The Safest Hands

My wife said that if you told her that the Captain America movies would be her favorites among Marvel's offerings five years ago, she'd punch you in the face. She isn't a violent person, so this kind of surprised me, but she said that she would have taken the assertion as a kind of jab in itself. A 'hahaha, you like the boy scout,' kind of deal. On the face of it, he does seem dated and boring. But you know what? The Captain has had the best solo films in Marvel's Cinematic Universe. Civil War makes a hard case for being my favorite Marvel Cinematic Universe film, (jockeying against Winter Soldier; another Cap flick). It also holds the distinguished honor of being the best Avengers film. Some spoilers to follow.

Marvel's comic universe has more than a couple problems, but the most serious deficiency is a lack of compelling bad guys. Netflix has done a remarkable job with William Fisk, Kilgrave, and the Punisher. The first Avengers flick also gave Loki a lot more personality than he had in the comics. But deprived of Spider-Man's rogues (who are themselves, hit or miss), and Magneto (Marvel's best antagonist) the MCU has had to scrape for credible and compelling threats. Therefore, turning the good guys against each other is one of the best calls you can make from a narrative perspective. The actual bad guy (because there must be an actual "bad guy") is also refreshing, in that he is not a man trying to conquer the world, but a human with a very credible vendetta, willing to use very human forms of manipulation, subterfuge and cruelty to accomplish his goals.

The movie's centerpiece, an all-out six-on-six slugfest, is the best superhero fight scene I've seen to date. It's a love letter to capes and tights comic fans; an unapologetic nerdgasm captured on film. Reality shattering choreography that shame simple combos like Wolverine's Fastball Special. It's funny too. Great quips between laser blasts, giant punches, telekinesis and webslinging. It's the best Avengers film because the ensemble shines brighter than the other two flicks. There are so many characters that it seems impossible for everybody to get the screen time they deserve, but the personalities are there, and they work the same way they do in comics. I find it interesting that so many people were surprised to find themselves on Team Cap and that they were so bitterly opposed to Iron Man. To begin with, it's Cap's movie; that should give you a big clue, no matter how much you like RDJ's portrayal of Tony Stark. Secondly, Steve Rogers is a paragon of justice while Tony really isn't. He's a juvenile on-again-off-again alcoholic with a god-complex. And, in the Civil War comics, he becomes a straw-man for post 9/11 politics. An avatar of security-over-liberty fascism.

In the movie, his position actually struck me as much more believable. He has a crisis of conscience that echoes the one he had in the first movie; in other words, his actions are coming from the most heroic part of himself. And when he goes full-villain in the last fifteen minutes, his motivations seem perfectly understandable on an individual level. "He killed my mom," is pretty peerless when it comes emotional payloads. I wouldn't have backed the accords in the first place, but if I found myself face-to-face with the black ops bastard who killed my parents? You bet your ass I would try to tear them apart, whether they were brain-washed or not.

My one disappointment with the film echoes the big problem with the Civil War comics. It seemingly sets out to tackle one of the greatest ethical/philosophical problems with superheroes as a concept, and never really articulates a resolution. What can humans do to protect themselves from demi-gods, or at least make themselves feel better about their apocalyptic interventions? The truth is, Marvel can't go there because the answer is very, very dark: we're screwed. Plain and simple. Steve demonstrates that he could sign all the papers the U.N. Security Council wants, but at the end of the day, if one of the good guys decide to go rogue, there is fuck-all we can do about it. Save for Natasha and Clint, he is also the least 'enhanced' individual on the team, and he STILL overcomes everything the world's governments and other heroes throw at him. (Though the movie plays very fast and loose with his speed, strength, and endurance). But image how little we could do against Vision. Or Wanda. Or Thor. Or Hulk.

Super powers are inherently unfair. And the heroes who wield them don't break laws so much as they ignore them. The consequences are laughable. To quote the good season of True Detective, they are "the bad men to keep other bad men from the door." And we love them, because they get to be bad for the 'right' reasons. Their unfair powers empower us, because when we read, we aren't the screaming masses in Manhattan, we're the rule breakers. I know these aren't terribly novel observations, but they feel important all the same.

I also can't help but wonder if there is some form of accountability that doesn't boil down to "my superhero can beat up your superhero; may the best demi-god win." Of everything I've read, Gotham Central is the comic that comes closest to dealing with this issue, because it illustrates that police (and by extension, governments) would be stuck doing damage control rather actual policing. Again: dark. But delicious food for thought if you take this stuff too seriously like I do. I understand that's also the premise of Powers, which I am curious to try.

Back to lighter stuff, Spider-Man was great in the film, and I feel much better about his next outing knowing that we are skipping past Uncle Ben's death, the radioactive spider bite, etc. I was also amused by the deliberate lampshading of Aunt May's uncharacteristic hotness.The humor is there. He belongs in this universe, and his absence was much more keenly felt than the X-Men, or Fantastic 4. Black Panther was also good, but his powers seem a little bland (indestructible suit, martial arts, and retractable claws). Then again, I said the same thing about Cap, so I'm curious to see where they go with him.

There is a special place in my heart for Dr. Strange and they seem to be taking an Inception/Matrix mind-fuck approach with his flick, which is my particular brand of catnip, so I'm sanguine. Whitefacing the Ancient One bruises it, but hopefully the rest of the movie rises above troubling trends.

So yeah. I'm as surprised as you are. I expected to be done by now. But I'm still having fun.

Family Matters

My first encounter with Greg Rucka was reading Gotham Central. Then, I wasn't familiar enough with his work to tell his voice apart from Ed Brubaker's, but now that I have read four volumes of his Image book, Lazarus, I have a clearer idea of who he is as a writer, and I am a bona fide fan. His world is complex, nuanced, and invites social commentary and speculation without ever being hamfisted. The best adjective for his dialog is 'no-bullshit.' That's not to say it's not flavorful; jargon comes into play organically and each character has a distinct voice, but the execution is the exact opposite of Bendis' obnoxious back-and-forthing. It gets to the point clearly, without any fluff.

 So what the hell is it about? Well. Dial up wealth inequality to truly dystopian, thought-experiment levels. In Lazarus certain Families have become so wealthy that the government and economy have collapsed and we have reverted to a feudal system on a global scale. These Families are absolute monarchs with territorial borders spanning entire continents. And if you look at what assholes like the Koch Brothers are doing to this country, you can see why that would be a problem. The Hunger Games' rich district verse poor district system seems clumsy, quaint, and dated by comparison.

Everybody who isn't a member of a Family is considered a Citizen, a Serf or Waste. Citizens have been acknowledged by Families and are fairly well-off, while almost all Serfs are scraping by in a state of perennial destitution. They are still better off than Waste though, who range from starving scroungers and wanderers to Fallout or Mad Max motherfuckers with less bondage gear and fewer spikes, (presumably because the whole world hasn't been reduced to desert yet).

It's a highly political set up, but Rucka favors narrative-driven machinations and lots of delicious violence instead of belaboring "The Issues" (a style I think I will refer to as "Throne Gaming" henceforth). The series title refers to the champions of each Family; genetically enhanced, functionally-immortal killing machines. It's also a reference to the fact that certain Families have anti-aging serums allowing them to live near indefinitely.

Our main character is Forever Carlyle, or Eve for short. She has been genetically and chemically conditioned to unquestionably obey the orders of her Family (and her father in particular), even though none of her relatives actually consider her a sibling. Which is technically true, as she was built to spec in a lab. She fights with a variety of firearms as well as a long carbon fiber-blade, as dismemberment is really the only way to incapacitate another Lazarus. The first issue opens (small spoiler) with Eve getting shot to death, getting back up after a couple seconds, and brutally dispatching her assailants.

Eve is a brilliant heroine, with her indomitable physical strength and martial prowess held in check by very believable, human vulnerability and tenderness. Daddy Issues don't begin to describe her relationship with her father, who has systematically withheld approval throughout her life, only doling it out just before she reaches her breaking point. The drugs she takes literally addict her to his praise. Since her every waking hour has been devoted to training and killing enemies of her family, she has a childlike personality in regards to socializing with adult needs and wants. A winning combination that makes her profoundly uncomfortable with her own femininity and sexuality. Sure, the warrior woman who is more comfortable in Kevlar than a ballgown is a well-worn trope (deliberately lampshaded at one point), but it's well-executed here.

Naturally, Eve begins to suspect that her beloved family is even more sinister than they seem, and an anonymous entity nurtures her doubts with cautionary text messages. And this happens just as politics between (and within) the Families become increasingly hawkish.

If the series falls flat anywhere, it's the very beginning of the secondary narrative surrounding a serf family beleaguered by the Families oppressive rule. It recalls the Grapes of Wrath without making any salient political points beyond "Shit sucks, yo." Righteous-yet-impotent anger and squalor can only carry a story so far. But even that narrative eventually blossoms into something more intriguing.

While Rucka's is approach to a complicated world is fairly straightforward, he does do some interesting things with form as the series progresses. Volume 4 introduces some epistological elements; journal entries and 'letters from the front' kind of stuff. The boldest thing the series has offered so far is an issue-long duel between Lazari, with only a couple pages spared to set up and conclude the fight, and it is savage, gorgeous, and riveting. It's a refreshing alternative to both the three page fights that pepper most western comics, and the interminable planet-shattering match-ups you see in manga.

Michael Lark brings the world to life with meticulous line art featuring elaborate shadowing, wrinkles, and cracks. All those little details manage to convey the world's roughness and ugliness without being either rough or ugly. And the slick covers look awesome.

This is one of my favorite on-goings. If you want something action packed that is much smarter than your average cape and mask book, and more grounded than something like Saga, you'd be hard pressed to find better.

The Town Where Only I am Missing

I realized I cap a lot of my reviews in with a standard "If you enjoy this, you will like this," qualifier. Sometimes it's laziness; a reductive clammy handshake of a recommendation. Other times its because enjoyment of the thing is predicated on a familiarity of a genre or form. Kill La Kill works better if you know a bit about shonen anime. The Unwritten will be better loved by bibliophiles.

But that's not the case with Erased. It's been a while since I can give an unqualified, "everybody should watch this" endorsement, but that's what this show deserves. You should watch it even if you don't give two shits about cartoons. In fact, if you want to convince people that Japanese animation is something more than big eyes, bigger boobs, giant mechs, and magical girls, and people shouting at each other as they fight, you would be hard pressed to find a better example this side of Studio Ghibli.

In fact, its plot is in many ways less ambiguous than many of Miyazaki's films, which may make it more appealing to Western audiences. Many anime emphasize the journey over having a satisfying conclusion or strict continuity, but Erased is immaculately plotted with a very clear arc. Its 12 episodes cut to the credits to deal maximum anxiety damage to the viewer. Waiting week by week to find out what would happen next was torture. A friend described watching the simulcast best when he said "I die every Thursday." That tension was so core to my experience of the show, in fact, that I'm not sure it will have the same impact if you consume it in one go.

So what is it about? Well. It's a contemporary fantasy, but far more grounded than something with lots of swords and dragons. In the first episode, it looks like it's going to rely heavily on a supernatural time loop gimmick, but it quickly morphs into something much more earnest and relevant: a timid man traveling back to his childhood to try and stop a serial killer. But instead of some elaborate mental chess match or physical showdown, the main character tries to beat the bad guy by being a good person. Displaying courage, friendship, and curiosity.

It's a tender, familiar tale to be sure, one that tugs the heartstrings hard enough for a career cynic to balk. The oft-beaten drum of "relying on your friends" gets a couple more dents. But I went in with my knives out, and its intrigue disarmed me by episode 2. After episode 3, the characters had picked away all my jade.

I don't think I've ever seen a stronger cast of female characters in an anime, including the original Full Metal Alchemist and Brotherhood. But I loved all the characters really. They felt real, and ran me through an emotional gauntlet. The voice acting is also fantastic. Putting aside standard sub versus dub snobbery, this is something special in it's native language, and Crunchy Roll's localization is on point.

About midway through the series I encountered a brutal spoiler, the kind of thing that can wound a story, but it wasn't enough to temper my enthusiasm at all. That said, I'm gonna cut this short. Every time I try to talk about something more specific, I worry about giving something away, or warping expectations, when I went in without any myself.

When the show wrapped up last night, I asked my wife why she was crying, and she explained "It's all over and I don't even want any more." Sending someone away in tears while completely satisfying them is a mean feat.

To The Dark Tower Came

Well my two post a month streak is broken, even with a leap day to help me out. Been very busy with off-hours projects. Last night I took my first stab at leather working. The card game is a gateway to a world where time passes in the inverse fashion of Narnia. And of course, editing my book has taken the lion's share of my life. But in light of today's announcements regarding The Dark Tower films, I wanted to talk a little bit about The Gunslinger.

Spoilers abound.

I heard it on audio with my family as we drove up to Mammoth. The beginning of the book was an extremely surreal experience, hearing about the endless expanse of desert described as we drove through a very similar, if slightly less barren setting in the middle of the night. Also humbling to read a rougher, earlier King, whose remarkable talent is already evident. He runs a little verbose at the beginning of the book, but it's the difference between 'good' and 'great,' with long stretches of 'excellent' interspersed.

Knowing as little as I could of the series, I was initially nervous about the amount of backstory present, fearing that most of the series would dwell on the past as opposed to moving forward. My fears were assuaged by the ending, by which point it is apparent the subsequent books will grow things equally in both directions. And while I have an aversion to flashbacks in general, learning about Roland's childhood was remarkably compelling, even though you know where he stands in the present. Each memory works as complete stories in their own right, as each section of the book does. You can tell it was a fix-up, strung together from serials, but it is no poorer for it.

Roland's "Trial of Manhood," is the best fight scene I have ever read, bar none. Creative weapons. Cunning strategy. And uncompromising brutality, both physically and emotionally, which always elevates violence to something meaningful. It's made all the more riveting by the build up. You have to wonder if Roland's motivations for taking the test early are wise, or the result of blind anger, and that adds a desperate, cerebral dimension to the duel. Even after Cort is down for the count, you can't exhale until you know whether Roland will immediately try to murder Marten for what he is doing to his mother.

If there's a part of the book that bothers me, it's definitely how King handles female characters and sex. The women who we actually meet are all magical temptresses, victims, or at best, well-meaning slatterns who lust after our hero. I know it's meant to speak of the world, but it stinks of the epic genre's least appealing qualities. I hope this will change as the series progresses. We don't get to learn much about Susan, save that she was burned (or was that just a vision?), but I suspect she had some heroic qualities.

Despite the heavy dose of exposition at the end, the world's cosmology is still very much in question, and I've had to fight the urge to wiki-binge. As always, I'm most curious about how magic works. How Randall reanimates the dead, and Roland reloads his guns. Presumably he can conjure bullets out of nothing, but the book implies he has to work the mechanics of the chamber. What about Jake's Shining-like ability? Are there people with Carrie-esque powers? The references in those last questions are pertinent, because the Dark Tower is supposed to be the lattice on which all of King's other works grow.

I am very curious to see how the film will handle what happens in Tull, which I found extremely harrowing. Hard to read (or even hear) given our rash of mass shootings. Here you have your epic hero, literally killing an entire town with a pair of pistols and limitless magical ammunition. The same epic hero who literally pumps a woman for information and mercy-kills her, before moving on with a bare minimum of remorse. This is your "good guy." The last good guy at that.

But that's what makes Roland so compelling. He subverts the image of the noble, laconic gunslinger, while bringing readers closer to the reality of a determined hero. If a person really were trying to save the world; if the multiverse was really at stake, and he fully appreciated that burden, he would be a terrifying individual. That grail question comes before everything and everybody. You expect him to save the damsel. You expect him to save the boy. And he is the death of them both. He moves forward, burying regrets that would break most characters. Honestly, it takes some real courage to write that character. To go to the very dark places. And that may be King's greatest gift.

I think Idris Elba is an excellent choice for Roland, and fans have literally clamored for Matthew McConaughey as the Man in Black ever since True Detective came out. So the film seems to be on the right track. Readers who've read the books: what do you think of the leads? Do you have any hopes for the adaptation? Dreads?

Looking forward to continuing the series. Hoping my glacial pace can stay ahead of the adaptations.

God's Perfect Idiot

So the consensus is in and it's already old news: Deadpool is good. I agree, and we could leave it at that, but being your friendly neighborhood Marvel Nut, I figured I would weigh in with a little more detail anyway.

I suspect that most people are surprised by Deadpool due to its content. The extreme, Looney Tunes meets Tarantino violence. The excessive profanity, black humor, and boobs. Such things are not seen in screened superhero fare, even DC's grimdark epics, or Marvel's edgier Netflix offerings. Those things were actually exactly what I expected, but the execution was far better than I dared hope. After the broad-spectrum, hyper-irreverent marketing, I expected a good flick, but a mainstream smash hit? A record breaking opening? Approval from established critics? All from a freshman director? Holy shit.

And of course, not even a week after release, Fox announced an R-rated Wolverine 3. The machine is already trying to make a mould out of something original. Which is an ass-backwards take-away. This movie represents a tremendous, refreshing willingness to take risks. An untested director. Controversial content. A character without mainstream recognition. If the studios want to turn anything about Deadpool into a playbook, I would say that this proves there is still warrant to using entertainment marketing campaigns. Sure, there is a demand for 18+ superhero movies, and it's about time the suits figured that out, but slapping gore, gutterspeak, and softcore into your flick will not automatically make a hit of it.

Some have pointed out that Deadpool comics are actually tamer than the movie, which is one of the reasons I found it so gratifying. A lot of Wade's more risque behavior is left between the panels in the comic books. Here it's front and center. The character has fewer boundaries here than in the source material. The movie contributes to the character's development rather than merely adapting him to new audiences. At worst, Wade Wilson is a juvenile 'lolsorandom' jackass. Spastic annoyance made manifest. At his best, he is post-modern pagliachi with a katana and hand grenades. This movie captures both ends of that spectrum, and goes further in both directions than anywhere else.


The other thing that made this silly movie such a pleasure was that it was a breath of fresh air from the two main flavors of superhero movies in the past ten years. Grimdark, like Man of Steel and the rest of Fox's X-Men franchise, or Disney's lighter-hearted action-packed romps. When watching the X-Men Apocalypse trailer, and the Dawn of Justice trailer, I didn't feel hyped. I felt fatigued. Even Civil War, which is supposed to introduce Black Panther and Spider-Man and maybe kill off some crucial characters filled me with a sense "Oh. This again." Deadpool was the opposite of that.

But once again, I'm wondering how far this superhero streak will stretch. Especially since a new power is rising. As fellow nerds are succumbing to capes and tights fatigue, Star Wars is sweeping in to fill the void (Disney currently has a film in theaters, a film in post, one shooting, and another that's casting). That well won't run dry for another decade, maybe longer given the franchise's fanatic base. I'm thinking that anime will be the next big thing.

On the one hand, it's kind of gross. Nerd is no longer a dirty word, but the mainstream strain of the culture has been reduced to slavishly lapping up the latest installments in mega franchises. On the other hand, yes, I do in fact want to see how the Rebels stole the plans for the Death Star.

2015 Recommendations in Review: Lifeline and Her Story

Last year, my friend Steven Wong very generously purchased two iOS games for me and requested I weigh in on them: Lifeline and Her Story. It has taken me a criminally long time to do this, and I am rectifying this oversight now.

Lifeline is really an extended SMS conversation with a fictional astronaut named Tayor, stranded on an alien planet. Periodically, he or she (gender is never established), asks you for advice and you get to pick between a couple options. It's a very basic form of interaction, but the constellation of cause and effect is enormous, and the lack of art and mechanics allows for even greater storytelling variance than Tell Tale Games' offerings. I mean look at this flowchart!

http://forums.toucharcade.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=86307&d=1429737615

Well. Don't look too carefully if you haven't played and don't want spoilers. It was a fun little trip with a few minor issues. The writing wasn't really my style; Taylor's voice would frequently stray into excessively quirky/zany territory to keep things from getting too heavy (and rarely garnered a laugh). There's also a built in waiting period between texts, which contributes to realism, and makes is very suitable for mobile play play, though I found myself more thoroughly engaged at the end of the story, when the waiting periods were shorter. Still, there are some very original elements to the story, and it is a strong proof of concept for a format: decision-tree storytelling with an SMS wrapper (as opposed to something like Twines which tend to run more verbose).

I was a bigger fan of Steven's second recommendation, Her Story. In the game, you have been given access to a police database case file containing 271 video clips of a woman being interviewed. Each clip is the answer to a question you can't hear, and the archive must be searched based on the words her responses contain. It's a murder mystery, and while the culprit seems fairly obvious from the start, the specific circumstances surrounding the killing, and your role in the story, are pretty novel and open to some interpretation.

The writing here has a creeping sordidness with a cryptic delivery that requires you to read between the lines; much more to my liking than Lifeline. It has garnered a bunch of awards for writing. I think some people have given it best of 2015 accolades for writing, which seems aggressively plausible in the App space, but it really doesn't compare to the masterful quality and colossal breadth of the content in say, Witcher 3 (which I swear I will write about one day; for now,I will just say that it is my GOTY for 2015).

My only quibble is that you can missing out on most of the game's content and solve the core mystery fairly quickly by asking astute questions....but is that really a problem? The creator of the story, Sam Barlow, set out to make a better detective game than LA Noir, and in terms of actually 'solving' a mystery using your own powers of deduction, he succeeded. In Noir, you essentially steer an avatar through an interactive maze that leads to heavily scripted choices to interpret a case. There are points where you can get ahead of Cole in the core case, which, in detective novels, is a sure sign that something went sideways.

That said, I like the idea of pairing Her Story's archival mechanic with Noir's facial recognition interviews and crime scene investigation sequences. If you need to check the boxes for driving and combat (which both feel like part of the detective experience, but also a knee jerk compulsion for video game adaptations), I would replace the open world shooting and driving in Noir with something like the QTE combat in Wolf Among Us. I know some people at GA Tech who might lynch me for suggesting as much, but Tell Tale has convinced me that well timed button-pressing has its place in narrative-driven games.

Many thanks to you again, Steven! Again, if anybody else recommended something, or wants me to weigh in on something from last year, lemme know and I will try to do a write up.

2015 Recommendations in Review: Marbles

Been a while since I posted any kind of review or discussion, but over the next couple days I will be catching up on recommendations from people I received in 2015. First up is a graphic novel called Marbles by Ellen Forney which my cousin Alaina loaned me. We never got to discuss it, so I thought I would share my thoughts here.

I love comics and go through about 3-5 trade paper backs a month. These days, every comic trade is called a graphic novel (which is stupid) because there are books like Maus, Persepolis, Seconds, and Marbles that live up to the title as a format. At its core, Marbles is the story of a bohemian artist being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and coming to terms with what that entails: managing periods of mania and crushing depression, social stigmas, and hardest of all, medication.

Parts of the book really resonated with me. Forney's musings on the relationship between artistry and mental instability echo some of my own inner monologues. She likens her diagnosis to joining a club, whose esteemed members include Van Gogh, Cobain, and dozens of others. There's a there there. Creativity often walks hand in hand with craziness, or wave to each other fondly on two sides of a narrow path. Of course, that romantic cache amounts to little when weighed against the reality of living with a disorder.

That said, I didn't really enjoy the book. It took me a while to figure out why, and I have yet to completely articulate my misgivings, but it boils down to a few factors.

I should confess that I haven't had as hard of a time with bipolar as the author. I was diagnosed with ADD when I was 6, put on meds immediately, and diagnosed with bipolar disorder (which may have been 'activated' by my ADD meds) in high school. The net result is a lot of practice dealing with medication. I learned what to look for as I grew up. If I were diagnosed now, just as I feel like I've found and forged an identity, I imagine it would be much harder to cope with. Despite that acknowledgement, I was annoyed by Forney's crushing despair. Which is kind of terrible of me.

By nature, depression is overwhelming and irrational, and you cannot will yourself to get over it. Blaming somebody for depression is as callous as telling a paraplegic to "walk it off." Stupid trifles are enough to ruin your week, and nothing will make you feel right. Being labeled a borderline insane person is no mere trifle, either. At first I thought it was because she reminded me of my own periods of depression, but one particular panel from the book sticks out in my head: Forney tearfully shares her diagnosis with her mom, and her mom's reaction is to cry in turn and say "why couldn't it be me!" like it's cancer. Something about that pissed me right off. Sure, telling somebody to "walk it off," or even "just take your damn meds" is not productive, but I think melodramatic sympathy can be just as damaging. It enables a kind of victimhood, which might be the most poisonous mentality a person can have.

In similar vein, she is so scared of people's reactions to everyone learning she's bipolar when in my experience, nobody gives a shit. Especially if they already know you. The most severe reaction I've received is "You? Really? No way. You don't seem bipolar," which is meant as a compliment but kind of douchey. Should I encounter somebody who stigmatizes me for a chemical imbalance in my brain, that person is an asshole and I am better off without them. She herself discovers that people don't really mind, but to me, it begged the question of how she perceived people with bipolar disorder prior to her own diagnosis.

The other weird thing is, the central existential threat for Forney is inverted for me. She is (rightly) terrified that drugs will inhibit her creativity and happiness, whereas I am (legitimately) terrified I will one day have to stop taking the drugs that keep me stable and productive. We are in accord about the horror of adjusting medications: it will fuck you up like you cannot believe, and there ain't no side effects like psychoactive side effects (especially lithium. What was her shrink thinking?) It really is an awful process. And like Forney, I've compounded those problems at various points in my life by adjusting my dose on the fly because I thought I knew better than my doctor. So we do have a lot in common. We are members of that same club.

But there's just a fundamental schism in how we react to our 'damage.' My gut reaction is to respond with violence; great vengeance and furious anger. I want to feel like my drugs are weapons I've used to take control of my life, and that I can overcome their side-effects through skillful self awareness in an ongoing battle. Maybe that's juvenile, but it's how I choose to perceive myself, whereas I get the impression that Forney is more of a lover than a fighter. That's not to say she's weak willed. If she were, she just would have let lithium steam roll her, or succumbed to suicide. But her end goal seemed to be peace and dignity despite hardship. Comfort with one's self despite having to fight, versus being comfortable with yourself because you fight. It really is two ways of telling the same story. As an aspiring author, I think that's what bothered me: she told a story that personally resonates in a way that didn't.

I am grateful for the read because my reaction to led to some pretty intense introspection. I would also recommend the book to a couple friends.

A New New Hope

The following typage is about Star Wars Episode VII. If you haven't seen it yet, don't read on until you have.

A beautiful poster as always, even if it does rely on the now standard red vs. blue contrast trope. 

If you're still with me, you've felt the awakening. The franchise's return to the light side of the Force. For the first time since 1983, longer than I have been on this rock, we have a new Star Wars movie. There has been plenty of other legitimate Star Wars stuff, some great expanded universe novels, a couple excellent video games, and some decent kids' shows. But the prequels and Lucas' edits to the original trilogy are things that misapprehend his own universe so profoundly that the world appears to curdle on screen. So I was worried that the franchise had gone the way of Palpatine rather than Vader. But JJ Abrams and Lawrence Kasdan have restored balance. Watching TFA, I felt the same unqualified joy I felt watching those first three films as a kid, waving around a flashlight like a lightsaber. Now that the credits have rolled, I want to know what is going to happen next. And I want to spend more time with these people, aliens, and droids.

That's the greatest victory I think. To my eye, Star Wars has always been about the characters. Their individual motivations and arcs drive the plot more than the titular war. That backdrop lends gravity and dressing to the individual characters' arc, but I always felt a stronger pull to Luke's trajectory as a Jedi or Vader's enigmatic presence than the fate of the rebellion or the ambitions of the Empire. Leia and the droids are really the only ones who are consistently dedicated to the cause, and even they end up putting aside the war long enough to rescue Han. Those personal motivations are once again at the foreground of Star Wars storytelling.

Rey (Skywalker?) comes to rival Darth Vader as the most badass character in all of Star Wars by revealing herself as a Jedi, and coming to captain the Millennium Falcon in the course of one film. Let's actually take a minute to talk about Daisy Ridley. Somebody handed her a platform and the expectation to be a role model for millions of girls around the world hot on the heels of characters like Imperator Furiosa and Katniss Everdeen, as well as the weight of a billion dollar franchise riding on your shoulders. Imagine that pressure. Imagine the self-doubt. And watch as she hits it out of the fucking park. Her lines were good, her scenes were good, but her performance made them real. Character-wise, she might be a little bit too awesome straight out of the gate. On her first at-bats, she mind tricks a stormtrooper (with an amazing "I am using the Force now" voice), out mind-melds Kylo Ren, and beats him in a saber duel without any kind of training. I always said I would raise my hypothetical daughter to be Han Solo. Now I am raising her to be Rey. Also, listen to this theme:

Finn has a crisis of conscience, immediately followed by a infatuation with Rey. I really like that inversion of Han's arc. An initial desire for personal growth helps establish him as a deuteragonist as opposed to a Lancer like Han. Boyega's comedy game is a little stronger than his dramatic delivery, but I always found him charming and convincing. Very curious to see where his character will go now that his spine has been raked with a plasma club.

People have been divided on the Sith formerly known as Ben (Organa? Solo?). He is a very different beast than Vader, and that is a good thing, because a straight up imitation would be doomed to failure. Some of my friends feel that he is a little too whiny; a problem compounded by goofy ears, and identity pollution with his tenure on Girls. Having seen all of 1.5 episodes of Girls this didn't really bug me, and I think that the signature Skywalker whininess works much better as a villainous trait than a heroic one. Cruelty and anger stemming from insecurity are very believable (and pertinent) breeds of evil, and I love the fact that he is already conflicted as a villain, feeling the pull from the light side of the force. And even though it is telegraphed a mile away, him killing Han was poignant and a meaningful point of character development.

We don't get to spend much time with Poe Dameron, the guy who I think will become this trilogy's Han (now that Han is gone), but what time he has is solid from the first line. Good deadpan and he really sells the fighter ace enthusiasm too. Captain Phasma was a bit of a disappointment, as we get to spend all of two minutes with her, but there is potential there.

And BB-8. Holy shit. So good. For better or ill, Star Wars has a legacy of cuteness in each film, and the little soccer ball-esque droid fulfills the quotient in a way that is neither excessive, offensive, or cursory. He occupies Artoo's role from the first film as a living McGuffin, catalyzes Rey's first act of heroism, and delivers one of the best sight gags ever. If you didn't smile at the lighter thumbs up, get yourself checked out. Not sure for what exactly; have the doctors keep looking until they find a serious problem.

It was good to see Han again. Better still to see him off. Harrison had a brilliant role, he got one hell of a send off, and apparently his character has an anthology movie on the horizon. He also wanted to die at the end of Empire so this seems like a fitting conclusion. Fisher didn't have too much screen time, and it should be some kind of crime that Mark Hamill got second billing, but I look forward to the roles they will play in Episode VIII, and possibly beyond, provided they continue to cede the spotlight to the new generation of heroes.

Like I said, all awesome characters. People I want to adventure with. An outer space D&D party I want to be a part of. That is the most crucial ingredient for a genuine Star Wars experience. And the prequels lost sight of that.

Another tremendously pleasing element of the film was its raw physicality. Elaborate costumes, richly dressed sets, practical explosions, and stellar make up made for a more believable world. Even amidst the intense dog-fighting and saber battling sequences, the film never took the dizzying plunge into the Wachowski-esque CGI hellscape that typified episodes I through III, and even a few of the more recent installments in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Hopefully this will trigger a sea-change in similar blockbusters.

The visual effects aren't the only reason I'm glad I saw this in theaters (twice). John Williams' did the score, and once again stuns with his genius. But the sound effects are also incredible. Scenes where Kylo Ren tries to break into other characters' minds are almost entirely carried by the sound. Instead of looking at some dude extending his hands, you can feel the force pressing against you.

From a franchising perspective, the other fascinating thing about TFA is that it is the first film that I've seen which manages the weird hat trick of being a simultaneous reboot/remake/sequel. Terminator Genisys made an attempt this summer and failed miserably. The Prometheus sequel seems to be angling for the same thing as evidenced by re-framing itself an official Alien prequel. It's easy to understand why studios want to remake, reboot, and continue to serialize all at once; that execution is all things to all people. But it's a difficult paradox to pull off. How do you reboot continuity while advancing it? How do you remake something while managing to take the series in a new direction? If the movie falls short anywhere, that secondary point is probably it's biggest shortcoming. The film really is a new take on A New Hope, with a fresh cast and some more modern sensibilities.

It plays things very safe. Too safe, in at least one regard. In his effort to back away from the expository politicking of the prequel trilogy, JJ failed to sell the threat of Starkiller base, or emphasize the tragedy of the Republic's destruction.

This should be a really big problem. It should also be very sad. It is neither.

The galaxy is once again without a central government. Coruscant, the apex of galactic civilization, has been obliterated. On a personal scale, everything the rebels fought for in the first movie has been undone, and billions upon billions of people are dead. But there is no build up. The atrocity plays out of over a montage's worth of screen time, and worst of all, we are given no time to care. There are reaction shots from our heroes, none of whom have personal connections to these planets, and even this is brushed aside by a more immediate threat to the heroes. When Alderaan is destroyed in a New Hope, we get to see Leia's anguish. We hear Obi Wan's brilliant line about a great disturbance in the force. One planet is a tragedy and a star system is a statistic I guess?

Also, if the Republic has been reinstated, and Leia has the formal title of general, why the hell are the people charged with putting down the First Order (the rough equivalent to Neo-Nazi terrorists), called The Resistance, and not The Republic Peacekeeping Force, or something similar? Weird decisions. They don't do the universe's macro-fiction any favors. But these are surmountable problems.

Episode VII is much more than a good movie. I can say without hyperbole, it is a cultural phenomenon. The Friday after the film's release, I went to Lightsaber Battle LA. I hit strangers with light up sticks, hard enough to leave bruises, they did the same to me, and afterwards we hugged it out and laughed. At the same event, younglings set upon each other, also with light-up sticks (and greater restraint than the adults), giggling and pretending with abandon. On the train to the event, people complimented our sabers, asked us about the movie or spared smiles. It was like another holiday. And looking back, it felt like one.

I doubt the subsequent movies will have the same explosive reception; particularly the anthology films, but I am eager to see how this universe moves forward. Now that there is a fresh start, I'm thinking of diving into some of the ancillary materials like the comics and books. If anybody has already taken that plunge, and has recommendations, please lay them on me. You want to speculate about where Rian Johnson will take the franchise next? Me too! Let's do it.

As one of the trailers proclaimed, "Hope is not lost today. It is found."

Sick

At first I likened these shootings to natural disasters; periodic human hurricanes that could be prevented if somebody just noticed the instability at the right moment. But these events have become a daily occurrence, and their frequency is only increasing. We are dealing with a human virus. These shooters are the compromised cells of American society. And we literally cannot keep up with the infection. In the course of writing this, I learned about a new shooter in Savannah, Georgia.

I think the first step is to stop allowing shooters to act as successful vectors. To abandon this collective obsession with publicly exploring the lurid stories that motivate them. Every time we talk about what made them different on the screen, we’re telling other angry people that they can be special too. Every time we explore their motivations, and attempt to explain their inexcusable behavior, we are telling them that their agendas deserve consideration. Police must continue to investigate all the evidence. Experts should scrutinize these people as individuals and part of a larger pattern. As a community, we must do everything we can to pull people on the precipice back to rational humanity. But the next time there’s a spree shooter, I don’t want to hear his name on the news. I don’t want to know his skin color, religion, gender or agenda. Once he pulls the trigger, he is just another infected cell.

But that’s just triage, a way to slow the spread, and we need a vaccine. 355 spree shootings later, and we still can’t get people to admit that we have a gun problem. That’s not the only issue in play here, but this doesn’t happen anywhere else on the planet, and it is insipid to deny a connection between this virus, and the uniquely ubiquitous availability of guns in America. The blade itself may not necessarily incite acts violence, but damned if blades don’t make it easy to stab people.

I cannot acquire meds unless a doctor verifies that I need them and will not use them to do harm to myself or my community. It is high time we extend the same caution to bullets. Yes, you should have to explain what you need those fifteen clips of AR ammo for, whether it’s hunting, training, or self-defense. We need more opportunities for law enforcement and truly responsible gun owners and purveyors to throw red-flags on lunatics. What is that inconvenience weighed against dozens of lives? If you are truly responsible, you can admit that this epidemic is a graver threat than domestic terrorism, or an encroaching government.

We also cannot afford to pretend guns do not exist, or that we will magically confiscate them, or that more oversight is a sufficient form of control. A good way to impress the gravity of a weapon on a person is to train them how to use it. Classes on responsible gun ownership should be mandatory before a purchase, and freely available to anyone who wants to know how guns work. Such programs would also provide yet another opportunity to scan our crowds for people who are infected.

Finally, but perhaps most importantly, we have to move past sentimental platitudes. Your “thoughts and prayers” are not going to solve a damn thing. They are spit in the victims' eyes. Such replies are compulsory, political lip service to dodge the issue and absolve the speaker of responsibility. To our president, to our congressmen, to our courts and lobbyists: you are not absolved. You are not forgiven. This is happening on your watch and you are failing your country. Each one of you must do more to solve this problem because we are sick and people are dying.

As it stands, being shot to death in a spree is now an assumed risk in the United States. And that is unreasonable.

Mo' MOBAS, Mo' Problems

So this was going to be about Aeronaut's Windlass, but I'm still only about half-way through. My back-up was Mr. Robot, but I'm not done with that either. Both of those things are good things, but neither one grabbed me by the throat like Jessica Jones did. You can expect write-ups on both next month. But I have an unbroken two review per month stream to maintain and I'll be damned if I break it. So I thought I would take a stab at describing the gaming genre that has sucked away the most of my time in the past two years: MOBAs and League of Legends in particular.

I didn't really plan this one out in advance, so it rambles. A lot of this will be me trying to explain a very complex genre to people who know jack all about it. Those of you who know it know it well, so there may not be a lot to glean from this monster for veterans. So much has been written about League and its ilk that there isn't an obvious avenue towards originality. But I think I eventually get at what I like about the genre and my chosen genre.

League is a game where two teams of five heroes fight on a square map with two bases at opposite diagonals, divided into three  lined with turret-like towers. Between the lanes there are jungles filled with monsters. Each base spawns waves of other monsters that do battle in the lanes. The goal of the game is to destroy the enemy team's base. This main map is always the same (with some year-to-year changes), like a chessboard, and playing the game is like inverse tug-of-war meets Diablo with a splash of real time strategy.

The real core hook of the game, the source of its seemingly endless variation, is that there are over 100 different playable characters (or champions), and each has their own spells and abilities which can be powered up as you level up, as well as a huge host of items you can use to further power up and customize  your play style. All of these fundamental gameplay mechanics were cribbed from DOTA, or Defense of the Ancients, which was a modded map from Warcraft III, and also serves as the basis of Valve's DOTA 2; League's primary competitor.

It is so similar in fact, that for a while, games in the genre were called "Dota-clones," until Riot Games, the creators of League of Legends, introduced a stupid new name for the genre that seems to have stuck: the MOBA (multiplayer online battle arena). That uninspired acronym could just as easily apply to any online game that features a death match mode. I'd personally call them something like "tri-laners," because, you know, the game is really about controlling those three lanes of aggression. "Pusher" would also work, because knocking down towers with teammates and waves of minions is called pushing, and the companies that run the games push them on you like drugs. Well, League of Legends and Heroes of the Storm do anyway; in those games, there is a free rotation of heroes that you can try every week (first hit is free). In order to have those characters available whenever you want, you have to buy them with real money (get bilk't), or a sizable sum of in-game currency accrued through many hours of play. DOTA 2 makes its money exclusively from cosmetic items, (which is something that the other two games also do).

Another thing MOBA's are known for is toxic communities. That can be true of gaming in general, but whereas COD and Halo kids will brag about how they fucked your mom, DOTA 2 and League players will routinely tell you to uninstall the game and quit forever, or kill yourself in very creative ways. If you are a writer struggling to capture trash talk, spend an afternoon on one of those games and let the bad times roll. Some titles have implemented solutions to try and improve the community. League has an honor and reporting system which can result in (paltry) player rewards, or bans for repeat offenders respectively. Blizzard cuts the Gordian Knot in HotS by disabling cross-team chat altogether, and invites you to turn off team chat at the beginning of every match. Which is... hmm. These are games where team-based communication is key, and honestly, some vicious hazing can be a powerful motivator to improve your skills. And you also miss out some more lighthearted, amusing exchanges.

Much has been written about why MOBAs are so toxic. My theory is pretty simple: it takes a team to win, and just one awful player to lose. See, in these games, every time you die, your opponents get in-game rewards that make them (or their entire team) more powerful. Dying repeatedly is actually called feeding, because you are providing your opponents with succor.

Sometimes I ask myself why I devote so much of time to these games. The matches are time consuming. It's not like I'm going to go pro. I actually have yet to play ranked mode in any of these games, because the pressure to perform is so high, and I have so little faith in my abilities. Really, I think it's because I want to prove to myself that I can become a competent player, and I get to spend time with a few of my exceedingly patient friends on a semi-nightly basis. Also being the weakest link among my friends in a game I admire lights a fire under me. It happened with Mario Kart, it happened with Super Smash Bros; after consistently being the weakest player among my bros, I binged each game until I hit a semi-respectable skill level; topping the charts at times, usually placing in the middle, and only occasionally winding up dead last. After two years of pretty dedicated play (with dry spells here and there), I am still consistently the anchor on my team. And I don't want to walk away from it like that.

I'm not a hyper competitive person when it comes to gaming--I reserve that psychosis for writing. But League helped awaken a fondness for Player-Vs-Player combat that MMOs never really fostered. The big problem I have with PVP in MMOs, and grind-to-unlock shooters is their RPG progression systems. In a RPG, the more you play, the more powerful you get as a character because you level up and unlock better equipment. In a PVP game, you get more powerful as a player because your skills improve. Usually, when you combine the two, players with more time than you get better two ways; they have had more practice, and they have better gear. Don't get me wrong; I love RPGs. I love getting more powerful as I play. But competitively, knowing there are other people out there with huge amounts of time on their hands, possessing vastly superior skills AND gear, kind of saps my desire to play against them. It's a deck stacked twice over. Or maybe two decks stacked on top of eachother. I don't know. This may not be the best metaphor. It's really more like having strangers chuck bricks at your sensitive bits.

Anyway, one of the magical things about MOBAs is that every game you play is a complete RPG progression cycle of fighting bad guys, leveling up, and buying gear (sans narrative--more on that below). You start with a clean slate, and level up as play progresses based on your performance. So it is pure skill, save for how the characters stack up against each-other. (And in ranked play, where draft picking rules are in effect, team composition provides another layer of strategy).

In a perfect world, all of the characters have comparable power levels; in actuality, some are stronger than others, and require consistent adjustment. I imagine balancing these games is a lot like trimming bonsai, and League, with its enormous roster, requires more back budding than most.

This is especially since Riot's primary project is to preserve, legitimize, and refine League as an E-Sport; a videogame with sufficient tuning and complexity to be played professionally for the entertainment of others. More than any other MOBA, League has a bedrock meta-game, where players must adhere to the same general constellation of positions and roles to succeed, like positions on a soccer field: one guy goes to the top lane, one guy goes to the middle, two guys go to the bottom, and one guy goes in the jungle and helps the other lanes. There is nothing that mechanically prevents deviation from that layout, but the team that adheres to it has a huge inherent mechanical advantage, (DOTA 2 and Heroes of the Storm are both much looser). My strongest position is support; the guy who usually guards or heals the Marksman or Attack Damage Carry (ADC); so named because he will eventually carry your team to victory (provided he get enough kills under their belt early on). Right now, my big project is to improve my capability with other positions who actually do damage.

Why League, as opposed to DOTA 2 or Heroes of the Storm, if it has a game that by design, allows for less variance? There are lots of little mechanical reasons. DOTA 2 offers the most variance, and takes itself the most seriously, but it is the most brutal game. Movement is trickier, you have to kill your own minions on occasion to deny enemy players gold, and the games tend to be the longest of the three. Heroes of the Storm is Blizzards new challenger, and it is like the Super Smash Bros of MOBAS, in that it plays around with the genre, has the softest community, faster games, a wider variety of maps, and it does away with a lot of mechanics like buying items. Basically, I like League's balance between the two. Each champion has a kit with a passive ability, three active abilities, and one ultimate ability. You also have access to two 'summoner spells,' which usually serve as some variance of 'get out of jail free or send your opponent to jail cards.' It also currently has the largest roster of characters.

But the thing I think I really like about League is that it's maturation as a game reflects my own as a player. It has serious problems that it has yet to solve. There is a rune system that allows experienced players to give their heroes bonus stats before matches, which is great for experienced players, but it unbalances that self-contained RPG arc for new players. Players have also been clamoring for a replay system, but 6 years in, they still haven't figured that seemingly-basic shit out. They flat out refused to make a real sandbox mode, even though it would be tremendously helpful to people who want to practice. And good god, what they did to the story...

The game takes place in a prosaic fantasy world called Runeterra populated by a bunch of cool characters. It's great strength was the meta-narrative that explained why said cool characters waged a hellish forever war of perpetual resurrection and bloodshed; the titular League of Legends used such matches as a form of governance to settle land disputes and other political problems. Players occupied the roles of powerful magi called summoners who guided the characters in battle. Initially, lore posts accompanied game updates, explaining what the current round of matches were settling, and how they related to the world. This was a powerful system because it gave players an in-universe identity, and made the matches have some semblance of value. But Riot decided such a system was too hard to turn into a franchise and the characters were not getting enough development. Instead of attempting to solve those problems, they abolished all the existing lore, divorced the gameplay from the story, and started doing periodic, character driven updates with some accompanying writing. Their refusal to change the world in the context of their universe was lazy, even craven, and the ligatures they've introduced between gameplay and story are cursory or annoying.

But for each colossal fuck-up, they make considerable improvements. The quality of their writing since the massive ret-con has made marked improvement. The game mechanics behind their characters have made quantum leaps over their original characters. Furthermore, they have started to renovate those older, more generic characters to give them unique identities in modern games. Recently, they overhauled their mastery system, which now allows you to customize characters in impactful, interesting ways. And they periodically implement minor quality of life improvements. Their game design is an ongoing work in progress, much like my attempts to play it. In that respect, it doesn't get old.

That said, lately I've been looking into Heroes of the Storm, and finding more enjoyment there than when I tried the beta and early release. I'm not sure how far I'll go with it, because their pricing model really is punitive, and their matchmaking takes about as long as it takes to play a game, but the variety of maps and looser meta makes for a refreshing breather. But I know where home is.

If you frequent Summoner's Rift, send Sarcasmancer a friend request and we will stomp some scrubs or get rekt trying.

WWJJD?

I keep waiting for Marvel to fuck up their cinematic universe. For their gravy train to go the way of Guitar Hero games, saturating the market with too much of the same. Call it cynicism, but I keep waiting for them to put out something I find un-watchable. Well. Technically that already happened with Agents of Shield, where, despite my early optimism and professions of faith, I was driven away. But the beautiful thing about their long-game battle strategy is their stuff (in success) stands on its own. I am free to ignore AOS (and Agent Carter, for sheer lack of time) and keep enjoying their other offerings. So it is with Jessica Jones; which, if you will forgive hackneyed praise, is their best offering yet.

Brian Michael Bendis, the author of Alias, which serves as the source material for the show, is a polarizing figure in comic book fandom. He is almost as much of a character as those he writes, with an instantly recognizable back and forth conversational style, and a habit of radically re-imagining or re-tooling characters regardless of their established personalities or lore. On the one hand, that's kind of obnoxious. On the other hand, that's part and parcel of comic book storytelling. Mythologies are subject to serialized schisms; diverging, sometimes competing, interpretations of characters and canon. If he wasn't so willing to take a fresh spin on characters, we would never see this hard-drinking, short-fused, utter mess of a superhero turned PI.

The first volume of the comic didn't wow me. It was a flagship title of Marvel's MAX Imprint; a line of comics aimed at adults, where heroes were allowed to swear, have sex, and do more terrible things to each other than their mainstream books. Conceptually it was a great initiative, but V1 of Alias is laced with try-hard profanity and plotting that feels aimless due to clumsiness rather than by design. One thing it does manage to capture is the theme of embattled agency. Jessica isn't really in control of the story, or her own destiny. For example (mild spoiler), the first arc ends with Jessica unable to defeat the villain, and unwilling to side with him, leaving him to be taken out by a deus ex helicopter gunship.

And that's what the show is about: agency. What it means to make your own decisions, or to use people, and where accountability begins and ends, down to the moral implications of choosing between evils (or just two very dark paths). Up until the closing scene of the season, the show is presenting characters with difficult decisions.

The show outclasses the comic by is by using Jessica's best bad guy right from the start: Kilgrave, the Purple Man. His super power is the horrifying ability to compel people to do his bidding with nothing but his voice.Vincent D'Onofrio's portrayal of Wilson Fisk single-handedly elevated Daredevil from a pretty good show into something genuinely compelling. He stood tall as the best villain in the MCU to date, outclassing the world destroying threats of the blockbusters by having a personality worth exploring. His episodes (and character arc) were more engaging than Matt's. And Netflix managed to bottle lightning twice with David Tenant. Famous for portraying the much-beloved tenth Doctor, Tenant manages to transform a super villain (an archetype so manipulative and cruel that he feels like a parody) into a real person, which somehow makes him all the more hate-able.

JJ wins out over Daredevil for the simple reason that its cast of "good guys" are also interesting; morseo than Matt Murdock and his crew. Jessica is a wreck, tortured by more tangible and believable demons than a burning desire to punch bad guys in the junk. She's an alcoholic, played for pathos over humor. She's often selfish, self-destructive, and acerbic in a way that will still manage to bite jaded audiences. And she is wrestling with monstrous PTSD. Despite all that, she has a clearer drive to do good than Matt. She is desperate to be a good person. Kristen Ritter (who I knew and loved from The B**** in Apartment 23) breathes fresh life into that antihero package, resulting in the kind of character I cannot help but love.

Her supporting cast is brilliant too. Patsy Walker is perhaps the most straightforward character (performed by Rachael Taylor), but she provides a crucial counterpoint to Jessica. Eka Darville steals almost every scene he is in as Malcolm Ducasse. Mark Colter is perfect as Luke Cage, (it takes a very special man to deliver the catchphrase "Sweet Christmas" in an authentic way) and I look forward to spending more time with Power Man in the future. Erin Moriarty exudes conflicted guilt and vulnerability as Hope Schlottman. My impression of Carrie Anne Moss has always been that she is somewhat cold and wooden, (okay, the exact phrase I used when talking to Grace was 'frozen cardboard') but that actually serves beautifully in her portrayal of Jeri Hogarth, a shrewd dragon lady of an attorney. Despite her 'understated' mannerisms, she made my sympathies for her character do some very impressive contortions. The only underwhelmer is Will Traval's Will Simpson, and (spoiler to follow) that's primarily because the script calls for a very abrupt and forced Face-Heel turn in Episode 9.

JJ lacks the brutality (and stunning fight choreography) of Daredevil, but it is by far the darker show, touching on everything from abortion and rape to an incredibly acrimonious divorce, with murder and suicide sprinkled throughout. There is blackmail, extortion, and every other stripe of people using people that you can imagine. And, yeah, I think that is to the show's credit. That kind of content is not inherently mature; in fact, poorly handled it makes you look juvenile, but the presentation is strong enough to provoke thought and conversation. Once you hit that benchmark, to get people talking beyond "wow, that was poorly handled" or "wait, what?", you've succeeded.

I have very few complaints. JJ never really pays off the promise of its noir posturing, because there is very little mystery; just tension. Also, for the first 6 episodes, I felt like I was at least one step ahead of the plot (and oftentimes the dialogue) at all times. Even when things were slow, I never thought "that was a lame call," and I very rarely had quibbles with the lines, which is rare for superhero fare. Some people have complained about the sluggish start, but keep in mind that this was a show written with binging in mind, and once it edges past the half-way point things go nuts. I stopped feeling like I could call the shots. More importantly, I forgot to. Turning off your audiences' incessant inner critics is one of the surest signs of success, because it means your stuff is entertaining enough that the mental peanut gallery doesn't care, or it is finding so few faults in what you're doing that it gives up.

If Marvel's big screen and network offerings have struck you as either childish or canonically intimidating, the Netflix series are your best bet, and Jessica Jones is the stronger of the two by virtue of its characters. Somehow, defying all odds, there are legs in this thing yet.

Food Fightin'

2015 has been kind to anime fans. From the Black Lagoon-esque ultra violence of Gangsta, to the military fantasy mash-up Gate, to the MMO deconstruction of Overlord, to Hiromu Arakawa's take on the Legend of Arsland (Arsland Senki), there are a lot of solid options vying for your time. (Shout out to Marcus and Noelle for all of these recommendations). I thought it would be impossible for anything to overtake Gangsta, with its weird mix of criminals and drugged up super soldiers. Then Grace and I started watching Shokugeki no Soma, which roughly translates to Soma's Food Wars. It's not revolutionary, but it is a brilliant example of how Shounen structure can be translated to topics other than fighting. In fact, it is one of the best Shounen to date, provided you can ignore (or enjoy) all the fan service.

Here's the plot in a nutshell: Soma is a 15 year old cook who works in his father's diner in Japan. It's a humble, affordable joint in a neighborhood being targeted for urban development, but it is tremendously successful thanks to the phenomenal food. In the first episode, our hero gets a real estate vulture to permanently piss off just by serving her an amazing dish. It turns out that Soma's dad is secretly a world renowned chef, and he has quietly been grooming his son to one day surpass him by challenging him to no-holds barred cooking duels since he was six years old. But one day, dear old dad disappears, leaving instructions for Soma to (temporarily) close up shop, and head to an elite cooking academy.

This school has a fancifully low graduation rate where kids can be expelled at the drop of a hat, with its alumni going on to be the next world's next Gordon Ramsays, Julia Childs, Wolfgang Pucks, and Giada De Laurentiis. Furthermore, students challenge each other to cooking duels called Shokugeki to settle disputes. I know, I know, the cliches are already thick in rank and file. But like I said, the show isn't an evolution or critique of Shounen anime (go watch Kill La Kill or Attack on Titan for that), so much as an immaculate execution of the form.

Two episodes in, I found myself wondering whether the creator was a chef himself, or a food critic. Whatever his background, he is not writing from Wikipedia knowledge. The cooking techniques that are casually rattled off are insane, covering everything from carving monkfish to molecular gastronomy, and featuring dishes like diner food with tastes and textures that evolve over time, nine layer french terrines, and curries that use compression and convection to enhance their aromatic impact. Needless to say, watching this show while you're hungry is a poor life decision.

I also really love the cast of characters. Even when they get tropey, clever eccentricities and running gags make them relentlessly endearing. Everybody in Soma's dorm has a specialty (fermentation, smoking, game meats, food history) that adds another dimension to their characters. Soma himself is fearless, tenacious, and a little dense (defining qualities of the archetypal Shounen hero), but when it comes to food (this show's equivalent to combat), he is beyond innovative. And when he comes to his friends' rescue, he is every ounce the hero of a show where problems are solved by punching. Moreso in fact, because it requires more creativity from the writer and the characters.

The only thing keeping me from recommending it to every anime fan I know is the fan service. It doesn't approach the depravity of High School of the Dead, Triage X, or other aspiring hentai, but when a character serves a dish that is amazing, the diner goes on a journey. And usually that journey is an orgasm. They blush, gasp, cry out, and are often shown in the abstract, stripped near nude in an explosion of ecstasy. To its credit, the show doesn't discriminate by gender, though the female reactions tend to be a little more explicit. You also have the token stacked girl who walks around in a bikini (although, there's a male nudist who walks around in nothing but a cooking apron, too). Soma also has the habit of developing truly heinous dishes (like octopus with peanut butter) to prank his friends and these experiences draw upon the proud Japanese tradition of the Fisherman's Wife.

It's not all graphic innuendo and implicit tentacle rape. The show routinely employs brilliant imagery. A flawed dish is portrayed as an island paradise, marred by a parade of noisy hippo. A curry duel is showcased as Muay Thai boxer fighting a lancer. A molecular gastronomy dish becomes a metaphor for pioneering the edges of a new galaxy. All of these scenes are rendered with beautiful animation quality, and accompanied by the sort of bombastic music that makes you want to cheer for the good guys, and their opposition, just so you can see what they come up with. When people clash via cooking, everybody wins.

One day, after I get the book-writing thing nailed down, another project I would love to tackle is writing a shounen-style comic set in the ballet world. It features brutal competitions shaped by fierce rivalries set in adolescence, stunning feats of physicality that can easily be embellished in fantastic ways, and inspiring camaraderie. You could even throw in the tasteless sexual pandering and fan service scenes without much exaggeration, because why the hell not.

I haven't seen any other cooking anime, but I'm confident this one's cuisine will reign supreme in perpetuity. I can't wait for a second serving next summer. May even have to jump the gun and start on the manga.

The Dark Knight's Darkest Timeline

Rocksteady's Arkham series is the best video game adaptation of a superhero to date. Nothing else captures so many aspects of a character so perfectly, much less a figure as iconic, nuanced, and macro-mythic as Batman. Fans have had towering expectations for each version of the game and Rocksteady's titles have crushed them every time. (WB Game's Montreal's prequel offering, Arkham Origins, fell short in many ways, but it also has a much worse rep than it deserves. Very solid writing.)

I have so much faith in the franchise that I bought the PC version at launch, without waiting for any kind of reviews, only to have to wait several months for the second round of fixes to make the game playable. The nightmare port could be a post unto itself. Apparently WB outsourced it with almost no time left, and didn't bother to do enough Q&A to wait for a Halloween release, which really would have been so much smarter for so many reasons. Even after the second major patch, it's still not perfect, periodically suffering from graphical stutters and mass-slow down, but none of that stopped me from playing it in 2 to 6 hour binges. (In the course of writing this, I discovered a new patch has been released with more fixes and support for all the DLC. So yay!)

The game has stellar mechanics, beginning with combat that blends pseudo-Quick Time Event style brawling with the opportunity to deviate and improvise via movement, gadgets and special combo abilities. Getting a good flow going feels amazing. It feels like you're the goddamn Batman. On top of that, you have the incredibly liberating ability to zip through the city with his grapnel gun, sling-shotting yourself into mile long glides over Gotham. The combat and flying could get monotonous, and I think some of my friends have leveled that complaint against the game, but clever puzzles that require careful use of your gadgets, and compelling detective side-quests kept things fresh for me.

This game's signature wonderful toy is the Batmobile itself. You get to rocket around Gotham in a car that transforms into a tank, which you can use to get into shoot-outs with unmanned military drones. It strains disbelief a bit to believe that thugs and criminals you hit at 100+ miles per hour are merely "stunned" by the car's taser field, and weird to have Batman blasting tanks, but the gameplay is ridiculously fun, grafting an entire secondary combat system into the game's DNA. You also get a surprising amount of puzzle mileage out of the hulking video, via remote control and grapple cables.

All of that would be meaningless if the story wasn't stellar. Fortunately, the Arkham universe combines the best of the incredibly varied Batman mythos into one experience (save for Damien Wayne - nobody is perfect). You have Mark Hamill voicing the Joker and Kevin Conroy as Batman from the animated series. Barbara Gordon as Oracle (and Batgirl in the DLC), Dick Grayson, and Tim Drake from the comics. Lucius Fox from Nolan's movies. And between all the titles in the series, you get to face every villain from the best rogue's gallery in the history of all comic bookage.

What's more, the series takes risks with canon. It breaks rules that the movies and comics cannot afford to, for fear of alienating entrenched fans or scaring off new ones. Spoilers to follow until the final paragraph, but please read on if you won't be playing game.

The second game in the series, Arkham City, ends by killing off the Joker. Arkham Knight begins with you cremating him. Some people thought that the ol' Clown Prince of Crime was actually Clayface in disguise--a theory I dreaded might be true. But no. Joker really is dead. Dead but not gone. If you will recall, Batman was infected with Joker's blood at the end of the last Arkham Game, and thanks to the magic of comic book logic, his blood slowly starts to possess everyone infected with it. What does this mean for gameplay? Hamil's Joker appears as a hallucination in Batman's head, talking to him throughout the entire game, savagely (but hilariously) taunting him at every opportunity, and urging him to abandon his code and succumb to violence. There are a couple moments where Batman loses control too, giving us a glimpse at the most terrifying villain ever: Bat-Joker. So the net result is a prolonged exploration of their relationship. It doesn't really go deeper than any prior analysis, but it brilliantly illustrates the point that Joker subsists entirely on Batman. And there is also a nod to the theory that Batman depends on Joker, as the game suggests Bruce is finally making some preparations to hang up the cowl (via side missions where you play as Azrael, training to inherit the mantel).

That's only one stunning part of the story. The first fifth of the game ends with the fear-gas induced suicide of Barbara Gordon. Which, I mean, holy fuck. They say this is the story about the end of Batman, but I didn't believe it until he watches his already paralyzed, brilliant young protege blow her brains. She is trapped in a glass room which he doesn't enter, for fear of inhaling fear gas. At that point, Batman has already lost. He has lost so hard that no matter how hard the story plays out from here, there is no coming back. They make her death all the more destructive, by making her and Tim Drake into a romantic item, and having Batman tell bald-faced lies to him about her death; which is a legitimate aspect of the character that is rarely explored outside the comics. Batman keeps secrets that hurt his loved ones. You also get to see Jim Gordon discover his daughter's involvement with Batman for the first time. It's so brutal, and so unfair, that I actually had problems with it. Part of it was the feminist gamer in me, mad that they killed one of the few female bat characters, and one of the best heroines in comics, but the real issue was, it was genuinely upsetting. More so than deaths in the comics, because those have been proven, time and again, to be temporary setbacks. But the Arkham series started out as a trilogy, it would end, and that will be it.

Unfortunately, they cop out. It's all a hallucination. Batman was influenced by fear-gas. Babs is okay. Scarecrow had her stashed away to manipulate Jim Gordon. The funny thing is, I was simultaneously hoping they would find a way to rescue her, and that they would stick to her guns. My relief that she survived wrestled with my disgust that they didn't commit. Ultimately, I think it was the wrong call, but I was so relieved that I still love the game. And Batman still failed. He succumbed to fear and selfishness when he watched her die, instead of breaking into the glass room and rescuing her, hallucination or not. It is still the Dark Knight's darkest timeline. He got lucky instead of being good, and Batman should always be the best.

The most predictable part of the story is the Arkham Knight himself, who is inevitably, Jason Todd. The only thing that threw me off is that Red Hood had a separate, distinct costume and action figure with his own level pack and everything in preorders and promotions. But once you hear him addressing Batman as 'old man,' and talking about his tactics, it could really only be one character. Worse yet, despite laying siege to Gotham, and being party to Barbara Gordon's apparent murder, Jason is redeemed by Bruce through fisticuffs and a heart-to-heart that's about seven words long. I know, I know. How else would it end? Personally I would hope for an ambiguous heroic sacrifice, leading Bruce to wonder if Jason is dead again, just after he is effectively resurrected.

Narrative rough patches aside, Arkham Knight is still the definitive Batman experience. I can't see Rocksteady topping it, and I earnestly hope they don't try. Tackle a Wonder Woman game instead. Or Flash. Or Cyborg! Even Aquaman. Hell, these guys are so good they might be the ones to finally figure out a Superman game that doesn't suck.

Popular Gods

So I just finished volume 1 of The Wicked + The Divine by Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie, which was pretty great. It's a graphic novel about 12 teenagers who gain the mantle of gods every 90 years (the gods come from different pantheons, and they often change each recurrence). After 2 years of 'being loved and being hated' these young gods all must die for unknown reasons. Then the cycle begins anew.

 Each god has powers pertaining to their mythology, and some gods with multiple incarnations/interpretations have multiple forms.Usually, said gods become celebrities or pop stars, because how could they not. So there's some commentary on the nature of fame in addition to the genre staples of power and responsibility, which is a brilliant contrast to the secret world approach that is ubiquitous in Urban Fantasy. It is tremendously refreshing to see UF that breaks away from the typical "I'm discovering my powers," or "I'm a monster slaying detective" molds.

 Have Wikipedia handy, because I've got pretty strong mythology game and there were plenty of references I didn't recognize. Conversely, I worried that I would miss too many of the musical references to really enjoy the series, since tunes are my pop-cultural blind spot (particularly stuff before the nineties), but I feel like I got most of them since Gillen plays it safe with references to Bowie, the Stones and the Beatles.

McKelvie's character designs are stupid gorgeous, and Matt Wilson brings some of the most vibrant colors out of anything I have ever read. It was a very nice contrast to David Aja's more subtle and abstract (but also phenomenal) approach in Hawkeye, which I also just finished up--I'm going to miss that one, even if it meant the occasional year or half-year wait between volumes. Should be mandatory reading for people who enjoy superhero books, even if you 'only read DC'.

Anyway, back to TW+TD, the only flaw it has is the main character suffers from looking glass syndrome, almost to the point of self-parody but that looks to be changing in the next volume. The first one ends with a bang, so I'm very curious to see where things go from here. Mythology folks and UF fans should check this one out.

It's nice to have a new ongoing to read now that The Unwritten, Hawekeye, and Locke & Key have all wrapped. Anybody have any other new recommendations?

Ancillary Politics

It's been awhile since I read a book that really challenged me, which probably doesn't speak highly of my reading habits, but at DragonCon I finally got to finish up Ancillary Justice, which was a Christmas gift. Once I got a firm grasp on the world, I was in for the long haul and I'm looking forward to picking up Ancillary Sword soon. It took awhile for me to get into it though, due to a constellation of factors.

The premise hooked me straight off. Here's the high concept: ancillaries are former human who are mind wiped and essentially enslaved by AIs at the behest of a conquering empire. These AI are spread across numerous human bodies, with their brains effectively serving as cloud processors. So you have collective entities with shared perception and consciousness. They often make up armies, but our protagonist was part of a starship. Breq, formerly known as One Esk, was one of many ancillaries used to control and run an enormous battle cruiser that is several thousand years old; the Justice of Toren. The challenging part is the en media res opening in a very dense universe, and a story that tells itself in both directions as it progresses. I can learn a lot on how to avoid info dumps here, but I actually found myself wishing for some more explicit exposition earlier on.

What really challenged me was the language. It’s one of those books with a lot of unique terminology, and very alien words (there is a race of aliens named the “Rrrr,”) and very rigid codes of etiquette that are explained in fits and starts, but employed throughout the book. One convention hit me harder than expected, which was the use of ‘she’ for all gender pronouns in the Empire (the culture that uses Ancillaries). Maybe I felt ‘othered’ by it, and I cling to the patriarchy tighter than I admit (that may read snarky but it’s a real possibility), but my frustrations manifested as trouble picturing characters. Now obviously, that estrangement is part of the point. At first I thought it was kind of a trite way to hint that gender doesn’t matter, but really it’s a very clever way to characterize Breq. She (I think she is biologically female) often screws up other characters’ genders. It kind of taxes suspension of disbelief that a genius AI who can read facial expressions near-flawlessly would have trouble recognizing secondary sexual characteristics, until you realize that as a collective being, Breq is thoroughly desexualized. She thought of herself as genderless, and her culture also de-emphasized gender linguistically. Conversely, most human imperials don’t give a fuck, because they can tell who is what by looking at them.

The gender politics were less fascinating to me than the book’s political intrigue, which is weird because I generally prefer stories that operate on a more personal scale. Vague spoilers to follow in this paragraph only. Around midway through the book, it is revealed that Ancillaries, and other beings spread across multiple bodies, can be given a unique consciousness that exists independently in the collective being with personal agency. This allows them to advance opposing agendas simultaneously, hidden from the other facets of the collective (talk about a mindfuck). If that collective being happens to be the leader of an intergalactic empire, you can see how a mind divided against itself might be a problem.

Ann Leckie walked away with both the Hugo and Nebula for this one (and rightfully so), so I imagine most of my sci-fi friends have already read this or at least have it on their radar. But I would also recommend it to folks who are fascinated by gender stuff.

It’s encouraging to know that collective/shared consciousnesses are trending in sci-fi (as evidenced by this, Psycho-Pass, and Sense8), because it's a huge part of my book. And since you didn’t ask, the revisions are slow going, but I’m feeling good about them. It was cool to discover that I didn’t need to revise Part 1 as drastically as I thought I would. In a perfect world, Parts 2 and 3 would be done by the holidays, but since this is the first re-write for those parts, I suspect it won’t be done until the end of next spring. At that point, I will need loads of feedback, since I am serious about getting this one published.

Ant-Man Squished by MCU House Style

Last Sunday I saw Ant-Man. It was dumb but pretty fun. That's all most people need to know really, but I have reputation to uphold. If you're reading this, you want gonzo over-analysis of Marvel's Cinematic Universe.

I think it is worth noting this is the latest I've waited to see any Marvel movie since opening. It's tempting to blame flagging interest, especially after the fatigue I expressed with Age of Ultron, and that's definitely part of it, but you can bet I will be watching Netflix's offerings straight out of the gate. I think the main issue is that I was skeptical of the hero (why does this silver age chestnut get a flick before literally anybody else slated for a title?) and I heard something that made me sad: Edgar Wright's script had been scrapped. Whedon said it was one of Marvel's best screenplays ever. Lo and behold, my first thought when the flick ended was "There is a better version of this movie somewhere locked up in a desk."

Again, it wasn't bad. I'd rank it above the Thor movies, which I would describe as "earnestly watchable." Paul Rudd was a peach as always. Evangeline Lilly was hurt by a lame role (and make-up that made her look much older than she is). Douglas gave a good delivery of a very straightforward role. Michael Peña is fast becoming one of my favorite character actors, even if he was typecast as a pseudo-stereotypical Mexican friend/hood. I don't know what David Croll was going for but he didn't hit the mark. As with Lilly's character, it's mostly the fault of the script, but his manic menace and discordant sycophantry made him the most forgettable villain in the MCU to date.

You don't really watch these things for the plot or performances though. Or I don't know. Maybe you're a masochist? That's cool. Whatever waxes your ride. The ridiculous action and great one-liners delivered, even if they were trailer'd to death.

There were flashes of a film that stuck together better. Something as fun as Guardians of the Galaxy. I can't put my finger on exactly where things went sideways, but I feel like they didn't commit to the screwball comedy angle as hard as they could. The ant powers were presented in a way that was remarkably straight forward with very few laughs, which seems like a huge missed opportunity. I know Wright would have committed to that humor. Paired with his hyper kinetic cinematography, saturated with whip-cuts and graphic embellishments...(yearning sigh). But no. The need for stylistic cohesion is finally starting to show it's teeth.

It's very weird to me that Marvel is getting more cautious after the success of stuff like Guardians and Daredevil. Their comics are also wildly, refreshingly different from each other. Look at Hawkeye vs Rocket Raccoon vs. Captain Marvel vs. Ms. Marvel vs. Unbeatable Squirrel Girl vs. any Spidey or Avenger's book. There was a place for Wright's vision in this pantheon.

My interest in the movies is starting to shift from intrinsic interest to this kind of morbid curiosity. I'm waiting for the moment when the gravy train goes off the rails. This wasn't the movie to do it, and Civil War, with the introduction of Sony's Spider-Man, will be a shot in the arm. But after that? Cummerbach's Doctor Strange is going to be tough. It is very difficult to make magic mainstream. Most magical fiction is the strict domain of book nerds and D&D dorks. Harry Potter managed to break through, but Game of Thrones and the Lord of the Rings (films) have marginalized it with more grounded stuff, like sword fighting, sex, and politics.

It hurts me to say this, but I would rather things go to hell with Doctor Strange than with Black Widow or Captain Marvel, because I can imagine some smarmy studio suit pounding his fist on the boardroom table, shouting "See? Nobody likes female comic book characters!" That guy can go fuck himself, preemptively. Black Panther would also be a very bad point for Marvel to drop the ball. Even worse than the lady-led films. At least nerd audiences can rally around Katniss Everdeen, whereas the only black superheroes we have are Anthony Mackie's Falcon, and Cheedle's War Machine who have both been relegated to sidekick status. (Falcon makes a fun cameo in Ant-Man tho).

When things inevitably go to hell, it won't be supernatural plots, or female, or black superheroes at fault. It will happen because they've made like twenty of these things, and people have moved on, or moved back to whatever was trendy before tights and capes movies.

No twist ending here. Fans of Marvel, heist movies, or Mr. Rudd should go check it out. Less dedicated fans can afford to give this one a pass with Civil War right around the corner.