Follow the MockingJay

It feels wrong to write something negative about the awkwardly titled Hunger Games; MockingJay, Part 1. There's a phenomenal amount of stellar writing, locked-and-loaded acting, crisp photography and haunting images in this penultimate movie of the best of the innumerable dystopian-whatever teeny franchises. In the theatre I saw a trailer for the second Divergent flick, which is related to this film in the way poodles and wolves technically share an ancestor. There's a ferocity and a specificity underlying the Hunger Games that the many imitators lack. Suzanne Collins' novels are raging about the state of our culture and in particular our media, the soullessness and patheticness of what we're becoming. The films don't play quite as rough (have to protect that PG13), but the rage remains. This is a brutally efficient movie. It's the creak of a bowstring as the arrow is drawn back, the oiled click of a rifle bolt. And that's the issue. For two hours we sit and watch and wait for the arrow to fly. But not yet, and that can't help but be unsatisfying.

Like the 7th and 8th Harry Potter films, the decision to split the Hunger Games finale is driven by money. That earlier franchise went out of its way to re-invent the penultimate film, with mostly positive results. Harry Potter and the Whatever, Part 1, is a road movie in a fairly constrained series, a gorgeous meditation on friendship and struggle, something unique in that world. It is, to my mind, the most patient and adult of the series, and works independently as a lovely tone poem at feature length. The Hunger Games doesn't have the opportunity for so much differentiation. The stage may be different, but the orchestra is playing the same notes. Arrows fly, pain spikes, Jennifer Lawrence runs and rages. All expertly executed, all mesmerising to watch. But what you aren't sure is how to feel afterwards.

It says something about this series that, when tasked with filling two new and fairly important roles, it called upon the great actors Michael K. Williams and Julianne Moore. These are not people accustomed to wasting their time in pointless or unchallenging projects. Williams is a model of strength, charisma, and no little wry humor. Moore has the bigger and flashier role. It makes me eternally happy that Phillip Seymour Hoffman spent many of his final scenes sparring with her. In the next film, Moore and Donald Sutherland will hopefully have the chance to spit a lot of ice at each other. You'll notice the pattern here; In the next movie….

The actors are so good that we almost don't notice how little is happening. Except, oddly, for Lawrence. She's never less than appealing, but it occurs to me that she's called upon to do a lot more acting in this film than the predecessors. Those movies called on her to explode under pressure, to play fear and adrenaline and fury. This movie is quieter, and she spends much of it sparring with actors who, for the moment, may be a bit out of her weight class. It's a more internal role, politics rather than war. She comes alive with the bow, snarling lines into a camera. There's an amusing scene of Katniss struggling to act. I wish it didn't hit so close.

This is a powerful film, loaded with the kind of imagery that in lesser hands would feel exploitative. It evokes Naziism and Slavery. Its subject is the power of media and spectacle to distort the worldview of the watcher, subject and object twisting about one another until the results are horrifyingly unrecognizable. Katniss is given a camera crew and we wonder only why it took so long. She is the ultimate star, her authenticity carefully drawn out and recorded in pre-selected war zones.

Notice that when the camera requires a still subject, someone to stand and talk as diversion for a geurilla raid, the crew turns to Finnick. He is a broken man, but switches on for the show and plays his role flawlessly. Katniss is the opposite. She can only be herself in the desperation of combat, and if a camera happens to be nearby, then so much the better. The movie places her in danger and pain over and over, but only to run in circles. Her frustration feeds into the authenticity. When she destroys a hovercraft, it's the most genuine she's been in ages. The MockingJay is a fighter, not meant to be caged. She is a creature of action and dynamism. One wishes that the movie would act accordingly.

Draw Back Your Bow

Even in the choppy early days, Arrow had all the markers of something special. Beyond the spectacular fight scenes, gleam-of-sin choreography, and sneakily excellent acting, the show always had a certain edge juuust on the right side of arrogance. Consider the strength of its' early choice to make Oliver Queen a complete asshole. How many shows would make the protagonist an emotionally distant, stone-cold killer, and yet have the confidence to allow the audience to grow fond of him over an extended rampage through both Starling city and the emotional lives of its' wealthiest citizens? That, my friends, takes the big brass arrowheads. Still, the first season was bumpy, suffering from a combination of cliched plots, inconsistent character work, and perhaps a bit too much suspension of disbelief even for a show about a bow-weilding master assassin saving a city.

These are issues, yes, but common to every young show trying to fill 23 hour-long episodes (which is a whole lot of content). By the end of season 1, which brought a simmering plot to volcanic boil and unleashed the great John Barrowman as a lethal villain, we could see maturity and confidence to match the early swagger.

Season 2 was simply fucking magnificent. Operatic, profoundly emotional, expanding on every strength (seriously, this show has the best action on tv and somehow does that on a CW budget) and eliminating every weakness, I'd argue that Arrow S2 was legitimately one of the best things on television. It isn't a deep show, or particularly full of insights into the human condition, other than the efficiency of ending same through a well-placed broad-head, but as a blast of adrenaline and fun there's really nothing to match it.

So, what the hell is happening now? I praised the show for three paragraphs to highlight the awesomeness we've seen and that I have every confidence we'll see again. But man, the third season has been rough. I'd diagnose the problem first as a lack of stakes. Sara Lance was a fascinating character, but her occupation and the cough-and-you'll-miss-it nature of her death have diluted the impact of what should've been a crushing event. More importantly, I don't believe for an instant the way our protagonists have reacted. Sara was probably the closest thing to a love of Oliver Queen's screwed-up life. He's been conducting business a bit too close to the usual to be believable. Yes, the man locks his emotions as coasts lock an ocean, but come on. Would the Oliver who hunted Slade Wilson have given up on finding Sara's killer so quickly?

Actually, the only character whose reaction I believe is the show's worst; Laurel. Arrow has never quite known what to do with the local pole-up-ass alcoholic DA, and the choice to have her assume the mantle of her vastly more interesting sister is, simply, an error. Imagine an arc based on Sara hunting Laurel's murderer, even as she tries to continue her journey towards morality and a life with Oliver. Wouldn't that be fun? Instead, we get to see Laurel's flirt-boxing with the ruggedly appealing Ted (Wildcat) Grant, and what I'm sure will be disastrous early adventures in crime-stopping. I don't want to sound too negative, because the plot is well-handled and the actors are doing very fine work, but Laurel is correct when she calls herself unworthy of being the Canary.

 Actually, these are my issues in a nutshell. There's nothing particularly wrong with Arrow S3 thus far. The show hasn't forgotten how to stage a fight, characters continue to evolve, and we've gotten a lot of wildly enjoyable moments sprinkled in with the boredom. But, coming off what I'd call the single best stretch of episodes in the history of superhero television, something so shapeless and low-key has to feel like a disappointment. I'd like to think there's a longer game here, something besides the constipated looks Oliver and Felicity keep exchanging, but I'm not sure. Ray Palmer showed early promise as a potential villain, but he's nothing beyond a bundle of tics. Brandon Routh is so charismatic that the character hasn't worn out his welcome, but if he could stop fucking around and actually do something, that would be immensely appreciated. Same goes for Thea, Nyssa, and (especially) Malcolm and Ra's. These are compelling characters played by good-to-great actors, but there's only so many times John Barrowman can snarl threats without killing anyone before the Magician starts to feel like smoke and mirrors.

I still have hope. This is a show at the peak of its powers on a technical level. The recurring cast is rich with dramatic possibilities, and the leads are assured and accomplished emotional centers. Individual moments still sing. Isla Corta is a beautiful little caper flick full of flickering quicksilver emotion. Malcolm and Nyssa spitting venom made me cackle with glee. Ray Palmer is up to something, even if he doesn't seem to be sure what. What we're missing is that note of Opera, the apocalyptic whisper of Slade Wilson's sword clearing the sheath, the thud of boots as masked archers dance across a rooftop. It's time for Arrow to let itself fly.

Twiday the 13th

In which lions, and sparkles.

In our last edition of "throwing shade at Twilight," I pretty deliberately didn't spend much time actually talking about the book. Mostly because the book sucks. We're going to do things differently today, because this particular chapter sucks in some new and intriguingly awful ways. There is no plot, beyond the remarkably weird bit about Eddie glittering in the sun like an oversized engagement ring, which is pretty much exactly what he is. I'm honestly not sure what our dear Mrs. Meyer is going for here, but I'm quite certain that this is the first time in the book I've laughed out loud. I'm not one to say that new iterations of a familiar genre need to hold sacred any traditions of same. So, if she wants to have vampires who can come out in sunlight, I guess that's just dandy. But a little respect for tradition would be nice. This is a de-fanged vampire, a noble, tortured soul who happens to be a mass murderer. The sickeningly worshipfull imagery and description tells us that there's no monstrosity, no genuine evil in Edward. I disagree, but the book's point-of-view is difficult to mistake. What SM fails to realize is that a true redemption story, a bad man made good, is vastly more interesting than this twaddle.

Just to be clear; Edward is a fucking monster, just not in the appealingly broody way his author seems to have aimed at. Consider the line about how Eddie wanted to start munching on Bella's neck in a "room full of children." We have yet to learn how old Bedward actually is, but it's a bit older than seventeen. Consider also his assertion that "the lion fell in love with the lamb." Does anyone actually think this is a balanced power dynamic, a joing together on equal terms of two souls? Bella is a kid. She's a fucking child, and a not-particularly-mature one at that. The plot of this book concerns whether or not Edward can resist forcibly penetrating her - whether you read that as blood sucking or rape is entirely your call, and I'm not sure which one is worse. When they nuzzle and he sniffs along her neck or whatever, the image reminded me quite forcibly of the horrifying recent piece on campus rapes in Rolling Stone.

Edward even admits that she's "intoxicated" by his very presence. In other words, drunk on the mixture of hormones and adrenaline that is responsible for the majority of every teenager's actions. I don't know how many ways Ms. Meyer can demonstrate that Bella CAN"T GIVE CONSENT TO THE RELATIONSHIP. But hey, who cares about that, right? Anyone? Bueller?

Fuck this book. Seriously, fuck it.

Twilight, the 12th

You know, there's a fascinating moral dilemmna at the heart of this shitshow of a book. Vampires are very, very dangerous. Edward wants to penetrate (we'll come back to this word) Bella's neck with razored fangs. His sissie worries that the budding relationship will "end badly." So, naturally, he arranges to be alone with her in the woods for hours on end. Oh, right, because that's exactly what you should do with someone you care about, whose neck you're perpetually tempted to shred. Pardon me while I bash my head against a wall.

Now, that penetration thing…. Vampirism, in the literary / fictional sense, has all sorts of sexual overtones and connotations. Dracula, the Bram Stoker original, is essentially about the spread of sexually transmitted plagues throughout Europe. The metaphor works. An intimate encounter, taking place at night and generally in the bedroom. Removal of clothing. The climactic act of penetration, followed by a slow, creepy descent into madness, monstrosity, and disease. Normal Friday night, basically.

Twilight is a book of sex. Actually, scratch that, it's a book about wanting sex. Drinking blood takes the place of making sexytimes. Edward wants it, clearly, and is struggling to resist his temptations. Bella also wants it, although she's kind of dancing around the issue because she's incapable of making up her mind on any issue more complex than tonight's dinner selection. Does anyone else see the issue? There's no conflict here. They want the same thing, it'll happen eventually, and there's gonna be much making of icily-perfect babies and riding off into the sun… er…. moonset together.

Considering this book's progenitor makes its' flaws all the more readily apparent. The bloodline has become weak, diluted. Dracula, for all that it's a relic reflecting an older mindset, is actually the more enlightenened, interesting work. It features strong female characters with control of their own agency, who fight to protect their bodies and sexuality with the ferocity that those things deserve. I've said before that I'm not one to judge an author's mindset from her work. But, it bears pointing out just how little say or even interest Bella has in her own destiny. She's an observer, a bored and boring voyeur. Dracula is apocalyptic in stakes and tone. It occurs to me that Twilight is a rather brilliant title for a book that lacks the conviction to choose the brightness of love or darkness of fear.

Thoughts on Minimalism

My two hobbies are writing and weightlifting. The one feeds off the other. To explain I will offer a negative comparison: Every day people pace aimlessly around the gym floor, adjusting headphones and tapping touchscreens and gazing into televisions. They socialize with other regulars and occasionally perform a set on a well-sanitized piece of plastic and metal. Some of them have overpaid trainers following them around and pretending to pay attention. Shockingly enough, they progress slowly or not at all.

I don't know the names of anyone at my gym. I try not to be anti-social, and always nod or greet everyone I recognize. But that's it. The weights are meditative. The iron teaches through its lack of caring. It doesn't know that I haven't slept, that the big project is due at work, that the pretty redhead on the treadmill keeps shooting me looks. The iron demands the fullness of my focus and attention, and I give it no less. I've made the mistake before, and paid a high price. As a teenager I demanded too much of myself without really knowing how to ask the questions. Pushed too hard, went too heavy. Scars tell the tale.

What does this have to do with writing? I believe in absolute focus. I turn off the wifi, hide the phone, put on some music, and generally develop tunnel vision as I flow through a piece. In a world constantly demanding our attention in a hundred places, it's a rare and valuable skill to do less. There's a kind of courage to it, really, a certainty and confidence that being the very best at a single thing is far better than sucking at many things.

I've recently been watching the show "Shark Tank" quite a bit. It's wildly entertaining, a kind of steroidal embodiment of capitalism. Many entrepeneurs come with big ideas, wild dreams, promises of changing the world. The Sharks care only about making money. They care little for dreams, and speak only in revenues, supply chain, online vs retail. It's the clash between ideologies that gives the show its appeal. Companies that get funded have made the Sharks confident in their ability to do exactly one thing, no matter the route taken in pursuit of profit. There are infinite methods but only one methodology.

With writing, and the weights, and so many other aspects of my life, there is always a goal. Sometimes I can achieve it in a day, sometimes five years. But always there's something towards which I'm working. Consider day to day, hour to hour, second to second, whether you're getting closer to whatever it is that you need. Act accordingly.

Twilight, 11

In which; Oh look, shiny car!

Zach Snyder's Man of Steel (or, Superman: The Christ-ening) isn't a great movie, although I'd argue that it's become genuinely underrated due to some weird critical misinterpretations. But I digress. The movie gets one thing very, very right: A genuine sense of awe at the discovery that there are fucking aliens living on Earth. Pa Kent chooses to die in order to protect the secret of Kal-El's existence, believing that the world simply isn't ready for the knowledge. Late in the film, as Zod's threats echo across the globe, we get a montage of awestruck faces from a dozen cultures, the words translated into as many languages. Pa Kent was right. When the news breaks, it's a huge moment for humanity, maybe the hugest since the moon landing. There are aliens among us, and nothing will ever be the same. Snyder correctly treats the moment with respect and gravitas, and all that follows is more powerful as a result. Basically, he gives his revelation some stakes, some acknowledgement of the firestorm of a chain reaction that we know will result.

Bella Swan finds out that there is an alien in her small town, one with super-strength, functional immortality, and a genetic bias towards slaughtering humans. They talk about gym class and favorite colors. I want to punch things. Edward's smug face would be a nice start. I am unsure of why this chapter exists. It does nothing to accelerate the (non-existent) plot. We learn nothing of importance about any character. There's no development, no major hint that I've noticed. Oh, Edward's sissy drives a nice car. Bella has heard of BMW, an automaker with an average of 220,000 in annual US sales over the past decade. Her mother must be so proud.

Bella just doesn't act like a normal teenager. Actually, fuck that. She doesn't act like a rational human of any age. The chapter is offensively and agressively stupid. Young ladies, take note; If you feel a spark coming off of your date, I recommend telling him to leave the fleece at home. Otherwise, seek help. Yes, two people who want to bang sitting close to one another can often lead to bonerization (or female equivalent), but let's not pretend that there's some sort of magical love spark or whatever. I don't even know anymore….

Twilight, Chapter 10

In which…. Sigh. And murmur. Lots of murmur.

Twilight borrows (steals) heavily from lots of classic sources, including most of Shakespeare, Emily Bronte, and Jane Austen. Yes, Steph, we get that your shelves are admirably stocked. Anyway, thinking about antecedents make me wonder whether there's really any precedent, both commercially and artistically, for this book. It's a difficult question. Shitty books and movies break big on a depressingly regular basis. But something this shitty, this juvenile and insipid? Rare, right? But I eventually found something while browsing Amazon Prime. I'm talking, of course, about Romeo + Juliet (to be clear, the late 90's Leo DiCaprio / Clare Danes film).

I'll say first that the movie is vastly superior to the book in every conceivable way. This is not a perfect comparison. But the parallels are intriguing. It's become clear as I've slogged through Twilight that the book is going for a kind of fever-dream, breathless intensity. It fails, but one can see the headlong rush of adrenalized young love lurking in the space between murmurs and whispers. Thing is, Romeo and Juliet (original), pretty much patented that tone. The play has much on its mind besides, but ultimately the story is one of young idiots who get too fucking besotted to think straight. I actually tend to think that the Luhrmann movie is an even better embodiment of those storytelling bones than was its progenitor.

The film is simpler, shallower, all surface (on first watching, the second gets better). What surfaces they are, though. It's a deeply beautiful movie, lush, everything shining like sin. Colors pop, voices sing, raw emotion sparks through every scene. At first I wasn't sure if the film has much to offer beyond that, that and the simple pleasure of hearing Shakespeare spoken well, but any work able to accomplish visual wizardry while letting talented actors rip is one worth admiring. It's a feverish, wildly propulsive movie, moving at the speed of its' young heroes' hormones. Everything is exaggerated, every emotion the depest and most powerful ever felt by man. The movie certainly isn't perfect; I'm still not sure if the words and pretty pictures are serving the same tone and story. But, it's exactly the kind of intelligently lurid storytelling Twilight can only hope to be when it grows up.

Much of this intelligence comes down to self-awareness. Romeo and Juliet are morons. Passionate, cute, deeply sympathetic, but their love is all-powerful and blinding and they know deep down that that either they're together or the world ends. So, basically, they're pretty standard hormonal teenagers. The movie gets it. We're meant to weep for these two, not want to be them. It's a tragedy, not a romance. If one looks past the shimmering beauty of the world (and Clare Danes' eyes), one might see that Luhrmann is after something elegaic, haunting, and mournful. He loves the characters deeply, but he doesn't admire them. It's a stunningly immersive film, but there's a layer of intellectual remove, especially in showing the clockwork mechanics of missed chances and wrong turns, that keeps it at least a little outside their perspective. I missed all of this on the first viewing. It's too easy to simply get lost and drink in the words and pictures. On a second viewing, I started to notice the depth of Luhrmann's thematic concern. This is really a mature film, thoughtful, commenting on the MTV generation without being of it.

So what does this have to do with Twilight? Well, maybe not much. But it's instructive, to see the book's goals so deftly accomplished by another work. Luhrmann earns his emotions, because we believe that Romeo and Juliet truly love each other, and so we weep even as we shake our heads at their folly. I do not believe, for a single second, that Bella and Edward love each other. They don't even know what the word means. How could they? Chart their interactions over the course of the novel. Where the fuck did it happen? When Romeo declares his love, it's lovely and hot-blooded and sad all at once. When Edward asks if Bella could possibly believe that she cares more than he does, it's just gross and fake and rotten to the core. Food for thought. And yes, much more apple imagery to come.

Twilight, 1.9

In which there is a headache.

How do people fall in love? This is one of the oldest, most impossible, most obsessed-over questions in human history. I won't pretend to have a definitive answer. I like to think that I've been in love a couple of times, although the passage of time and clarity of hindsight brings me to question one of those. There really isn't a mechanism, a formula. It isn't as simple as flipping a hormonal switch and having that particular part of the brain explode electrically. And no, I don't believe in love at first sight. If anything, love takes time. It's a process, and endless process of growth and exploration. This does not happen instantly. Attraction at first sight, sure. Lust, easily. But not love.

All of this is preamble. Bella does not love Edward. She just doesn't. They've spent, what, a few hours together at the most? Most of which involved sitting silent in Bio. They don't really know a thing about each other, and what Bella does know is fairly horrifying. What is Edward passionate about? Is he familiar with the concept of humor? I'm not going to judge him for being a vampire, as I'm assuming he didn't make the choice to become one. See, it's important to judge people based on their actions and intentions, not assumptions, projections, and physical superficialities.

I do have a few questions for Eddie, though. Let's start with this; How fucking old are you? Seventeen for a while. Except, Bella is actually 17. She's a minor, a child. Edward is an adult. It doesn't matter how old you look, but how old you actually are. Tom Cruise, who clearly has a Lazurus pit in one of his backyards, isn't a kid and therefore has the decency to not date children himself. What we're seeing set up in this book is a disturbing, patriarchal relationship with a seriously fucking disturbing imbaance of power. I'm sure I'll have more opportunity to rant about this later, so let's move on.

I'm kind of amazed that PETA didn't burn Stephenie Meyer in effigy, but whatever. I myself am not a vegetarian, so I won't judge the vampires for hunting animals. What I am judging them for is endangering the lives of several hundred innocent teenagers. Edward wants to kill Bella, and presumably all of her classmates, every second of every day. So. Yeah. Great guy, that Edward. Why the fuck don't they go live in the woods where they belong?

Enough for tonight. This book makes me so angry. Next post, I'm going to shift away from recapping and try to be a little more intellectually engaged. It porbably won't go well. See ya soon, crips and bloods.

Twilight, 1.8

Oh boy. Is this really what we're dealing with? I've hated the book up until now (shocking, I know), but if I squint really hard I can kinda see something resembling good intentions hiding under all the misogynist bullshit and craptastic writing. There's an innocence and naivete on display that make me think the author is in needed of education and life-experience more than punishment. Yes, I know she's older than I am, and a married mother, but whatever. The belief that love conquers all and complete relationships can be created with one loaded glance…. It's like the dreams of a 12 year old girl just hitting puberty, sprung to vampiric life. Now, I'm not taking back a word of what I've written up to now, simply pointing out that there could be other and perhaps milder readings of the same material. And then the alley happened.

This chapter is horrific fan-fiction, the kind of thing you find in the first pages of pornographic novels that somehow get major-motion-pictures deals. I mean… What the fuck? What kind of cynicism and hatred does it take to actually write this? Think about it: How many male characters can you say this book has treated positively? One obviously, maybe two if you count the Doctor, and…… Mabye I'm just out of touch, but my instinct would be to start from a place of thinking humanity is fundamentally good when writing a book intended for teenage girls. Again, cynicism has its place in fiction. See the brilliant novels of Joe Abercrombie for a good example. But those books aren't meant for kids. I just… Fuck it, let's move on.

Um, ok, I need to say something positive. Angela seems nice, right? Quiet, unassuming, fairly recognizable as a real person. I'm glad Bella might get to have a friend. She's gonna need it. The other girl on the shopping trip, who didn't make enough of an impression for me to bother learning her name, is completely meh. Vapid, dumb, uninteresting, but basically not offensive so whatever. Also, girls still think and talk about exactly two subjects; Boys and clothing. They also don't bother to, I dunno, call their friend who's been missing in action for a fucking hour. Because, apparently, teenage girls aren't familiar with the use of a cellphone. This book is so fucking stupid…..

Right, back to the alley. In the interests of not ranting for another five hunded words, I'm going to ignore the hateful absurdity of the situation in which Bella finds herself. Like I said, there's a stunning lack of faith in the fundamental goodness of humanity in that scene. Now, I'm well aware that these situations do happen in real life, every day, and that they're purely horrific. But I can't shake the feeling that, for this group of small-town opportunistic rapists, their primary flaw is not being Edward. Look at the descriptors; "Casual… grimy…. raucous…" The men are poor and unattractive, everything our favorite piece of vampiric shit isn't, and so they're monsters. The binary thought-process is a wonderful thing, no?

Oh, speaking of Bedward…. Young gents, allow me to impart wisdom; Following a girl around in your car is neither romantic nor sweet. It's creepy, illegal, stalkerish, and generally not recommended for anyone wishing to get anything more than a restraining order from said girl. Young ladies, listen up; If a boy treats you in the way Edward treats Bella, I recommend calling the police post-fucking-haste. Asking your father / brothers to practice tee-ball with his skull is also acceptable. That Edward's presence proves useful in this case in irrelevant to the larger point. STALKING IS WRONG!

Fuck this book and the Volvo it drove in on.

Lost, 1.7

I'm a big fan of visual storytelling. Film and TV are much closer to photography than written fiction, and it's great to see a show so completely embrace the principle. That said, was this episode really necessary? I mean, can ya get a little less subtle? Yes, Charlie is pushing and shoving and clawing his way out of the drug cocoon, and…. and the cave is his cocoon! Que sound of my mind blowing, I suppose. It's just brick-fisted and obvious in a way that isn't worthy of the show and what's come before.

A lot of it still works. Dominic Monaghan gives a taught, haunted performance, expertly layering grief and rage and overwhelming fear. Charlie and Locke have huge potential as a pairing. At first glance it looks like a contest between a wolf and a rabbit, but the quicksilver intelligence in Charlie's eyes promises something more. He's unpredictable in a way Jack will never be. If Locke can temper that with discipline and focus, he'll become a force in the group.

Beyond that, most of the plot isn't bad. Jack in the landslide is one of those big, predictable story beats that was probably necessary to open plenty of interesting possibilities in the larger group. Herald Perrinau's character (does he have a name?) showing some spine is a great touch, and gives him a purpose and level of engagement that the character hasn't yet had. Put it this way; I would've dreaded a flashback around that little family before this week, now it'll be painful but I won't necessarily want to perform some grade-a slittage of wrists. He and Locke are an intriguing possible interaction, and the geographic shake-up puts a lot of powerful personalities in a very small area.

Speaking of; Mr. Locke is in fine form this week. I wonder if the producers of Game of Thrones were Lost fans back in the day. There's a certain scene in the 1st season of the HBO show, with Tywin Lannister going all expository to his son while butchering a stag. It's a great, wildly bad-ass moment, and a seemingly direct echo of Locke and Charlie's little chat here. See, this is the kind of visual textuality the show should be aiming for. We learn something about Locke during the conversation, and probably more about Charlie. It creates atmosphere and audience identification, outlines a complex power dynamic with editing and shot choices. This is excellent pure filmmaking, working on a number of levels but always enjoyable as a simple entertainment. I can't say it's a great episode, but the flashes of propulsive badassery on display make it all worthwhile.

Twilight, Chp 7

In which your fearless blogger commits grievous self-injury. 

There's foreshadowing, there's roadmapping, and then there's just plain laziness. Guess which one Twilight picked?! Eddie is a bloodsucker. Jacob should invest heavily in body-hair trimmers. Bella will eventually (if she doesn't already) want to bang both of them. Hey look, a not-at-all cliched love triangle! But no, that turd-pit of a dream sequence is still too subtle. Clearly Mrs. Meyer worries that her audience hasn't quiiiite eaten what she's dishing out. So let's toss in the names of the classic novels that she's using as inspiration / blatantly ripping off for this little shitshow. Still not enough?!?!? Jeez, she must think her readers are complete fucking idiots. It's ok though, here's the single dumbest depiction of the internet ever delivered in fiction to make it all so very, very much worse. Somewhere, William Gibson just threw up in his mouth.

In case anyone is still wondering, this chapter sucks.

Now, I'm not one to argue that fiction should be solely concerned with delivering plot. Many authors get trapped on that particular hamster wheel, and end up re-jiggering promising stories into an escalating series of shocks, with diminishing returns (paging George Martin….). But there has to be some element of surprise / mystery for a story like this to work. That's the fuel for maintaining reader interest, for creating that sense of urgency to make some poor teenager huddle up with the book all night before a trig test. I can now predict the plot remaining in this novel, and I'd happily bet a kidney I'm right. It's just so easy, so lazy, so insultingly dumb. That little scene of Bella web-searching made me want to lobotomize myself so I wouldn't have to keep reading these books. Last week I questioned whether Stephanie Meyer had ever been to a party as a teenager. This week's question: Has she ever used Google?

Oh, so you're all aware….. Teenage girls discuss what dress they'll be wearing to the next dance, to the exclusion of all other topics and interests. Teenage boys switch infatuation from one girl to another in the time it takes a butterfly to fart, and with no sign of bitterness, disappointment, or sadness whatsoever, because hormones or something. I'd start ranting about misogyny, but let's be real. This book is insulting to everyone, of every gender and orientation. It fetishizes physical beauty and wealth, refusing to ackowledge any other positive qualities. Every time she even hints at liking a character, Mrs.  Meyer has them act in the most vapid, shallow, fucking stupid way imaginable, because anyone who isn't a Cullen must be a worthless walking turd.

Now, let's talk about the worst part of this chapter. What, you thought I'd led with the truly awful stuff? Oh no, kids. The early going is shitty and the ending is materialistic cliche that insults every high-schooler is the history of the world, but whatever. It's her first book, and it I can't hold it against Mrs. Meyer that some editor was dumb enough to remove this from the slush pile where it belongs. But…. But there's a little scene in the forest, with our fearful heroine out for her walk. She's thinking that maybe it's time to kick Eddie to the curb. But no, she's in too deep. Fearful of him getting hurt. Obsessed with the beauty of his face and the force of his personality. In short, she's in love with him.

Hang on a second while I hit myself in the face with a baseball bat.

Ok, we're back. Edward has been an asshole to Bella since day one of school. A raging fucking asshole. He saved her life, which is nice, but two seconds of reflexive action shouldn't excuse months of deliberate douchebaggery. Look at the descriptors she uses when lusting after him. Voice, face, magnetic force of the personality etc etc bullshit bullshit. Superficialities, every one of them. There's nothing about his personality, because they don't fucking know anything about each other. They've never had a real conversation. In a better book, I might extend the benefit of the doubt and say that it's trying to depict the first rush of hormonal lust or something. This isn't that book. These two idiots are on a collision course, one that ends in insipid declarations of mutual wanting-to-bone. But, one minor problem, every scrap of Bella's agency, dignity, and intelligence has to be shredded, burned, and shat on to get them there.

Lost, 1.6

Are the eyes really a window to the soul? To anything? Lost seems determined to push the aphorism to its limits. No, I don't mean the repeated cornea closeups. Focusing each episode on one character (or pair) is such a great tool for deepening understanding and focusing audience sympathies. I spent the first five episodes thinking Jin was a fairly standard-issue asshat abusive husband. Now, I still think he's kind of an asshat, but I can also sorta see where he's coming from. Imagine going through a terrifying and traumatic experience, only to end up stranded with a bunch of people whose language you don't even speak. Wouldn't you get crazily overprotective, anyway you could?

Now, I'm not trying to excuse his behaviour. Jin is being a jackass anyway you slice it, but anchoring these actions in recognizably human motivations brings a certain depth and richness to the character that he hasn't had to this point. I'd call him overwhelmed more than evil, but to the point of being horribly misguided. This is a man who's tried blindly to do the right thing for so many years that he's managed to royally fuck the only relationship that should actually matter. Daniel Dae-Kim is a forceful, charismatic presence, fully realizing the character through expression, physicality, and, yes, his eyes. He's really more interesting without the subtitles, layering frustration and impotent rage skillfully. There's clearly much more to this story we haven't seen, hopefully focused on the ways a simple witer turned into…. whatever he is now.

One of the hardest things for any television program to achieve is thematic coherence that doesn't seem like lecturing. Jin is a good man gone astray. And then there's Jack…. Oh Jack. I get it buddy, I really do. You're a doctor, a scientist. You don't get the whole "morale" thing. Moving to the caves is logical, it really is. But in the long run, it hurts you. It admits that there's no hope of rescue, that the group is aiming to survive and build rather than thrive. Is that the message you want to send?

This is what I mean about balance. The mataphor isn't the most subtle, especially that borderline-absurd shot of the matching black and white stones, but it's a strong and intriguing emotional through-line for the season (and probably beyond). For the survivors to achieve anything, faith and science have to work together. Jack and Locke are going to come into conflict, and probably soon. Who will win, I don't know.If this sounds repetitive, well…. yeah. The episode is the first genuine piece of filler I've seen this season. Basic plot, contrived conflicts and so on. It's probably needed to have these once in a while, both for timing and budgetary reasons, but the general lack of stakes isn't my favorite thing. Ah well. It still can't be as bad as Twilight. For that, I'll see y'all Sunday. Peace!

Twilight, Chp 6

I hate it when critics or bloggery types make assumptions about an author based on their fictional works. Fiction is an act of imagination, and while Stephen King is certainly correct in telling authors to write what they know, usually those experiences are interpreted and re-imagined so much as to be all but unrecognizable. Now, a lot of great books are nevertheless autobiographical, and often not even too subtle about it. My favorite author, James Joyce, enjoyed nothing more than writing about the difficult life of one James Joyce, with different aspects of his personality brilliantly reflected in various characters. This is a fairly common phenomenon, but I'm not going to make the leap to thinking that Stephenie Meyer became intimate with a young man fixated on carotids. I'm starting to wonder, though, about certain aspects of her childhood.

Actually, I started wondering a couple of chapters ago. My thoughts can be summarized thusly; "What the fuck kind of teenagers start planning a beach trip three weeks in advance?" I am 25 years old. Teenage-dom isn't that long ago, and my college years (extended teenager-hood if ever there was), even closer. During that near-decade of boarding school and higher education, about the furthest away I ever planned going to the beach was buying a plane ticket for Cabo three days before Spring Break. Now granted, I was and still am an idiot. So we'll double, and allow a week of planning for the actual smart people. Um. A week. Not three.

The entire beach trip is an instructive moment in this book, because it reads so completely and utterly false. Broad strokes are fine. A bunch of kids get out of town, with no intentions other than a campfire, some hotdogs, good tunes, and perhaps a clandestine-but-everyone-knows makeout session or two in the woods. Sure. Some of the best times of my life have been doing exactly that. Just not like this. The whole long scene reads like Stephenie Meyer sat some teenagers down, took careful notes about what they do on weekends, and tried to write about it in the tamest, most adult-filtered way possible. The whole thing is intellectually removed, academic instead of immediate. And the details are all wrong.

Are a bunch of kids going to hike to tide pools instead of pounding the beers they snuck out of the parental fridge? What kind of teenager drives a suburban? Do the social dynamics make sense here? At all? Just for example….. You have two groups of kids, not knowing each other and somewhat hostile. They meet, and the resulting interaction looks like a fucking board meeting with everyone standing around waiting to be introduced by name. Like, really? Would they all pretend to make friends, or glare at each other for a minute before someone (probably the locals) left?

And then, of course, there's poor Jacob. He seems like a nice kid. Dumb and deluded, but nice. I can only conclude that Bella will eventually want to fuck him, because he's described in fairly positive fashion, with lots of nice descriptors. As a side note; I'm deeply disturbed at the way everyone is boring, ugly, and dumb, or someone Bella does / will want to have sex with. Is there such a thing as a platonic relationship in this world? This is what I meant, a few paragraphs ago, about drawing conclusions regarding Stephenie Meyer's childhood and worldview. The views of relationships, ways of thinking about people and interactions, the twisted social ideology…. These are the writings of someone who had a very sheltered, or just very bad, child / young-adulthood. There's no understanding, no depth, no illumination. The whole book is one of those anatomical drawings of sex we all gagged at in highschool science texts. The mechanics are semi-right, but the fire, the passion, the sweetly chaotic sense of exploration…. All missing.

I came into this project expecting to snark a bunch and get some lulz. I'm honestly stunned and worried by what I've found so far. And from what I hear, it gets much, much worse. Oh boy.

Lost, 1.5

Jack is starting to piss me off. Looking back on the first four episodes, my hope for the character was based on potential. Matthew Fox, when unleashed, is a sparky and dangerous actor, with an edge of real insanity in his eyes. There are flashes of that actor in this episode, particularly when screaming at the unfortunate airline employee and going all Hulk-Smash on a coffin. But the rest is just so boring. Jack is exactly who he appears to be, and whatever horrific thing he did to his father, it'll be revealed as one of those tough-but-nessecary choices that only a true man who "has what it takes" could make. Que swelling strings and redemptive (probably hallucinatory) hug with daddy's ghost aaaaand….. Cut.

Any continued optimism has to be based on the potential for a clash between Jack's doctory non-religous science, and Locke's (newfound?) belief in miracles. And yeah, if my paralyzed legs were somehow restored by a fucking plane crash, I might drop to my knees and pray to the almighty. I appreciate that the show isn't making Locke into some starry-eyed proselytizer (although I'd love to see what O'Quinn could do as a fanatic. He's so compelling that it might actually work.). Watch the conversation in the forest carefully. Locke is pretty sure Jack simply hallucinated the well-dressed man. Pretty sure, but not knowing it as once would have. Doubt has crept in and wo't be leaving anytime soon.

Speaking of doubt, Jack has some of his assuaged in that crap-fest of a redemptive return to the group. Like, really guys? This is the one you want to have as a leader? Yes, his medical skills are invaluable, but having Hurley and the various pretty little idiots unable to make a desicion without Jack undermines them as characters and gives him a weight he hasn't earned. Quick thought experiment; Wouldn't this all be more fun if, I dunno, the other survivors took Locke's side in the science vs faith debate? I mean, these peeps survived (allow me to emphasize) a fucking plane crash. Forty-seven people and one dog. A fucking plane crash. Oh, and there are polar-bears and oversized somethings with a serious distaste for the indigenous flora.

The point being; There's a serious clash of titans being set up here. Actually, one titan and one boring-ass doctor. And there's a serious possibility that the doctor might lose. Wouldn't he be inherently more interesting as a bit of an outcast, someone marginalized? It's a tricky route, especially given that Terry O'Quinn blows poor Matthew Fox off the screen at every opportunity, but it can be done. And I think it should be. The one thing we haven't really seen from the good doctor is a genuine struggle. The bullshit c-plot involving pretty-boy's swim escapades and subsequent survivor's guilt is actively annoying because anyone with a functioning frontal cortex can see that Jack made the best, and in fact only choice possible. This is the show artificially and pointlessly creating conflict. How much better to let it evolve from an intelligently deployed clash of strong personalities.

Twilight, Chp 5

In which fingers are pricked, balls are thrown, faints are had, and your blogger wants to slap a vampire.

Another quick one this evening, because I just got back from vacation and I'm really kinda exhausted. Your regularly scheduled snarkery will resume with Lost on Thursday. Anyhoo…..Maybe it's the hangover talking, but I kinda sorta maybe didn't despise the chapter. There're still a shit-ton of problems, which we'll get to in due course, but there's a tiny bit of course-correction to be glimpsed under the rampant misogyny and shitty writing.

My biggest issue with the current state of "YA" literature is that the teenage leads are so rarely allowed to just relax and be teenagers. There's always a revolution to lead, an apocalypse to avert, various evil wizards in need of smiting. Kids quickly forget to be kids, grow up fast, and turn into super-serious short adults declaiming in expository fashion about the state of the world. Look at the descriptions of Harry Potter by the end of book seven. "Haunted… Weary…. Solemn…." Poor Harry isn't alone, mostly because every YA author ever has imitated his series.

If Stephanie Meyer has done anything right, and I'm not saying she has, it's in choosing to make the stakes of this book so refreshingly low. We're looking at a story about two kids who want to bone, and may or may not get around to doing that in these pages (Ed: I know they hook up eventually, not sure of the book). Now, I'm not saying this isn't an important, life-shaping decision. It's strongly implied, if never outright stated, that Bella is a virgin. Edward seems to have designs on changing that, and doing it in the most woman-hating, choice-robbing fashion possible short of outright rape. So yeah, this is a huge moment for Bella, but it's only about her and that makes the book wonderfully personal. Wait, wonderfully? Ok, that may be stretching things.

But still, this is the first chapter where Bella feels human. She's witty, sarcastic, insecure, and generally teenaged. Edward is still a raging asshole,  but at least he feels like the kind of asshole we all hated in highschool. I still don't buy for a second that these two have some kind of pre-destined connection, but we're getting pointed in a direction that might, possibly, lead me to think they could have coffee in the same zip code without me wanting to papercut myself to death. This is progress! In other news, Edward still sucks, Stephenie Meyer is still determined to make every feminist in the country burn her in effigy, and the bizarrely negative treatment of every supporting character continues apace. So, yeah. See Y'all Thursday for Lost! Peace!

Lost, 1.4

Quick hitter tonight, because I'll be on vacation when y'all read this. Side note, does anyone actually read these? Comments welcome!

Anyhoo….. Last week was a very good episode, for a lot of reasons I've already written about. This one is better. There's a confidence and muscularity to the storytelling that's just enormously appealing, and it's anchored by the most charismatic actor in the cast. Oh, and the island cured a paraplegic. So there's that. On the whole, it's a reminder that pilots (as in the first two episodes), are really, really difficult to get right. The third episode faces many of the same problems. This one is the first real instance of the show hitting its stride and starting to establish pace and stakes and a rythmn. And what a rythmn it is.

I'm not going to say that John Locke knew what the phone-sex operator would say when he asked her to go to Australia. But I can't say that he didn't. There's an undercurrent of self-loathing through that scene, and more than an undercurrent as he sits in his pathetic white cube in the vast room full of corporate drones. It's no accident that the asshole boss asks him for TPS reports. Normally I can't stand meta in-jokes, but the reference is so affectionate and the dramatic usage so intriguing (vicious satire re-purposed in service of redemptive drama), that it genuinely works. The boss is such a parody that he pushes the scenes a bit too far out; I'd prefer a subtler, more real form of villainy to match Terry O'Quinn's precise work, but the emotional through-line has such clarity that it's really a minor annoyance.

Speaking of O'Quinn, he's f-ing phenomenal through the entire episode. Locke is a fascinating character. He's clearly a strong, confident personality, and extremely capable in rough situations. I'm not sure if he was a Colonel, but ex-military is entirely easy to believe. The good part, and what the actor is so amazingly skilled at portraying, is his fear. It would've been easy, with the restoration of his legs, to make Locke into a superhuman ultraman type of deal. He's old enough to project wisdom and leadership, clearly intelligent, and that's before we get into the very particular set of skills and so forth. But…. Locke is scared, a little tentative, awed by the miracle of his legs. He's also slightly but noticeably full of shit. There's a certain element of bluster as he strides into the underbrush chasing boar. The case full of knives is hilarious, but it's also, dare I say, compensating for something. That's an awful lot of notes to hit in one episode, and O'Quinn nails every last one flawlessly.

The one problem, of course, is that Locke makes everyone else boring by comparison. Look, I get what Matthew Fox is doing, but there's just no surprise in the character. He's easy in a way that feels out of step with the rest of the show. Something happened to him in the fairly recent past, which made him lose faith, but I can already see the late-season beat when he prays again and so on. Execution is fine, but it's all fairly meh. Far better is that whole bit where, oh yeah, the island fixes Locke's spine. Ummm. How? I'm thinking something more akin to magic than science. I'm glad to see the show so directly adress the insanity of tons of people somehow surviving a plane crash. These are good developments, and getting better with every passing episode. What a fun show.

See you kids on Sunday/Monday for Twilight. That one…. well let's just say I ain't looking forward. Have a great holiday!

Twilight, Chapter 4

In which your fearless blogger contemplates the nature of assholery. Villain, thy name is Cullen!

Let's talk about dialogue attribution. In On Writing, which is the best single book on that subject since Strunk and White, Stephen King states that finishing dialogue with anything other than "He/She said," is weak, dumb, and generally amateurish. Stephenie Meyer finishes every. single. fucking. piece. of dialogue with something other than that simple, elegant combination. "He retorted…. I challenged….. He warned…. He explained….I interrupted…." And so on. She thinks her readers are idiots. That's the only possible explanation. Oh, or she's a shitty author who (correctly) doesn't trust her dialogue to be good enough to function without the attribution / adverbs. The solution, Mrs. Meyer, is to write things that actually make sense on their own, and are recognizable as something a teenager / whatever-the-fuck-Edward-is might actually say. So far, you fail.

Speaking of fuck-wit Cullen, he's a vampire, no? Likes munching on carotids? "I'm tired of staying away from you, Bella." He's tired. Of staying away. So, now, they will have some sort of relationship. Does she get any choice here? Clearly not, because destiny and all that other horseshit. This huy is simply an asshole, and the way he's treating Bella already, even before the advent of real relationshippy-relationship stuff, is disgusting. If you're dangerous to her, idiot, then say that and go away. Really quite simple. You're rich. Build a house in Antarctica or whatever and vanish. Please?

Even little things, like a theoretically innocuous girls-choice dance, feature more lovely instances of Bella's agency being taken by the parade of morons populating her highschool. Tyler hears her refusal as "Sorry about this weekend, I'd still like to bang you at the next dance." I mean, really? Bella does treat him with the annoyed disgust he deserves, but I wonder how his actions are in any way worse than those of the one and only E. Cullen. Well, Tyler wrongs Bella and trys to apologize, over and over. He seems to recognize that he did something dumb, and wishes to make amends. His methods suck, true, but the kid is thinking rationally and trying to do the proverbial right thing. Edward is…. well, exact opposite of that. He's the hero of the book. My brain hurts.

This is a bit of a repeat of last week's rant, but I think it needs to be said again; The book is glorifying superficiality, physical beauty, the posession of stuff in ways I find incredibly disturbing. Edward has cutting cheekbones, a nice car, pretty clothes, and he's irresistible. Mike (for example) seems like a reasonably nice, good-hearted highschool dude. Bella gives him no consideration, and repeatedly compares him to a dog. Is this anything to do with his personal qualities, or is it his lack of (forgive me) sex appeal? I focus on this question, because the book is making the classic dumb-ass teenager mistake of confusing love for lust. There's nothing wrong, and a lot right, with a healthy serving of lust in a relationship, but is that really how we choose our soulmates?

Food for thought! Just don't drink blood while you're contemplating. Horrible on the digestion. See you back here for Lost on thursday, my Bloods and Crips!

horror, humor, and meat tenderizers: You're Next

Horror is cool. It's a lean, agressive genre, often the first stop for hungry young directors looking to make their mark. I actually think it's the best sort of film for a new auteur honing their skills. Action, these days, belongs to computer wizards, with directors more like administrators than battle commanders. Comedy is for the former-standup improv guys, straight drama for writers, romance for heart-throbs. Horror is pure filmmaking. Its best moments are created through sight and sound, careful editing and precise frames. I applauded the choice of James Wan for the next F&F movie, precisely because he's already shown mastery over every aspect of a filmmaker's craft. These skills translate anywhere.

I've heard from a lot of people I trust that You're Next, Adam Wingard's nasty little broadhead of a slasher flick, is one of those movies that announces a huge new talent onto the scene. Verdict? Maaaybe. Just maybe. It isn't a Jaws level revelation, but a kickass, scary, funny movie for no money is still one hell of a feat. Wingard will be around a long time. This is a juvenile movie, flawed, the work of someone still growing into his ideas, but the bones are already here.

If there's a major flaw, it's that of being a bit derivative. Wingard steals from the best and does it well, but so much of the setup is familar. I kept expecting the reveal that Erin's real last name is Ripley, and that her mother Ellen did all the teaching. Don't get me wrong, I love a badass female protagonist, and Erin is a really, really cool one. Sharni Vinson looks like she's 15, and manages to be completely believable wielding a tenderizer. The whole thing is a nice dig at the concept of a "final girl," the horror movie cliche who makes it the final reel by power of general perkiness. Vinson has the look, but man oh man is she playing a different game. The last deliberate kill, which I won't spoil, is a triumph of ferocity and heartbreak playing across her face.

You're Next is very much part of the haunted house / scary mansion tradition, and the old heap makes a fine, majestically crumbling character. I'm fascinated by the way that the strangers are the ones who seem to know it best, to navigate the twists and turn and hidden spaces with the most skill. Part of it, just being practical, is that the masks are soldiers, and Erin is whatever the hell Erin is. But doesn't it seem like the core family is awful ignorant about their own house? Or perhaps it's just being uncomfortable, uncertain. This isn't home and hasn't been for a long time. Who are the real intruders? The actors, mostly indie-film stalwarts and good friends of Wingard (they all write, direct, and act together in various combinations), are very good at illuminating the infinite web of bullshit that's tangled between these people over the years. They're not good people, and if the personalities stray a bit towards type, I'm willing to overlook that as a way to get to the good stuff with minimal exposition.

Wait, you thought "good stuff" meant the bloodletting? Wingard's best, positively Spielbergian trait is his patience. The movie plays out in the beats between blood-sprays, the silence while lightning builds. It's a movie about the vicousness of family, the constant one-upsmanship between brothers that leaves one, only one, laughing. Erin and Cee share a late scene that involves one of them lifting a nail-studded board as a weapon. But the real wound was inflicted earlier, and you can see from the jealousy in Cee's eyes that she knows she's already lost. She'll never be as competent and smart as the Aussie stranger, and if there's one thing Cee can't take it's being second at, well, anything.

Beats like that make the movie. Straight action scenes are tossed off, almost perfunctory, entirely competent but you never get the sense that Wingard cares too much about the stylishness of his many kills. These sequences are used to build character and inject humor, not to horrify or repulse. Notice, in a certain kill-scene in the basement, that it's framed and cut like a joke. Quick, matching edits across eyelines, precise use of sound, pan down to the punchline etc. Another moment, involving a sprint and a wire, plays out like a sightgag worthy of the stooges. Heroic music, slo-mo run annnnnnnnnd……

You're next indeed, Mr. Wingard.

Lost, 1.3

"We all died three days ago. We deserve to start over." - That, ladies and gents, is a thesis statement. Surpisingly early in the run, but this seems to be something that will guide the show going forwards. What is rebirth, and does the show mean they died, like, literally? Cause I could kind of see that being the case. Quiet contemplation runs through the episode, and it's much the better for it. Bombast is well and good, and probably needed to hook the audience, but if this is the model from now on, I'll be pretty thrilled. It's a brutal episode, spiked by two of the best pieces of dark humor I've seen since ever, and a lot of great character work. Just awesome all around.

So what did Kate do? Murder? Possibly, but if so it was self-defense. She's virtuous, too dang nice to be believable as some sort of scheming black widow. I believe the bad relationship, some nightmare in her past. I've said before that I'm fascinated by people acting precisely, and Kate is clinical in her planning. But she's naive, too, and trusting. Experienced in these things but untrained, not a professional. Notice that she can't pull the trigger. She's fooling herself to some extent (is shooting someone so different from having them shot?), but she at least believes there's something to be preserved. The island now becomes her proving ground, as it seems to be for them all.

The mysterious Mr. Locke has seen a miracle. Terry O'Quin twinkles paternally and reveals nothing. There's no lightness to his decision to let the father return the dog. It's redemptive. His eyes in that last shot are scales, the balance not yet achieved. Backgammon fits, even if the metaphor is clumsy. It occurs to me that he asked the little boy which side he wanted to take, instead of Locke making the choice. Will this be his question to all the others? Is he just ahead in the game, or is he the one tilting the scales? My hope is that every episode is devoted to the background of a single character, as this one if for Kate. The producers assembled a rich and interesting cast, and we've seen glimpses and hints of stories from many of them. What the hell is going on with Sun and whoever Daniel Dae-Kim is playing?

But the cast is now smaller by one, and the marshall / bounty hunter jackass won't be getting a showcase episode. Very sad. Also hilarious. I don't give a crap about the man himself. A plot device and nothing more, but what a great slice of black humor as he dies. Vicious and wild and astonishingly real. This is a situation of hard and brutal choices. Sawyer is right the entire time. The man needs to die, and the absurdity of these scared, bumbling idiots is exactly how they might actually act in that situation. Sawyer, incidentally, isn't quite as big a badass as he'd like everyone to think. Been in a few fights? Sure. Killer? Weeeeeellllllll. Sorry bro.

And a huge apology as well to that poor farmer, whose lost arm made me cackle. Look, real life is funny. It's messy and dumb and full of smart people doing stupid shit. Few shows even try to reflect that balance, to bring order and chaos and chance into a depiction that feels organic. There are many, many ways the increasingly huge mythology could spiral out of control, and the elements of surprise will get harder to sustain with each episode. But, for now, it's pretty damn cool.

Speaking of things that aren't cool…. See you Sunday for Twilight. Aw crap…...

Twilight, Chapter 3

In which there is ice, in all the wrong places.

In one of his wildly entertaining reviews of terrible movies, Roger Ebert coined the term "idiot plot" to deisgnate those pieces of fiction whose plots depend on supposedly worthwhile characters acting like fucking morons at all possible times. Allow me to present a scenario, dear reader; Imagine a school parking lot, a few minutes before the day's first class, and in it a girl, a patch of ice, a skidding van. A boy, standing perhaps thirty feet distant, notices and grabs the van before it can pancake said girl. He manuevers both objects, which are equally inert and uninteresting, all while avoiding any injury to self, girl, or driver. None of the several dozen people standing in the parking lot, all of whose heads swiveled at the sound of squealing tires and terrified screams, notices anything unusual. Um. So, clearly, they're fucking idiots. This is therefore an idiot plot. I feel ill.

Because I try to be fair between snark attacks, I say this; Stephenie Meyer is trying. She's trying really hard, you guys. Failing, but in the real world you get an A for effort, so it's all ok right? Right? Bella needs to find out, somehow, exactly why her icy asshole of a future lover is an icy asshole, and him saving her life is as good a way as any to kickstart what I'm sure will be an electrifying storyline. Actually: Just once I'd love to read a book about two people, one of them with the standard tortured / supernatural / whatever background who fall in love. Then, out of respect and a desire for honesty, the tortured one reveals all, and the couple goes about dealing with whatever shit the plot tosses at them as a cohesive team with a relationship based on mutual respect and trust. I'm sure that's exactly how Twilight will go.

Except…. Not, it won't. I know this because Edward Cullen is an asshole. He's dismissive, arrogant, entitled, and a bunch of other lovely qualities. He's a statue, marble and flawless and so very, very cold.  If his unique situation prevented the answering of Bella's questions that would be one thing. But he seems determined to be as big a jackass as humanly possible instead of simply saying no. We're supposed to root for this guy? For this relationship? Perhaps there are redeeming qualities, buried deep. I hope so, but I doubt it. Eyes do not penetrate. They don't blaze. There's a childishness to the perspective on love and lust in this book, a sense of inexperience and uncertainty and deep confusion. Were I dealing with a better author I might view these as positives, an artist getting inside the mind of her innocent protagonist. But Meyer isn't a good author and this isn't that sort of book. She wants us to believe in the inevitability, the destiny of these two being together. Destiny robs choice. What are we rooting for exactly?

I continue to feel badly for Charlie, who remains the only recognizably human, sympathetic character in this shitshow. He's gruff, a bit awkward, but loves his daughter and wants only to keep her safe and happy. These are qualities to applaud. Not so much on the walking pile of superficiality that is Doctor Carlisle Cullen. He's young and pretty. Why does this make him a good doctor or a good person? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!

If I simply didn't like the book, whatever. I've read a lot of books and seen a lot of movies I didn't enjoy, and there's little harm in that. But this is actively disturbing, and it's only going to get worse from what I hear. We'll see. I'll be back for Lost on Thursday. Peace out kids!

Lost, 1.2

A fucking polar bear. In the middle of a rainforest. Now we're talking. For a show like this to work, it needs to be bonkers. Wild, unpredictable, everyone in danger. I'm all for basing things in character-driven plot, but come on. The mythology, so far, is by far the most interesting part. Bears! Crazy marooned French Lady! Sawyer has a gun! The marshall is awake! Oh, wait, no, that last part isn't so hot. It's more of a boring cliche, executed in the most predictable way possible. Yeah, Hurley passing out is funny, but the whole c-plot feels lazy in a way that's unworthy of the rest of the episode. Enough negativity!

The episode is titled "Pilot, part 2," and it certainly looks like the larger budget is carried over. The plane crash, shown from a half-dozen angles so far, is a crisply excellent piece of tv direction. It's a great set, the camera movements are sharp. and every shot is designed as wordless exposition and revealing character beat all at once. I'd much rather watch Charlie scrabble is the restroom than hear paragraphs spat into the air about his addiction. Cutting back and forth to him on the island keeps things interesting, showing that Charlie is still a fundamentally smart, competent person. He's very much the same live-wire, possibly dangerous addict, but there's a refreshing complexity to the character even in this (very, very early) stage of things.

Kate, not so much. Aside from a completely gratutitous shot of her in underwear (Side note; I'd never object to Evangeline Lilly being almost naked on my screen. But, really Abrams? Was that needed? I'm sensing a pattern. Paging Alice Eve…..), there's just not too much purpose to Kate's plot. It'd be nice, just once, if someone was exactly who they appear to be. Skip the tortured backstory / mysterious tragedy / wrongful accusation, and just introduce a personality. Let things evolve from there. I get the impulse, and there's an admirable sense that Kate, and all of her compadres, have arrived here as fully formed people with rich and interesting backstories. This is good (excellent, actually), but I also get the feeling that the writers are too in love with just how complicated they've made everything.

Speaking of complexity….. Where or what is the island? Related question; How did so many people survive a fucking plane crash? Like, really. One can overlook these questions if the show is obviously not taking place in anything resembling our reality. But this is a show about cracks, not canyons. It's close, and the laws of physics are respected. So there's magic here, or technology so good there's no difference. Purgatory? Perhaps. The banality fits, the struggle to maintain everydayness. So does the bending of nature, the cracks we can already see spreading. But… No. Purgatory is pointless, and there's a design to the island. I'm fascinated by precision onscreen, glimpses of plans made far, far before the camera ever began to shed light. Sixteen years is a very long time. The pain in that woman's voice is real. Someone saw the plane coming, awaited it for years. We'll meet them eventually. Unless we already have, of course. I know I asked this last week, buuuuuut what is Terry O'Quinn up to exactly?

So many questions! And we're just getting started. See y'all on Sunday for Twilight, my fellow freaks & geeks.

Twilight, Chp 2

In which snow falls from the sky, and all is perfect. Psyc!

Oh. So that's why everyone hates Twilight. Makes sense. I now present a sentence from chapter 2, written as always in the perspective of our fearless (or something) protagonist, Bella Swan, and referring to the object of her confused lust, Edward Cullen; "I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty." First off, it's an atrocious piece of writing. Doubling up on "that," using the conditional; Just a boring, weak, statement that's remarkably representative of the writing I've seen in two chapters of this book. But whatever. No, the real issue here is in content, not execution.

We all know that the primary consumers of this book and its sequels are teenage girls. I'm not trying to stereotype, and I certainly have no issue with literature targeted at that audience, but come on. Young women are the driven, passionate fans, and everything about the book is designed to appeal to them. So I'll ask; What kind of message do we want to send girls about oh, I don't know, body image, self-worth, shallowness, perception-v-reality, the steaming pile of shit that is our whole sex-sells advertising industry? Anyone? Should we, perhaps, try to move the conversation in a way that doesn't tie physical perfection and societal value? And, more importantly; What the fuck, Stephanie Meyer?

Wikipedia informs me that Mrs. Meyer is married, and the mother of three sons. I do not have children, but if I did, I'd raise my sons to respect women and themselves, and to understand that doors are opened through a combination of hard work and treating people the right way. Physical beauty is well and good if you have it, but it doesn't convey any kind of exceptionalism. Now, some of you probably think I'm harping here, and generally being too hard on a book meant for teens. I'm definitely harping, but is it such a stretch to think that a book can change someone's life? The way people talk about Twilight is much deeper than a mere piece of entertainment. It's held up as profound, wise about relationships, men and women and love. It occurs to me that love and lust are entirely different. They can coincide, sure, but pretending they're interchangeable…. hoo boy.

Also pissing me off is the insinuation that the Cullens are awesome because they have money, wear nice clothes, drive a fancy car etc. Having a lot of stuff and razored cheekbones doesn't make them good people. We have this weird idea that posession of fundamentally shallow qualities makes someone worthy of worship. See, for example, the entire industry devoted to holding up athletes as role models. Barry Bonds was remarkably gifted at hitting baseballs over walls (even before the roids), and also a raging asshole. The Cullens are pretty, but I'm deeply concerned that the book wants us to think that's all we could ever need to know about them.

The chapter also features something I'll charitably call plot advancement. Related note; Edward is kind of a self-centered jackass. Meyer is setting him up to be a charismatic, mysterious, brooding James Dean type. One problem; She has the perspectives mixed. We're experiencing these interactions from inside the head of an emotionally screwed-up teenage girl, who's further confused by the fact that she already wants to bang Edward's brains out (not that there's anything wrong with that). If Edward is going to be appealing, we need more clarity as to his motivations. Speaking in ellipses is all well and good if you're Yoda, and pre-established as wise and powerful. Whatever's going on here is torturous, not tortured. Edward isn't a character, he's just a OneD song on repeat.

Be warned, people. I'm gonna be swearing a lot more before this project finishes. See you next week for Lost!

Lost, 1.1

Lost is an odd duck. We've all heard that it's the most influential show of the 21st century (for better or worse), creative children everywhere, and so on. It might be more important, though, for all the stuff that went on simultaneously behind the scenes and out on the internet. Messr's Cuse and Lindelhof are (again, for better or worse), the models of every modern showrunner. The fan engagement, hint-dropping, and creative course-changes in response to social media… This is all unprecedented, industry shattering stuff. And, like most works of pop culture with this level of saturation and impact, the actual quality of the show has gotten lost in the fervor. I, personally, had never seen a full episode before tonight, even though I'm at least familiar with the story of the show. So for these recap / response thingies, I'm going to try and stay away from all of that crap. I want to focus on the show as a piece of televised art, not as a facebook thread. Gentle reminder; I'm going to watch and blog the entire show, one episode per post, at least one post per week. There will be blood. Let's rock!

 Pilots are always lumpy. They're shot months before the series, with a big budget but a lot of creative constraints. The best of the breed present intriguing characters, a compelling world, and throw in enough drama to make the audience NEED to tune in next week. That's an awful lot to get through in 40 minutes. But, happily, Lost gets a solid 1.5 of those three. The worldbuilding is terrific, starting off in a more-or-less recognizable reality to make the intro smoother, and then throwing a healthy dose of batshit insanity into the second half of the episode to keep things interesting. Everything here (the island, marooning, giant monstrous beastie) is archetypal enough that it would feel familiar in lesser hands, but Abrams & co execute well and pace it perfectly. The gorgeous Hawaiian locations help immeasurably, lending the proceedings a feeling of isolation, an almost claustrophobic sensation of being completely cut off in the midst of all that greenery. Technical credits are stellar across the board. The various parts of the plane just look fantastic, and provide a nice differentiation and energy as the plot shifts.

Oh right, there's a plot. Abrams, Cuse, and Lindelhof are riffing on standard variations of old stories. There's a doctor on the plane because of course there is, and he has a tortured backstory because obviously. That scene between Jack and Kate is the worst thing in the pilot by far. Mathew Fox plays it just fine, but the story is such a cliche that it sucks all momentum clean out of the show. At this point, I'm hoping he was lying or something similarly intriguing, but one doubts it. Jack is set up as a leader and protagonist early on, which may or may not be a good thing. Fox is plenty charismatic enough to carry the show, but the writers are saddling him with a massive square of a character. Similarly, Evangeline Lilly is a very pretty blank, and really isn't given much to do beyond look scared.

My hope, even at this early stage, is that the show gives itself over to the ensemble. Dominic Monaghan has such a great, sparky energy as the not-at-all what he seems Charlie, and watching him clash with Jack seems like a much better use of both characters. Jorge Garcia gives good funny, but there's a sweetness and sincerity to him that could make for a very fine dramatic character, given some time and room to breathe. And, of course, there's Terry O'Quinn. I have no idea who he's playing or what that gentleman was doing on the plane. It doesn't matter. I have to think the showrunners know what a weapon that man is. He's shot and framed like a God in the pilot, and…. well, no idea. But something. Definitely something.

I don't know if I'd call Lost a good pilot. There's an admirable amount of attention to detail, but the whole thing simply feels too of-a-piece with too many earlier, better things. Still, the location is beautiful, the production immaculate, and the characters are either specifically drawn, or played by good enough actors that I don't mind too much. I'm intrigued, and looking forward to the next episode. That's about all one can ask. See you on Sunday for the next Twilight!

Twilight, Chapter 1

In which there is rain, and sparkles, and misery. But that's just me….

Oh boy. Why do I do this to myself? Is it genetic? Can I blame my parents? These questions aside, I'd like to welcome everyone to the first of my many, many posts as I read the Twilight novels, chapter by chapter. This will be fun. Before we start in earnest, here's what you should know about me; I'm 25, a dude, have a degree in English literature, and generally dislike romances, rom-coms, supernatural romances, and all their many cousins and bastard children. I have never read Twilight, and my exposure to the franchise thus far has been limited to seeing movie posters, and once listening to a pair of very passionate young ladies talking about Team Jacob while standing in line at an airport. So, yeah. My main approach to this series is that of a literary / cultural critic. I'm interested in stories, zeitgeist, and the rare meetings between those two. Twilight is, indisputably, a gigantic phenomenon, and hopefully I can tease out the why and how from under various layers of shiny vampireness. Let's get started.

So, to my pleasant and considerable surprise, the first chapter (and short prologue), kinda sorta doesn't suck. Nor is it exactly good, either. The prose is atrocious, the characters cliched, and the situations rote. But there are hints of interesting ideas and a lengthy, lived-in mythology to go on. Bella's problems, which are more like minor inconveniences but whatever, are familiar enough to grant easy identification. The clues about the Cullen family keep things feeling at least marginally fresh and different. Meyer has clearly thought about the world she's creating, and the little hits of supernatural make a certain sense. Well yes, vampires would congregate in the most overcast place on Earth. They want to fit in, and so go to highschool, but the differences are apparent enough that there's already a sense of stigmata.

Bella herself has many of the same issues, and anyone who's spent time being stared at in a highschool knows how easy it is to be become separated, to drift. Meyer really can't write, but she understands something of the social currents tugging at her protagonist. The other characters need to be fleshed out posthaste, but Bella is at least a compelling heroine. She's refreshingly pragmatic, whiny, and touchingly aware of teetering on the edge between child and adult. Completely different dynamics with her two parents, being the kid to one and essentially mothering the other. I'm not saying anything is presented with skill, but there's much here for a teenager to identify with. Oh, but about the family….

Charlie is fine. Boring, but he's written with a certain sense of warmth and humanity, and I'm prepared to give benefit of the doubt this early. The mother, though. Woof. The main criticism of this series seems to revolve around it being profoundly misogynistic. Some of the things I noticed in passages with the mother; "Child-like…. Innocent…. At least she has Phil….." etc. So this grown-ass woman is completely dependant on her husband to stay clothed, fed, and otherwise functional in modern society. Um. First off, it just doesn't make character sense. Is this a person who'd flip out and move away from Forks, taking infant daughter with her? And really, Stephanie Meyer, what are you setting up here? Is this the type of relationship that's going to run through the books? Cause if it is, we're gonna have words before this is over.

Annnnnnd that'll do it for the first entry. Come back next week for more, games, and sparkles!

P.S. Yes, I know there was a prologue. It wasn't particularly interesting. Vampires, danger, shitty writing. Ok, time for a mini-rant. We know Bella is the main character of the series. She isn't going to die in the first fucking book. Stop, Stephenie Meyer. Just stop. Blah Blah trying to create tension. Didn't work. Bella is in no danger, none, and she's the only character we've met, so there's no reason to care about anyone else. The prologue is a waste of good ink. Rant over. Talk to y'all soon.

Announing Two (yes, really) New Series!

I haven't been writing enough. This is bad for many reasons, chief among them that writing makes me really happy. The reasons are standard. Work, lack of sleep, social life, nothing to write about etc etc. Standard but valid. These things take up most of my time, which is as it should be. But, I really need to write more. I can feel the skills atrophying, not just of stringing words, but of critical, organized, disciplined thinking. I can't lose everything I've worked on, and I think the day we completely give up our pasions is the day we die. So….

I will write two posts per week, every week. One will go live around Sunday evening, one around Thursday evening. To get started properly, I'll be doing two long series; A read of the Twilight Saga (yes, really), and a watch of Lost. One chapter or episode per post, one post of each series per week. Why these two series? Glad you asked…..

Well, I haven't read/watched either of them before. Twilight simply doesn't appeal (I'm a 25 yr old man), and Lost always seemed too insidery and obtuse when it was airing. But, they're undeniably two of the biggest pop-cultural phenomenon of all time, and I'm fascinated by those kinds of things. I like getting inside of stories, figuring out what makes them tick, and figuring out if they're, to borrow a phrase from Roger Ebert, succesful in being about the things they're about. Plus, I figure my reactions to Twilight should be good for some lulz for y'all. Not really sure, just yet, what form the posts will take. Probably a bit of re-cap to start, but it'll mostly be my reaction to these things as a cultural critic and commentator. Should be interesting, and will definitely be fun. First Twilight post will be up tomorrow, with Lost kicking off on Wednesday or Thursday. Hope everyone enjoys.

Mr. Echolls, can I have a word?

The first thing you notice is how young she looks, how innocent. Kristen Bell is a beautiful woman and a superb actress, but I have to think the first thing Rob Thomas noticed in her is that she doesn't look capable of holding a taser, much less firing one. The men in the series are all more mature, tall and lean and surrounding her like wolves. They look at her and see prey, while we look and wonder if they're right. At the end, having watched sixty-four episodes and a movie, I'm still not sure.

I'm talking, of course, about Veronica Mars, the late and much lamented television show that ran for three seasons and the aforementioned, kickstartered movie. An old friend, someone whose tastes in these things run to mine, spent a solid ten minutes raving about the show into his beer while I pretended to listen. I should mention that this friend is six-foot three, a former college football star, and about as much of a prototypical dude as can be found walking this earth. How he became a marshmallow, I'm still not sure. Suppose you could call me one now as well. That's cool though. There are worse things. Now about the show….

I'm not one of those people who look down on CW television programming, of which Veronica Mars is absolutely a predecessor. That channel, for anyone who's paying attention, is on a giant hot streak (Arrow is one of the best things on TV). The shows do, however, have a certain pattern. Hot girls in thongs, attractively brooding boys with tragedy in their pasts, redemption arcs, soap, etc etc. VMars has every one of these qualities. But, it's all tempered by undercurrents of rage and anguish that run through Neptune like sewage. There's a lovely, wicked sense of humor in much of the dialogue, and the show is never afraid of melodrama, but when it goes dark, everything gets pitch-black in an awful hurry. Scenes of surfer frat-boys chasing girls are interspersed with investigations into rape, murder, possible incest, pedophilia and much more. As fun, funny, and wonderfully touching as this show is, what I find most admirable about it is that willingness to follow every story to a logical (internally logical, anyways) conclusion, no matter how horrifying it might be.

Consider a moment, late in the last episode the show would ever air. Logan Echolls, the bad-boy suitor played by Jason Dohring, has just seen a sex-tape involving the ex he still loves and her consummately useless new boyfriend. He's horrified, not by the sex but by the violation of her privacy. We can see him remembering the moment, two seasons prior, when Veronica told him she'd been raped. He snaps. Fists thud, blood drips, glass shatters, and so forth. That Logan targets the wrong person is regrettable but not nessecarily relevant. His anger is protective, not jealous. Soapy? Sure, but the scene is all about misunderstood motivations. Logan doesn't get Piz, and Veronica, sadly, doesn't get Logan. She thinks he's still the same lonely, furious, tortured little psycho. There's some of that, but the boy is becoming a man and she's too blind to see it. Logan isn't trying to possess her anymore. He knows it won't work. So, he fights to make her safe, knowing exactly what it will mean for their future. He's also wrong, but we don't get to find out about that for nine years.

It's a rare thing to find a work of noir produced in the past few decades that actually gets what noir is about. Rian Johnson managed it with Brick, but Rob Thomas did it first and better here. At the heart of the genre is a conviction that no, everything might not be ok. Modern fiction is rubberized. Bad things happen, but then there's a bounce and everything is back to normal, or better. Rob Thomas understands causality and consequences. Veronica is torn apart by the pain of losing Lilly, shredded by her rape, ground to dust by the ostracism of her father. All this before the series even begins. She's damaged, and too blind or too arrogant to see it. I'm fascinated by the way the series (and movie even more so) makes it clear the this life is terrible for Veronica. It endangers her life plenty of times, shatters relationships, and generally comes fairly close to costing her sanity. Maybe worst of all, it's stunting. Logan is a very different, and far better person at the end of S3. How much has our heroine changed?

I'd be remiss, in describing these character arcs, if I didn't touch on the acting. Some quick hits: Enrico Colantoni is the best thing about the show, and I'd happily watch him and Bell bounce off each other for fifty more movies. Francis Capra is unpolished, but plays sly and funny so brilliantly that I don't really care. Messr's Hansen, Dunn, and Daggs are all very acceptable and sometime truly great (Hansen in particular. Yes, really.). Harry Hamlin, that brilliant actors actor, is just simply fun to watch. One of my biggest quibbles with the show is that Aaron Echolls is probably the worst-written of all the major characters, but Hamlin is able to elevate the portrayal through raw charisma. And, of course, Tina Majorino and Amanda Seyfreid do beautiful things with two very different young women. I could go on, but these are the big ones. These are the characters who stick, the ones we miss when they're gone from the screen. Except, of course, for our two heros.

What to make of Jason Dohring? I don't know if you can call him a good actor. The ticks are too predictable. One too many shots of him staring into space, lip quivering, in place of actual recognizable emotion. But sometimes…. There's a genuine quicksilver wit in certain scenes, shot through with the rage that's his defining trait in the early going. Later, that anger turns to tenderness, fear. The ape recognizes mortality, hers much more than his own. In the scenes with Bell, crackling chemical energy. You watch and are perpetually amazed when they don't tear off each other's clothes. I wonder about Dohring. There's much of Brad Pitt in his performance, the young and sleekly dangerous version. I wonder why he hasn't been bigger. This is Logan's story as much as Veronica's, and the pain in his eyes in that cafeteria is something to behold.

But of course, there's pain everywhere in this world. So much failure. At least Logan has the sense to realize that, if he must fail as he trys to win Veronica back, he's going to give her a last gift before vanishing from her life. Veronica, you see, covers her ignorance and naivete with agression. She's so focused on controlling the world that she forgets to see what others can offer along the way. She's agressively unpleasant in that absurdly appealing way, striding dramatically through the endless California summer. That, really, is what's so special about the show. We want to hug Veronica and slap her all at the same time. She's messy. We see the very last scene of the final episode, as sad as it is with all her mistakes hurting the one man she's always been terrified of disappointing, and we just hope she'll learn. Spoiler alert: Doesn't happen.

The movie, made and set years later, is a very odd beast. Fan-funded on kickstarter, chock-full of every cameo and winking joke any Marshmallow could want, and so pitch-black I'm impressed Thomas actually had the balls to make it. The plot is fairly rote. Logan, dead girl, blackmail, murder. Etc. Rote and perfunctory. That doesn't matter. The movie is about an addict getting her first fix in a really long time, the rush hitting her veins along with the knowledge that she'll never, ever quit. And in case anyone thinks I'm reading in, just listen to Colantoni trying to reason his daughter back on that plane. The best moment is also the most telling, and it's exactly what you'd think. Logan and Veronica, speeding across a bridge, music blasting and lights flaring in the distance. Perfect. Too perfect. Too easy to fall back into it and never look up. That's where she goes wrong. So yes, the end of the film is exactly what everyone's always wanted. But it's not what anyone needs. Happy, yet tragic, just like life. Few creators would have had the courage to end things that way. Rob Thomas, take a bow.

The Counselor Will See You Now

What to make of Ridley Scott's nasty little bear-trap of an exploitation flick? It's a very beautiful movie, to be sure, all glowing sunsets and gleaming steel and endless horizons. The cast is as preposterously loaded (and overqualified) as any in recent memory. It features the screenwriting debut of the one and only Cormac McCarthy, a writer who, despite being somewhat overrated in this blogger's opinion, has earned his place among the luminaries of modern fiction. And yet…. And yet there's something missing.

Look, I'd never deny that McCarthy can string sentences together. At his best, there's a compelling, apocalyptic inevitability to the way his books unfold. I simply don't care for him as an author. Something about that nihilistic streak is just profoundly distasteful, but the man can write. I don't even find fault in the halting, ornate cadences of his dialogue being translated to the screen; The cast is good enough to overcome it, and it's fairly clear that we're watching a pitch-black parable rather than something meant to be taken as representative of reality. His words fit the diegetic world, which is about all you can ask. What I can wonder is the point of this film.

McCarthy seems to think he's saying something profound, even when I can't tell if he's saying anything at all. Is it that women can be every bit as cunning as men, and sometimes can manipulate situations using sex? Perhaps, but the sexual politics here are too muddled to carry a consistent message. Is it that smart men occasionally do stupid shit for which they're not remotely prepared? Again, yes, but that's pretty far from an insight. So why are we watching this particular story as it plays out, in fire and blood and unholy alloys? I honestly don't know.

McCarthy is an intriguing author, but what feels weighty on the page can be faintly absurd onscreen. He works best when translated by the perspectives of a director, or two, whose authorial voice is every bit as strong as his in the finished product. The Coens took No Country for Old Men in a different direction from the (very good, not great) book. That movie works because it's haunting, gorgeous, very funny in a coal-black way, and has much on its mind regarding the nature of greed and capitalism. This one is every bit as great a technical accomplishment as its predecessor, but the rambling monologues and portentous pronouncements go nowhere. Ruben Blades is one of the great character actors in cinema, and I'm always happy to hear him speak, but that last bit of dialogue could've been delivered in three words; "You're fucked, Counselor." Instead it stretches for minutes, all sound and fury, signifying nothing.

In a lot of ways, Michael Fassbender is the biggest problem with the film. Not that his performance is bad. It's actually much too good. The Counselor, as written, is an idiot. The first half of the film consists of a lot of people telling him not to do the thing he's contemplating. The second half is a lot of people telling him exactly how thoroughly he's buried himself. That, friends, is a very dumb character. Fassbender is too magnetic, too lethal, to ever be believable here. There's a certain razor-edged intensity to all his performances. This, though, with Ridley Scott shooting him like a Jaguar in one of those British villain commercials (all puns fully intended), is just plain wrong. I'd buy him in the Pitt role, or the Blades, or, Hell, swap him for Bardem and see what happens (it wouldn't be boring), but this doesn't work.

And now to you, Mr. Scott…. Ridley Scott is an odd one. He's made genuinely great films, truly awful films, and everything in between. His technical skill has, if anything, improved with age; Prometheus, for example, is a bad movie, but the negative reviews tend to ignore how f-ing gorgeous it is to look at. On the flispside, though, is the simple fact that his ear for dialogue, which was never good, has worsened dramatically. I suspect part of it is that, in his younger days, the studios tended to pair him with stronger writers who could temper some of his bad instincts. Now though, he's an industry legend, and his tendency towards a certain structural laziness is unchecked. On this film in particular, with the huge get of a screenwriter, he had no particular reason to pay attention to anything beyond shooting, at which he indisputably remains one of the very best.

And yes, The Counselor is fairly stunning visually. Metal gleams like sin, landscapes are vast and wild, and the hugely charismatic people striding across them look like Gods. Action, such as it is, is crisp and geometrically precise. This is also one of the most impeccably sound designed movies you'll ever hear. Notice, in a certain scene involving a gruesome type of necktie, the subliminally subtle rasping hum underneath various screams and profanities. That, of course, is the motor.

So what's missing? Still hard to say. This should be a great film. All the elements are neatly assembled. Actually, that might be it. There's something half-hearted about the whole thing. It's an exercise, not an eruption. Scott is too clinical, and McCarthy too damn long-winded. His speeches and digressions slow the film to a crawl. A lot of the actors are good but miscast (poor Cameron Diaz). Others are very good indeed but given too litlle to do. Yes, Mr. Pitt, we're looking at you (Quick digression of my own; Brad Pitt fascinates me onscreen. The force of his celebrity distracts from how great an actor the man really is. Yes, he's taken a lot of junky paycheck roles, usually in something big-budget that calls on him as a leading man. But go back and look at the character-actor parts. Notice the dangerous, I'm-the-smartest-motherfucker-here gleam in his eyes. You could swap him in for Fassbender in any movie and lose nothing in the switch.). It's weird to say about a movie this violent, but I feel like it's the safest, tamest possible version of the story. Remember that fables are often told by feeble old men sitting around campfires, remembering the days when they clashed like Gods.