Lost Among the Dunes

Despite my love for science fiction, I am not really all that well-read in the genre, especially where the classical authors are concerned. This is not due to deliberate omission as much as culture diffusion and osmotic pressure. The ideas put fourth by Asimov, Wells and Heinlein, concepts like time travel and interstellar empires, have already seeped into the cultural conscious and attained a familiarity which I cannot help but take for granted, so I feel little compulsion to read the original source material. I realize this historical indifference is the mark of a foolish young man, but I'm wise enough to be in no hurry to grow older. Fortunately, I have friends and family who are wise and insistent enough to get me to read classic sci-fi.


Such was the case with Frank Herbert's Dune, a novel I now refer to as The Lord of the Rings of science fiction. Like many off-the-cuff descriptions, my comparison serves as a point of reference more than anything else: Both works share the same staggering scale; epics which establish fictional universes whose detailed histories exert genuine gravity on readers. Yet the actual structure of Dune's mythology bears a greater resemblance to Middle-Earth than to that of Asimov's Foundation, though now that I write it, Dune might be better summed up as the middle ground between those two novels.

The most impressive thing about Dune, the thing which elevates it above Tolkien in my opinion, is that it is as dense as it is broad and deep. Yes, Herbert gives you rich detailed lore, and poems, but rather than forcing it into long chapters about walking, riding or hiking, he presents them as footnotes before each chapter so they don't become insuferable tangents which swallow the story's momentum. The first novel Dune novel feels like a complete trilogy in and of itself, as it follows young Paul Atreides journey from prince of Caladan, to rebel leader, to religious figure and emperor of the intergalactic Empirium. Over the course of that journey, Herbert delves into heady topics of ecology, religion, sociology to develop the distinctive culture of intriguing factions like the semi-nomadic, religiously fantic, worm-riding Fremen warriors and the scheming Bene Gesserit, who resemble ruler-cracking mother superiors schooled in Jedi mind tricks and yoga, mixed with a dash of dominatrix for good measure. Among these colorful factions we find unforgetable characters such as Stilgar, the wise warrior-priest cheiftan, the treacherous yet sympathetic Wellington Yueh, and my personal favorite, Gurney Halleck the silver-tongued bardic assassin. All these disparate elements blend against the amazing backdrop of the desert planet Arrakis whose unique ecology is the sole producer of the life-prolonging precience enhancing spice, Melange. Also, gaint god-worms of death.



The sci-fi concepts which guide Dune's story are as intriguing and densely presented as the story itself. Classic sci-fi tropes like laser weapons, force fields, and faster than light travel are all present and accounted for, and they are accompanied by other fantastic technology such as Ornithropters (aircrafts that fly by flapping their wings like birds) and water-recycling suits. These are mere set pieces however. The details of such technology pales in comparison to Herbert's exploration of concepts like hypnotic suggestion, evolution and presience; things which literally change the dynamic of what it means to be human. He takes a mystical approach to these concepts, much like how somebody from the eighteenth century might address cellphones, rather than a highschool science teacher trying to establish hard rules.

Herbert's books aren't any poorer for the omissions. On the contrary, they remain readable. Trying to sort through that sort of intellectual detritus in addition to navigating all the disparate philosophies and politics at work would merely exhaust readers: an important lesson I repeatedly fail to remember when working on my own fiction. Whenever the plot particulars points in a story get difficult (a character is being difficult, I forget where I'm going with something, etc.) I preoccupy myself with the grand questions of the fictional universe said story takes place in. Last week this led to wikipedia binge on quantum physics that led me to look at the universe as a perpetually splintering thread of possibility. Interestingly, I was reading Children of Dune at the time (the inspiration for this post), and I found both my thread concept, and the mind numbing confusion surrounding it reflected in Leto II's struggle with pressience and past lives. I'm still not sure if my life was imitating art or merely being fucked up by it.

Anyway, I think this is a suitable stopping point for today. I'll continue with Dune Messiah and Children of Dune next time. Expect more in the way of actual lit criticism.

Inglorious Basterdry

I can't really tell if I am really a fan of Quentin Tarantino.

Mostly it's a matter of connotation. He is a cult figure and as such, his fandom has certain cult-like qualities, including a level of devotion I cannot attest to. This devotion does not necessarily constitute unquestionable love and approval of his works, but rather an intense level of interest and auxiliary knowledge. Seeing movies are merely the tip of the cult iceberg, or better yet, they are the coke bottles that fall from the sky around which the fandoms form. The bulk of the cult experience lies in learning the lore of the filmmaker and the process which creates his movies. Their inspirations, references; all the little stuff casual audiences miss. I can't claim to that level of familiarity for Tarantino, even though I have seen Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, From Dusk Til Dawn, Jackie Brown, Kill Bill, Death Proof, and now Inglorious Basterds as well.

Consequently, I'm not sure I can say I am fan of Tarantino even when convoluted cult implications aren't an issue. I don't want to tell you that Basterds is a bad movie, because it isn't. It is extremely entertaining and mostly enjoyable while you watch it. But somewhere between the credits and the drive home, the experience knotted and twisted in my stomach, crystallizing into a bezoar that squelched up all the joy from my watching, and reminded me of everything that annoys me about the writer-director-auteur. And yet, the film has changed on me again; there is a sick brilliance to the whiplash the movie induces. It brings crass, violent pulp to a higher level while simultaneously sinking to new lows of tremendous vileness.

To be completely fair, my biggest complaint with Inglorious Basterds is a personal gripe: The actual film did not reflect the film I saw in the commercials and wanted to see in theaters: a faster paced, less poignaint, more character driven affair. After I saw the real thing, what I wanted became much clearer to me: a Magnificent Seven or even anime styled approach to the Basterds roster, with each member of the ensemble having a distinct over-the-top personality and combat speciality that would play off the others. There were hints of that movie in the one I saw, but somewhere along the lines, the Basterds team of about ten got whittled down to three personalities: Donny 'The Bear Jew' Donnowitz (Eli Roth); who kills nazis with a baseball bat, Hugo Stiglitz; a German officer turned Nazi killing psychopath, and Aldo Raine; the loud-mouthed, scalp-collecting, Tennessean leader of the Basterds, who is brilliantly played by Brad Pitt. Simply listening to him talk is a treat, and his lines are easily the best in the movie. The rest of the Basterds are entirely forgettable.


The movie has some other good characters, but only Christopher Waltz's Hans Landa "The Jewhunter" feels like he belongs in the same story, serving as the only adversary who feels adequately evil for the Basterd's brutality. Hitler seems more like a fussy man-child than an evil tyrant, while the rest of the upper Third Reich only get cameos. While Waltz does an excellent job at making Landa look menacing, his character's chilling presence does not stem from a unique personality or style (as is the case with truly memorable villains like Anton Chigur, Sephiroth, Darth Vader and The Joker) but rather from a series of impossibly tense yet ridiculously drawn out conversations. The film's opening scene, a confrontation between Landa and a dairy farmer hiding Jews under his floor boards; is a prime example. Tarantino stretches five minutes worth of dialogue into what feels like fifteen minutes with all sorts of artsy cuts and turns of phrase that aren't so much clever (no 'Royales with Cheese' or 'was that a miracle?'-caliber chats to be had here) as they are obnoxiously passive-aggressive ("Mind if I have a glass of milk?" "Mind if I smoke my pipe?" "Mind if I ask you eighty questions to which I already know the answer?"). It is effective at cultivating suspense, but I also got so impatient waiting for the climax that I started to get bored.



The entire film, which is divided into five chapters, follows a similar dramatic arc. Rather than focusing on the exploits and personalities of the Basterds, the movie builds toward a climatic showdown at the premiere of the German propaganda film 'pride of a nation.' This subplot is centered around the revenge of Shoshanna (Melanie Laurent) , a Jewish girl who escaped Landa's massacre of her family in the opening scene. Sometime after the deployment of the Basterds she has become a theater owner in Paris, and while changing the letters on the marquis one evening, she catches the eye of Schutze Fredrick Zoller; a young german war hero who just happens to be the star of the forthcoming propaganda film "A Nation's Pride." Hoping to score points with Shoshanna, Fredrick convinces propaganda minister Goebles to host the premiere at her theatre. From there, the movie details Shoshanna's and the Basterds independent plots to use the premiere as an ambush against the Nazi high command.

Both of these plots run concurrently to each other well enough, but I kept waiting for them to intersect, and for me that moment never happened. I was watching two entertaining, but very different movies. Melanie Laurent does a wonderful job of bringing real emotional force to Shoshanna's vengeful ambitions; so much so that it feels a bit too serious for the Basterd's brutal antics. On the plus side, Shoshanna may be the best female character Tarantino has ever rendered. But the emotional solemness of her revenge-turned tragic romance made it difficult for me to take the film as lightly as I'd like to. Diane Kruger also gives a noteworthy performance as Birdget Von Hammersmark, a turn-coat kraut movie-star who helps the Basterds get into the premiere, and fits right in with the film I expected; A superficial creature who speaks in slightly exaggerated German, seamlessly shifts gears between cunning, cruelty and charm, and shows up at the German premiere in a high healed leg cast.

Interestingly, the only common thread between these two different films represented by these two different women are little details reminiscent of fairy tails. Symbolic items like lost shows and glasses of milk, acts of medieval violence like bludgeoning and scalping, and ill-fated romances where both parties are beauty and beast. Yet these little subplots and details and minutiae driven dialogue produce an experience that feels thoroughly fussed about and fucked with. It is obvious that Tarantino does not want his self-proclaimed masterpiece to be summed up by a single emotion or trite moral message, but he seems so wary of such a fate that he fights against any interpretation at all save for his own. Ultimately, we are watching a mind consume itself with grandiose ambition through the lens of fiction.

In conclusion, I'm still not completely sure about how feel about Inglorious Basterds. It a holy grail for cult fans; a puzzle begging to be picked apart, argued about and reassembled endlessly. Casual audiences with a taste for blood and violence may also enjoy themselves if they can turn off their mental and emotional compasses, for they will not have the energy to navigate the maze of strange implication embedded within the narrative. If you are a casual fan of Tarantino's films, you owe it to yourself to check it out, Just don't hold it against me if you feel dirty afterwords.

Japan's Finest! Space Cowboys and Hiphop Samurai!

Howdy Amigos. As promised last time, we're heading back to the Old West in space via the Far East on Earth. Our mission? To examine one of the finest anime ever produced: Cowboy Bebop. If you get tired of my palaverin' on about intergalactic cowboying, just click the links to the awesome tunes, and check out the amusing embedded video (!). If you make it all the way to the end, I have some words about the hip-hop swordplay of Samurai Champloo too. If that don't satisfy, I dunno what to tell ya, there's just no pleasing some folk.


Premise-wise, Cowboy Bebop probably sounds very similar to Firefly. In both cases you've got a crew of lovable misfits drifting around a loosely policed galaxy looking for enough work to pay the repair bills and keep food on the table. The Bebop's Crew is smaller, and they work as bounty hunters (called "Cowboys" in the series) instead of outlaws, but the real distinction between the two shows is a matter of style. While Firefly is solely a western within it's sci-fi trappings, Bebop is by turns, a Hong Kong Kung-Fu flick, a film noir, and a Jazz Odyssey.

In fact, it's the music that makes the show. Series director Shinchiro Watanabe is as renowned for awesome music as Joss Whedon is for witty dialogue, and Yoko Kanno, who might be considered the John Williams of anime, penned the score. Listening to the opening and closing themes will do your ears good and give you a feel for the general poles of the show (funky and frenetic vs. soulful melancholy) , but there is so much more to hear before you can really appreciate the incredible range of the soundtrack (and what I've linked here just tips the 'berg). Musicality is a general theme for the show, with episodes referred to as sessions and named after record titles or various pieces of music.


Meet the cast and crew of the Bebop. From left to right we've got ex-cop Jet Black, ex-triad Spike Spiegal, femme fatale Faye Valentine, crazy girl Ed, and Ein the data dog.

The eclectic nature of the music reflects on the quality of the writing. There is the eastern emphasis on the journey as opposed to the ending, but unlike so many other anime and manga, the narrative does come to a coherent and decisive conclusion. There aren't any plot holes either, at least, not in the sense of incoherence, though it does suffer from cavernous blind spots which move beyond titillation and into exasperation; a distinction I measure by the moment viewers stop thinking "I wonder what happened there..." and start wondering "Did the writers even bother?" In this case, I am referring to the "main plot" of the series that focuses on Spike's history with the criminal element and his missing lady-love Julia. What little we learn of it is compelling enough to move you along with the story, but when looking back at it you can't help feel that something significant was left unsaid. Part of the problem may be that I love the enigmatic (if shallow) main bad-ass, Vicious too much; possibly because he reminds me of another ruthless, effiminate silver-haired swordsmen.

Before bidding a fair well to space westerns for the foreseeable future, I must acknowledge that Cowboy Bebop is not the only anime to do space cowboys, and some may dispute my claim that it does them best; namely Trigun fans. I'd be lying if I tried to tell you I enjoyed Trigun as much as Bebop, but before you decide to nail me to your cosplayed crucifix cannons (officially my strangest alliteration ever), allow me to qualify my decision: Trigun is a better Western, but a worse Space Western because the space aspect of the show is restricted to just a couple of episodes. Mostly it's just Vash The Stampede wandering around a barren desert planet, shooting at folk without killing them, devouring doughnuts and shouting "Love and Peace!". In case you ever wondered who would win a shoot out between Vash and Spike, allow me to present you with the following hypothetical:



For those wondering why the Japanese have such a yen (or should I say Zen?) for Westerns, the simple answer is that they are trying to get back at John Sturges for stealing the plot of Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai to make The Magnificent Seven. Feeble jokes aside, our romanticization of the gunslinger parallels Japan's treatment of Samurai, and I believe it accounts for much of the cross cultural genre bending.

Interestingly enough, Shichiro Watanabe's other genre blending masterpiece is about swordsman in the Edo period; Samurai Champloo. As I mentioned earlier, Watanabe is renown for musical shows, and Champloo happens to be Hip-hop flavored, which means it's about as historically accurate as Cowboy Bebop is historically predictive. Fortunately, it's also just as entertaining, and frequently entertaining in the same ways. Once again, we've got a two guy one girl set up, (though we've ditched the dog and the kid who were included in Bebop to lighten up the show's blueszy atmosphere) and we follow the trio through a trail of odd jobs as they seek out "The Samurai who Smells of Sunflowers". Unlike Bebop, the story telling is completely rooted in the eastern school of the journey, with the plot mounting up to a final duel between the two guys that never ends up happening.

Jin, Mugen and Fuu, just chillin'

Yoko Kanno doesn't come around again, presumbly because hip hop ain't her thang, but the music continues to impress anyway, and in closing, I present you with this link to Samurai Champloo's closing theme. Til next time, See You Space Cowboy.

My Kind of Folk

Even though I love the arcane trappings of magic and the raw symbolic power that pervades the fantasy genre, I am a science fiction man at heart. The reason is very simple really. While Fantasy draws its power from heritage and whimsy, Science Fiction is all about addressing change and exploring possibility. Essentially, one is nostalgic and the other is forward thinking.
So consider yourself forewarned: When Nerdmagedon commences, and battle lines are drawn to determine whether sci-fi or fantasy shall reign supreme, I will stand tall beside the Klingons, Jedi and Cylons against the elves, dragons and fairies.

Believe it or not this post was not inspired by Comicon, which I still have yet to attend. Rather, it stems from the sci-fi genre-bender binge I've been on the whole summer. I'm currently reading a tech-noire with heavy military undertones, playing a space survival horror game, and on the weekends, I get together with friends to re-watch the finest Space Western the world has to yet to see: Joss Whedon's Firefly.


Depending on who you are, that may sound like small praise or blasphemous hyperbole. The space western is still a pretty young sub-genre of science fiction, but what's there is good stuff. The earliest and most prominent example I am aware of is Star Wars, and while the work is too broad to be wholly classified as western, there is no doubt in my mind that it's lawless, frontier atmosphere is what allowed it to stand apart from Star Trek's universe, whose federation of planets seems insufferably tame and preachy by comparison. Another fine piece of fiction to work with the space cowboy concept is the anime Cowboy Bebop, which I shall discuss in detail next post.

The thing that sets Firefly above the above-mentioned series, is that it is a western first and foremost, with just a little bit of science fiction thrown in for flavor. Almost every character in the cast is based on a classic western archetype. You've got the wise old preacher, the hooker with heart of gold, the crass and crude mercenary brawler, the fancy doctor, and the confederates (Browncoats) who have turned to outlawin' following their defeat in the Civil War (The Unification). The only recurring characters who break the theme are crazy psychic girl, perky mechanic girl, and sarcastic ship pilot. Even the reavers(!), the series reoccurring bogeymen, conform to the old western stereotypes of Indians, in that they are also people, though frightening violent people who have a tendency for scalping and cannot be communicated with.

Now, I love a good western as much as the next sumbitch, but I couldn't rightly tell you that it's one of my favorite genres. By and large, there tends to be a little too much talk of land for my tastes and the folksy atmosphere, where men are supposed to be strong creatures of few words well versed in farming, firearms, and mechanics is hardly hospitable to my nerdy nature and suburban upbringing. The patriotic undertones and lack of cultural diversity also tend to bother me. Seeing how I am an average sample of Whedon's fan base, it is easy to see how he had trouble marketing this series and why Fox decided to pull the plug. Like most other people, I only discovered the show after it had been canceled, and realized that the sci-fi elements addressed all my country western anxieties.


Setting the series in a spaceship, as opposed to a town or a farm gives the series a sense of home (which is essential for the Western) without rendering it sedentary. To inject some cultural diversity into the mix, Whedon sprinkles Chinese throughout the script and refers to his personal take on the evil galactic empire as The Sino-Asian Alliance, acknowledging China and America as the two superpowers most likely to seize control over human society. The cast also has more color than typical American television, let alone a typical western, featuring two black actors, and a Brazilian as well. The real thing which translates the folksiness of Firefly into something nerds can appreciate however is the dialogue. Whedon manages to unite the witticisms of nerd culture with folksome earthiness by relying on plainspoken wit and blunt understatement instead of references to folklore and pop culture.


Interestingly, Serenity, the film intended to serve as the possible salvation/wrap up for Firefly, switches gear's from the television series' western tone to a full on Sci-fi adventure. The western influence and folksy language lingers, but the plot moves away from bank heists, cattle raids and shootouts to encoded messages, insidious viruses, and the mysterious ambitions of the nefarious alliance. Laser weapons start popping up in a world that had only been armed with traditional guns. That was actually the thing that tipped me off to the genre switch.Normally, I would link Picard at this point, but I can see the reasoning behind the toneshift. The movie was a last ditch effort to try and draw in a broader audience for the show, so it needed to be easy to market, and since people are skeptical of stories they can't fit a familiar label to, Whedon decided to give it a more traditional Sci-fi flavor.

All in all it seems like a forgivable evil since the movie is still engaging and enjoyable. If you haven't seen any of Firefly yet, I recommend you rent or buy Serenity, and if you like that, pick up the the show on DVD. I really don't know how much it will set you back, but it's the sort of show that you can watch again and again, picking up new things each time, and the episodes are fairly self-contained, making them great to share with friends.

To those Firefly fans who have not picked up the comic books, I would heartily encourage you to do that as well, regardless of how you felt about the movie. Both series (Better Days and Those Left Behind) take place before the movie and hold true to that original western tone while sewing up a few loose ends. There is nothing particularly ground-breaking in either story, but the dialogue is entertaining and the artstyle is detailed and faithful to the show. Finally, for those of you who are hungering to hear about a certain enigmatic preacher's past, word has it that a lil series called A Shepard's Tale is in the works. It is slightly worriesome that said word came mid 2007 with a projected release date of late 2008, but the announcement came from Ron Glass (with Whedon's permission), so there is still hope yet.

Dumbledore Dies

This Tuesday I did the "wait out in line for the midnight opening with your friends" thing with Harry Potter and The Half-blood Prince. I really did try to think of a more tasteful title for this post but nothing else seemed to have the same punch. Normally I try to be much more respectful with regards to spoilers, but if you couldn't see it coming from book 1, you could use a glass of cold water in the face. Also, the book came out like four years ago, so I think we're well past the moratorium on this one.

Anyway, I was curious to see how this movie would turn out, as the book struck me as the weakest thread in Rowling's tapestry. As the next-to-last installment in a long-running series, it had a lot of set up to do. Consequently, the pace of the plot was very similar to a climbing roller-coaster. Normally that slow ascension fills one with a delightful anticipatory anxiety, but since I knew I would be waiting at the top of that dramatic hill for another year or few before I would actually be able to take that plunge, the climb was boring and frustrating, especially after the thrill-ride that was Order of the Phoenix, my personal favorite book in the series. Most of this lengthy setup was focused on shipping, which is actually a very important undercurrent in the Harry Potter universe. In the preceding books however, all the affections and potential pairings are buried in the adolescent anticipation of what could be. Rowling lays it all to bare in this book, and frankly it fell short of expectations.



The romantic centerpiece of the series is not actually Harry and Ginny, but Hermione and Ron, because they have provided readers with the long-running, pins and needles anticipation necessary for fans to really care about the romance. Keep in mind, caring is not the same thing as approving. I know a great many fans wanted to see Harry and Hermione together, and others still were hoping for Snape and Hermione. Nobody really seems to like Ron, and I think this book is a large reason as to why. An exorbitant amount of text is spent describing his obnoxious relationship with Lavender Brown, and after about the fifth instance it stops being cringe-some humor and just becomes cringe-some. Harry's affection for Ginny is also disappointing because of the abrupt way it manifests. Even though we might have seen it coming from The Chamber of Secrets, it's difficult to be invested in their coupling because their courtship was so brief and unremarkable. At the same time, we could see it coming so it's not surprising either.


The movies have done a better job of foreshadowing Ginny's interest in Harry, though their coupling still leaves a lot desired. All of the directors can't seem to decide whether they want Ginny to be a Shy Violet or a fire-starter (which is how she came across in the book) and Daniel Radcliffe has better chemistry with Emma Watson and Evanna Lynch (who is, as Rowling herself stated, perfect as Luna) than he does with Bonnie Wright. As I said though, Ron and Ginny are the romantic heart of the film and their sixth book courtship is much more pleasing on the silver screen. Lavender Brown is every ounce the humorous annoyance she was in the text without being completely overwhelming. Emma Watson does some brilliant acting and really manages to seem heartbroken over Rupert Grint's Ron, even though her best scenes are still opposite Radcliffe. I was also impressed with how suggestive the movie managed to make the coupling. While the books always gave me the impression that nothing beyond snogging took place in the Halls of Hogwarts, the movie tells another story. I realize this design decision was probably motivated by the success of Twilight (which is just... Well you know), but sex is part of the teenage equation nowdays and it's nice to see people acknowledging it.

Aside from all the romance, the slow pace of the book is much improved by the movie. You may recall the book opened with a the former Minister of Magic describing the horrors of Voldemort to Britain's new Prime Minister. I found this endlessly annoying, because I really wanted to see all the delicious chaos being described rather than receiving a second hand account of it. The movie indulges me, beginning with the flight of three Death Eaters who tear through London and destroy a bridge. Now that's the way you get a story going! That danger does a lot to hold the story over to its conclusion, considering the threats interspersed throughout the plot are considerably toned down in comparison to those in preceding volumes.

This is one of the slickest movie posters I have seen in a longtime. Note the reflection in the glasses.

Returning to my titular spoiler, I'd like to briefly discuss the death of Dumbledore. Even though you can see it coming a mile off, its the sort of loss that still hurts. In some ways, the inevitability of it is the worst part, because the death of a grandfatherly figure acts as a mirror for such deaths which have yet to touch our own lives. Once one recognizes this emotional mirror however, it is harder to be affected by the emotions it's lens is intended to convey, which may account for I was so callous and indifferent to the conclusion of the sixth book. Yet the movie showed me another symbolic aspect of Dumbledore's passing that I failed to grasp through the text: the grandfatherly headmaster's passing is also commentary on martyrdom.

The sequence in Voldemort's cave where Dumbledore drinks the poison potion is analogous to Socrates death, save that Harry is forced to force-feed his mentor, where as Socrates drinks his hemloc freely. Both men drink for "The Greater Good," but while Plato's ancient account emphasizes Socrates' supposedly selfless sacrifice, Harry's involvement calls attention to the selfishness of dying on your own terms. I realize that Dumbledore doesn't actually perish until Snape shoots him, but the connotations of this scene are far from accidental. First, the entire sequence takes place in a shadowed cave which is an inherently allegorical setting, and the pair must use a boat (which has a clearly stygian design in the movie) to reach the island containing the potion. Finally, the regretful nature of Dumbledore's final request "Once again I must ask too much of you, Harry" recalls the title of Plato's account of Socrate's death: Apology. In hindsight, I feel foolish that it too me this long to recognize this parallel, but it is an excellent example of just how literary Rowling's writing is. This scene invites readers to reconsider Snape's involvement with Dumbledore's death as well; an examination that is absolutely crucial for a full appreciation of the series. While it is fairly obvious that Snape is a good guy despite his apparent alliance with the Death Eaters, its hard to appreciate just how noble his actions are. Killing someone you love, even if it is there wish and they have a good reason for it, is an act which sheers the soul, quite literally in the Harry Potter universe, as is explained earlier in the film.

My chief complaint with the movie is that Harry's misguided attempt to duel Snape and avenge Dumbledore's death is thoroughly abridged. Much like Dumbledore, he teaches Harry to the end by preventing him from using Unforgivable Curses and casually brushing aside his offense to demonstrate just how much stronger Harry needs to become if he hopes to defeat Voldemort. Minor grousing aside, the movie tells a good story and tells it well. The special effects in this series always impress, the music doesn't really deviate from past scores (which is a good thing), and there are some really funny laughs to be had. 'Til Next Time.

Bustin' Makes Me Feel Good!

As a child of the late 80's, I grew up amidst a host of truly awesome cartoon and toy franchises; many of which are currently seeing revivals as summer blockbusters. My all time favorite was born from a blockbusters however; While other beloved franchises have been eroded by a number of disappointing sequels and lame revivals almost everything Ghostbusters is golden. Case in point: Ghostbusters: The Video Game.


I know what you gamers out there are thinking. I thought it myself when I heard a title was in the works. For those who didn't think anything because they don't play video games, don't worry, I will explain.


Video game adaptations typically fail due to a fatal flaw: corporations view videogames as mere merchandise as opposed to vehicles for story telling, and the effort required to market merchandise is much less than the effort required to craft compelling stories or gameplay. TVTropes goes into the issue in much greater detail, and any skeptics out there can be easily cured by playing pretty much any videogame based on a summer blockbuster release. Admittedly, there are lots of fine Star Wars games out there, and a couple of decent Lord of the Rings titles as well, but a handful of exceptions in a sea of licensed realeses hardly makes for a good track reccord. Games based on the Transformers movies are prime examples. Hah! you get it? Cause Optimus Prime is... *cough* moving on.

I was pleasantly surprised to find favorable reviews of Ghostbusters: The Video Game around the net, and given my fondness for the series, I decided to give it a rent from Gamefly (a service I heartily recommend by the way as it has allowed me to experience a number of titles this summer in a reasonably economic fashion). The reason this post missed deadline is because I felt compelled to keep playing the game to provide you with a thoroughly researched account of it. I can now tell you, with absolute confidence: Ghostbusters has set the standard for every video game adaptation to follow.


Not only did the developers get the original ghostbusters (Murray, Ackroid, Ramis and Hudson) to reprise their roles with excellent voice acting, Ramis and Ackroid even worked on the script for the game. Wikipedia says they 'doctored' it, but based on the quality, I'm willing to wager their contributions went way beyond simple adjustments. The script truly captures the humorous spirit of the original movies (while at the same time implementing bits and pieces from The Real Ghostbusters cartoon, like a semi-domesticated Slimer). The music is also classic Ghostbusters, and I'm not just talking about the Ray Parker Jr. Song, (though thats there too of course), but the charmingly quirky mood music as well. Hell, they even got Annie Potts to reprise her role as snarky yet lovable Janine!! The only ingredients missing are Rick Moranis' Louis Tully and Sigourney Weaver's character Dana Berret. Dana is most sorely missed, as Ilyssa Shepard, the new object of Venkman's philandering, is a boring and flat substitute.

All the same, this game is the Ghostbuster's sequel fans have been waiting for. If the third movie (now reportedly in production!) actually gets made, it should be cannonically regarded as Ghostbusters 4. The Game also fits in well with The Real Ghostbusters, which I only just realized had 147 episodes (a hell of a run for an animated kids' show!). Since the game is it set in modern day, it seems to shove Ghostbusters: Extreme out of the cannon. While this saddens me, it's the cut which makes the most sense; even though it was a decent incarnation of the franchise, at least in my book, the attitude-rich approach of Ghostbusters Extreme seemed to alienate it from the humor of its predecessors, which is where Ghostbusters: TVG truly shines.

It grasps the humor of its fore-runners through the gameplay, which is legitimately fun in its own right. Each level has a bunch of cursed artifacts and ghosts which you can scan using a PKE meter. Once you scan a ghost, a humorous entry about its nature or history is added to your Spirit Guide, and all the artifacts you scan gradually start to clutter up the firehouse as you progress through the camapaign. Even the game's Achievement System has a sense of humor. In addition to the standard "Clear this level at this difficulty!" or "kill X number of enemies!" objectives, each level has a humorous secret achievement. The funniest of these is called "Kosher" and it has you blasting the ham off a buffet table for a bar mitvah when you crash the grand ballroom at the sedgewick hotel (you remember, the original hotel from the first movie?)

Beyond that, there's the actual ghost busting, which is thoroughly enjoyable. You yourself take on the role of a rookie Ghostbuster who is referred to in game as "The Kid," "Sport" "Scooter" "Champ" and a slew of other thoroughly demeaning yet somehow endearing nicknames, and you serve as something of a guinea pig for Egan's new inventions. You've got all the classic equipment from protonpacks and neutrino wands (which you use for blasting) to nuon traps (for err, trapping) , along with some pretty slick new gear. My personal favorite is the slime-thrower, which fires positively charged slime to clog dimensional rifts, free possessed people, uncover invisible objects, and tether objects together. This last application seems to have the making for a "fun with physics game" in and of itself, as a double-ended tether that stretches its targets together has a surprising number of applications.

I have not played any of the multiplayer yet, but I intend to. And in the interest of making sure this title gets as much well-deserved publicity as possible, I will be writing an article on the multiplayer of Ghostbusters: The Video Game sometime this weekend for Biased Video Gamer Blog. So be sure to look for that in your near future. In the meantime, I highly recommend you check out the game for yourself, even you don't consider yourself a gamer. And if for some horrible reason you have not seen both ghostbusters movies, do that. Or else, to paraphrase the gangster from the in-game message machine in the Ghostbusters firehouse (most obscure reference ever), "something sudden and blunt may befall your legs." and that would be a real shame.

Japan's Finest! Fo'Shonen

It's time for another installment of Japan's Finest! Today I shall be discussing the concept of age and gender based artistic genres in Japanese comics. If the horrible pun in the title made absolutely no sense to you, this post should be as informative as it is entertaining. If you did understand it, thank you for reading further; I will endeavor to be more clever from here on out.

If it was not apparent from my examination of Monster Plagues, the Japanese are masters of demographic marketing, primarily because categorization is a huge part of their culture. The language has specific counting suffixes for foldable cloth objects and foldable paper objects for chrissakes. I cling to that factoid because I think it was the revelation which led my grammar to flee from Japanese in terror, forever refusing to learn anything further about it. I'm sure there is a practical purpose for this seemingly arbitrary distinction; the language is nothing if not practical. It is that relentless practicality that bothers me in fact: Things must not only be clearly defined, they must also have a clear framework to ensure that they fit in their proper place with regards to other things. In such a society, there would be no allowance for my semi-nonsensical digressions and attention deficiency.

Funny thing is, this emphasis on categorization is largely responsible for the appeal of Japanese art. Specific techniques are collected, distilled and refined into styles that are tremendously iconic and visually arresting. This is particularly true of the two most popular visual styles of manga art: Shonen and Shoujo. The former typically features jagged lines, breasts that are enormous even by anime standards (Sexy, but SFW), fairly-masculine looking guys, and lots of violence. By contrast, Shoujo features softer lines, eyes that are enormous even by anime standards, men so pretty they make Legolas look butch, and lots sparkles and flower petals. As you might guess, the tremendous visual difference between these styles can be summed up with a very simple distinction: Shonen is crafted with boys in mind, while Shoujo is for Girls.


That probably sounds politically incorrect to western sensibilities, and it is to a certain extent. The nearest cultural comparison for a boy who reads Shoujo is a boy who plays with Barbies instead of J.I. Joes, though after taking the Japanese emphasis on conformity into account, the teasing Shoujo-Kun suffers will likely be much worse. If the tremendous cross gender success of Naruto and One Piece are any indication, it seems more socially acceptable for girls to enjoy Shonen, perhaps because masculinity is regarded so highly in Japan. Or maybe there are other reasons? Whatever the case, it's hard to criticize the gender specific approach in comparison to the relentlessly masculine U.S. comic industry.


It also must be said that there is considerable variation between series in both Shonen and Shoujo, and that some series mix and match visual motifs. The seminal Rurouni Kenshin is one such example, with the titular character, Himura Kenshin, sporting two distinctive artstyles that vary depending on the situation. When the ol' urge to kill rises, he is represented in a fashion that is suitably badass and when he is his normal, happy-go-lucky self... well he's adorable. Insufferably so really.


In addition to the visual motifs I mentioned earlier. certain themes, premises and narratives have become recognized as distinctively Shonen or Shoujo recently, and I would like to spend the rest of the post discussing those plots. Unfortunately, my knowledge of Shoujo is extremely limited. We're talking like 3 episodes of Sailor Moon, 1 volume of Vampire Knight and The Ouren High School Host Club theme song on Youtube. So rather than offering a completely one sided discussion, I will touch back on Shoujo at a later date, and focus my attention on Shonen for the time being.

Like so many other American boys, Dragon Ball Z was my introduction to Japanese Anime, and it's plot is about as Shonen as Shonen gets. That is to say, it is about two things: A) Fighting B) Getting Stronger. Somewhere in the background of the fists, fireballs and bulging muscle is a justification about protecting people, but that is really all it is; an excuse for the good guys to fight bad guys with lethal force. Not that dying means anything in the dragon ball universe, where people can be wished back to life ad nausea. While it's not conceptually ground breaking, good fights make for good entertainment, especially when the participants are memorable and there are no dire real-world consequences, and DBZ meets both criteria just fine. Unfortunately, each fight, especially those towards the end of the series, take -forgive the pun- over 9000 episodes to complete. Again, that wouldn't be so bad if each fight was interesting and unique, but about half that time is wasted on exposition and reaction shots.

Fortunately, new challengers have arrived on the Shonen scene, allowing Goku to finally rest in peace. Naruto, One Piece and Bleach are the current kings of the Jump, the most popular Shonen compilation mag in Japan. Naruto is my personal favorite of the group, and my second favorite manga, behind Fullmetal Alchemist (which is technically also classified as Shonen, but really in a class of its own), though both series deserve a post all their own for discussion since they really push the genre into new territory. One Piece and Bleach are more direct descendants of Goku, in that both build on the ideas of fighting for protection and honor, so that they become legitimate themes as opposed to mere justifications. I was initially turned off by One Piece's goofy flavor, but trusted friends convinced me to soldier on, and I am still slowly warming up to it, but I'm still not too familiar with it, which leaves me with Bleach.

Originally, I found Bleach even more intriguing than either Naruto or FMA. he premise had me at the word go: A high school punk with a knack for seeing dead people has to play the role of death god, or grim reaper. Wikipedia can explain it better than I can, or better yet, track down the first couple volumes and see for yourself. The art style is sharp and hip, the world's lore is intriguing, and the first major arc of the story is extremely compelling.Unfortunately, it stagnates shortly thereafter.

While Kubo Tite has a real gift for story telling, character designing seems to be his real passion, and he expands the cast exponentially, though the only 'development' he affords characters is a tedious exposition of their powers and abilities before they are killed off and forgotten. This ever growing roster has proven to be a sort of cancer for the series, as it draws attention away from the existing characters and renders them shallow. I swear I'm quits with the series after each new installment releases, like a Smoker quitting after "one more pack." Of course next week I come crawling back, hopeful that the mangaka will eventually address the tantalizing plot threads which preceded this seemingly endless chain of superficial duels. But he never does.

That raps up this month's look at Japan's finest. As you can see, there's a lot more to discuss where on the horizon. Hope to see you again next week!