to the end.

 By no means is this due to bad writing. I think Green is, for the most part, a great writer. I enjoy his colloquial tone and the greatest strength of Looking For Alaska is its ability to create interesting (if not necessarily likeable) and unique characters, along with a very vivid and textured setting. Culver Creek feels like a very real place, a place I want to visit. It could hold a Great Perhaps, as our narrator Pudge would put it, for everyone. Green’s voice is very strong and I never felt like I was being lectured or simply informed by-the-by, the effect bad first person POV tends to have on the reader. I was even reminded a bit of the boarding school from Rockstar Studio’s Bully, a vastly underrated sixth-generation video game that told an excellent coming-of-age story and really succeeded in creating a unique world. The many metaphors drawn from last words are effective, poetic and work well (up until I begin having problems with the novel, as you’ll see).

I digress. The writing is not what kept me from completely enjoying Looking for Alaska. It was the tone.

I could not tell, particularly with ( FAIR WARNING MAJOR SPOILERS SERIOUSLY THIS WILL RUIN THE BOOKS INTENDED EFFECT SO DONT GO AHEAD IF YOU PLAN TO READ IT OR CARE ABOUT THE PLOT MUCH OK IM JUST SAYING READER) the death of Alaska Young that separates the before and after sections of the novel, how I was supposed to take these characters, to understand what they were saying.

 The first third of the book strikes me as a whimsical, charming story about acceptance and "fitting in" as an introverted, gawky, nerdy teenager. Nothing wrong with those stories, they're popular for a reason. Green succeeds in telling a story in the style of said archetype pretty well. Pudge, our narrator, is believably gawky, not the sort of 1950’s sitcom nerd fiction loves to depict. His friends, The Colonel, Takumi, and Lara defy most stereotypes (Lara even does a pretty good job of staying away from the typical Eastern European cliché, for the most part). Takumi in particular worked for me the best, in the sense that he was a textured character, interesting, and never did anything that brought me out of the reality of Culver Creek Green creates. The setting and those characters are filled with all of the tiny yet very important details that make up a real person.

The tone of the novel, however, becomes conflicted and gives me some serious problem once we really start seeing more of Alaska Young’s character. Honestly, looking back, I don’t think I particularly liked Alaska, and it’s absolutely fine to create a character that is not inherently likeable – but Green never makes it clear if we’re supposed to like her or not. I think this makes for some serious flaws in connecting with the characters and understanding what the hell we’re supposed to take from their wandering around the great labyrinth of suffering, as Pudge might say.

The whole time I was reading Alaska’s character, I wanted to tell her to grow the fuck up. I know this is a book intended for “young adults” (which is easily the most condescending genre ever), but often the mark of a good work of art is its ability to be enjoyed and understood by those outside its target audience (see Adventure Time, almost every Nintendo Game ever, the Harry Potter series, etc). Alaska is angst-filled and mysterious, quoting poetry and constantly yammering on about “inverting the patriarchal paradigm”. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing wrong with strong, feminist characters. But Alaska feels like a parody one, and if we’re meant to take her seriously Green has inadvertently created a very sexist female figure!

 For all of Alaska’s rambling on about the objectification of women and patriarchy, she conforms to a patriarchal system herself. She’s implied to be constantly flirty and moody, and almost always talking about her omnipresent boyfriend Jake (who seems to take the news of her death and the fact Pudge and the Colonel did nothing to stop it pretty nonchalantly, the douchebag). The very first description we get of Alaska is about her body; Pudge notes she is the “hottest girl” he has ever seen. She often collapses into a crying wreck and seems to default on toying with Pudge’s emotions as a way of dealing with her problems. That sounds like a pretty sexist stereotype of attractive women to me. Even worse, even her closest friend, the Colonel, repeats throughout the novel “she can be a bitch, that’s part of Alaska”. So we’re to assume it is okay she’s just mean and rude to her closest friends merely because she’s a hot woman, and that’s just how they are?

I know the explanation the novel gives us is Alaska’s troubled past – she feels like it’s her fault her mother died when she was an eight year old child. But it’s so difficult to feel sympathetic for her due to this constant mysterious allure and mask of stoicism she hides behind, not to mention her constant “bitchy” moods. I get she’s hot. She’s got great tits. So I guess that’s enough to fall completely in love with her, obsessively so (referring to our narrator Pudge here) despite her serious emotional issues. Doesn’t this seem like a very sexist depiction of the very few female figures we’re given in the novel?

Now, this criticism is really only valid if green intends us to take her sincerely. If the intended tone of Alaska’s characterization is satirical instead, I get it. Green would then be demonstrating the destructive qualities of acting in the way Alaska does, and hiding behind a wall of pseudo-intellectualism in place of having a personality beyond being very flirtatious, hot, and mean to everyone. But reading from Pudge’s POV, I honestly don’t think this is a satirical novel. Pudge often waxes poetical throughout the novel (and I mean often like as often as Michael Bay blows shit up) about love, if Alaska like shim, so and so forth. He’s clearly bought her charade, and it seems Green wants the reader to buy it alongside Pudge. I never feel the words Pudge speaks are done so with any sort of dramatic irony; green never intends to distance us from the characters and their emotions. Instead we delve very deep into them and are intended to connect with them as much as possible. We’re meant to take this at face value, Alaska as a serious character, and the key relationship with Alaska everyone has fails when we accept this in a non-satirical light.

It’s a shame, because I really want to enjoy Looking for Alaska, but this thematic dissonance pulls me out of the story. Our narrator is so much harder to connect with or even believe as a credible storyteller when he keeps professing his love for Alaska while making out with a curvy (again, tities=feminism!) Romanian girl. I understand their only teenagers, and again, the characterization seems to want to be a parody of teenage angst, but the seriousness of Alaska’s death makes it impossible to read the story in that way. Their grief is real and believable, and I know it cannot be easy to deal with such a loss – but I don’t see any real change in the characters, particularly our narrator, at all throughout the grieving process. I mean, the Colonel pretty much hits the nail on the head when he describes our narrator as more obsessed with this fantasy love affair he created with Alaska (objectification of female sexuality as a prize rather than part of a person=feminism!), and even after being called out for it he never really changes his attitude there. To be fair, the last essay he writes that indicate Pudge is okay with Alaska being a mystery to him, but never once do I see a moment of self-realization where he says “holy shit, I’ve been a huge twat.”

I can't help but see the stupid mistakes I made as an obnoxious teenager I made in all of the characters. In that sense, I give Looking for Alaska credit; the characters are undeniably teens. Perhaps there's a little bit of self-loathing in my critique, but again; due to the novel's unclear tone, I am not sure if I am to feel sympathetic for these naive teens, as genuine people trying to understand their lives or see them as parodies of the age, or something else entirely.

I feel like this novel works as an excellent exploration of teenage inability to deal with love, emotion, trouble, and the need for guidance and development. In this regard, I’m glad the book is being taught more often in English classes around the world and so popular. I just think we ought to discuss the issue of its tonality I have brought up, because it is essential as to how the author intends for us to receive the message of Looking for Alaska. And despite Green’s writing chops, all the book left me with was difficult-to-like obnoxious narrator in love with an even bigger jerk who doesn’t seem to register the fact that the person (not the fantasy he created) is what died that night.

But that’s just me. Maybe you have a different idea. Don’t let me get away with this if you do. Let me know what you think.

Keep thinking,

Jordan

Django Unchained and The Fine Line Between Absurdity and Reality

So Quentin Tarantino made a movie about slavery, except it isn’t.

Not most importantly, I think.

Django Unchained (which will be called Django for convenience’s sake) is Quentin Terentino’s latest film, as of this writing, and in its short time in theaters has already gathered plenty of foot and praise alike, perhaps most notably Spike Lee’s  reaction. I don’t feel I that I have to give Django, its creator, or other people’s reactions any sort of long-winded introduction. Others far more capable than I have already done so, and above all I will argue it’s just a really entertaining film worth the long running time (approximately 165 minutes I believe).

Fair warning; SPOILERS. I don’t consider this a review of the movie because, again, others more capable and qualified than I have already done this and will do so. Instead, I’d like to critique it and point out what I saw at work, and am interested to see what lights up in the cavernous recesses of your brains. As such, I assume you’ve already seen the movie, as I have, and I can use the material as a reference point for my arguements

I’ll begin with what I immediately struggled with at first; racism. It is impossible to make a movie set in the antebellum south and ignore racism (unless the movie is just really fucking racist) and Django is no exception. One fairly common reaction I’ve noticed to Django is that the movie is disrespectful. A blaxploitation/spaghetti-western mash-up set in 1858 directed by Quentin Tarantino? I see where this knee-jerk reaction comes from, but Django addressed racism with great delicacy, avoiding preachyness or ham-fisted condemnations, even though it is not a movie primarily about racism (more on this in a bit).

Tarantino’s movies always feature ridiculous over-the-top violence, and once again, Django is no exception. The very first scene reminds us of this when one of the Speck brothers’ brian matter is blown to red jell-o by one of Dr. Schulz’s gunshots and the other Speck’s brother’s leg is crushed (accompanied by appropriate crunchy sound effect) underneath a dead horse. The violence in Tarantino’s movies has always been over-the-top, dramatized, a bit surreal, encouraging us not to view the action as realistic. In some cases it is glorified; certainly Django’s incredibly well-done shoot-out with all of the hired guns on the Candie plantation in the Big House attests to this. But Django’s approach to violence differs in one key way from Tarantino’s usual depiction of violence.

When the violence is directed toward innocents, particularly slaves, and performed at the hands of the cruel white slave-owners, its tone changes completely. The “Mandingo fight” we see when first introduced to Calvin Candie (great job, by the way, DiCaprio. Almost steals the show from Christopher Waltz) is not over-the-top. It is not accompanied by any of the film’s genre-appropriate soundtrack. We don’t see any gallons of blood flying around like the splash zone at a Shamu show in SeaWorld. Instead, we see two slaves, sweating and bleeding and clawing at each other. The action is not glorified, aesthetically ‘cool’, and truly cringe-inducing. It is brutal, realistic, and not easy to watch. This tone appears again when we see Django’s wife whipped and the runaway slave torn away by a pack of dogs. Django does not invite its viewer to enjoy this violence, as it does when Django kills his former slave overseers, for example, or any of the other “justified” violence. Django makes it very clear this is wrong, and it is no coincidence this tonality appears when the violence is the result of slavery. In this way I believe Django encourages to the audience to feel that slavery is wrong, rather than merely telling us so (which Dr. Schulz’s character does, anyway, I think).

Django Unchained consistently treads this line between over-the-top satire and the horrors of slavery. I do not believe this is disrespectful at all, because Django knows where this line is drawn and never oversteps its boundaries. Another example of this, besides the movie’s dichotomy of violence, is the use of the word nigger.

The movie’s use of the word nigger particularly interests me, because I believe the evolution of its use in the movie mirrors the evolution of its use in our own world. In the beginning of the movie, white racists use the word very clearly as a racial slur. Dr. Schulz, one of the very few (only? I can’t remember at the moment, but I will clarify once I see the movie again) whites in the movie who is not a racist, only uses the word when he must blend in with other white racists for the purpose of aiding Django in his quest to save Django’s love, Brunhilde. Django himself, at times, even uses the word when referring to other Blacks, and it seems like he does this because at the time the dominant, white supremacist culture of the time only allows him to see his own race through the dominant culture’s very bigoted, biased eyes. Samuel L Jackson’s character (another great performance by the way) Stephen the “Head House Nigger”, uses the word with the exact same connotation and intent the white supremacists of the cast use the word.

           

Perhaps I’ve been paying attention to much in Sociology, but as the character of Django grows stronger (he learns to trust in his gunslinging abilities, gains confidence in his friendship with Schulz, etc.) his usage of the word seems to change. In a sense, I argue, he reclaims it. He uses the word not so much as an insult but simply to refer to others, even if they are not black. I refer most famously to the very final scene when he returns to the Big House to exact his revenge. After firing six shots, Billy Cash (the racist asshole who tried to cut off Django’s balls, remember?) claims he has counted six bullets and seems confident, but Django confidently quips, “I count two guns, niggah,” and shoots Billy Cash with said second gun. Besides making for an excellent exchange, it is also demonstrates the transformation of the word nigger in the movie. Even its very pronunciation changes; nigga. I read this as Django’s acceptance of his racial identity, and it is that confidence and strength that allows him to defeat his oppressors and save his lover.

All that said, I feel Django handles race very well. Tarantino seems always aware of the limitations of the oddball niche of a genre he’s carved for himself, yet is not afraid to confront the viewer with some fucked up shit. Because the movie is able to balance its satirical elements and more serious elements with such sincerity, it never feels offensive or like its “missing the point”. The movie is by no means a realistic depiction of racial relations in the antebellum South, but it certainly adopts an appropriate and empowering depiction of race.

But despite this, I don’t think Django is a story about race, and that is where it succeeds so well in my book. It’s really a form of the Hero’s Journey, the great Monomyth that is simultaneously overrated and responsible for some really great stories. It is a story that transcends cultural boundaries and very well told; anyone can enjoy it and relate to it, be they victim of America’s racist hegemony or not. (Though maybe that’s a story for another time…)

Think about it. Django is called to his adventure by Dr. King (get it?) Schultz, literally unchained. In a way, this help is supernatural for the antebellum south; a racially progressive white man in the south that can recognize Django as a person despite the color of his skin, and also seems to bestow upon Django some inhumanely badass gunslinging skills ala the original Django (See Franco Nero)? That’s some supernatural shit. Schultz serves as both helper and mentor, and finetunes Django’s skills through a winter of bounty hunting; Django hereby faces his Challenges. Django faces his temptations in Candieland, where he must keep his anger controlled in the face of blatant racism and abuse in order to have a chance at saving Brunhilde.

Then Django falls into the Abyss; Schulz snaps and kills Candie, rendering their plans pointless and Django is captured and again sold into slavery. But Django has already undergone his Transformation; he is not the same man he was before, and is able to trick his captors into setting him free and returns to the Big House to exact revenge. He also has at this point a Meeting with a Goddess; Brundhilde, his lover, at long last. Now with all that he has accrued on his journey, he is able to finally defeat his oppresses, the destruction of the Big House both a literal defeat and a metaphorical destruction of the south’s system of slavery. All this accomplished, Django is able to return, with Brunhilde at his side, not to the plantation where they likely met, but their true original forms as human beings; as free!

The entire point of this little plot breakdown was to try to illustrate what I think is the brilliant design of Django’s plot. While the presence of all of the elements of the Monomyth do not necessarily an excellent story make, they do ensure the story is balanced. Django is able to balance its most absurd and most serious themes very successfully, partly thanks to its excellent plot I have just outlined. Part of the reason the Monomyth is so common in our storytelling is because, on a human level, it engages some of our strongest emotions; love, lost, anger, fear, etc.

Django is more so a movie, I contend, about White Supremacy than racism, necessarily. The antebellum south is certainly a great place to set such a critical discussion on, because never has a certain culture embraced white supremacy like the antebellum south did (except maybe the Barack Obama’s Dead Fly Facebook page and the Stormfront message boards). I use the character of Dr. King Schultz to support this argument, and it is not only Christopher Waltz’s fantastic performance that makes this character so central to this particularly element of Django.

Besides the allusion to certain other Dr. King, Schulz is a fantastic character to place in the world of Django. A white man who, by dint of appearance, is able to easily blend in among the white supremacist culture of the antebellum south, yet his ideals are very different.

(Before I go on, I’d like to point out a very subtle idea Tarantino plays with here, the idea that race and everything it brings with it is only skin deep rather than a social construction. By that, I mean simply by being white colored like Dr. Schulz, other characters of the antebellum south, even Django at first, assume he is like every other racist white bigot in the area. Yet this assumption always leads to these characters’ downfall, often at the end of Schulz’s revolver in a spectular explosion of blood and bone. They are unable to fathom a white man may not be racist not only because they don’t know anything else, but because he looks just like them, he must act the same! The social construction of race is something we never really discuss in our education our storytelling environments and I honestly wish Tarantino had explored this even more, though I am aware Django is not really the movie to do so and it would have likely ruined the overall exeperience. That said, moving on…)

But coming from Germany, a place where “they don’t got niggers” as one of the white characters of the cast helpfully points out (I believe it was one of Calvin Candie’s cohorts), Schulz was not raised in a culture where interaction between two races made white supremacy a daily reality. Free of this bias, Schulz is able to see blacks as people, not property, not as “niggers”, or as anything lesser. He recognizes their humanity; hell, he even jokes at one point, as a German, he is bound to help a “real life Siegfried” when helping Django rescue Brunhilde.

Shculz truly allows Tarantino to play with the idea of the knight in shining white armor as Django, a black man, and though this is probably obvious, it is just such a nice, refreshing to see I have to point it out. Really, as a culture, we need more discussions on race, be willing to view minorities as more than just their race (though never be racially color blind, as that’s just as bad), and if nothing else Django accomplishes this.

To me, Django’s main criticism lies with white supremacy. No white supremacist is left standing – literally. They all die. All of them. Most of them killed by Django. The forerunners to the KKK (who would surface until after the Civil War)? Exploded by dynamite and shot by Django’s rifle. The racist sheriff? Shot dead by Schulz. Django’s former overseers and opressers? Every single one of them dead by the time the credit rolls. This particular message isn’t subtle at all; white supremacy isn’t cool. Don’t do it, or Django will kill you.

But in all seriousness, the movie reserves most of its satire for the white supremacists I have repeated so often. I could discuss many scenes, but what comes to mind first is Calvin Candie’s great scene with the skull of one of his older slaves, the former “Head House Nigger”. His wholehearted conviction that “three dimples” are entirely responsible for the inferiority of an entire race is serious to the point of hilarity. It’s a great scene that shows just how ridiculous this kind of bigotry is when a true proponent of it explains its justification. It is interesting to note, however, that while the satirical tone of the scene is clear to the audience, it is not so much for our protagonists being held at gunpoint. Admittedly, this is likely due to them being held at gunpoint and DiCaprio’s fantastic sinister performance as Calvin Candie, but I have yet to give this much thought myself.

I hope the few idea I’ve laid out here encourage everyone to truly appreciate a story that has a lot to say not just about racism but the racial conditions of today’s America. I can say the cinematography is excellent, the acting spot-on and the soundtrack the best I’ve heard in a very long time, but that is subjective when it comes down to it. At the end of the day, Django’s true value as art is its exploration of race and its invitation to the audience for further conversations on a topic that is sorely glossed over for fear of “being politically correct”. Please don’t let Django fall victim to that.

Also don’t it feel good to see some racist motherfuckers get fucked up, bro? Or maybe Tarantino is questioning us to examine why we’re okay with that sort of violence in the movie but not the other violence, bro? Or maybe I already answered that question earlier on, bro, and this joke has overbro’d its welcome, bro? Bro?

Keep thinking,

Jordan

"in a different city, a different time..."

I would like to be able to say I've read a lot in my brief stint as a human being on this plane of existence, but that would be a lie. A lot typically implies 'most of' or a 'majority', and there's more out there to read than I could probably ever manage, as much as I might like to. That said, I still love stories, and think they are so important to the human experience, just as many others have before me. I want to make my contribution to the world that has given me so many great stories, starting in my own little way.

An internet blog trying to get to the heart of story in all the media we create and consume; comic books, novels, plays, movies, whatever I happen to come across and feel deserves some thought. Ideally these posts will exist to generate interest in engaging in critical dialogues with the stories our culture creates on a daily basis rather than passively consuming and learning nothing.

But really, I'd just like everyone to enjoy these as much as I do writing them.