Ainur and Barrel-Riders

I got to watch The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug on Monday night, and your enjoyment of the film can be probably boiled down to a single, extremely nerdy question: do you identify more closely with "Barrel-riders" or "Ainur"?

The poster doesn't break any new ground, but it lets you know it is a Lord of The Rings movie in the barrel-riding tradition of Peter Jackson's films.

The former is a title that Bilbo grants himself when addressing the dragon Smaug, and refers to an earlier segment of the book (and the movie) where the party manages to escape wood-elf custody by riding downstream in a bunch of emptied wine barrels. In the film's take on this sequence, Legolas and  the new character Tauriel leap from dwarf head to dwarf head, committing stylish orc genocide via bow and elven dagger, with with excessively graceful flourishes and occasional assistance from the bobbing dwarves. The whole scene, and the whole movie, are filled with flagrant convenience.

There are two ways to look at this scene.

The first way is to happily tag along for the ride, as the sequence is like a more violent  take on a Disneyland roller coaster. If you enjoy the pairing of fantasy trappings with preposterous, contrived logical leaps and elven acrobatics, you are a "Barrel-rider."  A reader who appreciates rollicking adventure regardless of plausibility or depth of world building. You stand with Bilbo Baggins.

The second way is to be disgusted at the childish treatment of the most sacred work in the history of western fantasy literature. If you throw your hands up at absurdly cinematic happenstance and stylized combat, and a presentation that utterly ignores Tolkien's legacy as a folklorist, historian, and linguist, you are one of the Ainur (the predecessors to the Valar, or Middle Earth-bound angels who shepherded the races of Elves, Dwarves and Men) described in tremendous detail by Tolkien in the Simarillion (the ponderous cosmology and early history of Middle Earth).

Between these poles, you have the full experience of Tolkien's offerings. Most children will fall in the barrel-rider camp, while most Tolkien devotees can be described as Ainur. I would argue that both of these views are both flawed and virtuous for their own reasons. Barrel-riders are fundamentally childish and frustratingly prone to accept sillines, but they are also naturally predisposed to enjoy adventure in all its forms. They have the most fun. Ainur are pretentious and dry, but they will appreciate Tolkien on a much deeper intellectual level than anybody who experiences Middle Earth exclusively through the movies (or even exclusively through The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings novels). They truly understand Middle Earth.

Both Hobbit films to date, An Unexpected Journey and Desolation of Smaug, err on the side of barrel-riders, and by the numbers, it is the right call. Tolkien wrote The Hobbit for younger audiences, who are more taken with wacky hijinks like hiding in barrels, and having surprisingly detailed conversations with dragons and trolls that ought to be devouring our heroes instead of chatting them up. The problem, is that the Hobbit films must also be built and marketed as PG-13 action movies pitched towards fans of the original trilogy of Lord of the Rings movies.

The Lord of The Rings trilogy remains Tolkien's most popular work because it strikes the perfect balance between his Ainur fans and his barrel-rider fans--on paper at least. But it is undeniable that Peter Jackson's direction, in both The Hobbit films and Lord of The Rings very heavily favors fans of action. It is really hard to fault him for it though, because truth be told, most people are bored to tears by cosmologies and familial lineages. And most Ainur fans will argue that that is how it ought to be. If you cannot endure the songs, and the genealogies, and the almost biblical takes on creation mythology, then you are not worthy of  the total joys of Tolkien's work--never mind the fact that The Hobbit was plotted and paced for younger readers.

The problem with The Hobbit films, is that they try to be too many things to too many people. They struggle to remain faithful to the child's story source material, while integrating the far darker-themed appendices of the Lord of the Rings (which are closer in tone to the Simarillion) and the bloody, violent, PG-13 style of that original trilogy. Perhaps the gravest flaws of Desolation, are its concessions to Hollywood focus testing. "Let's make Legolas a major character because he was so popular in The LOTR Trilogy!" and  "Let's invent a love interest (Tauriel) from whole cloth because we need more female characters and people won't watch movies if there isn't romance in it." (That said, as shoe-horned romances go, it was written well, if predictably).

If I were in Peter Jackson's position, and had the benefit of hindsight, I would have made three groups of films. The first would greatly resemble the original Lord of the Rings trilogy that we already have. The second would be a much more kid-friendly, almost story-book (and possibly animated) approach to The Hobbit, and the third would be the Ainur-devoted adaptation of both The Lord of the Rings' appendices and the Simarillion, maybe with a few scraps of Unfinished Tails thrown in (maybe as DVD extra content).

I'm getting off-topic though. The question remains: is Desolation worth your holiday movie-going dollars?

If you are a barrel-rider, the answer is an unqualified "Yes!" Let it be known that Bilbo, THE barrel-rider, is the best part of The Hobbit, both in book and movie form. In fact, the preservation of his inescapable heroism may be the greatest triumph of the movie adaptations.He is a reluctant hero who quickly comes into his own as a charming trickster rogue, relying on quick wit, moments of astounding courage, and a reckless willingness to exploit the dubious powers of The One Ring. Even in the source text, he blows Frodo out of the water by actually taking initiative and using The Ring to achieve unqualified good (albeit at the expense of his own sanity in the long game), rather than moping around, relying on Gandalf and his far stronger-willed gardener to bail his ass out of every hardship. It doesn't hurt that Martin Freeman is much stronger actor than Elijah Wood.

If you are an Ainur however, chances are you already feel the series went astray as soon as it hit the silver screen, or at the very least, as soon as they started adapting The Hobbit.

Ultimately, I have to give the nod to the Barrel-riders though. The set-design, CGI, and production values are all top notch. Even without the surreal benefits of 48 frame 3D, the film is visually breathtaking, with a parade of gorgeous sets that set the imagination alight. The musical score is equal parts haunting and inspiring. And while the romantic subplot is forced and contrived, it is about as good as you could hope it would be. Even if you do not appreciate Jackson's tone and direction, the sheer amount of art present in the movie demands a viewing.

I suspect that There and Back Again will follow a similar pattern to this film... but who knows? If this trilogy does well enough, Ainur fans may finally be treated to a faithful adaptation of the Simarillion.

NOTE: My close friend and chief Ainur fan Andrew Nay asserts that any Simarillion movies will not actually be faithful. And given Jackson's barrel-rider sensibilities, that is a fair point.

Gunn & Bohemia

An embarrassing number of weeks ago, a friend of mine at Xchyler publishing gave me access to a copy of Pete Ford’s debut novel, Mr. Gunn & Dr. Bohemia. It is a good-natured steampunk adventure about Cornelius and Sophie Gunn, a British journalist and his wife who uncover a conspiracy that threatens all of Europe. In order to thwart the plot, they must team up with Dr. Bohemia, a reclusive inventor and scientist.

Despite my belated review, the book is a very quick read boasting easy prose and brisk pacing. Those finding themselves fatigued by the unrelenting grimness of most modern fantasy novels will find relief in Gunn & Bohemia, which is chipper throughout. Even in the wake of grave firefights, or on the lam from the law, our heroes are always in high spirits and rarely succumb to the take-no-prisoners tactics that have become so prevalent in modern fiction.

Unfortunately, this intrepidness and unambiguous morality comes at the expense of distinctive characterization. Most characters suffer from very scant personal histories, posses few personal ties, and the heroes all have very vague aspirations for the future, beyond halting he evil conspiracy they have discovered. They are also short on personal identifiers, and baring a few situations requiring Bohemia's scientific skills, one gets the sense that you could shuffle the characters like a deck of cards in a given situation and end up with a similar outcome. The villains fair no better. The final confrontation is straight out of a Disney flick, right down to peels of evil laughter and a conspicuously convenient refusal to kill the defenseless heroes. The plot has a couple crafty turns to keep you guessing throughout, but it too can feel a bit simple, and Ford’s language also occasionally falls prey to over-familiar metaphors, like ‘lighting bolts of pain.’

The book makes good use of steampunk staples ranging from massive airships and metal prosthetics that put our existing technology to shame, to night-vision goggles, lightning shooting rods, and primitive computers linked to telegraph wires. Even though they have the least impact on the plot, my favorite pieces of fanciful tech in the novel were the Dynamics: a series of moving sculptures wrought from clockwork. Even though the Europe is imperiled by a bunch of hyper-nationalistic bell-ends with napoleon complexes, Ford presents a vision of Europe that is ultimately optimistic, and almost Utopian in tone.

I would not recommend Gunn & Bohemia to everybody, but the mix of rollicking adventure and good humor delivered by distinctly British voice will likely endear itself to fans of Dr. Who. The book also serves as a conceptually pure introduction to the steampunk genre uncomplicated by supernatural or Lovecraftian elements. Even though it is not written as a young adult novel, there is no content more objectionable than what you would expect to find in a Harry Potter novel, lending itself to younger readers as well.

Attack on Shonen

Hard to believe I've only done a hundred of these, but then again, it has been a very busy half-decade. Lately, I have been up to my neck in queries, weddings, and dealing with a new bizarre foot ailment. Oh, and binging on Attack on Titan. I am now completely caught up on the manga, including the new side series that just started, but I promise to flag spoilers and keep even those to a bare minimum. This post is mostly about what Titan represents in terms of contemporary narratives, specifically conformity, imperialism, individuality and generational warfare.

People have accused Isayama's art of being rough and sloppy, but I think it pairs well

with the aesthetics of the world, which alternate between smart, eerie, and bloody.

In short, Titan is easily the best thing from Japan since Brotherhood ended, which is a hell of a tough act to follow. It has already reached cultural phenomenon status in the land of the rising sun and gained a respectable level of viral notoriety here in the US.

The show chronicles a steampunk dystopian future where the whole of human civilization exists behind three colossal walls. The walls are the only barriers between us and an endless horde of enormous, oddly-proportioned, and thoroughly androgynous giants that compulsively devour people. Instead of inventing battle mechs as-per-usual, humans fight these colossal menaces by using twin, hip-mounted grappling hooks and gas-propulsion canisters, paired with swords resembling giant exacto-knives. For reasons unknown, the only way to kill a titan is to completely cut through the nape of its neck. It near-instantaneously recovers from everything else, rendering conventional artillery fire useless, and we either lost all of our more advanced technology, or never invented it in the first place. At first blush, it greatly resembles medieval Evangelion, but with a ridiculous body count and considerably less existential whining.

But none of that is what makes Titan awesome. I have long imagined a manga that would take the whole shonen genre to task for its hackneyed tropes. In Titan, willpower and diligence are not enough to overcome the enemy in battle. In Titan, "believing in your comrades" is not only a fallible battle strategy, but a decision that can yield truly tragic results. In Titan, you can even see the beginning of anti-conformist narratives in shonen comics. This is a refreshing change of pace to be sure, but it also has huge cultural implications.

I realize this sounds highly suspect coming from a hyper-normative American. The only compelling cultural heritage I could lay claim to in my adolescence were narratives of anti-conformity and rebellion, and when you hold a hammer, the whole world looks like a box of self-same nails. But I am not arguing here, that Japan has never had anti-conformity stories before (Battle Royale says "Hi" for one). Rather, it is a country with a great deal more to say on the subject--and it has insights that will benefit the entire rest of the world. The job market may be rough here in the US, but the future facing Japanese millenials is positively despondent. Anything less than unflinching academic excellence yields a very bleak future, and this explains why so many comics and shows have deified diligence, and promise readers that working hard and finding friends is a sure pathway to success. In these stories, the hero's awesome power must always be reserved to protect beloved friends from evil, and never to create a legacy for oneself, lest he become taken by the vile current of imperialism.

In Titan it readily becomes apparent that merely defending your borders and toeing the line in society is a recipe for disaster. Humanity has become rotted by corruption behind its walls, where the best and brightest soldiers are recruited to languish in the most corrupt branch of service, and the masses are manipulated by a deceitful religion that worships the walls while selfishly concealing truly damning secrets about the titan threat. The heroes of the story are the survey corps. who strive to reclaim the world that has been taken by the titans. Unsurprisingly, the series creator, Hajime Isayama, has been accused of attempting to rekindle the militant spirit of imperial Japan.

I have a different theory. The Titans do not represent foreigners, but the goliaths in our midst. The corporations and institutions that have proven too big to fail. The survey corps. is not looking to take land away from other humans, but rather, the land that is rightfully human, which has been claimed as grazing grounds for irrational, mindless monsters. As haughty as it sounds to suggest it, Attack on Titan is not about the imperial versus the foreign, but a younger generation overcoming an older one.

Minor anime spoilers are present in this paragraph. Early on in the series, it is revealed that Eren Jaeger, our fated hero, has the power to turn into a titan himself, and as the series continues, we discover that he is not unique. While most titans are mindless, humans with the ability to become titans are shrewd, and rational, with all the power that comes with fifteen meters of height and muscle. These "titan-shifters" represent people who can affect the status quo and this metaphor only gets more explicit as the manga progresses. Even mankind's most capable warriors, such as Eren's superior officer, Levi, and his adopted-sister, Mikasa, can only take down weaker titans, so it is up to people with Titan Powers, to reclaim the world for humans. And if the conspiratorial self-serving status quo remains in power, society, robbed of its ability to grow, will continue to rot until it collapses. End spoilers.

As I watch, I am  continually reminded not of other anime, but of George RR Martin's Game of Thrones. A large part of this correlation undoubtedly stems from both creators' willingness, or rather, their apparent gleeful eagerness, to savagely kill off likable characters. But another reason the two shows are so compelling is that they casually break the longstanding rules associated with their genre. Even if you don't give a damn about Isayama's theoretical politics, the show is a delight to watch because you never know for sure what will happen next. Consequently, I cannot recommend Titan highly enough.

The Need to Teach Fun Books

As much as this news hurts and frightens me, I think the most productive response as a writer and literature enthusiast is to write books that show people—young people in particular—that reading can be fun. If that sounds trite, you are grossly underestimating the appeal of video games, film, television and the entire goddamn internet.

If you cannot first light a spark that suggests there is joy to be had in reading, why will your students bother? Please realize that why they should bother is irrelevant from their perspective. In fact, whenever you start in on why another person should do something for themselves, you are almost always going to come across as an asshole. I’m not saying that all literature must lend itself to easy readings, nor should every book strive to be fun. But in a society that celebrates and aggressively peddles entertainment that is literally engineered according to endorphin-to-effort ratios, forcing people to slog through something that is both hard to understand and difficult to relate to does not seem like the smartest play. If The Grapes of Wrath is the best you can muster in high school, you will have lost them to Call of Duty by college.

Some educators and bibliophiles seem to think Stockholm Syndrome is the solution. They would have you believe the joys of close-reading and high-minded prose will eventually blossom in students if you simply assign the texts hard enough. The most poisonous of their breed extols the lofty virtues of the written word and disparages the entirety of popular fiction in the same breath. These are not educators, but jailers. Temple guards rather than evangelists. The last thing these people want is broader readership. They want to feel superior to "non-literary" readers. They take refuge in the arcane recesses of language and smite anything that challenges their concept of what books and writing ought to be.

If you as an educator are so desperate to play the iconoclast to today's idols, find out what books your students are freely reading and expose the shortcomings of those texts to the harsh dawn of truth. But be damn sure you have an adequate grasp of their appeal first, because that is probably where your classics are falling short. At the very least, such an exercise may help you present those ivory tower tomes in a way that is relevant to modern readers.

Better yet, seek to teach books that are fun, relevant, and meaningful. They are out there. More are being written every day. When your students encounter those books, they will be more willing to take on the hard stuff of their own volition. And when a student does something they ought to without first being assigned to do it, you have succeeded as a teacher.

The Promise of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Saw Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. last night and I came away with feelings so mixed I had to write about them. Spoilers for the pilot follow.

The dialog had a few fun moments with characteristic Whedon-wit ("I'm sorry, that corner was really dark and I couldn't help myself." "Somebody really wanted our initials to spell out 'shield.'") but we are still leagues away from the empyrean heights of Firefly. The resolution was a literal Chekov's Stun Gun and it was telegraphed so blatantly that I thought it up and discounted it because it seemed too pat and obvious.

Another thing that bugs me is that I can feel the influence of Disney's general ethos. This is a lighter show than anything team Joss has done for TV before. The characters are less volatile than Firefly. We have none of the macabre satirical humor that defined Buffy and Angel. The sci-fi is much lower concept than Dollhouse.

Then again, Whedon pilots are usually pretty bad. Remember Angel's pilot? Hell, remember most of Buffy season 1? Neither do most people. Dollhouse is perhaps the worst offender. It had the best sci-fi premise on network in ages, but they spent the first six episodes unsuccessfully attempting to dumb things down to second grade level, offending Whedon fans and average audiences alike.

It would be disingenuous for me to suggest that I would stop watching this show for any reason.  It is penned by a group of writers I greatly admire and aspire to learn from, to a point that probably flirts with sycophancy. But I can still give you two fairly good reasons to stick it out through the first couple episodes.

Save for a few isolated characters Whedon has always portrayed the government (and authority writ large) as the ultimate bad guy. Behavioral modification programs. Bureaucratic nightmares. Extra-judicial detainment and unregulated experimentation. He and his team have given us some of the most terrifying law bodies this side of Orwell.

But this time Joss, Jed, and Maurissa are couching a government team as the good guys and they seem to be doing it earnestly. I'm not a half-wit. I know that there will be twists and betrayals within the organization (they are already foreshadowing falsehood about Coulsin's resurrection story). But most of the people working for the status quo are actually trying to be honest, old-fashioned good guys. Sky's little journey from Anonymous-esque Counter Culture Hacker girl to S.H.I.E.L.D. collaborator perfectly symbolizes this transition. It's a huge tonal shift, and it is going to take a couple episodes to nail down.

My second defense is that this show is set in the Marvel cinematic universe. By themselves, the Marvel superhero films are fairly mediocre. Together though, they represent a trans-media vision of unprecedented scope. Seeing all the little ligatures and references is nerd cocaine. Inside jokery is part of it, but it's more than that. Being familiar with everything creates a semi-exclusive layer of knowledge that extends a sense of community to all who consume it. That is the very core of fandom. And the show isn't dragging its heels capitalizing on that promise. It is already calling back stuff from Captain America, Iron Man 2 and Iron Man 3.

There are less intellectually compelling reasons to keep watching too. Stuff seems to blow up on a regular basis. Kung-fu fights abound. Also most of the cast is stupidly, ludicrously attractive. Whedon favorites Ron Glass and J August Richards return to TV. And Coulson, who is a refreshingly average middle-aged dude with a penchant for nerdy collectibles, has proven himself to be extremely endearing. I suspect that he is actually a LMD, or a bio-augmented clone, or some ish, but taken at face value, he is the closest most of us will become to being a hero.

I will probably talk about this show again in the future, especially if it is a spectacular failure or if it blossoms into something rich and compelling.

Vacation Reading

Hello friends. Haven't posted anything on here since I've finished writing The Harrowing. Part of the reason is I have been on my honeymoon, which was amazing but probably not something you want to hear me go on about. The bigger picture is that I am shifting my focus away from critiquing entertainment to actually producing it. I am sacrificing all of my freetime on the altar of fiction writing. I will still periodically write about stuff that has moved me, but my posts will be in this scatter-gun style and they will likely grow more and more irregular. In the interim between book and honeymoon, I wrote a couple short stories, but now I am starting on my next long-term project (and working to get The Harrowing in front of an agent who knows what's what).


The Cuckoo's Calling

I actually like this better than the British cover, 

which has the bog-standard dude in a longcoat.

I am a huge devotee of Rowling, but I gave The Casual Vacancy a pass after I heard from multiple people that it was mostly bleak and filled with all sorts of unpleasantness. So I was extremely relieved when I had a great time with "Robert Galbraith's" "debut" (this is the detective novel Rowling mentioned in passing ages ago, but recently published under a pseudonym). The book really doesn't reinvent the detective novel; the protagonist is world-weary and lovably gruff, the mystery is an apparent suicide conundrum; a lot of it feels terribly familiar. But I can't help but care about her characters. In the space of a conversation, she can create a portrait of a personality that is either deliciously contemptible, genuinely endearing, sharp and sassy. The main characters have real problems presented with excellent pacing. I am looking forward to more of these.


The Last of Us

Fascinating how much the font says in this cover. Screams:
"Take me seriously, also think of The Road by McCarthy."

Naughty Dog is one of very few game companies whose titles go on my must-buy list. Uncharted 2 put them there, but with Last of Us, they've proven they can tame a far more serious breed of story and make you cry when they want to. The solemn tone hits you from the cover, and it's almost overbearing. I played the single-player game in small doses, in the company of friends over the course of several weeks, and I think I experienced in the optimal fashion. Any more than that, and I think the bleakness would be overbearing, or the game's own gravitas would come across as pretentious. But that's a very rare problem in triple A titles, and frankly, it's a refreshing one to encounter when paired with Naughty Dog's game design craftsmanship. It's a complex title, but there are no under-utilized systems. Everything from crafting to stealth to gunplay to upgrading skills and weapons feels tight and still very organic. It is lean. The story is engaging and brutal from beginning to end and while I am open to DLC, I honestly hope this doesn't become a franchise.


The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Short of Joss Whedon, Neil Gaiman is probably my strongest literary influence, and The Ocean at the End of the Lane is very much a Neil Gaiman novel. There are some touching moments, a handful of awful ones, and a fantasy wrapper to capture it all, but I was ultimately kind of underwhelmed by the brief little book, which felt similar to other stuff Gaiman has written before. When weighed against The Graveyard Book, or even Coraline, the Hempstock women didn't do much for me. He's drawing on the familiar Mother, Maid and Crone trinity of magic women, but the story also doesn't really contribute anything new to their lore. The villainess was fascinating, but she is ultimately undercut by an abrupt switch to another more amorphous threat at the end. And ultimately, each character felt like abstracted versions of real people, especially when immediately contrasted against Rowling's characters.


Dredd

I've never touched a Judge Dredd book, and I probably wouldn't even know the character existed if it were not for that awful Stallone-vehicle from the 90s. That said, I heard positive things about this little film. It's acted extremely well, with an inspired bit of casting placing Karl Urban in the titular role, and the sparing use of visual effects in the crime-ridden dystopia of Megacity 1 works very well. If you are looking for high concept sci-fi, you will walk away disappointed; this is essentially RoboCop minus the sense of humor and social commentary; lots of brutal violence and explosive gun fights. That said, the dialog is reasonably sharp and the film captures the core of a lesser known comic hero. I'm not sure it will find the sequel that the internet is pulling for but it's on Netflix and worth a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Saga

I blew through both the available trades in the space of an afternoon and now I want more. There is so much imagination at work in Brian Vaughn's writing, and Fiona Staple's art brings it to life in a vivid, gorgeous way. If the devil offered me the opportunity to have her illustrate my work, he'd be a soul richer and I one poorer. This is the "next big thing" I didn't know I was waiting for. To my fellow comic nerds, the hype you've heard is well-earned. To use the laziest form of explanation in the critic's arsenal, Saga feels like the middle ground between Star Wars and Firefly but with more inventive magic and a lot more sex thrown in. Vaughn and Staple have said they are not interested in adapting the franchise to TV or film because they want to use it as a vehicle to explore what they can do in comics. Part of me wishes they would consider adapting, just so I can have more Saga to love, but I also tremendously respect their decision to keep the creative ball firmly in their own courts. People love to cite Game of Thrones and Breaking Bad as the heralds of this golden age of television, but I don't know man...From my perspective comics are where it is happening hard right now.

As I descend back into novel writing mode, I'm not sure when I will do another one of these. I am starting on Breaking Bad finally, so you can expect to have my 2 cents on that at some point. I'll probably get around to GTAV too after the hype train has left the station and everybody is officially over it. Until then readers!

The Harrowing is Here

After nine months the first draft of my first novel, The Harrowing, is complete. My literary idols are Joss Whedon, Neil Gaiman, and Jerry Holkins, but I probably drew most of my inspiration from videogames and anime. As such, most of the book is talking or fighting. No, seriously. I have called it a Young Adult novel before, but what I really mean by that is I wrote the type of thing I would have enjoyed reading as a teenager.

If I haven't deterred you yet, here is my back of the book synopsis:

Jack Hoyle just wanted a bowl of ramen. Instead, he got shot in the head.

After arriving in the nether city of Limbo, where memories are currency and even the architecture is transient, Jack learns the truth behind his death. A ruthless and cunning Reaper named Graves killed him so that he could compete in a tournament known as The Harrowing. 

 Judged by a cosmic being that dwarfs deities, champions compete for the ultimate prize: returning to life. The rules are arcane. The arenas defy logic. The roster consists of the most dangerous souls culled from countless worlds. And those who lose are erased from existence. But Graves knows things others don't: The fate of Creation hinges upon the tournament's outcome, and Jack is uniquely qualified to bend its rules. 

Aided by a mysterious spirit, a former goddess, and an old friend, Jack must undergo Graves' traumatizing training, navigate the afterlife, and slay a parade of opponents both hellish and honorable—preferably without losing his soul in the process. 

 You can rest when you're dead my ass. 

Still with me? Sweet. That means you're a really cool person with exquisite taste. Very probably attractive and intelligent too.

This is the first draft of a first effort. It is a complete product, but not a finished one. I already have a couple ideas on how I can tighten it up and improve it. Maybe add some more stuff that isn't talking or fighting. You know, feelings and shit. What I'm getting at is, this is probably not the definitive edition of this book.

That said, I'm really proud to have completed it. I think it's a hell of a ride and if you want to read it, I'm game. If you want to read a soft copy, shoot me an email at Sarcasmancer@gmail.com, or message me on Twitter @Sarcasmancer, or send me a message on Facebook with your preferred email address. My conditions are you don't post it anywhere online, and you don't share it with anyone else without my express permission.

See you in Limbo!

Comics Binge 2: The Bingening

I haven't been reading as many traditional books lately because taking in other people's prose when I am writing really throws off my game. To compensate, I have been reading tons of comics, and it is a good time to be a comic book nerd.

Hawkeye by Matt Fraction and David Aja

I haven't devoured a book like this since Whedon's run on Astonishing X-Men. If you are  like me, you probably don't know a lot about Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. To put it mildly, his character has been underutilized thus far in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Even though he was technically one of the stars of The Avengers, his appearances felt like extended cameos. I kind of assumed it was because there isn't a lot to work with there. I mean, what can a really good sharpshooter (who uses a bow no less) bring to a team with whose roster includes a ballerina superspy, a paragon war hero, a one-man armored battalion, an invincible rage monster and a fucking Norse god?

Fraction recognizes this disparity and runs with it, though his run on Hawkeye is about what Clint does when he is not working with the Avengers. It talks about the everyday life of being a superhero. There are still bad guys to fight, but there is also hanging out in his apartment, errands, and actual human relationships. The closest thing I can approximate it to is Astro City, though I actually drastically prefer Hawkeye to that oft-revered series because the writing in the latter is so much wittier and the characters are so damn personable. I never felt like I would want to meet Samaritan, or anybody else from Astro City because they all struck me as one-note superhero caricatures; case studies to make witty observations about superhero comics. I would love to hang with both Clint Barton and Kate Bishop (who both operate under the name Hawkeye) because they are like real people.

Clint is actually kind of a perennial fuck-up. He does something dumb at least once per issue, but he also always manages to save the day anyway. He has a weird sense of humor, occasionally addressing inanimate objects when they frustrate him, and a refreshing self-awareness that never descends into whiny self-deprecation (see Spider-Man) or blatant metahumor (See Deadpool). Kate Bishop is his sassy, but devoted proteje, which sounds derivative and cliched but I dare you not to be charmed by her. The Tracksuits, Russian gangsters who wear (you guessed it) tracksuits, and punctuate every sentence with the word "Bro" are my new favorite flunkies. The entire comic has this excellent sense of humor.

And David Aja's art, my god! Panels aren't only expertly illustrated, but every page is beautifully designed. The ways this comic plays with color theory and panel layouts are absolutely genius. You could pretty much pick a page at random, frame it, put it on your wall, and you would catch eyes and garner compliments. Something as obvious and simple and mundane as phone conversation is presented in spectacular fashion.

I really cannot praise this book enough. If you are into comics or art or superheroes at all, snatch this series up immediately. Today. It will improve your week.

Locke & Key by Joe Hill and Gabriel Rodriguez

Locke & Key has one of those brilliant premises that would make any fantasy writer jealous. After a truly horrific tragedy, three siblings and their mom move to a house that is filled with strange keys. Keys that can turn back time, or allow you to open up your head and pull stuff out or put things in. Keys that can change your sex or race. Keys that can turn you into a ghost, or a giant or an animal. In addition, the kids are stalked by a cunning evil being known as Dodge, who is hunting for the Omega Key.

The series is ultimately horror-flavored, and rife with raw portrayals of violence and psychologically abrasive issues like grief, guilt, alcoholism, adolescent angst. While the dialog lacks the quippery and contemporary colloquialisms of say, Whedon or Fraction, it reads smart and makes the characters real. The pacing is perfect, with a satisfying blend of supernatural action, suspenseful plotting and frank emotional interactions. In many respects, I think Joe Hill has outdone his father (the famed Stephen King) in terms of moving the characters forward through the world and punctuating their journey with meaningful epiphanies. He is perfectly suited to the comic book form, though I am now interested in checking out his other work.

Horror is actually a brilliant genre for books starring adolescents because at that age, everything seems so damn serious and nothing makes any fucking sense--especially other people. It is also the age when you realize, quite abruptly and keenly, that your parents are totally fallible and probably just as flawed as you, though in different ways. All these issues are explored by the book in more than a superficial capacity.

Gabriel Rodriguez's art is actually kind of ugly, but in an intentional and refreshing way. Instead of the physical ideals of superhero comics, we have body types of every stripe, people with poor complexion, weirdly shaped faces, and punkish hair styles that are both endearing and off-putting. Again, these aesthetics are perfect for teenagers (and horror). Also, there's just something about the way Rodriguez does blood... it looks so damn thick and gross. The way he does violence in general is super visceral and compelling.

Again, this is definitely a series to pick up.

The Unwritten by Mike Carey and Peter Gross

This is actually a book I started reading a long time ago, and I could have sworn I've written about it before but I apparently I have not. The Unwritten is about stories and the power they hold over the universe. It is the most literary comic book I have read, eclipsing even Sandman with it's sheer number of references, though where the references were effortless and ephemeral for Gaiman, they are the main course here. If you aren't a fan of metafiction and intertextuality this is a tough sell. There are often moments where this series feels like it would much rather be a series of novels than comic books, though I think it does work best as a comic.

The book is about a man named Tom Taylor, who may have been created from literature by his famous author father, who wrote a series of books that are obvious analogs to Harry Potter. Fiction and magic bleed into reality, history is manipulated by a cabal of evil motherfuckers who use stories to rule the world, and adventure ensues.

It took me a long time to really get into the series. I wasn't completely sold on it until volume 3, but now, having completed volume 7 I am very glad I've stuck along for the ride. I really resonate with the reverence of fiction, and the belief that stories shape our entire understanding of the world. English majors, particularly those with a creative writing bent, are very much the target audience.The alternate history stuff Carey throws in is fascinating, though the pacing feels a bit off-kilter. Most of the characters are also kind flat in terms of personality though, and while the plotting is super elaborate, the relationships are very straightforward.

I have become accustomed to Peter Gross' art style, though compared to the other two books in this binge, it doesn't do much for me. The characters always look extremely normal, with a few notable exceptions, such as Pullman and Savoy. When the comic wanders into fictional worlds, the art perks up a bit, though the colors are always a bit more muted than I would like. The stuff done with magic and things melting into text are really cool, and there are scenes of deeply intricate detail.

In conclusion, The Unwritten is well-worth reading if you are big into literature. Less so for general audiences.

In the coming months, I will be diving into both Preacher and the original Hellblazer because I have heard amazing things about both. I will also be delving deeper into Runaways which is off to a fairly promising start.

Summer Movie Recap

I've had quite a lapse since raving about Bioshock Infinite in April. In the following few days, I will be doing a series of recaps on how I have spent the summer, aside from writing my novel (the rough draft is complete by the way, and very nearly ready to be ripped apart). Today I will talk about films I've seen, and soon move on to reading material (including Locke & Key) and video games (including Last of Us).

The Great Gatsby was one of the few books that high School English couldn't poison by assigning it. Fitzgerald had a masterful plot and very pleasing prose. Baz Luhrmann's big budget adaptation had an enticingly interesting hook behind it, highlighting the parallel excesses of contemporary hip-hop culture and roaring twenties bacchanalia. It's weird and it's smart, but sadly, the film doesn't completely commit to the idea. At the beginning when everything is drunken partying, we get some interesting mash-ups, but when shit gets grim and serious, he drops the modern music and converts the great american novel into a surprisingly straight forward popcorn movie.

That said, the way the film handles cars deserves special mention because it is spectacular. In the book, they are presented as almost mythological engines of destruction. Like dragons, they tear through an unsuspecting world unleashing mayhem and inspiring awe. The cinematography brings their jarring speed, growling machinery and bright colors are spot on.

Star Trek: Into Darkness

My nerd cred is about to take a nosedive: I've never seen Wrath of Khan. That said, I think it was a boon for watching Into Darkness, because I was not slavishly comparing the two. From the sound of things, Wrath of Khan is the superior (if not superlative) Star Trek film. Into Darkness lacks the poignant moments of the first rebooted film (the opening sequence was genuinely tragic, and Pike's speech convincing Kirk to join Star Fleet is incredible), but it is a rollicking, visually pleasing adventure. The harder you think about it, the more things feel contrived, but all in all it's not a bad way to finish a bucket of popcorn.

I defended Iron Man 2, even though it wasn't a very good movie (especially when compared to the first movie's surprisingly pertinent 9/11 morality tale). Iron Man 3 is a much better movie than 2, mainly because it's funny. Not just in terms of the jokes, but in terms of narrative structure. Spoilers follow. We have several different movies worked into one: A standard superhero thriller, a brilliant buddy-comedy between Downey's Tony Stark and an unnamed boy actor who is charmingly manipulative and clever, and finally, an absurdist plot twist that re-vitalizes a xenophobic caricature of a villain into a weird but genuinely funny punchline. The movie takes some risks, but I think they pay off on the whole.

Oh man. This movie was so close to being what Warner Bros. desperately wanted: Superman Begins. But Snyder ultimately misrepresents what Supes stands for. Instead of Superman saving people and being an aspirational paragon for humanity, we have what felt like hours of punching down sky scrapers capitalized by a brutal, thuggish execution. I've since read that Snyder pushed for this ending specifically, and it really does sour the film. Parts of the movie are brilliant. Seeing Clark contend with his budding super powers was moving and brought vulnerability to an impervious character. Reversing Lois Lane's relationship with Superman's secret identity was also a brilliant call (though she had some cringe-worthy dialog). I can't help but wish Nolan were running the show instead of Snyder.

Guillermo del Toro's love letter to mecha anime and kaiju fans. It delivers exactly what it promises on the box: big robots beating the shit out of big monsters. If that sounds fun to you, go see this movie--I want more like it and it is hurting domestically. If that doesn't sound fun to you, I suggest you re-evaluate your world view and priorities. The script is serviceable but suffers from some cringe-worthy dialog and more plotholes than it ought to, even taking the absurd premise into account. The film is still a hell of a lot of fun, and it is thoroughly refreshing to see a new IP as opposed to another sequel or adaptation.

A 2010-era horror movie getting above an 80% on Rotten Tomatoes is rarer than a vampiric unicorn, so I had to give this a watch. You have seen this movie dozens of times before. It is a demonic possession/catholic propaganda story in the same vein as The Exorcist, with the "based on a true story / family moving into a new house" frame of Amityville. That said, the scares are very well-done. You see them coming a mile off, (because you've seen this before!) but you still jump with dread when the monsters appear.

My favorite part of the movie is actually the opening, which stands on its own as brilliantly creepy short story. It hints at a more novel movie that has yet to be made; a series of short, horrifying paranormal investigation cases set to the tune of Twin Peaks or Pulp Fiction. That's actually a movie I would love to write myself some day.

Above and Beyond

Hello dear readers. I apologize for the lack of posts last month. For the past fifteen years, I have been that guy who is "writing a novel," but since December I have actually been doing it. For real this time, and I am over 120 pages deep in it. Balancing that with work and a social life has left me with very little time for blogging. I will do my best to have at least one of these a month, but my first loyalty is to fiction. 

I also needed some time to digest one of the best videogames I have ever played. Bioshock Infinite is the best game I played since Braid. For my personal tastes, it may even be better. You can read most of this article without suffering any grave spoilers, and I will give you plenty of warning before I get to the big reveals, but you would be well-served to play it now if you haven't.

I agree that Elizabeth would have been a better choice for the cover, but I don't doubt that they will sell more games by featuring Booker. Just the world we live in.

I would like to begin by talking about the characters because they are so damn beautiful. Almost every video game has you play as a guy who can (and must) slaughter a hundred people before breakfast. Master Chief. Nathan Drake. Hell even Link and Mario. The weird, constant incongruity though, is that these are all supposedly "good guys." Bioshock Infinite takes this trope to task and imagines what that guy would be like in real life. Meet Booker DeWitt. Veteran of both Wounded Knee and the Boxer Rebellion, and Pinkerton strikebreaker. The guy is quite literally, a career murderer, but historically perfect for the 1912 setting. He has a gruff, down-to-business personality to match his bloody past and you would be inclined to think that would make the game relentlessly grim.


You'd be right, if the player you controlled was actually the main character. But the soul of this game is the woman you must rescue: Elizabeth. Many people, including the boys of Penny-Arcade, have likened her to a Disney Princess. Belle specifically. And it is an apt comparison, because she is plucky, beautiful, bookish and occasionally headstrong. But those qualities aren't forced on you. She does not come across as saccharine or hapless like so many Damsels from the House of Mouse. This is primarily achieved through her support role: in combat, she can rip tears into alternate realities that benefit her and Booker. She can pick locks and solve coded ciphers for you. And you never actually have to worry about escorting her or guarding her in combat because she's invulnerable, like Alex from Half-Life.

There are other characters. The Lutece siblings, who randomly appear throughout the story have the eccentricity of Portal's GLaDOS, but the unsettling otherworldly quality of Half-Life's G-man. There is the bloodthirsty leader of the vox populi rebellion Daisy Fitzroy. And there is the villainous, charismatic leader of the floating city Columbia,  Father Zachary Comstock. As with the audio files found throughout Rapture in the original Bioshock, these characters are developed steadily through found footage. And they are the most complex characters you will find in any video game to date.

The floating city of Columbia is a character itself as well. The magical powers you gain (called Vigors instead of Plasmids, and powered by Salts instead of Eve) do not dovetail with the game world's central thesis quite as well as they did in Bioshock, but I found the game's tale of racism and zealotry more compelling than the original games examination of Objectivism. People said the game would deal with racism, and I was skeptical, suspecting it would do a mild, toned-down presentation of racism, but it is presented in a refreshingly raw and ugly way that evokes genuine disgust on behalf of the gamer. Sadly the game does not allow you to deal with the issue in a meaningful way, save for one choice near the beginning. Ultimately, you do feel like you are in a racist theme park as opposed to an actual utopia, but Columbia still felt more alive to me than Rapture did.

But what of the actual gameplay? I am a big fan of combat in the Bioshock franchise. The addition of a recharging shield has been derided by a few, but I like the give-and-take rhythm it affords fights. I've talked about videogame violence as a canvas for creativity before, and this is a game that really lets you paint. The mix of magic, firearms, melee attacks and environmental features first introduced by Bioshock is still satisfying, but Infinite spices things up by letting you zip around on skylines and using Elizabeth's dimensional tear powers to alter the world you fight in on the fly. This is a beautiful mechanic that simultaneously develops the game's core concept and spices up fights. The depth available in any given encounter makes Halo's "Holy Trinity of Guns, Melee and Grenades look positively quaint, and Halo has much more variety than most of the shooters out there. That said, it is very easy to understand why 2K canned Infinite's multiplayer. Trying to realistically balance a system like this, especially using the bog-standard COD unlockables and load-out system would be a nightmare. Interestingly, the only FPS that gives Infinite any serious competition is also single-player only: Dishonored. Admittedly, The tone of the two games couldn't be more different, with Dishonored focusing on melee, stealth and careful resource management, while Infinite is pure, bombastic, cartoonish mayhem.

There are so many other little details to talk about. The way buildings bob in the air. The numerous corners, stuffed with well-hidden secrets that reward thorough investigation. Infinite also does ingenious and devious things with anachronistic music. You will hear 1912 versions of songs from the future. Little haunting whispers reminding you that the game's multiverse is coming apart at the seams.

Know this: Infinite's ending is the most satisfying, emotionally gripping and maturely written of any videogame I have played to date. Yes, including Braid. Including any Final Fantasy you can think of and all the Zeldas put together. The final twist not only subverts your expectations and understanding of the overall quest, but transforms your appreciation of specific moments throughout the game. It the videogame equivalent of a movie like Memento, or Inception, where you want to watch it again just to pick up on all the subtle details you missed. So before you read any further, go buy the game and beat it. I'll wait here. Trust me, you don't want this spoiled.



SPOILERS FOLLOW. GO BEAT THE GAME FIRST. SERIOUSLY.



Are we good? Did you finish it? Amazing right! It blew my mind, even though I guessed pretty early on that Elizabeth might be Booker's daughter. Let's talk about that first before I move on to the bigger reveal. As I mentioned, Elizabeth is incredibly charming. Like a Disney Princess, she was made to make you fall in love with her, and throughout the game, the player's almost inevitable attraction to her is at odds with Booker's gruffness and distance. He grows fonder of her as the game continues, and you are left wondering if he is falling for her too. But instead of giving you the obvious, magical castle ending, you find out she is his daughter. And you also find out that you are your own greatest enemy. The dashing rogue, Booker DeWitt is also the heinously racist religious zealot, Father Comstock.

Simply spelled out like that, the ending sounds lame. So does the entire plot of Memento, but the game, like that movie, is masterfully executed. It gives you ample evidence to guess the truth ahead of time--in fact, in many ways it is obvious, and the only logical explanation for the way things are. But it still manages to sneak up on you. And the whole yarn is undone by the smallest plot thread: a severed pinky finger. Think back to the moment at the hall of heroes, where you are confronting Slate. Isn't it odd that Slate and Booker are war buddies, even though Slate looks as old as Comstock? Isn't it odd that Comstock proclaims himself the hero of all these encounters?  The game gives you a hint that misleads you.You think, maybe Comstock was Booker's commanding officer, never suspecting that they are the same man.

Bioshock Infinite is not perfect, but it is the most brilliant title I've played in a long time.

Comics Binge

I have been on a comics binge lately. I would blame it all on a co-worker of mine, but she was just a catalyst. My preferred natural state is to be ingesting comics constantly; a homeostatic norm that was interrupted first by graduate school, and later by house-hunting, and finally by wedding planning. Now that all those things have been taken care of, I am going through several books a week. Here are a few of the series I've been reading.

Mind the Gap: A supernatural psychological thriller about a young woman caught in a coma. The writing is pretty sharp, but the plotting and pacing are a little too soapy for my tastes. Also has a ton of musical references I don't get. Still, it gets mad props for having a cast of strong female characters who push the story forward.

These covers are all kinds of awesome.

Manhattan Projects: This one is a  pulpy alternative history where the Manhattan Project is just a cover for numerous top secret pulpy experiments. The cast consists of scientific giants like Oppenheimer, Feynman and Einstein, but each has been re-imagined as a fucked-up evil genius/mad scientist. The books are very entertaining, featuring frequent fights with robots, nazis, aliens, death buddhists, etc. but they aren't very endearing. I find it hard to sympathize with a cast of full-on villains. Also, while the minimalist covers are awesome, I'm not not a big fan of the actual art, with lines that feel messy and characters the seem intentionally ugly. I do like how they play with color and highlighting though.

Captain Marvel (By Kelly Sue DeConnick): This is Marvel's Captain Marvel. More specifically, it is Carol Danvers, formally known as Ms. Marvel and about a half a dozen other monikers. I read the first trade's worth of this comic and found it to be smartly written and beautifully drawn. I'm really not a big fan of time-travel narratives, but despite that, I had a pretty good time. Again, it gets major points for intelligent, powerful and believably flawed female characters.

Astro City: I really like the concept behind these comics; let's show a superhero universe from the perspectives of petty crooks, reporters and other average Joes. Let's explore who inhabits the world of a superhero, other than the superheroes themselves. It's right up my alley. Unfortunately, the characters introduced felt oddly flat, and the stories felt very average. We don't get to spend time to many of the characters introduced, which may account for part of the problem, but in general the plots were just unsurprising. Easier to put down than it should be.

Kind of a boring cover for a very vibrant and lively book.

Jim Henson's Tale of Sand: As you may expect, this tale from the master of muppets is kind of whacky. There is an interesting story behind the story here as well. It started out as a screenplay Jim wrote that never got made because it was too bizarre for the studio's tastes. After languishing for years, it finally got picked up and made into a graphic novel. Crisp art makes all the absurdity feel very real and enjoyable. There isn't much in the way of dialog of characterization, but delightfully zany stuff keeps happening.

Dames in the Atomic Age: A locally-produced book that is quite charming, about a detective and his best friend (a boxer) caught up in a crazy pulp sci-fi universe. Great use of 40's and 50's slang. This book is an odd counter point to Manhattan Projects, as almost all the protagonists are likable, but the stories don't feel as novel. You burn through a lot of tropes, but at the end of the day, the solutions are pretty predictable.

Gaiman's not at the very top of his game here, 

but it's still well-worth a read.

Neil Gaiman's Book's of Magic: Neil Gaiman's story about Tim Hunter; a young boy with the potential become the greatest wizard the world has ever known. He is tutored by a bunch of trench coat wearing magi and occultists, including John "Hellblazer" Constantine. There are some similarities to Harry Potter, but unlike Harry Potter, Tim Hunter doesn''t do much of anything until the very end. He's there along for the ride, occasionally making kid-like noises and simple observations. The message about the dangers of magic, and the supernatural cattle-call of DC characters is diverting, but ultimately the book is a bit of a letdown.

My favorite series of all the ones I've started reading recently is Locke & Key, but that really deserves a post of its own, and it is coming, I promise! Have to finish another couple volumes first, though. I also recently splurged on Runaways volumes 1-9, so expect some verbiage on that relatively soon.

A Hundred Words on Hundreds

2013 GotY? Yeah right. Buy game anyway. Play game. Touchscreen gaming touchstone. Smart mechanics for smartphones. Touch circles, grow to 100. Red circle touching others = death. New mechanics as you go. May actually be GotY.

Simple aesthetic. Bold colors. 

A designer’s wet dream.

Kind of easy. Play more. Some tricky ones. Play more. Getting devious. Play more. How is this one possible? Play more. Every victory is a sweet triumph. Play more…

Soothing music does wonders for frustration. 
Sedate sounds for tense play.

There are also riddles. What the hell do they mean? Doesn't matter. Go play it.

A Hot Mess

If we're friends on Steam, (and if we're not, add me; I'm Sarcasmancer there too,) you may have noticed that I've been playing a lot of Hotline Miami lately. Even more than Dishonored, which I raved about not two weeks ago. There's a couple reasons for that. Primarily, I have the attention span of an over-caffeinated hummingbird. Secondarily, I've gotten very serious about a secret writing project that doesn't leave me much time for marathon gaming sessions, and this game is well-suited for shorter play. And finally, it is bloody good.

A vibrant cover that gives you a pretty good idea of what you're in for.

Hotline Miami is what might happen if Tarantino decided to design, write and direct a videogame after dropping acid. Various voices on the internet have whispered that Drive is a more prominent influence, but I haven't seen the film, so I can't really speak on that connection. The game is set in the late 80s of Miami, where you play as a letterman jacket-wearing lowlife, who must don animal masks and murder buildings full of other murderers at the behest of cryptic messages on your answering machine.

Now, in the context of videogames, mass murder isn't really that shocking.  It's pedestrian in fact. From GTA to Ratchet and Clank you mow down enemies by the dozen. Even Nintendo, the Disney of entertainment software, has you kill hundreds of enemies in a given playthrough of Zelda, Mario or even Kirby. What's shocking about Hotline Miami is the messy way those deaths are handled. In fact, the entire game is messy on several levels, but remarkably clean where it counts.

The game has an intentionally pixelated aesthetic that invokes an era of lesser graphical fidelity. This was a brilliant artistic decision. It echoes the style of videogames of the late 80s setting, it is an aesthetic that is technically and economically feasible for an independent developer and most importantly, it insulates the player from the game's extreme violence with a much-needed level of abstraction.

And that is the second way it is messy. You will see pixelated blood, guts and bits of brain. Occasionally an enemy will drag himself across the ground before dying. You will bludgeon, slash and shoot gangsters with a huge array of melee weapons, sporting goods, firearms and power tools. In this respect, it is undeniably similar to Rockstar's infamous Manhunt series; games that are literally styled after snuff films.

Manhunt however, is vividly rendered in 3D without any stylistic buffer and I don't play it for the same reason I don't watch torture porn: it disgusts me. I don't believe the violence will make rational people into monsters, but there isn't enough art and imagination there to make the experience feel rewarding instead of gross. Admittedly, Hotline Miami sits on the ledge of my limits.

So why play it? Like Super Meat Boy, it pairs brutally unforgiving difficulty with instant 1-button resurrection that gets you back into the action in seconds. You will die a lot. If you are like me, you will die an embarrassing amount. Most people can complete all 15 missions about 6 hours or so, but I think I've already clocked in twice that much time, and I still have a couple levels left.  Dying so much and resurrecting so easily allows you to see past the game's messy wrapper and appreciate its incredibly refined core-system: It is a puzzle game masquerading as an action game.

Each mission is broken up into a series of encounters which boil down to ridiculous runs of skillful twitch reflexes and the dumbest of dumb luck, or meticulously choreographed strategy and cheap tricks that exploit the predictable enemies. In most missions, you will do a mix of both. And the sense of relief and triumph you feel when you've completely cleared a level is enormous. I like this game better than Meat Boy, because while it demands excellence, it also indulges player improvisation to a greater degree. You have a variety of animal masks you can wear, which will subtly alter your character's abilities, and you also have a ridiculously large arsenal to draw from for your dark tasks. No two plays are alike, even when you play the same mission over for a higher score.

The last way in which the game is messy is the story. Your involvement with the voices on the answering machine are left open to interpretation, and these already-murky waters are further muddled by both surreal dream sequences and waking hallucinations. Toward the end of the game, you encounter talking corpses (who are apparently only there to tell you to fuck off), and there is also a last-minute change in protagonists. There is also a surprising moment of vulnerability early on though, when you rescue a girl from one of your crime scenes, and allow her to live in your apartment. Spoiler Alert: that doesn't end well. Those moments suggest the game is trying to call itself out, and point out just how screwed up this all is, but it never really coalesces into anything meaningful, because you are back on the mandatory murder train in seconds. It gets points for self-awareness, but loses some for failing to make a salient point. Also, the secret ending you can unlock provides a psuedo-political explanation that comes from far left field and fails to add any real depth to the experience. That said, it does raise questions and incite emotional reactions in the player, which is more than you can say for a lot of AAA titles out there.

Another area where the game excels is in the soundtrack. Each song alternates between pleasantly catchy and grating, so it pretty much captures the 80s perfectly. The mission music is high energy and frenetic, like the gameplay. The track that plays after each mission sounds like the formic ideal of a supermarket's ambiance filtered through a game console. And the song that blares in your apartment after every mission manages to be soothing and laid back, despite, you know, the blaring.

So would I recommend Hotline Miami? Kids obviously shouldn't be allowed anywhere near it. And neither should immature adults (particularly political alarmists who will refuse to look past the blood). Even with those caveats, I can't recommend it to general audiences, not because the game is dangerous, or because I believe it will make people more dangerous than they already are, but because most people don't have the masochistic mentality of an old school gamer. It takes a special kind of person to enjoy dying 20 times in a single firefight. If that sounds like you though, and you're looking for an experience that is both focused and messy, I can't recommend it highly enough.

Gunning Down Gangster Squad

When I told a friend I was heading to a screening of Gangster Squad last night, he apologized and wished me the best of luck. His concern was understandable given the critical consensus, and while I had planned on avoiding any kind of reviews prior to viewing, I had a good time with my expectations moderated. Faint praise, I know, but the bottom line is you can afford to give this one a pass, especially amidst Oscar season. The movie does have a few fun moments though, and it is worth a casual viewing on TV or Netflix (if it ever gets there).

The poster, like the rest of the movie, is passable.

I was an almost embarrassingly huge fan of Zombieland, director Ruben Fleischer's main claim to fame, but he was a poor choice here. While he has a gift for portraying both violence and comedy, he also has a very modern and lighthearted style that is ill-suited for a more serious period piece. The film feels like several different movies at different times, and never really forms a consistent identity. The best thing I can say about Gangster Squad is that it does not try to be L.A. Confidential, or anything else by James Elroy. That off-the-mark comparison is inevitable though, given the film's setting and subject matter.

Another reason I wanted to see the movie was the cast. Sean Penn gives a passionate performance, but that is also a mixed blessing. He portrays Mickey Cohen with such menacing intensity that it has a larger-than-life quality to it. Like Fleischer's direction, it flirts with full-on parody, but doesn't quite get there. A script with Disney-villain characterization doesn't help matters. Cohen unceremoniously kills off his subordinates, periodically explodes with rage, and makes a bunch of speeches that only serve to emphasize how despicable he is.

Josh Brolin gives a solid performance for a boring lead character: Sergeant John O'Mara. You've seen this soldier-turned-cop a hundred times before, and his iteration isn't written to be that likable. People repeatedly call him an honest cop and say he's got a good heart, but I think his dismal self-assessment as a retired soldier who doesn't know how to do anything but fight is far more accurate. He's almost as brutal as Cohen, and even more bullheaded.

Ryan Gosling's character, Jerry Wooters, is more likable and the other characters assess him far more accurately. One of the best lines in the movie is, "He's got a smart mouth but he's dumb where it counts." Emma Stone is wasted on a script that delegates her as mere eye-candy, though she does look stunning and her wardrobe will make you weep for what has become of women's fashion. Stone and Gosling comprise the star-crossed lovers of the film, though they don't really seem to sizzle in this movie, which is crazy because they were supposed to be stupid-good together in Crazy Stupid Love.

While the rest of the titular Gangster Squad is likable, nobody else in the supporting cast really gives a stand out performance. Again, I think a bad script is to blame. For every good line, there are at least five lazy cliches and trite observations. For every fresh scene, there are three you have seen before.

It seems like the stars just aren't right for Gangster Squad. It had a rough road to the silver screen too. After the Aurora massacre happened, Warner Bros. pulled the trailers and pushed back the premiere to re-shoot a gunfight that was originally supposed to occur in a movie theater. It was a compassionate gesture that will go completely unrecognized in the wake of Sandy Hook, with Washington and every media outlet imaginable blaming these atrocities on video games and Hollywood instead of a culture that systematically ignores mental illness and viciously preserves easy access to assault rifles. But that's an issue for another post.

Bloodiest Fun in The South

I'm hard-pressed to think of a film that has been more poorly suited for a Christmas Day release than Django Unchained. It's a modern day exploitation film about one of the United States' most shameful periods of history with a central theme of vengeance, whose spree of gleeful violence is punctuated by scenes of truly sickening brutality. In other words, Quentin Tarantino is square in his comfort zone making damn sure you never find yours. But it's a hell of a lot of fun despite how hard it can be to watch.

One of the weaker posters for the movie. Sit tight and I'll find a cooler one...

Most of Tarantino's films are Westerns (you could even make the case that they all are), but Django wears the genre most ostentatiously. The titular character is a reference to a Franco Nero film that is famous for both its extreme violence, and the host of unofficial sequels it spawned. 

Just as Inglorious Basterds was a dark, fairy tale re-imagining of World War II, Django is a dark fairy tale about the pre-Civil War South. The eponymous hero (Jamie Foxx) is a slave liberated by Doctor Schultz (Christoph Waltz), a German dentist turned bounty-hunter. Django displays a prodigious talent for killing people and declares that his ultimate goal is to reunite with his wife Brunhilde. Schultz, touched by the parallels between Django and the German folk hero Seigfried (who also set out to rescue a Brunhilde), takes Django on as his partner. While Schultz has no problem killing people, even in front of their own children, he finds the institution of slavery appalling and morally reprehensible; the obvious implication being that the serial slaughter of "bad guys" is preferential to slavery.

This one is more abstract, but I really liked the look of it.

It's a position you can't help but sympathize with when you are introduced to plantation owner and mandigo fighting enthusiast, Calvin J. Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio). This is one of DiCaprio's finest performances, and far and away his most chilling. Candie's mix of abject cruelty, vapid dandyism and slimy smugness easily makes him the most loathsome villain of 2012. But what is mandigo fighting you ask? It is a (fictitious) practice where plantation owners pit their male slaves against each other in fights to the death. One would think that slavery held enough actual horrors to furnish an exploitation flick, even one as lengthy and exaggerated as Django. But, the exploitation film Mandingo happens to be one of Tarantino's favorites, and he's always been a sucker for self-indulgent cinematic references. And if you are going to this movie for historical accuracy, or an enlightened discourse on the evils of slavery, you are watching for the wrong fucking reasons.  

Although, like all of Taratino's stuff, there were moments where I wondered if there was a right reason to watch, and what my choice of movie said about me as a person. In a pivotal scene, DiCaprio actually slices his hand on a crushed cordial glass, but rather than cutting the scene to get a bandage, he continues on in-character and wipes his real bleeding palm on Kerry Washington's face without her prior knowledge or consent. It was the most disturbing thing I've seen at the movies in the past year, and it makes you wonder how much of this is actually making an artistic point versus trying to shock and alienate the audience.

I think this one is fan-made, but it is my favorite. 

This raw intensity is oddly juxtaposed against the film's gunfights, which come off as comical by comparison, with full-on Spaghetti Western blood geysers erupting from each felled foe. Despite that disparity, I had more fun with Django than I did with Basterds, because it felt like a much more focused experience. Ironically, my favorite Tarantino flick is still Pulp Fiction, which is far more surreal and discordant than either of these two historical exploitation fairy tales, though I'll admit my personal nostalgia for that film is a big, (and at this point, unassailable) factor.  The thing I like about all of Tarantino movies, aside from the dialog and corny-yet-undeniably-cool style, is that they are equally divorced from formulaic, impotent Hollywood blockbusters and overwrought, pompous Oscar-bait. If you ail from either, Django is an antidote to both. 

On Revenge and Fantasy Whales

I've yet to get my pistol belt in Assassin's Creed III but I have stopped playing it for the time being, partially because I realized how sad that was after writing about it, but mostly because another game has utterly outclassed it. If you've guessed I'm talking about Dishonored, give yourself a little pat on the back.

Corvo's creepy-ass mask gives you a good idea of the game's tone. 

Like that other title, the plot revolves around assassination. And once again, the primary personal motivator is revenge; I suspect because narratively-speaking, it's actually quite difficult to 'justify' serial assassination with anything else, even if the people you are killing are objectively 'bad.' You play as Corvo, the framed bodyguard of a murdered empress, and you join the ranks of a rag-tag alliance trying to rescue her kidnapped daughter.

That story had the potential to be pretty interesting, but it is hamstrung by the decision to have a mute protagonist. The game tries it's hardest to give other characters personalities, but since you can only kill them or complete quests for them, they come across as road-bumps for your man-shaped car. I hope that one day this trend will go the way of Classical Dramatic Unities as well-meaning but primitive conventions that hold media back.

The world though! The world of Dishonored oozes character. The decor echoes The Combine from Half-Life as well as Victorian England and World War I Germany. As that recipe may suggest, it's almost relentlessly grim, but also a little bit mad. So far, I haven't fought any monsters that could described as Lovecraftian; there are no tentacles or squamous blobs to speak of, but the atmosphere of madness is here in spades. It's a dark world whose secrets are pulling it apart by the seams. And there is the Outsider to consider.

He may remind you of a darker version of Gaiman's Morpheus, what with his abraxael temperament and his pitch black eyes. Shortly after you join up with the rebels, he gives you the power to teleport short distances and the opportunity for more fearsome magic like possessing rats and people, slowing down time, blasting people with wind and summoning rats to devour bodies--dead or alive. He also gives you one of the coolest videogame tools I've ever received. A beating heart stuffed with clockwork that helps you find upgrades, and when prompted, whispers disquieting secrets about the world and the people in it. If you are making a storytelling game, seriously consider putting neat optional narration tools like that into it. At the very least, I will love you for it.

One of the coolest things about Dishonored is it's treatment of whales. Conceptually speaking, anyway. The actual treatment of in-game whales is appalling to modern sensibilities. They are tirelessly hunted so people can harvest ambergris, which is a real thing. Except, instead of being used to make perfume, it acts as a revolutionary, universally applicable and highly volatile energy source.  It can power futuristic devices. It explodes if you shoot at it. The stuff is saturated with mystic power. And the same seems to be true of whales in general. You can collect charms and runes which are both carved from whale bones and used to purchase upgrades for your otherworldly powers. They are like currency for the Outsider.

It's one thing to invent a creature from whole cloth and say it's magical. Since you just made it up, how can it not be? It's another thing to take a known creature, especially one already fraught with significance and symbolism, exaggerating here and tweaking there to turn it into the driving force behind an entire world.

I think I've already sunk a good 15 hours into the game in my roundabout way, and so far I've only completed the first assassination mission. I'm not even attempting anything particularly fancy, like a no-kill or perfect stealth runthrough, though those options exist if you want to challenge yourself.

If you enjoyed Deus Ex: HR, Thief titles, or even BioShock, Dishonored is well-worth your ticks and cents.