There is no drama without tension, so the saying goes. And there are very few things that build tension than a well-crafted atmosphere.
Considering how hectic my day’s been, I could just end the post there and be on my merry way, but I feel it’s necessary to elaborate for a variety of reasons. So, here goes.
There’s a part in the early stages of Vampire The Masquerade: Bloodlines where you must enter a supposedly haunted hotel and retrieve an item of importance to both the local baron and to the spectre inhabiting the building. The sequence of events that take place in that hotel can only be described as “harrowing.” Between the music, sound design, lighting and use of the game engine, an atmosphere of sheer terror is built, infusing the scene with tension without a single shot needing to be fired and no dialog spoken above a whisper. To this day, the thought of going into that digital hotel gives me pause.
The bit I played through last night in Half-Life 2 Episode 2 applies. The antlion hive is just downright creepy. Eternal Darkness is another good example of a game building atmosphere, as is Silent Hill 2, part of a series of games based on the real-life town of Centralia right here in Pennsylvania. I’ve driven through that town on more than one occasion, folks, and let me tell you the most sensible thing to do is just keep on driving. This sort of setting is also the inspiration for many of the works in the World of Darkness, and Storytellers would be well-advised to rely upon such sources.
Conveying atmosphere in writing alone can be difficult. You have no way of relating the sight, sound or smell of something outside of words. And yet there are those who have proven themselves masters of printed palpable dread. Lovecraft, for example, and Stephen King to a lesser extent. Tolkien’s descriptions of the balrog and Shelob can be chilling, to say nothing of the reaction of millions of fans at the appearance of Voldemort in the books of Harry Potter.
Let’s have a few more examples. Who scares you, as a writer? What do you think about when you want to convey a certain atmosphere? How do you channel dread, or fear, or despair into a written work?
Go ahead and give me your thoughts. I’ll be waiting. Watching.
So {insert title here}, Book 1 of the Acradea Cycle, is proceeding. It’s in fits and starts a bit, but a little kick in the pants from Ye Olde Magickal Speaking Beardface should keep things chugging along. At least a thousand words a day is a decent goal. As my northern better half points out, I do that in my blog every day without breaking a sweat. But I’m coming to a point in the novel where I need to name something of relatively large importance.
When I last discussed The Project at length, I mentioned “magical mass acceleration rifles.” They’re a weapon being developed by the magocracy in the Cities of Light for a few reasons that will come to light over the course of the story. But the new-fangled dealers of death need a shorthand name. Mass acceleration isn’t a scientific theory as such in Acradea, and calling them “metal tubes with wooden stocks etched with runes and Wards to conjure the ammunition and move it down the barrel at lethal velocity” neither rolls off of the tongue nor abbreviates well.
Considering these are the first “firearms” of this world, I’m inspired to look towards our own history of boomsticks. The weapons in Acradea do have a method of arming similar to those used back when matches or flint were used to strike the gunpowder. By pulling back on the hammer of one of these new-fangled weapons, the shot is conjured into the breach and arcane energy is passed from the storage runes to the hammer, acting as the weapon’s primer. Then, pulling the trigger closes the circuit between the hammer and the Wards on the barrel, starting a very rapid sequence of off/on toggles on those Wards which accelerates the shot. While not magical in and of themselves, shots from these weapons are accelerated by magic to speeds exceeding that of sound, and are likely to have decent range and accuracy if used properly.
When firearms began evolving as small arms, they were known by their firing mechanisms – matchlocks, wheellocks, flintlocks, etc. “Magelock” is an interesting choice but Privateer Press called dibs on that one. “Arcanelock” or “arcanolock” might work, or perhaps “wardlock.” I’d like to try and settle on a name for them before I proceed with the current scene, as it’s about to become very important to the plot.
So, if you’ve any ideas or just want to kibitz about what I’ve mentioned, leave me a comment, won’t you?
As an aside, if you’re hungry for inspiration, take a look at Chuck’s photostream sometime. The man has got a great eye.
Seriously. That’s what I’m talking about.
EDIT: Some GREAT suggestions and background info in the comments. Thanks, everyone.
Considering these weapons were originally designed to provide long-range protection to Guardians, who don’t have many options in terms of doing damage at long distance compared to evokers who can shoot lightning and alchemists who can transmute air to fire, I’m thinking… “longpro” or some other portmanteau of those terms. Thoughts?
EDIT 2:My Canadian better half said something surprisingly smart, to the effect that I’m over-complicating matters. The term ‘firearm’ might still work, especially if the look of the weapon when being shot has a resemblance to fire and it acts as an extension of the shooter’s arm. I just want to avoid pissing of intelligent people who make arguments like the following:
Prior to the age of gunpowder, there’s no such thing as “firing” a weapon, but there are all sorts of “historical” books and films that will have commanders instructing crossbowmen or longbowmen to “fire” at a target. It’s a habit that’s hard to avoid, but it always sets off a “this-guy-didn’t-do-the-research” neuron in my brain.
EDIT 3: “Executor.” It carries out the protection, or judgement, or execution of the mage holding it.
And since it’ll play a pivotal role in how the story unfolds, and the major complication that sets off the main story, perhaps I’ve finally come to my title – “Executor’s Wound”…
Half-Life 2, as I’ve discussed, is a great game. But it leaves the player wanting more. Even people who aren’t playing it, who sit beside the player wrapped in their Snuggie watching the action unfold and occasionally laughing at player error or wincing at bad things that happen to Gordon, found themselves asking “That’s IT?!?” Well, happily, Valve chose to continue the story of the game in a series of smaller episodic installments, the first of which being Half-Life 2 Episode 1.
We pick up right where Half-Life 2 left us, with silent uber-nerd protagonist Gordon Freeman separated from his would-be fixer, the G-Man, by a helpful and powerful group of vortigaunts. Gordon wakes up buried in rubble, and D0g helpfully digs him out. Alyx is very pleased to see you, but the happy reunion is short-lived. The reactor at the heart of the Citadel, which dominates City 17 and serves as the headquarters for the Combine, is on the cusp of going critical. Despite having just narrowly escaped the place just moments before, you and Alyx must venture back into the Citadel to stabilize the reactor and buy yourselves enough time to evacuate the people you can from City 17.
Much to my delight, the bulk of Half-Life 2 Episode 1 is spent traveling and fighting alongside Alyx. It never feels like an escort mission, though, as Alyx is more than capable of taking care of herself. She’ll often scout ahead of you, man gun emplacements and even snipes a bit at one point. Everything that made her a standout character in the original game is present here, and then some.
Smart money says the antlion eats a lead salad.
Episode 1 is quite a bit shorter than the original game but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Packing the sort of action, survival horror, storytelling and humor that makes Half-Life 2 such a good gaming experience into just a few chapters is no small feat, but Episode 1 pulls it off. There’s a bit more emphasis on story and less on extended sequences of dealing with zombies, fighting off soldiers or solving physics puzzles.
Which is not to say that such things aren’t present. You definitely will be doing all of the above. It just happens in smaller chunks that make it a bit easier to play the game end to end in fewer sittings. The distance between the enigmatic opening and eye-widening cliffhanger ending is shortened, and with the amount of action, intelligent writing and humor they’ve managed to cram between the two ends, you’re all but guaranteed not to get bored.
Stuff I Liked: Everything from Half-Life 2 that worked. Great battle at the end. Stuff I Didn’t Like: The only really negative thing I can think of is that we didn’t see more of D0g. Stuff I Loved: Alyx. Definitely one of the best companions of all time in a video game. Some of her lines are solid gold.
Bottom Line: Increases the value of The Orange Box by an additional 50-75%. Worth getting, worth playing, worth all the praise.
My wife and I like to discuss different things we like about the game, other ways we plan on playing it, and even toss dialog from the game back and forth at one another. If that’s not an endorsement, I don’t know what is.
I’m also starting up a new Mass Effect play-through, but I’ll probably finish my Orange Box review series as well as Assassin’s Creed 2 before I really dedicate myself to putting another Infiltrator through the paces of Insanity. There’s a lot to be said for a game’s design, though, if I’m willing to put myself through the stickier bits just to enjoy a particular scene or storyline again. Fallout 3 is another candidate for a repeat play-through, provided I can find a way to afford all of the DLC. I think I’d need a magic cauldron or something.
I’ve thought about the replay value of some older games, as well. StarCraft, Full Throttle, Vampire The Masquerade: Bloodlines, pretty much any of the Wing Commander games… they’re all games I’ve played multiple times, and even with the gift of hindsight and more advanced simulations at my disposal, I’d happily play any of them again.
Share your thoughts with me, folks. What games have you encountered that, after playing them through, maybe even years ago, you’d really enjoy playing again? What gives a game replay value for you?
When Hubilub asked me to review Paul Haggis’ Crash from 2005, he did so in the following charming fashion:
It won three Oscars and IT’S FUCKING HORRIBLE!. I hate it so much! It’s so stupid and preachy and…. GOD!
I’d seen the film years ago, and while I didn’t quite remember if it was all that great or not, I did remember feeling uncomfortable watching it, at times. If the film does have a message to shout from its pulpit, it goes something like this: PEOPLE ARE SELFISH PRICKS. It’s a message couched in one racially-charged conversation after another occasionally broken up with music that felt like it came from the secret love child of Enya and Coldplay. It’s got “Oscar bait” written all over it.
I can’t quite bring myself to call it “bad”, though.
Haggis: “Look, Academy! You can tell it’s art by the way it’s shot!”
It’s funny, actually, that I’m watching this right after having watched Pulp Fiction again. Both films involve different plots following an ensemble cast of individuals that weave into and out of each other. In the case of Crash we follow two married couples, two families and two sets of partners who live and work in Los Angeles and deal with issues of bigotry, racism and prejudice. Everybody screws up, everybody lets emotions get the better of them, and most of them learn something. It’s a little snapshot of the human experience, and the film tries very hard to err on the side of honesty about the human condition.
Let’s get the praise out of the way: the film is neither written nor acted badly. From bigger names like Brendan Fraser and Sandra Bullock to surprises like Ludacris, Michael Peña, Shaun Toub and Bahar Soomekh, the delivery of lines and flow of conversations feels natural more often than not. It does feel a bit more scripted than Pulp Fiction‘s dialog, but it’s not bad by any stretch of the imagination. In terms of cinematography, Crash is well-shot, presenting the situations and conversations in an unflinching manner. While this sort of straightforward on-location film-making does keep the audience focused on the meaning of a scene rather than distracting them with superfluous gimmickry, it also makes the heavy-handed nature of the film’s message all the more obvious.
Haggis: “IT’S ART I TELL YOOOOOOOU!”
And when I say ‘heavy-handed’, folks, I mean Crash drops meaning into our laps with all of the subtlety of an anvil dropped from the bomb bay of a B-52. It’s like Paul Haggis took the Avenue Q song “Everybody’s A Little Bit Racist” and re-scored it into a ninety minute operetta. If we were to compare Crash to, say, Schindler’s List, the most apparent difference is that Crash is an entirely fictional work whose characters and conversations merely serve as a vehicle for delivering this rather pedantic message, while Schindler’s List actually downplays the very real horror and tragedy of historical events yet still retains the power of its message without having to be blatant about it. Going in the other direction, take another look at Die Hard with a Vengeance some time. Seriously, the dynamic between John McClaine and Zeus Carver feels a lot more natural and realistic in terms of two men of differing races overcoming their prejudices than a lot of the stuff that happens in Crash. (Also, Vengeance has more gunfights and explosions. And Jeremy Irons.)
Back to Crash. If the film is to be believed, it’s not just that racism is bad and people are selfish pricks. Let’s see, there’s also the fact that just about everybody in LA is thoroughly racist, buying guns in the US is pretty easy for just about anybody even if the salesman is a fat bigoted pervert, and being a racist cop who abuses the position is okay as long as they do their job when its called for. And that’s just some of the unfortunate implications. As much as the script might not be terrible, the plot relies so much on convenience and contrivance that it seems to be talking about predestination and fate as much as it is racism. The pretentiousness of the message coupled with this reliance on the blatantly artificial construction of situations hurls the moviegoer out of the experience with all of the comfort and guidance of someone sitting in the sling of a trebuchet and kicking the release lever thinking that it’s an overly elaborate swing set.
Don can’t get into that War Machine armor fast enough, if you ask me.
I don’t want to give the impression that Crash is a bad movie. There are things in it that go just a bit too far and take away from the overall experience. The good acting is countered by contrived plot points. The decent conversations are balanced with the message that has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The end result is something that is, in my opinion, worth watching once or twice but not really deserving of much praise or attention beyond that, and certainly not Best Picture material.
As a personal aside as I wrap this up, I’ll admit I haven’t seen Brokeback Mountain or Munich, two of the other films up for the coveted golden statue back in 2006. I have, however, seen Good Night and Good Luck. That film is well-written, finely acted, intimately shot and uses a documentary style and a basis on real events to add weight to its message. It doesn’t hit you over the head with what it’s trying to say, either. It’s touching, funny and powerful. That film is Best Picture material. Crash tends to get a bit messy here and there. I’ve see worse messes, to be sure. So I guess Crash does get a recommendation, if you can get past the preachiness and the contrivances and the hammy moments and the laughably mournful score and…
Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.
