2006: Paprika

Since I usually make a post for the assigned movies, here it is. I first saw Paprika in Dr. Steilings History of Comics and Graphics Novels class back when I was a freshman. We only watched 15 or 20 minutes, this of course meant I have to buy the movie since back then I only pirated music. I own Paprika and I watch it every one and a half years, maybe, as I do with the other movies I own.

I like Paprika. 

Narrative in Gaming

I don't particularly know where I want to take this discussion; as such, and in line with most of my other posts this will turn out to be somewhat of a mess.

Most games have a story; story being a sequence of events. Every game I play has a story, even Minecraft has a story. As for the games that I play or have played most if not all of them are not story driven, they were not made to be narrative based experiences. The Warcraft universe has a huge overarching story and tons of other stories that are told throughout the various Warcraft games and in the  novels; even when the latest expansion pack for World of Warcraft is trying to have a more narrative experience it still can't compare to games that do because it dones't need to. Compared to books or cinema that's one thing that makes games special is that the story isn't as important. Certainly it's important if you want the game world to have depth, but a game can get by being superficial if it's still fun to play.

Some games have narrative, assuming I know the difference between narrative and story. Game like Dear Esther, Journey, The Walking Dead, or anything else on the list of games I haven't played. However, just maybe, I've played a game that was a little heavier on the narrative compared to Minecraft? Let me think... Amnesia the Dark Descent is kind of narrative based, right? You might say, "Shawn, what about Dragon Age: Origins, or the Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic Games? Those are narrative based and you've played them". Yes, but I didn't play them for the narrative, which is why I brought up Amnesia. 

What does Amnesia offer for gameplay? Walking, puzzels, reading letter, soiling your drawers. Compared to other games I've played, this game lets me use a greater percentage of my brain putting the story together since I don't have to worry about shooting anything. That might be my point. Although I never finished playing Amnesia so my perspective could be skewed.

Medium is the Massage

Initially I listened to the record mp3 of Medium is the Massage. This turned out to be just short of sensory overload, but that could be from my insistance on multi-tasking. I then read The Medium is the Massage an Inventory of Effects and skimmed over a few of the other provided texts.

To extend McLuhan pushes us is an obvious direction, towards the internet. A significant extension of self that didn't existis as we know it during his time. However, I know I'm not the only person who will come to this conclusion (also consider I've looked ahead to those who have posted before me). That being the case, I'd like to speak of the most infamous of imageboards -- 4chan.

The beauty of 4chan as a medium compared to other social networks, posts, threads, boards, and such is its levels of anonymity. Compared to sites like tumblr or reddit where you go by an alias, on 4chan you're only a number. The site is most know for the random board /b/. This is the (self-proclaimed) heart and soul of the internet, it might as well be considered a basement full of fat neck-bearded misogynistic homophobic racist white males with content that follows in suit. HOWEVER, the massage is determined by the medium and not the content. Since it's not about content I'm free to return to the topic of anonymity: because of the anonymous nature of the site, it is the most perfect extension of the human psyche.

Here is something I wasted to much time on that doesn't help illustrate my point. Behold:

A shot in the dark perhaps?

Lolita Response

"Why do you think I have ceased caring for you, Lo?" "Well, you haven't kissed me yet, have you?" Inly dying, inly moaning, I glimpsed a reasonably wide shoulder of road ahead, and bumped and wobbled into the weeds. Remember she is only a child, remember she is only —

This takes place shortly after Humbert picks up Dolores from the camp.

I collected roughly a bakers dozen of quotes while finishing Lolita. I say, “finishing”, but that refers to almost two thirds of the novel. Some I picked simply because I found them humorous, and while I would like to include them at the end of my response I could not use them because they held far too little relevance to the message of the story.

            Reading Lolita (granted that this is H.H.’s perspective and we are not to trust him) I see Dolores Haze as the dominant individual in the relationship. That power, she seized from Humbert through one of the three traditional means, sex. Assuming we can trust Hum, she initiates many of the cases of sensual and sexual interaction. As the story progresses and Hum becomes more and more paranoid and anxious Lo gains more and more power. While that passage doesn’t reflect it, Lo does also know the consequences of Humberts actions, and she knows the reality of the monster he is. However, it seems she uses that to joke and taunt Humbert; I think that would serve to back up my claims that she has a fair amount of control in the relationship.

            Humbert, in this passage and in the story as a whole knows full well the reality of what he is, Lo is, and the repercussions of his actions. Humbert is a weak man controlled almost completely by his sexual urges. Dolores is his idol, and she holds his leash is somewhat of an equal and opposite way to which he holds hers. Humbert does know full well what he is, and having to live that lie to its fullest with Lo strains him. This drives him further down a path of madness, anxiety and paranoia. At least further down that path than where he was when he met Lo.

            Perhaps reading Lolita’s topic was too easy for me, in that the subject matter was not as bothersome as the constructed social expectations would have them. It could be because I know this to be a work of fiction, and that I know the reality of some of these types of situations can be much worse. It could just be that I find it easy to look past things. If you ignore Humbert’s friendly reminders that he is a monster, then it’s almost easy to forget that he is a monster. I may be wrong to feel this way, but the thing that bothered me the most about Humber was his willingness to drug Lo and her mother. Shame on you Humbert, that’s just uncouth.

            Unfortunately it’s time to list off my collection of humorous quotes. There were many, but the shortest ones will fit nicely. Let’s begin shall we:

“Slowly her head turned away and dropped onto her unfair amount of pillow.”

I may have laughed out loud on this one.

“I was unbathed, unshaven, and had had no bowel movement.”

Humbert was still human, afterall.

“Oh, look, all the nines are changing into the next thousand.”

I remember the simple joy of when our family van hit the two hundred thousandth mile. Memories.

Radio, Superman: Clan of the Fiery Cross (1946)

Four hours of audio, one quarter of that is advisement for Kellogg's Pep Cereal and Grow-Pup dog food.
The entire story takes place over 16 episodes, each with two or three or one thousand advisement breaks.
With cereal receipts like The Pep Pyramid. There were two others but I don't remember them, and I care not to listen a second time to find out what they were. I am thoroughly sick of Pep Cereal adds.

Gatsby: The Screen Play, It's something.

FADE IN:

EXT. BUCHANAN RESIDENCE - AFTERNOON

Tom ushers Nick into a large room marked by open French windows on both ends. Inside sits a couch, upon is two young women.

TOM BUCHANAN, A STIRDY STRAW HAIRED MAN   AND WHAT SOME MAY CALL AN ASS.

Well, go inside.

INT. BUCHANAN RESIDENCE - AFTERNOON

DAISY BUCHANAN, A WHITE WELL TO DO LADY SITTING ON THE COUCH, LEGS CROSSED. LAUGHING EVERY SO SLIGHTLY AS SHE BEGINS SPEAKING.

I'm p-paralyzed with happiness.

DAISY, LAUGHS AGAIN PULLS NICK CLOSER MURMURING TO HIM AND MOTIONING WITH HER EYES TO THE WOMEN SITTING NET TO HER.

This is my good friend, Miss Baker.

NICK, LOOKS OVER MISS BAKER, BUT RETURNS HIS ATTENTION TO DAISY.

DAISY, RECLINES BACK ON THE COUCH.

Nick, pray tell, how was your trip here to the east?

NICK

As any should expect, although, I stopped in Chicago to spend time with some friends. They all wish you their love, Daisy.

DAISY, EXCITED, SMILING.

They do miss me then?

NICK

The whole town is desolate without you. All the cars have left the rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there's a persistent wail all nigh along the north shore.

TOM, HAVING CLOSED THE WINDOWS MEANDERS ABOUT THE ROOM.

DAISY, TURNING TO FACE TOM.

How gorgeous! Lets go back Tom. To-morrow!

DAISY, TURNING BACK TO NICK.

You ought to see the baby.

NICK

I'd like to.

DAISY

She's asleep now. she's three years old. Surely you've seen her before Nick?

NICK

No, never.

DAISY

Well, you ought to see her. She's-

TOM, RESTS HIS HAND ON NICKS SHOULDER AND INTERRUPTS DAISY.

What you doing, Nick?

NICK

I'm a bond man.

TOM

With who?

NICK

James, James Bonds. 

TOM, DISMISSING NICK.

Never heard of them.

NICK, SHAKEN BUT NOT STIRED BY TOMS RESPONSE.

You will, that is, if you stay in the East.

TOM, GLANCING AT DAISY THEN BACK TO NICK.

Oh, I'll stay in the East, don't you worry. I'd be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.

MISS BAKER, SUDDENLY INTERRUPTING.

Absolutely!

MISS BAKER, YAWNS AND STANDS UP.

I'm stiff, I've been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember. 

DAISY

Don't look at me, I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.

MISS BAKER, MOVING TO GRAB A COCKTAIL.

No, thanks! I'm absolutely in training.

TOM, CONSUMING HIS DRINK IN ONE FELL SWOOP.

You are! How you ever get anything done is beyond me.

MISS BAKER

You live in West Egg don't you Nick? I know somebody there.

NICK

I don't know a single-

MISS BAKER, INTERRUPTING NICK.

You must know Gatsby.

DAISY

Gatsby? What Gatsby?

MISS BAKER

The Gatsby.

Tom wrangles his arm under Nicks, compelling out of the room.

FADE OUT:

Silent Films: The 20's

The Navigator ('24)
Initially I was irritated with the movie, it would seemed to just be two wealthy and helpless lovers struggling to get by on a boat. When the first night happened, my views changed. With the bedroom scene where the lady tries to throw the creepy sailor painting overboard and instead it gets hooked on the outside and swings in front of the mans window. That was hilarious, it made watching this worthwhile.

Pay Day ('22)
A Charlie Chaplin short. Slap-stick humor, not bad overall.

A Girl in Every Port ('28)
Starring Louise Brooks, need I say more.

I began to watch two other movies that were hosted on Netflix. One was Diary of a Lost Girl ('29) because who doesn't love Louise Brooks. I also started Metropolis ('27). I couldn't finish either of them because they were both fairly long movies and it is very hard to watch a silent film and multi-task. I would look a way for a couple seconds and would become completely lost.
However, the sets were very impressive in Metropolis, I will say that.

2011: Midnight in Paris

I find it an interesting decision to not provide subtitles when french was spoken (at least I don't remember them if they were there, forgive me if I am wrong); it places us in the same pot as the protagonist (assuming we don't speak French).

Sex and time travel. I have to question the mechanic for time travel, it left a few holes that I think should be addressed.
Facts proposed:
1. Vehicles required for backwards time travel (with the possible exception of the spy), this limits time travel to periods that have such technology. You can't go back before the wheel.
2. Time moves at a one to one pace; meaning that by 2020 you could only go to 1930 because the gap is fixed, unless it's instead determined by the wishes of the traveler.

The return mechanic is the biggest hole in this entire scenario. Initially it would seem to force the return at a particular time or at the end of social engagement. This would mean it would be impossible to stay in the past. Yet we know can't be the case because the spy did not return.

Mr. Bibs and the Island of Giant Cocks

“Good day reader” said the lady in front of you while directing her attention towards the fourth wall.

“My name is Claire Fitzgerald,” she continued in an ever so crisp tone. Her hands hold a small picture album, a title engraved or pressed or however such a craft is done into the leather cover that makes up the album. The titles read the same as the title atop this page. She slowly pulled the album up to her face, hiding all but her eyes.

“Let me tell you a story” Claire says smiling wryly, or at least you would assume so because that was how she sounded, but the album still covered her face.

            With those words a mist encircles you, it may not be obvious but this is completely safe, in all likelihood you are about to experience a flashback of sorts.

“This story begins on August 4^th, 1910 in a small port city known as Port Angeles.” Said Claire.

“Mr. Bibs and myself were to set out on an adventure that evening. Mr. Bibs was a sporting young lad who enjoyed running and playing, though he especially enjoyed hunting fowl. He had heard legends of an island in the south of Alaska that had large game birds. His aunt having recently passed, Mr. Bibs found himself with a large sum of money. That was why we were in Port Angeles, to acquire gear and a ship,” said Claire, now begging to open up the album.

“I met Mr. Bibs out by one of the piers, greeting him when I arrived.”

“Meow” said Mr. Bibs, being the flirt that he usually is.

“There were two ships available for purchase: a small fishing boat called Svava, and a fair sized ferry called the Princess May” said Claire, showing you a photograph of the two ships docked at the pier.

“Mr. Bibs always went big, or home… and since he was hunting large fowl it only seemed appropriate to him to get the larger of the ships. At this point I tried to talk him down but he would not hear a word of it. We loaded up the ship and set out.” Said Claire, turning the page of the album showing a picture of Mr. Bibs shouting commands down a metal tube to the engine room.

“He always had to be in charge, even though he had never captained a ship before,” said Clair, but she was interrupted by you. How rude. At this point you ask a question regarding the fact that Mr. Bibs is a kitten. You find it odd but Claries body language shows how completely normal it must have been for a millionaire kitten to try and captain a ship.

“Of course Mr. Bibs was a kitten,” Claire continued, “that’s rather a silly question reader, I don’t see why it was necessary to bring up. Do you mind if I continue now, hopefully without your interruptions?” With that Claire tuned the page again showing the Princess May stuck upon some rocks, you decide it’s best not to comment, you know very well that this happened because a kitten was at the wheel.

“We reached Sentinel Island,” said Claire, who then paused, but then continued first by correcting herself.

“We beached upon Sentinel Island, this was not out end destination, but the larger island nearby was. Luckily it was close enough to paddle to in the life rafts. Mr. Bibs was determined to hunt the large fowl and no stranded ship would deter him. As we neared the island we heard the cries of many a rooster on the wind. This indeed was the fabled island of giant cocks.” Said Claire while motioning with her hands, as if to express how large this birds actually were. You try to keep a straight face as she continues,

“When we reached the shore Mr. Bibs jumped right off the raft and ran straight away into the woods. I cried after him but to no avail. The crew of the Princess May and I set up camp on the shores. Shifts were taken during the night but Mr. Bibs did not return, though we knew he was all right. He was a kitten after all; this gave him quite the unfair advantage, some would dare to say it was an acute advantage.” Said Claire. You give her a look of disapproval because you don’t like Puns. You do however know that puns are one of the highest forms of wordplay and comedy and a normal individual would appreciate such a joke.

“The next morning a red sun rose, we knew blood had been shed that night. With a rustling and a purring Mr. Bibs sprung from the forest onto the shore dragging three large rooster behind.” Claire says while showing you yet another picture. You disregard the painted backdrop.

“It was incredible, I was so proud of my Mr. Bibs.” Claire says to you, then looking off into the distance, lost in thought. You decide not to bring her back to reality, since you suspect she was never there to begin with.

1999: Topsy-Turvy

Much to long to watch on a monday night when I would rather be doing other things.
That's not to say I suffered through it, but when depicting turn of the century theatre I'd have to pick the Moulin Rouge movie (even with its questionable accuracy to the music that would have taken place in such a time).

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Like a bad 3D movie, that is now how I view 1939 movie of this story. We have this glorious new technology! We must use it, make the slippers ruby instead of silver! Not that I care all that much, and these types of changes are to be expected when crossing media.

One thing that does bother me about the book is how conveniently obstacles are resolved. I don't feel as though Dorothy earned anything, or grew as a character, she never faced any chalenges that she had to over come on her own (with the exception of the Wicked Witch, but even then the witch wasn't that wicked and Dorothy beat her unintentionally . When it first started to bother me was when the Wicked Witch first started to send out her minions. When the wolves attacked the tinman killed them all, I'm fine with this, but the way it plays out. I am supposed to assume that the wolves formed a nice line and attacked one after the other? It's as though the tinman stood in one spot just swinging his axe and the wolves simply ran into it. The same goes with the other encounters. It feels to convenient for Dorothy to have thrown the water bucket on the witch. Who does that? Sure the witch took her slipper, but splashing a bucket leaves everyone wet. What was the point Dorothy?

Another thing, the Wicked Witch is a terrible slave master. It sounds as though Dorothy is free to go about and do whatever in the castle along with the chores the witch had her do. You can't break a lion if your servants continue to feed it after dark. What was the witch thinking? Giving Dorothy so much freedom. I'll give her being afraid of water for it is life threatening, but afraid of the dark? Really? She's not a good villain as far as I'm concerned.