Imaginary Dinosaur

Increasingly of late, I find myself walking out of films with a single question, “Did I enjoy it?”, and as I exited ‘Up in the Air’ in the heat of Saturday afternoon, I found that this film, already holding rave reviews and recommendations for Best Picture, to be no exception.

While trailers led a friend of mine to believe that it was a romantic comedy, and myself to believe that it was a philosophical look at the choices that lead to love, the film is in fact neither.  Ryan Bingham, (Clooney) is a guy who is employed by a human resources consultancy to travel around the country, firing people.

In theory, Ryan gets called in because he has the skill and knowledge to support people on their ‘rebirth’ into their next place of employment, but truthfully, he’s hired by bosses who are too afraid to do the firing themselves.  It seems a miserable ask, but Ryan loves his job. He loves the lack of responsibility, he loves the lack of baggage, he loves the forced greetings from hostesses and he prides himself on the earned (through frequent flier miles) respect.  He also loves the no-strings affair that he is having with Alex (Farmiga), who has the same uncomplicated needs as him: “Think of me as you, but with a vagina.”

Of course, things get complicated; he has messy family issues with his sisters, and then his own boss (Bateman) introduces him to the ­spirited young employee Natalie (Kendrick) who has invented new internet-based style of ­firing, which can be done over a webcam, long-distance, thus making expensive ­air-travel and Ryan’s wonderfully isolated existence redundant. Craig forces the resentful Ryan to take uptight young Natalie on the road with him, to show her the ropes before the new ­virtual-sacking techniques are rolled out.

From very early in this film, I had some very specific ideas as to how it would play out.  I could see each scene in my mind and was convinced of (and satisfied with) the plot that I expected to unfold before me.  And then I had the rug ripped out from under me, and I never really regained my footing.

Away from the plot, let’s start with the fact that Clooney is wonderful in the role; he’s clever, likable, sophisticated and devoid of the slapstick romantic comedy that I’ve seen him take on in the past.  His two co-stars, Kendrick and Farmiga cleverly pull off the roles of not-quite daughter and not-quite-wife, and all three are really at their best in a scene in the hotel lounge as the two detached and unconventional ‘parents’ are lectured by their ‘daughter’ on the error of their ways.

The film slaps cliches in the face, and I think that overall, I appreciated it more than I liked it. I respect it, but I did feel that ultimately, it was trying to portray itself as smarter than it was.  It was screaming “look at our clever 21st century attitude and realism”, and it distracted me somewhat from the philosophy that the trailer lead me to expect.

So the question…did I enjoy it?

I have no idea.

Largely unoriginal thoughts on the penultimate episode of Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse.  Numbered, because that’s easier.  I promise a proper write up after Epitaph Two.  SPOILERS GALORE. Read the rest of this entry »

The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else.

-Umberto Eco

The trouble with being the kind of person who is attracted to Science Fiction and Fantasy as their genres of choice is that you find yourself exposed rather significantly to the idea of heroism.  Heroism of course does come up in other categories of fiction, but as a rule, it tends to isolate itself to the aforementioned. This post will focus on the wonderful world of Whedon, largely because it’s already 11pm, and I’m planning to go for a swim in 8 hours.

Let’s begin where my interest in Joss Whedon himself began, with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  My love for this series really doesn’t need a lot of elaboration in this post, though it’s definitely worth noting that I consider season seven to be the poorest in the series.  It was Buffy that first taught me about my problem with hero protagonists, and showed me that I could love Buffy while not actually liking the character Buffy.  I started out liking her.  The reluctant hero, chosen to save the world…it was great!  Then of course, she became aware of her significance.  She began to expect people to listen to her instructions, and she became quite aware that she was ‘better’ than other people.  She had more power than suffering, and it became visible to me that it was the balance between power and suffering that allowed a heroic character to work…or not.

Maybe it’s a personal preference.  I’ve never, ever had an interest in Superman for example, he’s just too damn super.  You can’t have x-ray vision, super-strength and a bullet-proof chest without having some serious issues to even you out.  Spiderman worked for me on the other hand, tortured by the responsibility for the murder of his uncle, and the X-men even moreso, sure – they were pretty super, but overall they’re representative of the mistreated minorities of the world.  They’re a clever and intelligent metaphor, to Buffy’s ‘I won’t buy into stereotypes’.

I seem really negative in my appraisal of Buffy here, but let me assure you that I do love the show, I love what it did to represent the empowered woman, and I think that it was some of the most witty and intelligent television that was available at a time when Friends ruled the airwaves.  Still though, for me the show was carried by the rest of the core characters, Giles, Willow and Xander, particularly the latter, who allowed the rest of us to live through him…the ‘nothing’ in a world of ’somethings’.  He was a grasshopper amongst gods, but at least grasshoppers are real.  I’ll hopefully detail more on the significance of the side-kick in a later post.

The character of Buffy was always right.  She always made the right choice (apart from the very rare lapse in judgement).  She was the infallible general of an army, and by the end of the series, she seemed more like a benevolent god than one that walks among us.  Truth be told, I’ve never forgiven her for walking out on Xander after he’d been semi-blinded.  Buffy became so embroiled in the greater good that she became separated from her immediate and intimate reality.  And while that’s probably a good quality in a superhero, it’s not a great one in a fictional protagonist.

Let’s move on then to Angel, Whedon’s next work.  I always think of this spin-off series as a more adult version of it’s predecessor.  Again, it has an eponymous protagonist, but Angel at least has an eternity of sin to find redemption for.  He has not always been a good guy.  In fact, over the duration of the series, we see this on several occasions, and for me, this makes him more interesting than Buffy, and a slightly more likable protagonist.  He still has his moments of ‘too good for his own good’, but I think that the reason that overall, I prefer Angel to BtVS is the fact that he’s not as perfect.

Firefly next, and I include the feature-film sequel Serenity under the same title because they exist within the same plot-line.  Protagonist-wise, I adore Serenity.  Malcolm Reynolds is a proper ‘hero’…possible because he retains more of an anti-hero status.  Mal kills people in cold-blood, he makes bad decisions.  He stabs people because it’s funny, and he’s rarely sure about the righteousness of his choices.  Maybe it’s the fact that Mal isn’t a designated hero.  He’s not chosen, he’s not special, he’s a guy who gets caught up in less-than-savory situations.  Firefly wasn’t about a bunch of super-heroes, it was about a bunch of people in a less-than-wonderful situation.  I like Mal as a main character much more than I liked any of Whedon’s previous protagonists…perhaps because he was so close to being an antagonist?  Even when Mal was working for the betterment of man (in Serenity), his likability was maintained.  His uncertainty and resilience when he really had no super-natural drive pushing him were qualities that I find rare in the Joss-tagonist.

Doctor Horrible!  I love this series because the protagonist is in fact an antagonist.  How often are you allowed (even encouraged) to sympathise with the villain of the piece?  Doctor Horrible is in fact evil.  He wants to rule the world, and he’s going to kill Captain Hammer if that’s what it takes to do it, and here we are as viewers, rooting for him.  Never before have we been exposed to such an unlikable hero.  True, Hammer is fighting on the side of good, for puppies and grandparents and rainbows, but Doctor Horrible makes it quite clear that he suffers from the disease that Buffy and Angel suffered from – an over-assertion of self-righteousness.  There’s nothing interesting about a character who can solve the world’s problems with a click of their fingers.  It’s interesting to me that I probably find Doctor Horrible to be the most likable protagonist in any of Whedon’s works thus far, and he’s ultimately as far from ‘hero’ as any character could expect to be.

It may have seemed (after the likes of Firefly and Doctor H) that Whedon had turned a corner in his protagonists.  Of course, then came Dollhouse.  I adore the show, I think it’s intelligent and that it makes me question my own morals and beliefs.  I think that the character of Topher Brink may in fact have my favourite character arc of any television character ever.  I think that it’s an absolute travesty that in a week today, it will have completely and utterly come to an end.  Still, I cannot stomach the character of Caroline/Echo.  The super-good protagonist is back, and she’s going to save the world.  I find the character hard to follow, and have found her less and less likable as she has developed more and more of her personality.  Considering the show is so good at demonstrating the ambiguous morals of the other characters, one might think that the righteousness of the protagonist would give the show direction, surely you’re not meant to resent the ‘hero’?

It could just be a personal issue, and I can vouch for the fact that it’s not simply a Whedon issue, because I always preferred Homer and Lee to Ellie in Marsden’s Tomorrow series and I’m more a fan of Will than Lyra in His Dark Materials.

There are exceptions of course, if I was stuck on the roof of a burning building, I’d take Superman every time, but as long as I’m safely on the couch, the less self-righteous, heroic qualities, the better.

What are your thoughts?

Adelle: “Is such a thing possible?”
Topher: “The mad scientist in me says yes.”

Thus, I was inspired (or at least prompted) to create the 10 minute piece of creativity that you see to your left.  Doctor-Horrible-slash-Topher-Brink-art.

The way I see it – they both like Science, they both have dodgy morals, and they both have had their hearts torn to pieces by Joss Whedon.

They kind of belong together. In art. Lofty art-ness, as Felicia Day would say.

I do plan to post some actual substantial thoughts at some point, possibly tomorrow.  My holiday winds up and I go back to work on Wednesday, and I’m looking forward to that, because my brain has very nearly achieved complete atrophy after 5 weeks off.

It is uncomfortably hot in Sydney right now, especially when your house is without air conditioning.  My fan is certainly paying its way though – I suspect that without it, imminent insanity may occur.

Hell – I’ve spent the past half hour intermittently giggling at the word ‘boobies’.  I’m thinking I’ve got maybe two threads left…if I’m lucky.

I’m putting together a unit on Shakespeare for my low lit English class (I will post the unit here for geeky and lazy teachers who google and come across it), and so far, the best thing I’ve found is this. I actually think I could get away with it…or make the kids write their own version in this style.

Regardless, it’s pretty funny. Up there with the Hamlet via. Facebook.

Read the rest of this entry »

Inspired by this afternoon’s ‘Dollhouse’ viewing perhaps? It’s my favourite thing on the fridge at the moment, and that’s including my pikachu magnet.

I’ve been catching up on various books and tv series’ in my last few weeks of holiday, and will attempt to at least summarise my thoughts in haiku before I head back to work.

That said, these are some things you should definitely check out:

#1 – A Very Potter Musical – Apparently I’m well behind on this, but I’ve jumped on the bandwagon.  Parody at it’s very best, it’s a work in it’s own right.  The songs are fun at catchy, and the story (which is a conglomeration of books 1, 4 and 7) is cleverly intertwined.  It’s very amateurish (in the way that it’s recorded) but the piece holds up regardless.

#2 – Doctor Who – I’m loving it.  I’ve managed to stretch it out a bit, but I’m in the middle of the second season.  Tennant is phenomenal and deserves more praise than I can dish out here, and Eccleston, despite what I remembered, is a superb Doctor in his own right.  It was a shame when I had to see him go.  Again – I’m well behind the rest of the world -so – no spoilers please!

#3 – Improv Everywhere – Most people have seen/heard about the flash mobs that these guys inspired, but before I happened to pick up their book, I had no idea of the kind of other pranks they’re involved in.  These guys do pranks well too.  No one gets upset, no one gets hurt…at their most bad-arse they leave people slightly bemused.  A lot of their stuff is on their site, but it’s worth picking up ‘Causing a Scene‘ if you want a good, easy read.

After a significant wait (partly to avoid the hype, partly because I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet) I finally made my way to the theatre to see Avatar, even if it did take a sweltering day and a strong desire to escape the heat for three hours.

The premise of the film is a small twist on an old idea.  The human race, in their constant ignorance and defiance, needs a resource from another world.  The humans are largely divided into two ideologies: the scientists, who want to study the world, and the military, who want to mine it.  As the film begins we find ourselves in the future, following the journey of Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a paraplegic ex-marine, who is recruited by the Avatar project after his twin brother (a Phd student who has undergone three years of study and training) is murdered.  He’s offered a big ‘ol paycheque, and the opportunity to see another world.  Jake, whose disability has left him out to prove that he can face any challenge, accepts, and his adventure begins.

Jake is chosen for the project as the result of the fact that his genome is the same as that of his brother, and thus, he can step easily into his brother’s specially grown ‘avatar’, a body grown of human and Navi (the natives of Pandora) DNA.  The bodies are controlled remotely by the consciousness of those involved in the project, with the idea that by looking and acting like the Navi, they will be able to learn from them, and negotiate a diplomatic solution to the mining dilemma.

So begins the 2 and a half hour epic, and the word is not being used out of its depth.  The film is visually and aurally spectacular, every single detail is entirely reminiscent of ‘another world’.  The special effects are nothing short of amazing, and with a $500 million dollar price tag, one would hope that was the case.  Still, no detail is left to the imagination.  Every creature is realised in intense and beautiful detail, magical plants light up the screen as blue feet press upon them.  The battles are breath-taking, and at no time did I feel as though I was watching something created on a computer screen.

Despite all this (and I realise that I’m not saying anything new here), the plot is nothing special.  The story is one that has been told time and time again, and on more than one occasion during the film, my mind flash to Braveheart, Pocohontas or Fern Gully, or any other battle of the underdog against a more ‘advanced’ physical power.  The characters are stock-standard, the love story is fairly mechanical, and I didn’t really find myself surprised by any of the turns that the plot tried to make.  In fact (and I blame my Dollhouse pre-occupation), at several times during the story I found myself contemplating how certain events would have functioned under the fist of Whedon instead of Cameron.  One issue I had with the action scenes was at how insignificant and ignored death became…though I suppose that’s a fairly regular thing in war anyway.

The other issue was the dialogue, which I’m sure came from the writers’ textbook.  I remained pretty much unthrilled throughout, though I did quite enjoy the video logs, which brought a bit of freshness (for me at least) to the story.  Worthington himself was likable and one that was easy to connect to.

None of this really matters though, because you don’t go to a $500 million epic to hear the words of Shakespeare.  Genius doesn’t need to be epic, and epic doesn’t need to be genius.  When I layed out my $19 to the girl behind the counter, I wasn’t paying for an education, I was paying for a holiday, an adventure, and I sure as hell got one.

I like Nick Hornby.  His writing is easy reading, and I wouldn’t strain myself if I called it airport fiction, but I don’t want that to be interpretted as ‘trashy’ because it’s better than that.  Reading a Nick Hornby book (at least, thus far) is for me like sitting down with a friend to discuss nothing in particular, drink tea, and eat cake.  His writing is comfortable and easy to slip into.  His books are pyjamas.

I have a great fondness for ‘High Fidelity’ and ‘About a Boy’, I love ‘A Long Way Down’, and I recently read ‘Juliet, Naked’ and found it’s pages incredibly addictive.  Imagine my surprise then, when after coming across a copy of ‘Slam’ (his first teenage book) for $5 at the discount bookstore, I found myself having to trudge my way through it, like someone wading through setting concrete.

I read (and teach) a lot of teenage fiction, and I can easily say that while I find texts like Scott Monk’s ‘Boyz R Us’ to desperately pander to the audience, I can see why they work.  When it comes to reading, 15 year old boys just like to be pandered to.  Slam though, is beyond this.

The plot itself is fairly simple.  Boy meets girl, boy has sex with girl, girl gets pregnant, boy imagines how his life is now over.  Sam, the main character, is an atypical 15 year old.  He takes on the role of father successfully, and even when his relationship fails, maintains a relationship with his son.

I suppose the story is some kind of warning against teen pregnancy, or perhaps it’s just an acknowledgement of it, but it reads like a fairy tale.  Sam is occassionally ‘whizzed’ into the future to get glimpses of what is to come, and each time he finds himself ‘managing’.  Both sets of parents are incredibly accepting, and both the mother and father of ‘Roof’ (Sam’s son) are able to continue living their lives as they would have had the pregnancy not occurred.

Don’t get me wrong, the book does have a few interesting ideas.  Sam’s discussions with Tony Hawk (a poster on his bedroom wall) could have been an interesting device, but they’re too inconsistent to hit with any real force.  They end up taking away more credibility than they add.  The book has a laid-back quality that really ends up seeming sloppy.  Sam’s trips into the future are quite inexplicable, and worst of all, the novel ends with a  Q&A. session with Sam, where all lose plot points are neatly tied together.

I simply cannot fathom how an author who has engaged me on so many levels was suddenly so incapable of providing me with the least interest.  Sam’s neither charming, nor realistic, and the mother of his child is just downright unlikable.  The pop-culture references will date incredibly quickly, and the book is caught between teen and adult fiction, written with too much adult-ness for teens, and too immaturely for adults.

For me, Hornby’s books have always really had a key message behind them.  ‘About a Boy’ tells us that ‘no man can be an island’, ‘A Long Way Down’ tells us that life is about what we do when we can’t bring ourselves to jump.  ‘Slam’ apparently tells us that teen pregnancy is a wonderful experience, and will always turn out ok.  For once, I’m not buying it.  This novel isn’t comfy pyjamas, it’s an itchy sweater, two sizes too small, made by your odd second cousin in a colour that you can’t quite describe.  What a disappointment.

This is the first in a series of posts on heroism, brought about largely as a result of the pre-penultimate episode of Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse. I intend to discuss my disapproval of ‘heroes’ later (when it’s earlier in the day and I have more time to work out my ideas), but for now I’m going to attempt some discussion of the concept of the underdog, and why we seem conditioned to support it.

Why do we root for the underdog? And when does the instinct to do so kick in?  Children are born with an appreciation of the best.  The biggest, the fastest, the smartest.  Children aspire to be Batman, not Robin, Superman, not Jimmy Olsen.  As children we’re uninterested in the plight of the ordinary, the unexceptional.

There must be a point at which we turn ourselves around, and I can only assume that it has something to do with our realisation that we ourselves are unexceptional.  We become the underdog, and in order to deal with such a crushing blow, we begin to gravitate towards those who pull themselves out of the dust to make themselves known.  Our interest in the underdog is entirely selfish.  We need to be told that success isn’t based on raw talent, but hard work.  We need to know that even the most regular and mundane among us have the possibility for brilliance.  I think that most of us realise that this in itself is a falacy.  We are not extraordinary, nor do we have the power to defeat those powers that constantly make a mockery of us.  No matter how hard I train, I will never, ever be a brilliant netballer.  I just don’t have the skill.

I’m always reminded of Stephen Bradbury when I contemplate the underdog, the Australian winter Olympian who became the first person in the Southern Hemisphere to win Olympic gold in ANY event after taking the medal in the 1000 m at the 2002 Winter Olympics after all of his opponents were involved in a last corner pile-up.  The guy has had a stamp made of himself, he’s a professional commentator, he was given an Order of Australia medal, he has become part of the Australian vernacular, and all because he won a race when all his competitors fell over.
I cannot for the life of me tell you where the Olympics was held that year, or which country came first.  I can’t tell you the name of the other Australian who took gold at that Olympics, though I’m sure there was one.  I can visualise the image of Bradbury’s race in my head though, I remember exactly how it went down, all because it was very important to all of us that he win.

I think that ultimately the idea of the underdog reminds us of our key values of justice and fairness.  In order to function in our daily lives, we need to know (or at least, preserve the illusion) that justice prevails.  If one party is bigger than the other, or has more power, or money, or resources… we recognise this as an unfair fight, and we recognise that it’s not okay.  And so we back the underdog.  If he’s smaller, and weaker, and poorer, the only thing that he can possibly have to even out the imbalance is his worthiness.

I guess that’s why children don’t have as intense a need to support the underdog as adults do.  We desperately try to convince them that life is in fact fair.  The good end happily, the bad – deservingly, no one ever lies, and death is non-existent.  We build them this fantasy so that they don’t need to face the truth, and when we face the truth, we create our own fantasy over top of it.

Like most aspects of life, it’s an exercise in self-preservation.

I’m sure there are people out there who are not aware of what magnetic poetry is, and rather than indicate that the idea is fairly self-explanatory, I will provide the following link to those who feel that this post does not provide enough information.

I’ve had my magnetic poetry since I started university (2003 for the record, 7 years ago now) but only with the acquisition of my own house (and fridge) in the most recent year has it actually received a significant amount of play.

Essentially, you’re provided with words in the form of magnets, and, while perusing the bottom door of the fridge to decide whether you’d prefer a can of coke or a cup of green jelly, you can allow your creative mind to take flight via said words on the freezer door.

The following are some of the current poetic masterpieces that grace my whitegoods.