Thursday, May 28, 2009
From the Comic Book Urban Dictionary
chutzpah (huts-paw): noun. Taking three comics that were so drastically overhyped that just about every comics fan in the world at the time bought a copy, and so drastically overprinted that even now, sixteen years later, they're still available in discount bins at comics stores all over the United States, reprinting them with ten pages of additional material, calling the whole thing "X-Men Forever Alpha", and charging eight bucks for it.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Who Doesn't Want To Be A Superhero?
Not that I've ever seen the show, but I do know about Stan Lee's surreal reality series wherein people try their best to act like real-life superheroes and convince Stan that they've got the chops to save the world (or, at least, get their own comic book where they pretend to save the world.) But really, on thinking about it, is there a single superhero out there you'd actually want to be?
Sure, having the powers would be neat. I'd love to have Batman's martial arts skills, his deductive genius, his neat gadgets. But you know what I wouldn't love? Getting shot at every night, and never being able to get past the tragic deaths of my parents at an early age. Sure, it sounds awesome to be Superman, until you remember that his whole species was wiped out the day he was born (wow, that's got to be one downer of a birthday celebration. "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to the lone survivor of a cosmic genocide, happy birthday to me!") And let's not even start to get into what it might be like to be Spider-Man. Even Aquaman has a sucky life, and he doesn't even have the awesome powers to make up for it! (Although, to be brutally honest, it would be kind of sweet to be able to swim without needing to hold your breath, and talk to the dolphins and hang out with giant squids and stuff.)
On thinking about it, I'm actually hard-pressed to name a single superhero I'd actually want to be, and you'd think that'd be a no-brainer fanboy question. Being a superhero seems to come with a free, non-returnable gift of death, misery, pain, and suffering for you and your loved ones, with the added bonus of no actual financial gain out of the deal (pretty much all of the billionaire playboys started out as billionaires before becoming superheroes.) Even the guys who are living the good life are just one new creative team away from becoming the next Penance (so-named because...well, because just appending "Dark" to the front of a character's name to indicate how mature and bad-ass they are wouldn't come back into vogue for another couple of years.)
So remember, denizens of the Marvel and DC Universes. When you look up and see superheroes flying overhead, and dream of sharing that grand and glorious life...thank your lucky stars you're not actually doing it. Because the best-case scenario is that you only die once.
Sure, having the powers would be neat. I'd love to have Batman's martial arts skills, his deductive genius, his neat gadgets. But you know what I wouldn't love? Getting shot at every night, and never being able to get past the tragic deaths of my parents at an early age. Sure, it sounds awesome to be Superman, until you remember that his whole species was wiped out the day he was born (wow, that's got to be one downer of a birthday celebration. "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to the lone survivor of a cosmic genocide, happy birthday to me!") And let's not even start to get into what it might be like to be Spider-Man. Even Aquaman has a sucky life, and he doesn't even have the awesome powers to make up for it! (Although, to be brutally honest, it would be kind of sweet to be able to swim without needing to hold your breath, and talk to the dolphins and hang out with giant squids and stuff.)
On thinking about it, I'm actually hard-pressed to name a single superhero I'd actually want to be, and you'd think that'd be a no-brainer fanboy question. Being a superhero seems to come with a free, non-returnable gift of death, misery, pain, and suffering for you and your loved ones, with the added bonus of no actual financial gain out of the deal (pretty much all of the billionaire playboys started out as billionaires before becoming superheroes.) Even the guys who are living the good life are just one new creative team away from becoming the next Penance (so-named because...well, because just appending "Dark" to the front of a character's name to indicate how mature and bad-ass they are wouldn't come back into vogue for another couple of years.)
So remember, denizens of the Marvel and DC Universes. When you look up and see superheroes flying overhead, and dream of sharing that grand and glorious life...thank your lucky stars you're not actually doing it. Because the best-case scenario is that you only die once.
Friday, May 22, 2009
The First Precept: A Deleted Scene From "Glimpse of the Abyss"
When I wrote my sections of "Glimpse of the Abyss", it was my third time working with editor Will Hindmarch. We had a discussion about the tone of the book before I started writing, in which he expressed some concern that my previous work on the Feng Shui gaming line had been a little too comedic. (Personally, I still feel that when your writing assignment involves cyborg monkeys with names like "Orango Tank" and "Furious George", you can only get so dark, but I understood his concerns.)
So as a result, I made a conscious effort to write pieces that were a little darker, and a little more horrific. However, Will wound up leaving Atlas before the project was completed, and a few of the bits wound up being cut. One, in particular, I quite liked--the entry was on an order of nuns called the Sisters of Mercy, who believed that since the afterlife was better than this world, it was their duty to usher as many souls into it as possible before they had to suffer too much from the misery of day-to-day existence. The fiction section that showed their indoctrination was cut, though--possibly due to space issues instead of tone issues, I really can't say. I'm well aware that a lot of considerations go into taking a rough draft and turning it into a finished book, and I don't second-guess my editors. But I did think the piece was worth sharing here. So, enjoy!
Um...just as a slight warning...it was written as something dark and creepy. If you're not into that kind of thing, there's nothing wrong with waiting for Monday, when I will no doubt post another terrible pun.
The First Precept
Mother Amanita Virosa, the 78th Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mercy and the thirty-fifth to bear that name, kept her eyes firmly fixed on her charges. Her arm moved up and down with a mechanical pistoning gesture, lashing out again and again with the whip, but she ignored the girl she was beating in all other respects. The lesson she was teaching that girl would be remembered through a thousand scars. The others learned through the wisdom she imparted.
“Little Sister Eluria has the privilege today of learning the First Precept.” Mother Virosa spoke in a sing-song, rhythmic cadence with the smack of leather against flesh serving to keep time. “And the First Precept is thus: Life Is Suffering.” Eluria hadn’t done anything wrong. She just happened to be the one that the Elder Sisters picked out of the class today. Now they held her in place in an implacable grip as the whip lashed into her flesh.
“And since Life Is Suffering, it follows that all those who live cannot escape it.” The other Little Sisters watched in absolute silence. One started to turn her face away as a particularly hard blow landed, but caught herself. The punishment for living was a whipping. The punishments for actual wrong-doing were far more terrible. “We cannot escape suffering through our skill, nor through our strength, nor through virtue or wickedness. The only way to escape from suffering is to die.”
Tiny trickles of blood now worked their way over the welts in Eluria’s flesh. “Death is the only escape from the pain of existence. Death is the only blessing that grants us release from the suffering we must endure. Death, blessed death, wonderful death…” The whip was wet with blood now. “Death is the only mercy the Creator has granted to us. And the instinct to survive is his greatest curse.”
The Mother Superior stayed her arm. Eluria flinched nonetheless, her body now conditioned to expect the blows, and the rest of the class tensed in the unexpected silence. Mother Amanita walked around the two Elder Sisters and stood in front of Eluria, still facing the class. The Little Sisters could not see Eluria’s face, only the mass of torn and bloody skin that made up her back. But they all saw Mother Amanita grasp Eluria’s chin firmly and lift her head up to meet her gaze.
“Does it hurt, Eluria?” The Mother Superior’s voice was calm and neutral. Eluria, by contrast, was barely able to gasp out a “Yes!” through choked sobs of pain.
“Does it hurt, Eluria?” Again, the neutral voice, no more emotional than asking the time in Peoria. Again, the choked and gasping confirmation.
“The pain will continue, Eluria. I will continue. There is no escape, Eluria. You know that, don’t you?” Eluria tried to nod, but the Mother Superior’s grasp held her head in place. Eventually, she gasped out another yes.
“Then I will ask you The Question, Eluria. Do you want to die?” One Little Sister had pressed her fingernails into her palm so tightly that she’d drawn blood, so intent was she on not looking away. She didn’t notice. Eluria’s response was barely audible. “We didn’t hear that, dear,” Amanita said. “Do you want to die?”
Eluria’s response was a scream this time. “YES!”
The two Elder Sisters let go of her arms at the same time as the Mother Superior let go of her chin, and Eluria crashed to the flagstones. “Remember this moment, Eluria,” the Mother Superior said, looking down at her. “The Creator has delayed his Mercy to you, that you might grant it to others. You are the bringer of blessings to all human-kind, that someday you may receive it yourself.” She looked up at the class once more. “Thus it has been since the Beginning of our Order, and thus shall it always be.”
So as a result, I made a conscious effort to write pieces that were a little darker, and a little more horrific. However, Will wound up leaving Atlas before the project was completed, and a few of the bits wound up being cut. One, in particular, I quite liked--the entry was on an order of nuns called the Sisters of Mercy, who believed that since the afterlife was better than this world, it was their duty to usher as many souls into it as possible before they had to suffer too much from the misery of day-to-day existence. The fiction section that showed their indoctrination was cut, though--possibly due to space issues instead of tone issues, I really can't say. I'm well aware that a lot of considerations go into taking a rough draft and turning it into a finished book, and I don't second-guess my editors. But I did think the piece was worth sharing here. So, enjoy!
Um...just as a slight warning...it was written as something dark and creepy. If you're not into that kind of thing, there's nothing wrong with waiting for Monday, when I will no doubt post another terrible pun.
The First Precept
Mother Amanita Virosa, the 78th Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mercy and the thirty-fifth to bear that name, kept her eyes firmly fixed on her charges. Her arm moved up and down with a mechanical pistoning gesture, lashing out again and again with the whip, but she ignored the girl she was beating in all other respects. The lesson she was teaching that girl would be remembered through a thousand scars. The others learned through the wisdom she imparted.
“Little Sister Eluria has the privilege today of learning the First Precept.” Mother Virosa spoke in a sing-song, rhythmic cadence with the smack of leather against flesh serving to keep time. “And the First Precept is thus: Life Is Suffering.” Eluria hadn’t done anything wrong. She just happened to be the one that the Elder Sisters picked out of the class today. Now they held her in place in an implacable grip as the whip lashed into her flesh.
“And since Life Is Suffering, it follows that all those who live cannot escape it.” The other Little Sisters watched in absolute silence. One started to turn her face away as a particularly hard blow landed, but caught herself. The punishment for living was a whipping. The punishments for actual wrong-doing were far more terrible. “We cannot escape suffering through our skill, nor through our strength, nor through virtue or wickedness. The only way to escape from suffering is to die.”
Tiny trickles of blood now worked their way over the welts in Eluria’s flesh. “Death is the only escape from the pain of existence. Death is the only blessing that grants us release from the suffering we must endure. Death, blessed death, wonderful death…” The whip was wet with blood now. “Death is the only mercy the Creator has granted to us. And the instinct to survive is his greatest curse.”
The Mother Superior stayed her arm. Eluria flinched nonetheless, her body now conditioned to expect the blows, and the rest of the class tensed in the unexpected silence. Mother Amanita walked around the two Elder Sisters and stood in front of Eluria, still facing the class. The Little Sisters could not see Eluria’s face, only the mass of torn and bloody skin that made up her back. But they all saw Mother Amanita grasp Eluria’s chin firmly and lift her head up to meet her gaze.
“Does it hurt, Eluria?” The Mother Superior’s voice was calm and neutral. Eluria, by contrast, was barely able to gasp out a “Yes!” through choked sobs of pain.
“Does it hurt, Eluria?” Again, the neutral voice, no more emotional than asking the time in Peoria. Again, the choked and gasping confirmation.
“The pain will continue, Eluria. I will continue. There is no escape, Eluria. You know that, don’t you?” Eluria tried to nod, but the Mother Superior’s grasp held her head in place. Eventually, she gasped out another yes.
“Then I will ask you The Question, Eluria. Do you want to die?” One Little Sister had pressed her fingernails into her palm so tightly that she’d drawn blood, so intent was she on not looking away. She didn’t notice. Eluria’s response was barely audible. “We didn’t hear that, dear,” Amanita said. “Do you want to die?”
Eluria’s response was a scream this time. “YES!”
The two Elder Sisters let go of her arms at the same time as the Mother Superior let go of her chin, and Eluria crashed to the flagstones. “Remember this moment, Eluria,” the Mother Superior said, looking down at her. “The Creator has delayed his Mercy to you, that you might grant it to others. You are the bringer of blessings to all human-kind, that someday you may receive it yourself.” She looked up at the class once more. “Thus it has been since the Beginning of our Order, and thus shall it always be.”
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Worth Mentioning (A Minor Shameless Plug)
Just a brief post today, because they can't all be Shakespeare (yes, you in the back there, stop laughing or leave the room.) It did occur to me that some folks who read this blog might also play 'City of Heroes', given that I have, you know, mentioned 'City of Heroes' several times and made a semi-regular feature out of describing my characters' biographies. And as many/some/a few of you know, 'City of Heroes' has recently added a feature where people can design their own story arcs that anyone can play, complete with custom villains!
So I thought I'd mention, for the benefit of those who do play 'City of Heroes', that I've got up two arcs. The first is "The Alternate Armor Assaults" (sorry, I don't know my Arc ID numbers off the top of my head--I'll edit the post when I get a chance to find them out, but in the meanwhile you should be able to find them by searching the titles.) It's designed for heroes in at least their 20s, and is about Positron (one of the major heroes in Paragon City) needing your help. See, like all good technological heroes, he's designed a whole bunch of specialized armors--almost as if he had a toy line to worry about--and someone's managed to sneak past his security systems and steal them! So you have to recover his Gladiator Armor, his Volcano Armor, his Dynamo Armor and his Chrononaut Armor, all while trying to figure out who's behind the theft and capture them.
The second arc, "Get Real!", is designed for a team of high-level villains (let me stress that, a team--the first mission features a giant monster. You cannot solo this arc, or at the very least I wouldn't recommend trying.) It's about the Television (the best contact in the game, seriously), which is suffering from a little problem--with so much reality television on TV, the boundaries between Television and reality are breaking down completely. How do you solve this problem? How does any supervillain solve a problem? With violence against society!
I'm working on a third arc (you can't have more than three at a time, at least not without a near-deus ex machina happening), featuring a mass invasion of Paragon City by an alliance of all its villains, but that's still in progress. In the meantime, feel free to leave feedback on the arcs in the comments section here, or in the game!
So I thought I'd mention, for the benefit of those who do play 'City of Heroes', that I've got up two arcs. The first is "The Alternate Armor Assaults" (sorry, I don't know my Arc ID numbers off the top of my head--I'll edit the post when I get a chance to find them out, but in the meanwhile you should be able to find them by searching the titles.) It's designed for heroes in at least their 20s, and is about Positron (one of the major heroes in Paragon City) needing your help. See, like all good technological heroes, he's designed a whole bunch of specialized armors--almost as if he had a toy line to worry about--and someone's managed to sneak past his security systems and steal them! So you have to recover his Gladiator Armor, his Volcano Armor, his Dynamo Armor and his Chrononaut Armor, all while trying to figure out who's behind the theft and capture them.
The second arc, "Get Real!", is designed for a team of high-level villains (let me stress that, a team--the first mission features a giant monster. You cannot solo this arc, or at the very least I wouldn't recommend trying.) It's about the Television (the best contact in the game, seriously), which is suffering from a little problem--with so much reality television on TV, the boundaries between Television and reality are breaking down completely. How do you solve this problem? How does any supervillain solve a problem? With violence against society!
I'm working on a third arc (you can't have more than three at a time, at least not without a near-deus ex machina happening), featuring a mass invasion of Paragon City by an alliance of all its villains, but that's still in progress. In the meantime, feel free to leave feedback on the arcs in the comments section here, or in the game!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
My Civic-Minded Mind At Work
So I was thinking about this a while ago, and I meant to post about it, but then I think I got irritated by Captain America #600 and I kind of forgot. It's an idea for our improving our nation's increasingly decrepit system of roads, and it's the sort of thing that would be a) cheap, b) possibly implemented on a grassroots scale, and c) a neat use of our nation's ultimate resource, its geeks.
My idea is to build a little widget that could be attached to any car, probably somewhere around the wheels or axles (below the shocks.) The widget would have a GPS sensor, a simple shock sensor, and a little transmitter in it that continually sent that data out. Then, little "collection stations" dotted alongside the road would pick up that information and collect it, collate it, and sort it. The net result? You would have a real-time map of how bumpy every single inch of every road in America is. The car sensor would notice how much it was getting jarred around at any one spot, and send that info to the station, which would turn it into a map. This means that anyone who needs to know what roads are in most urgent need of repair doesn't need to drive around and look at them, or wait for someone to call the highway department and complain about a big pothole; they'd know instantly, just by looking at the map, where our highway dollars are most needed. The only drawback I see would be in trying to convince people that no, it can't be used by the men in the black helicopters to track your car and raise your taxes/take your guns away/arrest you for smoking dope, and honestly, it'd probably be pretty safe to make voluntary anyway.
I think the widget would be cheap and easy to build, the sort of thing any hobbyist could do--not me, of course, because I can barely figure out how string works. But for someone tech-savvy, I'm sure it would be a snap. Anyone reading this know whether I'm right, or just blowing smoke?
My idea is to build a little widget that could be attached to any car, probably somewhere around the wheels or axles (below the shocks.) The widget would have a GPS sensor, a simple shock sensor, and a little transmitter in it that continually sent that data out. Then, little "collection stations" dotted alongside the road would pick up that information and collect it, collate it, and sort it. The net result? You would have a real-time map of how bumpy every single inch of every road in America is. The car sensor would notice how much it was getting jarred around at any one spot, and send that info to the station, which would turn it into a map. This means that anyone who needs to know what roads are in most urgent need of repair doesn't need to drive around and look at them, or wait for someone to call the highway department and complain about a big pothole; they'd know instantly, just by looking at the map, where our highway dollars are most needed. The only drawback I see would be in trying to convince people that no, it can't be used by the men in the black helicopters to track your car and raise your taxes/take your guns away/arrest you for smoking dope, and honestly, it'd probably be pretty safe to make voluntary anyway.
I think the widget would be cheap and easy to build, the sort of thing any hobbyist could do--not me, of course, because I can barely figure out how string works. But for someone tech-savvy, I'm sure it would be a snap. Anyone reading this know whether I'm right, or just blowing smoke?
Monday, May 11, 2009
How I'd Design DC Universe Online
As I'm sure a lot of you probably know (this blog does talk about comics a lot, after all), DC Comics is coming out with their very own super-hero Massively Multiplayer Online game, DC Universe Online. It's a great idea in a lot of ways; there are a heck of a lot of comics fans who love the DC Universe enough to want to live there, and bringing out a DC-themed MMO will give them that exact opportunity.
But as I mentioned once or twice before, I think it suffers from a pretty fundamental flaw--when I'm playing a DC-themed game, I don't want to be "the guy who hangs out with Superman"--that's Jimmy Olsen, and even though he got super powers every five issues or so, he still wasn't cool. I want to be playing Superman, or Batman, or Captain Marvel, or one of the actual heroes of the DC Universe. And in the DC MMO, those are all NPCs you interact with.
"But John," I hear you say, "that's an unrealistic goal for an MMO. You can't have a game with hundreds of players online at the same time, all wanting to play the DC super-heroes! How would they even decide who gets to be who?"
This is the casual brilliance of my concept. (Hey, I let you call me by my first name, you can let me indulge my ego for a bit.) My version of "DC Universe Online" would be an entirely instance-based game. The main area of the game would be essentially a giant lobby, where you can meet other players, chat with them, and find other players to join you.
Each character takes the role of a "guardian angel", an intangible being that inspires heroes at key moments to do their best and better than their best. In the "lobby", you're in your true form (an avatar that's customizable to the player's desire.) When you form up a team and enter an instance--each instance would be a story arc that you go through, set in various DCU locations and using different DC villains and plots--you select a hero that you're "inhabiting" at that time, and become that hero.
Naturally, you wouldn't start out with every hero. That wouldn't give you much incentive to keep playing, now would it? You'd start with a selection of five or six heroes--nobody too lame, of course, because wouldn't it suck if you started with nothing but a selection of Substitute Legionnaires? You'd get enough heroes that you'd always have a choice when joining a team, but not necessarily an unlimited one. Then, as you progressed through the game, you'd unlock different heroes by doing different instances, completing in-game tasks, et cetera et cetera. Some heroes would be unlocked later because they're powerful--even a bare-bones version of Superman is going to be scary tough when compared to the Ted Kord Blue Beetle--others get unlocked later because they're obscure and only their dedicated fans want them. (Yes, I would work long and hard to be able to unlock and play Tommy Monaghan.)
What's that about a "bare bones" Superman? Well, as you play the game, you get experience points that you store, and apply later to any character's abilities. So if you want to build up your Superman to truly unbelievable power levels, just pour all your XP into Superman. If you want to turn your Batman into a Grant Morrison-esque super-genius, pump him up with XP. If you think you'll have better luck finding a team if you're always playing someone nobody else wants to play, put all your XP into making the most bad-ass Elongated Man ever. Or spread them out. However you want to spend them, you can. (Naturally, as with most games, the more XP you've spent on advancing a particular skill or attribute, the more XP it takes to advance it further.)
So that way, everyone gets what they want. The guy who always wants to be Batman because he's the coolest always can be--sure, it means he's soloing a lot or takes a while finding a team, but Batman's a lone wolf anyway. The person who wants to get into lots of teams always has plenty of options--with the whole DC Universe available to them, there's bound to be someone they can play who's still fun. And hard-core DC fans will love figuring out how to unlock and play the various different "easter egg" characters, like Electric Superman and Turtle Boy. (And because of the vast numbers of unlockable characters, everyone will get to play their favorite super-hero. Firestorm might not get his own video game, but you could play him in my DCU Online.)
I know DC's going in a different direction. I hope their game will be good. But in my dreams, this is what DC Universe Online should be.
But as I mentioned once or twice before, I think it suffers from a pretty fundamental flaw--when I'm playing a DC-themed game, I don't want to be "the guy who hangs out with Superman"--that's Jimmy Olsen, and even though he got super powers every five issues or so, he still wasn't cool. I want to be playing Superman, or Batman, or Captain Marvel, or one of the actual heroes of the DC Universe. And in the DC MMO, those are all NPCs you interact with.
"But John," I hear you say, "that's an unrealistic goal for an MMO. You can't have a game with hundreds of players online at the same time, all wanting to play the DC super-heroes! How would they even decide who gets to be who?"
This is the casual brilliance of my concept. (Hey, I let you call me by my first name, you can let me indulge my ego for a bit.) My version of "DC Universe Online" would be an entirely instance-based game. The main area of the game would be essentially a giant lobby, where you can meet other players, chat with them, and find other players to join you.
Each character takes the role of a "guardian angel", an intangible being that inspires heroes at key moments to do their best and better than their best. In the "lobby", you're in your true form (an avatar that's customizable to the player's desire.) When you form up a team and enter an instance--each instance would be a story arc that you go through, set in various DCU locations and using different DC villains and plots--you select a hero that you're "inhabiting" at that time, and become that hero.
Naturally, you wouldn't start out with every hero. That wouldn't give you much incentive to keep playing, now would it? You'd start with a selection of five or six heroes--nobody too lame, of course, because wouldn't it suck if you started with nothing but a selection of Substitute Legionnaires? You'd get enough heroes that you'd always have a choice when joining a team, but not necessarily an unlimited one. Then, as you progressed through the game, you'd unlock different heroes by doing different instances, completing in-game tasks, et cetera et cetera. Some heroes would be unlocked later because they're powerful--even a bare-bones version of Superman is going to be scary tough when compared to the Ted Kord Blue Beetle--others get unlocked later because they're obscure and only their dedicated fans want them. (Yes, I would work long and hard to be able to unlock and play Tommy Monaghan.)
What's that about a "bare bones" Superman? Well, as you play the game, you get experience points that you store, and apply later to any character's abilities. So if you want to build up your Superman to truly unbelievable power levels, just pour all your XP into Superman. If you want to turn your Batman into a Grant Morrison-esque super-genius, pump him up with XP. If you think you'll have better luck finding a team if you're always playing someone nobody else wants to play, put all your XP into making the most bad-ass Elongated Man ever. Or spread them out. However you want to spend them, you can. (Naturally, as with most games, the more XP you've spent on advancing a particular skill or attribute, the more XP it takes to advance it further.)
So that way, everyone gets what they want. The guy who always wants to be Batman because he's the coolest always can be--sure, it means he's soloing a lot or takes a while finding a team, but Batman's a lone wolf anyway. The person who wants to get into lots of teams always has plenty of options--with the whole DC Universe available to them, there's bound to be someone they can play who's still fun. And hard-core DC fans will love figuring out how to unlock and play the various different "easter egg" characters, like Electric Superman and Turtle Boy. (And because of the vast numbers of unlockable characters, everyone will get to play their favorite super-hero. Firestorm might not get his own video game, but you could play him in my DCU Online.)
I know DC's going in a different direction. I hope their game will be good. But in my dreams, this is what DC Universe Online should be.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
An Ad You'd Never Want To See
Here at Pepsi, we've been very happy to find out that you all like new Pepsi Throwback just as much as we do. Replacing the corn syrup with pure cane sugar has been a major hit with lovers of Pepsi everywhere.
That's why we've decided to introduce a new product, Pepsi Throwup. That's right, we've replaced that corn syrup with pure ipecac syrup, for a rich, smooth, refreshing flavor that tastes just as good going down as it does coming back up. And best of all, Pepsi Throwup has no calories! In fact, if you drink it with a big meal, you might very well wind up getting thin quick. (Pepsi Throwup is not intended as a diet supplement.)
Pepsi Throwup. The taste so nice, you'll drink it twice.
And coming soon, Pepsi Flashback--with a full tab of LSD dissolved into every bottle!
That's why we've decided to introduce a new product, Pepsi Throwup. That's right, we've replaced that corn syrup with pure ipecac syrup, for a rich, smooth, refreshing flavor that tastes just as good going down as it does coming back up. And best of all, Pepsi Throwup has no calories! In fact, if you drink it with a big meal, you might very well wind up getting thin quick. (Pepsi Throwup is not intended as a diet supplement.)
Pepsi Throwup. The taste so nice, you'll drink it twice.
And coming soon, Pepsi Flashback--with a full tab of LSD dissolved into every bottle!
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Review: Quarantine
OK, so it's not exactly the most timely of reviews, but at least I feel like I don't have to worry too much about spoilers. "Quarantine", which has been out on DVD for a couple of months now, is a remake of the Spanish film "Rec". Both films share the same basic plot--a camera crew doing a ride-along with a team of firefighters winds up in an apartment building where one of the residents appears to have gone violently insane. As it turns out, she's suffering from a contagious disease that causes violent insanity--so contagious, in fact, that the authorities have sealed off the building with everyone still inside it.
It's an intense, claustrophobic, and utterly immersive experience. "Immersive" is the key word, there, because the premise feels so chillingly believable that you have almost no trouble accepting this as a documentary. The actors, pretty much without exception, behave like real people in front of a news camera instead of actors playing a part, and the special effects and stunts are all well-chosen to avoid being flashy and drawing attention to the cinematic nature of the experience. Even the script, for the most part, grounds the scenario in realistic discussions of terrorism and a genetically engineered strain of rabies instead of supernatural causes (or, as with "Rec", an attempt by a priest to isolate the cause of "demonic possession" that turns out to be a virus...go figure.) For most of the movie, you feel like what you're watching could very well be real.
Which, unfortunately, makes the Hollywood moments in the movie stand out that much more. The disease in "Quarantine" works, for the most part, because it acts like a real disease does; it has a predictable, measurable progression of symptoms from delirium through catatonia into uncontrollable violence. (Which isn't actually how rabies works, setting aside the fact that it apparently manages to move into the brain in an hour or so when actual rabies takes months, but how many people watching this are going to be familiar with the symptoms of rabies beyond the pop-culture version?) So when the last half-hour of the film hits, and the disease suddenly speeds up its progression from hours to minutes because the film-makers want to pep things up a bit for the big finale, it feels almost like they're cheating. (Likewise when one of the characters in the film supposedly has had the disease for weeks, but waits until someone else mentions that she must have been infected before suddenly going violent right that second.)
Still, those moments that pull you out of the illusion remain few and far between for the first hour or so of the film, and the movie creates a wonderful study of escalating fear and paranoia. There's also some nice thematic work going on, tapping into the zeitgeist of 2008 America as the fear of terrorist threats slowly gave way to the worry that our government was using that fear as licence to do whatever they wanted. (Notice the way that all the authority figures, whether wielding guns and tasers or wearing hazmat suits, are constantly afraid of the guy with the camera. Even when they're not necessarily doing anything wrong, they're uncomfortable with the idea of there being a record of their actions.)
I think it's well worth seeing--the film's internal logic doesn't always hold up the way you'd like it to (although it makes a lot more sense if you assume that the CDC representative is lying or was lied to--sealing off the building the way they do suggests that they're only interested in containing the virus, not studying it, something they'd only do if they knew what they were up against. Oh, and you kind of have to assume that Yuri's lying when he says he hasn't seen his tenant for weeks, and that it's a red herring because if he'd been infected with the virus for weeks, he'd be dead...and even if he wasn't, he couldn't feed all of his pets.) But the direction and acting masterfully cover the seams in the script--and as noticeable as those seams are at times, the film is still a lot more logical than "28 Days Later".
It's an intense, claustrophobic, and utterly immersive experience. "Immersive" is the key word, there, because the premise feels so chillingly believable that you have almost no trouble accepting this as a documentary. The actors, pretty much without exception, behave like real people in front of a news camera instead of actors playing a part, and the special effects and stunts are all well-chosen to avoid being flashy and drawing attention to the cinematic nature of the experience. Even the script, for the most part, grounds the scenario in realistic discussions of terrorism and a genetically engineered strain of rabies instead of supernatural causes (or, as with "Rec", an attempt by a priest to isolate the cause of "demonic possession" that turns out to be a virus...go figure.) For most of the movie, you feel like what you're watching could very well be real.
Which, unfortunately, makes the Hollywood moments in the movie stand out that much more. The disease in "Quarantine" works, for the most part, because it acts like a real disease does; it has a predictable, measurable progression of symptoms from delirium through catatonia into uncontrollable violence. (Which isn't actually how rabies works, setting aside the fact that it apparently manages to move into the brain in an hour or so when actual rabies takes months, but how many people watching this are going to be familiar with the symptoms of rabies beyond the pop-culture version?) So when the last half-hour of the film hits, and the disease suddenly speeds up its progression from hours to minutes because the film-makers want to pep things up a bit for the big finale, it feels almost like they're cheating. (Likewise when one of the characters in the film supposedly has had the disease for weeks, but waits until someone else mentions that she must have been infected before suddenly going violent right that second.)
Still, those moments that pull you out of the illusion remain few and far between for the first hour or so of the film, and the movie creates a wonderful study of escalating fear and paranoia. There's also some nice thematic work going on, tapping into the zeitgeist of 2008 America as the fear of terrorist threats slowly gave way to the worry that our government was using that fear as licence to do whatever they wanted. (Notice the way that all the authority figures, whether wielding guns and tasers or wearing hazmat suits, are constantly afraid of the guy with the camera. Even when they're not necessarily doing anything wrong, they're uncomfortable with the idea of there being a record of their actions.)
I think it's well worth seeing--the film's internal logic doesn't always hold up the way you'd like it to (although it makes a lot more sense if you assume that the CDC representative is lying or was lied to--sealing off the building the way they do suggests that they're only interested in containing the virus, not studying it, something they'd only do if they knew what they were up against. Oh, and you kind of have to assume that Yuri's lying when he says he hasn't seen his tenant for weeks, and that it's a red herring because if he'd been infected with the virus for weeks, he'd be dead...and even if he wasn't, he couldn't feed all of his pets.) But the direction and acting masterfully cover the seams in the script--and as noticeable as those seams are at times, the film is still a lot more logical than "28 Days Later".
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Free Marvel! Free DC!
So yesterday was Free Comic Book Day (and of course, that's why I held off my post until today. I had to discuss that memorable annual event. It had nothing to do with goofing off, watching horror movies and playing 'City of Heroes' until all hours of the morning, nosiree.) Obviously, both Marvel and DC had free comic books available, and equally obviously, both Marvel and DC were plugging their particular "big events" (Dark Reign and Darkest Night, respectively. Because sticking "Dark" in front of something and calling it good isn't just for Image anymore.)
How did they fare, respectively? Marvel scores a bit lower on branding. They didn't do a whole lot to make it clear to new readers that if they wanted to find out how the battle between the renegade Avengers and Norman Osborn's Dark Avengers played out, they could do so by reading Dark Reign. But they scored a lot of points in a lot of other ways; the story was complete, with a beginning, a middle and an end. It had quite a bit of action, even though it does remain dialogue-heavy (which is Bendis' style, of course; I just don't think it fits a series like the Avengers very well.) It gave enough exposition that a new reader could figure out what was going on and why there were evil versions of the Avengers running around, while not getting bogged down in explanations of who the new Cap is and why Wolverine has a son (and why Marvel isn't utterly ashamed of that fact, which will take a few years to explain all on its own.) And the Sentry wasn't in it very much. (I tend to consider the quality of comics to be inversely proportional to the amount of time the Sentry is in them.)
DC, on the other hand, branded their comic very well, making it clear that this is all about the Blackest Night event, complete with a little dossier at the end on the various Lantern factions and a checklist of upcoming Blackest Night tie-ins (and a personal message from Geoff Johns that basically amounts to, "This won't suck as bad as 'Final Crisis', I promise!") But it fails on the key grounds of "not being two guys standing around and talking for the entire issue, because Geoff Johns has a total man-crush on Silver Age DC characters and thinks there's nothing so interesting as two or more of them standing around talking about their inter-personal relationships." In theory, this is a book designed to attract new readers, people who have either never picked up a comic before, or at least not picked up one in years. The story should immediately engage their interest and excitement, and Barry Allen and Hal Jordan standing in a cemetary recapping things just isn't the way to do it--especially not with a "twist ending" that shows a bunch of headstones of the civilian identies of second and third-tier DC characters and hints they're going to rise. You know why? Because only a long-term fan even knows who Ronnie Raymond is, that's why. It's a comic made for long-term fans, marketed and given away to new ones. Catastrophic marketing fail.
The art, however, is very pretty.
So if you were to ask the average new reader which event they were looking forward to, I'd guess "Dark Reign", assuming they figured out that they should be looking forward to "Dark Reign". But we shall see...
How did they fare, respectively? Marvel scores a bit lower on branding. They didn't do a whole lot to make it clear to new readers that if they wanted to find out how the battle between the renegade Avengers and Norman Osborn's Dark Avengers played out, they could do so by reading Dark Reign. But they scored a lot of points in a lot of other ways; the story was complete, with a beginning, a middle and an end. It had quite a bit of action, even though it does remain dialogue-heavy (which is Bendis' style, of course; I just don't think it fits a series like the Avengers very well.) It gave enough exposition that a new reader could figure out what was going on and why there were evil versions of the Avengers running around, while not getting bogged down in explanations of who the new Cap is and why Wolverine has a son (and why Marvel isn't utterly ashamed of that fact, which will take a few years to explain all on its own.) And the Sentry wasn't in it very much. (I tend to consider the quality of comics to be inversely proportional to the amount of time the Sentry is in them.)
DC, on the other hand, branded their comic very well, making it clear that this is all about the Blackest Night event, complete with a little dossier at the end on the various Lantern factions and a checklist of upcoming Blackest Night tie-ins (and a personal message from Geoff Johns that basically amounts to, "This won't suck as bad as 'Final Crisis', I promise!") But it fails on the key grounds of "not being two guys standing around and talking for the entire issue, because Geoff Johns has a total man-crush on Silver Age DC characters and thinks there's nothing so interesting as two or more of them standing around talking about their inter-personal relationships." In theory, this is a book designed to attract new readers, people who have either never picked up a comic before, or at least not picked up one in years. The story should immediately engage their interest and excitement, and Barry Allen and Hal Jordan standing in a cemetary recapping things just isn't the way to do it--especially not with a "twist ending" that shows a bunch of headstones of the civilian identies of second and third-tier DC characters and hints they're going to rise. You know why? Because only a long-term fan even knows who Ronnie Raymond is, that's why. It's a comic made for long-term fans, marketed and given away to new ones. Catastrophic marketing fail.
The art, however, is very pretty.
So if you were to ask the average new reader which event they were looking forward to, I'd guess "Dark Reign", assuming they figured out that they should be looking forward to "Dark Reign". But we shall see...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Biology May Be Destiny, But Fictional Characters Don't Have Genes
One of the perennial debates in comics is the question, "Who created (insert character here)?" You really have to put "(insert character here)" into the end of that question, because there are debates over who came up with Spider-Man, who created Cable, whose idea was Venom...really, any successful and popular character you'd care to name, there's probably going to be a few extra people claiming that it was really their idea. (In general, this only happens with successful and popular characters. To quote Peter David, "Nobody argues about who created Night Nurse.")
The debate doesn't just encompass comics fans and historians, it actually goes all the way up to the creators themselves. Plain and simple, there's a lot of money to be had if you can prove that a character is your intellectual property and you weren't properly compensated for that idea, and so there's a strong monetary incentive to claim creator's rights. This doesn't mean that (to choose a random example) Steve Ditko is lying, or just in it for the money when he claims he created Spider-Man...I'm sure he honestly feels that his creative contributions to the concept are being overlooked, and deserve to be acknowledged. (Obviously, I haven't talked to him personally.) But the money issue will always be there, and deserves to be mentioned. Many lawsuits over copyright and trademark in the comics industry resemble all the worst parts of a custody battle and a contract dispute put together.
And that's fine, when it goes to court. The law has decided that the originator of a concept deserves to be compensated for their idea if money is to be made off of it, and if lawyers want to sift through all of the competing recollections and ambiguous evidence and try to say, "So-and-so created Character X", they can have fun with it. But we, as comics fans, aren't arguing for the benefit of a court of law. It's time for us to get past that question of "Who created?", and acknowledge that as a practical matter, it's actually a meaningless question.
It's meaningless because the creation of a character is actually just the first step in a long, long process of development that will see the character pass through multiple hands, writers and artists and editors (and in some cases actors and screenwriters and directors) all adding new elements as they interpret that initial concept in a different way. Ultimately, the interpretation that becomes popular might have nothing to do with that initial concept beyond simply the name. Arguing about "the creator" misses the point; it's all about the most important influences, not the first.
For example, there's really no question that Len Wein created Wolverine. He wrote the character into an issue of the Hulk, and then when he was coming up with the "All-New, All-Different" X-Men with Dave Cockrum, he decided to toss the character in to represent Canada in their international team. Len Wein = creator of Wolverine. Very simple.
Except that Wein intended Wolverine to be an actual wolverine, mutated by the High Evolutionary into a human form. He was going to be a teenage punk, a rough-and-tumble scrapper who had trouble getting along with human beings because of his animal ancestry, and who used metal blades built into his gloves to compensate for the natural claws that the High Evolutionary took away. (Edit: Len Wein personally swears that this is not what he intended for the character; Wolverine was meant to be a teenage punk with metal blades built into his gloves, but the High Evolutionary was not involved, nor were any actual mustelids. There was an intended plan to make Wolverine a mutated animal, but Len Wein was not, I repeat, not involved in it.)
Now, there's no question in my mind that this is a good concept for a comics character--one only needs to look at the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to see how it could become a commercial hit. But Dave Cockrum first drew Wolverine without the mask, and he made him look to be in his forties instead of his teens. Chris Claremont took over the book shortly after its rebirth, and he promptly ditched the "mutated wolverine" idea in favor of his being human. John Byrne came on as artist not long after that, and spent a lot of time and energy suggesting ideas for Wolverine because he liked the idea of a Canadian super-hero. By the time the Claremont/Byrne era ended, Wolverine had a different origin, a different personality, a different set of powers, and a different costume. The only thing you can point to that stayed the same was the name, and even then, Claremont and Byrne gave him the "Logan" sobriquet. While there's still no question that Len Wein created Wolverine, calling it "his" character creates a serious misperception in the mind of the average fan. (It would be very interesting to visit an alternate reality where he'd stayed on the book, though, wouldn't it?)
Another, simpler example: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created the Hulk. But the character they wrote and drew in "Hulk #1" wasn't dumb, wasn't green, didn't change when he got mad, and didn't have the distinctive "Hulk smash puny humans!" dialogue that generations of comics fans know and love (or hate, in the case of Marvel's current editorial staff and just about every writer they put on the book.) Those elements were added over months and years, frequently by other writers and artists. Even then, you could make a solid case that the interpretation that's stuck most solidly in popular culture is Lou Ferrigno's wordless, wild-haired Hulk. Should Lou Ferrigno be credited as "the creator of the Hulk"? Of course not. But his performance and what it brought to the concept shouldn't be brushed aside simply because he wasn't first in line.
Sometimes, of course, the creator and the prominent influence are one and the same. The Fantastic Four always seem to curve back towards the version that Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created in their classic 102-issue run on the series. But in general, it's worthwhile to talk about all the talented people who worked on making a popular character who they are today, and leave the discussions of who created them to the courts. Because while it might seem like a custody dispute sometimes, and while we use it as an analogy a lot, these are not the children of their creators. There is nothing inherent that they give to the characters that cannot be removed by a later writer or artist, no hereditary stamp that is preserved forever. A new creator can always transform the concept so completely that it may as well be theirs. Because biology may be destiny, but fictional characters don't have genes.
The debate doesn't just encompass comics fans and historians, it actually goes all the way up to the creators themselves. Plain and simple, there's a lot of money to be had if you can prove that a character is your intellectual property and you weren't properly compensated for that idea, and so there's a strong monetary incentive to claim creator's rights. This doesn't mean that (to choose a random example) Steve Ditko is lying, or just in it for the money when he claims he created Spider-Man...I'm sure he honestly feels that his creative contributions to the concept are being overlooked, and deserve to be acknowledged. (Obviously, I haven't talked to him personally.) But the money issue will always be there, and deserves to be mentioned. Many lawsuits over copyright and trademark in the comics industry resemble all the worst parts of a custody battle and a contract dispute put together.
And that's fine, when it goes to court. The law has decided that the originator of a concept deserves to be compensated for their idea if money is to be made off of it, and if lawyers want to sift through all of the competing recollections and ambiguous evidence and try to say, "So-and-so created Character X", they can have fun with it. But we, as comics fans, aren't arguing for the benefit of a court of law. It's time for us to get past that question of "Who created?", and acknowledge that as a practical matter, it's actually a meaningless question.
It's meaningless because the creation of a character is actually just the first step in a long, long process of development that will see the character pass through multiple hands, writers and artists and editors (and in some cases actors and screenwriters and directors) all adding new elements as they interpret that initial concept in a different way. Ultimately, the interpretation that becomes popular might have nothing to do with that initial concept beyond simply the name. Arguing about "the creator" misses the point; it's all about the most important influences, not the first.
For example, there's really no question that Len Wein created Wolverine. He wrote the character into an issue of the Hulk, and then when he was coming up with the "All-New, All-Different" X-Men with Dave Cockrum, he decided to toss the character in to represent Canada in their international team. Len Wein = creator of Wolverine. Very simple.
Except that Wein intended Wolverine to be an actual wolverine, mutated by the High Evolutionary into a human form. He was going to be a teenage punk, a rough-and-tumble scrapper who had trouble getting along with human beings because of his animal ancestry, and who used metal blades built into his gloves to compensate for the natural claws that the High Evolutionary took away. (Edit: Len Wein personally swears that this is not what he intended for the character; Wolverine was meant to be a teenage punk with metal blades built into his gloves, but the High Evolutionary was not involved, nor were any actual mustelids. There was an intended plan to make Wolverine a mutated animal, but Len Wein was not, I repeat, not involved in it.)
Now, there's no question in my mind that this is a good concept for a comics character--one only needs to look at the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to see how it could become a commercial hit. But Dave Cockrum first drew Wolverine without the mask, and he made him look to be in his forties instead of his teens. Chris Claremont took over the book shortly after its rebirth, and he promptly ditched the "mutated wolverine" idea in favor of his being human. John Byrne came on as artist not long after that, and spent a lot of time and energy suggesting ideas for Wolverine because he liked the idea of a Canadian super-hero. By the time the Claremont/Byrne era ended, Wolverine had a different origin, a different personality, a different set of powers, and a different costume. The only thing you can point to that stayed the same was the name, and even then, Claremont and Byrne gave him the "Logan" sobriquet. While there's still no question that Len Wein created Wolverine, calling it "his" character creates a serious misperception in the mind of the average fan. (It would be very interesting to visit an alternate reality where he'd stayed on the book, though, wouldn't it?)
Another, simpler example: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created the Hulk. But the character they wrote and drew in "Hulk #1" wasn't dumb, wasn't green, didn't change when he got mad, and didn't have the distinctive "Hulk smash puny humans!" dialogue that generations of comics fans know and love (or hate, in the case of Marvel's current editorial staff and just about every writer they put on the book.) Those elements were added over months and years, frequently by other writers and artists. Even then, you could make a solid case that the interpretation that's stuck most solidly in popular culture is Lou Ferrigno's wordless, wild-haired Hulk. Should Lou Ferrigno be credited as "the creator of the Hulk"? Of course not. But his performance and what it brought to the concept shouldn't be brushed aside simply because he wasn't first in line.
Sometimes, of course, the creator and the prominent influence are one and the same. The Fantastic Four always seem to curve back towards the version that Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created in their classic 102-issue run on the series. But in general, it's worthwhile to talk about all the talented people who worked on making a popular character who they are today, and leave the discussions of who created them to the courts. Because while it might seem like a custody dispute sometimes, and while we use it as an analogy a lot, these are not the children of their creators. There is nothing inherent that they give to the characters that cannot be removed by a later writer or artist, no hereditary stamp that is preserved forever. A new creator can always transform the concept so completely that it may as well be theirs. Because biology may be destiny, but fictional characters don't have genes.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Time To Go Calen!
I'm sure that you were proud to help out our planet yesterday by celebrating Earth Day, but did you know that today is Middle-Earth Day? It's a day dedicated to how we can all come together to help preserve the lands of Middle-Earth from the depredations of the Dark Lord, Sauron.
Sure, I know what you're saying. "I'm only a simple human/hobbit/elf/dwarf (delete where applicable.) I don't even know where the One Ring is, let alone have the time to cast it into the fires of Mount Doom! How can I help?"
Sometimes, it's not all about the grand gestures. You can help Middle-Earth in all sorts of simple ways. Take some time to scrub the walls of the White City, light a signal fire to the Riders of Rohan, slaughter an orc, bake some lembas bread for a hobbit, or even just plant an ent or two. Even the smallest gesture can make the greatest of differences--and after all, it's your Middle-Earth too.
Middle-Earth Day--if you don't help to crush the all-consuming evil of the Lidless Eye, who will?
Sure, I know what you're saying. "I'm only a simple human/hobbit/elf/dwarf (delete where applicable.) I don't even know where the One Ring is, let alone have the time to cast it into the fires of Mount Doom! How can I help?"
Sometimes, it's not all about the grand gestures. You can help Middle-Earth in all sorts of simple ways. Take some time to scrub the walls of the White City, light a signal fire to the Riders of Rohan, slaughter an orc, bake some lembas bread for a hobbit, or even just plant an ent or two. Even the smallest gesture can make the greatest of differences--and after all, it's your Middle-Earth too.
Middle-Earth Day--if you don't help to crush the all-consuming evil of the Lidless Eye, who will?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Storytelling Engines: Darkman
(or "The Kitchen-Sink Superhero")
Sam Raimi's been pretty open about two things when it comes to the creation of Darkman; one, that he wanted to create a superhero who could sustain an open-ended series of films, and two, that he drew on a lot of other superheroes for influence. The character winds up being an interesting mix of Wolverine, Swamp Thing, Batman, the Unknown Soldier and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (although it's worth mentioning that Raimi was thinking more "Hunchback of Notre Dame" and "Phantom of the Opera" than Swamp Thing and the TMNT. But the conversation on the line of descent of those characters can wait until another day.)
So what you wind up with is a scientist who gets disfigured by crime bosses and left for dead. (Like Alec Holland.) He survives, though, and sets up a laboratory in a disused warehouse (an abandoned train station in the sequels), scavenging and stealing old technology and kitbashing it into new equipment. (Like the Turtles...although admittedly more the cartoon versions than the comics.) This technology allows him to recreate his brilliant discovery, a synthetic skin that allows him to assume the identity of anyone for 99 minutes at a time, covering his burns with a seemingly normal face for a while. (A la the Unknown Soldier--he even wears bandages when not using a mask.) But the formula isn't stable, so a normal life is forever denied him. (And we're right back to Swamp Thing again, along with the Thing, the Hulk, Robotman, and literally hundreds of other heroes and villains.)
Except that there's another angle to the character. This one is a scientist who gets disfigured by crime bosses and left for dead. (Like Alec Holland.) Surgeons save his life with an operation that nullfifies the pain of his horrific burning, but at a price--he no longer has any feeling in his body at all. He's impervious to pain, but the feelings of disconnection and alienation leave him with wild surges of uncontrolled anger and berserker rage, complete with spikes of adrenalin that give him superhuman strength. He fights crime as a shadowy creature of the night, barely able to keep his fury in check. (See, that's where the Wolverine comes in.)
And there, in a nutshell, is the problem with the Darkman series (as opposed to the Darkman movie, which makes this dichotomy its central conflict.) On the one hand, you have a superhero whose powers lend themselves to plots involving intrigue and subterfuge, as his ability to impersonate anyone leads him to set criminals against each other while he steals their assets to further his research while posing as them. It requires a hero who's patient and clever, calm under pressure and able to outfox anyone at their own game. (And who just happens to be a gifted mimic, because the masks don't change your voice, but Peyton Westlake seems to be in luck there. Amazing how that happens soemtimes.)
On the other hand, you have a superhero who's filled with barely constrained fury, who could snap at any second and frequently does. He defeats enemies by overwhelming them with sheer brutal power, savaging them with his relentless, single-minded anger and devotion to punishing them for their crimes. (One of the best moments in the movies is when Darkman is dangling from a helicopter piloted by the villains, furiously waving away a police chopper and shouting, "He's mine!")
These two aspects of the character don't always mesh well, forcing writers to make the character behave inconsistently as the plot demands. He winds up having a sort of convenient "pocket berserker fury", only to be brought out when it's time for a big action sequence and the writer has run out of other ideas. The Darkman sequels demonstrate this problem--both of them turn from complex caper films into action mayhem, sacrificing the payoffs of a well-timed twist for a big set piece where Darkman beats a bunch of guys up with his super-strength.
Which isn't the only problem with them--it's a struggle, having gone to all the work the original did to try to set him up as a plausible superhero in a realistic world, to find antagonists outlandish enough to fight a man with super-strength and plastic faces that last 99 minutes (more in the dark, but that's an angle that always seems to get forgotten--mainly because a 99 minute timer makes for more drama.) The sequels introduce super-strength drugs and laser cannons, elements that jar with the atmosphere established in the first film. This might eventually be overcome simply through acclimatization; as you become more accustomed to a weird world, it becomes easier to accept that drug kingpins routinely employ insane scientists that design exotic particle beam weapons with nuclear batteries. But unfortunately, Darkman never got the time to make that kind of transition in the movies or on TV. Hopefully, returning to his spiritual home in the comics will give the character a bit more space to resolve these contradictions and come out of them as a more unified hero.
And with that, I close what will be my last Storytelling Engines column for a while--I'm putting the series on hiatus for a bit, hopefully not indefinitely. It's not a lack of time or energy, it's a lack of material--having covered just about every significant Marvel and DC character, and big swathes of movies and TV, I have gone through just about every open-ended series that I have books/DVDs of. Naturally, if anyone wants to buy me some DVDs or trade paperbacks so that I can watch/read them and do a column on them, they can feel free to leave a comment to that effect and we can talk, but for now, I think the series will go on hiatus while I "reload". There will still be a Monday(-ish) column on my blog every week, rest assured, and the entire series of Storytelling Engines columns is re-running from the beginning on Xenagia.com for those of you who missed the early installments (shameless plug alert!), but for right now, I'm putting it to bed after 114 columsn for a nice, long, well-deserved nap. Thanks to everyone who read it, and thanks even more to the people who told me so!
Sam Raimi's been pretty open about two things when it comes to the creation of Darkman; one, that he wanted to create a superhero who could sustain an open-ended series of films, and two, that he drew on a lot of other superheroes for influence. The character winds up being an interesting mix of Wolverine, Swamp Thing, Batman, the Unknown Soldier and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (although it's worth mentioning that Raimi was thinking more "Hunchback of Notre Dame" and "Phantom of the Opera" than Swamp Thing and the TMNT. But the conversation on the line of descent of those characters can wait until another day.)
So what you wind up with is a scientist who gets disfigured by crime bosses and left for dead. (Like Alec Holland.) He survives, though, and sets up a laboratory in a disused warehouse (an abandoned train station in the sequels), scavenging and stealing old technology and kitbashing it into new equipment. (Like the Turtles...although admittedly more the cartoon versions than the comics.) This technology allows him to recreate his brilliant discovery, a synthetic skin that allows him to assume the identity of anyone for 99 minutes at a time, covering his burns with a seemingly normal face for a while. (A la the Unknown Soldier--he even wears bandages when not using a mask.) But the formula isn't stable, so a normal life is forever denied him. (And we're right back to Swamp Thing again, along with the Thing, the Hulk, Robotman, and literally hundreds of other heroes and villains.)
Except that there's another angle to the character. This one is a scientist who gets disfigured by crime bosses and left for dead. (Like Alec Holland.) Surgeons save his life with an operation that nullfifies the pain of his horrific burning, but at a price--he no longer has any feeling in his body at all. He's impervious to pain, but the feelings of disconnection and alienation leave him with wild surges of uncontrolled anger and berserker rage, complete with spikes of adrenalin that give him superhuman strength. He fights crime as a shadowy creature of the night, barely able to keep his fury in check. (See, that's where the Wolverine comes in.)
And there, in a nutshell, is the problem with the Darkman series (as opposed to the Darkman movie, which makes this dichotomy its central conflict.) On the one hand, you have a superhero whose powers lend themselves to plots involving intrigue and subterfuge, as his ability to impersonate anyone leads him to set criminals against each other while he steals their assets to further his research while posing as them. It requires a hero who's patient and clever, calm under pressure and able to outfox anyone at their own game. (And who just happens to be a gifted mimic, because the masks don't change your voice, but Peyton Westlake seems to be in luck there. Amazing how that happens soemtimes.)
On the other hand, you have a superhero who's filled with barely constrained fury, who could snap at any second and frequently does. He defeats enemies by overwhelming them with sheer brutal power, savaging them with his relentless, single-minded anger and devotion to punishing them for their crimes. (One of the best moments in the movies is when Darkman is dangling from a helicopter piloted by the villains, furiously waving away a police chopper and shouting, "He's mine!")
These two aspects of the character don't always mesh well, forcing writers to make the character behave inconsistently as the plot demands. He winds up having a sort of convenient "pocket berserker fury", only to be brought out when it's time for a big action sequence and the writer has run out of other ideas. The Darkman sequels demonstrate this problem--both of them turn from complex caper films into action mayhem, sacrificing the payoffs of a well-timed twist for a big set piece where Darkman beats a bunch of guys up with his super-strength.
Which isn't the only problem with them--it's a struggle, having gone to all the work the original did to try to set him up as a plausible superhero in a realistic world, to find antagonists outlandish enough to fight a man with super-strength and plastic faces that last 99 minutes (more in the dark, but that's an angle that always seems to get forgotten--mainly because a 99 minute timer makes for more drama.) The sequels introduce super-strength drugs and laser cannons, elements that jar with the atmosphere established in the first film. This might eventually be overcome simply through acclimatization; as you become more accustomed to a weird world, it becomes easier to accept that drug kingpins routinely employ insane scientists that design exotic particle beam weapons with nuclear batteries. But unfortunately, Darkman never got the time to make that kind of transition in the movies or on TV. Hopefully, returning to his spiritual home in the comics will give the character a bit more space to resolve these contradictions and come out of them as a more unified hero.
And with that, I close what will be my last Storytelling Engines column for a while--I'm putting the series on hiatus for a bit, hopefully not indefinitely. It's not a lack of time or energy, it's a lack of material--having covered just about every significant Marvel and DC character, and big swathes of movies and TV, I have gone through just about every open-ended series that I have books/DVDs of. Naturally, if anyone wants to buy me some DVDs or trade paperbacks so that I can watch/read them and do a column on them, they can feel free to leave a comment to that effect and we can talk, but for now, I think the series will go on hiatus while I "reload". There will still be a Monday(-ish) column on my blog every week, rest assured, and the entire series of Storytelling Engines columns is re-running from the beginning on Xenagia.com for those of you who missed the early installments (shameless plug alert!), but for right now, I'm putting it to bed after 114 columsn for a nice, long, well-deserved nap. Thanks to everyone who read it, and thanks even more to the people who told me so!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Everyday Magical Items
Sure, we all know about your standard rings of protection, swords of slaying, and all the other wonderful and wondrous goodies that can be found in any Dungeons and Dragons campaign. (Some campaigns more than others, of course. When I was a kid, we considered ourselves lucky if we even got +1 chainmail! And we had to walk uphill into and out of the dungeon!)
But really, how useful would those actually be nowadays? How many people really need magical armor and weapons? Let's face it, if we had real wizards these days, they'd be crafting items like you'd see on the list below.
Decanter of Endless Soda: This insulated plastic mug will fill, upon speaking the command word, with forty-eight ounces of any soda the holder wills it. The soda stays cold, and does not go flat no matter how long it is left in the mug.
Ring of Spell Checking: This magical ring tightens (not painfully, but noticeably) around the wearer's finger any time they misspell a word when typing a document. (Leetspeak users may consider this a cursed item.)
Girdle of Metrosexuality: Anyone wearing this girdle, whether male or female, becomes instantly able to pick out stylish, fashionable clothing and decorate their houses or apartments impeccably. They also gain a new appreciation for modern art and the ability to listen to what other people are saying and really understand their feelings.
Amulet of Protection From Flames: All posts, chats, emails, and trolls directed at the wearer of this amulet are instantly lost in dropped connections, forum glitches, and other seemingly coincidental Internet misfortunes. The net effect (no pun intended) is that nobody can ever say anything nasty about you online.
Vorpal Toothbrush: This toothbrush instantly gets rid of all plaque, tartar, bacteria and discoloration with just a single swipe across the teeth. Brushing once a day with the vorpal toothbrush is the equivalent of getting a six-month cleaning from a dentist.
Universal Cleanser: A slightly milder version of the universal solvent, this alchemical mixture just gets rid of dirt, mold, mildew, and stubborn stains. (It is not recommended as a shampoo or body wash, though. You can never tell whether the wizards were paying close attention when they were mixing it up.)
But really, how useful would those actually be nowadays? How many people really need magical armor and weapons? Let's face it, if we had real wizards these days, they'd be crafting items like you'd see on the list below.
Decanter of Endless Soda: This insulated plastic mug will fill, upon speaking the command word, with forty-eight ounces of any soda the holder wills it. The soda stays cold, and does not go flat no matter how long it is left in the mug.
Ring of Spell Checking: This magical ring tightens (not painfully, but noticeably) around the wearer's finger any time they misspell a word when typing a document. (Leetspeak users may consider this a cursed item.)
Girdle of Metrosexuality: Anyone wearing this girdle, whether male or female, becomes instantly able to pick out stylish, fashionable clothing and decorate their houses or apartments impeccably. They also gain a new appreciation for modern art and the ability to listen to what other people are saying and really understand their feelings.
Amulet of Protection From Flames: All posts, chats, emails, and trolls directed at the wearer of this amulet are instantly lost in dropped connections, forum glitches, and other seemingly coincidental Internet misfortunes. The net effect (no pun intended) is that nobody can ever say anything nasty about you online.
Vorpal Toothbrush: This toothbrush instantly gets rid of all plaque, tartar, bacteria and discoloration with just a single swipe across the teeth. Brushing once a day with the vorpal toothbrush is the equivalent of getting a six-month cleaning from a dentist.
Universal Cleanser: A slightly milder version of the universal solvent, this alchemical mixture just gets rid of dirt, mold, mildew, and stubborn stains. (It is not recommended as a shampoo or body wash, though. You can never tell whether the wizards were paying close attention when they were mixing it up.)
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Brief Primer on Mathematics
Dear Marvel Comics,
Today, we're going to learn about numbers! Numbers serve a very important purpose to your comic company, and to your reading audience. After all, Marvel publishes a new issue of every comic every single month! Without numbers, new readers wouldn't know what order to read the old issues in. They'd get very confused and irritated, and might even stop reading as quickly as they'd started.
You already know some of this, of course. Why, you put a number on the front of every single comic you publish! But you seem to be a little confused as to how to figure out what number goes with what comic. We know it's a little confusing, so we're here to help you out.
You see, each number represents a quantity of comics. So if you took all the individual issues of a series and stacked them together, the number of comics in the stack should be the same as the issue number of the top comic in the stack. For example, a comic that's run for fifty issues should be issue #50. Every time you add a comic to the stack, you add one to the issue number! And if someone wants to start from the beginning, they can just find issue #1, and work their way forward. Like a counting game!
And for that game to work, you see, you have to use every single number. Even though #1 is a very popular number, you can't just call every single issue "#1", or nobody will be able to play the counting game right. And even though "#600" is a big, exciting number, you can't just change the rules and decide to jump to #600 because you've decided that #1-55 were secretly #545-599 but you didn't tell anyone at the time because those numbers don't sell comics. I mean for God's sake, you decided to renumber Avengers at issue #500 and then canceled it three issues later to relaunch it for another new number one! How dumb do you think your fans are? Do you really think our enthusiasm for "collectible" issues is so deeply ingrained that we salivate like Pavlov's dog at the mere sight of a new "#1 collector's edition"? Don't you realize that you're strip-mining the enthusiasm of your fan-base for a quick couple of bucks, while rendering the hobby practically incomprehensible for anyone trying to enter it cold? Try mail-ordering an issue of Captain America mail-order, or the Avengers, or Iron Man, or any re-re-re-relaunched series! It's like Russian Roulette, trying to get the right volume number! Seriously, what the hell are you people thinking!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!??!!!?!?!!?
...that is to say, by learning this simple lesson, we can all have more fun! Isn't that right, boys and girls? Of course it is. Now, have fun learning how to put the right issue numbers on your comics, and practice at home!
And when you've learned, teach the guys at DC. "Green Lantern #41" my sorry butt...
Today, we're going to learn about numbers! Numbers serve a very important purpose to your comic company, and to your reading audience. After all, Marvel publishes a new issue of every comic every single month! Without numbers, new readers wouldn't know what order to read the old issues in. They'd get very confused and irritated, and might even stop reading as quickly as they'd started.
You already know some of this, of course. Why, you put a number on the front of every single comic you publish! But you seem to be a little confused as to how to figure out what number goes with what comic. We know it's a little confusing, so we're here to help you out.
You see, each number represents a quantity of comics. So if you took all the individual issues of a series and stacked them together, the number of comics in the stack should be the same as the issue number of the top comic in the stack. For example, a comic that's run for fifty issues should be issue #50. Every time you add a comic to the stack, you add one to the issue number! And if someone wants to start from the beginning, they can just find issue #1, and work their way forward. Like a counting game!
And for that game to work, you see, you have to use every single number. Even though #1 is a very popular number, you can't just call every single issue "#1", or nobody will be able to play the counting game right. And even though "#600" is a big, exciting number, you can't just change the rules and decide to jump to #600 because you've decided that #1-55 were secretly #545-599 but you didn't tell anyone at the time because those numbers don't sell comics. I mean for God's sake, you decided to renumber Avengers at issue #500 and then canceled it three issues later to relaunch it for another new number one! How dumb do you think your fans are? Do you really think our enthusiasm for "collectible" issues is so deeply ingrained that we salivate like Pavlov's dog at the mere sight of a new "#1 collector's edition"? Don't you realize that you're strip-mining the enthusiasm of your fan-base for a quick couple of bucks, while rendering the hobby practically incomprehensible for anyone trying to enter it cold? Try mail-ordering an issue of Captain America mail-order, or the Avengers, or Iron Man, or any re-re-re-relaunched series! It's like Russian Roulette, trying to get the right volume number! Seriously, what the hell are you people thinking!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!??!!!?!?!!?
...that is to say, by learning this simple lesson, we can all have more fun! Isn't that right, boys and girls? Of course it is. Now, have fun learning how to put the right issue numbers on your comics, and practice at home!
And when you've learned, teach the guys at DC. "Green Lantern #41" my sorry butt...
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Storytelling Engines: Battletech
(or "Subverting History")
I'm not saying anything particularly new when I say that science fiction is rarely about the actual future. It's really more about the present, translated into an allegorical form, and the venerable "Battletech" franchise is no exception. It doesn't even really disguise it, with the various Great Houses of the Inner Sphere being clear analogies of various Earth nations--it doesn't really make much sense when you sit down and analyze it that these lines of sheer demarcation between a Japanese monoculture, a Chinese monoculture, et cetera would actually translate across hundreds of light years and centuries into the future, but it makes emotional sense to us because it's a recognizable allegory for our world. It feels right that in the fall of the Star League (Rome), the Inner Sphere (Europe) would splinter into bickering, warring nation-states constantly jockeying for political advantage, with ComStar (the Catholic Church) as the primary mediator of disputes. (You could probably write a paper on the symbolism of ComStar, guardians of faster-than-light communications, acting in the role of priests, but not today.)
But having built a universe that makes emotional sense to us, complete with a sympathetic British/American heroic House as the hero (the Federated Suns sort of blend that line as necessary, much like House Marik straddles a line between American and Prussian--again, you could probably do a paper on the way that two of the major strains of American ancestry are divided up in the Battletech universe)...having set up the universe to feel comfortable to us armchair historians, Battletech deliberately subverts the audience's expectations of how this "future history" will flow. So we see the allegorical China joining with Japan and Germany to repel an invasion by Britain and Norway, then a shift as the alliance between the latter two falters and the Japanese analog winds up allied with the pseudo-Britain, while the futuristic church of ComStar splinters along ideological lines--OK, so that bit's fairly historically accurate, but you get my point. Having established factions that we recognize, the Battletech writers then have them behave in ways that are very different from their historical analogs, which serves to heighten the sense of surprise at every plot twist.
The ultimate example of this is, of course, the Clans. The first era of Battletech books established the legend of "the Star League", the united and glorious nation that splintered into the various Great Houses. It felt comfortable, understandable, the kind of legend that you see a lot in fantasy and science fiction. The Star League drew upon historical Rome (which wasn't nearly as benevolent or enlightened as its legends would indicate, but that's what happens when you write all the history books) to create a backstory that made emotional sense to the readers. Nobody saw it coming when the lost legions of the Star League came back as ticked-off, bloody-minded Spartan-style conquerors sweeping waves of devastation through the Inner Sphere and forcing them into a tenuous alliance, any more than you'd expect to hear about the Roman legions coming back in World War II armed with machine guns. It was a complete paradigm shift in the whole concept of the Battletech universe, and yet one that was foreshadowed expertly in hindsight.
Once the Clans opened up the second era of the Battletech universe, it was even easier to generate real suspense. If something so major could change so rapidly, then surely just about anything could happen? And in some ways, it did. Several major plot twists marked the later Battletech novels of this era, as the political maneuvering reached a fever pitch. Unfortunately, many of the storylines were left unfinished as the property changed hands and jumped ahead about sixty years (to the "Dark Ages" era.) Still, that decision is in some ways typical of the Battletech line. It remains strong and vital in some ways because of the writers' willingness to take risks. There are no sacred cows in the Battletech universe, not even history itself.
I'm not saying anything particularly new when I say that science fiction is rarely about the actual future. It's really more about the present, translated into an allegorical form, and the venerable "Battletech" franchise is no exception. It doesn't even really disguise it, with the various Great Houses of the Inner Sphere being clear analogies of various Earth nations--it doesn't really make much sense when you sit down and analyze it that these lines of sheer demarcation between a Japanese monoculture, a Chinese monoculture, et cetera would actually translate across hundreds of light years and centuries into the future, but it makes emotional sense to us because it's a recognizable allegory for our world. It feels right that in the fall of the Star League (Rome), the Inner Sphere (Europe) would splinter into bickering, warring nation-states constantly jockeying for political advantage, with ComStar (the Catholic Church) as the primary mediator of disputes. (You could probably write a paper on the symbolism of ComStar, guardians of faster-than-light communications, acting in the role of priests, but not today.)
But having built a universe that makes emotional sense to us, complete with a sympathetic British/American heroic House as the hero (the Federated Suns sort of blend that line as necessary, much like House Marik straddles a line between American and Prussian--again, you could probably do a paper on the way that two of the major strains of American ancestry are divided up in the Battletech universe)...having set up the universe to feel comfortable to us armchair historians, Battletech deliberately subverts the audience's expectations of how this "future history" will flow. So we see the allegorical China joining with Japan and Germany to repel an invasion by Britain and Norway, then a shift as the alliance between the latter two falters and the Japanese analog winds up allied with the pseudo-Britain, while the futuristic church of ComStar splinters along ideological lines--OK, so that bit's fairly historically accurate, but you get my point. Having established factions that we recognize, the Battletech writers then have them behave in ways that are very different from their historical analogs, which serves to heighten the sense of surprise at every plot twist.
The ultimate example of this is, of course, the Clans. The first era of Battletech books established the legend of "the Star League", the united and glorious nation that splintered into the various Great Houses. It felt comfortable, understandable, the kind of legend that you see a lot in fantasy and science fiction. The Star League drew upon historical Rome (which wasn't nearly as benevolent or enlightened as its legends would indicate, but that's what happens when you write all the history books) to create a backstory that made emotional sense to the readers. Nobody saw it coming when the lost legions of the Star League came back as ticked-off, bloody-minded Spartan-style conquerors sweeping waves of devastation through the Inner Sphere and forcing them into a tenuous alliance, any more than you'd expect to hear about the Roman legions coming back in World War II armed with machine guns. It was a complete paradigm shift in the whole concept of the Battletech universe, and yet one that was foreshadowed expertly in hindsight.
Once the Clans opened up the second era of the Battletech universe, it was even easier to generate real suspense. If something so major could change so rapidly, then surely just about anything could happen? And in some ways, it did. Several major plot twists marked the later Battletech novels of this era, as the political maneuvering reached a fever pitch. Unfortunately, many of the storylines were left unfinished as the property changed hands and jumped ahead about sixty years (to the "Dark Ages" era.) Still, that decision is in some ways typical of the Battletech line. It remains strong and vital in some ways because of the writers' willingness to take risks. There are no sacred cows in the Battletech universe, not even history itself.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Meet 'N Greet #6
This time, I'm actually going to focus on two characters for the "Meet 'N Greet" (an irregular feature that describes the backstories of my 'City of Heroes/Villains' characters, as silly as that sounds. Hey, they let you put a lot of detail into these characters' biographies, so I'm going to share them.)
But the question is, are they really two characters? On the one hand, you have Mary-Sue Quantum, a high school student from the 30th century with an A+ in telepathy, an A- in telekinesis, and a potential F in history staring her in the face. Clearly, there's only one thing for her to do--travel back in time to the 20th century and learn about events first hand by becoming the super-hero known as...Millennium Girl!
But Millennium Girl doesn't spend all her time in the 20th century, and sometimes when she's gone--especially after big, earth-shaking events--another time traveler shows up. Marisu Neutron, a nuclear mutant who's one of the last survivors of a dying human race, claims that for all their good intentions, it was heroes who caused the atomic holocaust that produced her future. The only way to stop World War Three, she claims, is to unite the world under a single leader, Lord Recluse (Statesman's arch-nemesis, and ruler of the Rogue Isles.) So, taking her cue from the last few ancient historical records she found with the time machine in the underground lab she stumbled into, she fights for Lord Recluse's cause as...Dystopia Girl!
Many have noted the remarkable similarity of appearance between the two women (once mutations are accounted for), but only the top temporal physicists have began to suspect what it might mean...and even they aren't sure what to do about it. But they suspect that despite the presence of two time travelers, time might be running out.
But the question is, are they really two characters? On the one hand, you have Mary-Sue Quantum, a high school student from the 30th century with an A+ in telepathy, an A- in telekinesis, and a potential F in history staring her in the face. Clearly, there's only one thing for her to do--travel back in time to the 20th century and learn about events first hand by becoming the super-hero known as...Millennium Girl!
But Millennium Girl doesn't spend all her time in the 20th century, and sometimes when she's gone--especially after big, earth-shaking events--another time traveler shows up. Marisu Neutron, a nuclear mutant who's one of the last survivors of a dying human race, claims that for all their good intentions, it was heroes who caused the atomic holocaust that produced her future. The only way to stop World War Three, she claims, is to unite the world under a single leader, Lord Recluse (Statesman's arch-nemesis, and ruler of the Rogue Isles.) So, taking her cue from the last few ancient historical records she found with the time machine in the underground lab she stumbled into, she fights for Lord Recluse's cause as...Dystopia Girl!
Many have noted the remarkable similarity of appearance between the two women (once mutations are accounted for), but only the top temporal physicists have began to suspect what it might mean...and even they aren't sure what to do about it. But they suspect that despite the presence of two time travelers, time might be running out.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Coming Soon To A Theater Near You!
(Cue Ominous Music.)
She gave him the egg for safe-keeping...
(Lightning and thunder flashes. A feathered hand holds out a large white egg, in the middle of a thunderstorm.)
But when he found out what she wanted it for, all he could do...was run.
(Cut to montage of travel from jungle to ocean to city.)
Now, he must escape his captors, evade a madwoman, and find some way to hatch...
THE EGG.
HORTON: I said what I meant, and I meant what I said, and an elephant is faithful--
MAYZIE (cocking gun): Until he is DEAD!
This summer...
HORTON.
HATCHES.
THE EGG.
HORTON: Hey. It can't be any worse than "The Cat In the Hat".
She gave him the egg for safe-keeping...
(Lightning and thunder flashes. A feathered hand holds out a large white egg, in the middle of a thunderstorm.)
But when he found out what she wanted it for, all he could do...was run.
(Cut to montage of travel from jungle to ocean to city.)
Now, he must escape his captors, evade a madwoman, and find some way to hatch...
THE EGG.
HORTON: I said what I meant, and I meant what I said, and an elephant is faithful--
MAYZIE (cocking gun): Until he is DEAD!
This summer...
HORTON.
HATCHES.
THE EGG.
HORTON: Hey. It can't be any worse than "The Cat In the Hat".
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Storytelling Engines: Discworld
(or "The Amazing Transforming Meta-Engine!")
"The Colour of Magic", the first Discworld novel, is far from author Terry Pratchett's best work. In fact, it could be the weakest of all the Discworld stories; it's essentially a rambling, shaggy-dog tale of an almost terminally naive tourist wandering through a stereotypical fantasy kingdom, upsetting numerous apple-carts with the way he treats the life-and-death struggles of its heroes and villains as entertainment. That's not to say that it doesn't have its good bits; it is, after all, Terry Pratchett we're talking about here. But it's not particularly focused, and it's not very subtle in its satire of the fantasy genre.
Which is why it's also the clearest example of just how the Discworld storytelling engine works.
The parodic characters that appear in "Colour" are pretty broadly sketched, and easily recognizable as cousins to their non-humorous counterparts--Hrun is Conan, Bravd and the Weasel are Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, and Bel-Shamharoth is Cthulhu with the serial numbers filed off. This means that it's easy to recognize the book as what it is, a commentary on the tropes of fantasy novels (general and specific.) Pratchett is writing metafiction, drawing inspiration from his predecessors even as he satirizes the conventions of the genre.
To which all Pratchett fans say, "Duh!" But Pratchett continues this trend for quite some time, even as he gets better at disguising it and more creative in his satire. Cohen, for example, is as much a Conan parody as Hrun, but instead of simply being another big dumb barbarian, he's a fully realized and poignant character with real depth. But he's still a parody of a fantasy trope, just as Granny Weatherwax satirizes the conventions both of the "young apprentice" genre of fantasy novels and the traditional notions of "wicked witches" from fairy tales and popular culture. Even as the cast of the series expands (Lawrence Watt-Evans identifies eight separate sub-series in his book "The Turtle Moves"), the metafiction aspect remains a constant.
But significantly, starting roughly around the time of "Wyrd Sisters", he's no longer just satirizing fantasy, he's drawing on reality for inspiration as well. Hwel, the dwarvish playwright, is used as a lens to look at Shakespeare and the theater in general (and cinema as well, in a few memorable gags.) The Ephebian philosophers in "Pyramids" twist and warp the ancient Greeks (to delightful effect.) Pratchett is still writing satire, but he's gradually moving away from metafiction into satire of the real world. "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music" are the most obvious and direct examples of this, but all the Discworld novels take on the flavor of a world we recognize.
But the real world is decidedly unlike fantasy kingdoms in one major aspect. (At least one major aspect, that is. Obviously, the real world doesn't have vampires, werewolves, dwarves, trolls, and magic...although curiously, this is where magic, in the showy flashy sense, really starts to vanish from the series.) A fantasy story is usually about the restoration of the old order--once there was a long, static period when things were good, things are now changing and that's bad, the hero brings back the true king or the magic talisman or whatever, and the change is undone. Let me just re-emphasize that bit. The change is undone.
In "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music", that's exactly what happens. With a magical zap, the wild ideas that infested the Discworld are forced out, and everyone feels slightly sheepish and wonders why they were so obsessed with the clicks or Music With Rocks In. (It's significant that the danger in "Moving Pictures" is that the Discworld is such a thin construct that it could be torn apart if people stop believing in it. Too much reality makes the cracks in the fantasy show.) Pratchett is using the Discworld to comment on reality, but the Disc itself is still recognizably a fantasy world. (In the sense of being static and unchanging, that is. It's always a recognizably fantasy world in the sense that it's flat and carried on the backs of four elephants which are, in turn, carried on the back of a giant turtle.)
But reality, that has a way of changing constantly. Sometimes for the worse, but sometimes for the better. While people might like to remember a long, static period when things were good (and write that nostalgia into fantasy stories which then become meat for satirists), the fact is that the past wasn't as static as you remember, and probably not as good, either. A series that's genuinely satirizing the real world, instead of just borrowing elements of it, is going to have to change.
And so, the storytelling engine of the Discworld, the elements of it that help Pratchett come up with story ideas, that has to become about change instead of stagnation. The first novel that undeniably ends with the world in a different place than it began is "Small Gods", a novel that uses the Church of Om to comment on the ways that religion has modernized to fit into a newer, more enlightened secular world. In addition to being frankly brilliant, it is a novel that doesn't retreat from the ideas it expresses. The Omnian Church after "Small Gods" is a different church, inspiring different ideas in later novels.
But "Small Gods" also takes place some distance away from the main events of the Discworld. It's a big shift, but it's one that's easy to ignore when it doesn't affect Vimes, Granny Weatherwax, Rincewind or even Death to any significant degree. No, the novel that definitively states, "The world is changing and this is now the well from which inspiration is drawn," is "The Truth".
Watt-Evans dismisses "The Truth" pretty casually in "The Turtle Moves", lumping it in the same pile as "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music" (with "newspapers" taking the place of "movies" and "rock music".) With all due respect to an author whose work I enjoy, this misses the biggest point of the book--this isn't a wild idea, summoned by magic and prone to rip a hole in the fabric of the Discworld. This is a printing press, made by mundane hands and inspired by good old-fashioned intelligence. (Pratchett even comments on his own tendencies at one point, as the Patrician asks a series of weary questions in an effort to make sure that the whole enterprise isn't going to destroy the world.) The notion of change, of modernization really crystalizes here and becomes the engine for the series at just about every point after that.
Unfortunately, Terry Pratchett's tragic diagnosis of Alzheimer's means that the Discworld series will be winding down soon. Although he is continuing to write for as long as he can, the disease will eventually take its toll, and I think I speak for just about all fans of the series when I fervently hope that nobody will attempt to fill his shoes just for the sake of keeping the franchise going. So after perhaps forty novels, a half dozen short stories, and numerous ancillary books and other materials, the Discworld's story will end. But that body of work is a testament to just how well the Discworld's storytelling engine works, as one of the best satirists in literature today turned his observations on the world into stories time and time again.
"The Colour of Magic", the first Discworld novel, is far from author Terry Pratchett's best work. In fact, it could be the weakest of all the Discworld stories; it's essentially a rambling, shaggy-dog tale of an almost terminally naive tourist wandering through a stereotypical fantasy kingdom, upsetting numerous apple-carts with the way he treats the life-and-death struggles of its heroes and villains as entertainment. That's not to say that it doesn't have its good bits; it is, after all, Terry Pratchett we're talking about here. But it's not particularly focused, and it's not very subtle in its satire of the fantasy genre.
Which is why it's also the clearest example of just how the Discworld storytelling engine works.
The parodic characters that appear in "Colour" are pretty broadly sketched, and easily recognizable as cousins to their non-humorous counterparts--Hrun is Conan, Bravd and the Weasel are Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, and Bel-Shamharoth is Cthulhu with the serial numbers filed off. This means that it's easy to recognize the book as what it is, a commentary on the tropes of fantasy novels (general and specific.) Pratchett is writing metafiction, drawing inspiration from his predecessors even as he satirizes the conventions of the genre.
To which all Pratchett fans say, "Duh!" But Pratchett continues this trend for quite some time, even as he gets better at disguising it and more creative in his satire. Cohen, for example, is as much a Conan parody as Hrun, but instead of simply being another big dumb barbarian, he's a fully realized and poignant character with real depth. But he's still a parody of a fantasy trope, just as Granny Weatherwax satirizes the conventions both of the "young apprentice" genre of fantasy novels and the traditional notions of "wicked witches" from fairy tales and popular culture. Even as the cast of the series expands (Lawrence Watt-Evans identifies eight separate sub-series in his book "The Turtle Moves"), the metafiction aspect remains a constant.
But significantly, starting roughly around the time of "Wyrd Sisters", he's no longer just satirizing fantasy, he's drawing on reality for inspiration as well. Hwel, the dwarvish playwright, is used as a lens to look at Shakespeare and the theater in general (and cinema as well, in a few memorable gags.) The Ephebian philosophers in "Pyramids" twist and warp the ancient Greeks (to delightful effect.) Pratchett is still writing satire, but he's gradually moving away from metafiction into satire of the real world. "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music" are the most obvious and direct examples of this, but all the Discworld novels take on the flavor of a world we recognize.
But the real world is decidedly unlike fantasy kingdoms in one major aspect. (At least one major aspect, that is. Obviously, the real world doesn't have vampires, werewolves, dwarves, trolls, and magic...although curiously, this is where magic, in the showy flashy sense, really starts to vanish from the series.) A fantasy story is usually about the restoration of the old order--once there was a long, static period when things were good, things are now changing and that's bad, the hero brings back the true king or the magic talisman or whatever, and the change is undone. Let me just re-emphasize that bit. The change is undone.
In "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music", that's exactly what happens. With a magical zap, the wild ideas that infested the Discworld are forced out, and everyone feels slightly sheepish and wonders why they were so obsessed with the clicks or Music With Rocks In. (It's significant that the danger in "Moving Pictures" is that the Discworld is such a thin construct that it could be torn apart if people stop believing in it. Too much reality makes the cracks in the fantasy show.) Pratchett is using the Discworld to comment on reality, but the Disc itself is still recognizably a fantasy world. (In the sense of being static and unchanging, that is. It's always a recognizably fantasy world in the sense that it's flat and carried on the backs of four elephants which are, in turn, carried on the back of a giant turtle.)
But reality, that has a way of changing constantly. Sometimes for the worse, but sometimes for the better. While people might like to remember a long, static period when things were good (and write that nostalgia into fantasy stories which then become meat for satirists), the fact is that the past wasn't as static as you remember, and probably not as good, either. A series that's genuinely satirizing the real world, instead of just borrowing elements of it, is going to have to change.
And so, the storytelling engine of the Discworld, the elements of it that help Pratchett come up with story ideas, that has to become about change instead of stagnation. The first novel that undeniably ends with the world in a different place than it began is "Small Gods", a novel that uses the Church of Om to comment on the ways that religion has modernized to fit into a newer, more enlightened secular world. In addition to being frankly brilliant, it is a novel that doesn't retreat from the ideas it expresses. The Omnian Church after "Small Gods" is a different church, inspiring different ideas in later novels.
But "Small Gods" also takes place some distance away from the main events of the Discworld. It's a big shift, but it's one that's easy to ignore when it doesn't affect Vimes, Granny Weatherwax, Rincewind or even Death to any significant degree. No, the novel that definitively states, "The world is changing and this is now the well from which inspiration is drawn," is "The Truth".
Watt-Evans dismisses "The Truth" pretty casually in "The Turtle Moves", lumping it in the same pile as "Moving Pictures" and "Soul Music" (with "newspapers" taking the place of "movies" and "rock music".) With all due respect to an author whose work I enjoy, this misses the biggest point of the book--this isn't a wild idea, summoned by magic and prone to rip a hole in the fabric of the Discworld. This is a printing press, made by mundane hands and inspired by good old-fashioned intelligence. (Pratchett even comments on his own tendencies at one point, as the Patrician asks a series of weary questions in an effort to make sure that the whole enterprise isn't going to destroy the world.) The notion of change, of modernization really crystalizes here and becomes the engine for the series at just about every point after that.
Unfortunately, Terry Pratchett's tragic diagnosis of Alzheimer's means that the Discworld series will be winding down soon. Although he is continuing to write for as long as he can, the disease will eventually take its toll, and I think I speak for just about all fans of the series when I fervently hope that nobody will attempt to fill his shoes just for the sake of keeping the franchise going. So after perhaps forty novels, a half dozen short stories, and numerous ancillary books and other materials, the Discworld's story will end. But that body of work is a testament to just how well the Discworld's storytelling engine works, as one of the best satirists in literature today turned his observations on the world into stories time and time again.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
It's Time To Charge the Rings Up...
So we're now approaching "The Blackest Night", the final war between the various Lantern Corps of the emotional spectrum. Green, Red, Blue, Black, Orange, Violet, Yellow, and Indigo will all slug it out for the fate of the DC Universe! But obviously, they'll need reinforcements. After all, the more ring-bearers the better. So I'm coming to the aid of the Corps as well as the writers of the mega-event by suggesting some additional characters who could participate in the battle to end all battles, some well-known mainstays who could really stoke the fans' excitement and get them talking.
For the Red Lanterns, the color of "rage", the obvious choice is Animal. Sure, Kermit the Frog has his occasional outbursts of temper, but how can even Atrocitus compare to a barely-contained beast whose fury is such that he only bowls overhand? If anything, Animal could wind up leading the Red Lantern Corps.
And who better to join the Orange Lanterns ("avarice") than Oscar the Grouch? He wouldn't be a leader, but his fervent passion for scavenging the unwanted relics of modern society would give him a power that would endure while other members of that Corps were defeated. Others might covet money, wealth, gold or gems...but how do you stop someone who can even want an old torn sneaker with that same degree of intensity? Oscar could be the Orange Lanterns' secret weapon.
An important thing to keep in mind, when picking someone to join the Yellow Lantern Corps, is that you're looking for someone who inflicts fear, not someone who is fearful themselves. With that in mind, I'd suggest Statler and Waldorf. These two are well-known for being able to reduce full-grown bears to quivering, whimpering bundles of nerves with nothing more than their acid wit. Imagine what they could do to Kyle Rayner? ("I hear he designed that costume himself!" "Sure! Nobody else would admit to it!")
And of course, who knows better than Kermit the Frog that it's not that easy to be a Green Lantern? He's had experience managing large numbers of strange-looking creatures with diverse temperaments and getting them to work together, and he knows sinister secrets about the emotional spectrum that the Guardians might be hiding from others. ("Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide...so we've been told and some choose to believe it, I know they're wrong, wait and see...")
It's almost hard to choose a single member for the Blue Lanterns, the color of hope. After all, there are a lot of very optimistic characters out there to choose from. But I'd have to say that Gonzo the Great best symbolizes the hope that characterizes the Blue Lantern Corps--after all, he sincerely believes that someday, people will watch him eating a rubber tire to the music of "Flight of the Bumblebee" and call it Art. That takes a lot of hope.
This could have the potential to create some serious drama and conflict in the story, because the Indigo Lanterns of compassion have chosen Camilla the Chicken to aid them in this epic conflict. With her constant selfless concern for Gonzo's well-being, her loyalties will be torn to the breaking point. (I'm expecting that this will be the moment that all the fans remember.)
And of course, Star Sapphire's irrational obsession with Hal Jordan is nothing next to Miss Piggy and her love of Kermit. This makes her the perfect choice for the Violet Lantern Corps, who use the power of love to fuel their rings. And unlike that wussy Carol Ferris, Miss Piggy's fully capable of defending herself even without a ring. Hiiii-yaa!
Which just leaves the Black Lanterns, the Corps of death. Several prominent deceased DC characters have already been revealed to be Black Lanterns, such as the Martian Manhunter and the Earth-2 Superman, but their terror pales next to that of Uncle Deadly, the sinister Muppet inspired by none other than Vincent Price himself. The Uncle Deadly/Mogo fight is going to be one that fans are talking about for ages.
In fact, if DC takes my advice, I think fans will be talking about this whole crossover for ages.
For the Red Lanterns, the color of "rage", the obvious choice is Animal. Sure, Kermit the Frog has his occasional outbursts of temper, but how can even Atrocitus compare to a barely-contained beast whose fury is such that he only bowls overhand? If anything, Animal could wind up leading the Red Lantern Corps.
And who better to join the Orange Lanterns ("avarice") than Oscar the Grouch? He wouldn't be a leader, but his fervent passion for scavenging the unwanted relics of modern society would give him a power that would endure while other members of that Corps were defeated. Others might covet money, wealth, gold or gems...but how do you stop someone who can even want an old torn sneaker with that same degree of intensity? Oscar could be the Orange Lanterns' secret weapon.
An important thing to keep in mind, when picking someone to join the Yellow Lantern Corps, is that you're looking for someone who inflicts fear, not someone who is fearful themselves. With that in mind, I'd suggest Statler and Waldorf. These two are well-known for being able to reduce full-grown bears to quivering, whimpering bundles of nerves with nothing more than their acid wit. Imagine what they could do to Kyle Rayner? ("I hear he designed that costume himself!" "Sure! Nobody else would admit to it!")
And of course, who knows better than Kermit the Frog that it's not that easy to be a Green Lantern? He's had experience managing large numbers of strange-looking creatures with diverse temperaments and getting them to work together, and he knows sinister secrets about the emotional spectrum that the Guardians might be hiding from others. ("Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide...so we've been told and some choose to believe it, I know they're wrong, wait and see...")
It's almost hard to choose a single member for the Blue Lanterns, the color of hope. After all, there are a lot of very optimistic characters out there to choose from. But I'd have to say that Gonzo the Great best symbolizes the hope that characterizes the Blue Lantern Corps--after all, he sincerely believes that someday, people will watch him eating a rubber tire to the music of "Flight of the Bumblebee" and call it Art. That takes a lot of hope.
This could have the potential to create some serious drama and conflict in the story, because the Indigo Lanterns of compassion have chosen Camilla the Chicken to aid them in this epic conflict. With her constant selfless concern for Gonzo's well-being, her loyalties will be torn to the breaking point. (I'm expecting that this will be the moment that all the fans remember.)
And of course, Star Sapphire's irrational obsession with Hal Jordan is nothing next to Miss Piggy and her love of Kermit. This makes her the perfect choice for the Violet Lantern Corps, who use the power of love to fuel their rings. And unlike that wussy Carol Ferris, Miss Piggy's fully capable of defending herself even without a ring. Hiiii-yaa!
Which just leaves the Black Lanterns, the Corps of death. Several prominent deceased DC characters have already been revealed to be Black Lanterns, such as the Martian Manhunter and the Earth-2 Superman, but their terror pales next to that of Uncle Deadly, the sinister Muppet inspired by none other than Vincent Price himself. The Uncle Deadly/Mogo fight is going to be one that fans are talking about for ages.
In fact, if DC takes my advice, I think fans will be talking about this whole crossover for ages.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Storytelling Engines: Universal's "Invisible Man"
(or "Like '100 Bullets', But Without The Bullets")
The problem with creating an open-ended series from H.G. Wells' classic novel, 'The Invisible Man', is fairly obvious when you read it; not to spoil the big surprise, but the title character winds up dead by the end of the story. This makes it a little bit tricky to continue telling tales about him (a common theme among Universal's horror films, as we've seen in the past. Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Mummy and the Creature from the Black Lagoon all met similar fates.)
But, as with those other monsters, that didn't stop Universal from deciding to make a sequel to a profitable film. It fell to Lester Cole, Curt Siodmak, and Joe May to find a way to turn the one-off story into a storytelling engine, and they found a doozy. Sure, Jack Griffin, the inventor of the invisibility formula, might have gone mad from the side effects of his creation. Yes, he was shot and killed in order to end his reign of terror. But that's the end of Griffin, not the end of the formula.
The invisibility formula becomes the new center of the sequels that followed the continuity of the original film (which wasn't all of them. "The Invisible Woman" is a screwball comedy with a nutty professor, and "The Invisible Man's Revenge" follows a different scientist with his own formula, which he tests on someone who was pretty insane to start with.) Griffin's brother, Frank, duplicates his brother's research...but runs into the same stumbling block his brother did. There's no way to reverse the formula, and no way to cure the side effect of progressive megalomania. But for a few people who have access to the formula, the power is there...as is the price.
So the question in the sequels becomes, "What would drive someone to use such a formula?" In "The Invisible Man Returns", it's a question of necessity; the main character has been sentenced to hang for a murder he didn't commit, and has to use the formula to clear his name and find the real killer (while scientist Frank Griffin frantically searches for a cure.) In "Invisible Agent", it's an issue of patriotism; Griffin's grandson (the movie seems confused on which Griffin it is--they suggest Jack, but Frank makes more sense) uses the formula to become the ultimate Allied spy, able to walk through the streets of Berlin and steal vital secrets right out from under the Nazis...until his paranoia turns him against his German contacts. It's worth mentioning that both movies do invent a cure, in the form of massive blood transfusions--when the character you're following is more sympathetic than the original glory-hungry Jack Griffin, it's nice to be able to give them a happy ending.
Universal's sequels trailed off after that, but the "invisibility formula" MacGuffin can easily provide more seeds for stories in the hands of an intelligent writer. Giving a power that carries a price to a desperate man or woman isn't just a good way to start a story, it's a resonant one; we've all felt the touch of obsession and its dangers to some degree or another, and whether the protagonist manages to pull back from the brink of madness or falls into its depths, their struggle reminds us of the risks of giving everything up for a single cause.
The problem with creating an open-ended series from H.G. Wells' classic novel, 'The Invisible Man', is fairly obvious when you read it; not to spoil the big surprise, but the title character winds up dead by the end of the story. This makes it a little bit tricky to continue telling tales about him (a common theme among Universal's horror films, as we've seen in the past. Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Mummy and the Creature from the Black Lagoon all met similar fates.)
But, as with those other monsters, that didn't stop Universal from deciding to make a sequel to a profitable film. It fell to Lester Cole, Curt Siodmak, and Joe May to find a way to turn the one-off story into a storytelling engine, and they found a doozy. Sure, Jack Griffin, the inventor of the invisibility formula, might have gone mad from the side effects of his creation. Yes, he was shot and killed in order to end his reign of terror. But that's the end of Griffin, not the end of the formula.
The invisibility formula becomes the new center of the sequels that followed the continuity of the original film (which wasn't all of them. "The Invisible Woman" is a screwball comedy with a nutty professor, and "The Invisible Man's Revenge" follows a different scientist with his own formula, which he tests on someone who was pretty insane to start with.) Griffin's brother, Frank, duplicates his brother's research...but runs into the same stumbling block his brother did. There's no way to reverse the formula, and no way to cure the side effect of progressive megalomania. But for a few people who have access to the formula, the power is there...as is the price.
So the question in the sequels becomes, "What would drive someone to use such a formula?" In "The Invisible Man Returns", it's a question of necessity; the main character has been sentenced to hang for a murder he didn't commit, and has to use the formula to clear his name and find the real killer (while scientist Frank Griffin frantically searches for a cure.) In "Invisible Agent", it's an issue of patriotism; Griffin's grandson (the movie seems confused on which Griffin it is--they suggest Jack, but Frank makes more sense) uses the formula to become the ultimate Allied spy, able to walk through the streets of Berlin and steal vital secrets right out from under the Nazis...until his paranoia turns him against his German contacts. It's worth mentioning that both movies do invent a cure, in the form of massive blood transfusions--when the character you're following is more sympathetic than the original glory-hungry Jack Griffin, it's nice to be able to give them a happy ending.
Universal's sequels trailed off after that, but the "invisibility formula" MacGuffin can easily provide more seeds for stories in the hands of an intelligent writer. Giving a power that carries a price to a desperate man or woman isn't just a good way to start a story, it's a resonant one; we've all felt the touch of obsession and its dangers to some degree or another, and whether the protagonist manages to pull back from the brink of madness or falls into its depths, their struggle reminds us of the risks of giving everything up for a single cause.
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