Month: March 2011 (page 4 of 5)

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! RoboCop

Logo courtesy Netflix. No logos were harmed in the creation of this banner.

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Capitalism is, in its current form, a very Darwinian way of life. Only the wealthy survive, and if you want to make it you need to cleave yourself to someone with pockets much deeper than yours in exchange for the means to keep on living. Lately the cleaving has been to large corporations instead of individuals. This is why you’ll see public sports arenas bearing the names of dispassionate banks and energy companies instead of the luminaries of the sport. This is called privatization, and it’s the basis for Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop.

Oh, and there’s a robot. Who’s a cop.

Courtesy Orion Pictures

In a near-future vision born of the 80s and bearing a sharp, cynical edge, the police of Detroit have become owned and operated by Omni Consumer Products, a military subcontractor looking to bulldoze a crime-ridden part of the city to build an ultra-modern business district. When the old guard’s robotic answer goes awry during a demonstration, a young turk puts forth his own idea, involving the use of ‘some poor schmuck’. That schmuck is Murphy, a hard-working well-meaning cop transfered into the most violent precinct in the city just in time to killed in the line of duty. OCP scrapes him off of the operating room table, drops him into a robotic body and wires him with primary directives: Serve the public trust, protect the innocent, uphold the law. This is RoboCop, their hottest product ever, but inside the titanium and kevlar, does Murphy still exist?

RoboCop’s one of those movies I grew up with. When I first saw it, I was too young to understand a lot of the underlying themes of the work, but I understood the basics of the plot in and of themselves, and hey, badass robots! Seeing it again, I can appreciate it more on levels beyond mere spectacle and distraction. In fact, watching RoboCop as an adult, it’s hard to shake the notion that Verhoeven might as well be saying “This is what happens when people with money run everything” in big, bright letters.

Courtesy Orion Pictures
Your move, creep.

That said, this is a Verhoeven entry much more in line with Starship Troopers than Black Book. Even more so than the theme of military pseudo-fascism, privatization is something that has remained a pertinent and very real possibility in our modern day and age. There are some of the classic Verhoeven tounge-in-cheek touches, like the stock tickers above the urinals in the OCP executive longue and the 8.2 MPG automobile called the 6000 SUX being hailed as “an American tradition”. These moments of levity not only serve as bridges between the visceral violence but also drive home the point our director is making.

Which isn’t to say that RoboCop is all cerebral anti-privatization rhetoric. There’s plenty of action to be had. From the gunfight in the coke factory to the showdown with ED-209, you’re certainly not going to be bored. It’s hard to shake the notion that the film’s age is starting to show in places, and some of the deeply-seated nuclear fears of the age seem a touch laughable, but the film has the good sense to laugh right along with us. However, it’s also hard to shake the feeling that some of the trends we see in the film – the beleagured, underfunded civil servants, the thriving corporations with rhetoric and iconography disturbingly close to a certain regime from the 1940s, the apathy of the public, the sensationalist news media – came to life all too vividly.

Courtesy Orion Pictures
Say hello to Dick’s little friend.

On top of everything else, Peter Weller does a fine job in the lead role. As Murphy, he’s a nice guy in a bad town, wanting to do the right thing and impress his son while not being a very good shot and making a couple mistakes that lead to his demise. As RoboCop, it’s clear OCP has done all it can to strip him of his humanity, giving him an improved form and more accurate function while watering down all that made him who he was. The struggle he undertakes to regain what he lost, even in some small sense, inhabits this movie with some real heart that, while a touch melodramatic at times, nonetheless makes for a perfect final element to round out a great film.

I was afraid that the years had been unkind to RoboCop. While I did laugh at some of the stop-motion that chilled my blood as a child, I noticed a lot more now that I’ve grown. And everything I noticed just makes the movie better. If you’ve never seen RoboCop, be it because you were too young or you wished to avoid Verhoeven’s signature ultra-violence, do yourself a favor and queue it up on Netflix. Be it blazing action, darkly comedic satire or an intereting twist on a Frankensteinian character, there’s appeal for most within its runtime. It’s well worth your time.

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.

Arc Trails

Courtesy Scott Free Films
Not historically accurate, but Balian’s got a good arc, too.

The hero is introduced to us in a relatable fashion. He may be flawed, but his heart or his mind is in the right place for the journey about to take place. It begins when he is presented with a dramatic question. His journey takes him through the wilds unknown both without and within, and in pursuit of the answer to the dramatic question he will learn something about himself. By story’s end, he has not only answered the dramatic question, he has changed, grown or even evolved.

This is your standard character arc, the sort of thing Campbell explores in detail and tale after tale emulates. The protagonist can be male or female, young or old, initially naive or villainous, but an arc like this keeps the character from stagnating. It takes the reader as well as the character from beginning to end without making things too boring.

This is remarkable to us, I think, because it’s rare for us to have this sort of coherency in our own lives.

Stories begin and end around us every day. If all of these starts presented the sort of dramatic questions we remember from our favorite tales, Seth Godin wouldn’t have needed to write Poke the Box[1]. Unfortunately, not every day or situation launches a clear arc that leads to significant change, be it in ourselves or the world around us. When those changes do come, it’s only in retrospect that we trace the journey and know in full what we’ve learned and how to use that knowledge in the future.

Campbellian arcs show us the potential of the human spirit. Take a look at Luke Skywalker, or Harry Potter, or Frodo Baggins, or John McClaine, or Marty McFly… quite a few of the heroes we enjoy reading about or watching follow these patterns. In each instance, the characters grow beyond their origins to achieve something greater, either for themselves or beyond themselves. It’s a tried, true and oft repeated pattern because not only does it work, but it also inspire.

This doesn’t mean that said arcs can’t be played with. Relating this sort of growth to modern characters can be difficult and can require modification or outright subversion, e.g. the characters in Clerks. Plots can also twist and play with our expectations – see Memento or The Sixth Sense. Finally, a writer might take a character on this arc and push them in another direction, throwing their journey into conflict with itself, the way Scott Pilgrim must confront his immature behavior to overcome the obstacles before him.

I know I just threw a lot of examples at you, but I’m sure you can come up with more. That’s what the comments are for, folks. Fill ’em up.


1. Yes, I know, I harp on this a lot, but it’s a really good book if you’ve got a creative mind and want to make a living with what that mind provides you. Read my Amazon review here.

Dragon Tales: Lament for Dar Gramath

Logo courtesy Wizards of the Coast

Dozil Tumbledown is not the only bard familiar with the Heroes of Harkenwold. Making her way through the southern lands of the Nerathan Empire is Azarya Dawnborn of Daggerport, a deva fascinated with learning and telling tales of the brave and the selfless. Here you will find her perspective on events befalling Andrasian the elvish warrior, Krillorien Brightsong the eladrin priest of Pelor, Melanie Good-Melons of the Arcane Tower, and Lyria Thorngage of the Junction Thorngages.

Tonight I sing of Dar Gramath.

You will not have heard his name. He was a hard-working man of common birth, like many of you. Before the coming of Lysander, he was one of the premiere horse-masters of the Nentir Vale. The Lord Marshal of the Vale, barons and free knights, all came to him for the shoeing and barding of their steeds. It was for this reason the Harkenwold became known outside of the Vale. It was for this reason Antonious Vhennyk sought the land as his entry point to his claim on the north.

Yes, that very same Vhennyk, Lysander’s Lord of War, master of the Iron Circle. He wanted lands befitting his title and stature, for he was a large man with large appetites. Half-giant, some called him. Still, with Sarthel uncertainly held, Adamanton loyalists creeping in the alleys and the dwarves ominously silent, Vhennyk could not leave that place with which he’d been charged, so he sent his lieutenant, Nazin Redthorn, to secure the Harkenwold and the land beyond it.

He anticipated peasant resistance. He anticipated guerrila assaults from the Woodsinger Elves. He anticipated Hammerfast closing its gates only to open them onto his very keep in Sarthel.

He did not anticipate Dar Gramath, nor the heroes that came to his aid.

For his part, Dar Gramath feigned compliance. He knew most Harkenwolders were no soldiers. Still, he sent whom he could to harrange the supply lines of the Iron Circle. The smallfolk beyond the towns of Harken and Albridge could render no assistance, as they had fallen under assault from vile frog-men with a grudge to settle with the druid Reithann. Gramath knew he had little time, that his resistance would be discovered eventually, and without help from elsewhere in the Vale, he and the freedom of his people were doomed.

But then came the Heroes. You’ve heard the tales of their part in the Battle of Albridge, yes, how they set Redthorn to retreat before tracking him down to Harken Keep and ending his short but brutal career as a mercenary leader. But this foursome numbered five that day. Dar Gramath stood with them at the battle, a general in all but name, an inspiration to the brave people of the Harkenwold, as if he was twenty years younger and once again adventuring with other names you know – Zeradar Brightsong, Azariael of the Tower, Tulwyr daughter of Bahamut, the Silent Lady. Those are tales I’m sure you know well, from happier times, the times before the Empire.

When Baron Stockmer was freed and Harken Keep liberated, Dar Gramath feasted these new heroes. He traded stories of battle with Andrasian. He served Lyria ales even larger than those of her compatriots. He introduced Melanie to a traveling hedge magician. And he told Krillorien that he was the spitting image of his father in both form and action, yet the elder eladrin had never been so inclined to help smallfolk as the priest of Pelor had been.

It was after the Heroes departed for Fallcrest that tragedy came on a black horse. Nazin Redthorn, you see, was not the only tool in Vhennyk’s arsenal. A tiefling murderer, full of hellfire and malicious intent, came into Albridge with a smile and some coin. The night he was shown hospitality and goodwill from the newly liberated folk, he stole into Dar Gramath’s livery, taking the former hero’s head and burning the stable to the ground.

The head he took to Fallcrest. He presented it to the Heroes of Harkenwold and tried to send them to meet their friend. The battle was fierce. The blade of Avernus nearly took the lives of Lyria and Andrasian. Were it not for the skill of Krillorien and Melanie’s magics, this tale would have a very different end. Yet they did triumph in the end, and almost immediately, they returned to the Harkenwold to pay their friend the respect he was due.

Great was the wake held on the grounds of Harken Keep. Baron Stockmer told the massive gathering of his friend of many years, how he’d come to the Harkenwold after suffering so many scars and hardships, wishing merely to tend to horses and hang up his weapons forever. Yet when the Iron Circle came, Dar Gramath took up arms again without hesitation. He died, John Stockmer said, knowing his land and his people were free, thanks to the Heroes of the Harkenwold, who even in death did not forsake their friends.

After the wine and song, the bonfires and memories, the Heroes struck back West, to that keep over Winterhaven you all know well. Snow had begun to fall, despite it being just after midsummer, but… that is a song for another night…

Why I’ll Never Grow Up

Courtesy Hasbro

There’s a picture of me out there, and I wish I could post it here with these words. It’s of me, at around 8 years old, proudly showing off my Transformers backpack. Optimus Prime, in all of his 80s glory, is ready to stand up and protect my books and Trapper Keepers from anybody trying to subvert my freedom, which is the right of all sentient beings. I knew Prime wasn’t real, but I believed his philosophy to be true.

As you can imagine, I got bullied as a kid.

My peers made fun of me. I actually got beat up once. I probably caused concern from my parents at more than one point. Somewhere along the way I tried to dial down the behavior that was causing such strife, in the name of fitting in. I never really did, and the behavior remains to this day. At this point, it probably isn’t going anywhere.

These days, though, I wonder why ‘fitting in’ is such a big deal.

The people who we remember, the ones we admire, aren’t people who fit in. Galileo, Joan of Arc, Martin Luther, Nikola Tesla, Rosa Parks, Issac Asmiov, Gary Gygax – these are people who refused to fit into the molds cast by the world around them. They sought change. They embraced their natures. And we love them for it.

Why do we demand so much less of ourselves? Are we just lazy?

Let’s face it, fitting in it easy. It requires almost no effort. Just do what everybody else around you is doing. Buzz in time with the rest of the swarm. Contribute to the overall productivity that will bluesky that turnkey solution. There is no ‘i’ in team.

Because they’re all hanging out in imagination. Innovation. Initiative. Plenty of ‘i’s there.

The problem is that imaginative, innovative people might not always channel that energy effectively. There are lots of mixed signals out there that can muck up one’s internal compass. We look for immediate payoffs. Benefits with minimum investment. Bigger bang for our bucks. To get them, we settle. We compromise. We take the safe road.

There isn’t anything wrong with this, in and of itself. It’s good to have certainty. Especially if you’re in a situation where you need to concern yourself with the wellbeing of others as well as yourself, you need to find a middle ground between dangling by your fingertips and keeping your feet on the ground. The nice thing about not being alone in this is the potential for someone to watch out for you, or you for them, as you make your way towards that goal, inch by inch, one foothold at a time.

When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time building LEGOs. And not always with instructions. In fact, I probably spent more time digging my fingers into the big plastic bin, fishing out blocks and assembling them by the blueprints in my head rather than going by established plans. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that sort of initiative. I started doing what other people did and were successful at, rather than seeking my own path. I followed well-trod trails around the mountain, rather than looking up and figuring out how I’m going to get all the way up that thing. I’d take a few steps up the incline but then back down when it got hard, because those trails are much easier to follow.

I forgot what it meant to be a kid while still occasionally acting like one.

I’d lament lost time but not consider how better to spend it. I’d rage against my situation and take no steps to change it. I’d experience rejection and loss without using the motivation it was handing me. Kids at their best don’t just cry over scraped knees. They let the pain out, wipe their faces and get up to try again.

At some point, if you’re on top of things and really want to hold onto that initiative, you’ll fail enough that you’ll realize why you’re failing, and instead will begin to succeed. You can’t get there without failing, though. Learning to ride a bike means falling a few times. Ditto traversing the monkey bars. The first few sandcastles you build are going to crumble before your eyes, possibly before you even finish. What matters isn’t necessarily the scrapes, the bruises, the wipeouts. What matters is what we do after they happen.

It’s okay to fail. It’s okay not to fit in. We have to find a way to make the most of those failures, to make not fitting in matter. When we do, the successes mean more, not just because of the failures that lead to it but because we can take full ownership of it. We had the crazy idea. We stuggled to make it come to life. We were aware that we’d get odd looks and skepticism. We got to the finish line anyway, and something new and exciting is the result.

That’s reason enough to abandon the set paths. It’s why we remember those luminaries I mentioned. And it’s why, at this point, I’m probably never going to ‘grow up’.

The Curious Case of Randal Graves

Courtesy View Askew

On Saturday, I watched both Clerks films, back to back, which I highly recommend for any fan of Kevin Smith. There was something I hadn’t noticed before, but was pointed out to me and I’ve taken some time to consider it. There’s also the fact I wanted to break in my revamped PC with some gaming, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s important for characters to change over the course of a narrative. This is a given rule in creating good fiction. Characters that stagnate, that do not evolve, usually don’t make for good stories. It is odd, then, that a character in the most iconic of the works of Kevin Smith, held by some as a premier storyteller of our generation, does not evolve. In fact, it’s been observed that, if aything, he gets dumber.

I’m speaking of Randal Graves.

We first meet Randal in Clerks, tasked with minding the video store next to the Quick Stop grudgingly run by his best friend Dante. Randal is Dante’s enabler, keeping him sane through his shift with thoroughly irreverent humor and pontifications on pop culture. Through Smith’s black and white lens, we see clearly how the dynamics of this friendship work and continue to evolve.

When Clerks II takes place, Dante has changed. Sure, he and Randal are still working dead-end jobs, but Dante’s taken steps to change that. He’s on the verge of taking the biggest one as the film opens. Yet Randal hasn’t. Years have passed but Randal has not evolved. Even the dealers that hang out on the sidewalk have changed and grown somewhat, but not Randal. He simply never bothered to grow up.

As much as this might seem as a knock against the character at first, there’s a reason his behavior is manifesting in this way. For those of you who’ve refrained from seeing Clearks II, I’ll encapsulate this examination in spoiler tags.

Spoiler

When Dante and Randal are in jail, Dante vents his frustrations at Randal and his apparent lack of initiative and desire to move beyond their jobs. Randal responds by saying, in essence, it doesn’t matter where he works as long as he’s working with Dante. The prospect of Dante leaving is terrifying to him, and he’s been acting out of that fear and a stubborn desire to hold onto his best friend. But as much as the emotional causes are apparent, especially on repeat viewing, there’s something else at work that, to me, shows Randal is just as smart as he was in Clerks.

In that original story, Randal confronted Veronica about Dante’s feelings because he felt Dante wouldn’t do it on his own. As much as it upset Dante to the point of physical violence, Dante did appreciate the act and ten years later is still confiding in his best friend. There’s a line in Clerks II that indicates Randal is aware of the controlling nature of the future Mrs Hicks, and while part of him doesn’t want to see Dante under this woman’s thumb, there’s got to be part of him screaming “HEY! THAT’S MY JOB!”

Still, for all of his shenanigans, Randal has been a good influence on Dante overall, and in the second film Dante does make more decisions on his own. That’s one of the things I appreciate about Kevin Smith’s writing and characterization, even if it seems one of those characters hasn’t evolved. These young men are both intelligent and, on at least some level, in touch with their emotions enough to understand the whys and wherefores of their feelings.

This is a rare case. But it’s still proof positive that just because good characterization does not necessarily mean constant evolution. There are exceptions to every rule, especially in creative endeavors like writing, with the important part being how those rules are broken.

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