It's almost impossible to bring this topic up without mentioning Roger Ebert, since he was a film critic with enough skill and talent to influence the very nature of written criticism. But as we all know, he made the infamous comment that video games could never be art, and then later revised the statement to mean they could never be 'high art', whatever that is.
The bottom line is, nobody can really nail down a concrete definition for what is and isn't art. And since the subject is so inherently ambiguous, we may find it easier to wrap our heads around it by denying entry into the clubhouse for the newest media. Television got picked on for decades. Before that, the film industry itself was considered a vulgar alternative to literature. Then of course there's the famous quote inspired by the invention of photography (usually attributed to French artist Paul Delaroche) "At this moment, painting is dead." And while this remains unconfirmed, new evidence suggests that Neanderthal Ned got death threats from the Rock Banger's Association for drawing stick figures on the wall.
But let's face it. Art isn't dead. It never will be. If you subscribe only to the rules of nature, art had no business existing in the first place, but damn it, it came! What is it's purpose? I don't really know. Maybe art is its own entity with its own purpose and has no need to share it with us. All I know is, humanity has an inner compulsion to create; sometimes shallowly and sometimes with depth. Sometimes clever and sometimes basic. And while it's possible (and likely) there are many things called art that actually aren't, devised by people credited as artists who are actually narcissists (those two things are incompatible), I don't believe there exists an argument capable of dismissing an entire media form as art on any level. Anything can become an art form if enough people do it poorly.
So that brings me to www.jayisgames.com (at least in my own thought processes). I discovered the site in 2008 and fell in love with the room escapes I could play in my browser. The site was updated pretty regularly with new games from independent developers pouring their time, skill and energy into a product and receiving (what I imagine) nothing in terms of financial compensation. Perhaps just the pleasure of knowing that someone out there is experiencing their work and loving it.
Jayisgames became a sort of virtual museum to showcase gamer exhibits. And while most of the games were standard throwbacks to Atari/C64 type graphics and gameplay, every once in a while a game would come along and say something to me, by challenging a gamer trope or doing something unique with the concepts.
Now that the site is officially no longer updating, I'm guessing soon we'll see broken links and content loss, and eventually the site will shut down entirely. It makes me sad. I've grown attached. But while the site is still functioning properly I want to encourage everyone who stumbles onto my blog to pay the site a visit. There is a LOT to do there.
With that said, here are a few of my personal favorites, each with a certain artistic quality that I'm happy to point out.
6 Differences
Surely you're familiar with the spot-the-difference-between-pictures concept. Take that and add a little movement and you've got this game in a nutshell. But it really begins to shine with the use of music and the careful ordering of the images. You feel like you're going through a night's journey awake and asleep at the same time. A man relaxes in a park with a McDonald's in the distance. Late night traffic creates a sound similar to the ocean waves. Streetlights seem to run at a slower pace. Then the images begin to take a surreal turn. Dreamlike. Maybe even a tad nightmarish. But only for a little while. And then the city starts to wake up again before the sun is anywhere in sight. It's a simple game that makes you earn your serenity.
Air Pressure
Hoo boy, what can I say about this one without spoiling it? This is what's called a visual novel, akin to a choose-your-own-adventure story. The 'novel' is short, but it gives you the exact flavor you need. Your character seems to be in a relationship with a girl, that might have run its course. But depending on your choices, you can receive the sucker punch ending that reveals the game is only presenting a metaphor for something significantly heavier. Mature audiences recommended.
ASCIIvania
This is a short puzzle/platformer but it really hits the sweet spot. Our alphabet has an inherent beauty to it, something I take for granted as I keep mindlessly hitting these keyboard keys. The goal here is to collect the entire alphabet by navigating a cave-like system where words tend to get in the way. The place has a gentle personality to it, and perhaps a subtle hierarchy of which letters tend to be treated as more valuable. ASCIIvania 2 would be greatly appreciated.
The Asylum
Is there a point where a game becomes so much of an interactive story that it ceases to be a game? I would argue no but I tend to lose arguments, so instead I'll say 'Oh, shut up.' This experience could only have been told as a game. If Toy Story convinced us all that our toys had feelings, then this gem demonstrates what happens when those feelings develop into full blown mental health issues. A group of stuffed animals are in a psychiatric ward, each with their own unique pain. The concept requires a certain suspension of disbelief, but the seriousness with which the game takes each creature's therapy is truly inspired. If you have any sense of empathy, the turtle is going to make you cry.
DROD: King Dugan's Dungeon Lite
This is a top-down dungeon crawl and probably the most standard game on this list. But artistry presents itself in a plethora of avenues. The brilliance of this game series lies in its mathematical layout. There is no randomness in the 'Deadly Rooms of Death', every step you take is a cause and effect relationship with the creatures sent to kill (or run from) you. Try the game, and pay attention to how MUCH time you spend figuring out each room. Then imagine if this game you're playing for free had come out on the SNES, and what kind of impact it might have had on Nintendo's other franchises. Despite the limited graphics and dialogue, Beethro may actually be the most likable barbarian in gaming history.
Grace's Diary
This is similar to Air Pressure, but a bit more realistic, and fortunately I can tell you exactly what it's about. Teenaged Grace has a good friend Natalie, who is in an abusive relationship. Grace is about to call her to express her concerns, but first she has to collect her thoughts; hence the visual novel's gameplay. You'll spend about five to ten minutes on this, but it's a poignant journey. The game is sponsored by Jennifer Ann's Group, a charity based out of Atlanta, Georgia for the prevention of teen dating violence. It concisely presents many of the warning signs of abuse, as well as touching on the importance of how one approaches the subject with a friend. This is a wonderful example of how a video game can have a real world positive effect.
Ode to Pixel Days
A bit lighter, but not quite pure clean fun, this semi-platformer challenges the subtext that so many platformers take for granted. Namely, if you jump through enough hoops, you're entitled to the girl-prize. Are Mario-type games harmful in this regard? Do they teach male gamers to think in terms of 'winning' that girl as a trophy? I don't know. I think that problem existed long before games hit the market, but the mentality is certainly an issue. It would be nice to see the videogame industry demonstrate an openness to at least discuss the topic. But for now, check out this entertaining diversion that could easily have been called "Dude, she's just not into you!"
Silent Conversation
Ok, this is the one. When I first started working on this blog, this game was the first thing that popped into my head. It's a platformer. About. Reading. A silent conversation is what we're having right now. By the time you read this, I will have long since finished the blog and posted it. You read the words, maybe hear a voice in your head; mine, yours, Katherine Kellgren's (Why not? She's an Audie Award winner), and have some sort of analytical reaction to it. The conversation may only flow in one direction (you could always start leaving me some damn comments) but it is a conversation nonetheless. In this game, your cursor is the capital I. Your 'I' wanders through narratives (poems, stories, the first chapter of Alice in Wonderland) and touches each word causing it to light up. At the end of the passage you get a score.
What sets this apart is the creative uses of the texts. For example, Alice in Wonderland's chapter opens up into the rabbit hole for your 'I' to fall down. The e.e. cummings poem is naturally all over the place. But "The Nameless City" by H. P. Lovecraft is where the potential for this method of storytelling becomes fully realized. And if nothing else, it's a game that gets people reading.
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Table of Contents Page for My Multi-Chapter Stories
As you may have surmised from the title, this is the table of contents page for my multi-chapter stories, ultimately for the sake of convenient navigation.
Scooby-Doo's Unsolved Mystery
An unnamed journalist (also gender non-specific, clever me) has a chance encounter with Shaggy Rogers some time after Mystery Inc. has disbanded. The conversation reveals a curious blemish on the gang's track record, and the journalist becomes intrigued enough to re-open the investigation. I'm quite proud of this story for a few reasons. First and definitely foremost, I feel the mystery works, and that's been an ongoing struggle for me in the past. Second, I feel like I successfully got inside the heads of each character and got their beats and mannerisms down without turning them into caricatures. And finally, I maintain that the best Scooby-Doo stories are the ones that remember to give Daphne something vital to do plot-wise. You can probably guess from the chapter titles that was an important element to me.
Chasing the Rabbit
This is my epic Disney fan-fiction (in progress) which I've had rattling around in my head for well over a decade now. I never thought to try writing it down until I started publishing on fanfiction.net, but when I learned that the site came with a built in audience I couldn't resist. The story: several famous Disney characters from different stories are waking up in an unfamiliar jungle with limited memories of who they are and no idea why they are there. As one mystery unravels, a larger one takes its place.
Chapter Four: The Eye in the Sky
Chapter Five: Trouble Shared and Joy Divided
Chapter Six: Left in the Dark
Chapter Seven: One Step at a Time
Chapter Eight: VIP Treatment
Chapter Nine: An Outside Perspective
Chapter Ten: Fire and Ice
Chapter Eleven: A Rude Awakening
Chapter Twelve: Bugs in the System
Chapter Thirteen: The Unlucky Rabbit
Chapter Fourteen: Bullying a Dragon
Chapter Fifteen: Running Aground
Chapter Sixteen: Through the Looking Glass
Chapter Seventeen: One Little Spark
Chapter Eighteen: Firewalls and Blindspots
Chapter Nineteen: A Cold Welcome
Chapter Twenty: Cat and Mouse
Chapter Five: Trouble Shared and Joy Divided
Chapter Six: Left in the Dark
Chapter Seven: One Step at a Time
Chapter Eight: VIP Treatment
Chapter Nine: An Outside Perspective
Chapter Ten: Fire and Ice
Chapter Eleven: A Rude Awakening
Chapter Twelve: Bugs in the System
Chapter Thirteen: The Unlucky Rabbit
Chapter Fourteen: Bullying a Dragon
Chapter Fifteen: Running Aground
Chapter Sixteen: Through the Looking Glass
Chapter Seventeen: One Little Spark
Chapter Eighteen: Firewalls and Blindspots
Chapter Nineteen: A Cold Welcome
Chapter Twenty: Cat and Mouse
The Wax Buzzard Files
This detective spoof story came out of desperation one week when I was suffering from serious writer's block. I'd vowed over a year prior that I was going to take my blog seriously and post something on at least a weekly basis, but this particular week I simply could not motivate myself. So I decided to just go completely into absurd humor. I wound up liking the result and decided to revisit Detective Guffey any time I wasn't feeling up to a respectable blog. Suffice to say I have NO idea where this story is going, and I find that strangely liberating.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Four -The Eye in the Sky
Click here for the Table of Contents.
"Did you know that most dreams speak to you metaphorically?"
This was the latest in a never ending series of anecdotes about the subconscious that Meg's shadow, named Alice, had taken delight in sharing. "No," she huffed for the fourth time in a row, "I was not aware of that."
"For example, if one were to be following tracks which split in two directions, one would be well advised to follow the set leading to one's right. Hence, being 'on the right track'."
Meg was still a few steps ahead of Alice, but she could just feel the young girl was smiling about her wellspring of knowledge. Meg was about to make another futile attempt to convince her that she was in fact not dreaming, but Alice beat her to the pause in conversation.
"I find it fascinating how the human mind plays mathematical games with itself during its state of rest. Perhaps the mind fears entropy in a manner similar to the way most people fear death. What conclusion might you draw, Miss Megara?"
This question was enough to stop Meg in her spot. "Doll," she said, consciously reminding herself that she was speaking to a child, "This probably is as interesting as you think it is. But there is a hierarchy of concerns, and this topic is at least a few rungs below trying not to die out here."
"A hierarchy of concerns?" Alice responded, clearly honing in on the wrong element. "What an insightful way of looking at it."
Meg rubbed her eyes, thinking several incorrect myths about lemmings.
"Oh, Miss Megara!"
"Just call me Meg.
"Miss Meg, there he is again!"
Meg looked where Alice was pointing. "Who?"
"The man in the tree!"
Meg surveyed the jungle overhead but saw only jungle. "Alice doesn't live here anymore," she muttered.
"Well he was there a moment ago. I wonder if he's meant to be hunting the rabbit."
"What is this fictional rabbit you keep talking about?"
"I saw him in the meadow earlier. He was about my height, perhaps taller with the ears, and he stood upright like a man."
Meg decided to push on through the vegetation while humoring her escortee. "Did he say anything?"
"No he seemed to be running somewhere. It's all quite familiar really. I once followed a rabbit down its hole in a previous dream. Except that one was white and carried a pocket watch."
Meg had lost interest. But for the moment Alice was humming to herself, which gave her a chance to try figuring out what to do. Meg was used to being a pawn, but never one without information. She'd been stuck on this horrifying notion that she dared not say out loud. Hercules had made a deal with Hades for her life. He may have been powerful enough to carry her soul out of the Underworld, but that didn't mean the deal was undone.
She pulled an armful of fronds back like a curtain for Alice to step through. The girl smiled blissfully. Meg was trying not to dislike her, but the combination of her blissful ignorance and that melody that was now boring its way into her own head was proving to be a challenge.
"Hades," she whispered, genuinely asking for him now. She swore she wouldn't make any more deals with him, but at least if he'd show up to gloat then she'd know what the situation was. But he didn't come. And Meg couldn't decide if it was better or worse than if he'd shown up.
Then the ground literally fell out from underneath her feet. As she'd pushed through a patch of thicket, the forest ended with no warning. "Oh gods!" Meg yelled as she caught a branch in time to keep from plummeting down a steep drop.
Alice helped pull her back to the former terrain and took in the scene while Meg regained her breath. It was a wasteland; nothing but jagged red rocks and cracked clay as far as the horizon. And just off the right of where they'd emerged, many yards below, was a stone bridge that snaked to the entrance of a huge fortress some distance away.
The place looked almost conical in silhouette with three levels of spires, the highest one clearly towering over the spot where they were. "I wonder if that's really as tall as it looks," said Alice. She checked to see how Meg was recovering.
"This is why I hate heights," she gasped.
"Shall we, then?"
"Shall we what?" said Meg. "Go back the way we came and try reasoning with the headless man?"
Alice pointed at the ominous structure. "That's clearly the place we're meant to go. It stands out as the first concrete image we've happened upon."
Meg gently placed her hands on Alice's shoulders. "Lilies, when you get pinched you are really going to feel it, but until then trust me. That is not the place you want to go."
"On the contrary, that is precisely the place one wants to go."
Meg steadied her own head. "Okay, devil's advocate. If 'one' were in this precise situation and 'one' happened to know 'one' wasn't dreaming, what would 'one's' most mortality conducive course of action be?"
Alice thought carefully. "Still to visit the place with the spires."
Meg stared at her. For quite a while. "How," she said, "do you figure that?"
"Simply put, if one were in this precise situation, stranded in unfamiliar territory with no memory of how or why, and one dreaming it were no longer a possibility, then it stands to reason that answers must lie elsewhere. Possibly coveted by the owner of those answers, and kept in a location where few would dare to look."
"Okay...a follow up question? Suppose the few who dare to look find the owner instead?"
"Why would the architect of such an intimidating façade include a bridge if not for ease of access?"
Meg sighed. "Doll, you are too smart for your own good."
"On the contrary Miss-"
"Just-" interrupted Meg, "take the compliment, Lilies."
Elsewhere.
High up in the foliage, where the tallest treetops blanketed out most of the sky, there was an eye. A round lens encased in a crystal covering.
Tarzan stared intensely into this eye. Waiting. But the artificial iris did not respond to his presence.
He tapped on it with the tip of his spear, the one he'd made himself; wood, vine and bone. It clinked against the surface, unheard by anyone but the Lord of the Jungle. But the eye refused to stir.
Tarzan grumbled to himself, and struck the crystal with a more calculated force. And waited.
The tiniest red dot appeared in the middle of the eye. Slowly, it began to grow. Awakening.
Tarzan was so deeply focused on this eye, he'd been unaware that he himself was being observed. From behind.
He sensed it only at the last possible moment when he only had the ability to react. A familiar-but-not snarl filled his head as a set of strong claws caught the hilt of his spear, sending the ape-man off the branch. He fell.
The various twigs he was able to reach kept breaking off in his hands. Tarzan was halfway to the ground before he was able to pierce the trunk of a tree with his spear, steering himself to a sturdy enough vine for his weight. Somewhere up above, heavy paws shuffled the leaves, but he couldn't make out where they were.
Tarzan used the vines as he was proficient to relocate out of the dense area and into an open section of the jungle where he could see his surroundings clearer. He landed on a thick branch and controlled his breath, scanning the area around and above him.
For several moments he stood ready in silence, spear in defense. The creature had found him. He could hear the low purr, but couldn't make out which direction it was coming from. Tarzan peered carefully at the vegetation straight above him, anticipating an attack from that direction. He was wrong. It came from below.
The dark paw hooked the handle of his spear and pulled with heavy force. The ape-man refused to let go and vaulted over the head of the large cat. Confused, it released its hold on the branch and rolled backwards, sending them both into the throes of gravity once again.
This time there was a web of vines draped across the pathway down, and both combatants became entangled before they knew which direction they were facing. Tarzan got loose first, and used the remaining terrain to slide his way to the ground. He touched down lightly and rolled several yards away from the landing spot.
A few seconds later the panther's feet hit the same spot with an audible thud. It stared at Tarzan, appraising him, dissecting him. Tarzan held his ground as the beast circled him, growling.
He looked at the panther, then at his spear, and back. Slowly, Tarzan released his left hand from the end of the spear closest to the tip. Bagheera glared at him but didn't move forward. The Lord of the Jungle cautiously set the spear down on the ground with his right hand and backed away from it. Bagheera stopped circling, and waited.
The panther stopped growling once he was convinced the ape-man's spear was out of his reach, but continued to watch his movements. The human spread his fingers to show that they were empty and gestured to himself. "Tar-zan" he said.
"Oh no, not another one," Bagheera snorted.
Continued in Chapter Five.
Return to the Table of Contents.
"Did you know that most dreams speak to you metaphorically?"
This was the latest in a never ending series of anecdotes about the subconscious that Meg's shadow, named Alice, had taken delight in sharing. "No," she huffed for the fourth time in a row, "I was not aware of that."
"For example, if one were to be following tracks which split in two directions, one would be well advised to follow the set leading to one's right. Hence, being 'on the right track'."
Meg was still a few steps ahead of Alice, but she could just feel the young girl was smiling about her wellspring of knowledge. Meg was about to make another futile attempt to convince her that she was in fact not dreaming, but Alice beat her to the pause in conversation.
"I find it fascinating how the human mind plays mathematical games with itself during its state of rest. Perhaps the mind fears entropy in a manner similar to the way most people fear death. What conclusion might you draw, Miss Megara?"
This question was enough to stop Meg in her spot. "Doll," she said, consciously reminding herself that she was speaking to a child, "This probably is as interesting as you think it is. But there is a hierarchy of concerns, and this topic is at least a few rungs below trying not to die out here."
"A hierarchy of concerns?" Alice responded, clearly honing in on the wrong element. "What an insightful way of looking at it."
Meg rubbed her eyes, thinking several incorrect myths about lemmings.
"Oh, Miss Megara!"
"Just call me Meg.
"Miss Meg, there he is again!"
Meg looked where Alice was pointing. "Who?"
"The man in the tree!"
Meg surveyed the jungle overhead but saw only jungle. "Alice doesn't live here anymore," she muttered.
"Well he was there a moment ago. I wonder if he's meant to be hunting the rabbit."
"What is this fictional rabbit you keep talking about?"
"I saw him in the meadow earlier. He was about my height, perhaps taller with the ears, and he stood upright like a man."
Meg decided to push on through the vegetation while humoring her escortee. "Did he say anything?"
"No he seemed to be running somewhere. It's all quite familiar really. I once followed a rabbit down its hole in a previous dream. Except that one was white and carried a pocket watch."
Meg had lost interest. But for the moment Alice was humming to herself, which gave her a chance to try figuring out what to do. Meg was used to being a pawn, but never one without information. She'd been stuck on this horrifying notion that she dared not say out loud. Hercules had made a deal with Hades for her life. He may have been powerful enough to carry her soul out of the Underworld, but that didn't mean the deal was undone.
She pulled an armful of fronds back like a curtain for Alice to step through. The girl smiled blissfully. Meg was trying not to dislike her, but the combination of her blissful ignorance and that melody that was now boring its way into her own head was proving to be a challenge.
"Hades," she whispered, genuinely asking for him now. She swore she wouldn't make any more deals with him, but at least if he'd show up to gloat then she'd know what the situation was. But he didn't come. And Meg couldn't decide if it was better or worse than if he'd shown up.
Then the ground literally fell out from underneath her feet. As she'd pushed through a patch of thicket, the forest ended with no warning. "Oh gods!" Meg yelled as she caught a branch in time to keep from plummeting down a steep drop.
Alice helped pull her back to the former terrain and took in the scene while Meg regained her breath. It was a wasteland; nothing but jagged red rocks and cracked clay as far as the horizon. And just off the right of where they'd emerged, many yards below, was a stone bridge that snaked to the entrance of a huge fortress some distance away.
The place looked almost conical in silhouette with three levels of spires, the highest one clearly towering over the spot where they were. "I wonder if that's really as tall as it looks," said Alice. She checked to see how Meg was recovering.
"This is why I hate heights," she gasped.
"Shall we, then?"
"Shall we what?" said Meg. "Go back the way we came and try reasoning with the headless man?"
Alice pointed at the ominous structure. "That's clearly the place we're meant to go. It stands out as the first concrete image we've happened upon."
Meg gently placed her hands on Alice's shoulders. "Lilies, when you get pinched you are really going to feel it, but until then trust me. That is not the place you want to go."
"On the contrary, that is precisely the place one wants to go."
Meg steadied her own head. "Okay, devil's advocate. If 'one' were in this precise situation and 'one' happened to know 'one' wasn't dreaming, what would 'one's' most mortality conducive course of action be?"
Alice thought carefully. "Still to visit the place with the spires."
Meg stared at her. For quite a while. "How," she said, "do you figure that?"
"Simply put, if one were in this precise situation, stranded in unfamiliar territory with no memory of how or why, and one dreaming it were no longer a possibility, then it stands to reason that answers must lie elsewhere. Possibly coveted by the owner of those answers, and kept in a location where few would dare to look."
"Okay...a follow up question? Suppose the few who dare to look find the owner instead?"
"Why would the architect of such an intimidating façade include a bridge if not for ease of access?"
Meg sighed. "Doll, you are too smart for your own good."
"On the contrary Miss-"
"Just-" interrupted Meg, "take the compliment, Lilies."
Elsewhere.
High up in the foliage, where the tallest treetops blanketed out most of the sky, there was an eye. A round lens encased in a crystal covering.
Tarzan stared intensely into this eye. Waiting. But the artificial iris did not respond to his presence.
He tapped on it with the tip of his spear, the one he'd made himself; wood, vine and bone. It clinked against the surface, unheard by anyone but the Lord of the Jungle. But the eye refused to stir.
Tarzan grumbled to himself, and struck the crystal with a more calculated force. And waited.
The tiniest red dot appeared in the middle of the eye. Slowly, it began to grow. Awakening.
Tarzan was so deeply focused on this eye, he'd been unaware that he himself was being observed. From behind.
He sensed it only at the last possible moment when he only had the ability to react. A familiar-but-not snarl filled his head as a set of strong claws caught the hilt of his spear, sending the ape-man off the branch. He fell.
The various twigs he was able to reach kept breaking off in his hands. Tarzan was halfway to the ground before he was able to pierce the trunk of a tree with his spear, steering himself to a sturdy enough vine for his weight. Somewhere up above, heavy paws shuffled the leaves, but he couldn't make out where they were.
Tarzan used the vines as he was proficient to relocate out of the dense area and into an open section of the jungle where he could see his surroundings clearer. He landed on a thick branch and controlled his breath, scanning the area around and above him.
For several moments he stood ready in silence, spear in defense. The creature had found him. He could hear the low purr, but couldn't make out which direction it was coming from. Tarzan peered carefully at the vegetation straight above him, anticipating an attack from that direction. He was wrong. It came from below.
The dark paw hooked the handle of his spear and pulled with heavy force. The ape-man refused to let go and vaulted over the head of the large cat. Confused, it released its hold on the branch and rolled backwards, sending them both into the throes of gravity once again.
This time there was a web of vines draped across the pathway down, and both combatants became entangled before they knew which direction they were facing. Tarzan got loose first, and used the remaining terrain to slide his way to the ground. He touched down lightly and rolled several yards away from the landing spot.
A few seconds later the panther's feet hit the same spot with an audible thud. It stared at Tarzan, appraising him, dissecting him. Tarzan held his ground as the beast circled him, growling.
He looked at the panther, then at his spear, and back. Slowly, Tarzan released his left hand from the end of the spear closest to the tip. Bagheera glared at him but didn't move forward. The Lord of the Jungle cautiously set the spear down on the ground with his right hand and backed away from it. Bagheera stopped circling, and waited.
The panther stopped growling once he was convinced the ape-man's spear was out of his reach, but continued to watch his movements. The human spread his fingers to show that they were empty and gestured to himself. "Tar-zan" he said.
"Oh no, not another one," Bagheera snorted.
Continued in Chapter Five.
Return to the Table of Contents.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
The Wax Buzzard Files: Chapter Two -A Chapter Without a Very Good Title
You might be wondering what happened before now, but don't feel like searching for the links to the Table of Contents. As usual, I have to do everything around here.
My plan paid off handsomely. Unfortunately I'd bet against myself and lost big. Having followed my follower in reverse to his destination, which understandably had been his point of origin before he'd started walking forwards, I found myself in the office of the notoriously displeased mob boss Mr. Happy.
Like a tailored tuxedo, the name Mr. Happy was probably better suited for a man, but I wasn't about to question her choices to her face. Mr. Happy leaned over her desk, with the tip of her cigar grazing the end of my nose; and were it not for the 'No Smoking' city ordinance that thing might have actually been lit.
"Detective Guffey," she huffed.
"Present and accounted for!" I said in rapt attention.
"You're accounted for when I say you're accounted for!" Mr. Happy bellowed with a breath that smelled like Colgate. One of her henchmen, who I hadn't been aware was already in the chair in which I'd sat down, asked her if he should be taking minutes. Mr. Happy nodded. And she turned her attention back to me. "Now you're accounted for," she snapped, apparently feeling the groove.
"Mr. Happy," I said, "why have you taken an interest in my activities?"
She got right in my face. "I'll ask the questions!"
"And suppose I don't know the answers..."
"Then I'll answer them as well!" She snarled. "Why have I taken an interest in your activities? Because-" she pointed accusingly at me, "You look like you're thinking about snooping around. And I have a real problem with people who look that way."
"You ever try getting to know one?"
"Yes!" Mr. Happy growled. "And nothing bad happened. But I'm still entitled to my opinions. And I think it's about time you and I had a little chat."
"How little?" I asked needlessly adverbedly.
"So little that it's already over, Detective!"
Mr. Happy threw her hands in the air, waved them around like she didn't care (which admittedly hurt my feelings) and pulled The Manual of Violent Threats out of her desk. She found the information she was looking for, and I knew I was in trouble, because she muttered something about me being in trouble.
But before she could make two copies of the page for her henchmen I heard a familiar car horn, familiar because it sounded like a car horn and I've heard those before. I poked my head out into the hall to tell it to shut up when it occurred to me that I never ate my oatmeal that morning. That, and there was only one person I knew who could drive a car into a hallway without making a sound.
I resigned myself to the reality that my breakfast was likely cold by now and tapped on the driver's side glass. "Hey. You in there?"
Miss Nomer rolled down her window. "Get in!"
"In the car?"
"No! In line for the community theater production of Chicago!"
In the event that she wasn't being sarcastic it was to my advantage to dive in the passenger side. Mr. Happy's henchmen appeared in the doorway, pointing at us and hopping up and down.
"Pull carefully out into traffic and floor it!" I advised, placing my hands on the dashboard to brace for an inevitable impact. After what seemed like a few ambiguously measured moments I realized the vehicle wasn't moving. Miss Nomer glared at me.
"Please?" I added, and we were off.
There's actually a Chapter Three, and I can prove it.
My plan paid off handsomely. Unfortunately I'd bet against myself and lost big. Having followed my follower in reverse to his destination, which understandably had been his point of origin before he'd started walking forwards, I found myself in the office of the notoriously displeased mob boss Mr. Happy.
Like a tailored tuxedo, the name Mr. Happy was probably better suited for a man, but I wasn't about to question her choices to her face. Mr. Happy leaned over her desk, with the tip of her cigar grazing the end of my nose; and were it not for the 'No Smoking' city ordinance that thing might have actually been lit.
"Detective Guffey," she huffed.
"Present and accounted for!" I said in rapt attention.
"You're accounted for when I say you're accounted for!" Mr. Happy bellowed with a breath that smelled like Colgate. One of her henchmen, who I hadn't been aware was already in the chair in which I'd sat down, asked her if he should be taking minutes. Mr. Happy nodded. And she turned her attention back to me. "Now you're accounted for," she snapped, apparently feeling the groove.
"Mr. Happy," I said, "why have you taken an interest in my activities?"
She got right in my face. "I'll ask the questions!"
"And suppose I don't know the answers..."
"Then I'll answer them as well!" She snarled. "Why have I taken an interest in your activities? Because-" she pointed accusingly at me, "You look like you're thinking about snooping around. And I have a real problem with people who look that way."
"You ever try getting to know one?"
"Yes!" Mr. Happy growled. "And nothing bad happened. But I'm still entitled to my opinions. And I think it's about time you and I had a little chat."
"How little?" I asked needlessly adverbedly.
"So little that it's already over, Detective!"
Mr. Happy threw her hands in the air, waved them around like she didn't care (which admittedly hurt my feelings) and pulled The Manual of Violent Threats out of her desk. She found the information she was looking for, and I knew I was in trouble, because she muttered something about me being in trouble.
But before she could make two copies of the page for her henchmen I heard a familiar car horn, familiar because it sounded like a car horn and I've heard those before. I poked my head out into the hall to tell it to shut up when it occurred to me that I never ate my oatmeal that morning. That, and there was only one person I knew who could drive a car into a hallway without making a sound.
I resigned myself to the reality that my breakfast was likely cold by now and tapped on the driver's side glass. "Hey. You in there?"
Miss Nomer rolled down her window. "Get in!"
"In the car?"
"No! In line for the community theater production of Chicago!"
In the event that she wasn't being sarcastic it was to my advantage to dive in the passenger side. Mr. Happy's henchmen appeared in the doorway, pointing at us and hopping up and down.
"Pull carefully out into traffic and floor it!" I advised, placing my hands on the dashboard to brace for an inevitable impact. After what seemed like a few ambiguously measured moments I realized the vehicle wasn't moving. Miss Nomer glared at me.
"Please?" I added, and we were off.
There's actually a Chapter Three, and I can prove it.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Editorial: On Writing Song Parody (With Special Thanks to Ricky Martin)
Parody is often misunderstood as a form of writing. It's critics tend to treat it as nothing more than 'changing somebody else's work' for the presumable intention of stealing their thunder. While I can't deny that's technically correct, parody has a much broader spectrum of quality.
Case in point, you must be familiar with this little virus:
Jingle bells
Batman smells
Robin laid an egg
The Batmobile
Lost a wheel
And the Joker got away
This of course an unquestionable parody, albeit a stupid one. 'Egg' and 'away' don't rhyme, and the jump from the opening Christmas carol line to the content about Batman has no internal logic. It's a safe bet that the originator of this recess yard rhyme made it up on the spot and presented the first draft as-is to the first elementary school audience, where it lived on in infamy.
Now in terms of lowbrow humor, this parody is far from the lowest brow, but it's clearly meant for simple minds. Unfortunately, a lot of people think ALL parody caters to this mentality. I want to try to challenge that notion some.
I've written several parodies that I'm quite proud of. If you're interested, check out my ode to the board game Monopoly set to Uncle Cracker's "Follow Me". Or if you're a bit of a literature snob, try my parody of William Blake's The Tyger. Better yet, here's parody in it's most simplistic form, a renaming the elements of the periodic table a la Zork.
I'm going to pretend you're reading this blog because you have an interest in writing a Weird Al-esc parody yourself, and want it to be good (either that, or you're my wife and thus obligated to keep dishing out those sweet, encouraging words of 'no seriously, honey, your blog really is interesting').
So let's talk about what makes a parody 'good' as opposed to the sloppy Batman example above. First off, when I say 'good' I don't mean funny. Funny is almost always associated with parody, but funny is also entirely at the mercy of the audience. If I tell you my sinuses are killing me, for some strange sadistic reason you might find that incredibly funny. I sure as hell don't. It isn't funny to me. But it may be funny to you. So funny isn't the best measurement for a parody.
A better one is the parody's effectiveness. How well does the parody work? If you're taking the time to devise a parody, it means you've got something to say. It may be as simple as complaining about socks, but that's what you feel like writing lyrics about. Now socks may not merit writing a song from scratch, but if you're going to use a pre-existing template (ideally a familiar one to a general audience) then you have an outlet you didn't have before.
At work, I'm in charge of the fiction department's shelf-reading list (don't ask, just accept it). Part of the task is assigning sections to my co-workers, and then motivating them to actually do it. I find my best tool is my sense of sarcasm that naturally shows up in my writing. Lately I've been giving over-the-top pep talks as if shelf-reading is an Olympic event and they're competitors. My most recent e-mail ended with this:
Best of luck team!
Now let's sing the Fiction National Anthem:
Should holds on paging lists be sought
And tomes, a mended spine
We circulate the recent plot
And plug the story line
Now I'm going to be very disappointed if I have to point out that this is a parody of Auld Lang Syne. But let's discuss the quality of this parody and determine what makes it good, not great, but good (enough). Lyrically, it's not laugh out loud funny. Maaaaybe amusing at best. I'm fully aware that plot and story line are the same thing. But the fundamentals for good parody are there.
1. It rhymes where it HAS to (i.e. at the ends of lines)
2. It accurately matches the rhythm of its source template
3. It has an internal logic
The first two are obvious. The third one is equally important and often overlooked amongst people who 'think' parody writing is easy. You may not be familiar with Auld Lang Syne, and you may not be familiar with paging lists or the word 'circulate' as it pertains to libraries but you get the general sense that this is written for an audience who deals with books from a behind-the-counter perspective. There are no lines that seem out of place.
That's the basic foundation, but let's explore a little deeper. If you happen to know Auld Lang Syne you can recognize that the ending rhymes for lines 1,3 and 2,4 don't just rhyme with each other, but also from the corresponding lines in the source template. The original song starts with the word 'should' as is mirrored by the parody. There's even a couple of intentionally similar vowel sounds in the middle of phrases.
"Should OLD acQUAINTance be forGOT"
"Should HOLDS on PAGing lists be SOUGHT"
What does that tell you, aside from I really have too much free time at work? It means that there was a certain amount of effort that went into these four lines. Not a massive amount of effort, but clearly I batted the lines around a few times in my head before saying "Okay, that works". And there is what I perceive to be the illusive fourth rule that separates a Weird Al parody from a lot of the quickie stuff you find on Youtube.
4. It indicates genuine effort
That Uncle Cracker parody from earlier? I started kicking that idea around years ago. I'd mull it over some, then set it down, come back later and even write some of the lines down, then push it away again. Then one day I decided I was going to finish the damn thing and post it in my blog. It took me a few hours one night and a few more the next day, pulling up information on Monopoly and poring through rhymezone.com to beat it into a working draft. A few tweaks here and there, and now it's finished. And I'm quite proud of it.
So with that dissertation over, here is another parody that I started working on about a decade ago and only just finished. This is Ricky Martin's Livin La Vida Loca with embellishments from a former Disney cast member who spent five years trying to claw his way out of the parades department and back into his warm, cozy bid line at the previously named Disney/MGM Studios. I HATED SpectroMagic (the night parade). I hated driving it. I hated spotting the floats. I hated dressing other cast members for it. But more than anything, I hated getting thrown into a Spectroman costume and strapped onto the back of the Logo float to pretend I was trained in the armography.
Suffering is pure arsenal for comedy.
Case in point, you must be familiar with this little virus:
Jingle bells
Batman smells
Robin laid an egg
The Batmobile
Lost a wheel
And the Joker got away
This of course an unquestionable parody, albeit a stupid one. 'Egg' and 'away' don't rhyme, and the jump from the opening Christmas carol line to the content about Batman has no internal logic. It's a safe bet that the originator of this recess yard rhyme made it up on the spot and presented the first draft as-is to the first elementary school audience, where it lived on in infamy.
Now in terms of lowbrow humor, this parody is far from the lowest brow, but it's clearly meant for simple minds. Unfortunately, a lot of people think ALL parody caters to this mentality. I want to try to challenge that notion some.
I've written several parodies that I'm quite proud of. If you're interested, check out my ode to the board game Monopoly set to Uncle Cracker's "Follow Me". Or if you're a bit of a literature snob, try my parody of William Blake's The Tyger. Better yet, here's parody in it's most simplistic form, a renaming the elements of the periodic table a la Zork.
I'm going to pretend you're reading this blog because you have an interest in writing a Weird Al-esc parody yourself, and want it to be good (either that, or you're my wife and thus obligated to keep dishing out those sweet, encouraging words of 'no seriously, honey, your blog really is interesting').
So let's talk about what makes a parody 'good' as opposed to the sloppy Batman example above. First off, when I say 'good' I don't mean funny. Funny is almost always associated with parody, but funny is also entirely at the mercy of the audience. If I tell you my sinuses are killing me, for some strange sadistic reason you might find that incredibly funny. I sure as hell don't. It isn't funny to me. But it may be funny to you. So funny isn't the best measurement for a parody.
A better one is the parody's effectiveness. How well does the parody work? If you're taking the time to devise a parody, it means you've got something to say. It may be as simple as complaining about socks, but that's what you feel like writing lyrics about. Now socks may not merit writing a song from scratch, but if you're going to use a pre-existing template (ideally a familiar one to a general audience) then you have an outlet you didn't have before.
At work, I'm in charge of the fiction department's shelf-reading list (don't ask, just accept it). Part of the task is assigning sections to my co-workers, and then motivating them to actually do it. I find my best tool is my sense of sarcasm that naturally shows up in my writing. Lately I've been giving over-the-top pep talks as if shelf-reading is an Olympic event and they're competitors. My most recent e-mail ended with this:
Best of luck team!
Now let's sing the Fiction National Anthem:
Should holds on paging lists be sought
And tomes, a mended spine
We circulate the recent plot
And plug the story line
Now I'm going to be very disappointed if I have to point out that this is a parody of Auld Lang Syne. But let's discuss the quality of this parody and determine what makes it good, not great, but good (enough). Lyrically, it's not laugh out loud funny. Maaaaybe amusing at best. I'm fully aware that plot and story line are the same thing. But the fundamentals for good parody are there.
1. It rhymes where it HAS to (i.e. at the ends of lines)
2. It accurately matches the rhythm of its source template
3. It has an internal logic
The first two are obvious. The third one is equally important and often overlooked amongst people who 'think' parody writing is easy. You may not be familiar with Auld Lang Syne, and you may not be familiar with paging lists or the word 'circulate' as it pertains to libraries but you get the general sense that this is written for an audience who deals with books from a behind-the-counter perspective. There are no lines that seem out of place.
That's the basic foundation, but let's explore a little deeper. If you happen to know Auld Lang Syne you can recognize that the ending rhymes for lines 1,3 and 2,4 don't just rhyme with each other, but also from the corresponding lines in the source template. The original song starts with the word 'should' as is mirrored by the parody. There's even a couple of intentionally similar vowel sounds in the middle of phrases.
"Should OLD acQUAINTance be forGOT"
"Should HOLDS on PAGing lists be SOUGHT"
What does that tell you, aside from I really have too much free time at work? It means that there was a certain amount of effort that went into these four lines. Not a massive amount of effort, but clearly I batted the lines around a few times in my head before saying "Okay, that works". And there is what I perceive to be the illusive fourth rule that separates a Weird Al parody from a lot of the quickie stuff you find on Youtube.
4. It indicates genuine effort
That Uncle Cracker parody from earlier? I started kicking that idea around years ago. I'd mull it over some, then set it down, come back later and even write some of the lines down, then push it away again. Then one day I decided I was going to finish the damn thing and post it in my blog. It took me a few hours one night and a few more the next day, pulling up information on Monopoly and poring through rhymezone.com to beat it into a working draft. A few tweaks here and there, and now it's finished. And I'm quite proud of it.
So with that dissertation over, here is another parody that I started working on about a decade ago and only just finished. This is Ricky Martin's Livin La Vida Loca with embellishments from a former Disney cast member who spent five years trying to claw his way out of the parades department and back into his warm, cozy bid line at the previously named Disney/MGM Studios. I HATED SpectroMagic (the night parade). I hated driving it. I hated spotting the floats. I hated dressing other cast members for it. But more than anything, I hated getting thrown into a Spectroman costume and strapped onto the back of the Logo float to pretend I was trained in the armography.
Suffering is pure arsenal for comedy.
Giving Me Grief on Logo
She needs-a quick solution
A pink shirt and a tower crane
I'm not in-to electrocution
Pray to God that it doesn't rain
(break)
(break)
It's too bad-I lack the vision
Could cure-my fear of heights
Can't see-the neat collision
With everything in lights.
'Cause I'm a mobilized hibachi
There's a brace in my regime
I pass for Liberace*
Dressed as the psychopath from Scream
And my head just filled with steam
Come on!
Ostrich Escort's downed and music maker's a no-go
A pawn is getting crowned. They need me to do back logo
I change at Lost and Found to a battery pack and a gobo**
(and bid) Farewell to the ground. They need me to do back logo
They'll teach*** me to do back logo
Impeach me to do back logo
(instrumental break)
Broke down at the street confection
Did the loop- a dozen ways
I struck a chord and I lost connection
I may have set-the float ablaze
Well there's a kid my purple wig offends
Who's sobbing to his dad
And all at once I'm pulling ligaments
I never knew I had
Should have stuck with Hook & Ladd
Oh no!
Draped in silhouette, I'm Porky from I Go Pogo
Or "Look, it's Jango Fett! He's up in the seat on logo!"
My clothes are drenched in sweat, and I'm feeling the burden of Frodo
(it'd be) grounds to down a set but not when you're in back logo
You're shot when you're in back logo
I forgot why I hate back logo
(instrumental break revisited)
Meadow Lane was close but no cigar
Got passed by cavalcade
And I didn't sign my ETR
Not even getting paid
Why'd I learn this damn parade?
Come on!
(Will we) Ever get off route? Where in the hell did the tow go?
To push or pull us out, or ram in the back of logo
And staging's not about. Who said I was scheduled Geppetto?
I'll slap that casting scout for giving me grief on logo
Topside concert band, where the discipline action's a BOGO;
A two point reprimand for my scathing critique of logo
My face is in my hand. Try to block out the flashing photo
I'll never understand why I'm getting my freak on logo
And I'm having a streak of logo
When I'm scheduled a week of logo
And I'm gonna try to get an RDO
Come on!
I'm locking my knees on logo
With Mickey on the street no one SEES back logo
I'm gonna catch a logo disease
*If you're familiar with the original song, you'll notice I chose to include internal rhymes here where they didn't exist before. See? Effort.
**Do you know how many usable words rhyme with 'logo'? Not many. As a compromise, I allowed myself a cheat on the third line of every chorus, which is the weakest in a four line passage. If you're going to fudge, that's where to do it.
***'Need' and 'teach' make another rhyme cheat, but since this is an internal rhyme it's permissible. The trick here is figuring out the balance between preserving the mathematical integrity of the lyrics and maintaining the strength of content.
(Will we) Ever get off route? Where in the hell did the tow go?
To push or pull us out, or ram in the back of logo
And staging's not about. Who said I was scheduled Geppetto?
I'll slap that casting scout for giving me grief on logo
Topside concert band, where the discipline action's a BOGO;
A two point reprimand for my scathing critique of logo
My face is in my hand. Try to block out the flashing photo
I'll never understand why I'm getting my freak on logo
And I'm having a streak of logo
When I'm scheduled a week of logo
And I'm gonna try to get an RDO
Come on!
I'm locking my knees on logo
With Mickey on the street no one SEES back logo
I'm gonna catch a logo disease
*If you're familiar with the original song, you'll notice I chose to include internal rhymes here where they didn't exist before. See? Effort.
**Do you know how many usable words rhyme with 'logo'? Not many. As a compromise, I allowed myself a cheat on the third line of every chorus, which is the weakest in a four line passage. If you're going to fudge, that's where to do it.
***'Need' and 'teach' make another rhyme cheat, but since this is an internal rhyme it's permissible. The trick here is figuring out the balance between preserving the mathematical integrity of the lyrics and maintaining the strength of content.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Chasing the Rabbit: Chapter Three -An Infernal Flame
Click here for the Table of Contents.
“You know, I really appreciate you coming along with me,” the man called Kronk continued his incessant muttering. Bagheera rolled his eyes even though it was lost on Kronk, who was several paces behind the panther. “Safety in numbers. Anyone who’s not embezzling will tell you that.”
“Whether you want them to or not,” Bagheera grumbled.
“Of course we did just leave Jasmine by herself. But, hunters and gatherers right?”
Bagheera did his best to ignore the man who was undoubtedly smiling at him. He’d hoped the lack of response would convey his disinterest in the conversation, but Kronk was determined to continue.
“Actually now that I think about it, we’re the ones doing the gathering. You think any of these plants are edible?”
“Help yourself,” Bagheera suggested, taking more of an interest in the thickness of the nearest tree branches.
Kronk cleared his throat. “Snarl snarlen snarly snarl snarl.”
It took Bagheera a moment to realize this man was expecting a reaction from him. He looked back to see if Kronk was going mad prematurely.
“Did I say something?” he grinned like an infant.
“You said something, yes.”
Kronk hopped in place giddily. “What did I say? I never learned to speak panther but I’ve got a grasp on basic fundamentals. I was hoping they’d transfer over. So tell me how’d I do?”
Without a word, Bagheera slipped up a tree trunk and stretched out on one of the branches.
“Okay…” said Kronk. “Mental note. That may have been offensive. No hard feelings, buddy?”
“Remind me when I became your ‘buddy’,” Bagheera sneered.
“Aw, come on, basic survival etiquette. We gotta stick together.”
"We don't have to stick together. We're not pack wolves. And you don't need etiquette to survive the jungle, you just need to adapt." The panther closed his eyes. "I saw some yellow fruit in the direction of the sun. It should be safe for humans."
"You're just going to stay up there?"
Bagheera sighed. "Yes. Why not?"
"Well, it's just..." Kronk shifted uncomfortably. "Jasmine is a beautiful princess, and we only found the one cave. I thought it might be less awkward if we all camped out there, you know?"
Bagheera reluctantly raised his head again. "I have no idea what you're babbling about, but it's going to be dark soon."
"Yeah, you've got a point. Well, if you change your mind-"
"I've got your scent."
Kronk stood in silence for a moment, not sure if that was a dismissal or not. "Were you always a panther?"
Bagheera gave him a look. It was a look Kronk had seen many times before, most recently from Yzma (over and over), but receiving it from a panther just seemed...judgmental.
"Kronk out." He gave Bagheera a respectful scout salute and turned to walk away. "Oh," he called over his shoulder, "While you're up there, best keep an eye out for that guy with the spear!"
Kronk was out of sight before those last words seeped in. Bagheera's senses were suddenly alerted.
"What guy with the spear?"
Jasmine tried again to get a fire started by rubbing two sticks together. She'd seen this done at least a dozen times but she wasn't having any luck. The sun would be setting in an hour, give or take. Fortunately the group had found a surprisingly hospitable large rock with a couple of natural caverns and an outcropping that towered over the jungle like a balcony. Animals had clearly lived there at one point, but a quick survey had suggested the rock was now abandoned.
The smaller of the two caves seemed to have been previously occupied by someone with a penchant for cave drawings, although they'd faded over time. It was warm, but a tight fit for two people and a panther. The larger cave had enough room to get lost in, but the temperature was freezing. Huge icicles hung from the ceiling, and Jasmine was disinclined to explore it alone for fear of dislodging one of the sharp frozen points, much less risk building a fire inside.
"Son of a jackal!" she snapped as the piece of wood slipped from her fingers. She checked her skin for splinters, trying to keep her mind from thinking about the possibility that she and Kronk might freeze overnight.
She tried again. Until this point, building a fire herself had been an issue of pride. But as the question of how cold the nights must get to create icicles that large kept circling around in her head, this unobtainable flame was beginning to feel progressively more urgent.
"Think, Jasmine", she told herself, "this isn't working". Three people (well, two and one cat) all with no recollections of how they got there. Nothing particularly in common from what she could tell. Probably some sort of magic at work, though she was beginning to doubt it was specifically targeting her. The big question was whether or not this was all an accident or a prearranged intention.
"Outside the basket then." Jasmine stared into the large cavern. Maybe those icicles were out of place for a reason. Ice. Fire. Fire. Ice. In all likelihood she was reaching for a meaning where there wasn't one but she kept at it, determined to spark something-
"Spark," she whispered aloud. The ice. And the sun rays. Jasmine stepped carefully into the cold cave and used a branch to strike at the first icicle within her reach. She got a large enough piece broken off and carried it back to her makeshift furnace. She held it in the sunlight, finding an angle that bent the beam into a single point, and pointed it at the dry leaves.
For a while nothing happened. She had to keep blowing on each hand to keep her fingers from going numb. But several minutes later a small trail of smoke began to trickle from the brush. "Come on," she coaxed it. The sun was drifting nearer the horizon to where it would no longer be of use. Jasmine spotted a tiny glow underneath the smoke, but it wasn't catching. She blew softly against the glow, which pulsed reluctantly. Failing that, she went back to shining the beam at the same spot.
The smoke was growing but the sun was on its way out. This was going to be close.
At least until the roar from inside the cave. A loud roar.
Jasmine dropped what was left of the piece of ice which shattered on the rock below her. The ember she'd worked so hard for died, but she forgot about it instantly. Something in that cave had woken up and it was making its presence known.
Despite her impulse to dive off the outcropping, Jasmine kept her wits about her. The creature was roaring, but didn't seem to be coming to the mouth of the cave. She picked up the same branch she'd used to break off the icicle and held it like a quarterstaff, sidestepping as silently as possible past the entrance.
There was a crash from one or more icicles hitting the floor and some kind of fast breathing between roars. Jasmine was past the cave mouth now and almost ran for it, but she was struck with the thought that someone else might be in there. Perhaps with no memory of how they got there, like her.
She poked her head back into the entrance and saw nothing in the huge cavern that she hadn't seen before. The growling was coming from one of the tunnels that bent away from the main area. Another crash. And then she saw it. Two shadows stretching into one of the tunnels that kept switching places.
In spite of her sense of self preservation, Jasmine charged into the tunnel. It opened into a smaller cave where the floor was partially iced over. A young woman with blondish hair had taken refuge behind four pillars of ice, forming a barricade between her and the hairy white creature with powerful arms that was trying to dig her out. It swiped its massive claws at the pillars, shattering two of them in one stroke.
"Hey!" Jasmine shouted, uncertain as to whether either one of them knew what the word indicated. The large creature with the white hair turned its blue ape-like face in her direction and bared its teeth in a terrible growl. She didn't speak its language, but she was sure that it meant something more permanent than 'hey'.
The creature lunged toward Jasmine. She ran at the creature. At the last possible moment, she used the branch as a crude pole to vault over the beast. Its claws split the branch in half, and Jasmine landed on the icy section of the floor, sliding to the cave wall.
She turned to the woman behind the pillars. "I'll get you out of here but you have to trust me," she told her. "Do you understand?" The woman's eyes were wide in shock but she managed a nod.
Jasmine's feet slid too much for her to stand up before the creature was on her again. Back-up plan, she thought, scooping up a handful of frost shards and stones. The beast reached down to grab her by the waist. Jasmine stuffed her pseudo-snowball in its open mouth, prompting it to momentarily lose interest in her in favor of spitting out the pebbles.
The creature flailed its arms about, and Jasmine deliberately absorbed an impact to send her sledding in the direction of the woman behind the pillars. From where she was seconds prior, it sounded as though the beast had half-swallowed a few of the rocks and was trying to cough them up.
"Come out in front," Jasmine told the woman as she carefully stood up on the ice. She used the gem in the middle of her tiara to scratch several deep cuts into the two remaining pillars, weakening them at eye level. She did a quick calculation of the trajectory to the tunnel leading out and positioned the other woman's back to it. "On my command, we push off each other."
The beast had recovered and was lumbering towards them. "No, switch," the woman said. Jasmine didn't have time to process how the woman got on the opposite side of her without slipping, but it wasn't important at the moment.
"Push!"
Jasmine slid toward the tunnel, falling backwards when her feet hit the section without the ice. The other woman skated back to the opposite wall. And the beast smashed headfirst into the ice pillars, causing a huge pile of frozen crystals to fall on top of it.
The other woman had somehow made it all the way to where Jasmine was before she'd even gotten to her feet again. An even angrier roar pushed them through the tunnel by sheer volume. "It's still coming!" the woman said.
They ran and didn't stop. Back in the main cavern an icicle broke from the ceiling and shattered into the floor in front of Jasmine. She lept over it and kept scrambling. Two more crashes close by. "I'm right behind you!" her rescue/er assured her. Jasmine sprinted towards the dying sunlight, just hoping to not get impaled by a falling object. Another loud crash, possibly several at the same time. Jasmine reached the cave entrance and dove through it, followed by he echo of the creature's roar.
Then the loudest longest series of smashing and crashing ice she'd ever heard drowned out all sounds from anything else. When it was finished, the roaring continued but significantly more muffled now. Jasmine looked back at the cave entrance which was now obstructed with piles of ice. The beast's deformed image clawed at the barrier from the inside.
The other woman knelt down next to her, looking completely detached from the whole experience. "Are you all right?"
"I think so," Jasmine struggled to control her breath.
"Did you see that?"
Jasmine swallowed hard. "What is that thing?"
The woman thought for a moment. "I believe it's called a yeti."
The creature gave up on the ice and disappeared back into the cave. Jasmine regained her composure and dusted herself off. She put out her hand. "My name is Jasmine, princess of Agrabah, daughter of the sultan."
The woman glanced at Jasmine's hand and slowly met it with her own. "Elsa."
"Elsa," Jasmine repeated. "A pleasure. So how long were you in that cave?"
Elsa tried to remember to no avail, just as Jasmine had predicted.
"I think we both have questions-" Jasmine was cut off by the familiar sound of the yeti's roar, now coming from the top of the rock high above the two women. "Oh that's not fair!"
"So questions later then?" Elsa asked half-rhetorically.
"Yes. We're going to need a different shelter."
Continued in Chapter Four.
Return to the Table of Contents.
“You know, I really appreciate you coming along with me,” the man called Kronk continued his incessant muttering. Bagheera rolled his eyes even though it was lost on Kronk, who was several paces behind the panther. “Safety in numbers. Anyone who’s not embezzling will tell you that.”
“Whether you want them to or not,” Bagheera grumbled.
“Of course we did just leave Jasmine by herself. But, hunters and gatherers right?”
Bagheera did his best to ignore the man who was undoubtedly smiling at him. He’d hoped the lack of response would convey his disinterest in the conversation, but Kronk was determined to continue.
“Actually now that I think about it, we’re the ones doing the gathering. You think any of these plants are edible?”
“Help yourself,” Bagheera suggested, taking more of an interest in the thickness of the nearest tree branches.
Kronk cleared his throat. “Snarl snarlen snarly snarl snarl.”
It took Bagheera a moment to realize this man was expecting a reaction from him. He looked back to see if Kronk was going mad prematurely.
“Did I say something?” he grinned like an infant.
“You said something, yes.”
Kronk hopped in place giddily. “What did I say? I never learned to speak panther but I’ve got a grasp on basic fundamentals. I was hoping they’d transfer over. So tell me how’d I do?”
Without a word, Bagheera slipped up a tree trunk and stretched out on one of the branches.
“Okay…” said Kronk. “Mental note. That may have been offensive. No hard feelings, buddy?”
“Remind me when I became your ‘buddy’,” Bagheera sneered.
“Aw, come on, basic survival etiquette. We gotta stick together.”
"We don't have to stick together. We're not pack wolves. And you don't need etiquette to survive the jungle, you just need to adapt." The panther closed his eyes. "I saw some yellow fruit in the direction of the sun. It should be safe for humans."
"You're just going to stay up there?"
Bagheera sighed. "Yes. Why not?"
"Well, it's just..." Kronk shifted uncomfortably. "Jasmine is a beautiful princess, and we only found the one cave. I thought it might be less awkward if we all camped out there, you know?"
Bagheera reluctantly raised his head again. "I have no idea what you're babbling about, but it's going to be dark soon."
"Yeah, you've got a point. Well, if you change your mind-"
"I've got your scent."
Kronk stood in silence for a moment, not sure if that was a dismissal or not. "Were you always a panther?"
Bagheera gave him a look. It was a look Kronk had seen many times before, most recently from Yzma (over and over), but receiving it from a panther just seemed...judgmental.
"Kronk out." He gave Bagheera a respectful scout salute and turned to walk away. "Oh," he called over his shoulder, "While you're up there, best keep an eye out for that guy with the spear!"
Kronk was out of sight before those last words seeped in. Bagheera's senses were suddenly alerted.
"What guy with the spear?"
Jasmine tried again to get a fire started by rubbing two sticks together. She'd seen this done at least a dozen times but she wasn't having any luck. The sun would be setting in an hour, give or take. Fortunately the group had found a surprisingly hospitable large rock with a couple of natural caverns and an outcropping that towered over the jungle like a balcony. Animals had clearly lived there at one point, but a quick survey had suggested the rock was now abandoned.
The smaller of the two caves seemed to have been previously occupied by someone with a penchant for cave drawings, although they'd faded over time. It was warm, but a tight fit for two people and a panther. The larger cave had enough room to get lost in, but the temperature was freezing. Huge icicles hung from the ceiling, and Jasmine was disinclined to explore it alone for fear of dislodging one of the sharp frozen points, much less risk building a fire inside.
"Son of a jackal!" she snapped as the piece of wood slipped from her fingers. She checked her skin for splinters, trying to keep her mind from thinking about the possibility that she and Kronk might freeze overnight.
She tried again. Until this point, building a fire herself had been an issue of pride. But as the question of how cold the nights must get to create icicles that large kept circling around in her head, this unobtainable flame was beginning to feel progressively more urgent.
"Think, Jasmine", she told herself, "this isn't working". Three people (well, two and one cat) all with no recollections of how they got there. Nothing particularly in common from what she could tell. Probably some sort of magic at work, though she was beginning to doubt it was specifically targeting her. The big question was whether or not this was all an accident or a prearranged intention.
"Outside the basket then." Jasmine stared into the large cavern. Maybe those icicles were out of place for a reason. Ice. Fire. Fire. Ice. In all likelihood she was reaching for a meaning where there wasn't one but she kept at it, determined to spark something-
"Spark," she whispered aloud. The ice. And the sun rays. Jasmine stepped carefully into the cold cave and used a branch to strike at the first icicle within her reach. She got a large enough piece broken off and carried it back to her makeshift furnace. She held it in the sunlight, finding an angle that bent the beam into a single point, and pointed it at the dry leaves.
For a while nothing happened. She had to keep blowing on each hand to keep her fingers from going numb. But several minutes later a small trail of smoke began to trickle from the brush. "Come on," she coaxed it. The sun was drifting nearer the horizon to where it would no longer be of use. Jasmine spotted a tiny glow underneath the smoke, but it wasn't catching. She blew softly against the glow, which pulsed reluctantly. Failing that, she went back to shining the beam at the same spot.
The smoke was growing but the sun was on its way out. This was going to be close.
At least until the roar from inside the cave. A loud roar.
Jasmine dropped what was left of the piece of ice which shattered on the rock below her. The ember she'd worked so hard for died, but she forgot about it instantly. Something in that cave had woken up and it was making its presence known.
Despite her impulse to dive off the outcropping, Jasmine kept her wits about her. The creature was roaring, but didn't seem to be coming to the mouth of the cave. She picked up the same branch she'd used to break off the icicle and held it like a quarterstaff, sidestepping as silently as possible past the entrance.
There was a crash from one or more icicles hitting the floor and some kind of fast breathing between roars. Jasmine was past the cave mouth now and almost ran for it, but she was struck with the thought that someone else might be in there. Perhaps with no memory of how they got there, like her.
She poked her head back into the entrance and saw nothing in the huge cavern that she hadn't seen before. The growling was coming from one of the tunnels that bent away from the main area. Another crash. And then she saw it. Two shadows stretching into one of the tunnels that kept switching places.
In spite of her sense of self preservation, Jasmine charged into the tunnel. It opened into a smaller cave where the floor was partially iced over. A young woman with blondish hair had taken refuge behind four pillars of ice, forming a barricade between her and the hairy white creature with powerful arms that was trying to dig her out. It swiped its massive claws at the pillars, shattering two of them in one stroke.
"Hey!" Jasmine shouted, uncertain as to whether either one of them knew what the word indicated. The large creature with the white hair turned its blue ape-like face in her direction and bared its teeth in a terrible growl. She didn't speak its language, but she was sure that it meant something more permanent than 'hey'.
The creature lunged toward Jasmine. She ran at the creature. At the last possible moment, she used the branch as a crude pole to vault over the beast. Its claws split the branch in half, and Jasmine landed on the icy section of the floor, sliding to the cave wall.
She turned to the woman behind the pillars. "I'll get you out of here but you have to trust me," she told her. "Do you understand?" The woman's eyes were wide in shock but she managed a nod.
Jasmine's feet slid too much for her to stand up before the creature was on her again. Back-up plan, she thought, scooping up a handful of frost shards and stones. The beast reached down to grab her by the waist. Jasmine stuffed her pseudo-snowball in its open mouth, prompting it to momentarily lose interest in her in favor of spitting out the pebbles.
The creature flailed its arms about, and Jasmine deliberately absorbed an impact to send her sledding in the direction of the woman behind the pillars. From where she was seconds prior, it sounded as though the beast had half-swallowed a few of the rocks and was trying to cough them up.
"Come out in front," Jasmine told the woman as she carefully stood up on the ice. She used the gem in the middle of her tiara to scratch several deep cuts into the two remaining pillars, weakening them at eye level. She did a quick calculation of the trajectory to the tunnel leading out and positioned the other woman's back to it. "On my command, we push off each other."
The beast had recovered and was lumbering towards them. "No, switch," the woman said. Jasmine didn't have time to process how the woman got on the opposite side of her without slipping, but it wasn't important at the moment.
"Push!"
Jasmine slid toward the tunnel, falling backwards when her feet hit the section without the ice. The other woman skated back to the opposite wall. And the beast smashed headfirst into the ice pillars, causing a huge pile of frozen crystals to fall on top of it.
The other woman had somehow made it all the way to where Jasmine was before she'd even gotten to her feet again. An even angrier roar pushed them through the tunnel by sheer volume. "It's still coming!" the woman said.
They ran and didn't stop. Back in the main cavern an icicle broke from the ceiling and shattered into the floor in front of Jasmine. She lept over it and kept scrambling. Two more crashes close by. "I'm right behind you!" her rescue/er assured her. Jasmine sprinted towards the dying sunlight, just hoping to not get impaled by a falling object. Another loud crash, possibly several at the same time. Jasmine reached the cave entrance and dove through it, followed by he echo of the creature's roar.
Then the loudest longest series of smashing and crashing ice she'd ever heard drowned out all sounds from anything else. When it was finished, the roaring continued but significantly more muffled now. Jasmine looked back at the cave entrance which was now obstructed with piles of ice. The beast's deformed image clawed at the barrier from the inside.
The other woman knelt down next to her, looking completely detached from the whole experience. "Are you all right?"
"I think so," Jasmine struggled to control her breath.
"Did you see that?"
Jasmine swallowed hard. "What is that thing?"
The woman thought for a moment. "I believe it's called a yeti."
The creature gave up on the ice and disappeared back into the cave. Jasmine regained her composure and dusted herself off. She put out her hand. "My name is Jasmine, princess of Agrabah, daughter of the sultan."
The woman glanced at Jasmine's hand and slowly met it with her own. "Elsa."
"Elsa," Jasmine repeated. "A pleasure. So how long were you in that cave?"
Elsa tried to remember to no avail, just as Jasmine had predicted.
"I think we both have questions-" Jasmine was cut off by the familiar sound of the yeti's roar, now coming from the top of the rock high above the two women. "Oh that's not fair!"
"So questions later then?" Elsa asked half-rhetorically.
"Yes. We're going to need a different shelter."
Continued in Chapter Four.
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Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Bantam vs. Manpurse: a DC Film Retrospective
Last Saturday my wife and I went to Baton Rouge to celebrate my father's sixty somethingth birthday. And what better way to commemorate such a generalized milestone than by catching the latest superhero flick? Surely something must have come out.
How long have we been talking about a Justice League movie, like with any real hope of seeing one? Marvel got ambitious with its shared universe project, and amazingly enough didn't crash and burn with it. That whole thing kicked off seven years ago. I've heard some murmuring in my circles about the egregious similarities among every Marvel film (mostly from DC enthusiasts), and while I'm not audacious enough to say that this isn't the case, I feel the need to point out that I usually walk away from a Marvel movie in a good mood.
DC? *sigh*
Okay, let me back up a little bit. A buddy of mine explained (probably through stealing someone else's words) the difference between DC and Marvel. Marvel is made up of ordinary people who fall into power(s), whereas DC is comprised of Gods who are trying to live amongst mortals. As such, Marvel has a fundamental advantage in relating to the average movie goer. We see ourselves in Tony Stark and Peter Parker. Superman and Wonder Woman are meant to be unattainable. Even human Bruce Wayne is so obsessed with pushing himself beyond his boundaries that he becomes unrealistically superhuman.
Thus, it becomes the challenge of the filmmakers to tell a DC story that's engaging while distant. So how have they done in the past? Only going as far back as Richard Donner, because his 1978 classic coincides with the birth of the modern cinema, there have been six Superman and seven Batman movies (no, I'm not dealing with animation right now, and 1984's Supergirl doesn't exist). Which hero does it better? Which one falls on his cape with the most frequency? Well, let's have a look in a creatively semi-chronological order. I'm going to pit them against each other in alternating films, translating each one into a melee attack, leading into the gladiator battle proper. Here then is Batman 5 Superman.
How long have we been talking about a Justice League movie, like with any real hope of seeing one? Marvel got ambitious with its shared universe project, and amazingly enough didn't crash and burn with it. That whole thing kicked off seven years ago. I've heard some murmuring in my circles about the egregious similarities among every Marvel film (mostly from DC enthusiasts), and while I'm not audacious enough to say that this isn't the case, I feel the need to point out that I usually walk away from a Marvel movie in a good mood.
DC? *sigh*
Okay, let me back up a little bit. A buddy of mine explained (probably through stealing someone else's words) the difference between DC and Marvel. Marvel is made up of ordinary people who fall into power(s), whereas DC is comprised of Gods who are trying to live amongst mortals. As such, Marvel has a fundamental advantage in relating to the average movie goer. We see ourselves in Tony Stark and Peter Parker. Superman and Wonder Woman are meant to be unattainable. Even human Bruce Wayne is so obsessed with pushing himself beyond his boundaries that he becomes unrealistically superhuman.
Thus, it becomes the challenge of the filmmakers to tell a DC story that's engaging while distant. So how have they done in the past? Only going as far back as Richard Donner, because his 1978 classic coincides with the birth of the modern cinema, there have been six Superman and seven Batman movies (no, I'm not dealing with animation right now, and 1984's Supergirl doesn't exist). Which hero does it better? Which one falls on his cape with the most frequency? Well, let's have a look in a creatively semi-chronological order. I'm going to pit them against each other in alternating films, translating each one into a melee attack, leading into the gladiator battle proper. Here then is Batman 5 Superman.
Batman (1989)
In keeping with Supes's tradition, he's going to let Batman have the first strike. As such, here's the damned Tim Burton flick that people still will not shut up about. The pros: Gotham looks gothic in a way that has affected the world of the Dark Knight ever since. And Danny Elfman's score is as engrained in Batman lore as the Unbirthday song is to Alice in Wonderland. The cons: Tim Burton does not understand the timing of action sequences, and there is no indication that he's ever going to learn. And I know a lot of people are going to violently disagree with me, but the casting was not good. Jack Nicholson wasn't playing the Joker, he was just playing his usual shtick, in makeup. And Michael Keaton is remembered incorrectly as the definitive Batman. I'm sure he looks better when you compare him to his successors, but he's really just bland with Beetlejuice flashes. He would have been better as the joker.
Result: Batman introduces himself as Batman by throwing a massive Bat-punch to the jaw. Supes barely feels it.
Superman (1978)
The visual effects of this film may read as VERY green screen today, but at the time you totally bought into them. Lex Luthor and whatever bullshit scheme the dart landed on was superfluous, this movie was about spending time with Superman. Christopher Reeve nailed it. You didn't want to be Superman, you wanted to meet him. And did you ever notice there was a sub-archetype weaving through our nerd fiction at this time? Namely the feisty leading lady with teeth? You saw it in Princess Leia and Marion Ravenwood, as well as in Margot Kidder's Lois Lane. She definitely left a mark on the role. So while the film was kind of...not action-y, it was a charming way to spend a few hours with everyone's ideal guidance counselor.
Result: Supes counters Batman's strike by standing there, unmoving. As if to say "Ha ha. I have superpowers and you don't. Nyahhhh".
Batman Returns (1992)
How much of a threat can the Penguin be? He can barely walk. This is more of the same, but perhaps with a little less dignity. Keaton is beginning to look undeniably silly in the costume, and Danny DeVito is performing on the level of a really good Halloween Horror Nights scare actor. But quaintly enough, the Michelle Pfeiffer/Christopher Walken subplot comes across as strangely engaging. You almost hope for a Batman movie without Batman in it. It's not to say Pfeiffer is really playing Catwoman (because, you know, Tim Burton has never read a comic book), but her character arc is interesting. Ultimately this is kind of a boring movie with a bright spot in Pfeiffer's performance. One note, wasn't Max Shreck doing something with the city's power grid until about the third scene?
Result: Batman sucker punches Superman with a really lame gut attack, except that it has a dose of Bat-jalapeno juice on his fist. Supes feels a sting which bruises his dignity (yep, the guy in blue spandex has dignity to bruise).
Superman II (1980)
If you need a convenient counter argument to the 'the sequel is never as good as the original' mantra, try this Richard-Lester-pretending-to-be-Richard-Donner-directed follow up. The element to the character of Superman that makes him interesting is his inability to fit in with the world. He could just take over, but he'd rather experience life through a human's eyes as best as he can. This ain't gonna happen (Really, spellcheck? None of those words came up?), but we appreciate his efforts. And it's nice that there is in fact, one thing Supes can't do. This movie is all about why Superman needs to be who he is. It may not have the quota of action scenes, but it makes up for it in pacing. Just like Freddy vs. Jason the story is laid out to build the necessary tension for the inevitable confrontation. Terrence Stamp is bizarrely phenomenal as General Zod; I don't really know what his approach to the role was, but damned if he doesn't sell it. The third act battle may be a bit silly in places, but it works.
Result: Superman uses his breath power to push Batman through a supporting wall of a skyscraper. Fortunately, it's only inhabited by mean people who were all about to die of collagen poisoning anyway. Batman has to remind himself that he's Batman as he regains his feet.
Batman Forever (1995)
Joel Schumacher is at the helm now, trying to blend the Burton foundation with the Adam West era of color. The result is the cinematic equivalent of Floam, kind of amusing to play with but not particularly rich in substance. I wanted to like this movie, and at times I did, but I really just couldn't stop thinking of it as the actors cosplaying as their characters. Val Kilmer still looks like Val Kilmer in the cowl, and he certainly didn't appear old enough to be mentoring Chris O'Donnell. Tommy Lee Jones misses an entire fifty percent of who the character of Two-Face is. Nicole Kidman is there doing...something. And Drew Barrymore accidentally walked into the shot a few times. And then there's Jim Carrey. The man refuses to be a team player. The first time I saw the trailer for Ace Ventura I knew the future of comedy was in trouble (thanks for lowering the bar enough so Adam Sandler could have a career, jerk). His Riddler is an afterthought. This is a Jim Carrey vehicle. There's even a moment after he's hijacked the whole movie where Jones has to say in character "Don't forget about me!" It's too late, dude. You're done.
Result: Batman throws a batarang which ricochets among several pressurized tanks of chemicals, spraying Supes in the face with bright colors, making him look very funny. But Batman doesn't laugh, because (gentle reminder) he's Batman.
Superman III (1983)
I think there's a point in every superhero franchise when you think, "This needs more Richard Pryor". I'm not saying it doesn't work, but it remains an odd choice. To the people who whine about the predictability of the genre, I say "Here you go!". The studio is admitting that Richard Lester is the director now, and Margot Kidder bails in the opening scene. Pryor as Gus Whatever is an undiagnosed computer genius who falls in with Robert Vaughn's Lite Luthor. The movie intentionally goes full silly, with a slapstick opening and a video game themed climax (and this was 1983, the year of the video game crash). Dare I say the movie is enjoyable? No, it's not as good as its predecessors, it may not even be good on its own volition, but it has a certain desperate charm. The standout sequence is when Superman is contaminated by artificial Kryptonite and suffers a personality crisis, leading to a surreal (if technically limited) fight with himself. Reeve is still acting his heart out; and God bless him, he didn't have to.
Result: Supes gives as good as he takes. One quick spin, actually about nineteen that only appear as one, and the paint splatters all over the Dark Knight's cowl. The paint dries almost immediately, ruining the mask. Well, from a certain point of view. As the paint leaves Bats looking like Sgt. Kabukiman, the folks at Troma Entertainment open their one bottle of champagne.
Batman and Robin (1997)
Have you ever looked at Joel Schumacher's credentials? It's not a bad track record. I mean, nothing that comes off as a masterpiece, but when you factor in the whole of his career and not just the film with which he's always going to be associated, Schumacher is a competent director. So what the hell happened here? I blame the Warner Brothers studio for caring more about the toy line's appearance in the movie than correctly casting Patrick Stewart as Mr. Freeze. Uma Thurman is fine until she opens her mouth (revealing the Jim Carrey/Scarlett O'Hara amalgamation), and Poison Ivy never recovers. Alicia Silverstone pretends to be Batgirl. Chris O'Donnell pretends to be interesting. Akiva Goldsman's script pretends a plot is happening. And, oh yeah, Bane or something. And get this. They cast ER's George Clooney as the Bat! Poor guy's film career never stood a chance. The only thing I really remember about this mess is how forgettable it is. But I have to respectfully disagree that it's the worst superhero film ever. In fact, give me ten seconds and I can think of one much, much worse.
Result: Being drenched in makeup causes something in Batsy to snap. He pounds helplessly on Supes's steel chest, all the while screaming "You brute! You brute! You vicious brute!"
Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987)
There it is. Some movies wind up being bad because they miss the respectably difficult mark they're aiming for (Ang Lee's Hulk comes to mind). Other movies like Batman and Robin are bad because their target is so reach-out-and-touch-it easy to hit that they come across as insulting. Then there's this. A movie that isn't aiming. This movie is the equivalent of Yosemite Sam firing his guns randomly with his hat pulled down over his eyes. This is essentially a film version of some kid's Superman fan fiction (probably casting themselves in the Jon Cryer role). Superman creates world peace by getting rid of nuclear weapons because it's that simple, but Lex Luthor-, Radioactive Dude-, power drain and recharge-, nobody hurt-, nuclear bombs back-, nothing accomplished-, and Superman 64 is starting to look pretty good right about now.
Result: Supes gives the Bat a much needed hug and declares the fight pointless. He turns to fly away but trips over his own cape on takeoff, veering into a nearby office building where he knocks over a file cabinet and gets his foot stuck in a wastebasket; he tries kicking it off and accidentally hits himself in the face with it.
Batman Begins (2005)
To quote Roger Ebert, "this is the [Batman] movie I did not realize I was waiting for". This is a fantastic origin story, and unlike Spiderman (who gets a reboot every five or six years), it had been eighteen years since Brucey had gone Bat-bankrupt. Like Bryan Singer with X-Men, Christopher Nolan wisely treats the teetering-towards-hokey superhero concept as a drama. Nolan's strength is not in action scenes but in character conversations. And BOY does he get that right. This may be the first superhero film I've ever experienced where I just couldn't get enough of hearing people talk. The unfortunate downside is that the third act becomes kind of...irrelevant (a train blows up or something). But screw the train. Trains are about destinations. This story is about the journey.
Result: Batman changes tactics. He stands over Superman and lectures him. Batsy insults Supes's family, social life, religion and dog; and makes several choice analogies about the intelligence and dress size of Superman's momma, despite having never met her. It's freaking brutal.
Superman Returns (2006)
Really? This was the following year? Somehow I remember this being in its own pocket time dimension. So you know how Bryan Singer knocked it out of the park with X-Men and revitalized the whole superhero genre? Yeah. I have no idea what happened here either. First off, characters don't seem to be talking much, just looking at each other. Secondly, they don't seem to be doing much either. Thirdly, the cast just isn't convincing. Brandon Routh has the look and demeanor of Superboy. Kate Bosworth comes off as Lois Lane's niece. Kevin Spacey does a spot on Gene Hackman impression, it would have been nice to see him actually playing Lex Luthor instead. Parker Posey's sort-of-Harley-Quinn had an out of place charm. And the underappreciated James Marsden is really just getting screen time for the sake of itself, probably an apology for X2. But the biggest problem of all, the movie is boring. It's BORING. And the potential for boring is the first issue that has to be addressed with any Superman story.
Result: Supes dusts himself off and prepares for the verbal comeback to end all Kryptonian comebacks. He clears his throat. "Oh yeah?" he says, "Well, you fight like a cow!" It's sad how pleased he is.
The Dark Knight (2008)
It's impossible not to think of this as Heath Ledger's movie. When his casting was announced, we all thought the same thing, "The First Knight guy as the Joker? That makes about as much sense as casting Luke Skywalker!" But then the early buzz came in, and we as nerds uncharacteristically kept our criticisms to ourselves. Then Ledger died during post-production, and we were obligated to treat him with the same respect we really should be treating everyone on a regular basis. Bottom line, Ledger's performance met the hype. His was an iconic portrayal of an iconic character. It was helped along by a script that was at least as good as its predecessor. The third act action still kind of wanders all over the place, but the opening and the truck scene have a violent poetry to them. But I really want to acknowledge Aaron Eckhart, whose performance as Two-Face was AS good as Ledger's. I'd only seen Eckhart in the maliciously delightful Thank You for Smoking, and I admit to being a little concerned that he'd be unable to pull off Harvey Dent's angry side. I was wrong. He killed it. A few weeks back I did a blog on lines from movies that should be on the AFI top 100 list. I can't believe I forgot to include his chilling "You live...you die."
Result: This is the big one; Batman's fist in a kryptonite glove lined with lead so Supes doesn't see it coming right to the jaw. The man of steel is knocked on his butt, momentarily seeing tiny Mighty Mouses (Mice) flying in a circle over his head like a halo.
Man of Steel (2013)
I feel about Zack Snyder the same way I feel about Tim Burton, he's very good at painting a visual picture but he's out of his league when it comes to conveying character. Nobody in this movie really seems like they want to be there. Kevin Costner is just kind of waiting around for his death scene. Amy Adams's Lois Lane comes off more as her out of place tourist character from Leap Year. And Michael Shannon is just not menacing. He tries, just like he tried in Premium Rush, but he really just seems like his feelings are hurt. Although if they ever make a movie about Conan O'Brien's evicting from The Tonight Show, I think Shannon would be great in the role. The movie is also pretty dismal. And grey. Now Henry Cavill looks the part of Superman, and given the chance to fight for something instead of merely against Zod, he could have been really likable. But this movie feels long. And cram the Christ metaphor down our throats, won't you?
Result: Superman retaliates with a left and a right and a ho, ha ha, guard, turn, parry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust! Several buildings topple like dominoes! And cars blow up! And the stock market crashes! And the price of foodstuff skyrockets! Unfortunately, Batman had stepped out of the way long before Supes threw that first punch, so this is just carnage for the sake of a 225 million dollar budget. Superman then gets depressed.
The Dark Knight Rises (2012)
What the hell happened Nolan? Did somebody tell you they thought The Dark Knight was too happy? This is you, "I'm seeing it. I have a vision. I see...dreary! Not fun dreary, like an Edgar Allen Poe story, but real migraine inducing desolation, like a term paper on Carl Sandburg's poetry! And let's have Batman fake his own death so he and Catwoman can...you know." Okay, so ignoring how un-Batman some of the choices in this movie are, it's SO DAMN DULL! How do you make Batman unengaging? It would be like a James Bond movie where he just does surveillance or data analysis (probably like an actual spy). I don't believe Nolan cared about this movie, and I certainly don't. Ann Hathaway was fun though.
Result: Batman says "You think you can be depressed? Nobody outbroods me! Because I'm Batman!" He sulks so hard that even the Joker calls him up to make sure he's all right.
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)
Ah, nerd entertainment. What other genre comes so consistently with a built-in backlash? Some of the many MANY criticisms lobbed at this film are valid, most are not. I'm thinking some people had decided going into it that they were going to hate it. Others may have presumed that any flavor different than Marvel was automatically bad. The truth is, I was pleasantly surprised. The movie was what it was, and pretty damn good at being so. My feelings about Zack Snyder still haven't changed, but I'm willing to humor the possibility that he may have actually learned from his past effort what didn't work and fixed it, without swinging the pendulum so far into the wrong territory. Henry Cavill still hasn't had to do much except show up and not suck, and so far I've been pleased with him. There probably is a really strong actor in there waiting to be tapped. Amy Adams fares much better the second time around. She still doesn't have that married-to-her-work vibe that she needs, but at least she feels more professional. Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor. Man, what can I say? I didn't know how I was going to take to him, but damn it all, he won me over. It's a fresh take on a traditionally uninteresting nemesis, and Eisenberg's too-smart-for-his-own-good neurosis just...worked. Then there's Ben Affleck, who's probably spent the past week flipping off the message boards. I'm not trying to brag when I say I did defend the choice of his casting. I AM bragging when I say "Ha ha, I was right! In your face!" He's great as Batman and as Bruce Wayne. Christian Bale may have had some of the better scripts to work with, but Affleck just has the overall Bat-factor. Batman v Jason Bourne next!!! But the final thought: Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman. They got her for dirt cheap, and I'd love to be a fly on the wall during the negotiations to extend her contract (she wanted to be a lawyer at one point). Her Diana Prince exudes the right amount of confidence without needing to prove anything to anyone. And there's that flash of a smile in the final battle where she acknowledges that she's enjoying the action, a sentiment DC seems generally allergic to. Just that moment makes me long for her solo film. Oh, and spoiler alert: she totally saves Batman's ass.
Result: It's been a long and glorious battle of skill, wit and ego that has accomplished nothing. But from out of sky comes the amazonian champion herself, landing between the two gladiators. "Boys?" she says, "You're scaring people. Why don't we take some of that energy and channel it in a more constructive direction?" A mere seconds later, the set pieces for the newest Michael Bay movie lie in rubble and ash.
Result: It's been a long and glorious battle of skill, wit and ego that has accomplished nothing. But from out of sky comes the amazonian champion herself, landing between the two gladiators. "Boys?" she says, "You're scaring people. Why don't we take some of that energy and channel it in a more constructive direction?" A mere seconds later, the set pieces for the newest Michael Bay movie lie in rubble and ash.
The Winner: Wonder Woman
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