Bits For Rent

A girl I worked with over the summer told me that I have an old soul. I understood what she meant by it at the time, but there are times when I wonder whether or not I can agree with her declaration as I did that day. There’s something in me that clings to childish naivety and impish joys despite the clocks, calendars, and planet all spinning against my will. I have come, in recent years, to relish the sappy, life-loving nature of animated films–the real ones, not the Saturday morning sugar rushes–and several in particular have brought me to experiences that I couldn’t replicate in any live action film or stage play. A book, perhaps, but only because words can reach limits of the imagination no physical media could ever possibly grasp.

I speak of movies like Pixar’s Ratatoille and Wall-e. Two beautiful films about love–a passion for food in the former; a love at first sight in the latter–that massage the heart strings like the experienced, familiar hands of a concert violinist. It’s not just that they achieve so much emotion in their characters, rats and machines, but rather it’s the pure, simple, and honest feeling behind every action and moment that makes them so powerful. When that rat sits on the edge of a pot of soup and makes it into his own creation, he is a place worlds away… there’s nothing that could replace that sensation. Likewise, when Eve tries to repair Wall-e at the end of the movie and you think he’s lost his memory, your can almost feel your own heart breaking with hers. And she’s just a white, egg-shaped robot!

But it’s because they aren’t people playing roles, it’s because they’re characters completely and totally developed and enveloped in their own worlds, that we feel this way. If Daniel Craig was staring into Angelina Jolie’s eyes and couldn’t remember who she was, only that he was a garbage man, would we feel like crying then? Perhaps. But we’d know that it’s just Daniel Craig acting. With animation, that animal, object, or even person transcends its cels or pixels and makes its existence a reality. For 90 minutes, we can live in a world where rats love cooking or robots can feel emotion. When we’re in that dark theater, or even lying in bed watching TV, animation invites us along for the ride. It’s bright, colorful, and full of whimsy–or even, in films like Spirited Away, foreign and frightening–altogether a place NOT possible in reality… but wouldn’t it be nice to visit for a while, just to see what life could be like?

Tonight, I watched another film that took me into its world and warmed my soul. Unlike Pixar’s films, this one was set a little closer to our own reality, but with its own special twists. At first, I wanted to leave, to come back to my own world and stay there. But after a while I started to care about what was happening here. I started paying attention to the heroine’s plight. I wanted her to be Eve, and get her Wall-e back. And when the end finally came, I was, like one of the characters in the film, sad to be returning home… yet grateful for ever having had the experience at all.

The movie is called The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, and I recommend it to anyone who, like me, doesn’t mind letting their heart take you to new places every now and then. It’s a Japanese anime that has received high amounts of praise since its release in 2006, and I think that, like Spirited Away, it is proof that even in the world of CGI and Pixar, cel-drawn art still has that magical quality.

How did I ever manage to spend a whole post on PC games and not even once mention the glorious Orange Box? My god, people. This fall is so out of control with quality gaming that I can’t even spit far enough in my apartment without it landing near a console worth turning on. So, before I get into the console shit, here’s some Orange Box dirt, as well as some movie synopsis.

TOB is, irrefutably, a fucking must have if you like shooters. Half-Life 2 plus both episodes, Portal, and Team Fortress 2 combine to make some of the most fun and most well-designed shooter action since, well, Bioshock. But that’s not to say the games in the OJ Box are merely very good — it’s just that Bioshock stands so tall in my own mind that to have a package this good release so soon after it is like a fucking Christmas miracle. Fuck. Again! I haven’t even said anything about the games yet.

Let’s start with TF2. I was never one of the people that really got into Team Fortress Classic, as it’s called now. I appreciated the game and played it a bit at LAN parties in high school, but Counter-Strike was my Half-Life mod of choice. Now, however, Valve has turned the game into a thing of undeniable beauty. With a sleek and attractive animated art style to bring its seven classes to life, TF2 sparkles with opportunities for truly engaging play. Because each class is limited to the weapons they start out with only, a stacked enemy is never a fear for the player — thus making tactics a key component of the game. Say the other team if full of soldiers (which is very likely) and heavies, and they’re chewing away at your defensive line. You can either go offensive as a demoman or scout and try to push the bastards back, or move into a support role as an engineer to build turrets or as a medic to keep your own defenders on the front lines in good health. If the map allows for it, a Pyro makes a spectacular defender or in-the-enemy-base nuisance, provided he can traverse that far across the map. And there’s always a few pricks playing Sniper or Spy looking to screw with you when you’re honed in on a certain task or enemy. In other words, the game plays out like a chaotic chess match, where the pieces can be respawned and the kills are messy. It’s totally awesome.

Equally worth the purchase of its Orange shell is Portal, a very different type of first person game. I’d actually label it a first-person puzzler, but that just sounds cheesy and nondescript. What it is, though, is a beguiling, amusing story of a lab rat with a highly-developed piece of technology (the player) making its way through an increasingly complex series of room puzzles and ultimately finding the one thing all lab rats want: freedom. You were probably expecting me to say cheese, but you were wrong. Along the way, we learn a myriad of details from the narrating schizophrenic and absent-minded computer that supposedly watches our every move. Promises of cake, cubes that seek undying affection, and plenty of polite little turrets abound in the game’s 19 levels. But what’s most impressive about Portal isn’t the series of things is allows you to do with the gun (though they are spectacular), it’s the fact that there’s always something beneath the hospital-white surface that you know isn’t right and becomes more and more apparent with each passing test. The fact that the game builds to and accomplishes such a humorous, thrilling climax is a testament to the writing talent at Valve; destroying cameras and knocking over polite turrets generates more laughs than any outright joke you’ve heard in a game since who knows when, and the memes that Portal can generate are near-limitless. For $19.95 on its own via Steam or as part of The Orange Box, there’s no reason not to play this short but memorable gem of a game. You’ll thank me for the recommendation. Trust me.

I hope that trusting my movie tastes will also do you well in future weekends to come. I’ve been on a bit of a movie binge, lately, and have much to report. But, seeing as how I’ve written a crapload already about just two games, I’ll be a bit more condense with these.

30 Days of Night is a movie made for the people looking for the Resident Evil movie that never was. Yes, it’s about vampires, yes it stars Josh Hartnett… but it also delivers a more satisfying series of gory deaths and comic book violence than any of the imitators we’ve been privy to lately — Land of the Dead, RE:Apocalypse, and those terrible torture-porn films like Captivity. If you’re looking for the perfect mindless action flick to see that isn’t determined to gross you out (Saw IV, I’m looking at you), 30 Days of Night is for you. It’s like B-movie grittiness with a summer movie budget, and the Russian-looking vamps are a hoot to watch (even with their weird enormous faces and slanted eyes). Go have fun with this one.

On the complete opposite end of the moviegoer spectrum, you might be inclined to see Brad Pitt’s tour-de-force performance in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. This film, at 2 hours 40 minutes, tells you everything you ever wanted to know about the events leading up to Mr. James’ assassination. While it doesn’t pander to us with fun re-enactments of the bandit’s great heists — save for his “last” one at the beginning of the film — it does give a very detailed picture of the criminal’s mind and the people he surrounded himself with. In particular, the intricacies and motivations of Robert Ford (Casey Affleck) are truly compelling stuff, possibly Oscar-worthy, and never fail to hold your attention. The trouble with the film, though, is that there’s too much to be said, and too little to make the story move by quickly, for most viewers to give this film the time of day. Whereas the Godfather found success due to its incredible production values and star-studded cast thanks to the well-known Francis Ford Coppolla (though it could be argued America just loves a good mob movie), The Assassination is relatively art-house in its presentation, and has received little to no support from its studio in terms of advertising or even number of screens to be shown on. I was amazed it even made its way to where I live, if that tells you anything. However, none of this should detract from what is a very remarkable movie about a very remarkable man and his unfortunate death. As a piece of American history, this film should be required viewing. But if entertainment is your primary concern, it would be best to look at some of the more mainstream flicks showing at your local cineplex.

Which leaves me to talk about the quandary that is The Darjeeling Limited. I’m never really sure how I’ll react to a Wes Anderson film, even when I go in to them with the most optimistic of expectations. However, after seeing his latest, I do believe that the director has finally made his most accessible and relevant film to date. After an awkward yet sexually electric short film preceding the opening credits, TDL kicks off with a memorable intro of not just the characters, but the train the film takes its name from. Bill Murray, a god among men, races to catch his train, only to be left behind as Adrien Brody just manages to hop on. He then reunites with his two brothers, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson, both of whom are pure dynamite through the film. The wit is razor-sharp from then on, with excessive use of cigarettes, cough syrup, and awkward moments to bring the characters to life. Supposedly brought together for a spiritual journey, the film excels most at revealing the spirit of each cast member, whether it be the attractive Indian stewardess or the bald assistant to Owen Wilson’s character. The film is full of off-the-cuff comedy, but also finds itself facing several truly black issues: the loss of a father, reuniting with your estranged mother, death, salvation, and reconciliation. Never heavy-handed, though, Anderson has done a magnificent job balancing the peculiarities of the impoverished country with the screen-eating performances of the three lead characters. All told, The Darjeeling Limited is a fantastic, fun movie for almost any audience, with a heart of gold and a crackling wit. Where The Life Aquatic failed to make the relationship between its father and son figures anything more than an mismatched tag team surrounded by dime-novel swashbuckling, this film oozes with life and compassion. Highly Recommended.

And that’s all for tonight, folks. I’ll be back soon with my long-promised tirade on console games, assuming more PC and movie goodness doesn’t stop me first. Until then, let there be cake!

To be perfectly frank, I have no idea what exactly the title for this post means. I needed to put something in the box, and some letters flew from my fingers. The rest, as they say, is history.

I’ve been feeling a bit distant from gaming lately. I still keep up with the news regularly — and my engagement in gaming-related discussions and the like have not waned in any discernible way — but something about the actuality of playing something has become something almost revolting. I still clock in a few hours on LOTRO nightly, trying my damnedest to get a steed and hit level 50 to hand with all the other big boys, but turning on my PS3 or Wii for something other than watching a movie or downloading games — yeah, I’m buying stuff and not playing it… how sick is that? — is simply no longer occuring. I think the problem lies somewhere with my decision to plow through FFXII this summer, before moving on to another game, as I still have ten or twelve hours to clock in there that I am wondering if I even have in me. But, damnit, sooner or later the pile of shame will crush me and I’ll have to play something to live with myself. I just hope writing about it will work as some sort of… catalyst for my gaming soul to get its ass in gear. That, and the trip I’m taking to New York should allow for great DS moments.

Instead of video games, I’ve been occupying a lot of time with chores, work, golf, movies, and books. one-upping the nation’s brightest minds. At its heart, Bourne is simply trying to get to the next place in one piece, to find out why he is a killing machine and who turned him in to one. He is intense, driven, and simultaneously selfless, risking life and limb for old friends and complete strangers that may be able to provide him with a clue as to where to go next. Its stunts are wild but never extraordinary. Its violence is brutal but controlled. Its a movie that is practically engineered to have plaudits whooping and pundits quitely nodded with grudging approval. In short, a hard film to hate that — even if it was less entertaining than the spectacle of Die Hard 4 — is solidly built and well-directed by the seemingly unstoppable Paul Greengrass. I urge you all to see this movie.

Ahh… so where does that leave me? I think I was going to write something about how Nintendo has been completely ignoring its major titles coming out this year, or something truly compelling about how the Wii is essentially what the GameCube could have been, given a few changes in the industry. I could have also written about some of those bloody books I’ve been reading (short story: Suite was good, Cussler’s Black Wind is feeling a bit stale so far, and Harry Potter you’ve heard enough about). But I think that having finally written something after a two week absence is good enough for me, and I’ll leave things here. There’s a horse that needs buying.

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Now playing: Interpol – Pace Is the Trick
via FoxyTunes

Wrote this on aL as a review of the movie. I think that Vern on Ain’t It Cool pretty much chastised the film to death, and to an extent I agree with just about every nag. Some bothered me less than they did he, but they were grievances all the same. Anyway, my thoughts:

Just saw it, and I honestly can’t say I liked it. The last 30 minutes were entertaining but the rest of the film was adolescent humor and face-slap-inducing jokes. A two-hour and thirty minute film shouldn’t spend over an hour with none of the title characters around, but rather detail the lives of half a dozen military men, a hot “hacker” chick that never actually hacks anything, a couple of race jokes at the expense of Anthony Anderson and Bernie Mac, Shia LeBeouf’s parents being anal-retentive idiots and humiliating their son, or Shia Lebeouf stuttering and awkwardly acting his way around a very attractive Megan Fox. Newsflash: I don’t care about the humans! I wanted to see robots in a war that have to have some humans help them out or struggle to hide their existence in the real world. Not John Turturro be all special agent Area 51 nutcase government suit #506 or some little crappy boombox robot chatttering nonsensically and stealing confidential information on Air Force One. Give me the Megatron/Starscream power battles, the Optimus code of ethics, the friggin’ heart of the old series!

As a film, teens will eat this up and demand seconds, it will do big numbers at the box office, and there will likely be a sequel (since the end is totally abrupt and resolves NOTHING). But for anyone that enjoyed any Transformer series Pre-anime/Cartoon Network era for the actual compelling storyline and character development that was expecting a half-way decent retelling of the Generation 1 series, redial your expectations. This is Bad Boys 2: The Island of Robots in Disguise. Yeah, the last fight scene was good (if you can tell me WTF was going on half the time), but the rest was just pandering, mass audience slop, microwaved for 150 minutes on “Xtremely-Totally High.”

For the record, my Summer Movie breakdown, from best to worst, is as follows:
-Live Free or Die Hard
-Knocked Up
-Ocean’s Thirteen
-Tie: Pirates 3/Spiderman 3
-Transformers

It’s been a long time, if there ever was a time, since I managed to write something about music. Truth is, I listen to a fair amount of the stuff. Heck, I’ll even swing by Pandora every now and then to just try out something new. But as for what’s made it into my rotation lately, well, I guess I’ll do some explaining.

The Good, The Bad, & The Queen – For someone such as myself that finds everything Damon Albarn touches to be laced in gold and clothed in silk, this record nearly slipped past my radar. It’s a good thing I make it a point to watch Rolling Stone’s website for the latest CD reviews (always keeping my eye on something new to listen to), or else I’d never have had the good fortune to hear this 12 track serving of bliss. The material on tap here is typical Albarn: ambiguous but chilling lyrics, strong piano driven melodies, and synthed up, reverbed to the max guitar and vocals. Essentially, it’s indie Gorillaz — the disc is even produced by personal favorite and Demon Days mastermind DJ Danger Mouse — but if that doesn’t sound appealing to you, give it a try anyway. I’m sure you could be a fan in the making.

The Decemberists – So, funny story about this one. I get a recommendation from a few people to check out the Crane Wife — apparently it got a fair amount of publicity last fall thanks to Stephen Colbert — because it’s the new hotness and everyone’s loving it. So I give it a listen, casually, while writing and looking around the web. Nothing special. I even go on a crusade to tell these guys that they’re wrong and that the band is not, in fact, hot shit. But then… then someone tells me that the lyrics are really like a narrative. Really? I go and look ‘em up. Wow… they weren’t fucking around. And so I gave the disc another spin, this time really listening. The lengthy epics are still tiring and feel laced with religious symbolism, but the dialect is something that has to be heard. Skeins and patagons and keening bells and fecundities oh my! the band is quite the literary tour de force. Couple that with a very retro, perhaps even folksy, full band ensemble and you’ve got a winning combination. Since listening to Crane Wife, I’ve moved on to Castaways and Cutouts, which is perhaps the better of the two not because it lacks the pretentiousness of the former, but because the Legionnaire’s Lament is such a monstrously good sing-along (they call that anthemic, don’t they?) that you simply must hear it. No joke.

Bloc Party – I wasn’t a big fan of the first Bloc Party record. It certainly had its moments, but some questionable track inclusions left it out of my major rotation shortly after its release. After listening to A Weekend in the City a few times over, I’m beginning to feel that much the same can be said for this post-punk sophomore effort. It begins well enough, with Song Fox Clay moving from disparate acapella to strumming, thumping rock out. The punk continues ahead full steam with Hunting For Witches — a hint of electronica can be found at the song’s beginning — but quickly tag teams out with the slower, mellow burner Waiting for the 7.18. And with those three tracks, you really have the sum of the whole CD. Great, transient punk rock and vocal performances are cut up intermittently by odd, progressive pieces that really feel out of place (read: “The Prayer” and “On”). Overall, it’s still a pretty good listen, but it’s not of the caliber one expects from such a talented group of musicians who showed such promise in their debut.

Other groups currently in the cycle are Interpol, Arctic Monkeys, and The Rakes (another emerging Brit-Rock group that sounds like it may hold a fair bit of promise). Some classics are getting their due as well, but others haven’t quite stacked up to meet the challenge: Gomez’s Liquid Skin and Chavez’s compilation Better Days Will Haunt You both failed to impressed after a sufficient trial period. They can’t all be winners, kid.

Anywho… that’ll do it for tonight. I’ll try to be back tomorrow with some impressions of Virtua Fighter 5 and The Prestige on Blu-Ray. I got The Departed on BD today (“My hand is steady”), and I have to say that next-gen DVD really is something to admire. I’m not going to splurge all the time for these $25-30 discs, because DVD still looks great from 5+ feet away IMO, but I’ll be damned if the details and colors don’t just burst from the screen in 1080i/p. You really need to try it sometime.

I have had a fucking impossible time finding myself a copy of The Departed for Blu-Ray to test out on my PS3 (in 1080i, sadly… Wallets are only so fat at 19). So I bit the bullet and bought the special edition metal-cased Best Buy copy today instead. I am only writing about it to say that 1. this movie will kick you in the balls and make you weep with pleasure instead of pain and 2. this is potentially a very good sign for Blu-ray movies. When I went to BB yesterday, they had less than 5 regular edition DVDs in stock. Today, the cardboard shelves they constructed to hold the overnight surge in supply they must’ve gotten looked like it had been shaken down like Nick Nolte in an AA meeting. The movie is that fucking awesome.

“I can get the rat.”

BUY IT.

There was so much awesome that happened to me in January that I feel ashamed to have hidden it all beneath melancholy and social reprimands.  As such, please allow me a moment to recap the parts of the month that I will remember fondly for some time.

Children of Men – I have been waiting for a film like this for such a long time.  Every since the dystopian future cliche began making a comeback with The Matrix and Equilibrium, I have wanted to see a morally grounded and emotionally riveting narrative caked in psuedo-futurism.  Equilibrium wanted to be that film; the acting chops of Sean Bean and Christian Bale driving a strongly Orwellian message of humanity home in a movie that studios nearly destroyed.  Kurt Wimmer knows how to make good science fiction, but with both that film and the atrocious Ultraviolet, he has had his hands tied behind his back and his legs chained in iron.  If studios don’t allow this man some freedom, he may very well throw himself overboard in despair.

Which is why I love Alfonso Cuaron.  The man single-handedly salvaged the Harry Potter franchise from a cheery “Everyone-cheers-at-the-credits” schlock of mediocrity and morphed it into an ethereal, frightening fantasy world.  What is perhaps the best book in the series is undoubtedly the best movie made of the series so far, and is an impressive display of the man’s creative muscle.  Watch this film again if you doubt me.  Watch and notice how the camera never seems to stop moving up, down, around the characters.  Providing a sense of pace and unsettling presence throughout a very dark and fear-filled story.  The man is dominate, and Children of Men is the proof in the pudding.

Much the same can be said of Clive Owen, a rising star quickly becoming one of my favorite actors.  The man has a look perfect for the film: rugged, worn, but endowed with strength.  He proved to be capable of more prosaic performances in the play adaptation Closer, but in Children of Men he proves equally as fit for the role of humanity’s savior.  Theo, Owen’s character, is the Detective Deckard of this millennium.  Overcoming physical odds and pressing on and on towards a goal that he knows is beyond his ability to reach.  But while Blade Runner’s ending left us with a “what if” concerning his own fate, Children of Men leaves us pondering our own.  Could infertility become the next epidemic, and if so, what does that mean for us?  One of the most powerful films to come along in quite some time.  You owe it to yourselves to see this.

Pan’s Labyrinth – If any film can compete for top honors of the year against Children of Men, it is this one.  Make no mistake, this is not a typical foreign film.  Guillermo Del Toro is a seasoned director, and his visual style was met with reasonable success in the competent if not noteworthy Hellboy.  It’s a very distinct look: deep blue hues cover everything, and a very earthy, overgrown look applies itself to all aspects of the set.  And this look is part of the reason why Pan’s is such a successful movie.

Since I assume most of you are unfamiliar with the title, imagine if you will a Grimm fairytale, but not the watered down, Disney-approved versions you may have seen before.  This is the real kind: dark and violent, with an ending that is meant to scare as well as educate.  Pan’s Labyrinth is that fairytale, both visually and in story.  The young girl who stands at the heart of the tale, Ofelia, is trapped with her pregnant mother in a captain’s home during the Spanish Civil War.  Saddened by the pain and stress her unborn brother is bringing upon her frail mother and the violence of the war around her, Ofelia’s only escape in through her fantasies, which come to life with aid of a menacing and ancient faun.  According to the creature, Ofelia must complete three tasks before the full moon if she wishes to join her true father, the King of the Underworld, once more.  Three tasks that become increasingly horrifying and traumatic for a girl already living with both.

This is not a movie that can be enjoyed by children, or possibly even adolescents.  The themes that carry throughout the film are both emotionally and visually mature.  The creatures Ofelia must encounter, both real and fantastical, are the ultimate representations of villiany: violent, sadistic, greedy, and malevolent.  Yet at the same time, there is a warm fire burning in every frame; a small moment of comfort here, a glimpse of compassion there.  With such an air of evil looming throughout the movie’s very atmospheric settings, the viewer is only further engrossed by the few frames of goodness Del Toro has sprinkled throughout.  By the time the film hits its final act and all the wheels are spinning, one cannot help but pull back and gasp at the awesome talent this writer and director has unleashed on the screen.  Even the end, as sorrowful as it may seem, has a strange sense of happiness to it.  The fantasy has eclipsed reality, and we are all subject to its awkward but comforting embrace.  If you have any desire to see a truly excellent film, find a way to a theater showing this one.  You’ll thank yourself later.

The Office – Where the hell have I been?  Apparently Steve Carrell has been starring in one of – if not the – funniest shows I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing for the past two years.  After finishing the first two seasons of The Office, I am completely stunned that it took me this long to find such a gem of a show.  To put it simply, The Office takes a small cast of character actors and, despite the seemingly limited canvas of working at a paper company, crafts one of the most original and inventive scenarios to grace network television.

I could go to lengths describing each and every character and how perfectly the entire cast works together, never stealing the spotlight from one another despite Carrell’s screen-eating performances or the not-so-subtle “friendship” of Jim and Pam.  Even Dwight’s brown-nosing, control freak spasms are only at best complementary to the rest of the office.  Behind every stare, smirk, or dead-pan one-liner there is a laugh to be found, and I must say it has never felt good to laugh so hard.  I look forward to catching up on Season 3 this month and making The Office part of my weekly show rotation.  If you ever needed a reason to stay home Thursday nights, NBC has definitely given you one.

And I guess that does it for my January recap.  I’ll probably end up doing the same for February, since this one seems to have worked out rather well.  Until the next time I hit submit, so long and good watching.

I wanted to write up a post dealing solely with The Departed, Martin Scorsese’s latest balls-out drama that will undoubtedly not net him the Oscar he so rightfully deserves, but I don’t feel like tonight is the right time.  Instead, I’m just going to vent on a few loosely connected things going on in my mind right now.  Please bare with.

First: Fucking GameStop dared to actually sell only TWO pre-orders for the PS3 here in Gainesville, while it’s neighbor in the bloody mall EB had a dozen.  I’m not sure exactly how 30 people, myself included, all managed to do the 100-yd dash to the same store WELL before the place opened, but I knew I had screwed the pooch as soon as I caught a glimpse of those large, neon letters.  Only at the time they didn’t appear to spell out EB Games.  It looked a helluva lot more like a big red and white “FUCK YOU.”  But hey, that asian kid stole the Tony Montana standee and I told the random mall-folk we were waiting in line for Pokemon, so at least I got to have some fun while my hopes of a PS3-fueled November burnt to cinder.  Joy!

I’m also finding that I’ve developed a rather significant interest in picking up writing.  Not the usual typed entry into the ol’ blog, mind you, but actually sitting down with my notebook and pen and letting my mind roam free.  I think the idea came from when I had the privledge to have Joe Haldeman speak at several of my classes on American Science-Fiction.  In case you didn’t know, the man wakes up at 5am every morning and writes for a solid two hours, regardless of the topic.  Now that is some seriously respectable dedication to your passion in life.  I just wish that I could find a talent in myself able to be refined in such a manner as that, without feeling as if I’m imitating or idolizing the habits of some other person.  Specifically, I want to find some outlet and pour my soul into it, and not just my snap-crackle wit and cruel tongue as I do here.  I want to do something that feels like art.

Conjoined with this urge to mightily swing my pen across paper and triumph over the lined sheets with each and every etched character is my sudden spurring interest in assassins.  Yes, once again it’s that sense of “hey, ya think that Assassin’s Creed has something to do with it?”  No shit, Sherlock.  That game looks like Prince of Persia on crack, but whether the story can be nearly as moving as what the Sands trilogy gave me is yet to be seen.  More importantly, I feel the need to write something down about assassins, but I want it to factually based and accurate.  I have the general idea for the character’s mentality already floating around in the ether of my mind, but when I jump into stories with character and no sense of direction, I tend to end up wallowing in my own sty.  My 60% complete but never to be published Star Fox noir featuring Falco as protagonist suffers from such a fate.  Only my second “fan fic,” but with my inability to create compelling clues or ties the threads in my head together sufficiently, the whole thing kinda hemorraged and went kaput.  But that’s another story.

Hmm… what else is there?  I just watched Edmond, a David Mamet project starring William H. Macy as a cheap, racist, cathartic businessman throwing his life into a garbage disposal and then jumping in headfirst after it.  Mamet excels at crafting some serious metaphysical, psuedo-realistic shit, and this is no exception.  It’s not so much a collapse of the individual as it is the sudden dominance of the id… so dominant that it acts as its own ego several times throughout the film.  I don’t know what else to say other than it’s crazy and it’s Mamet and tarot cards are a motherfucker.

Anyway, I’m off to spend some time with Okami.  Hopefully the overflowing hi-art style of the game will inspire me.  Hopefully.  And hopefully I’ll figure out just what the hell I’m trying to do with my life and stop putting my life on hold.  Ugh, but let’s not go there tonight.

…

light up, light up, as if you had a choice

I feel obliged to blog today, although why and about what have yet to reveal themselves to me. I suppose that for the time being I shall, as the saying goes, “run with it.”

There is a rumor going around that movies are getting too long and overblown on fat budgets that make even Rueben Studdard look like Nicole Richie. (Where the hell is that guy, anyway? Hanging out with Justin?) I, for one, disagree wholeheartedly with this notion. Sure, you may have to take a piss break or two more than you’re accustomed to — those of you with poor bladders, that is — but the fact of the matter is that you can’t rush art. Do people feel ill of Square-Enix when they announce that Final Fantasy MX is going to be over 60 hours long? Hell no. Do people get mad at Stephen King for writing 800-page novels? Well, maybe for the novel part, but not the length. And so why should we take offense when a director decides he wants to leave less than 70% of his movie on the cutting room floor?

The fact of the matter is this: most great movies are over two hours long. A lot of really good ones are nearly 120 minutes. Goodfellas, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, The Lord of the Rings, The Empire Strikes Back, Dances With Wolves, Taxi Driver… I’m trying to be random and make a point at the same time, but I assume you catch my drift.

The point is, going to the movies is not supposed to be a throwaway experience. Movie sales have declined over the past decade because we’ve become a culture of instant satisfaction and unabashed gratuity. YouTube, Google, iTunes, portable music, video, and TV players. MP3 Cell phones. The world is running on a caffeine cocktail stuck straight into its brain. If we can’t get somewhere within 10 minutes it’s a long trip. If we aren’t watching something with half-second clips every few minutes its boring and unwatchable. Take a look at music videos over on MTV… I mean VH1… I mean Fuse… Or perhaps you should just pull out your video iPod. LOOK AT THAT SHIT BEING SHOVED THROUGH YOUR OPTIC NERVE. It’s like a bad acid trip that you are being forced to look at for 3:30 minutes. If you get upset that a director with actual talent is making movies too long, you ought to lynch the hacks that sync video to your “pop” music for six figures a pop. But it’s all hugs and kisses and forgiveness, because they did bring the sexy back.

The hive mind mentality of pop culture needs to get its ass kicked for being so hypocritical (yeah, that’s the weirdest personification ever, sue me). But I’ll be damned if studios edit the next Ridley Scott film because people’s ritalin wears off before the film ends.

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you can look a hurricane right in the eye