What A Movie Weekend . . . Or, What Do The Wolverine, World War Z, Red 2, and Monsters University Have In Common?

This last weekend I binged on movies.  Matinee pricing is too good to pass up and I was stuck in town.  So I decided I'd check out some movies that were just opening, one that I wanted to see despite the objections of fan-boys and my own sense that the book was probably better, and one that earned its place on the strength of its predecessor. 

Let's start with World War Z.  We'll start there mostly because that's where I started.  First movie out of the gate.  Based on the cult-hit novel by Max Brooks (author of the Zombie Survival Handbook) which takes familiar zombie tropes and ponders what it would look like on a world-wide scale, told from multiple perspectives in documentary fashion.  Documentary in book form means something different from documentary in movie form.  In book form, it means "pertaining to documents."  It's usually just a compendium of documents which relate to the given topic.  On film it's a whole other beast and Michael Moore and Ken Burns tend to pop up a lot. 

The film version of World War Z is not documentary in any way.  It's an efficient, competent action film without anything to speak against it.  But it also doesn't have a lot going for it, either.  Brad Pitt does a fine job as some sort of UN gopher: hopping from hot spot to hot spot putting out fires.  We're never really told what he does, just that he's the best at it and it gives him an insider's look at mass panic.  The zombies are fast, which they were not in the book, but I don't think it matters.  We're given a glimpse of a world-spanning epidemic and the human response varies from garrison-states (literally) to nuclear bombs, to whole countries ripping out their teeth in a single day to prevent disease vectors. 

It was fun, but wasn't particularly compelling.  And if you really want the book, go read the book.  The movie is fine on its own.

Following that was The Wolverine.  It was okay.  Hero (and his abs) faces an existential crisis.  Has a call to adventure from a spunky Japanese girl with a sword called "The Separator" because it separates head from torso, or limb from torso or what have you.  She uses it to cut beer bottles in half.  Wolverine glances at it, decides his are better.  Anyway.  It's basically what you'd expect.  Some of the acting was spotty, but the movie as a whole was well plotted and well executed.  Of special note was the remarkable decision to look at the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki from the perspective of the Japanese people themselves, though it was necessarily downplayed in the movie.  One of the better X-Men movies I've seen recently.

Red 2 sucked.  It had moments of mediocrity, but I felt like it wanted to be Mr. and Mrs. Smith and simply failed.  Bruce Willis was Bruce Willis, and John Malkovich was the only reason to watch this movie.  He's Martin Freeman thirty years older.  With only a single action piece that was genuinely fun to watch, this movie was as tired as the actors struggling to muddle through a scene. 

Finally, let's talk about Monsters University.  What a great film.  It's easy to come to expect greatness from Pixar, but with news that Finding Nemo is getting a sequel (a movie that is a lesser candidate for a sequel I can't imagine) it seemed as if Pixar had mined its creativity to exhaustion.  This proved that fear absolutely unfounded.  Sequels are hard, prequels harder (ahem . . . George).  Monsters University handled that challenge with aplomb and heart.  In fact, I was never really a fan of the first Monsters Inc., but this one seemed all the better.  And with Nathan Fillion as a voice actor, what's not to love?

Remarkably, the movie ended on a note that I hadn't expected.  In fact, as the credits started to roll the three year-old boy behind me turned to him mother and asked "why?"  She offered him a great explanation which I'll try to keep spoiler free.  Basically, "Because that's how it happens sometimes."  And she was right, and I left the movie feeling as though Pixar really had something to say; as much as they had an interest in entertaining three and thirty year-olds, they wanted us to reflect on how life actually is.  And they succeeded. 

Of all the movies I saw this weekend, Monsters University was the only one I recommend you see.  It was simply fantastic. 

The Naked Soul . . . Or, Pathos and Catharsis In Film

What Dreams May Come always makes me cry.  If you haven't seen it, you need to.  Based on a Richard Matheson story (the same guy who wrote "I Am Legend," "The Shrinking Man," and "A Stir of Echoes") the film stars Robin Williams as a man whose love for his wife transcends Heaven and Hell and who turns his back on paradise to save her.  It is in my top ten films of all times, a list which includes tear-jerkers like Moulin Rouge and Top Gun.

In fact, as I reflect on my favorite movies, I realize that many of them contain moments of extreme pathos, moments when heroes fail, beloved characters die, or when someone makes a difficult decision which necessarily ends in tragedy.  Often the movie ends with success, but the journey is an emotional roller-coaster that makes the ending earned.  Earning the punchline is the hallmark of any good joke, and in film, stories, or any kind of narrative, the conclusion must be earned.  Otherwise the movie feels like a waste of time, regardless of the money poured into its special effects.

On that note, I've given some thought to what generates pathos -- what gives a story emotional depth and generates sorrow, pity, sympathy, or tenderness toward a character.

The first, and most vital ingredient, is a goal.  A concrete, identifiable goal is what defines a protagonist.  Think about Luke Skywalker: He wants to join the Rebellion to destroy the empire.  First, he has to leave his home, but his Aunt and Uncle won't let him.  After he receives his call to action by Obi-Wan, he departs on a mission to find the rebellion and deliver R2-D2 to them.  Once he's accomplished that mission, and found the rebellion, his initial goal is achieved.  But he still has to destroy the empire, symbolized in Episode IV by the Death Star.  Spoilers!  He accomplishes his goal.  But in the process he loses something important to him -- his mentor and friend, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Just as important, Obi-Wan is killed while attempting to accomplish his own goals -- a goal he has in fact almost completed.  After disabling the tractor beam so that the Millennium Falcon can escape, he interposes himself between Darth Vader and Luke, enabling everyone to escape.  His sacrifice is what accomplishes that goal and we feel Luke's sorrow by being sad ourselves.

Writers sometimes talk about try-fail cycles.  In a traditional three-act structure, you see that nice arc that plunges at the end of the second act, and is completed in the third.  The protagonists concrete, identifiable goal is important because at the end of the second act, the protagonist should be as far as possible from accomplishing that goal.  In Star Wars the second act ends with Obi-Wan's death because he is Leia's "only hope."  With him gone, hope is gone, until we realize that now Luke has the Force and can destroy the Death Star, which, remember, was Luke's goal all along (even if he'd yet to discover it).

But for a reader or viewer to feel as though something has been accomplished, the characters cannot win every time.  In fact, each time they attempt something they should fail somehow.  When Luke goes in search of R2-D2, he's attacked and needs to be rescued.  Trying to feel Tatooine, Luke and Obi-Wan are interdicted by imperial Star Destroyers, they escape but when they reach Alderaan they are capture by the Death Star and so and so on.  They try, fail, have some success that enables them to try something else, they fail at that, try something else, and so on until the movie ends in victory.

Or consider Top Gun.  Maverick has only one goal: To be the best.  In the movie, this is symbolized in the concrete, identifiable goal of winning the Top Gun trophy.  We see him fail constantly in the classroom, in the air, and he is farthest from his goal just after Goose dies and he threatens to quit the program entirely.  Though he does not accomplish his goal of winning the trophy, we're offered a proxy goal of winning Ice Man's respect in the final battle with Soviet MiGs.

We as viewers feel these moments as deeply sorrowful because they advance both the plot and interfere with the protagonist's ability to achieve his concrete, identifiable goals.

The other form of pathos inducing action is the Noble Sacrifice in which a beloved character (usually other than the protagonist) sacrifices himself to save the protagonist, or our band of plucky heroes.  (Noble Sacrifices for abstract ideas or populations are much less noble because the viewer has difficulty developing affinity with abstract ideas or populations -- consider Armageddon in which Bruce Willis sacrifices himself for Ben Affleck: Though you could argue that he sacrifices himself to save the planet, it is clear that he does so in order to ensure his future son-in-law will survive to marry his daughter.  Or think about Neo choosing Trinity over humanity.)  In such cases it helps if the threat is external and has a definite end-point.  The classic is a ticking time bomb (such as the Genesis Device in Wrath of Khan, or someone diving on a grenade).

The final example I can think of is one of inevitability.  The protagonist cannot win.  Death is inevitable.  These cases, like British Officers on the Black Watch, teach us how to die.  In Deep Impact, facing the end, Tea Leoni's character stands with her father at the edge of the world and meets death with restraint and stoic courage.  The choice is what matters and we feel a profound sorrow in the realization that death is inevitable and that one day we may have to choose how to meet it.

In The Mist, Thomas Jane's character and his son finally escape the general store where they and most of the town have holed up; they've survived monsters in the mist and monsters of the human soul; but they've run out of gas and they can hear the monsters nearing.  With only enough bullets for his son, he makes the decision to spare his son a terrifying and gruesome death and shoots him in the head.  Death seemed inevitable and we're forced to make the same moral calculus as Thomas Jane's character.  Movies like this allow us to experience our own Kobiashi Maru every time we watch them, to challenge our own moral courage and our own values.

Ring of Fire . . . Or, Pacific Rim Review

So, caveat emptor.  Pacific Rim, Guillermo del Toro's newest and most commercial foray into the summer blockbuster is big, loud, dumb, and fun.  It was everything (literally) I expected, and not much else.  Suspend your disbelief walking in, otherwise it's just going to be irritating.  But once you realize that you're not really there to see something that makes logical sense, it's much more entertaining.  And since your brain has already been partially deactivated, it makes it that much easier to overlook the many plot holes, the abominable acting, the inept plotting, and utter lack of character.

This is a movie about big robots and bigger monsters.  It's a movie about destruction wholesale and not an ounce of emotion, pathos or humor.  Sure, there's some slap-stick, but it's so tied to overworn stereotypes and racial prejudice that it's simply banal.

But it's monsters.  And robots.  But while I enjoyed the fights -- which truly felt visceral -- I was never engaged in the characters, nor did I truly ever feel a sense of danger.  No one I cared about was ever truly in danger; cities, after years of assault by massive kaiju (Japanese for "really big monster") had gotten good at evacuating with little warning -- as a result, human populations were miraculously spared.  And our heroes (such as they are) were so two-dimensional -- no.  Strike that.  It wasn't that they simply lacked depth.  There was no there there.  They were dots on the screen that lacked arc, growth, or any conceivable motivation.  The only character with a hint of story was so maudlin that at times I wondered if she was just really good CG.

But the CG was amazing.  I never felt anything other than belief in the existence of these giant, incomprehensibly walking, fighting robots.  So normally I'd advise against seeing this type of movie, but the spectacle is so extraordinary that it has to be seen in the theater, if it has to be seen at all.  If you like the genre, I'm sure you'll enjoy this celluloidal romp.  If you don't like the genre, you'll probably still enjoy the wanton carnage.  It is the perfect amalgamation of Independence Day and Real Steel, that only demands you watch without a shred of intelligence or reflection.

While this movie has sometimes been advertised as science fiction, and del Toro announced that he wanted to make it a kind of Gothic sci-fi, it is neither Gothic nor science-fiction.  The technological mind-meld that del Toro asserts gives the movie its moral conflict is boring and utterly underutilized as a moral conflict.  Characters jump in and out of one another's minds with such ease that I wondered why it was even a big deal or even part of the story.  In fact, it's so easy to do that a human being can "drift" with a kaiju, demoting this particular McGuffin to irrelevancy.  But the whole movie is a McGuffin -- something which is explained with so much hand-waving that it devolves into farce, or the worst kind of fantasy.  Technology and science are so poorly understood that even a middle-schooler should be offended.  It was the worst kind of pandering.  (My favorite line [After a new Kaiju emerges bearing its own EMP and the functioning robots have been fried because of their digital systems our hero says of his robot]: "It's nuclear.  Analog."  Though, it's not quite as bad as this gem: "Let's do this!  Together!")

This is a moment, I suppose, to reflect on the dumbing down of our entertainment.  There's no reason this movie couldn't have had monsters, robots, plot and a decent character arc with a mediocre plot.  It would have required a director committed to making something other than schlock.  It would have required a half-way decent writer.  It would have required producers and a studio willing to take a risk.  But if The Lone Ranger and John Carter taught us anything, it's that studios are pretty willing to take risks.  So why don't they take the right risks?  Why don't they invest in something that isn't malto-meal for my eyes?

Just a few thoughts.

Bottom line, while I was entertained, it was cheap, mindless entertainment that I can't in good conscious recommend.  But hey, that's what summer movies are for, right? 

For comparison, here's a fan-girl review from Mary Sue that makes me wonder if we were watching the same movie.

This is the End?

Several times while watching "This is the End," Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg's attempt at biting social commentary, I caught myself wondering, when will this end?  Never rising above crass physical comedy, pervasive drug and sexual humor, and mediocre satire, this movie seemed to never end.  Ostensibly about six friends trapped together during the Apocalypse (wearily confused with the Biblical rapture, in which Christians are taken bodily to Heaven), it is really a disjointed treatise on friendship, self-sacrifice, and what constitutes the "good life."

I literally suffered for this movie, riding my bicycle 22 miles to see it, and though that shouldn't affect my appreciation of the movie, it did.  While I wouldn't say that my money was stolen (I used a gift card, after all) I suspect that my time was wasted.  I was never really entertained, and listening to six actors self-referentially dissect their faults on screen, parodying or satirizing their own misbehavior, seemed boorish, at best.  At worst, it was simply tedious.  At 107 minutes long, it felt both rushed and never-ending.  The two minutes discursive about how one should or should not dispose of one's ejaculate ("I'll come wherever I want, Franco") was particularly distasteful.

But, you know, maybe this just isn't my scene.  As one character complains after being dragged to James Franco's house party, he would just rather be at home hanging out with his friend.  I can sympathize.  The competing visions of happiness at odds here are a kind of philosophical treatise.  On the one hand, the hedonism of James Franco house party (a wannabe starlet doing lines of coke off Michael Cera's ass was particularly telling) contrasted with the slacker existentialism of Jay Baruchel, who would rather get high and play video games while reconnecting with his estranged friend, Seth Rogen.

Interrupting this philosophical competition is the rapture, which snatches "those of good heart" into heaven, while leaving the rest (including our gang) trying to figure out what happened.  Added to the mix are demons and hell-spawn intent on eating, raping, and tormenting the remainder of humanity.  The movie is far from subtle, and its maladroit handling of human depravity, what it means to be good, or even the basic theological implications (as one character says, "This means there's a god.  I haven't been living as though there was") left me wondering what other people have been raving about.

Generally, the reviews have been positive.  Many people see in the film a calm reflection on the L.A. lifestyle, the superficiality of Hollywood, and a generally comment on the hollowness of modern life.  I don't see that at all.  I can see where the writers wanted to make those comments, but it was like watching someone pick gnats with boxing gloves on.  In general it was just embarrassing.

More distressing was the blatant mishandling of Biblical material -- far from the most egregious mishandlings of the Bible that I've ever seen, but painful nonetheless.  Willfully misrepresenting the opposition's argument isn't simply lazy, it's deceitful, and blatant plagiarism.  But juxtaposing this mishandling was a disturbing depiction of heaven that remains misogynistic and sexist.  Finally overcoming their selfishness through various acts of self-sacrifice, our heroes are bodily taken to heaven, where they are told whatever they can imagine will come about.

While this worked in "What Dream May Come," it fails here.  Insofar as our selfish characters have learned a token humility, they are incapable of imagining anything but petty pleasures.  Weed is of course obtainable in Heaven -- though one wonders why one would need to be high in Heaven.  But on top of that, women appear as bikini-clad sexpots, representations of their sexuality, and I had to wonder why the producers feel heaven is as sexually exploitative as their Hollywood existence.

This led me to suppose this is their idea of heaven.  By dressing heaven up as a white-linen-clad and somewhat foggy realm populated by the same vapid  characters as occupy their moral cesspool the producers have consciously chosen to reject a life of moral, philosophic, or intellectual perfection and substituted instead a sexually dominant paradigm that casually rejects individual liberties for more than half of humanity.  Even the message that one should reject selfish ambitions in order to achieve perfection is simply a parody meant to highlight the real message: that selfishness is in fact a worthy end in itself.

I found this movie abhorrent and would recommend it to no one.

  

Sex in the Media, the Ethics of Cosplay, and Kant

http://w2.parentstv.org/main/MediaFiles/PDF/Studies/2010_SexualizedTeenGirls.pdf

A report made by Parents Television Council was recently released examining the frequency of sexual exploitation on television, especially humorous depictions of underage exploitation. 

"In the present study the PTC examined the prevalence of sexually exploitative images in the media and found that these images have become common themes in primetime television."

The report highlights the increasing depiction of women as sexual objects, and the increasing prevalence of sexual exploitation and violence.  By presenting exploitation and violence in the context of humor, the report contends that acceptance of such acts is increased.

Specifically, the study examined the prevalence and trivialization of sexual exploitation in the media. Therefore, in addition to examining how often females and particularly young females were associated with sexually exploitative themes, the study examined the number of times sexually exploitative themes were presented in a comedic context intended as humorous entertainment for the viewer.

Basically, the viewer is directed to find sexual exploitation humorous and therefore accept such behaviors as normal.  For example, "dead hooker" jokes were made several times, erasing the civil and personal abuses which prostitution often produces.

Most worryingly, the report highlights the connection between humor and underage exploitation.  That is, when a female was depicted being exploited, more often than not that female was underage.  Since young women model acceptable behavior from older women and more and more from media sources these television shows create an atmosphere of acceptable behavior which young women can emulate.

These images are believed to be a powerful force in shaping the sexual decisions and behaviors of developing youth. Associating laughter with topics like rape, child molestation, prostitution, sex trafficking, and sexual harassment further compounds the effects of sexualized media images. As long as there are media producers who continue to find the degradation of women to be humorous, and media outlets that will air the content, the impact and seriousness of sexual exploitation will continue to be understated and not meaningfully addressed in our society.

Adult women were also often depicted in sexually exploited roles, increasing the likelihood that girls and young women would model their behavior on these depictions. 

The report concludes that "if past research is correct that television can shape our attitudes towards social issues, and if media images communicate that sexual exploitation is neither serious nor harmful, the environment is being set for sexual exploitation to be viewed as trivial and acceptable."  This conclusion raises questions of its own which the report raises but does not answer.  Namely, is it every acceptable to laugh at sexual exploitation of anyone, but especially of a child?  The connection between the fantasy of a television show and the reality of behavior norms remains obscure, and the report adds that further research is necessary.  Certainly, however, this is a worrying trend and raises even more trenchant ethical problems surrounding certain geek sub-cultures.

I've been harping on cosplay for a while because this is what the interwebs are intent on talking about.  An ongoing debate between male convention-goers, female convention-goers (especially models and cosplayers) and John Scalzi has created the convention and internet meme: Cosplay does not equal consent.

At the heart of the controversy are numerous allegations and instances of harassment of women in the industry made by male convention-goers .  Sometimes the incidents are obvious: ass-grabbing, fondling, and coddling of female models by men.  Sometimes they're more obscure and often involve jokes and inappropriate comments.  As often as not the incidents reflect an ongoing perception by many men that their culture is being appropriated by women.

This offers an interesting tangent I'll not address here, except briefly.  To whom does a particular culture actually belong?  Is it even something that can be "owned?"  Certainly it can be appropriated, as Jazz and Rock n Roll have been demonstrating since the early twentieth century.  Cultural boundaries shift to include previously marginalized or excluded populations, or are actively appropriated to minimize or diminish cultural homogeneity.  The colonization of cultural norms often reflects the power dynamic between colonizers and colonized, with an appropriated culture actively used to disrupt patterns of community and social life around which populations cohere.  That's just a really complicated way to say that people often appropriate culture to lessen the power of that culture.  So when male gamers, geeks, and nerds complain about women in their ranks, it's as often because they believe their community is threatened by that intrusion.

Moving on.  Regardless of why men and women choose to dress up in costume, they should expect a minimum of personal security.  That is, everyone has a right to not have violence acted against them.  Their personal boundaries are inviolate as a matter of principle.  But when they present themselves as visual representations they can expect some manner of objectification which blurs the line between human being and objet d'art.  An inanimate object has no inherent moral or ethical obligation owed to it.  This is really obvious ethical territory, so I won't delve too deeply.  But it presents a jumping off point from the previous study to an ethic of victim-blaming.

Namely, if a person consciously chooses to depict himself or herself as an object of admiration, does that person relinquish his or her right against certain -- but only certain -- protections?  

If we operated in a vacuum, ethical action would be easy.  In a world of one there are no moral or ethical obligations.  But add even a single person and that calculus changes.  Moreover -- and I accept this axiomatically -- human beings possess only a single right granted by nature: the right to use violence to achieve your own needs and wants.  This is the only right naturally granted to individuals.  But in society, we willingly relinquish that right to ensure that violence is not used against us.  This is the single obligation of the state to its citizens.

The other rights such as freedom of speech, religion and so on, are historical accretions or tangents of that primary obligation.  Recognizing their artificiality (and in some instance arbitrariness) allows us as reasoning people to craft a system of morals and ethics which best reflects our needs and wants.  As such we have constructed a moral system which exemplifies the individual and makes the individual inviolable except in certain rare exceptions.

But a person may willingly relinquish certain rights in the pursuit of other ends.  A citizen relinquishes some rights when entering the military, we relinquish the right to enjoy the total fruit of our labor when we offer the government a percentage of our labor in the form of taxes -- wealth necessary to accomplish other goals we have collectively decided are worthy of pursuit. 

The reciprocal nature of moral obligation helps explain how someone can relinquish certain duties owed to himself simply by being a human being in modern society.  First, people are owed a certain level of truthfulness; that is, they cannot be coerced into normal actions by means of withholding information which they deserve to have.  In normal circumstances they also cannot be coerced into certain actions by the threat or use of violence.  These are expectations of behavior, as rights necessarily are, but expectations to which a person can appeal for redress when they are violated.

But this ethical system also requires that people's behavior remain appropriate to the social context.  Each person is sovereign in her actions, and sovereign in her responsibility.  That is, she must take responsibility for all breaches in which her negligence was the primary motivator.  For instance, a starving man's theft of bread is mitigated by his starvation.  In normal circumstances, theft is punishable as a breach of social and ethical obligations (you owe it to your neighbor that you won't take his stuff), but starvation is beyond (we hope) normal circumstances.

Similarly, in normal circumstances, a person's autonomy is inviolable.  However, as punishment for a crime that person may be imprisoned and his autonomy circumscribed.  In some instances, the crime may be sufficiently heinous or particularly egregious to merit permanent expulsion from the protections and privileges of society.  In these instances, capital punishment in the form of execution is merited until such a time as expulsion may be made in another form.

Which is a very dry detour from where I started and that was wondering what obligations models and cosplayers willingly give up when they don (or doff) certain clothing.  Cosplay may not equal consent, but does it equal a level of objectification which must be constantly combated by reminders of a person's humanity?  Possibly.  If that's the case, then are these not mitigating circumstances which perhaps lessen the offenders culpability?

I'm going to say no, and here's why.  Just as the thief still bears an obligation to remit what he has stolen to the owner (return in kind or as payment), people always have an obligation to others that cannot be reduced.  The mitigating circumstances might help diminish the punishment, but never the obligation itself.  As such, social ostracism might be an appropriate punishment for offenders at conventions, but I cannot see an ethical reason to withhold convention fees already paid, or the imposition of some sort of fine.  A declaration that such behavior is unacceptable is ethically permissible, but punitive actions are impermissible.  And certainly an apology is in order.

However, a model relinquishes the right to be offended by photography, harmless objectification (is objectification ever harmless . . . ?) by the very fact that they have willingly assumed a level of deviation from social expectations already.  Just as a person in public has no reasonable expectation of privacy, a cosplayer has less by the fact that they have willingly called attention to themselves.  Moreover, though turnabout does often seem fair-play, certain creep-galleries (in which the cameras are turned on photographers, often men, who seem particularly invasive in taking pictures) are themselves impermissible insofar as photographers have not assumed the same level of provocateur.

To be clear, this ethical system only includes actions that are not in and of themselves already illegal or clearly delineated in some kind of statement of acceptable behavior to which the offenders have had access and/or have read and understood.  This is an ethics of the gray areas in which we find ourselves daily and hews mostly closely to Kant's categorical imperative: People must never be treated merely as means to an end. (An interesting aside: This is the moral foundation against prostitution and sex work.  Where it gets really convoluted is where it descends into deontological morality, which I might turn to in another post.)

This all becomes much more complicated if one considers the pervasive atmosphere of sexual exploitation present in the media -- especially social media, which is its own kind of echo-chamber.  It calls into question the notion that certain behaviors are made entirely without coercion.  If a girl grows up perceiving certain actions as acceptable, and allowing herself to be exploited because she is unaware that she is being exploited, are her actions freely made?  Indeed, cannot one make the argument that producers of such content are themselves under an ethical obligation to cease their own behavior?

I'm going to leave these questions largely unanswered, since the report leaves them unanswered as well.  But I will leave you with their parting challenge:

The frequency with which viewers are able to watch and laugh at these sexual exploits further supports the notion that media is potentially creating an environment that trivializes the sexualization and sexual exploitation of women. The significance of “frequency” is especially relevant in this study given the continual absence of countervailing messages among the programs examined. When we laugh about dead hookers it becomes increasingly difficult to see the mistreatment of sex workers as a national civil and human rights issue. The same can be said for child molestation, sex trafficking, etc. When these messages, images and ideologies are delivered via mass media, the definition of acceptable and unacceptable behaviors are communicated both implicitly and explicitly to viewers. Similarly, when the media associates humor with sexual exploitation they are sending a strong message that these issues are harmless and require neither urgency nor a strong response.

Although results from this report are disturbing, it is the desire of the PTC [Parents Television Council] that these findings will spur concern, increased dialogue, and a collective responsibility to find answers that will result in a qualitative difference in the lives of young girls and women everywhere.

The Rest of the Last of Us

I'm about halfway through playing "The Last of Us," Naughty Dog's newest game.  Renowned for their Uncharted series, Naughty Dog is once again tackling an over-the-shoulder shooter featuring a male lead and his female sidekick sloughing through bad-guys.  In this case, Joel is the protagonist, and the head you inhabit throughout the game, and Ellie is his side-kick, a precocious fourteen year-old who holds the secret for combating the zombie apocalypse.

Just from that synopsis, the game doesn't sound all that original.  The plot certainly is nothing to write home about.  But the acting is incredible and the designers seemed genuinely interested in building real characters.  Joel, especially, is tired and broken.  But each of the side-characters with whom you often interact are fully-developed, often conflicted, people.  Expected emotional cues occur early in the game, and then diverge quickly into rarely trod territory.  So despite its mediocre plot (so far . . . there could be a twist I haven't anticipated) the characters feel real, and I have developed a genuine attachment to Joel and Ellie.

What is ruining the game for me, though, are the baddies.  First, from the trailers and the synopsis on the back of the game, we know already that the world is in the last gasp of ruin.  Anarchy prevails, zombies run wild, and decency is all but unknown.  So we should expect Mad Max-style confrontations, as well as 28 Days Later run-ins with deranged and hostile enemies.  And we get both.

But other than their skins, each enemy seems to behave the same way.  Some zombies hunt by echo-location only, and wander around maps with ears cocked.  Others group together in packs and rush you from corners.  There's the occasional solo--a big daddy who's nearly impossible to gun down (which, because of the limited ammunition practically requires that you just run in circles whacking it with bits of debris you find lying around). 

Your "human" opponents aren't much different.  Especially the "Lord of the Flies" baddies who wander tumbled urban landscapes.  Some you can just sneak past, despite the fact that it's broad daylight and they're staring right at you.  Others gang up and rush you from all directions.  The only exception are the cops and soldiers who sometimes lob a few bullets your direction, which only makes me suspect I'll soon encounter a zombie who lobs some sort of spit-bullet my direction. And there's the occasional solo baddie who's nearly impossible to gun down (see above).

But oh well.  Because really, the bad guys aren't there to be killed.  Unlike Uncharted and Uncharted Two, which were notorious for the massacre you inflict on untold hundreds of red, blue and yellow mercenaries (literally, they all wore different color clothes so you knew how to shift your tactics for them), The Last of Us depends on sneaking and not-killing as much as bludgeoning your way through a map.  In fact, it built itself on that premise.  You're given hardly any ammunition (though there does still seem to be a lot lying around in odd locations) and expected to think your way through and around confrontation.  More often than not, if you decide to go in guns blazing, you're bound to get shot dead in the first charge.

Beyond the obvious disadvantage this lends to your character, and the lazy enemy AI, the atmosphere is fantastic, lush, and, well . . . atmospheric.  At first, I was a little unsettled by how bright the world seemed.  But then I realized that despite the downfall of human civilization, the sun would still shine.  This lack of lens seems an apt metaphor for the game itself.  We see the end of the world unaided, with all the humanity, anarchy, and danger unmitigated by directorial or narrative sleight-of-hand.

So consider this an update rather than a review, because I suspect the ending is going to leave me raw and slack-jawed.  I'll let you know when I get there.

Anticipation!

I saw this preview for something or other I saw recently.  Oh yeah, "After Earth."  Remind me to write a review about that movie.  Or not, it doesn't really matter.  But I really want to see Alfonso Cuarón's "Gravity," starring Sandra Bullock -- you know, when she isn't being hilarious in "The Heat."  Take a look and get excited with me!

Cosplay and Fan Fiction

Robin Hobb (who is also Megan Lindholm) once remarked at a book signing that she thinks of fan-fiction as a misuse of limited time.  We're all given a limited period within which to make our art and she thought that fan-fiction (and to a lesser extent commissioned work like film novelizations and filling in for deceased authors as Brandon Sanderson is for Robert Jordan) was time poorly spent.  Instead, she advocated that authors invest in themselves: that instead of playing in someone else's sandbox, they should be making characters and worlds of their own.  I think it's good advice, but it's not advice that I gravitate to.

You see, I started in Wheel of Time fan-fiction.  I'm sure much of it is still floating around the interwebs and my success (or lack thereof) might be an effective scale by which to judge Robin Hobb's advice.  But I have a hard time accepting that the hundred of hours and millions of words (yeah, I counted once) were wasted.  I have to believe that I gained valuable insights into the mechanics of story, plot, narrative, and characterization.  And though those words will never be published, that's okay.  I erred often and frequently, but I learned from those mistakes and I carry them with me still; they influence how I write this blog, how I write papers, how I write articles, short stories, and novels.

Similarly, as I was thinking about fan fiction, I got to thinking about cosplay.  For those of you not in the loop (an orbit I barely inhabit) cosplay stands for costume play and is devoted to fans of particular works of fiction wearing the attire, or acting in the manner of, their favorite characters.  There's quite a bit of ruckus being made as to whether it's part of nerd culture, or geek culture, somewhere in the middle, or something else entirely.  It has the feeling of a Renaissance Fair without the obvious anachronisms.  Or, at the very least, entirely intentional anachronisms.  And it's also related to steam punk, which is a whole other kind of nerdery on which I'm not qualified to comment.

But it strikes me that the investment of time, energy, and creativity so prevalent in cosplay is a kind of misappropriation of talent, skill, and dedication.  For the same reason as Robin Hobb advised against fan fiction, I have to wonder if these people couldn't excel at their own endeavors.  Much like the teacher who wonders if little Johnny couldn't be a prodigy if he just applied himself, I wonder if cosplayers are just not applying themselves.

But I have to take a step back.  After all, I was a writer of fan fiction.  I loved it.  It gave me a sense of community and included me in a creative world that was also a creative outlet and source of inspiration.  Possibly, cosplay does the same.  Nerd, geek, whatever.  It's the community that formed around common interests that really matters. 

But still.  I have to wonder. 

Man of Steel Review

Lest this blog become too devoted to movie and book reviews, I'll endeavor in the coming weeks to get more up-to-date content up.  That means TV reviews, in case you're wondering.  And I might even pause to pen a few anecdotes and observations.  Now that I'm a college graduate, I feel I've earned the right to opine profusely for a few short weeks.  Then I'll have to dive back into the real world of nine-to-five.

But until then, let's talk about Man of Steel.  Starring Henry Cavill as the rarely-named Supes (I'm told there was a bit of a snafu involving the rights to the Superman name, but haven't confirmed that for myself) and Amy Adams as the precocious Louis Lane, this movie managed to do something interesting with a character that has more often than not languished in obscure, ether-sucking abstraction.  I mean, let's not point fingers, but Lex Luthor's land-making, land-grab scheme in Superman Returns was just . . . banal.

Man of Steel mixes it up a bit, and in doing so manages to create the right balance between moral dilemma and abstract what-if.  Because, let's be honest about something.  Superman is a god among men -- a literal Ubermensch.  What does a god do when settled among mortals?  This paradox lies at the heart of the movie, and while it doesn't succeed gracefully, it does manage some success.  Where it makes missteps, I'm more than willing to accept and forgive them because of the larger story being told.  Nowhere do the missteps seem so overwhelming that I simply cannot overlook them (take a look down at Star Trek Into Darkness to see some mistakes that I will not forgive -- I mean, come on J.J. . . . gravity doesn't work that way at all.)

This is how gravity works.

The movie itself strikes a very fine line between origin story and dramaction.  Russell Crowe, despite his many appearances in the movie, is largely not present, but we're reminded often that the ghost of Jor El haunts Clark Kent, who is torn between his two identities: Human and Kryptonian.  The sacrifice of both fathers are played to maximum effect.  On Krypton, Jor El sacrifices himself to ensure the life of his son on a world where he would be as a god among us.  And Jonathan Kent, whose sacrifice ensures that Clark can continue to live an unremarkable life blending in with human beings.

Forgetting for a moment that Superman is an alien being --and the movie does not let us forget for an instant -- the tension between Lois and Clark is tantalizing, without ever being over the top; foregone, thankfully, is the glasses ruse used to such laughing effect in both the comics and earlier films.  Hardly a spoiler, but Lois knows that Clark Kent is Superman nearly halfway through the film, and conspires with Superman to conceal his identity from humanity at large, and from her editor, and various military types in general.

Juxtaposition, anyone?

This allows a much more organic progression to their relationship, without the entirely saccharine tension of will-she-find-out so prevalent in earlier incarnations -- and indeed still with us in Superman Returns.

That leads me to a moment of speculation.  And behold!  There be SPOILERS ahead.

At the end of the movie, Zod having been defeated by both human gumption and Man of Steel brawn, decides to remove his exoskeleton warsuit and go mano a mano with Supes.  The problem with this has been highlighted in Superman's own upbringing, and by an earlier scene when Superman destroys the Zod's helmet.  Something in the atmosphere affects Kryptonian physiology so that the full potential of their super powers are manifested.  Yeah, they're strong under just the yellow sun, but our atmosphere knocks it up a notch and gives the Kryptonians super senses as well as, conceivably, the ability to defy gravity.

Superman, as he points out to Zod, has had years to overcome the naturally vertiginous effects.  He can focus his senses and block out the remaining cacophony.  Zod, without that training, is overwhelmed the first time his helmet is removed.  But later, in the final showdown, he declares that as a genetically bred warrior, he has honed his body his entire life, and can master his powers in an afternoon.  Eschewing his warsuit, he demonstrates his mastery by beginning to fly, a skill which Superman has only just acquired (once he put on the suit).

Pretty sure he took the red pill.

This is where I have a beef.  I believe that Zod purposefully took off the suit knowing that Superman's thirty years of soaking up the sun would make Superman more powerful.  That though well-matched, Superman was nevertheless superior, and that in taking off the suit Zod committed himself to forcing Superman to kill him.  He'd already declared that with the Genesis Chamber on the scout ship destroyed, he had nothing.  He'd committed himself to destroying Jor El's son already, but knowing that he was likely to fail, Zod realized that his final bid was to force Kal El to take his life.

He accomplished this in the subway, where it came down to Superman's option to save the earthlings, or kill Zod, and Superman chose us.  His mantle wasn't placed on him, he'd willingly taken it up.  And the movie succeeds with this final showdown where so many others fail because this version of Superman is not some nihilistic god bound by obligation to defend humanity, but rather one that has willingly committed himself to our good.

And that's why I choose to overlook its several flaws -- because ultimately the story revolves around the choices that the characters make and ultimately their very real ramifications.