Archive for 2013
Wizard of Oz: The Meaning of Text
Couple weeks ago we read and talked about the Wizard of Oz. First off this is a much darker "children's" story than I ever imagined. Secondly our discussion brought up a very interesting idea of text and it's originality.
Origin's of text can very significantly and can be best represented by asking a comic book nerd who is the real batman; The 60's batman or today's batman.
It comes down to the reader. For me Wizard of Oz was a Disney movie with midget munchkins and red shoes where as a couple generations before me know Wizard of Oz as a relatively dark story with a ding bat girl as the main character. Scarecrow was popping the heads of crows for silly's sake. The viewer makes the difference and as I went back to read the original I found myself liking Disney's version better. Not because it was, in fact, a better telling of the story but because it was what I first knew of Oz.
Similarly you'll never be able to convince me that the movie Jurassic Park is any less brilliant than the novel. It's just more suspenseful as an imaginary novel.
 |
| Genius |
Jazz/Swing
After doing a small listening study involving bands such as the Boswell Sisters, Django Reinhardt and Louis Armstrong I've decided I'm in the wrong era. On a serious note these famous musicians were interesting to hear not only because they had such a different direction than today's musicians but because they were not concerned with marketing.
There is a huge difference between branding yourself in the 40's and 50's than there is now. We have instant access to our favorite singers via internet radios. Today's musicians are very concerned about how they look, how big their tours are and if their songs are instant hits on YouTube. They are under constant visual scrutiny. With voice alterations through the computer their live performances don't even need to be authentic.
Older artists such as Louis Armstrong proved themselves by singing common songs and by the pure brass of their voice. They had to sound like angels and work with live audiences. Often singers would get together and need to know how to perform well with other talented artists. The focus was on their voice not their looks.
Game Narrative
Game
narrative has long been one of the many devices used in gaming to move a player
along in the game’s story. Typically it has been viewed as a relationship you
hold between the game, the creator and the player. What makes it a topic of
heated debate to me is the lack of direct narrative needed to progress a game
if any at all.
Yes
we’ve all been trapped in cut scenes constantly holding down the a button to
try and get through it.
I can’t even tell you how many times Warcraft made me do this. Cut scenes hold a vital role for most games to tell the story of the character or event in a short amount of time to push the character closer to his/her immediate goals. Sometimes this is well crafted in games such as Zelda Ocarina of Time or Half Life. There are games who heavily abuse it such as some of the latest Resident Evil games and Final Fantasy which can get up to about short movie length quality. This, I find, ridiculous. A story doesn’t need a perfect bow to wrap up the player so we know exactly every angle of the action we are about to play out. Some of the best games I’ve played have used their game mechanics to tell their narrative story.
I can’t even tell you how many times Warcraft made me do this. Cut scenes hold a vital role for most games to tell the story of the character or event in a short amount of time to push the character closer to his/her immediate goals. Sometimes this is well crafted in games such as Zelda Ocarina of Time or Half Life. There are games who heavily abuse it such as some of the latest Resident Evil games and Final Fantasy which can get up to about short movie length quality. This, I find, ridiculous. A story doesn’t need a perfect bow to wrap up the player so we know exactly every angle of the action we are about to play out. Some of the best games I’ve played have used their game mechanics to tell their narrative story.
For
example instead of a small cut in from your companion character telling you
exactly how to use the new instrument you found you simply need to play the
game to learn how it functions and what it means to you.
A great game that does this is the first Castlevania. You immediately start out playing the game. No press this to do this specific action. No dumb fairy telling you exactly what you’re fighting. All you need to is play the game for it to start making sense. There are very little dialogue scenes in this game and it works perfectly without them.
A great game that does this is the first Castlevania. You immediately start out playing the game. No press this to do this specific action. No dumb fairy telling you exactly what you’re fighting. All you need to is play the game for it to start making sense. There are very little dialogue scenes in this game and it works perfectly without them.
Shadow
of the Colossus had a rough total of three cut scene that you would need to
contend with. Each one of these served a very specific purpose and built suspense
and mystery to the story. I wasn’t completely clued into the full story on each
cut scene and I was perfectly happy about it. It wasn’t until the end that I was
caught feeling quick sorrow and betrayal that I had mistaken as a desperate
struggle to save a loved one’s life. That’s more than I could have asked for in
most movies.
One
final game I have to offer on the table is Journey. This is a game that quickly
sweeps you up with little instruction and has left me feeling more compassion
for a stranger that I normally do when playing online games. It uses its
fundamental game designs to carry on a story in and of itself with out the
forceful help of cut scene. In hindsight that’s what cut scenes really do for a
game experience. They take the controller out of the gamer’s hands and sit them
down for story time in an almost forceful way. Why not use what a game does
best and have the player find and discover the story through the game.
Lolita
“All
at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each
other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might
have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every
particle of each other's soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate
as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so”
Lolita
is all about deception to the reader and how manipulative a writer can strive
to be. Lolita was a very special book in that the narrative tells you from the
beginning that he may or may not be a completely honest and reliable source to
trust to tell his story. Immediately we are implanted with the fact that this
narrator is suspicious. A small fragment of disbelief is always present but
then shockingly disappears as the story is told.
Humbert
slowly tells the tale of a forbidden fruit love that he holds with a young girl
Dolores. At first we are shocked by his twisted fantasies with 14 year old
girls but little do we know we are being sucked down the rabbit hole beneath
our feet.
As
the story progresses his descriptions became less uncomfortable and I began
actually questioning whether or not this kidnapped and drugged little girl actually
had feelings from Humbert. The book’s planning was just that good in that it
tricked me to question Dolores at times when clearly she was the victim in this
story.
Lolita
is a very successful book in the sense that it elicits a response from the
audience that is exactly what Vladimir Nabokov’s intent. The audience is taken
away on this false love story and spit out at the end with an icky sweaty bed
sheet feeling in the end. I found myself being discusted that I had ever
believed Humbert to begin with let alone feel challenged that I had been lead
along by an author for this amount of time.
Entertainment vs. Art
Last class we touched upon Comics and they’re rich uprising
against the norm. After careful debate as to why such a stark backlash would
happen it reminded me of a very similar backlash that happened in the video
game industry. For a long time video games were concerned with getting hands on
joysticks and bodies in the arcade. Everything was based on entertainment and challenge.
Yes, games still keep these aspects as golden statues in their temples but many
games have started to shift away from readability and into something a lot bigger.
Video games as art.
This concept has been highly snubbed by many a generation but due to a few daring games and developers willing to push the limits it’s becoming more accepted. You will always have your point and click shooter, VS combat games, RTS and just about every other concoction of immediate gratification. Don’t get me wrong, I grew up on Counterstrike and love Team fortress 2, but they are not the games that leave me awake at night trying to really dig into why the game made me feel the way I did. One of the first games that I would spend hours replaying was a small game called Flow.
Flow didn’t have a story line; no princess’ to save or destiny’s to be revealed. Everything was up to you based off of very few guidelines that held the game together. You can race through the game going right to the lower level or you can take your time and go for building yourself up by killing other creatures. Either way you eventually make your way down where the equivalence of a boss is spinning in the black abyss all by himself. While battling him you start to notice how neck and neck the fight is. If you ever disengage him he doesn’t chase you. If you go up to a upper level he doesn’t penalize you. If you do eventually kill him you’re taken all the way back up to the top and start anew. This quick action is very jarring and I typically am left to wonder what I just did. Was it all for nothing? No bonus’ or power ups. No extra and bigger bosses? Who was that I just killed? Was it me? Did he/she go through the same life I just journeyed down? Did I even need to kill him/her?
It’s right about now that I get very in depth with the whole thing and need to put the game down. For me this eerie sense of emotion is rarely given to me by other games. I’m not contemplating my opponent’s entire life span after launching a whole magazine into him/her. I’m looking for the sweet reward behind the kill – the little animated points above how much damage I’ve dealt or If I had successfully made a pentakill because I killed 4 more of his teammates moments earlier.
A very similar game that was widely acclaimed was Shadow of the Colossus. I personally adore this game. It does lead you into the more traditional sense of “save the princess” but gut loads it with mystery and guilt. I never felt guilty about saving princess Zelda before but this time I seriously questioned my entire journey and had to deal with my own actions. This is a rare feeling coming from a game. It felt like I had a true hand in decisions and how they affected my character and his outcome even though the game would tell you where you would go next.
I could go on for hours talking about these games and we haven’t even gotten to multiplayer games such as ICO and Journey. I’m sure there are others out there who do far better jobs at dissecting these issues than I but if you haven’t experienced this for yourself I implore you to go out and play these games for yourself. There are plenty out there they I have not even mentioned.
See what you feel and see if they really line up only as entertainment and not great master pieces that they should be recognized as.
Video games as art.
This concept has been highly snubbed by many a generation but due to a few daring games and developers willing to push the limits it’s becoming more accepted. You will always have your point and click shooter, VS combat games, RTS and just about every other concoction of immediate gratification. Don’t get me wrong, I grew up on Counterstrike and love Team fortress 2, but they are not the games that leave me awake at night trying to really dig into why the game made me feel the way I did. One of the first games that I would spend hours replaying was a small game called Flow.
Flow didn’t have a story line; no princess’ to save or destiny’s to be revealed. Everything was up to you based off of very few guidelines that held the game together. You can race through the game going right to the lower level or you can take your time and go for building yourself up by killing other creatures. Either way you eventually make your way down where the equivalence of a boss is spinning in the black abyss all by himself. While battling him you start to notice how neck and neck the fight is. If you ever disengage him he doesn’t chase you. If you go up to a upper level he doesn’t penalize you. If you do eventually kill him you’re taken all the way back up to the top and start anew. This quick action is very jarring and I typically am left to wonder what I just did. Was it all for nothing? No bonus’ or power ups. No extra and bigger bosses? Who was that I just killed? Was it me? Did he/she go through the same life I just journeyed down? Did I even need to kill him/her?
It’s right about now that I get very in depth with the whole thing and need to put the game down. For me this eerie sense of emotion is rarely given to me by other games. I’m not contemplating my opponent’s entire life span after launching a whole magazine into him/her. I’m looking for the sweet reward behind the kill – the little animated points above how much damage I’ve dealt or If I had successfully made a pentakill because I killed 4 more of his teammates moments earlier.
A very similar game that was widely acclaimed was Shadow of the Colossus. I personally adore this game. It does lead you into the more traditional sense of “save the princess” but gut loads it with mystery and guilt. I never felt guilty about saving princess Zelda before but this time I seriously questioned my entire journey and had to deal with my own actions. This is a rare feeling coming from a game. It felt like I had a true hand in decisions and how they affected my character and his outcome even though the game would tell you where you would go next.
I could go on for hours talking about these games and we haven’t even gotten to multiplayer games such as ICO and Journey. I’m sure there are others out there who do far better jobs at dissecting these issues than I but if you haven’t experienced this for yourself I implore you to go out and play these games for yourself. There are plenty out there they I have not even mentioned.
 |
| Add caption |
 |
| These are a few of my favorite things.... |
See what you feel and see if they really line up only as entertainment and not great master pieces that they should be recognized as.
The medium is the massage
After viewing several of Marshall McLuhan's works we were encouraged to make our own media message in his style. I picked something that struck close to home which was entering into an over saturated job market. With several companies going bankrupt and turning out people many junior visual artists are now competing with senior level artists for the same job.
Howl
After listening to and reading the famous poem Howl I found the listening very invigorating. Powerful and twisting words that lead you nowhere but at the same time. Words that strike meaning into feelings felt personal.
I employ you to listen or read and be inspired the same!
I employ you to listen or read and be inspired the same!
1930's Evening Shows
This weeks edition we got the opportunity to listen to several "pulp fiction" novels or radio shows. I choose the radio shows and was glad I did.
I started off listening to;
"Mercury Theater "The Man Who Was Thursday" Sept. 5, 1938
I Love a Mystery "The Roxy Mob" Jan. 18, 1939
Bob Hope Show March 7, 1939 w/Judy Garland"
I quickly discovered that each evening show began and ended in commercials typically describing the wonders of Cambell soup or the perfect gas. These commericals within themselves were small gems as the announcer assured me that if I had never tried mushrooms before that if I tried cambell's mushroom soup, I would never go back. No questions.
The gas commercial in front of "Calling All Cars "The Moving Picture Murder" April 3, 1934"
Was equally amusing as you hear two people driving in a car when suddenly a woman screams and a loud crash is heard. A man apologizes to his wife and swiftly leads into a conversation with a cop who, not so subtly, suggests using "what I thought everyone knew" as the special brand of gas that cops buy.
Between the Campbell soup commercials and the radio stories themselves I can't quite decide which I liked more.
In these stories were highly dramatized situations of theft and murder. Rather easy to tell where the first soap show came from.
I recommend putting on a couple of these episodes while your working or casually cooking. The stories are pretty fun while hearing the rather up front and frank way of talking back then is a treat.
I started off listening to;
"Mercury Theater "The Man Who Was Thursday" Sept. 5, 1938
I Love a Mystery "The Roxy Mob" Jan. 18, 1939
Bob Hope Show March 7, 1939 w/Judy Garland"
I quickly discovered that each evening show began and ended in commercials typically describing the wonders of Cambell soup or the perfect gas. These commericals within themselves were small gems as the announcer assured me that if I had never tried mushrooms before that if I tried cambell's mushroom soup, I would never go back. No questions.
The gas commercial in front of "Calling All Cars "The Moving Picture Murder" April 3, 1934"
Was equally amusing as you hear two people driving in a car when suddenly a woman screams and a loud crash is heard. A man apologizes to his wife and swiftly leads into a conversation with a cop who, not so subtly, suggests using "what I thought everyone knew" as the special brand of gas that cops buy.
Between the Campbell soup commercials and the radio stories themselves I can't quite decide which I liked more.
In these stories were highly dramatized situations of theft and murder. Rather easy to tell where the first soap show came from.
I recommend putting on a couple of these episodes while your working or casually cooking. The stories are pretty fun while hearing the rather up front and frank way of talking back then is a treat.
Gatsby Screen Write
Page 84 on If anyone is curious....
Fade in:
Int. Light Jungle with small
mountain in background on a clear day – Mourning
Dissolve
to:
Ship wrecked; Daisy, Jordan, Tom,
Nick and Gatsby are strewn across the ground trying to cool off as 50 days
stranded has begun to get to a few members.
DAISY
(In
exasperation as flopping over on her side to face the others)
What’ll we do with ourselves
this afternoon?... and the day after that, and the next thirty years?
JORDAN
(sitting up against
the base of a palm)
Don’t be morbid, Life
starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
DAISY
But it’s so hot and
everything’s so confused…. Let’s all go to the beach!
TOM
(witling a twig into
a fine staff)
I’ve heard of making
a garage out of a table but I’m the first man who ever made a stable out of a
garage.
Everyone pauses and looks at Tom as if acknowledging the
heats powers on the mind.
DAISY
(still looking
suspiciously at Tom)
Who wants to go to the
beach?
(turn towards Gatsby)
Ah… you look so cool
(more dreamily)
You always look so
cool
Gatsby and Daisy stare at each other as the heat of the sun
beats down. Tom stops scupting and glances back and forth between the two and
instantly take the situation as treachery.
DAISY
You resemble the
advertisement of the man. You know the advertisement of the man –
TOM
(Frantically annoyed)
All right, I’m
perfectly willing to go to the beach. Come on – we’re all going to the beach.
Tom gets up quickly while still darting his eyes between
Gatsby and Daisy and moves to the center of the group.
TOM
(Brimming with
madness)
Come on! Whats the matter,
anyhow? If we’re going to the beach, let’s start.
DAISY
(snapping out of her
daydream gaze)
Are we just going to
go? Like this? Aren’t we going to let anyone smoke a cigarette first?
Tom briefly met eyes with Daisy and she caught a glimpse of
the madness fueled by the illusion of heat.
(Trying to cheer him
out of his delusion)
Oh… let’s have fun,
It’s too hot to fuss.
Long pause
DAISY
(hesitantly)
Have it your own way.
Come on Jordan.
Jordan and Daisy quickly EXT Stage left as Tom focuses his
glare on Gatsby now breathing heavily as a tension fills the room.
Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children Response
This is a short story based off of the style of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children.
I’ll warn you now this is not
terribly good in the slightest but was more of an experiment in story telling.
“I couldn’t have been born into a
more beautifully horrible family. Between living in Bumdrum nowhere Ohio and my
parents I can’t arguably decide which I would rather jump out in front of a
milk wagon to be away from.”
 |
| My two brothers on either side of my dad |
A young yet scrawny girl angrily
wrote in the spaces of a freshly acquired dairy. I was about 16 and just shy of
niave with statements like these only having some vague true meaning shrouded
in a fog of teenage angst. As I had mentioned briefly I lived in Bumdrum
Nowhere, OH where the closest landmarks people use to give directions would be
“the large rock up by the hill” and “that there amish house.” Bumdrum small
dirt roads often had a fine sprinkling of the annual grasshopper hunt. Not a
terribly populated place with only about 147 real inhabitants which was last
checked about a century ago. It was in this tiny place grew an extraordinary
family. Mine in fact at the time.
 |
| The common locator rock |
 |
| Uncle ben and his proud shot |
“I hate them I hate them I hate
them. They make the first one wheel car and hypno cabob hats with their own
personalization yet they can’t fix me! Why can’t dad move faster or henry work
quicker. They say they want to help me
but here I am, nothing changed. What kind of engineers are they if they can’t
even help me from withering away.”
At that time I had started
christening the dairy with my sorrow as tears crept off of my face and onto the
page blurring the lines a bit. My father, Kaine Klause, was a brilliant man who
was credited with being the fastest worker alive. Photographers came by when I
was younger and followed his paths as he worked so amazingly fast.
 |
| His prized first one wheeled car |
The rest of my family consisted of
two older brothers my deceased mother and me.
All three brothers were just like
my dad and all had tremendous talent. Then there was me. Decrepitly skinny,
pointy nose, no talent, and in general, opposite of what a person should look
like or what any of my brothers turned out to be. Why was I such a sad person
on this day of reckoning? Well after seeing a doctor earlier in the afternoon
the gravity of my situation was shown true and packaged with a ‘use by date’
attached. You see I had a rare autoimmune
disorder that was causing my bones to shrink into nothing.
“There are no other towns in this
state that are going to help you” exclaimed the doctor who was pretty sure
medicine hadn’t caught up to my bazar body in the 1920’s. I immediately turned
to my family for help. With such great minds you would expect one of them to
have some idea. But in my ignorance I assumed the creators of mechanical
whimsies and electrical marvels would be able to treat my illness.
I fell into a great depression and
was made to do different activities such as riflery and soccer to try and get
my mind off of things. Every time I stuck out like a soar thumb and twisted
further to the back of my mind.
 |
| Me on the top right |
My father soon fell pray to what I assumed was
an illness. He would stay in his room or lab and wouldn’t let anyone in. Quiet
mutterings and light clangs of teacups could be heard but I had not seen my
father for nearly a year and a half. It
wasn’t until early spring did he emerge from his den.
Deep circles rimmed his eyes, pale
as a calf’s milk and muscles withered down to his bones. He walked simply into
my room as I had been writing in my dairy and kissed me on the head. “Come on
Dahlia. I’ve done it… I’ve found the solution.”
We both silently walked into his
study where it was littered with old food trays, teacups and piles upon piles
of papers that were half hazardly tossed aside. He lead me deeper into his den
as we finally came upon his study which had three large drawing boards in front
of the tower of library cases. All had crazed writings and numbers that filled
the boards to the brim and even went off onto his collection of classical books
in places. The most prominent of all the white chalk markings were in the very
center of these boards and simply read ‘Time machine.’
I looked confusedly up at him and
he turned to me with a full expression of a proud parent while wrapping his arm
around my shoulder.
