I think it goes without saying that I'm not an expert at this. By "this", I mean this whole "person writing art criticism online." I don't have any sort of formal background in critique, didn't pursue a major in journalism or film studies, or even write for any publications. Truly, I am a rank amateur. That obviously doesn't stop me from trying, though.
It should be said that I quickly realized that just because I have the will to try, it doesn't mean that my results would be anything of quality. I'm certain readers of this blog have seen that in some of my...less sophisticated work, but I view it all as a learning and growing process. Thankfully, I feel that I've grown quite a bit, writing-wise, as I'm able to form better constructed ideas, right off the cuff. Unfortunately, this has pretty much only around film and television, while only touching on video games and music, and not even beginning to really mention books.
The truth of the matter is that I'm more comfortable writing about film and television, as the language of those visual mediums is much more decipherable, for me. If I'm to be honest, books are up there, too, but I read far fewer than I should. Music is something I've been involved with my whole life, so there's some level of coherence in what I can say about it. With regards to video games, though, there's a real challenge.
My typical approach to talking about games is more in line with the way many reviews have been written: give a brief description of the general plot and then talk at length about the mechanics, and maybe touch on how the relate to the overall narrative. In no way do I consider that a bad model, yet I'm inclined to think I'm limiting myself in some regard. That's a bit ironic considering the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink model I tend to emulate. That leads me to want to pursue something more focused.
Very often, video games are born out of a single idea or mechanic that's then explored, in some way, via aesthetics and mechanics. I want to focus on that. What is the core idea in a game I'm talking about? In asking that question, I'm certain I'll find myself looping back around to the mechanics. It may take on a different appearance from what I've typically written, but I'm sure that it will also be better.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Monday, February 20, 2017
PASSENGERS Has No Self-Awareness
It's hard to really talk about PASSENGERS without spoiling a pretty major moment that happens about a third of the way through the film. So, just be aware that this article will have lots of information about the plot of this movie.
PASSENGERS is a visually stunning, confusing, mess of a movie. On the one hand, it's an original concept in a time where theaters are chock full of remakes and adaptations; one that takes some risks in its story. On the other hand, the risks it takes are worked into the story in a way that transforms any sense romance (seemingly one of the main selling points of the trailers) into something much more vile.
What I'm referring to is the moment where Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) decides, after being having no human contact for a year aboard a massive spaceship, to awaken one Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence) from the cryo-sleep she and all the other people aboard the ship are in. In his loneliness and desperation, and just after a suicide attempt, Jim comes upon her pod and becomes somewhat obsessed with her. He watches all of her interview videos she submitted before boarding the ship (a sort of Ark going to a colony planet), and reads all of her writing. Essentially, he falls in love with a person he's never met.This level of obsession intensifies when he comes up with the idea to wake her up, knowing that she will not be able to re-enter the pod and will essentially be stuck on this ship with only him for the rest of her life. Even more, he lies to her about the fact that he woke her up.
What follows is one of the more troubling things I've seen in a major release, not because of the fact that it happens, but because of the way it concludes itself. Jim and Aurora, being the only two humans aboard the vessel, begin to fall in love, and at this point the film begins to resemble something more along the lines of a "romantic comedy", all the while working with the knowledge that it's all predicated on a huge lie.
Eventually, all is revealed and Aurora's love turns to hate, as one would expect it to. Then, after a series of complicated events, it comes down to the two of them to prevent the ship's core from overheating, killing them and all of the sleeping passengers. Up to this point, Aurora has sustained her hate towards Jim, but that breaks when he realizes that the only way to save the ship will involve him sacrificing himself. It's a moment that could have been ripe for so much emotional payoff. Jim, feeling the emotional weight catching up with him of how monstrous he's become, is willing to sacrifice himself in an act of atonement. Meanwhile, Aurora would feel many conflicting feelings, hating this person but also not wanting to be the only person on the ship.
It almost looks as though it's going this way, as we see Jim drifting along in space, oxygen leaking from his suit. A tearful goodbye seems to be approaching, yet this is stopped short by Aurora saving and reviving him and the two having a rather passionate kiss. It's as though they wanted an ending with real teeth, one where the central protagonist is does downright deplorable things and, despite the attempts to endear him to us, is punished. Unfortunately, they also wanted to eat that cake, as well as having it.
In no way does their still being together ring anywhere near emotionally realistic. For one, hardly any time is spent on Jim's debating awakening Aurora. Sure, there are a few moments where Jim is seen deliberating doing this, and in those moments we can see that he can see the weight of his choice. Compared to the latter portion of the film, though, these moments are woefully short. Secondly, the whole of said latter half begins to feel a bit Stockholm Syndrome-esque. To be fair, I originally thought that was the point, as this seemed to be a film examining the effects such an extreme situation would have on people. The main issue here is that this is a film that seemed to think itself more GONE WITH THE WIND, when it had more in line with Park Chan Wook's OLDBOY. Perhaps, if they had actually leaned into the direction of what the bulk of the film seemed to be (a meditation on how despiration and obsession corrupts), this would have been a film of note. Instead, it's a misfire of little consequence.
PASSENGERS is a visually stunning, confusing, mess of a movie. On the one hand, it's an original concept in a time where theaters are chock full of remakes and adaptations; one that takes some risks in its story. On the other hand, the risks it takes are worked into the story in a way that transforms any sense romance (seemingly one of the main selling points of the trailers) into something much more vile.
What I'm referring to is the moment where Jim Preston (Chris Pratt) decides, after being having no human contact for a year aboard a massive spaceship, to awaken one Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence) from the cryo-sleep she and all the other people aboard the ship are in. In his loneliness and desperation, and just after a suicide attempt, Jim comes upon her pod and becomes somewhat obsessed with her. He watches all of her interview videos she submitted before boarding the ship (a sort of Ark going to a colony planet), and reads all of her writing. Essentially, he falls in love with a person he's never met.This level of obsession intensifies when he comes up with the idea to wake her up, knowing that she will not be able to re-enter the pod and will essentially be stuck on this ship with only him for the rest of her life. Even more, he lies to her about the fact that he woke her up.
What follows is one of the more troubling things I've seen in a major release, not because of the fact that it happens, but because of the way it concludes itself. Jim and Aurora, being the only two humans aboard the vessel, begin to fall in love, and at this point the film begins to resemble something more along the lines of a "romantic comedy", all the while working with the knowledge that it's all predicated on a huge lie.
Eventually, all is revealed and Aurora's love turns to hate, as one would expect it to. Then, after a series of complicated events, it comes down to the two of them to prevent the ship's core from overheating, killing them and all of the sleeping passengers. Up to this point, Aurora has sustained her hate towards Jim, but that breaks when he realizes that the only way to save the ship will involve him sacrificing himself. It's a moment that could have been ripe for so much emotional payoff. Jim, feeling the emotional weight catching up with him of how monstrous he's become, is willing to sacrifice himself in an act of atonement. Meanwhile, Aurora would feel many conflicting feelings, hating this person but also not wanting to be the only person on the ship.
It almost looks as though it's going this way, as we see Jim drifting along in space, oxygen leaking from his suit. A tearful goodbye seems to be approaching, yet this is stopped short by Aurora saving and reviving him and the two having a rather passionate kiss. It's as though they wanted an ending with real teeth, one where the central protagonist is does downright deplorable things and, despite the attempts to endear him to us, is punished. Unfortunately, they also wanted to eat that cake, as well as having it.
In no way does their still being together ring anywhere near emotionally realistic. For one, hardly any time is spent on Jim's debating awakening Aurora. Sure, there are a few moments where Jim is seen deliberating doing this, and in those moments we can see that he can see the weight of his choice. Compared to the latter portion of the film, though, these moments are woefully short. Secondly, the whole of said latter half begins to feel a bit Stockholm Syndrome-esque. To be fair, I originally thought that was the point, as this seemed to be a film examining the effects such an extreme situation would have on people. The main issue here is that this is a film that seemed to think itself more GONE WITH THE WIND, when it had more in line with Park Chan Wook's OLDBOY. Perhaps, if they had actually leaned into the direction of what the bulk of the film seemed to be (a meditation on how despiration and obsession corrupts), this would have been a film of note. Instead, it's a misfire of little consequence.
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
A Few Thoughts on the "Easy" Setting in Video Games
After a long day of work, it makes sense for someone to want to come back home and just unwind for a bit. Perhaps, they have themselves a tasty adult beverage, or listen to music, or (and more on topic with the title of this thing) they sit down and play some video games? This is an activity I've certainly engaged in a number of times, and it rarely involves me playing some deeply complex, technically rigorous piece, but more often something fairly straightforward (your CALL OF DUTY's, BORDERLANDS, and the like). Every so often, though, if I do take a dip into something more rigorous I may find my self playing it on the "easy" difficulty as an exercise in decompression.
For those who may not know, many games have different difficulty settings that you can choose from based on your skill level, or just how tough you want your experience to be. Something to note, however, is that most games are optimized to their "hard" settings, meaning that setting is the closest to many developers intentions for how the game should be played. Due to this, and to the desire for a greater challenge, many "hardcore gamers" gravitate towards "hard".
Yet, I think so many people neglect the real joys that can come out of "easy". As I previously stated, there is a real utility for decompression. Being able to completely plow through some monster, or what-have-you, that would have given you some difficulty on the normal setting is a remarkably cathartic feeling. There's a real sense of power that can come from that.While it's not as ultimately fulfilling as completing some truly difficult challenge, the immediate sensation is notable.
Deeper than that visceral sense is the feeling that comes from exploring the limits of the actual make-up of said games. Questions such as "Just how quickly can I clear this whole game?", "How long of a hit-combo can I string together?" can be answered and their results examined. More often than not, this leads me to somewhat of a deeper appreciation for the game in question. It should be said that it's also lead me to like some games less, as is the case of KINGDOM HEARTS, a game whose main worthwhile elements are contained in the complexity of its game play. Once those are removed, it becomes a mostly incoherent story where one just moves the camera around and does the most simple attack over and over.
I think more of us should embrace "easy" mode. There's real value there, and it would behoove some people to shed some of their oh-yes-I-am-such-a-hardcore-gamer shell. It just seems like such a limiting way to view this wide medium we call video games.
For those who may not know, many games have different difficulty settings that you can choose from based on your skill level, or just how tough you want your experience to be. Something to note, however, is that most games are optimized to their "hard" settings, meaning that setting is the closest to many developers intentions for how the game should be played. Due to this, and to the desire for a greater challenge, many "hardcore gamers" gravitate towards "hard".
Yet, I think so many people neglect the real joys that can come out of "easy". As I previously stated, there is a real utility for decompression. Being able to completely plow through some monster, or what-have-you, that would have given you some difficulty on the normal setting is a remarkably cathartic feeling. There's a real sense of power that can come from that.While it's not as ultimately fulfilling as completing some truly difficult challenge, the immediate sensation is notable.
Deeper than that visceral sense is the feeling that comes from exploring the limits of the actual make-up of said games. Questions such as "Just how quickly can I clear this whole game?", "How long of a hit-combo can I string together?" can be answered and their results examined. More often than not, this leads me to somewhat of a deeper appreciation for the game in question. It should be said that it's also lead me to like some games less, as is the case of KINGDOM HEARTS, a game whose main worthwhile elements are contained in the complexity of its game play. Once those are removed, it becomes a mostly incoherent story where one just moves the camera around and does the most simple attack over and over.
I think more of us should embrace "easy" mode. There's real value there, and it would behoove some people to shed some of their oh-yes-I-am-such-a-hardcore-gamer shell. It just seems like such a limiting way to view this wide medium we call video games.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)