film and tv

Times Past

  • Reading time:4 mins read

I’m watching a documentary on the new Doctor Who; in it is a retrospective of all the previous Doctors, and in that is enough footage to remind me why I like McGann’s. It’s a shame he never got more time; with some refinement he could have been close to the best. Almost ideal.

McGann’s was the emotional Doctor. It seems, after seven lives and a terrifying regeneration, something finally hit him. He becomes wistful, pensive, idealistic. At one point, he actually kisses his companion. It feels like he’s started to grasp the value of this life, of his whole situation. Of what it all means. He is sad, and fragile — and appreciative of everything. I guess he realizes that he might not have as much time as he’s always thought. Which must be weird, for a time lord.

All of the pieces are there. A roundness, a sense of dimension and balance. He gives the impression he’s looked through his past and decided who he is, and what matters to him. McGann brings a certain poignance to the whole arc of the series; he seems to imply that it’s going somewhere, that it has some internal structure, that there is some real evolution going on in the character. That we’ve been building to this moment. He makes it easier to go back and extrapolate, to get a piece of the Doctor’s mind. Just enough to understand him as a person, without robbing him of his mystery.

I say all this as I learn that Eccleston has ditched the role after a single season. After he leapfrogged all of the other actors in line to ask for the role, after he decided past Doctors were too foppish and that he wanted to modernize the character, and after exactly one episode has aired (to ten million viewers), away he goes. That’s… I mean. Hell. If you’re not up for commitment, then why bother with Doctor Who? Of all series? I taste lemons. There’s something weird when a companion hangs around longer than the Doctor himself.

This stunt puts Eccleston second to McGann in brevity, though McGann is to no blame for his part. Colin Baker was yanked out by the teeth, too. And McCoy just had the series cancelled on him. When Davison signed up, he only wanted to do three years; that was supposed to be a short run. And when his time was almost up, he regretted his earliier decision. So — yeah. Eccleston’s in a class of his own. Recall that the character is supposed to be running out of regenerations, and make of him what you will.

I still want to see McGann again. Surely there is some backstory to patch up here. We never did find out what happened to him — and there is plenty precedent for crossover.

EDIT: Or did we? I wasn’t aware that McGann had taped four full “seasons” of audio episodes. I knew he’d done some more work with the character; that these are actually considered seasons 27-30, however, is new to me. And this final episode was only released in December.

Well. Hell, then. I need to get ahold of these. I wonder how.

EDIT AGAIN: Jesus. It turns out that, after all of the novels and audio plays and junk, McGann is the second most well-recorded Doctor of all (following at 116 to McCoy’s 120). And a lot of stuff has happened during his era. And after the second episode of the new series, it seems that Davies considers it all canon. So maybe he hasn’t done that poorly after all. I still would like to see him in action again.

A response to a videogame critic

  • Reading time:3 mins read

Relativity is the most important factor to consider when assigning scores. In lack of an absolute objective meter — which implicitly we can’t have in these matters — what we’re left with is our own subjective assessments, that we distill to make relatively objective conclusions. The question is how we calibrate that relativity.

It seems to me that your case with San Andreas and Castle of Shikigami is miscalibrated in the same manner as most game reviews, in that you calibrate your relatve objectivity to your assumptions about what your average reader might consider “worthwhile” rather than to, frankly, the most solid foundation you have — that being the work itself: how well it succeeds in what it sets out to do, and whether you feel that its goal was a worthwhile one in the first place.

It would be one thing if you rated San Andreas higher because you felt it succeeded better at what it set out to do, regardless of which game you’d rather play. To compare them directly to each other, however, with a goal of determining some mythical absolute value for your average reader, is ludicrous. It’s exactly the issue that you complain about in this article.

For the sake of comparison, let’s take Roger Ebert’s system of review. If he really enjoys a mindless action movie, and feels it does everything it sets out to do as well as it could be done, he might well give it four stars. If he is frustrated with a much more challenging and worthwhile movie, because it fails in a few key areas, he might give it two and a half or three stars. This is not because the former movie has more content in it, more features, covers more ground than the arty movie. It’s just because it is more successful. Given an personal choice between the two, he would not hesitate to recommend the latter over the former. It’s almost certainly a better movie. It just doesn’t accomplish its goals as well.

I would argue, from what I have seen of San Andreas, that it falls short of its goals in a lot of places. It’s got some great ideas that it doesn’t really know how to follow through on. After you leave the first city, most of the game’s potential falls apart. Not only that; it also limits the player in a lot of silly ways that the earlier games in the series did not. Does Castle of Shikigami 2 have the same problems? I don’t know. I’ve not paid much attention. People seem pleased with what it has to offer. I’ve seen nowhere near the same kind of annoyance that I’ve seen with San Andreas. For what that’s worth. And I think it’s worth something.

The Car Door is Miyazaki

  • Reading time:4 mins read

The Castle of Cagliostro is better than I expected, even knowing its reputation. What struck me after seeing it — aside from how reminded I was (and with good reason) of Cowboy Bebop: Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door — was how imperfect the movie was. How imperfect Lupin seemed, in comparison to how he might have been. After all his effort and his skill and lucky chances, he, indeed, in a move which must put a gleam in Robert McKee’s eye, fails his mission.

This is part of the standard screenplay arc; the hero must rise to a height, then fall so he might rise again. See any boxing movie ever made, and note the moronic misunderstandings every couple must face three-quarters of the way through a romantic comedy, just so the man can make it up to the woman and they can realize how stupid they were for acting like completely different people just long enough to create tension. The difference here is, although we have a pretty good idea that Lupin will succeed, somehow, in the end, it never is certain. When he does succeed, he does it not because the plot demands it (although again, it does) so much as because he has earned it: not because he must, but because he might.

This works because we see him fail. Lupin is a flambuoyant man. He swings for the ropes, and although he knows what he’s doing, there’s a certain element of risk built into this behavior. Sure, Lupin can control himself — but that’s different from being in control. And with as small a window of success as his stunts need, if it’s not one darned thing it’s another.

Take a look at the episode on the rooftop, where Lupin intends to cross the several hundred yards of empty space, to a tower. He has one plan; life has another. That he is rescued by a sight gag — should we always be so fortunate — does little to dampen the near-disaster he put himself into. By the time Lupin does so suddenly, and arbitrarily, fall, we are prepared for it. We aren’t prepared in that we expect it; just in that it comes from somewhere. Yes, these things happen — and oh damn, he almost made it. It feels unfair, and frustrating — because we know on another day he might have succeeded. Chances are, he would have. Those are just the odds. What is all the more upsetting is that it is not until then we fully realize all that had been riding on Lupin. Even his archantagonist, Zenigata, had been on his side; with Lupin’s failure comes that realization so many antagonists come to: that without the protagonist, they have no reason to be.

The solution, then, is to stack the odds. The rest of the movie plays out much as one might expect: all the characters play to their strengths; the world is set to its normal order, perhaps a little wiser, perhaps a little sadder. We get perspective on the unending battle of the TV series. We feel wistful. And the oddly-silent credits roll.

Still, what we got is better than it need be. Better than, maybe, it should be, for what it is. A movie based on a long-running cartoon: this ain’t the kind of place you expect to go looking for truth, much less of the standalone sort. The characters jump into play with no real introduction; if you don’t already know the cast, why would you be watching a movie like this? No introductions are really needed, though. Relationships are implied, and used to the extent that the movie implies them. No one needs announce himself, as the personality is evident. One look from Lupin, and you know who Fujiko is — even if you don’t, really. She isn’t in the movie enough for it to matter, anyway. If you’re still burning for information, she clarifies the matter towards the end, saying nothing that first look didn’t.

I don’t know if I need to see this a dozen times. Then, for what the movie is, maybe it would be a failure if I did. It is worth the time, however.

Oh, and Konami almost certainly borrowed from this when designing Castlevania.

One Fist Too Many

  • Reading time:2 mins read

It feels like the “Harmonica” character was inserted into Once Upon a Time in the West after-the-fact. He’s sure unnecessary. He makes the movie longer than it need be, attracts time away from the main plot for no good or interesting reason, and generally clutters the situation. I think he wasn’t supposed to be there; that Cheyenne was the only male protagonist, and that half of Cheyenne was split away to form “Harmonica” (who, note, is an Indian — yet the other guy is named Cheyenne).

Assuming this is the case — well, why? I’ve an idea it has to do with Ennio Morricone. You see, by this point he was no longer writing the music at the last moment. I understand that, after the success of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, where he wrote a number of themes beforehand, he began to work more closely with Leone, working out the music before the movie was set, such that Leone would have something to guide him, conceptually.

From how he’s used, it feels like “Harmonica” was an experiment in tying the music more closely to the material. In other words, he’s an artistic gimmick. He plays harmonica (poorly), which gives an excuse for a harmonica theme to dominate the soundtrack, blurring lines that really don’t need to be blurred.

I feel that’s enough Leone for me, for now.

Western Deconstruction

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Structure of the first half of Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly:

  1. Title sequence
  2. Showdown #1; The Ugly identified
  3. Showdown #2 (and aftermath); The Bad identified
  4. Showdown #3 (and aftermath); The Good (such as he is) identified
  5. Back to The Bad; he beats a woman, showing how bad he is
  6. Back to The Ugly; the strange gunshop scene, where he displays his strange character traits
  7. (in the restored version) Added scene setting up the logic for the following scene; helps to space things out and show a little more of Tuco’s character
  8. Back to the Good, via Tuco; Blondie shows how sensitive he is, with the gun-cleaning scene; the outside world interferes for the first time, saving Blondie and setting the rest of the movie in motion
  9. (in the restored version) Back to The Bad; Angel Eyes’ eye-opening scene, where he is exposed to the effect of the war; some logic, to help explain why Angel Eyes returns when he does
  10. Back to the Ugly, then the Good; the squabble resolves. Blondie is again saved when the outside world (the stagecoach) again interferes, thus giving a greater goal for the movie and setting the third leg in motion.
  11. (in the restored version) Added scene setting up the logic for the following scene; helps to space things out and show a little more of Tuco’s character
  12. Tuco and Blondie at the mission; Tuco’s eye-opening scene, where he is exposed to the effect of the war; Tuco’s character is fully established, making Blondie more sympathetic to him
  13. Tuco and Blondie get caught up in the prison camp, to finally intersect with Angel Eyes
  14. etc.

I’ll fill the rest in later. It’s all downhill from here. Very… clean.

The removed scenes mostly help with the plot. Only one (aside from the boot thing, which is lovely) strikes me as important to the tone of the movie; that’s the early scene with Angel Eyes. The others are all nice to have, and make the movie feel fuller. More complete. I can see why they were cut, though, if cuts had to be made.

VROOM VROOM

  • Reading time:3 mins read

I picked up the GBC remake of the SFC remake of Dragon Warrior 1 & 2.

Gosh, the changes are nice.

Gosh, the game is easy now.

Really. I’m not sure what’s up with that. The game used to have the same syndrome as The Legend of Zelda and the first couple of Phantasy Stars, whereby the player was fenced in by impossible odds. Now one is more or less free to stroll at will. Money and experience are everywhere. Red slimes take one hit to kill at level one, where they take several in the original version. Or I seem to recall so, anyway. Not sure what to make of this quality.

However. Everything else is strangely just-right, in its tone and sensibility. I don’t recall much actual story in the original game. I don’t remember the townspeople saying much. Now they’re all miserable and scared and angry, and have halfway-interesting things to say about their own lives and problems. It’s all kind of bleak, yet strangely perfect. Then there are all of the little additions like the girl who finds the hero attractive and follows him around town for no other reason, which well illustrate the heart behind the game.

I thought I’d played this remake before. I don’t remember any of what I see, though.

This is nice.

I got it for eight dollars.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington sure ends abruptly. I haven’t seen a Capra movie since I was aware enough to appreciate one. Looks like I need to go back and take another look at It’s a Wonderful Life and It Happened One Night. Again with the little details, which give the piece life — the expressions and reactions of even the minor characters or the extras.

The Trouble With Harry is gorgeous; it’s one of the few pictures that Hitchcock mostly filmed on location, and it shows. It also shows when the movie jumps to a set, although not as disconcertingly as in, say, The Birds. The cinematography is brilliant. The script is interesting. Herrman’s score — his first, for a Hitchcock picture — is above-average for him. The wardrobe, with its light New England jackets and autumn gear, feels as real and refreshing as the scenery. The acting, save Shirley MacLaine, is terrible.

The script, although interesting, demands a certain degree of shrewdness in its players. It doesn’t work on its own. In the right hands, it could seem like genius. Here, it deflates into so much awkward air. A shame. A shame in general. Maybe it would have been better as a silent film.

On that note, I am almost convinced that the Coens intended Barton Fink to be in Black and White. Just look at the choices in cinematography. The use of light and dark. Then turn down the color dial on your TV. Suddenly, the movie commands about twice the power it did a moment before. there is so much less distraction. The nightmare logic all makes sense. Where before you might furrow your brow and wonder what just happened, now you accept without question. Maybe even nod.

It’s still a perplexing movie. I think I might like it. I’m not sure. I think I have to watch it a few more times. I’m not sure if I want to. I think I might.

So.

Missing Pieces

  • Reading time:1 mins read

The message I get from Confessions of a Dangerous Mind is: “Hey, we’re making a movie and we’re totally basing it on a Charlie Kaufman script. Isn’t that trippy? Isn’t that cool?”

The message I get from the supplementary material is “Oh my god, George Clooney is such a great director! He has, like, ideas and stuff! He doesn’t even give himself more takes than the other actors!”

I am sure this is all true.

You do not care about fight club.

  • Reading time:1 mins read

Some of you may be aware that someone is making a videogame based on the movie Fight Club. This sounded off to me, from what I had heard of the film.

I just saw the movie.

Now that I have, it is hard for me to feel indignant. A licensed fighting game does not seem any more inappropriate than it seems appropriate.

Might as well make one as not.

…

There is… more.

Soccer

  • Reading time:3 mins read

Among other things, I saw this recently. It had some kick to it.

I also think that, collectively, Kill Bill is probably one of the best films made in the last decade. Not for the reasons you expect, though.

No, I don’t intend to clarify. Because. That would mean talking about it.

I bought a VCR today. The man said it came with no RCA cables, so he sold me some RCA cables that cost half as much as the VCR itself.

I assume you can guess the punchline.

We will take the cables back tomorrow.

Gladstone Comics is back in the form of Gemstone Publishing. Same people: Gary Leach, Susan Daigle-Leach, John Clark; it just seems that they have parted ways with Bruce Hamilton. They publish Don Rosa, William Van Horn, Daan Jippes, and everything. Seems that WVH now has a son named Noel, who does Mouse stuff. While he is not as interesting as his father, the influence is clear.

There are five books, in three formats, which more or less correspond to Gladstone 1’s original debut lineup: Uncle $crooge, WDC&S, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, and DD Adventures. (Curious, on that last one, that they chose not to carry over the numbering from the first two Gladstone runs.) The first two are in the deluxe square-bound format that you might recall from the last year or two of Gladstone 2’s lifespan. The next two are in a standard, less expensive, more mainstream format. The final one is in the thick-n-small digest format (with which, you might remember, Gladstone experimented in the mid-late ’80s).

Were these not so expensive, I would have subscriptions to them all. This is important stuff. As far as I know, this is the only place where Duck comics are published in English. And there should be a sizey backlog of Rosa material, that he has built up at Egmont over the last half-decade or so.

For those not in the loop, this is the stuff which defines much of my personality, vocabulary, writing style, and knowledge of the world. Barks, Rosa, Van Horn, Taliaferro, Gottfredson. They, along with Tintin and Groucho Marx, are inadvertently responsible for the core of my being. Everyone who reads this, I recommend that you go to a comics shop and pick up an issue of Uncle $crooge — particularly one with a Rosa story. If you don’t already know what you’re in for, then you just don’t know.

There is… more.

Through rain and sleet and sold-out premieres

  • Reading time:6 mins read

Well. That was better. Actually, I think this is the only one of the three theatrical cuts which felt satisfactory as-was.

I notice that each movie has a completely different feel to its direction — this, despite the fact that they were all done at once. It must be in the editing; each movie was edited by a different person. The guy behind the second movie was an old fellow who had edited lots of movies, going back decades. The first and third movies were edited more specifically by people close to Peter Jackson. And the editing was far better here.

Whereas every cut in The Two Towers felt like it propelled me into another universe, this one flows. And there is enough cross-reference that one is never for want for relative context between the story threads. It fits together in such a way that it persists as one coherent, intense hunk-o-movie, and only seems awkward when Sean Astin is in the frame. Well, that and some of the Smeagol sequence at the very beginning. (What’s with the close-ups?) Overall, Gollum is far less annoying than before; I do give that. The toothy bit in the opening is kind of weird, though.

I like the end credits.

King Theoden strikes me as the most interesting characer in this movie. He is to Return of the King what Boromir is to Fellowship of the Ring. If you follow. Meanwhile, Aragorn has hardly a larger role than Faramir. Curious.

Is it just me, or is this movie an awful lot more violent than the first two combined? Stranglings; whackings-over-the-head with huge, pointy rocks; huge, meaty punches in the face; impalements… Some people have complained about the scene where Gandalf beats the hell out of Denethor, with his staff. It amused me.

This following bit I typed up before I left:

Actually, Now that I’ve reread the books for the first time in a decade, I’m able to better appreciate Jackson’s choices in adapting The Two Towers. As is often the case, everyone in the universe except — apparently — me is exactly backwards on this matter. It’s not that bad an adaptation for its part — at least, not in the detail. Not on a surface level. Even the big changes (Elves in Rohan; Aragorn’s cliff-diving; Faramir’s delayed decision-making) aren’t that huge a divergence.

That does not, however, make it fulfilling cinema.

Still. The choices are easy to understand.

  • In the book, Faramir doesn’t even have to think about his response to Frodo (although he does spend an awfully long time toying with him and Sam, in attempt to squeeze information out of them). In the movie, Faramir puts off any decision until he has time to find the answer on his own.
  • In the book, a group of previously-unestablished Dunedain rangers appears in the aftermath of Helm’s Deep. The explanation is that Elrond sent them, because of a message from Galadriel. Galadriel knew to send them because Aragorn had wished to see them, and she had read Aragorn’s mind from a distance. (?!) At this revelation, Gimli is amazed with Galadriel’s powers, and wishes that he and Legolas had asked for some of their own kin instead. Legolas seems sad and agrees that would be nice — but he doubts the Elves would have come even if he had thought to wish it. In the movie, Elrond merely asks Galadriel to send a company of Elves (who were, unlike the rangers, previously established). And they arrive in time to help at Helm’s Deep, rather than five minutes later. Wish fulfilled.
  • The Warg/Aragorn sequence was a mistake, yes — and yet not without basis. Warg riders are referenced at least twice during that very sequence of the book, as they were an apparent menace to other parts of Rohan at that moment. While the Aragorn/cliff element is of debatable cinematic value and integrity, it’s no stretch to bring the Wargs a couple of leagues closer and have them meet the party for such a scuffle.

And. Well, so on. All of that is fine for what it is. In many places, the adaptation clarifies and enhances the overt plot events of the book with almost as much cleverness and skill as displayed in Fellowship. It’s just the movie that doesn’t work, for reasons cited below and elsewhere.

The third one does work, though. And — this is interesting — in tone, it actually feels kind of like the second movie never occurred. Aside from the few characters introduced there, it might as well not have — further enhancing its Twilight Zone quality. It’s like the movie was on pause for three and a half hours, and now it’s all alive again.

Character threads introduced during Fellowship, then dropped in the next film, have been resumed here. (Pippin is an idiot!) Constant references are made to earlier events, particularly those in the first movie. (Watch for the moth!) We’ve got thematic focus again. Heck, King even reclaims that horror movie edge that the first movie had (and it’s gotten grizzlier). Also like the first, yet unlike the second movie, it feels polished and self-contained; you could easily watch King without seeing either of the other two, and feel like you’ve seen something complete and substantial.

And golly, there’s a lot of singing. Well-used, at that.

On a single viewing, it seems not quite as good as (the extended version of) Fellowship. A fine line, yes; yet it’s there. King feels forced in a few places (particularly toward the end), and Sean Astin both can’t act and is given some of the most important scenes. Not as personal. Not as much texture. Nearly, though. It’s in the same league. And it’s satisfying in a different way. It feels grand. Perhaps the extended version will raise it up an extra notch. It almost doesn’t need the enhancement, though. I wonder.

I think the extended version will have to use a few alternate takes. I kind of like how the movie manages to sidestep Saruman. It’s an elegant dance, except for the confusing detail of the location of the Palantir. Offhand, it looks like the movie will need a different edit altogether in order to shoehorn Christopher Lee (and/or Brad Douriff) into that scene. (It will be easier to give them their Alan Lee portraits in the ending sequence.)

Really, I don’t understand how people can stand up and leave during a credit sequence like this. What’s wrong with everyone? There was nobody left in the theater when the credits were over. The cleaning crews were getting impatient for me to leave. Pah, multiplexes.

Trivia note: Sam’s daughter is apparently played by Sean’s daughter.

Post-production

  • Reading time:2 mins read

You know, the DVD format has its uses.

I think much of the trouble in Jackson’s The Two Towers lies in the editing. There are any number of ways this film could have been assembled. He chose a distracting one. If you isolate the two major story threads, they each flow well (aside from that endless elfy flashback sequence). As the film is assembled, however, they keep interrupting each other.

Following the structure of the original book, it seems to work best to put the Aragorn/Gimli/Legolas/Merry/Pippin material first, then to switch to Frodo and Sam. The question is when to do this. It would be more than a little weird to wait until the end of the one plot, then to rewind and start the other.There is a built-in cutaway point, however, in the Aragorn plot. In a scene in the extended version, Aragorn sits outside of Fangorn while Gandalf discusses the plot. The scene ends with the two of them talking about Frodo and Sam. Then — in this version — we cut away to maybe the second or third Sam/Frodo sequence.

Why not just wait until then to start their major story? It’s a perfect cue. Aragorn tells Gandalf that Frodo has Sam with him. Gandalf is pleased. So let’s see what Frodo and Sam are up to.

The Gandalf sequence at the start is still a good device. It’s just, cut away to the first Merry and Pippin scene after Frodo realizes that it was only a dream and lies back down. Then I suppose it works to cut away again, when Frodo and Sam first meet Faramir. Finish the first plot, then do the last hunk of the Frodo/Sam plot. (There’s not much left, after that point.) And get rid of that big elfy flashback. And. The movie might actually flow, as a coherent unit.

Hmm… I bet there’s a program feature in here somewhere…

EDIT: This thought train is continued here.

A chance for Jackson, director of Hobbits, to prove his quality

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Here’s a clear example of the character illustration that has been re-implemented in the extended version of the movie.

In a flashback, Faramir remembers a meeting with his brother Boromir and his father Denethor. Denethor dismisses and insults Faramir a bit, then assigns Boromir the task to ride to Rivendell and claim the One Ring for Gondor. Boromir is crushed. Faramir offers to ride in Boromir’s place, as it is clear that Boromir would prefer to stay with his people. Denethor scoffs. “A chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to prove his quality?” He mocks Faramir some more, then sends Boromir on his way.

Some time later, Faramir realizes that Frodo has the Ring. He confronts Frodo, and pulls the ring from under Frodo’s vest with the tip of his sword. He stares, transfixed. “A chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to prove his quality…” Frodo freaks out and runs off into the corner, as Faramir stares on, perplexed.

Later, after Faramir puts the pieces together and decides to let Frodo go (at his own risk), Sam thanks Faramir and comments that he has “proved his quality”.

So. We’ve a character arc here. The entire episode was structured as a test, for Faramir. And, in the end, he passed it. He just needed to work a few things out first — like, for instance, what about him was being tested.

The first and the third mention are absent in the theatrical cut. We’re just left the middle bit, where Faramir prods Frodo with his sword. We’ve no context for why he does this, or why he decides to let Frodo go. We just have actions, without meaning.

This principle can be extended throughout most of the movie. The extended version still has some problems, and not all of them are of this nature. As I said before, I don’t think the movie can be fixed. Not entirely. Still, it’s a little better.

EDIT: I continue this thought train here.

Attack Patterns

  • Reading time:1 mins read

A couple of observations.

The “Mars People” from the Metal Slug series strongly resemble the top-row aliens (second from the bottom, here) in Space Invaders. This doesn’t seem like a coincidence to me.

Samus Aran’s space ship, from the Metroid series, bears a close resemblance to the enemy ships in Radar Scope — the early Space Invaders clone from Nintendo (which flopped and was later reworked into Donkey Kong). This is probably a coincidence. Maybe, however, not!

EDIT: HA HA

“‘Warners is afraid that Revolutions won’t sell very well because of the word of mouth on the movie. The only way to make the money on sell-through is to package it with the other two.’ The retailer went on to say that the number of requests for the film have dropped significantly since the film’s opening day.“

Wait for the Special Revised Edition, perhaps?

  • Reading time:2 mins read

Sounds like even still, The Two Towers is kind of messed-up. It continues to lack its ending sequence. I wondered why Peter Jackson chose to save the last bit of wrapup with Saruman for the third movie, unless it was just to have Chrisopher Lee’s name in the credits (as with the weird Arwen scenes in the second film).

But. Here’s the sequence:

The conclusion at Isengard was chopped out of the theatrical release because the theatrical release was a rough hack kept together with bailing wire anyway, and that scene made the movie too long for New Line to like it. (You might notice how disconcertingly aprupt the movie’s end happens to be.) So, Peter Jackson figured he’d just splice this sequence into the beginning of RotK.

Since up until just this past week or so he still assumed he was going to do this, the proper ending isn’t in the extended version of TTT. It has now occurred to Peter Jackson that it’s kind of odd to have this leftover business at the outset of the third film, so as a result he’s excised it from the theatrical version of RotK — as lengthy as this cut might be.

And now also as a result, the ending to The Two Towers won’t be seen until the extended version of Return of the King — two full years after the film’s original release.

Yikes.

He really needs to go back through and edit these films a third and final time, when he’s no longer under pressure. I know he intends to. It’s just. Maybe that’ll be the proverbial charm for the middle film. Include everything that needs to be in there. Remove or rework the pointless bits. And just redo the cross-cutting from scratch.

From this distance, it sounds and looks like the third film will be more akin to the quality of the first. As well it should, given the comparably ample time he’s had this time around. (One wonders whether New Line will be able to drag him out for the months of Oscar schmoozing nonsense this year. One wonders if it’s necessary.)

EDIT!

I (kind of) like this review.

EDIT MORE OOG!

This one, meanwhile, fails on more than two levels.

EDIT AGAIN!

Although it fawns, this impresses me in its particular way. (I got used to the affectations by the end.)

Chasing Harry Lime

  • Reading time:3 mins read

This piece does not a bad job of summing up my attitude toward… things. Videogames, sure. The last paragraph in particular illustrates why I’m baffled at the animosity often directed toward critics. And the better they do their job, it seems the more they’re resented.

Then, I guess my experience in school should have prepared me for people’s reactions when you begin to ask questions.

This summer I witnessed, in the Gaming Age forums, a person’s hate-drenched response to Insert Credit‘s big videogame journalism article. This fellow claimed to be involved with game development. He went on about how vile and useless critics were. What do they know. They don’t make the games. (I should note here that some of the best filmmakers, poets, and musicians have also been influential critics in their day.) I decided that I never want to play a game made by this person. It was clear to me that he didn’t have much interest in communicating.

Which makes me wonder why he ever got involved in the videogame business. Perhaps because he wanted to Make Videogames, without really understanding what that means. Perhaps he became dazzled with, and ego-attached to, the idea of Being a game developer. Or he came to worship the games themselves.

This is compared to… well. Because he felt he had something to say, and this seemed a good way to express himself.

If the latter were the case, he’d want intelligent criticism. He’d want interaction. He’d want to see if his message got across — and if not, what the alternate interpretations might be.

If the former were the case, he wouldn’t. Because he’d be afraid that his world would shatter.

It sounds to me like he’s in the wrong profession, if it causes him that kind of insecurity. And again, what kind of a game would a guy like this make?

I received a puzzled email not long ago, in reference to a passing comment in an old entry of mine. I’d mentioned that we could do without any more people making videogames who want to Make Videogames. I suppose the above is a part of what I meant.

It doesn’t stop with videogames, of course. Artists, writers, politicians… really, anything that a person might do with himself. I suppose this — the motivation to Be Things through doing — is all a side effect of our goal-oriented society. And perhaps, to some extent, of that perennial whipping boy, The Media. (Hey, I’ve got to throw it in somewhere.) If you’re not somebody, you’re nobody. Just ask your grandmother who wanted you to grow up and be a famous lawyer or a rich doctor or the President. Just look to all of the people who’ve asked you what you want to be when you grow up. And to all of the people who look at you with a puzzled expression whenever you choose to study something without a direct practical application.

Hell, I need to go to sleep.