Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Eleven -A Rude Awakening

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Jasmine and Bagheera emerged from the forest onto the beach. Kronk had worked diligently trying to repair the shelter but the damage was clear. "We heard thunder. What happened?" Jasmine asked him.

"A demon!" shouted Frollo from the shade of a nearby tree. "That's what happened!"

Kronk glanced at Frollo then back to Jasmine. "Frollo says it's a demon. About yea tall. Looked like a shadow with horns." The big man pointed at the spot where the apparition had appeared. "I thought it might be a deer."

Bagheera inquired if anyone was hurt at the same time Jasmine asked where Elsa was. Kronk started bringing them up to speed before Frollo interrupted again. "It's this cursed island!" he insisted. "It's cursed!"

"Yeah," replied Kronk. "You said 'cursed' twice there."

Frollo stormed over to the crude structure, ignoring Kronk's efforts. "This!" He shoved out one of the support beams causing the makeshift roof to sink inwards. It wasn't the visual punctuation he'd been aiming for, but his point was made nonetheless. "This is futile! We don't need shelter! We need to get away from this place!"

"And where do you think there is to go?" said Jasmine. "Do you think the open ocean would be kinder?"

Frollo pulled himself up to his full height so he could look down at Jasmine. "Little girl, I've seen things."

"We've all seen things." She stepped around him to engage Kronk again. "Which way did Tarzan take Elsa?"

Kronk gestured towards the closest mountain range. "You know, whatever that thing was, it told us to run."

"It spoke?"

Kronk nodded. "Came through. Made eye contact. Said 'Run!' And then the cabin split apart."

Jasmine shot Frollo a look. "That's awfully considerate of a demon."

"I know what I saw!" barked Frollo.

"And you're also doing nothing!"

Bagheera snickered to himself. Jasmine had certainly gotten the upper hand on that argument. The panther was secretly hoping the humans would come to the conclusion on their own that Frollo was dead weight, and they'd all be better off without him. But he'd also come to accept the reality that man was a pack animal. So it came as no surprise to him when Jasmine announced she was going after Tarzan and Elsa. "I'd better come along then," said the cat.

Kronk dropped his club on the ground. "Yeah, me too." He turned to Frollo who was still grumbling. "You coming, big guy?"

The forceful 'no' came as expected, and Jasmine led her party out of sight.

"Fools," muttered Frollo once they were gone. They could fumble around in the wilderness all they wanted. It would be their own lives with which they were gambling. He wanted no part of it.

So what was he going to do then? There was the small building just up the beach that he'd previously claimed as his own before everyone started showing up. He thought he might lock himself away in it. Of course there was no door but he could probably find enough rocks around the beach to build a barricade.

Frollo started walking. The distance from where he was to his destination seemed longer than before. Perhaps it was the uncompromising tide that that kept dousing the sand, but it felt like his feet were sinking deeper with each step than they actually were. He pressed on through sheer grit before having to lean against a huge rock to catch his breath.

"You fools!" he bellowed again towards the now vacated spot Jasmine and the others had been. Leaving and old man like him to the wilderness, it was on their heads if something happened to him.

A wave lapped at Frollo's ankles, and he got this unpleasant notion in his head that the ocean was tasting him. He tried stepping away, but the suction underneath his foot held him in place. Frollo jerked with all of his strength and spilled himself sideways into the dry sand. "Curse this island!" He struggled to his feet, flailing sand everywhere including in his own mouth. "Curse this wretched island!" he spat.

There was an explosion. Coming from the direction of the mountain range. The peak was surrounded by a cloud of blackness that had not been there moments before. And from within came the screech of some...creature. Some ancient bird from Hell itself. Every instinct in Frollo told him to turn away, but his eyes became transfixed on the orange glow that penetrated the cloud. From two places. Eyes. Staring into his soul.

He uncontrollably mouthed the words "What the devil?" as his voice failed him. The creature's destruction was spreading. Burning the trees. And heading straight for him. And Frollo was frozen in his spot.

"Run you idiot!" came the voice of another. It was the panther. Frollo hadn't been aware of the beast's approach. The other two were close behind, running for dear life.

"Kronk!" called Jasmine. "Grab Frollo!"

The large man gave her a quick salute. "On it!"

Frollo found himself lifted off the ground with Kronk's shoulder bouncing violently into his abdomen. But all Frollo could focus on was the wave of molten mass that was inevitably going to outrun them. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat licking at his face. Then a flash of a memory. Something he'd forgotten. Some terrible, terrible sense that he'd been in this situation before. "God have mercy-" was all he could say before he felt his body immersed in the ocean and his mouth filled with sea water.



Meg had been fruitlessly poring through one of the many books the mansion had to offer when she felt a distant tremor. The overhead chandelier was wobbling ever so slightly. She looked across the grand table at Alice, who'd been flipping through a stack at three times Meg's speed. "Did you feel that?"

Alice nodded. "If Maleficent speaks the truth about this place, we may be in danger from the elements themselves."

Meg shut the book with an audible thump and tossed it aside. "Okay, I'm through fumbling around in the darkness."

"What do you propose, Miss Meg?"

"We need a plan. Anything to improve our odds."

"Would it not be more advisable to remain where we are? At least one person knows we're here."

The two of them froze as another sound rolled from the direction of the tremor. It was very far away from them, but it was unmistakably inhuman; part song, part laugh, but more haunting than anything. They waited silently for the apparition to subside before speaking again.

"Lilies," Meg leaned forward, "Maleficent doesn't care about us. We're only going to see her again if she thinks we're valuable, or expendable."

"So you view her as a chess master," said Alice. "And we're her pawns?"

"I don't know what that means, but for the foreseeable future it looks like it's just us."

Alice turned the book she's been looking at around so it faced Meg and slid it over to her. "Miss Meg, can you read the words on the third line?"

Meg glanced down at the utter nonsense in front of her. "Yes. It means nothing."

"Can you humor me? I'm testing a theory."

Meg grumbled as she took the book. "Zip-a-dee-" She shot Alice a glare. "Doo-dah?"

"Please, Miss Meg. It's important."

Meg rolled her eyes and kept reading. "Zip-a-dee-ay. My, oh my, what a wonderful day."

Alice slowly lowered her eyes.

"Is that good enough for you?" asked Meg.

"Yes," Alice answered in a hush. "That settles it."

"What settles what?"

"If you're reading it the same way I am, this isn't a dream."

Meg threw her hands up. "That's what I've been telling you! How are you still-"

She cut herself off when tears appeared in Alice's eyes. Oh good move Meg, she thought. I just broke the soul of a twelve year old.

Meg came around the table to put her arms around Alice, who trembled in the embrace. "Doll," she said, "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.  I'm sorry."

"I just held onto hope that this was all a dream," Alice whimpered,

"Yeah, you've got to hold onto something."

"I'm frightened, Miss Meg."

Meg gave her a gentle squeeze. "Me too, kid. It's why I've been lashing out. And it's really not helping, is it?"

"I know what that was out there, Miss Meg. That wailing?" Alice swallowed hard. "That was a banshee."

Meg smiled. "I've seen worse than banshees."

"It's not what a banshee is, but what it prefaces that could prove disagreeable."

Meg helped Alice up from the seat. "Then we agree to disagree."

Alice looked up at her, still with sadness in her eyes but a small giggle in her throat. "I'm glad I don't have to be alone, Miss Meg."

"And I'm grateful to be trapped with somebody smarter than me," Meg winked.


Continue to Chapter Twelve
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Batman Minus Batman

Have you noticed that everything is coming up Batman lately? Somewhere in the midst of Suicide Squad, The Killing Joke, previews to The Justice League and The Lego Batman Movie, and the release of Batman v Superman it seems costume shops are going to have a run on the cape and cowl this October.

I saw Suicide Squad over the weekend, and I quite enjoyed it despite the ongoing list of things wrong with it. It honestly boiled down to Harley Quinn. As long as they got her right (enough) just about any other issue, or series of, could be forgiven. And fortunately they got her right (enough).

The rest of the film was kind of silly, and kind of imbalanced regarding pace. The story was more of an excuse than a plot line. Will Smith: Great! Viola Davis: Awesome! Jared Leto: whatever. And then there was Margot Robbie who dazzled as Harley. The rest of the ensemble was hit and miss with no real bulls-eyes, although I have to stress it was no fault of the cast members themselves. Overall, it was pretty good. Yes, DC is getting to the extended universe party late and it shows, but they really are trying. And I really keep rooting for them.

I also saw Batman: Under the Red Hood this week, which was impressively dark and poignant. It didn't really feel like the dream team of voice actors, but the writing was so good that it got me thinking. How many Batman stories are there out there that really matter? There's all of the origin stories; the death of the Waynes, the death of the Graysons, the birth of the Joker, the death of Jason Todd, the crippling of Barbara Gordon, the team-up with Scooby-Doo, etc. But how many stories exist beyond those that have any kind of effect on...really anything?

No matter how many buildings blow up or television audiences die on live television, crime runs consistently, rich people go to parties, and Arkham security continues to be hackable with a wad of chewing gum. Batman doesn't really seem to accomplish anything except restoring the status quo. No matter how many times the Joker's face gets blown off, there will always be some very farfetched reason to revive him. And no matter how crammed into a corner the writer's stuff themselves, there is always a cosmic reset button waiting to reset Gotham back to slightly pre-boy wonder age.

I blame everyone but me. I can accept that the Batman formula works in a way that Superman struggles, because Gotham's savior serves as a metaphor for the determination we all want to be capable of. Just like the Joker reflects our own collective sadistic nihilistic desires, free of consequence. But Holy Dead Horse Batman! There's got to be something else to do in Gotham that actually feels like progress. I say we kill the Batman.

Now I'm not suggesting killing Bruce Wayne, I'm saying he probably needs to spend some time in Arkham as a patient. One, to understand how useless the system is. Two, to figure out a better way of rehabilitation. And three, to come to terms with the fact that Batman only treats Gotham's symptoms while aggravating the underlying problem. And while he's away, let's see what we can do with some of the more prominent members of his rogue's gallery. Maybe we can prove we won't need Batman after all.

Poison Ivy

Like so many of the better villains, you can see valid point Pamela Isley is starting from. Humans have gotten careless with the environment, and the Lorax hasn't shown his orange face in ages. Isley has appointed herself the mother of all plants. Now the problem is that she's too high on the power she feels to comprehend the balance of ecology. She also views all plants as helpless innocent living things, which is an impressive oversight coming from a doctor of botany. Plants are even more aggressive than animals, strangling each other for territory. They just do it at a slower rate.

What to do with her:

Climate change is a growing issue, no matter what FOX news says. Someone as talented as Dr. Isley could accomplish some amazing advances in the fields of environment preservation, as well as medicine. Getting her to understand that is the challenge.

Harley Quinn

Harley was the face of 90's Batman. Before her it was a simple equation: Bat versus clown. Harley came in partially by accident and wound up reminding the Bat what sympathy felt like, as well as humanizing the Joker in as much as he's capable of being. Harley ushered in the gray area, and inhuman monsters like Ivy and Professor Crane have been known to take a liking to her.

What to do with her:

First, get her the hell away from the Joker for good. Second, get her some friends who can keep her reasonably grounded. DC Superhero Girls has her rooming with Wonder Woman, and her current graphic novel series gave her a close bond with Power Girl. Those kinds of relationships are good for Harley, and when she's at her best she tends to bring out the best in other villains. Gotham needs a symbol to get behind. Let Harley be the face of Gotham 2.0.

The Joker

You know who the Joker is. Doesn't there come a point where a character is responsible for so much mass murder that they're just no longer worth telling stories about? I feel like everything that can be done with the Joker has been done already. Mark Hamill perfected him. Heath Ledger deconstructed him. And I'm really tired of seeing the character fall from high places.

What to do with him:

Screw the Joker. He should have been executed or assassinated long ago. Catwoman, Wonder Woman, Mr. Freeze, it doesn't matter. There is no in-universe justification for his continued existence. "But the fans-" need to get over it. If you really can't handle a world without the Joker then cut his hands off and put his eyes out. There. Everybody happy now?

The Riddler

I've always liked the idea of the Riddler, but I've rarely liked what's done with him. He's another one of those too-smart-for-his-own-good villains who obsesses way too much over the title character. What happens if he proves himself smarter than Batman? Then what? Is there an end game? Does he go the Moffet Moriarty route? I love crazed game designers as much as the next crazed game designer lover, but come on.

What to do with him:

Make him a crime fighter. If he's that smart, have him prove himself by fixing Gotham's problems without ever harming someone. Do what Batman never could, which is make Gotham BETTER.

Catwoman

Here's one of those villains who's not always a villain but who can't be relied on but who shows up when needed and all that jazz. You know, like a cat. When Selena Kyle is used correctly she makes for a wonderful anti-hero, and she was the only thing to keep me from throwing my popcorn at the screen during The Dark Knight Rises. When she's used incorrectly she becomes an annoyance.

What to do with her:

How about, use her correctly? With Batsy out of the picture, Selena is in the best position to take up the mantle. She's got the skillset after all. But even better, she's not the kind of female Dark Knight (Duchess? Knightess? Valkyrie?) that Gotham is going to be able to lean on for very long. As such, now is the time to slowly detox the city off of the reliance on capes to fix crime. Sure, she's a kleptomaniac, but you can probably just let her have her fun and then send the cops to her apartment a few days later to ask for the necklace back. Even Garfield once said, "It's not the having, it's the getting."

The Mad Hatter

I love Alice in Wonderland and I love Roddy McDowall, so naturally I honed in on the animated version of this character back in the nineties. But I have to admit, this character is kind of stupid. Jervis Tetch creates devices to control the minds of others, because plot. And in certain incarnations he stalks any woman he thinks is Alice, because he apparently he only watched the Tim Burton version. This guy needs a full makeover.

What to do with him:

Revision. Keep the elements that work. He was the underdog growing up. Got bullied. Tended to retreat in a fantasy world. The typical sci-fi/fantasy nerd story. He becomes fascinated by the workings of the human brain and makes several medical breakthroughs in the field of psychiatry. But one really bad day he gets pushed over the edge Carrie-style, and goes on a revenge spree controlled Carrie-style. He knows he's going to go to jail, which terrifies him, unless he can get the insanity plea (this is Gotham). Tetch makes it back to his lab and screws around with his own brain, voluntarily becoming insane, resulting in the experience of a newfound freedom.

The run-ins with Batman that follow are based around the fact that sanity starts creeping back in, and he'd rather stay whimsical and carefree than deal with the life he had before. But what if his work with neuroscience hides the cure for the more extreme cases inside Arkham? If he could handle his sensibilities, he could fix the inmates. Now what you need is a kindred spirit like Harley to be his Alice, not a love interest but a human connection. And from there the story of Gotham isn't this perpetually cynical drudge through self absorption, but one of hope; that there's actually a way back from the darkness.

I realize that doesn't exactly keep the series going indefinitely, but isn't about time the story moves forward? A little? There's still room for Terry McGinnis.

Cowbania's Fantasy Summer Olympic League

Every Leap Year we take a few weeks of hiatus off of the United States's donkey/elephant pie fight to pretend to care what's going on elsewhere. For this divisible-by-four year, elsewhere is Rio, which I've only just learned is a city in Brazil and not just a Duran Duran song.

When I was a kid, the Olympics sounded like the coolest thing ever. Of course I was a kid and the Olympics in my head was more of a Wipeout/Super Mario World level (neither of which existed at the time) than the revolving door of people standing/walking/scowling/occasionally doing something and commercial breaks stretched out over a two week period that it is.

It probably doesn't help that I don't care about sports, but the Summer Games doesn't do anything for me. At least the Winter Games has a kind of theme working in its favor. How many different and creative ways can people slide across ice? The Summer Games doesn't have that. It's just stuff happening.

Now I get that other people do care, and athletes work very hard to achieve success in this reality that I'm simply not part of. And I'm not suggesting that there's anything inherently wrong with the Olympics (except of course for politics, economic irresponsibility, drug use; menial things like that), I'm just saying that it doesn't hold my attention.

Well, damn it! I'm a fiction writer! I can do something about that! I was never clear on what Fantasy Football Leagues were, but I assume it has something to do with Nymphs and Hobgoblins playing a nice friendly game of brutal bloodshed between goal posts. So why can't I adapt the idea to the Summer Olympics?

Here then is how I would rearrange the current lineup of events to be a bit less, you know, insomnia curing, and which fiction character I would snatch out of the Jungian ether to represent my country of Cowbania, with a few ground rules. Only one character per event and only one event per character. Characters have to compete based solely on their skill sets, so someone like Jean-Luc Picard would not be able to take his tricorder onto the field. Since I'm making this up as I go, I'm going to try to limit the contestants to bipedal characters unless it just really makes sense to let Eeyore hurl the javelin. And finally, I'm looking for characters that can put on a good show. The Flash could obviously dominate a marathon run, but there's nothing interesting about it.

So, here we go then.

Torch Relay

Wow. What could be a better taste of the festivities to come than watching some poor schmuck scurrying through town with a flammable light source in broad daylight? Nobody actually cares about the people in the relay prior to the last runner. We always skip to the end where they finally light the damn torch. So I suggest we restructure it. Cut out the relay portion and make one guy run the stretch from start to finish. And encourage ordinary bystanders to try to stop him. Tackle him. Block him with your car. Dump marbles in his path. If anyone is able to keep him from reaching his goal we get to call this whole thing off and start handing out medals on a first come first served basis. Think of showing off your gold medal for punctuality.

My competitor: Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove. The guy is a juggernaut. He can take anything without breaking a sweat. The combined efforts of the whole world would not be able to keep him from the finish line, but damned if it wouldn't be entertaining to try.

Day One

Archery/Shooting

I know they're not exactly the same thing but it ultimately boils down to hitting targets. You stand. You breathe. You launch a missile. You swear. Rinse, repeat, and back away. So we need to make the concept a smidge more exciting. I suggest combining it with a room escape game. You trap your competitor in a large cabin and set it loose on a mudslide with a steep drop about a thousand yards away. The way to escape hinges on being able to hit various targets that pop up randomly, under stress and unstable conditions. Points are awarded based on how quickly the victim is able to emerge from the impending disaster.

My competitor: Ashitaka from Princess Mononoke. I obviously have to choose someone who can manage a bow, and it was this guy who pushed Legolas into the number two slot of archers. While riding a horse, Ashitaka caught an arrow mid flight and fired it back at its owner, flawlessly hitting its mark. That was badass.

Football/Basketball/Field Hockey/Rugby Sevens/Water Polo/Handball

You know, the same crap we have to watch year round. You're on a team that puts the titular ball in a goal for about an hour. These are Olympic events now. So let's combine all of these into one event where you have a set number of players, and goals, and maybe a few surprise bells and whistles.

My competitor: The Doctor, from Doctor Who obviously. Imagine a team sport scenario utilizing the 5th Doctor's cricket skills, the 8th's prestidigitation, the 11th's vim, and the collective cognition of the bulk of them. You could swap players out without it technically being a substitution. And how much fun would it be to guess if they were predicting each other's moves, or remembering them. Score, you clever boys!

Boxing/Judo/Wrestling/Taekwondo

Here's another series of variances around a central concept, two people in hand to hand combat. To make this work we need a periodic change of venue. So let's do hand-to-hand combat on three stories of a Planet Hollywood. No ring outs. Props are encouraged. Last one standing wins.

My competitor: Indiana Jones, in all of his Ben Burtt foleying glory. There are other brawlers out there who can take a beating, but Dr. Jones by far is the most vulnerable. There's something wonderful about seeing him hurt over and over without breaking. The guy managed to force Mola Ram into punching himself in the face while dangling from a broken sway bridge. Let the guy finally keep one of the treasures he's unearthed.

Cycling (Road, Track, BMX, Mountain Biking)

Somebody rides a bicycle from point A to point B. Maybe it's laps, maybe it's off road, it doesn't matter. We're really just hoping to see someone get hurt. So again, let's combine all of these events into one grand obstacle course with tightropes, saw blades, and bears; kind of like those intense downhill bike races you can find on YouTube.

My competitor: Frank Martin AKA the Transporter. Handling vehicles is his thing, and Transporter 3 demonstrates his ability to ride a bicycle under duress. Hell, throw in a train, a fire hose, and a woman needlessly dancing in a bikini and that pretty much summarizes the entire series.

Day Two

This blog is going to be freaking endless if I devote equal time to every event, so let's do a highlights reel.

Equestrian: Like cycling, but with a horse.

Contestant: Zorro.

Fencing: Not getting stabbed.

Contestant: Harpo Marx (see A Night in Casablanca).

Rowing: Who gives a shit about rowing?

Contestant: I'll do partners on this one. Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed.

Weight Lifting: You pick something up. You put something down.

Contestant: The Murray! From Sly Cooper.

Sailing: Just what it says. Jeez. They'll put anything in the Olympics.

Contestant: CON-DOR-MAN!!! Just because he understands aerodynamics.

Trampolining: Jumping really high and doing flips.

Contestant: Luke Skywalker, naturally.

Synchronized Swimming: Two women who can flexibly mirror each other.

Contestants: Morrigan and Lilith Aensland.

Swimming: Swimming. Like, in water and everything.

Contestant: Meggy Swann. I don't expect most of you to get that reference, but she's the protagonist of the Karen Cushman book Alchemy and Meggy Swann. Having spent her life on crutches she discovers at a pivotal moment that she has incredible upper body strength. She's a great character and it's a lovely book. I listened to the audio version, read by the incomparable Katherine Kellgren. Check it out.

Okay, where was I?

Canoeing (Slalom/Sprint)

Closing out the day with a couple of other combined events, let's give our intrepid athlete a river worth conquering. Say...ye boulders, ye rapids, and ye whirlpools.

My competitor: Dirk the Daring of course! From Dragon's Lair. Who else? And in keeping with tradition, we can give him multiple lives.

Tennis/Table Tennis/Beach Volleyball/Indoor Volleyball/Badminton

Paddles or racquets, balls or shuttlecocks, these are all synonyms for real-world Pong; or Hot Potato with a grenade. It's probably most memorable (by default) with teams of two, allowing for a receiver, a set-up, and a spike (basically the formula for comedy writing). So leave the basic rules the same, just up the ante. The floor is metal. The ball is electric. And remember to have fun.

My competitors: Peach and Daisy. They can obviously play any damned sport in existence, and being electrocuted is as inconvenient as a sneeze. Then if you let the ladies channel some of that Mario Strikers aggression, I think you'll find Kasumi will suddenly remember a dentist appointment.

Day Three

Golf

All right. What nimbus let golf into the Olympics? Did somebody owe golf a favor? Does golf have incriminating evidence on the Olympic sponsors? Did juggling, pole dancing, and bowling honestly not get the application in by the deadline?...Sorry. I live in a house with five people. And golf is ALWAYS on television.

Mini-golf rocks! You've got your windmills, dinosaurs, trick shots, the occasional injury to small children. The problem with golf is that it isn't a grander scale of mini-golf. Well in my world it is. You've got massive Rube Goldberg tracks, city-wide strobe lights, and an animatronic Godzilla that makes random appearances. You want to play golf on my courses? You've got to have poise, control, and a subtle love of chaos.

My competitor: Mary Poppins. Damn right. She's got everything a golfer needs from form to precision. And every shot is practically perfect in every way.

Diving

The problem with diving is there's not much to it. So instead let's make it cliff diving, and part of the event is the complicated scaling of the rock face.

My competitor: Lara Croft. We know she can climb, do flips, and swan dive. And as an added bonus she'll invariably do that ridiculous handstand at the top of the climb. You big show-off.

Modern Pentathlon/Triathlon

This is where they start randomly picking events and insisting there's a tradition of some kind. Take the Pentathlon. Fencing, swimming, running, shooting, and riding someone else's horse. It's like somebody tried to download Ocarina of Time to their iPhone 4. So I suggest we replace these events entirely with a cross-city parkour run.

My competitor: The Prince of Persia (whose name isn't Dastan). In addition to his ability to run on walls and swing on poles, the prince never runs out of breath. And running across a city is essentially his MO.

Athletics

Athletics is kind of a catch-all term. This is where you have your relay races, hurdles, shot-put, discus, pole vault, hammer throw, long jump, high jump, triple jump, and decathlon (which is all of that crap put together). These are the events you probably think of when someone mentions the Olympics. To compete in a decathlon you need stamina, drive, and skill. And to make things more interesting, I'm going to add in a large bully and a seven minute time limit.

My competitor: Bugs Bunny. You don't need me to explain why.

Gymnastics

We're closing out the Summer Games with what I truly believe is the coolest portion, the gymnastics. For some damned reason women's and men's gymnastics have notable difference. Both contain the floor routine and the vault, but men have the pommel horse, parallel bars, rings, and horizontal bar, while women have the uneven bars and balance beam. And then there's the matter of rhythmic gymnastics which is closer akin to dance. So this essentially falls into three separate events.

Let's start with the men's routines. Five out of six of those center on upper body strength, so why don't we extend that to the floor routine? Let's say the participants have to engage in all six events in without their feet touching the floor. We're going to need someone with serious biceps.

My competitor: Jason Voorhees. Yeah, getting him to focus might be a bit of a challenge but you know he can support himself without flinching or trembling.

It's a little trickier finding a gimmick for women's gymnastics, but how about we arrange the arena where the contestant has to do all four events in one swoop? You start with the vault, which instead on landing on the mat you land on the floor routine portion. A third of the way through you get up on the balance beam. Then back to the floor, over to the uneven bars, and back on the floor for the finale.

My competitor: Barbara Gordon, AKA Batgirl. Tumbling, swinging around, and landing on precarious surfaces is essentially her night job. As an added bonus, you could send out some thugs for her to beat up in the process. That's entertainment.

And finally, the rhythmic gymnastics portion. This is a routine that involves clubs, a hoop, a ball, a rope, and a ribbon. It's meant for one to five dancers, but I'm going to keep it at a solo performance. We're looking for grace and control, as well as the ability to make objects dance.

My competitor: Ivy Valentine, of the Soulcalibur series. The ribbon is a given, and by extension the rope. She's all about control and discipline, and you have to believe she's capable of commanding a hoop to do whatever the hell she wants them to do.

Closing Ceremonies

So that's it then. That's my lineup for the 2016 Fake Olympics. If you think you've got a team to challenge me I'd love to hear about it in the comments below. Thank you for joining me, and I'd like to bring out my whole team for a final group photo.

Apollo Creed
Ashitaka
Barbara Gordon
Bugs Bunny

Condorman
Dirk the Daring
The Doctor

Frank Martin
Harpo Marx
Indiana Jones
Ivy Valentine
Jason Voorhees
Kronk
Lara Croft
Lilith Aensland
Luke Skywalker
Mary Poppins
Meggy Swann
Morrigan Aensland
The Murray
The Prince of Persia
Princess Daisy
Princess Peach
Rocky Balboa
Zorro

150th Blog: Writing What You Know

I'm sitting in a cafe named Fred. It's a pretty ordinary cafe, full of ordinary people, on an ordinary weekday morning. In the street, approximately two dozen joggers all dressed like Batman just ran past the café window.

Across from me is Caris, my ongoing POV protagonist from The Carousel. She sips her bottomless hazelnut Frappucino through a straw. I have an iced coffee, with enough vanilla syrup and milk to override the coffee taste. How one substance can smell and taste two completely different ways is a mystery to me.

Caris: So what exactly is on your mind, sweetie?

Me: I guess I've been having a little trouble writing lately. I feel like I'm forcing it in a way that I haven't had to before.

Caris: Well, you've gotten several projects in motion at the same time. You might be experiencing a second act slump.

What Caris knows, because she's a fictional character in my head, is that I'm particularly weak on second acts. Beginning a story is exciting. Ending a story is gratifying. But the stuff in the middle is where the work really feels like work. Writer's block is an obstacle that has many techniques to help one overcome it. But a slump is a bigger pain. Nobody can really help you with that.

Caris: Well if nobody can help you, what do you need me for?

Me: It's my 150th blog. I just wanted to do something a little different.

Caris: Like what?

Me: I don't know. I'm just feeling kind of blase.

Caris: I think a lot of writers usually take this point to have something unexpected happen. Like zombies jump out. Here, let me try something.

Caris stands up and and announces the beginning of a barroom brawl, and instantly the other patrons spring into violent action, sending every bit of Fred's furniture flying in all directions. She sits back down and looks at me expectantly.

Caris: Does that help at all?

Me: Not really. It's a nice gesture but it doesn't spark anything.

Caris: Well, why don't you try going back to basics? Just write about what you know?

Me: Because what I know doesn't strike me as that interesting, or particularly creative.

Caris: Isn't the interest level always something you add in the second pass at something. I mean, you have to build a home before you decorate it.

Me: Okay, this is me writing what I know.

I'm sitting in the couch in the den typing on the keys of my Chromebook, still experiencing the aftertaste of a handful of the olives I purchased yesterday. I'm about to type the letter q. There. That was exactly as life changing as I'd predicted. Knock knock. Who's there, you say? No you don't. Whoever you are, by the time you read this you would never have said that out loud, except now that I've made that declaration you might do it out of friendly spite. But as I'm still typing this, the only one reading it is me. So, no. You don't say 'who's there'. Nor did I say 'knock knock'. I just typed it.

Me: See? It's not really blog worthy.

She calls off the brawl and takes another swig of her beverage.

Caris: Let me ask you something. Why do you write?

Me: The same reason as anyone pursues a creative endeavor. They have something in their heads that they want to get out into the world.

Caris: So do you have anything in your head right now?

Me: No not really.

Caris: Then why are you trying to write when you have no motivation?

Me: That's actually a good question. I guess I swore I would take my blog seriously and put out something at least once a week.

Caris: So you think by holding yourself to a schedule you can force a level of quality?

Me: Isn't that the nature of discipline?

Caris: Absolutely! And what's the worst thing that happens when you fail?

Me: Nothing, except I feel like I've failed.

Caris: All right then. Time for a metaphor.

Caris retrieves a spelunker's helmet and a pickaxe that she's had stashed in hammerspace and proceeds to hack through the floor of Fred.

Me: What are you doing?

Caris: Searching for gems.

The other patrons ignore the destruction she's causing to the setting. She's through the floor now. I slide the table out of the way to catch sight of her head disappearing down into the tunnel she's so passionately creating.

Me: What makes you think there are gems down there?

Caris: No harm in looking, right?

Me: Except to the foundation.

Caris doesn't answer because she's gone. I've heard it paraphrased that fiction is real life with the boring parts edited out. It explains how she's able to move so fast. I drop into the darkness and wait for vague clarity. It comes in the form of an intricate series of passageways leading in every direction. Good Lord, she's been all over the place.

She appears in front of me again looking quite proud of herself.

Caris: I've laid out tracks.

Me: To where?

Caris: Does it matter? It's a ride.

We sit together on a wooden flat with wheels. It's quite a roller coaster she's built (at least I'm assuming she's the one who built it); it's almost like riding a magic carpet, but with the ever-present danger of splinters. And bats. And jumping the track. That last one happens quite a few times.

We roll through a narrow cavern, getting some air time on a succession of bunny hops, before emerging into a downward spiral over a huge chasm. The track corkscrews in six full revolutions before skimming the surface of an underground lake, complete with a thirty-five percent scale Loch Ness Monster. Caris pets the creature's neck as we skip past it.

We dock at the end of the shoreline and get stuck in the muck. But after a little wiggling and jolting we manage to dislodge the flat and go sledding down a mudslide. There are yetis in this area but they're significantly more sarcastic than the animatronic ones that tend to plague my nightmares. The first strikes a dramatic pose and belts out an A natural. The next wags his fingers at us with a mock-mocking 'nyah'. Another one doesn't even bother looking up from his newspaper.

We slide out of that room and skid to a halt at the bottom of what looks like a dormant volcano. Sunlight is hundreds of feet above us, and next to where we've reached our solstice is a still wet hand painted sign in Caris's handwriting that reads 'You are here'.

Me: Now what?

She doesn't have a chance to respond as the geyser directly underneath us erupts, sending us in the air. About halfway up, a strong gust sweeps us into an open chamber and gravity resumes its function. We go rolling through the terrain, eventually meeting up with another section of the track. The wheels find their guidance and we begin a slalom through the stalactites. From there it's across an overpass, around a bend that takes us behind the spray of a waterfall, and back to the cavern we first entered from the café above.

Me: So what was the point of that? We're right back where we started.

Caris: Does every journey have to have a point?

Me: Well...

Caris: You just took a ride that nobody else has taken before. Because it hadn't existed. What more point do you really need than that?

Me: I don't know. Substance maybe?

Caris: Substance is overrated. It's nice if you can work it in, but if waiting for it is keeping you from going on the ride in the first place then it becomes just another obstacle.

Me: So you're saying this is supposed to be fun?

Caris: I'm not saying that at all. YOU are.

I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with what this has been leading up to, but I don't really have time to complain about it as there is a violent crack in the ceiling overhead. Caris and I roll out of the way as Fred come crashing down through the rock. The patrons inside are as perplexed as one would be under the circumstances.

We cough at the onset of dust, and I don't have to remind Caris of what I'd said about the foundation earlier.

Caris: Oops?

Me: Well, reality beckons. You don't mind if I leave you to tie up the loose ends?

Caris: (giggling) You can leave. But I don't expect I'll be tying up many loose ends.

Me: I guess that's the way fiction goes.

I'm not sure if I've accomplished anything, or for that matter if I ever will (I also don't know what happened to my iced coffee, but I imagine it will eventually turn up). Still, I have posted 150 blogs to my site, and that's significantly more than I ever expected to. I have no idea where it's going, but maybe Caris is right. Maybe it doesn't have to have a point. Maybe it just needs to be something that hasn't existed before.

To the next one then.

Review of Ghostbusters: The Best of Slimes

My wife and I also have a video review of Ghostbusters. You can check it out here.

Let's talk Ghostbusters, a movie that ranks right alongside The Princess Bride in terms of quotability. The original film is an eighties icon, and I was certainly at the age (11 to be exact) where the theatrical release of it created a beautiful wave in my pop culture ocean and I got to surf that all the way back to shore (along with Pac-Man and Fraggle Rock).

For a few years I was all about the Ghostbusters. The premise worked all around. These weren't just characters in a nerd-movie, these were metaphors for the full extent of a nerd's personality (particularly in an age where nerds were still in danger of being beaten up on principle). Rick Moranis's Louis Tully was how I thought the world viewed me. Dan Aykroyd's Ray Stantz was the part of me that still believed in magic. Harold Ramis's Egon Spengler was my 'how does everything work' side taken to a heroic level. Bill Murray's Peter Venkman was my blossoming cynicism in a mutual challenge with the surrounding world's growing complexity. And Ernie Hudson's Winston Zeddemore (where the hell did they get these names?) was my voice of reason being called upon to shine under extraordinary circumstances.

Admittedly it was an all boys club. Annie Potts managed to cement her sassy secretary Janine Melnitz into the vernacular with only a few precious scenes, but it's ultimately Sigourney Weaver's Dana Barrett that provides any kind of female presence to the film. If you were my age, this was your introduction to Weaver (Alien wasn't a movie for an 11 year old). It's a fascinating casting choice in retrospect. On paper, Dana is your basic damsel in distress for Murray-o to rescue from Bowser the Bowserian (wow, I'm entirely too delighted by that sentence). In fact, if the studio had cast a generically Hollywood type actress in the role, you'd half expect her to squeal "Save me!" like Dragon's Lair's Princess Daphne. But Weaver is one of those performers who radiates strength.

Take the moment where she tells Peter that he makes her think of a game show host. It's a bizarre line, but Weaver sells it with such a Maggie Smith level of contempt that we feel Peter's hurt feelings. Hell, Bill Murray doesn't even have to do a damn thing in the scene, she's acting his emotions for him; she's that good. Dana looks like she could bite your face off before she gets possessed by Zuul, and when the ghosts get her, it honestly feels like the stakes have been raised.

So, yeah, Ghostbusters is awesome all around. Even the dated effects are just a time capsule of where visual magic has been. And everything from the proton packs to the Ecto-mobile are so memorable that the Universal theme parks were sending out the Ghostbusters well past the point of obscurity (pitting them against Beetlejuice at one point, which was a movie that desperately needed to happen).

With that much goodwill working in its favor, what the Wally Wick happened to the sequel? Well, a couple of things. One, Ghostbusters II was honestly unneeded. The studio wanted it, because a movie studio's goal is to make money not maintain dignity; and that's not a criticism, it's a simple reality. But the original movie felt like a complete story, and nobody in my circle was even asking for a continuation.

Secondly, there was the cartoon, which was for an age slightly younger than me. I didn't watch The Real Ghostbusters starring Arsenio Hall, but a lot of people did. And the sequel was for that audience, i.e. a kid's movie. Again, I understand the studio's line of thinking, but the result was along the lines of Superman III. It's smart to try to reach new demographics but it's usually not a good idea to piss off your core audience in the process.

Then there's Murray phoning it in, and Aykroyd and Ramis's script that seems to require excessive 'pushing it out of the mud', as opposed to the smooth ride of the original. It's not to say that there's nothing good about the movie. The courtroom scene is pretty memorable. And as riveting as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was, I happen to find the Statue of Liberty stroll through New York just a little cooler. But overall it contracts a severe case of sequelitis, it feels stale.

As it's been pointed out by someone more anonymous than me, the problem with a sequel is that a story typically conveys the single most important event in a character's life (or in this case, a unit of characters). Once that story is told, anything else is going to pale in comparison. Sure, there are examples of episodic stories like James Bond or Sherlock Holmes, but we're more interested in what those characters do than who they are. Ghostbusters is like a Marx Brothers movie. In every Marx Brothers movie, we start with a blank slate and each Brother has his own unique backstory, and by the end of it they've collectively become the Marx Brothers. You don't really care what happens to them after that final joke.

Now would it have been possible to do a more respectable sequel? Maybe. The notion of the Ghostbusters no longer being needed is an intriguing idea. What else are they qualified to do? It's not all that epic, but it's got some merit. There's also the issue of a perfectly reassembled cast. Why is Louis Tully back? Why is Dana being targeted a second time? Boy, that would have been an easy one to answer if this weren't a kid's movie. Dana and Louis had sex while they were both possessed in the first film. And you could ditch this whole Vigo the Carpathian crap.

But the main thing that needs to happen in a sequel is shining the spotlight on the secondary characters, in this case Winston and/or Janine. What if there's an effect in being around supernatural elements for a prolonged period that may not show up if you've spent years priming yourself to them (like the founding scientists) but start to manifest if you're a relative newcomer to the project (like the hired help)? That would have been a sequel hook that doesn't just rehash the original beats.

So that brings us to the infamous reboot that everyone decided months ago they were going to hate. I confess I was disinterested in seeing it, mainly because Dan Aykroyd had been insisting for over a decade that Ghostbusters III was happening and my response was always "Why?". Murray made it clear he was as on board with it as Sony was with The Amazing Spiderman 3, and of course Ramis moved on in the most extreme manner, so the follow-up entry to a sequel that nobody wanted was dead and buried and the epitaph read "Were we seriously still talking about this?"

But Hollywood is a persistent bastard, and it lives by the "bad press is good press" motto. Hence the announcement of the all-female cast reboot just daring everyone from purists to chauvinists to buy a ticket so they can have something to rant about. And the early complaints are pretty easy to compile into three categories, as follows.

One, it's the exact same characters just gender swapped. No it isn't. There's not the Winston and there's not the Venkman and there's not the Janine of this movie so much as there's just a fairly symmetric roll call quantity. In fact, one of the things that stands out about the reboot is just how different of a flavor the core cast gives off. The original characters were iconic, but did you ever notice that they didn't have much depth? They certainly didn't need it, just like the Marx Brothers weren't multidimensional characters, they were just a force of nature. The ladies here have layers and backstories, some only hinted at but they're designed for a longer haul than their male counterparts ever were, and it was a smart move.

Two, the special effects are bad. No they aren't. They're Ghostbusters effects. They're meant to be colorful, and soft, and round. You're supposed to simultaneously feel like you want to burn the ghosts and cuddle with them, and the movie gives you that. There's a really nice sequence towards the end where the movie doles out the action figures en masse, subtly pointing out how easy the boys of the eighties really had it.

Three, the movie isn't as funny as the original. Well, no shit, because nothing is going to be as funny as the film that gave us the lines "What about the Twinkie?" and "When someone asks you if you're a god, you say YES!". Fortunately the reboot doesn't try to top the original on this point, or even match it. Instead, it goes for a more coherent story line (that doesn't tack on Gozer in the third act) and finds the humorous beats where they work. The movie does have many laugh out loud moments, several small chuckle moments, quite a few smile to yourself bits, and ultimately nothing that straight out falls flat (except for a couple of early lowbrow shots). That's a pretty damn good batting average for a comedy.

The movie may have one of the strongest ensemble casts in recent memory. Pick a performer from any scene (Zach Woods, Karan Soni, Michael McDonald, Cecily Strong), you're only scratching the surface of what they have to offer future projects. In particular, be on the lookout for more of newcomer Neil Casey, who bears more than a passing resemblance to a young John Belushi. His villainous Rowan North is dynamic enough that your mind inserts the actor into scenes where the character was being played by Chris Hemsworth or the Ghostbusters logo.

But really the important thing is the core cast, and I'm happy to say they work really well together. It may not be the strongest chemistry, at least at this point, but it's there. And assuming Sony really does have their sights set on a trilogy, this is a positive aspect. The original team came together and peaked in the first film, which is why they really had nowhere to go after that. The ladies of this film are in the early stages of team development, and all signs point to things getting even better. Chris Hemsworth plays an out of work actor who never really seems to know what situation he's in, and as such he gets the bulk of the scripted jokes. It's an excellent counter-use of the guy who convinced us he was Thor.

The movie struggles a bit with Leslie Jones's Patty Tolan, but fortunately she manages to claim enough of the spotlight to be more than just the fourth Ghostbuster. Her rationale for joining the team is clear and human; she's a warm person who desperately wants to be part of something bigger than her. Patty befriends the other women almost instantly with an impressive selflessness. For her crowning moment of awesome, watch her hanging on to Kate McKinnon's Jill Holtzmann with one hand while fending off an attack from a possessed Abby Yates (Melissa McCarthy), and winning.

The heart of the story is the friendship between Abby and Erin, (Kristen Wiig), who bonded as kids over ghosts but had a painful separation over real life. The supernatural reunites them, and the emotions underlying their characters are prevalent without ever taking over the story. That's a hard balance to strike, but the actresses and director Paul Feig clearly know what they're doing.

But Kate McKinnon is the breakout performer. She's electrifying on screen in every shot she's in. Unlike McCarthy and Wiig who have already proven themselves capable of handling film presence and acting, McKinnon is right on that cusp of "where do I go after Saturday Night Live?" It's fascinating to watch her test the water, and while the script never requires her to go outside of her actress's comfort zone it does give her ample opportunity to just play with nuance on a large scale. I expect we're going to see a lot of wonderful things from her.

In the end, Ghostbusters 2016 is about supportiveness. There's things about the world that suck, but our greatest asset is each other, combined with trust and hope. The movie is a hell of a lot better than the naysayers are preemptively claiming it is, and I'm totally behind the franchise. If it winds up falling apart now it won't be because of the studio, the cast or the director. It will be because of the audience simply refusing to say yes.

Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Ten -Fire and Ice

Click here for the table of contents.

Present Day

A stroll through daylight made Maleficent uncomfortable, but the journey demanded it. From a distance, the large rock before her appeared to be a mountain, but she knew otherwise. It was nothing more than a massive rock, disguised to be something it was not.

At the base of the structure resided the skeletal remains of what must have been a magnificent beast; jaws long enough to swallow a man whole. She imagined at its full height, the creature would have met a third floor balcony at eye level. Now this titan of yore was reduced to little more than a skull and ribs embedded in the stone. Rest well noble being, she thought.

A crow's glide to the right stood the man of the vines; Tarzan, if she recalled correctly. He stood guard at one of the many cavern entrances, which made Maleficent's search significantly simpler. He clearly sensed her presence, but couldn't see her. No need for dramatics. She drifted behind him and filled his mind with the weight of fatigue. "Sleep now," she whispered, and Tarzan was no longer on guard.

The darkness of the cave invigorated Maleficent. A colony of bats hung from the ceiling above her, their glowing red eyes taken to fascination with her entrance. She smiled as she maneuvered past them. The area beyond was much larger, dotted with stalactites that dripped an unknown source into small pools below. Each droplet hit the surface with a ripple that hummed, like a pilgrim in meditation, and a circular rainbow waved out to the edges. The very rocks gave off a low glow that Maleficent had not witnessed before. There was magic in these caverns. And more.

Elsa was easy to find as the magic within her gave her an aura of luminescence. She sat next to one of the pools, scooping up a handful of the water and pouring it into the wound in her side. When it touched her skin Elsa stiffened as if it was burning her, but she kept herself from making a sound. Self control, thought Maleficent. So much wasted potential.

Elsa felt that she wasn't alone and pushed herself to her feet. "Who's there?" she whispered.

Maleficent brought herself into the light. Elsa stumbled backwards creating a glowing ball of frost in her hand. "Don't insult me," Maleficent scolded her. "If I meant to bring harm to you I would have already done so."

"What have you done with Tarzan?"

"Your friend will awaken when I allow it." Maleficent glided across the cave floor, stopping in front of Elsa, who had yet to relinquish her magical projectile. A green flare appeared where the ball was, causing it to melt in the Queen's hand. "It is you I will speak with, Elsa of Arendelle."

"You know me?"

"I do," evil's mistress eyed her suspiciously. "Do you know me as well?"

Elsa shook her head. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"You have yourself at a disadvantage. So much power within you and all you can think to do is repress it." She pushed past Elsa towards the spray of an indoor waterfall. "I am Maleficent. And like you and your-" she ground her teeth before saying the next word, "-kind...I am a prisoner in this place."

"We're all trying to figure out why we're here."

"Yes," Maleficent smiled an unsettling smile. "But one of you isn't forthcoming about what they know. Or haven't you noticed?"

Elsa gave her a puzzled stare. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then allow me to illuminate you." Maleficent waved her hand in front of the sheet of water that poured from the ceiling. "Would you be so kind?"

It took Elsa a moment to figure out what Maleficent was asking her to do, and another to agree to it, but with the command of a conductor Elsa solidified the curtain into a beautiful smooth screen of ice. Maleficent twirled her fingers around the top of her staff and images of Kronk, Jasmine, and the rest projected where the waterfall had just been; snippets of conversations resonated through the crystalline sheet. Tarzan and Bagheera's fight, the Yeti attack, the strange silhouette that emerged from the brush; Maleficent wasn't just showing her these things as a random display. She'd been watching them. And she was flaunting it.

Maleficent smirked as the memory she'd selected for Elsa appeared; the moment Tarzan had taken Elsa's hand and she'd blasted him with her magic. And run from him, repeating the words "This was such a bad idea." The image faded but the words 'bad idea' continued to echo through the cavern, a deliberate flourish from the dark fairy.

"You know," she feigned an interest in her own fingernails, "if one were to...imprison...a collective ensemble in an artificial setting, for whatever reason, one would most likely want a pair of eyes from within. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Elsa of Arendelle?"

Elsa leaned away from Maleficent. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"I'm only going to ask this politely one time. Perhaps you'll be the first to refrain from making yourself a fool." Maleficent inhaled deeply. "What," she said, "was a bad idea?"

Elsa stared at her. She didn't want a fight, but somehow she felt her answer was not going to appease Maleficent. "I chose this."

"What do you mean, you chose this?"

"I don't know." Elsa could feel the furnace in Maleficent's eyes flaring, but she held her ground. "I'm telling you the truth," she insisted. "I can't remember anything, except I just...know."

"Then let's start with that," Maleficent huffed. "You chose this, because?"

"Because my sister encouraged it. She wanted me to-" Elsa trailed off as her mind beyond that point was a complete blank.

"What would your sister most likely be encouraging you to do?"

"Anna thinks I need...people...friends."

"Foolish girl," Maleficent sneered.

"Watch it!" Elsa snapped. "That's my sister you're talking about."

"No, I was talking about you. For listening to her."

"Excuse me?" Elsa had been more than intimidated by her visitor up until that point, but now she felt an unnoticed seed of courage blossoming. "Maleficent, is it? I don't know what your station is, but be aware that you are speaking to the Queen of Arendelle."

"Really? Is that who I'm speaking to?" Maleficent's featured softened into an uncharacteristic smile that slowly transformed into laughter.

"You think I'm lying?"

"No." Maleficent was laughing harder now. "I believe you."

"Then why is that funny?"

"It's not," the laughter was turning into a cackle now. "What is funny is 'Princess' Jasmine so eloquently flaunting her rank over 'Judge' Claude Frollo while the Queen of Arendelle kept that tidbit of information to herself."

Elsa grumbled. "You've been studying us."

"Yes I have, Queen Elsa, and you have just become significantly more interesting."

"Well, if you're this entertained why don't you tell me what you've figured out?"

"Agreed." Maleficent composed herself. "We both accept that this place is a construct and at least one of us is here by choice. But you see, I have no memory of choosing to be here. Or not choosing. I'm as blind as your minions."

"Friends," Elsa corrected her.

"Whatever you call them. The question is, why would you be granted an added memory?"

Elsa thought carefully. "To keep me from panicking. From doing something that would hurt someone."

"So that suggests there is a non-malevolent intention behind this realm." Maleficent turned her attention away from Elsa and began pacing. "We may be part of a collection."

"If that were true, I would never have chosen to be a part of it."

"And you think you're incapable of being lied to?"

"Of course I can be lied to. But if my sister encouraged this it's because she thought it would be an opportunity."

Maleficent glowered. "That's a blind leap of optimism."

"Well it feels right to me," said Elsa, throwing herself by the phrase that she'd never uttered before.

"Then if feelings are what the Queen of Arendelle is looking to for authority, how do they explain an opportunity that feels like an elaborate prison."

"Something's gone wrong," she answered. "Terribly wrong."

As if it had been waiting for its cue, a rumble could be felt throughout the floor of the cave which took Elsa's footing away from her. Back at the entrance the bats abandoned their base and took to the outdoors.

"What was that?" cried Elsa.

Maleficent gave her a smug glance. "That seems to be a chance to test your theory."

The rock shifted more violently as Elsa had to hug a stalagmite to regain her feet. One of the more medium sized rocks from overhead dislodged, landing in the pool next to her and splashing all over the area. Whatever had been causing the luminescence in the cave was fading now. Elsa looked back at where Maleficent had just been standing, but the mistress of evil had left her behind. She ran.

The cave was getting darker now, and her shoulder scraped against the wall. Something next to her caught her dress and Elsa tumbled forward, smacking hard against the floor. A few feet ahead of where she'd sprawled came a massive bang that sounded like thunder in her ears. She had no idea what part of the cave had fallen from the ceiling, but the snagging of her dress may have just saved her life.

Instinct told her she wasn't getting out this way anymore. Elsa tore her dress from the snare and scurried back in the direction she'd come. The floor had subsided to a mere vibration but pieces of the structure were still coming loose. She ran up the slope as best as she could make it out, muttering to herself "Please don't be a dead end. Or a yeti."

The cave opened up into a flat area with sunlight poking through the cracks. Elsa still couldn't see an immediate way out, but the rays were at least a hopeful sign. The final sounds of rocks being dislodged were well behind her, and she took a moment to rest.

She tried to catch her breath, but as soon as she inhaled Elsa started coughing. The air in this area had the taste of ash. She pushed on, concerned that something may have happened there.

A welcomed opening to the outside came into view, but by then the ash was infecting her eyes causing tears to swell up. She steadied herself against the inner wall, but jerked her hand back when the touch felt like it would burn her skin.

"Ouch!" She blinked rapidly, trying to focus her vision on the place she had just touched. Was this some sort of volcano?

No, it wasn't. Although it took her a moment to comprehend that. At first she thought something had opened up, like a door; a round door, leading down a tunnel of red. She was wrong. It was an eye. Larger than Elsa. And she would soon learn that it belonged to a creature that had either sprang from or was made out of the magma of the earth itself.

And it had fixated on her.

Maleficent had been premature in calling Elsa's logic a blind leap of optimism. For as she dove through the mouth of the cave and into a free fall with the firebird pursuing her, this would be the most literal representation of those words.

Continue to Chapter Eleven
Return to the table of contents.

Editorial: Roxette's Joyride

Why Roxette? Because it's my damned blog and I can write about whatever I want, and this week I want to write about Roxette.

I don't know who all reads these blogs, but I imagine on average you know the band Roxette from their monster hits in the late eighties and early nineties. You might not be aware that they're still putting out albums as recently as this year (2016 CE for any digitally fluent alien archeologists, and welcome to what's left of the earth by the way). Likewise, unless you're a huge fan who has shelled out the extra money for quite a few European import CD's, it may not occur to you that there's anything special to distinguish Roxette from any other pop duo (although rumor has it if you're European, Roxette is on par with the Beatles).

Well, come on, join the joyride. Get your tickets here. Let's take a quick look at the catalog to see what the fuss is all about. Step right this way...

Getting Dressed For Success -Songs of Innocence

There's some music history here but that's what Wikipedia is for. You really need to know singer/guitarist/multiple language songwriter Per Gessle as the male half of the duo and lead singer Marie Fredriksson as the female half; and it's also worth giving credit to longtime producer Clarence Öfwerman.

Per and Marie came into the music scene separately and had established their own careers, but fate naturally intertwined them on enough occasions that it only made sense to give a team-up album a whirl. And thus came the debut of Pearls of Passion.

As an album, Pearls is very...sugary. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but when you hear the opening sleigh bell bounciness that sets the tempo for the first track you can expect to get quite a bit more of that from the later songs. I'm not going to do a full album explication, just hit the highlights.

Soul Deep -Marie demonstrates how she can (and will) sing the hell out of anything in this classic track that is beloved by everyone but me. Think of bubblegum pop. Now take out the bubblegum and replace it with sno-caps. Add syrup and a couple of gummi bears and keep the Tylenol handy. We're going to need it. Really this song just shows off Marie's voice.

Secrets That She Keeps -We're still in Candyland, I guess a few spaces away from Molasses Swamp considering the painful subject material, and yet we're still bouncing around in this major key. This is the first Per/Marie duet, and the interesting thing is it establishes the nature of their relationship. Throughout all of their duets, they never seem to be singing to each other. It comes across more as the anima/animus of the same entity, and I think this may be the key to what makes Roxette work. Per and Marie have more of a brother/sister relationship than a romantic one, and as such that grants them a freedom to go into some untapped song territories.

Goodbye To You -Ye gods, another bouncy one. This has got to be the peppiest breakup song in the history of the subgenre. I'm going to need that Tylenol now.

I Call Your Name -Okay, the music finally woke up. Knowing Roxette the way I do, this is the first song that actually feels like Roxette. The mood here is a painful distance. Marie's emotional range is in full force and Per comes in as a supportive role. This is a good taste of what's to come.

Call of the Wild -This song is a rarity, in that it's a love ballad where Per takes point and Marie is in the supporting role. Per has a nice voice. He may not have Marie's versatility or power, but he's no slouch when it comes to conveying emotion. Subtlety is his strength, and it works here flawlessly.

Joy of a Toy -Oh yeah. This is one of the few times Marie is allowed a little venom in her bite and it's a sweet wound indeed. This song is great (and danceable) on its own, but it gets a whole new layer on the Dance Passion remix. Best of luck tracking down a copy though.

So Far Away -Roxette is essentially discovering itself on this first album, but it's in this final track that the identity comes forth in full force. Any pain on the album prior to this track tends to fall into the realm of discomfort. This song is about genuine hurting, and Marie absolutely breaks your heart with her vocalization. Every Roxette album ends on a ballad, with varying degrees of success. But Pearls comes dangerously close to setting the bar too high.

The bottom line: Roxette is a child on this album, and prone to the spectrum of emotions associated therein. That final track contains the first real heartbreak that reality-slaps one into adolescence, and the music will invariably evolve accordingly. So, do we know exactly what Roxette is at this point? Maybe, but let's keep going for now.

Opportunity Nox -Songs of Achievement

You probably know this era already. The first nine notes of Listen to Your Heart scream "I will not be ignored" louder than any song in history, save for Beethoven's Da-da-da-DUM. Roxette came to the United States partially by accident and exploded internationally. Look Sharp was the album that introduced most Americans to the realization that Sweden didn't stop recording after ABBA split up. Two years later came the spiritual successor Joyride, and the six words "Hello you fool I love you" that will be in everyone's heads until we die.

Riding on the same wave were a couple of power ballads that never quite made it to an official album but transcended a few movie soundtracks. Perhaps you've heard of the critically acclaimed and unquestionably triumphant video game-to-screen adaptation called Super Mario Brothers, as well as the much more obscure and overlooked Julia Roberts rom com whose name escapes me at the moment (there was like a prostitute and three thousand dollars or something. I don't think anybody I know saw it).

There are so many highlights from this period; just a few that are at least worth a name mention are Dance Away, Chances, Dangerous, Hotblooded, Fading Like a Flower, Knockin' On Every Door, (Do You Get) Excited?, Small Talk, and Things Will Never Be the Same. Roxette was in its young adulthood where it could eat whatever it wanted, stay up until five in the morning, and go drinking on weeknights. And there was plenty of time to unearth the diamonds and sapphires that people would be polishing off for decades to come. And here they are.

The Look -Do you know what this song is about? No? Apparently neither does Per. Whatever the titular 'look' is that the eponymous 'she' has, it's apparently a pretty big deal. Anthem-worthy in fact. Basically, this song rocks in the purest sense. I don't know who 'she' is, or what the 'look' signifies, but I can't make it through this song without feeling happy for her. Damn. I wish I had the 'look'.

Dressed for Success -I can't deny this is another song that instantly got into my head and stayed there, although this one was actually unwanted. I know a lot of people who ADORE this song, but for me it feels like a throwback to the shallow end of the pool, kind of the Pearls of Passion dessert buffet but clearly sounding like Roxette now.

Cry -Now THIS is a breakup song! Thank you Marie. You guided me through several dark moments. If you've ever experienced falling for someone who proved unworthy of your tears (but was going to get them anyway) then I say take a gander at this one. Funny thing is, this song should have been the standout power ballad of Look Sharp, and I imagine if it had been on any other album it would have.

Listen to Your Heart -And that would be why Cry gets partitioned to the back row. Well, life's not fair, is it? You wouldn't be here if you didn't already know this song, so let's talk about why it works. Take a relationship at a crossroads. Stay together because of how much love there is, or break up because...we don't really know, something externally has affected it. If you present that conflict from the decider's point of view it comes across as unsympathetic, at least in song form. We only have this one moment to get a sense of the bigger picture, and the decider would seem indecisive. Now if we tell it from the decidee's viewpoint, it creates a sense of helplessness; waiting on the jury, so to speak. But Listen to Your Heart wisely takes the third option, with Marie as an observant third party. It can be assumed she's so emotionally invested in the outcome because she sees the big picture, and most likely can anticipate the fallout from the wrong choice. That's why this song is so powerful, and kind of unique. Because it's about pleading with someone to make the right decision purely because you care about them.

Joyride -Like The Look, this is a word salad song that probably doesn't mean anything. There's another 'she' and 'she' evidently makes the world a lot cooler just by existing in it. But 'she' is also willing to tell all her secrets in a wonderful balloon and invite you to join the joyride, so that's delightful. Maybe 'she' will loan me the 'look' for the weekend.

Spending My Time -This has always felt like the direct follow up to Listen to Your Heart except Marie has switched roles to the decider, who has made the wrong choice and regretted it. The music does something really interesting at the end that Per has said was a mistake (and I totally disagree). Marie is singing her heart out in a near breakdown, but suddenly the music goes from a minor to a major key, almost sounding happy. To me, it comes across as if the world has stopped indulging her regret and is moving on without her. And it adds in an awesome third movement that I wish more Roxette songs had.

It Must Have Been Love -Now we're on the soundtracks, and I honestly don't have much to say about this one except that piano chord during the bridge gives me chills.

Almost Unreal -Why, WHY, WHY was this song wasted on Super Mario Brothers? Don't ask questions, just go listen to it right now. I'll even give you the link. Two things. First, listen to the way Marie sings "You give me that look". The first two times it goes up like a question. But after the bridge, it comes down like a statement. That's the moment where all of the repressed emotions in the song crack through the defenses and come pouring through. Brava, Marie. Second, this was the song my wife and I danced to at our wedding reception. I also serenaded her with it one night a karaoke. She has graciously accepted it as 'our song'. I love you honey. And it's true, you give me that look; it's almost unreal.

Hello. Goodbye. -Songs of Transience

I've never been part of a successful rock band, or an unsuccessful one now that I think about it (my attempts to get The Spyres off the ground ended when I realized I didn't want to learn how to play an instrument). But I imagine the experience of touring is like being inside a bubble made out of tour buses, where the world outside is a homogenized blur while the confines inside become a boiling kettle of energy (for better or worse).

Roxette's next album, named Tourism, was recorded during their Join the Joyride tour and contains a handful of live performances, some unplugged covers, and a couple of fully realized tracks thrown in for good measure. Overall, Tourism is a softer album, and it effectively captures the sense that the young adult ember is fading like a flower in favor of a late twenties 'where do I belong?' vibe.

The next studio album, Crash! Boom! Bang!, continues this feel with pessimism seeping through the cracks. Take the song Vulnerable as an example. On Pearls of Passion, vulnerability would have been the holy grail of subject matter; here it's more of an inconvenience.

Now let me be clear: both of these albums are fantastic, and Crash! Boom! Bang! might actually be the band's best album in terms of consistency from track 1 to track 15. It's just that Roxette is having to grow up, and that period where adult responsibility sets in is not a fun one.

I'll start with Crash! Boom! Bang! because it's a lot harder to single anything out. Intentional or not, when you listen to this album from start to finish it feels like you've gone from the excitement of a new relationship, to the inevitable difficulties of maintenance, to the bitter breakup, and finally to the period of moving on. But here are my anecdotes:

Crash! Boom! Bang! -Two surprises. One, the song is in 3/4 time. Two, for a title with three exclamation points, this song is pretty subdued.

Fireworks -Reversing the mood shift from Spending My Time, the music takes an unexpectedly sad turn at the end not reflected in the lyrics.

Sleeping in My Car -A pretty straightforward pop track, but it's got one really sexy drum beat!

The First Girl on the Moon -This is either an inspiring song or a sad one, depending on which character you attach to. One goes off on an adventure, one stays behind. And not to give away which one I associate with, but damn you Marie and your golden voice!

Love is All (Shine Your Light on Me) -Roxette may not explicitly mention God until 2012's Traveling, but I find it's almost impossible to not interpret their songs through a spiritual filter. This one has all the indicators of a secular-sacred hymn.

How Do You Do! -The flagship track off of Tourism, and the only upbeat pop song that sits nicely next to songs like The Look. I don't really understand the exclamation point in the title but Per and Marie have mastered the tag-team by now.

The Heart Shaped Sea -This is one of Roxette's most painful songs, and it had to have been performed by Per instead of Marie. In context we have the singer who realizes his relationship is over because his lover is in love with someone else. For whatever reason, it's not just on him to let go. He has to actually encourage her to leave him. Per nails the precise emotion the song requires. At this moment he's not angry or sad, he's just defeated.

The Rain -A couple of images keep popping up in the lyrics. Stars are one, and rain is another. Off the top of my head I can think of four Roxette songs with 'rain' in the title. This one is probably Marie's answer to The Heart Shaped Sea, where she's reflecting on the moments she's chosen to not be happy. You don't hear that topic covered too much in music.

Queen of Rain -Yep. Two on the same album. It's almost like we've got a narrative going. Speaking as someone who deals with depression, the recurring line "Dream about the sun, you queen of rain" always manages to stroke a pretty well guarded nerve.

Sometimes You Don't Decide For Yourself -Songs of Wisdom

Any living entity, from the Muppets to Monty Python, is going to have its proverbial golden age where the tapering off period is still very high quality, but there's a sense that the party might be winding down. For Roxette, the near back-to-back releases of Have a Nice Day and Room Service marks this transition.

Taken on their own, either one of these albums is great and contain some of the band's best work. But by comparison to the earlier albums neither one seems to gel as a whole, with songs about specific characters like Cooper and Jefferson standing out as disjointed. Also gone by now are the power ballads that close out the albums, opting for a bit more of a receding tide farewell.

But there is still a general mood that pervades these later albums, namely a subtle awareness of mortality and a warm acceptance of the inevitable. Roxette is beyond the point of needing to understand its emotions, and has grown quite adept at embracing them in all of their complexity. Tracks seven through ten on Have a Nice Day particularly encapsulate the full roller coaster of emotions in an unofficial suite.

7Twenty7 -There's a real anger at work here as Per takes on the guise of someone who didn't hold on to someone he should have. He can only watch her plane disappear into the sky, and scold himself. The anger is a controlled one, but the hard driving beat signifies the self loathing just under the surface.

I Was So Lucky -Evidently Per wrote this song as a reflection on the birth of his son, but the lyrics are general enough to apply to any situation. This song represents elation in its most unblemished-by-cynicism form. The rolling saxophone calls to mind a moonlight swim, where the mood is so deep that one feels weightless. And Marie flawlessly conveys joy to the point of tears. Although hold your breath as that final note fades, because you're in for one big freaking mood whiplash.

Stars -Those aren't tears of joy anymore. That's a wailing of loss. It's fascinating how a line like "Knowing all I know, that's where I'll meet you" can take on two simultaneous meanings when sung by both Marie and a children's chorus. Stars is my favorite song, not just by Roxette, ever.

Salvation -Closing out the quadrilogy is the song of transcendence, possibly continuing the theme from Love is All. Among the many things I will likely never accomplish is an art film arranging a majority of Roxette's music into a single narrative called "Flowers on the Moon", a name taken from this song. And it's at this point I should mention what I think Roxette is. It's a band about connections. Every song seems to be about the beauty of connecting two unexpected elements (like Per and Marie), or the struggle of disconnecting them. As such, the band's body of work naturally lends itself to finding (presumably unintentional) connections across albums, rain, stars, cars, calling someone's name, etc. And I find it kind of magical finding those little winks here and there.

...You Make it Rock So Heavenly

I know I'm glossing over the Room Service album, unfairly so as there are some real gems on it; Real Sugar, Try (Just a Little Bit Harder), Fool. I'm also incline to stop the narrative here as there was a clear cutoff point in the band's history, a ten year hiatus to be exact, owing in no small part to Marie's health issues. In fact it's actually quite miraculous that we've gotten any new albums, much less three. And for the record, Way Out, No One Makes it On Her Own, and Touched By the Hand of God could mop the floor with the current music scene. But as with everything that exists in reality, things will never be the same.

There's no way to predict the future of Roxette, and frankly every album since Tourism has sounded like a farewell. But the point is, it has been (and for whatever length is left, will be) a joyride. Thank you guys for all of your emotions, and melodies, and dance beats. No one I know will ever keep up with you.