Spooky! is the word of the day, today. That's spooky! with an exclamation point, which in this case is integral to the word. Don't remove it. That wouldn't be very spooky! would it?
Alright, enough silliness! Tonight is Halloween and I am full of candy and burrito, so something must have gone right. My girlfriend has sadly sent me home for the evening so she can study for a midterm tomorrow, but all in all we've had a wonderful hallow's evening.
And this being Halloween, it's only right that I should be absolutely terrified, quaking in my pajamas and huddling under my covers for warmth and protection. This has nothing to do with me watching American Horror Story an hour ago (not scared, not scared!), but rather the usual demons of self-doubt and fear for the future. You see, a few days ago, two of my three roommates abruptly announced that they were going to be moving out of the house at the end of November. Faced with the choice of staying on and assuming greater responsibility over a house I've only lived in for four months, the third roommate and I have elected instead to strike out on our own for a smaller place to live. That gives us one month to move before our rent effectively doubles. Spooky!
So tomorrow, we're getting on that, visiting new apartments and places and making hard choices. Among other things, I really need a job. One that doesn't pay sporadically and inadequately like my current moneymaking pastime, substitute teaching. That's what's really scary, I suppose. That and werewolves.
But it's nice to take a break from all that on a night devoted to fear, and spend it pretending to be afraid of bloodsucking monsters. I really love Halloween for that; but I also need to take a break from eating candy.
Happy Halloween, everybody. It's now the witching hour, so I'll leave you to your spooky! night!
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
The Zelda Wars
I recently read a fantastic and persuasive essay by a writer on the internet by the name of Tevis Thompson. If you have any interest in classic and modern video games, his essay Saving Zelda is a must read, for the way it balances nostalgia with a rigorous critical eye. When I say it is a must read, I mean just that: you must read it. Go ahead, I'll wait. Even if you only read what he's written, without returning to consider my after-the-fact commentary, I can't really say I'd be disappointed.
Please do come back, though.
Like Thompson, I've also done a bit of writing about The Legend of Zelda. This spring, I wrote a review of the most recent game, Skyward Sword. But a few years before that, I wrote a series of reviews of each installment (from the original to Twilight Princess) on the old Game Informer forums (they got deleted, so don't try looking for them there). The Uber Review, as I called it, was overlong and could have used a lot more editing than it got, but I was in college at the time, and I had actual assignments to write at the same time. Having made such an attempt at putting the entire series in perspective, I felt as though I had to make some kind of response.
Now, obviously Thompson and I have a fair bit of distance between us on this issue. He refers to Skyward Sword as the "worst" Zelda game, and I recently called it "a latter-day masterpiece of design." He argues to the effect that the series has been going downhill since it appeared on the Super Nintendo; I hold the (relatively mainstream) position that it peaked on the Nintendo 64, particularly with Majora's Mask, but has been holding strong into the modern era. His evaluations are strictly informed by the aesthetics of the first two Zelda games (and of late 1980s-era games in general), while I have been generally forgiving of its later developments and its evolution away from the original design. In fact, you might even say I've been too easy on Zelda.
Even if I have been overly forgiving, Thompson's viewpoint can never be mine. I've enjoyed every Zelda game I've ever played, so his characterization of a series with no soul just doesn't ring true for me. As far as I'm concerned, the overworlds have gotten more immersive since the 8-bit days, and I relish each new chance to explore Hyrule. For me, this series is very much alive and kicking; I keep coming back, not only for new games but also to replay the ones I've beaten.
But even if I don't agree with his big conclusion, a lot of the specific criticisms are undeniable. The endless parade of talkative sidekicks stopped being anything close to endearing about ten years ago. The difficulty curve has nearly collapsed under the weight of hand-holding tutorials and overly generous combat. The abundance of disconnected gameplay mechanics can often seem like make-work, no matter how solid the fundamentals are. The burgeoning mythos that can't seem to decide how seriously it should take itself has gotten in the way of what was once a very simple tale about the balance of power, courage, and wisdom.
So in spite of my love for Zelda as it is, I would very much like to play the game that Thompson yearns for: entirely open-ended, streamlined and punishing. That isn't to say I agree with his ideal conceptualization of the series, but it would be bold and it would be incredibly fun. Why not question every assumption the series has held since A Link to the Past? Why not trust the player to define their own relationship with the world? Why not leave the cinematics to the cinemas, and craft a uniquely game-like experience unbound by linear narratives?
There is a scene in Twilight Princess that captures the sort of atmosphere that I believe would suit Zelda well: when Link explores deep in the forest and uncovers the ruins of the Temple of Time, a major landmark of its spiritual predecessor, Ocarina of Time. The chance to play archaeologist as well as octorok-slayer, learning about the landscape through the ruins and artifacts left behind, has been my dream-experience for Hyrule for some time. Modern Zelda games have dithered between pursuing this concept and stabbing at new directions, never really settling on one. But I believe that impulse does exist in the series today: it just hasn't been treated as the core concept.
I don't necessarily want Zelda to become skull-blisteringly difficult again; as disappointing as an easy game can be, I happen to believe that 8-bit games were generally much harder than they actually needed to be. Neither do I want to see Link lose his hookshots and bottles and go back to the bare-bones sword fighting of yesteryear. But there is a universe of design possibilities that Nintendo has more or less closed itself to in designing new Zeldas, because it seems so reluctant to throw any elements away. The name itself will sell plenty of copies; I don't see what anybody has to lose by experiencing something radical.
Please do come back, though.
Like Thompson, I've also done a bit of writing about The Legend of Zelda. This spring, I wrote a review of the most recent game, Skyward Sword. But a few years before that, I wrote a series of reviews of each installment (from the original to Twilight Princess) on the old Game Informer forums (they got deleted, so don't try looking for them there). The Uber Review, as I called it, was overlong and could have used a lot more editing than it got, but I was in college at the time, and I had actual assignments to write at the same time. Having made such an attempt at putting the entire series in perspective, I felt as though I had to make some kind of response.
Now, obviously Thompson and I have a fair bit of distance between us on this issue. He refers to Skyward Sword as the "worst" Zelda game, and I recently called it "a latter-day masterpiece of design." He argues to the effect that the series has been going downhill since it appeared on the Super Nintendo; I hold the (relatively mainstream) position that it peaked on the Nintendo 64, particularly with Majora's Mask, but has been holding strong into the modern era. His evaluations are strictly informed by the aesthetics of the first two Zelda games (and of late 1980s-era games in general), while I have been generally forgiving of its later developments and its evolution away from the original design. In fact, you might even say I've been too easy on Zelda.
Even if I have been overly forgiving, Thompson's viewpoint can never be mine. I've enjoyed every Zelda game I've ever played, so his characterization of a series with no soul just doesn't ring true for me. As far as I'm concerned, the overworlds have gotten more immersive since the 8-bit days, and I relish each new chance to explore Hyrule. For me, this series is very much alive and kicking; I keep coming back, not only for new games but also to replay the ones I've beaten.
But even if I don't agree with his big conclusion, a lot of the specific criticisms are undeniable. The endless parade of talkative sidekicks stopped being anything close to endearing about ten years ago. The difficulty curve has nearly collapsed under the weight of hand-holding tutorials and overly generous combat. The abundance of disconnected gameplay mechanics can often seem like make-work, no matter how solid the fundamentals are. The burgeoning mythos that can't seem to decide how seriously it should take itself has gotten in the way of what was once a very simple tale about the balance of power, courage, and wisdom.
So in spite of my love for Zelda as it is, I would very much like to play the game that Thompson yearns for: entirely open-ended, streamlined and punishing. That isn't to say I agree with his ideal conceptualization of the series, but it would be bold and it would be incredibly fun. Why not question every assumption the series has held since A Link to the Past? Why not trust the player to define their own relationship with the world? Why not leave the cinematics to the cinemas, and craft a uniquely game-like experience unbound by linear narratives?
There is a scene in Twilight Princess that captures the sort of atmosphere that I believe would suit Zelda well: when Link explores deep in the forest and uncovers the ruins of the Temple of Time, a major landmark of its spiritual predecessor, Ocarina of Time. The chance to play archaeologist as well as octorok-slayer, learning about the landscape through the ruins and artifacts left behind, has been my dream-experience for Hyrule for some time. Modern Zelda games have dithered between pursuing this concept and stabbing at new directions, never really settling on one. But I believe that impulse does exist in the series today: it just hasn't been treated as the core concept.
I don't necessarily want Zelda to become skull-blisteringly difficult again; as disappointing as an easy game can be, I happen to believe that 8-bit games were generally much harder than they actually needed to be. Neither do I want to see Link lose his hookshots and bottles and go back to the bare-bones sword fighting of yesteryear. But there is a universe of design possibilities that Nintendo has more or less closed itself to in designing new Zeldas, because it seems so reluctant to throw any elements away. The name itself will sell plenty of copies; I don't see what anybody has to lose by experiencing something radical.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Living with Democracy
One month from today, we'll finally learn for sure who will be President for the next four years. This will come as a massive relief to some and a sharp and sudden disappointment for others, and I really hope that I'm among the former. My preferences have been made known, and I'll reiterate them today: Barack Obama may be a flawed President, but he has made progress on issues that I care about. We need him to stick around so that he can make the next round of Supreme Court appointments and defend his legislative legacy. Mitt Romney has promised to undo or roll back much of that legacy, and there's a better than even chance he means to do it. The man may be a weather vane, but he's still a conservative after all.
So we wait now, for the ballots to be cast and the map to turn red and blue in various places, and then we'll know what we're dealing with. Frankly, it's kind of a pain to be so unsure, but that's just the way things are.
Never let it be said that I am anything but a democrat, with an emphasis on that miniscule "d." I may rail inwardly and outwardly about the foolishness of the masses and my desire to dictate the lines of an ideal government policy, but in my mind there's no getting round the problem of legitimacy. There's no good basis for government power except the social contract, so the people have absolutely got to have a stake and a choice in how they're governed. I wish to God they'd make better choices sometimes, and actually select the most ethical and intelligent among them to do the governing, but sometimes they won't and that's all there is to it.
Ever since the big blowout in 2010, I've had to make peace with an idea that I hadn't really faced: sometimes, people who I strongly disagree with are going to win elections. Sometimes, I will cast votes and be rewarded with nothing but losses and fervent plans for "next time." That really, really sucks, but that's democracy. I don't resent the principle for how it may be perverted or abused, or even how it may disappoint me personally.
So I've been watching the Presidential election like a hawk. I've visited Nate Silver's blog, Five Thirty Eight, virtually every day since he unveiled his Presidential forecast model for 2012. Nate Silver is my political guru, in so far as he informs my perspective on the political process. He cuts through a lot of the bullshit and identifies the variables that actually matter for making accurate predictions. At the same time, he always recognizes the limitations of the idea of prediction. He doesn't make promises or use the numbers for propaganda: he just wants to get at the truth. I recommend it for anyone who wants to know more about how this process actually works, or even if you just want to watch the most accurate horse race around.
It's been considerably comforting to me that Silver's forecast model has shown Obama to be the favorite for most of the past few months. The President's chances of reelection are currently pegged at 80.2%, though that's down from a couple of days ago and likely to go down a bit more before all is said and done. But that's fine. Uncertainty is the name of this game we play, and we deal. When my ballot comes in the mail I'll fill it out just like I said I would, and hope for the best. Then in a month, I'll know whether the good news holds.
So we wait now, for the ballots to be cast and the map to turn red and blue in various places, and then we'll know what we're dealing with. Frankly, it's kind of a pain to be so unsure, but that's just the way things are.
Never let it be said that I am anything but a democrat, with an emphasis on that miniscule "d." I may rail inwardly and outwardly about the foolishness of the masses and my desire to dictate the lines of an ideal government policy, but in my mind there's no getting round the problem of legitimacy. There's no good basis for government power except the social contract, so the people have absolutely got to have a stake and a choice in how they're governed. I wish to God they'd make better choices sometimes, and actually select the most ethical and intelligent among them to do the governing, but sometimes they won't and that's all there is to it.
Ever since the big blowout in 2010, I've had to make peace with an idea that I hadn't really faced: sometimes, people who I strongly disagree with are going to win elections. Sometimes, I will cast votes and be rewarded with nothing but losses and fervent plans for "next time." That really, really sucks, but that's democracy. I don't resent the principle for how it may be perverted or abused, or even how it may disappoint me personally.
So I've been watching the Presidential election like a hawk. I've visited Nate Silver's blog, Five Thirty Eight, virtually every day since he unveiled his Presidential forecast model for 2012. Nate Silver is my political guru, in so far as he informs my perspective on the political process. He cuts through a lot of the bullshit and identifies the variables that actually matter for making accurate predictions. At the same time, he always recognizes the limitations of the idea of prediction. He doesn't make promises or use the numbers for propaganda: he just wants to get at the truth. I recommend it for anyone who wants to know more about how this process actually works, or even if you just want to watch the most accurate horse race around.
It's been considerably comforting to me that Silver's forecast model has shown Obama to be the favorite for most of the past few months. The President's chances of reelection are currently pegged at 80.2%, though that's down from a couple of days ago and likely to go down a bit more before all is said and done. But that's fine. Uncertainty is the name of this game we play, and we deal. When my ballot comes in the mail I'll fill it out just like I said I would, and hope for the best. Then in a month, I'll know whether the good news holds.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
The Last Month
No, not the final month. That would be silly! There's bound to be several months after this one. Probably.
But the last month sure has been quiet for this blog. And by quiet, I of course mean that I have posted nothing here. Now, I've been known to do this in the past, but I still feel bad about it. Blogs are for blogging, and if a blogger won't blog, well, what's a blog for? Occupying space, I suppose, but nobody wants to be a blogsquatter.
My micro-blogging endeavors over at The Wave Function Tumblr have been considerably more fruitful, with four pages (and counting!) of posts of other people's content reposted with my undeniably invaluable and insightful commentary. On top of that, I've used the platform to write a couple of micro-mini-short stories, brief little fables written on the spur of the moment. I plan to keep writing these, and possibly compile a few of them on this blog once I have enough. They call that synergy, I hear.
Now, I haven't been entirely idle toward The Wave Function Junction. I have just been mostly idle. Many times when I could have been doing some meaningful writing, I was instead loafing around my girlfriend's house watching Angel and playing Kingdom Hearts 2. On the more productive side of things, I have been renewing my contacts with the local school districts, updating my tax forms and preparing for a new semester of being called upon at five thirty in the morning to go teach pre-algebra in an hour. This last week I got my first sub job of the school year, and it felt good to be back on that particular horse again. I also bought a new suit, because hey, suits.
And I even have a new story in the pipe for this blog, a fantasy/dreamline about a musician, entitled Dreaming of a New Set of Strings. It's only about halfway done and I want to polish what I've got some more, but I am working on it. Really! This is no sprawling multi-part epic, just a simple tale of unusual events with the slightest hint of a moral about following your dreams and so on. And if I can keep from watching too much Angel in the coming weeks, I'll be sure to get it done soon.
So worry not, hypothetical reader: the blog is live and content awaits. And it'll be good, it really will. Very soon I'll have some more thoughts on politics (oh yay), television, and life to share with the world. But tonight, this is all you get. Because right now, I'm about to hop in my car and go watch a show about vampires.
But the last month sure has been quiet for this blog. And by quiet, I of course mean that I have posted nothing here. Now, I've been known to do this in the past, but I still feel bad about it. Blogs are for blogging, and if a blogger won't blog, well, what's a blog for? Occupying space, I suppose, but nobody wants to be a blogsquatter.
My micro-blogging endeavors over at The Wave Function Tumblr have been considerably more fruitful, with four pages (and counting!) of posts of other people's content reposted with my undeniably invaluable and insightful commentary. On top of that, I've used the platform to write a couple of micro-mini-short stories, brief little fables written on the spur of the moment. I plan to keep writing these, and possibly compile a few of them on this blog once I have enough. They call that synergy, I hear.
Now, I haven't been entirely idle toward The Wave Function Junction. I have just been mostly idle. Many times when I could have been doing some meaningful writing, I was instead loafing around my girlfriend's house watching Angel and playing Kingdom Hearts 2. On the more productive side of things, I have been renewing my contacts with the local school districts, updating my tax forms and preparing for a new semester of being called upon at five thirty in the morning to go teach pre-algebra in an hour. This last week I got my first sub job of the school year, and it felt good to be back on that particular horse again. I also bought a new suit, because hey, suits.
And I even have a new story in the pipe for this blog, a fantasy/dreamline about a musician, entitled Dreaming of a New Set of Strings. It's only about halfway done and I want to polish what I've got some more, but I am working on it. Really! This is no sprawling multi-part epic, just a simple tale of unusual events with the slightest hint of a moral about following your dreams and so on. And if I can keep from watching too much Angel in the coming weeks, I'll be sure to get it done soon.
So worry not, hypothetical reader: the blog is live and content awaits. And it'll be good, it really will. Very soon I'll have some more thoughts on politics (oh yay), television, and life to share with the world. But tonight, this is all you get. Because right now, I'm about to hop in my car and go watch a show about vampires.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
The Wave Function Tumblr
So, when I made this blog, I gave it a silly name. I did this because I'm terrible at coming up with names for things, and because I'm fundamentally a very silly person. The fact that it rhymed was quite literally the single most appealing thing about "The Wave Function Junction" to me, and that is why this blog is called that.
Anyway, I came up with a rationalization for it the other day. I don't really like it when things are the way they are for no reason. I decided that, retroactively, the name referred to the multiplicity of my interests. In quantum mechanics, a particle's wave function "collapses" when it is observed, reducing the possible states it might exist in to one. And my blog has always been kind of like that, shifting between different kinds of content every time you check in on it. That is, assuming you wait long enough to check in and I've actually updated it.
It's in that sort of spirit that I launched The Wave Function Tumblr the other day, expanding my web presence across yet another platform and bringing my plans toward Total Web Domination that much closer to fruition. There I will pursue the popular pastime of micro-blogging, posting links to cool things online and adding my two cents underneath. The internet runs on micro-blogging, I hear, and I want in on this game.
Anyway, I see the Tumblr as a complementary adjunct to the blog, a spin-off as it were. I'll be looking for more ways to integrate the two as time goes on. In the meantime, I'll also be making some updates to the look of this old place, try and spiff it up a little bit. I think there's too many links, and that's distracting. There's no reason it shouldn't look cleaner.
So check out my Tumblr, if tumblng be your game, and revel in the micro-blogging experience. Don't be surprised if the whole thing collapses: it's kind of supposed to.
Anyway, I came up with a rationalization for it the other day. I don't really like it when things are the way they are for no reason. I decided that, retroactively, the name referred to the multiplicity of my interests. In quantum mechanics, a particle's wave function "collapses" when it is observed, reducing the possible states it might exist in to one. And my blog has always been kind of like that, shifting between different kinds of content every time you check in on it. That is, assuming you wait long enough to check in and I've actually updated it.
It's in that sort of spirit that I launched The Wave Function Tumblr the other day, expanding my web presence across yet another platform and bringing my plans toward Total Web Domination that much closer to fruition. There I will pursue the popular pastime of micro-blogging, posting links to cool things online and adding my two cents underneath. The internet runs on micro-blogging, I hear, and I want in on this game.
Anyway, I see the Tumblr as a complementary adjunct to the blog, a spin-off as it were. I'll be looking for more ways to integrate the two as time goes on. In the meantime, I'll also be making some updates to the look of this old place, try and spiff it up a little bit. I think there's too many links, and that's distracting. There's no reason it shouldn't look cleaner.
So check out my Tumblr, if tumblng be your game, and revel in the micro-blogging experience. Don't be surprised if the whole thing collapses: it's kind of supposed to.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
The Dark Knight Trilogy
Beware: you may find spoilers in here!
Christopher Nolan and company's three-part, epic presentation of the Batman mythology has now run its course, leaving us with that sense of finality that pervades superhero stories; at least, for the few minutes until someone in the process goes public with the plan to reboot or retcon the whole thing. Movie watchers and comic book readers alike have come to recognize that every dramatic change of the status quo is one wave of a hand from being reversed, and that the continuity tying a hero's adventures together is a fleeting, scarcely maintained fiction. Nolan's Batman may be done for good, but Batman will be back for more sequels as long as studios deem them feasible and profitable.
Still, we are meant to think that Nolan's movies (Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises) are special in some way. Whatever loose ties that bind the various Batman media together are not fixed as strongly to the Dark Knight trilogy. Whatever perceptions we have about Nolan as an auteur have strongly colored our perception of these movies, and it isn't all hype: the trilogy is tonally distinct from just about every super-hero film ever shot. He takes Batman seriously, and made three very serious movies about him; this is something fans like me appreciate very much. So I think this trilogy will likely be held apart from other Batman-related media for a very long time.
I first saw The Dark Knight Rises on July 26th, but I re-watched all three movies with my girlfriend over the course of last weekend. Multiple viewing of multiple movies, of course, has a way of warping your memory and diminishing your appreciation of each as a distinct work, but it also allows you to catch more allusions and self-references. In movies as dense as these, it's helpful to have all the relevant details fresh in mind.
Now, I love Batman. I'll take Marvel Comics over DC any time, but you don't get to be as big of a nerd as I am with out recognizing Batman's superiority as a crime fighter and hero. But Batman/Bruce Wayne isn't easy to get right, and plenty of creative people have gotten him very wrong. There are three very important elements to get right when drawing Batman's character. The first is his extraordinary high level of skill, intelligence, and strength; without these traits, the character cannot be taken seriously. The second is his extremely damaged psychological state; despite growing up with unimaginable privilege, the trauma of his parents' death was enough to drive him into adopting a life of extreme violence and uncompromising conflict with dangerous enemies - all while dressed as a bat. And the third, of course, is the conscience of Bruce Wayne, directing his traumatic rage toward "bad guys," without allowing him to commit the act of murder.
Batman fans owe a lot to Frank Miller, the author of many classic Batman stories. Books like Year One and The Dark Knight Returns are very obviously sources of inspiration for Nolan's trilogy, to say nothing of the tremendous influence they have had on decades of comics. For a long time, Batman stories had lost their way: the traumatic element of his life, his prime motivation for engaging in super-heroics, had been watered down by years of high camp and kid-friendly attitudes. Miller helped bring back the pain and violence that were inherent to the character, and helped expose the fundamental contradiction that has troubled fans of all superheros for decades. The essence of the superhero fantasy, the ability to act unfettered for the sake of an idealized good, ultimately resolves to a form of fascism. Superheroes, being disproportionately strong, intelligent, stubborn, and very often wealthy, are one unprincipled decision away from seizing control over a society they mean to protect.
So the best thing I can say about Nolan's depiction of the Caped Crusader (a campy moniker if ever there was one) is that it does not follow Miller's more closely than it should. In today's age of "dark and gritty reboots," it's become far too easy to turn Batman into an amoral, authoritarian lunatic. At a certain point, that becomes cartoon-ish in the worst sense of the word; the conscience of Batman becomes a flimsy pretext, an invitation to glory in Batman's violent adventures while admitting no "weakness" or humanity. There's no Bruce Wayne in this conception, except as the original source of the pain that drives the Batman; we get something a lot closer to the Punisher.
The Dark Knight trilogy understands the character in a more subtle way, while still being forthright about the pain and contradiction at the core of Batman. As portrayed by Christian Bale, he's certainly damaged: in Batman Begins, young and undisciplined Bruce Wayne attempts to murder his parents' killer on the day of his release, and only fails because a mob assassin pulls the trigger first. His obsession with not only brutalizing, but also terrorizing the criminals he fights speaks to the hurt and rage that drives a man of privilege to attempt to personally restore order to a decaying social structure.
But once Wayne goes through the essential transformation and adopts his new persona, he acts on the basis of a focused conscience. Although he operates outside the law, the dominant theme of these movies, particularly The Dark Knight, concerns which lines Batman will not cross. As Batman he exercizes incredible power, but he does not see himself as a ruthless conqueror. District Attorney Harvey Dent compares him (favorably) to Caesar, but perpetual dictatorship is not Bruce Wayne's desire; instead, it is a dark shadow of his mission, a consequence he strains to avoid with his uncompromising moral code. It's a role he plays, but at great cost to himself
Not everything Batman does in these films is right or praiseworthy. He's guilty of torture, spying on ordinary people, and a conspiracy of silence that leaves his city woefully unprepared for the catastrophe that takes place in The Dark Knight Rises. But most of these actions, regardless of how they turn out, are motivated by a selfless ethos: the belief that he must commit certain sins in order to allow Gotham City to become a truly free society. The epic conflict of this third movie draws from the fact that, heroic though their intentions may have been, the actions of Batman and Commissioner Gordon helped set the stage for Bane's assault on the city. Batman saves Gotham, but only after he finally decides to put absolutely everything on the line to do so.
So this is Nolan's picture of Batman for us: deeply flawed and fallible, yet deeply and essentially oriented in mindset toward the greater good. He operates in a society that blurs the line between the surface and the underworld, where terror confronts ordinary people in random and shocking ways, and the notion of civil society is pressed against the drive toward authoritarianism and the death of freedom. Against this nightmare world, Batman is essentially the product of a dream: that the darkness which made our fears can provide us with hope.
The Dark Knight Trilogy is not the last word on who Batman is or what he stands for. There will be more movies and books that will develop the character further, and there will always be alternative interpretations of what, if anything, the example of Batman has to teach us in the real world. But their tremendous visibility makes this version of the Dark Knight more accessible and widespread, and I am glad for that.
Christopher Nolan and company's three-part, epic presentation of the Batman mythology has now run its course, leaving us with that sense of finality that pervades superhero stories; at least, for the few minutes until someone in the process goes public with the plan to reboot or retcon the whole thing. Movie watchers and comic book readers alike have come to recognize that every dramatic change of the status quo is one wave of a hand from being reversed, and that the continuity tying a hero's adventures together is a fleeting, scarcely maintained fiction. Nolan's Batman may be done for good, but Batman will be back for more sequels as long as studios deem them feasible and profitable.
Still, we are meant to think that Nolan's movies (Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises) are special in some way. Whatever loose ties that bind the various Batman media together are not fixed as strongly to the Dark Knight trilogy. Whatever perceptions we have about Nolan as an auteur have strongly colored our perception of these movies, and it isn't all hype: the trilogy is tonally distinct from just about every super-hero film ever shot. He takes Batman seriously, and made three very serious movies about him; this is something fans like me appreciate very much. So I think this trilogy will likely be held apart from other Batman-related media for a very long time.
I first saw The Dark Knight Rises on July 26th, but I re-watched all three movies with my girlfriend over the course of last weekend. Multiple viewing of multiple movies, of course, has a way of warping your memory and diminishing your appreciation of each as a distinct work, but it also allows you to catch more allusions and self-references. In movies as dense as these, it's helpful to have all the relevant details fresh in mind.
Now, I love Batman. I'll take Marvel Comics over DC any time, but you don't get to be as big of a nerd as I am with out recognizing Batman's superiority as a crime fighter and hero. But Batman/Bruce Wayne isn't easy to get right, and plenty of creative people have gotten him very wrong. There are three very important elements to get right when drawing Batman's character. The first is his extraordinary high level of skill, intelligence, and strength; without these traits, the character cannot be taken seriously. The second is his extremely damaged psychological state; despite growing up with unimaginable privilege, the trauma of his parents' death was enough to drive him into adopting a life of extreme violence and uncompromising conflict with dangerous enemies - all while dressed as a bat. And the third, of course, is the conscience of Bruce Wayne, directing his traumatic rage toward "bad guys," without allowing him to commit the act of murder.
Batman fans owe a lot to Frank Miller, the author of many classic Batman stories. Books like Year One and The Dark Knight Returns are very obviously sources of inspiration for Nolan's trilogy, to say nothing of the tremendous influence they have had on decades of comics. For a long time, Batman stories had lost their way: the traumatic element of his life, his prime motivation for engaging in super-heroics, had been watered down by years of high camp and kid-friendly attitudes. Miller helped bring back the pain and violence that were inherent to the character, and helped expose the fundamental contradiction that has troubled fans of all superheros for decades. The essence of the superhero fantasy, the ability to act unfettered for the sake of an idealized good, ultimately resolves to a form of fascism. Superheroes, being disproportionately strong, intelligent, stubborn, and very often wealthy, are one unprincipled decision away from seizing control over a society they mean to protect.
So the best thing I can say about Nolan's depiction of the Caped Crusader (a campy moniker if ever there was one) is that it does not follow Miller's more closely than it should. In today's age of "dark and gritty reboots," it's become far too easy to turn Batman into an amoral, authoritarian lunatic. At a certain point, that becomes cartoon-ish in the worst sense of the word; the conscience of Batman becomes a flimsy pretext, an invitation to glory in Batman's violent adventures while admitting no "weakness" or humanity. There's no Bruce Wayne in this conception, except as the original source of the pain that drives the Batman; we get something a lot closer to the Punisher.
The Dark Knight trilogy understands the character in a more subtle way, while still being forthright about the pain and contradiction at the core of Batman. As portrayed by Christian Bale, he's certainly damaged: in Batman Begins, young and undisciplined Bruce Wayne attempts to murder his parents' killer on the day of his release, and only fails because a mob assassin pulls the trigger first. His obsession with not only brutalizing, but also terrorizing the criminals he fights speaks to the hurt and rage that drives a man of privilege to attempt to personally restore order to a decaying social structure.
But once Wayne goes through the essential transformation and adopts his new persona, he acts on the basis of a focused conscience. Although he operates outside the law, the dominant theme of these movies, particularly The Dark Knight, concerns which lines Batman will not cross. As Batman he exercizes incredible power, but he does not see himself as a ruthless conqueror. District Attorney Harvey Dent compares him (favorably) to Caesar, but perpetual dictatorship is not Bruce Wayne's desire; instead, it is a dark shadow of his mission, a consequence he strains to avoid with his uncompromising moral code. It's a role he plays, but at great cost to himself
Not everything Batman does in these films is right or praiseworthy. He's guilty of torture, spying on ordinary people, and a conspiracy of silence that leaves his city woefully unprepared for the catastrophe that takes place in The Dark Knight Rises. But most of these actions, regardless of how they turn out, are motivated by a selfless ethos: the belief that he must commit certain sins in order to allow Gotham City to become a truly free society. The epic conflict of this third movie draws from the fact that, heroic though their intentions may have been, the actions of Batman and Commissioner Gordon helped set the stage for Bane's assault on the city. Batman saves Gotham, but only after he finally decides to put absolutely everything on the line to do so.
So this is Nolan's picture of Batman for us: deeply flawed and fallible, yet deeply and essentially oriented in mindset toward the greater good. He operates in a society that blurs the line between the surface and the underworld, where terror confronts ordinary people in random and shocking ways, and the notion of civil society is pressed against the drive toward authoritarianism and the death of freedom. Against this nightmare world, Batman is essentially the product of a dream: that the darkness which made our fears can provide us with hope.
The Dark Knight Trilogy is not the last word on who Batman is or what he stands for. There will be more movies and books that will develop the character further, and there will always be alternative interpretations of what, if anything, the example of Batman has to teach us in the real world. But their tremendous visibility makes this version of the Dark Knight more accessible and widespread, and I am glad for that.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Poetry Jam #9
A funny thing happened, just now; I looked in my big folder of handwritten writings and found that the number of new poems it contained was only enough for one decent-sized poetry jam. This isn't because I've stopped writing poetry; it's because, although I like writing by hand, with my shiny fountain pen, when I have an idea for a poem it's usually easier to type it out on the closest computer. Does this mean that I spend way too much time in close proximity to computers? Probably.
But at the same time, I also have a number of hand-written stubs, proto-poems I started without finishing or fixing, that I've been meaning to revisit. The next poetry post will probably include many of these, because some of them are actually pretty cool. They're just not done, is all.
As for the poems I wrote on the computer, I might have included a few in this post to pad it out a little more. But they're on my desk top, and I've only got my laptop here, so they'll have to wait!
Today's poems are from the approximate period of April 2011 to December of that same year. The themes they address are diverse, but mostly they are sad, because 2011 was kind of a downer of a year for me. It had its bright spots, as most years do, but on the whole 2012 is really kicking its ass. Way to go, 2012. Keep on kickin'.
A Downtown Walk
I think I hear an echo,
or am I speaking double,
talking loud enough for two?
A distressing conversation
set between myself and you.
I swear I heard a whisper
of something like a whistle,
something small enough to miss.
In my lifelong agitation,
in the shadow of a kiss,
I think I hear a siren
in buzzing, throbbing silence,
walking up the busy street;
a vibration in my headphones
where the storm and waters meet.
I wonder where it's screaming,
to where its wheels are squealing
in a little lonesome town,
upside down beneath the waters
where the stranded ducklings drown?
It feels like something's burning,
a million pictures taken
in the lifetime of a day,
of a moment soon forgotten
set in sepia and grey.
Song to You
No beauty meets a melody
like yours in every word you speak,
No light could shine as crystal clear
and cool as you in your mystique;
No secret ever kept as sweet
and left my heart so weak,
Your soul so like a minor scale
expressed in an ecstatic peak.
Amazon Blues
I think I saw you walking
seven blocks from Ferry Street;
I pulled up to a stoplight,
watched you cross and didn't speak;
I didn't want to say a word,
I just tried to be discrete.
I guess I figured you'd be leaving,
thought you'd go and disappear;
I hoped you'd travel 'round the world,
come back in twenty, thirty years,
and I still can't quite imagine
why you'd keep on living here.
The Ballad of the Silent Word
The silent word was dead;
it died three thousand years ago
the instant it was born,
it shouted with a silent voice
and gently drooped its head.
The silent word was dead:
the mourners let it lie in state,
it moldered in the room
and suffered long in silence
as the eulogy was read.
The silent word was dead:
asleep inside a stack of paper,
dreaming of a song,
it flared up into silent life
the instant it was read.
Sleight of Hand
The sound of a hundred hands inspires
the sight of a thousand lucky eyes,
the lines and lights,
and lies
a powerful public work declaims;
the words of a silent leader's mouth,
the people's fear
and doubt.
The radio plays the people's choice
of cynical songs on endless loop,
to see the depths
to which they'll stoop;
A miracle on a darkened stage,
identical birds and swarthy cats:
a rabbit from
a hat.
Cherry
The sunlight on a beam of cherry wood,
warming in the afternoon and
holding warmth throughout the night;
a blossom on a branch of vanity,
Nothing comes close
to water at the end of drought
or drifting dunes of melting snow;
Nothing comes close
to floating on a stream of melody,
slowly sinking at the moment
nothing holds you up but earth;
To dreaming, and at last remembering
nothing comes close.
The Long Night
If only to be young and strong
as all the world is breaking down,
with fire burning all around,
releasing ashes to the evening,
keeping moonlight from the ground,
I would stay where I belong.
If only to be home among
my people, and to see their faces'
resignation take its place
beneath a grainy layer of dusk;
I'd take a look at them and brace
against the plunge that comes along.
If I were ever young and strong
and swaddled in decaying light,
I would be troubled by the night;
observing all that's growing and
remarking on the present blight,
I would admit that I was wrong.
The Nothing Man
In the name of Nothing Man,
a final will and testament
bequeathing none and nothingness,
to name whoever else will know.
Nothing leaves the Nothing Man,
and nothing new has come before
it disappears into the night,
like nothing new has ever done.
Come the night the Nothing Man
denies the night that came before,
and never mentions anymore
the only name he ever knew.
Broken Glass Around my Head
Shining streets of broken glasses
gleam in corners of my eye;
I had nothing much to do with
how they broke; I don't know why
but something makes me want to hurry home,
hurry home away from here,
away from all the broken beer
that's soaking in the stars.
Music in the evening hours,
music in my eyes and ears;
I am blinded, I am out of touch
and deaf to all the sounds the people
make; they make me want to hurry home,
hardly have to say a thing
before I hill the doorbell ring
and I am back at home.
Poway Under Cover of Darkness
The spotlight on the silver streets;
the absence of persistent beats
is keenly felt, as keen as night
as winter's cold in city lights.
A chilly fifty-three degrees,
this southern California breeze;
the constellations upside down
above my California town.
All of this I keenly miss
with music in my ears; if this
is music, let it stand and play
a song of moonlit nights and days.
Roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll,
Rolling on the paperweight forever,
ever rolling on a compact disk
and spinning on tectonic plates,
roll, roll, roll, roll,
Rivers in a cabinet
and monsters under bassinets
roll, roll, round and round,
ever rolling under solid ground,
roll, roll,
twisting in the horrible,
horrible hurricane,
Rolling over carousels together,
never rolling anywhere apart,
and twirling into silver dollars,
roll, roll, roll,
____________________
Commentary now!
The end of the last poetry jam left me moping and despondent over the ill-treatment of my foolish heart at the hands of a pretty girl. A Downtown Walk, Song to You, and Amazon Blues find me in much the same condition, because I would not just get over it already. None of them, however, are actually about that particular girl. The first is a more general contemplation of melancholy. The second is an abstract expression of longing, directed at no one in particular. The third is about a completely different girl from a different time. One day, I may find it difficult to keep them all straight. But for now, I take comfort and peace of mind from my lovely girlfriend, who doesn't seem to be going anywhere.
The Ballad of the Silent Word is kind of heavy handed, and it used to be more so. It's written in my notebook with a different fifth line: "and whimpered as it bled." Clearly, I spent way too much time being morbid before I wrote this. The idea for this came from an article I read about a "post-literate" society, a concept of which I am very much not on board with.
Sleight of Hand is also kind of heavy handed, I guess. You try to make a general point about society and everything comes out totalitarian, with the statues and the subliminal messages and what not. No, I don't think we live in a Stalinist nightmare of memory holes and gulags. I just think people aren't as fond of truth as they are of comforting illusions.
And then there's Cherry, which is a positively cheerful bit of dreaming. I've posited before that my most artistically successful things have always been melancholy rather than happy. But while I can read melancholy into this poem, it doesn't strike me that way. Reading it makes me feel happy, and I think it's still a really good poem! Imagine that.
The Long Night was written as a more or less immediate response to the novel Less Than Zero, which I reviewed last year. Needless to say, it sent me right back into apocalyptic-doom mode. The feelings came from reading the book, but the imagery was inspired by my memories of 2003 Cedar Fire in San Diego County. What connection is there between the two? None really, but there felt like there was one at the time.
I wrote The Nothing Man more or less in one piece between sets at an open mic night that I was attending. No, I wasn't reading poetry in front of anyone; I just had an idea and wanted to write it down before I forgot it. It's kind of ridiculous, but not the most ridiculous thing I wrote last year by far. No, you're not allowed to read those things.
The only way that I can explain Broken Glass Around my Head is that I was slightly drunk when I had the idea for it. I was walking home from a social event for my teaching cohort at the Eugene Hilton, and much wine had been served. Judging by my handwriting, I wasn't really drunk by the time I sat down and wrote the thing, but walking through the streets at night can clear your head a bit.
Poway Under Cover of Darkness reflects another night time stroll, under much soberer conditions, back in my home town for the holidays. The difference between those two walks can clearly be felt in the difference between these two poems. I like the second one more, to be very honest.
And finally, Roll, x10 is, well, a poem. I'm not even sure if I meant to title it at the time, it just had the word "roll" written a bunch of times in the upper margin. Word association and stream-of-consciousness produced this underrated masterpiece. Look upon it and beware; just reading it might get you high.
But at the same time, I also have a number of hand-written stubs, proto-poems I started without finishing or fixing, that I've been meaning to revisit. The next poetry post will probably include many of these, because some of them are actually pretty cool. They're just not done, is all.
As for the poems I wrote on the computer, I might have included a few in this post to pad it out a little more. But they're on my desk top, and I've only got my laptop here, so they'll have to wait!
Today's poems are from the approximate period of April 2011 to December of that same year. The themes they address are diverse, but mostly they are sad, because 2011 was kind of a downer of a year for me. It had its bright spots, as most years do, but on the whole 2012 is really kicking its ass. Way to go, 2012. Keep on kickin'.
A Downtown Walk
I think I hear an echo,
or am I speaking double,
talking loud enough for two?
A distressing conversation
set between myself and you.
I swear I heard a whisper
of something like a whistle,
something small enough to miss.
In my lifelong agitation,
in the shadow of a kiss,
I think I hear a siren
in buzzing, throbbing silence,
walking up the busy street;
a vibration in my headphones
where the storm and waters meet.
I wonder where it's screaming,
to where its wheels are squealing
in a little lonesome town,
upside down beneath the waters
where the stranded ducklings drown?
It feels like something's burning,
a million pictures taken
in the lifetime of a day,
of a moment soon forgotten
set in sepia and grey.
Song to You
No beauty meets a melody
like yours in every word you speak,
No light could shine as crystal clear
and cool as you in your mystique;
No secret ever kept as sweet
and left my heart so weak,
Your soul so like a minor scale
expressed in an ecstatic peak.
Amazon Blues
I think I saw you walking
seven blocks from Ferry Street;
I pulled up to a stoplight,
watched you cross and didn't speak;
I didn't want to say a word,
I just tried to be discrete.
I guess I figured you'd be leaving,
thought you'd go and disappear;
I hoped you'd travel 'round the world,
come back in twenty, thirty years,
and I still can't quite imagine
why you'd keep on living here.
The Ballad of the Silent Word
The silent word was dead;
it died three thousand years ago
the instant it was born,
it shouted with a silent voice
and gently drooped its head.
The silent word was dead:
the mourners let it lie in state,
it moldered in the room
and suffered long in silence
as the eulogy was read.
The silent word was dead:
asleep inside a stack of paper,
dreaming of a song,
it flared up into silent life
the instant it was read.
Sleight of Hand
The sound of a hundred hands inspires
the sight of a thousand lucky eyes,
the lines and lights,
and lies
a powerful public work declaims;
the words of a silent leader's mouth,
the people's fear
and doubt.
The radio plays the people's choice
of cynical songs on endless loop,
to see the depths
to which they'll stoop;
A miracle on a darkened stage,
identical birds and swarthy cats:
a rabbit from
a hat.
Cherry
The sunlight on a beam of cherry wood,
warming in the afternoon and
holding warmth throughout the night;
a blossom on a branch of vanity,
Nothing comes close
to water at the end of drought
or drifting dunes of melting snow;
Nothing comes close
to floating on a stream of melody,
slowly sinking at the moment
nothing holds you up but earth;
To dreaming, and at last remembering
nothing comes close.
The Long Night
If only to be young and strong
as all the world is breaking down,
with fire burning all around,
releasing ashes to the evening,
keeping moonlight from the ground,
I would stay where I belong.
If only to be home among
my people, and to see their faces'
resignation take its place
beneath a grainy layer of dusk;
I'd take a look at them and brace
against the plunge that comes along.
If I were ever young and strong
and swaddled in decaying light,
I would be troubled by the night;
observing all that's growing and
remarking on the present blight,
I would admit that I was wrong.
The Nothing Man
In the name of Nothing Man,
a final will and testament
bequeathing none and nothingness,
to name whoever else will know.
Nothing leaves the Nothing Man,
and nothing new has come before
it disappears into the night,
like nothing new has ever done.
Come the night the Nothing Man
denies the night that came before,
and never mentions anymore
the only name he ever knew.
Broken Glass Around my Head
Shining streets of broken glasses
gleam in corners of my eye;
I had nothing much to do with
how they broke; I don't know why
but something makes me want to hurry home,
hurry home away from here,
away from all the broken beer
that's soaking in the stars.
Music in the evening hours,
music in my eyes and ears;
I am blinded, I am out of touch
and deaf to all the sounds the people
make; they make me want to hurry home,
hardly have to say a thing
before I hill the doorbell ring
and I am back at home.
Poway Under Cover of Darkness
The spotlight on the silver streets;
the absence of persistent beats
is keenly felt, as keen as night
as winter's cold in city lights.
A chilly fifty-three degrees,
this southern California breeze;
the constellations upside down
above my California town.
All of this I keenly miss
with music in my ears; if this
is music, let it stand and play
a song of moonlit nights and days.
Roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll, roll,
Rolling on the paperweight forever,
ever rolling on a compact disk
and spinning on tectonic plates,
roll, roll, roll, roll,
Rivers in a cabinet
and monsters under bassinets
roll, roll, round and round,
ever rolling under solid ground,
roll, roll,
twisting in the horrible,
horrible hurricane,
Rolling over carousels together,
never rolling anywhere apart,
and twirling into silver dollars,
roll, roll, roll,
____________________
Commentary now!
The end of the last poetry jam left me moping and despondent over the ill-treatment of my foolish heart at the hands of a pretty girl. A Downtown Walk, Song to You, and Amazon Blues find me in much the same condition, because I would not just get over it already. None of them, however, are actually about that particular girl. The first is a more general contemplation of melancholy. The second is an abstract expression of longing, directed at no one in particular. The third is about a completely different girl from a different time. One day, I may find it difficult to keep them all straight. But for now, I take comfort and peace of mind from my lovely girlfriend, who doesn't seem to be going anywhere.
The Ballad of the Silent Word is kind of heavy handed, and it used to be more so. It's written in my notebook with a different fifth line: "and whimpered as it bled." Clearly, I spent way too much time being morbid before I wrote this. The idea for this came from an article I read about a "post-literate" society, a concept of which I am very much not on board with.
Sleight of Hand is also kind of heavy handed, I guess. You try to make a general point about society and everything comes out totalitarian, with the statues and the subliminal messages and what not. No, I don't think we live in a Stalinist nightmare of memory holes and gulags. I just think people aren't as fond of truth as they are of comforting illusions.
And then there's Cherry, which is a positively cheerful bit of dreaming. I've posited before that my most artistically successful things have always been melancholy rather than happy. But while I can read melancholy into this poem, it doesn't strike me that way. Reading it makes me feel happy, and I think it's still a really good poem! Imagine that.
The Long Night was written as a more or less immediate response to the novel Less Than Zero, which I reviewed last year. Needless to say, it sent me right back into apocalyptic-doom mode. The feelings came from reading the book, but the imagery was inspired by my memories of 2003 Cedar Fire in San Diego County. What connection is there between the two? None really, but there felt like there was one at the time.
I wrote The Nothing Man more or less in one piece between sets at an open mic night that I was attending. No, I wasn't reading poetry in front of anyone; I just had an idea and wanted to write it down before I forgot it. It's kind of ridiculous, but not the most ridiculous thing I wrote last year by far. No, you're not allowed to read those things.
The only way that I can explain Broken Glass Around my Head is that I was slightly drunk when I had the idea for it. I was walking home from a social event for my teaching cohort at the Eugene Hilton, and much wine had been served. Judging by my handwriting, I wasn't really drunk by the time I sat down and wrote the thing, but walking through the streets at night can clear your head a bit.
Poway Under Cover of Darkness reflects another night time stroll, under much soberer conditions, back in my home town for the holidays. The difference between those two walks can clearly be felt in the difference between these two poems. I like the second one more, to be very honest.
And finally, Roll, x10 is, well, a poem. I'm not even sure if I meant to title it at the time, it just had the word "roll" written a bunch of times in the upper margin. Word association and stream-of-consciousness produced this underrated masterpiece. Look upon it and beware; just reading it might get you high.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)