American Gods

I've started re-reading American Gods, partly as a weird way of dealing with something I'm not going to get into now, and doing what I've been doing with books since high school - imagining them as movies. I have a lot of views about the complexities of adapting a book into a good movie, and don't you dare ever tell me the book is always better because it's all just different ways of telling a story. Even a "true" adaptation of a book into a movie is just the interpretation of one person, or more likely a group of people. Anyway, this isn't going to turn into a lengthy rant about my views, this is about my American Gods movie, or particularly, the cast.

I started with Mad Sweeney. I want him to be played by Leonardo DeCaprio. He's just kind of perfect for a drunk, belligerant leprechaun who doesn't sound at all Irish. The bit about the accent reminded me of David Boreanaz, who, as Angel, also lost his accent (thankfully) by being stateside for so long. I decided I wanted Boreanaz to play Shadow. He can do stoic angst very well, and is perfectly huge for the intimidating but gentle ex-con. Also, if I can't get Leo for Sweeney, I can always get David's bff Christian Kane (played evil lawyer Lindsey on Angel) to do it.

Then, Laura came back from the dead kind of, and I realized I had set my cast perfectly to include Sarah Michelle Gellar. You could say I'm just fanboying at this point, but you'd be wrong, because even though I'm a big fan of both Buffy and Angel as television shows, I kind of dislike them as characters and the Buffy/Angel relationship is the most annoying one of all time. Still, they've got chemistry and experience with supernaturally awkward relationships. Wonder if she'd actually accept it, though. Still, I'm more likely to get her than anyone else, when you compare all their current carreers.

Haven't gotten around to casting Wednesday, yet. Maybe Gary Oldman, and that way I could keep him around as Baron Klaus Wulfenbach. Gary Oldman never gets treasure.

More if I keep doing this.

MY CABBAGES!

Before I express my grief over the tremendous failure that this movie was, I'd like to let all you folks that I grew to love the show with that I wish we could have shared this moment. We could have bonded over it, like Babel. Only the twins will get that, but that's probably for the best.

First, no I-told-you-so's - I knew it was going to be bad. I had low expectations for M. Night Shyamalan's The Last Airbender, but Shyamalan's got some kind of crazy limbo skills. It's as though the writers didn't so much watch the show as read the synopsis of most of the episodes of the first season and possibly some of the Wikipedia entry. Clearly not all of the Wiki, however, it's quite extensive. Every minute reminded me of when I read about M. Night learning about the series: from his daughter. The whole thing smacked of a story that a parent tried to piece together from what his child told him. Kind of like that video of 5-year-old telling Star Wars, only in reverse and considerable less adorable. In short, the Ember Island Players did it better.

I recall the hubub over casting; It could be coincidence, but I'm pretty sure the response to the outrage over casting was to retroactively Kill The Black Guy First by casting Damon Gupton as Monk Gyatso. Still, I was kind of over the whole ethnic thing, it can be hard to find people that look the right ethnicity, do complicated fight choreography, and act, but I kind of expected them to be able to do at least one of those things. I can forgive Iroh for being English and not at all fat, for example, because he did what he could with the awful writing and, in my opinion, was the closest to the original character. Zuko was alright. His scar was difficult to see and the hair was wrong, so we lost some symbolism there, but he was among those doing their best with the crap they were given in the form of a script. Fire Lord Ozai and Admiral Zhao, along with the Fire Nation countryside, looked very French/Italian and not at all intimidating. They did alright with their lines, but I just could not take Zhao's whiny voice seriously, when he was such a hot-headed bad-ass in the show. The Fire Nation Army seems to be less competent than Imperial Storm Troopers.

Poor, poor, Sokka. Jackson Rathbone is another guy who seemed to have a grasp on his character, but powerless against the writers. He was doing his darndest to make sure that we knew that there was some kind of comic relief going on somewhere off-screen. The animated character once described himself as "Sokka, the meat and sarcasm guy." Jackson had that, along with the serious side that the only main character that isn't a bender tended to have. He did good, and I commend him. Nicola Peltz's Katara, however, was more annoying than Dawn. I guess it's tough, hopeful optimism is harder to build up realistically than meat-eating sarcasm. Noah Ringer was just as annoying. I'm guessing they got the first kid who could swing a bo and was willing to shave his head. I should probably give them both some slack, as the greenest members of the cast, and the people who really failed here were the writers.

The show read like a badly-translated foreign film, where you could kind of gather that somewhere in here was a great story that got muddled up some how. As a sort of montage of the entire first season, the film managed to be both too fast AND too slow. They lacked the fast-paced dialogue that would have made such an undertaking possible, and dragged out terrible bits that ended with things like "we believe in our beliefs." That is not an exaggeration, that was a line just before Sokka's first girlfriend dies and becomes the moon. Sorry, the becoming the moon bit doesn't so much happen in the movie, they probably thought it was hokey.

In place of good dialogue, there were lots of scenes of Aang and Katara doing Tai Chi, and notably NOT BENDING ANYTHING. While a lot of the bending that actually happened looked kinda cool, you could see a lot of cheating going on, like close-ups with sound suggesting that elements were moving around somewhere. Oh, and for some reason, Iroh's the only guy who can make his own fire. Everyone else needs it to already be there. And speaking of close-ups MY GOD THE CLOSE-UPS. We get it, the make-up crew is good at hiding these kids' acne. Very impressive. Seriously, at least 75 percent of the crappy dialogue, as well as the 5 minutes of not crappy dialogue, occurred while the camera was right next to the character's face, but I digress.

The writers seemed to smack what they thought were the important episodes together by pasting the end of each one in a sort of cohesive super-plot. Unfortunately, none of the endings really benefited from the build-up that would have come from the rest of the episode it was ripped from. Like I said, probably working with synopses without actually watching any of the show.

I'm running out of steam here, so a few more things before I go to sleep. Momo was kind of scary and not really cute at all and sort of reminded me of Barbosa's monkey, Appa was perfect but I wanted more of him, and the cabbage guy made no appearance. One cabbage cart destroyed would have redeemed the movie for me, but this film was devoid of Easter eggs. All the cool bending that didn't happen in the movie was put into the closing credits.

That said, if by some depressing miracle this movie makes enough money that they actually make the other two, I will still see them. I have a problem.

a response

Classic. This is how it always ends, isn't it? You categorically deny any positive impact I ever may have had while I was part of your life and insist you are better off without me, while simultaneously lashing out at me in any way that's subtle enough to be concieved of as a coincidence. All this really just proves that you are in complete denial of the truth of the matter which is that you never really cared about me for my sake, only for your own. All you wanted was to possess me, a fact which hurts me more than the guilt of any pain I caused by breaking things off or any more that I might have caused if I let this go on any longer. Your reaction only enforces the reasons I left.

I don't know, maybe I'm full of arrogant indignation and am completely full of myself to assume all this, maybe I truly never made you happy, but why would you have ever wanted me if I didn't? Maybe I'm wrong, or maybe you haven't grown at all.

another haiku

I've been reflective, lately. came up with this after a talk with someone with whom I hadn't really conversed in quite some time.

A talk with her was

like sitting by an old fire

discussing the ash.

An under-developed idea. Well, another one, anyway.

Kerri asks me a question, and I answer in that difficult way that I often do. Kind of Plato-Socratic, really.

"Kerri" (1:44:19 PM): why are you so ridiculous?
Pinball jedi 42 (1:44:35 PM): many people have asked that question,
Pinball jedi 42 (1:44:50 PM): I've asked myself atleast twice for every person
"Kerri" (1:45:11 PM): oh. your shoes are in here. just so's you know.
Pinball jedi 42 (1:45:23 PM): yeah, I realized that this morning
"Kerri" (1:46:09 PM): okeokey.
Pinball jedi 42 (1:49:18 PM): but about my ridiculousness, it's really kind of a mystery
Pinball jedi 42 (1:49:24 PM): kind of like causation
"Kerri" (1:49:41 PM): you can't blame everything on mystery
Pinball jedi 42 (1:49:58 PM): I'm not blaming everything on mystery
Pinball jedi 42 (1:50:04 PM): some of it I can blame on my parents,
Pinball jedi 42 (1:50:11 PM): but then you have to ask why they're ridiculous
Pinball jedi 42 (1:50:26 PM): lets take one example for my father
Pinball jedi 42 (1:50:31 PM): he's a re-enactor
Pinball jedi 42 (1:50:35 PM): which is kind of ridiculous
Pinball jedi 42 (1:51:07 PM): but is my father ridiculous because he dresses up in wool and plays army in the middle of july?
Pinball jedi 42 (1:51:24 PM): or does he dress up in wool and play army in the middle of july because he's ridiculous?
Pinball jedi 42 (1:51:28 PM): for myself,
Pinball jedi 42 (1:52:31 PM): do I dress up like a pirate and hit people with foam swords, calling myself "shovak" because I'm ridiculous, or vice versa?
Pinball jedi 42 (1:53:19 PM): so you can see, there is inherent difficulty in answering a question like "why are you so ridiculous" because of the ambiguity of what the "why" part actually means
"Kerri" (1:53:56 PM): ...do you really think i have listened to all of this?
Pinball jedi 42 (1:54:08 PM): no
Pinball jedi 42 (1:54:15 PM): but I assume at some point you might read it
Pinball jedi 42 (1:54:25 PM): hell, I find it kind of interesting. I might put it up on untitled

On Magic, and its variants, in Fiction Part I

In any fictional work where something that is impossible in our world is made possible in that work must be explained by either advanced technology that uses hitherto unknown sources of energy, some set of magic rules, or both. Magic has a different basis in every canon, be it based on demonic pacts, allegiance to a deity, elemental control, a practical second set of physics, psychic ability, what have you. What magic can do and how it is done has an affect on that fictional world, and that is generally reflected in how similar the fictional world is to the real one, mostly because real world rules generally still apply, especially if not everyone has access to whatever magic there is. I shall demonstrate this with a handful of magic canons*.

One set of magical rules in a world where real physics also apply is the magic of the Dungeons and Dragons realm. I begin with this because these rules were carefully thought out for use in a role playing game, rather than simple explanation in a single work of fiction, and I feel as though it has the most "accurate" background description for multiple theoretical functionalities of magic. In D&D, there are a number of ways to access different forms of magic, which is divided into two types, arcane and divine.
Arcane magic is what might be considered in other canons as "alchemy," a manipulation of the rules of reality to achieve desired effects. It's basically a secondary set of physics, with it's use of verbal, somatic, and material components. Arcane magic is accessible to anyone who wishes to study it*. Arcane magic is the most frequently seen in other works of fiction. Wizards and sorcerers serve as both heroes and villains in many stories, and their particular magic generally obeys the same set of rules, and, whether inherent or learned, is often supplemented by study and the creation or acquisition of magic objects, including but not limited to rings, orbs, staffs, wands, scrolls, etc. For the purposes of this study, such magic will be hitherto referenced as secular magic, because of it's lack of a need of any sort of deity to function.
Within the same world, there is divine magic, where explanation of super-natural abilities comes from a deity. God given magic has the most power in the D&D realm, mostly to make another character class more fun/useful to play as, but divine magic is seen in other works of fiction in a smaller capacity. This particular form of magic works the same way with good or evil, one simply gets power from a benevolent god or an evil god or devil, depending on the religious or spiritual background of that particular story. This will continue to be referred to as divine magic, as the term is basically self-explanatory.
The magic of the druids in D&D is also called divine, but, ironically speaking, it's somewhat of a misnomer. The power of the druid comes from her connection and resultant influence over the forces of nature. Because of the connection between natural forces and man's earliest belief in any sort of deity, this makes sense, but in most canons there is a clear separation of the spirituality and magic of nature and the magic of religion. It's less refined, and generally corresponds with power over the classic elements of earth, air, water, and fire, control or at least empathy with plants and animals, and a measure of influence of the weather. This will be hitherto referenced as natural magic, for obvious reasons.
In D&D, many spells have a variant for each kind of magic. Example, a lightning bolt. A secular spell caster would use a material component in conjunction with an incantation and a flick of the wrist to alter reality in order to shoot lightning from his finger tips, a divine caster would call on his god to smite his enemy with a lightning bolt, and a natural caster would summon a storm cloud and create a natural lightning bolt. Each of these magic wielding characters is iconic in various other canons, but they are generally not seen in the same story because the difference in the sources of their abilities is confusing when combined. In a world where one can alter physics with incantations and materials, ignore physics by praying, or supplement physics by communing with nature is a little overwhelming. However, each of these different kinds of magic forms a ground from which we can decide how magic functions in almost any realm of fiction where magic is present.

Using each of these magic using types as a ground work, I will approach the use of magic in a range of fictional works and genres. Hopefully, this will shed some light on how we understand something that is supposedly the incarnation of the incomprihensible in our imagination.

*note spelling. While demonstrating my thoughts with magical cannons would be pretty awesome, it would be ineffective for a number of reasons, one of them being their unfortunate lack of existence.

*There are some to whom the ability to use arcane magic comes naturally, but the Sorcerer/Wizard differentiation is somewhat irrelevant to the topic at hand.

The Night Road

This came to me a while back. Think of it as nearly fiction.

Edited; added second part

The Driver

It's been said that there are as many worlds as there are choices, and that we occasionally dream of the ones we didn't make. Not all of them, of course, but the ones that both have a profound impact on our lives and could have truly gone either way. Those choices, if not for one factor, would have led our lives in a completely different direction. This was the secondary track my mind was on as I drove through the twists and turns of the night road.

It was a state road, winding through the forests of northern Tennessee, and it was late at night, so, for the most part, I had the road to myself. There were as many curves and sharp turns in this road as there had been choices in my life, and since there was hardly anyone else out there, I enjoyed myself. I'd accelerate through turns, coast down the hills, and rocket through the rare straight-aways, handling my machine almost by instinct. Even the occasional deer didn't throw me off as I either sped past them or slowed slightly when they didn't freeze, though most of the time it was as though they didn't care if they died. No matter. My father passed down a hereditary instinct for going very, very, fast and I was good at it. It was a dark night; the only scenery I missed flitted through the illumination of my headlights.

Sometimes I wish I could have lived my life like this, launching myself through every decision by instinct, but I drive on the road of life during the day, when there are other drivers out. And so I have to watch out for them, give their lives the right of way when it isn't my turn. I have to follow the signs during the day. I have to signal my decisions to avoid collisions, and I have to slow down when those ahead of me brake. I feel obligated to stop and help when another breaks down, give them a jump start to continue their trip. Sometimes I even have to let someone else take the wheel, as embarrassing as it is to lose control. My route through life has to be thought out, so I don't waste fuel or get lost. Thus, through planning and some careful driving, my life took a route to lead me a certain way. One group of friends rather than another. One college, instead of another. One night, instead of another. It led me to her.

We still aren't entirely sure exactly how we met. We knew each other through mutual friends, I suppose, but we were never really introduced to each other. We shared no classes, only acquaintances, and no activities save for small events at the dorms or the coffee shop. Eventually, an attraction seemed to grow out of what one did and didn't know about the other. There would be mild flirtation when we'd meet in friends' dorm rooms or the odd meal, but neither of us really pursued the other for quite awhile, for reasons of our own, or simply for a lack of convenience. One night in January, however, something possessed me to go with back to her dorm for a movie with her and some other friends. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity. Whatever the reason I took that turn, that night placed us closer than we had been before, and there was nothing to hold either of us back. After that, we approached each other more carefully, the innocent and meaningless banter no longer coming easily. A month and a half would pass before we allowed ourselves to get that close again. Our relationship was slow to start as we tried to figure out where it would take us. The first year of college was nearly over, and we were wary of what summer would bring. Never the less, love eventually took the wheel, and here we are.

She sat silently next to me. Perhaps she was tired, or perhaps my driving frightened her, or maybe she just let me have my concentration, unaware that moving like this was second nature. I wondered what she was thinking, what went through her mind as the scenery flitted by like a slippery memory, or deja vu; you knew you'd seen it, but suddenly it was gone and no longer mattered. I glanced over at her every once in a while; she was just looking straight ahead with her book in her lap, with no light to read it by. Maybe she watched the road in apprehension, should I not notice any danger the night road could throw at me. I suppose it would have been simple as asking her what was on her mind, but I let silence prevail. It was almost as though the awkwardness from nearly half a year before, when all we really knew about each other was our mutual attraction. How much more did we know now? After several months, my puns and corny jokes made her groan, but she loved me anyway. I knew a bit more about her family and social history, and loved the woman that her past had made her. And yet, we've never had any hardship greater than the distance between us during the summer months. What differences have we not discovered? What terrible argument will either sever our connection or make it stronger? I learned a long time ago not to fear the future, but I never grew out of wondering.

My mind continued to wander as I turned off of the winding road and onto the interstate, joining other late night travelers and semi-trucks. Still, she was silent. It irked me, slightly. I could never really get in her head, I never knew what she was thinking. I’d ask, and she’d say she didn’t know. She never knew, or she just wouldn’t tell me. I guess it’s not that big a deal, I don’t really have to know everything about her, but sometimes I felt like I didn’t know anything. I knew about her past, I knew her family, I knew our mutual friends, but all that was really just context. There was no content. What did I know about her?

We soon reached our half-way point, and I had become weary. I checked us into a hotel at 3:30 am. I flicked through the infomercials and old movies as she brushed her teeth. My thoughts were as scattered as ever as I prepared for bed. She turned the TV off, and crawled under the covers, and I forgot my thoughts of the past and ever changing future. She truly is beautiful, her body fitting perfectly in my arms, and her kiss enough to make me forget anything that troubled me. All those thoughts returned afterward, however, the choices and what if's swirling in my mind as I drifted to sleep, and I dreamed.

The Passenger

We were lost at the very beginning. He didn’t believe me at first, and then he took forever to turn around. It was as simple as turning the wrong way right out of the park, and it probably took him twenty miles before he was convinced that the scenery wasn’t unfamiliar just because it was dark. It didn’t seem to be out of stubbornness, though. He was distracted. He had been all week, really, but I didn’t think to say anything about it. It was too dark to read, so I just looked ahead, watching the road.

Everything looks different in the dark. You only see outlines of things, and your mind sort of fills in the blanks. He was kind of like that sometimes, always assuming something was up because I’d sigh a certain way, or not react to something. Really, it wouldn’t mean anything, I don’t think about that sort of thing. I wish he’d just trust me to let him know if something was up. That was a thing about him, he always had to be part of something, he couldn’t just watch. Always had to ask, couldn’t just listen. He always had to know, and some times there just wasn’t anything to know, or say.

We stopped for gas, and he got something caffeinated to keep him awake for the drive. It was an under-used, twisted state road, so we didn’t know when we’d get to the next town or gas station. His car didn’t have any real cup holders, just one that would slide into the window, so I’d have to pass him the drink whenever he wanted some. It was getting close to two in the morning, but I stayed awake to pass him his drink and keep him company. We listened to my iPod set up with some speakers; his old corvair didn’t have a working radio. I had him listen to the original Africa by Toto, since he’d only ever heard a bunch of different a cappella versions. He seemed to enjoy it. Didn’t say much, but I didn’t ask.

I didn’t mind the silence so much. Normally, he wouldn’t shut up, so I found it kind of soothing. I was content to just stay up with him, two quiet consciousnesses appreciating each other’s presence. I had no constant need to know what he was thinking. I could usually guess, and I only asked if it really mattered. That was his problem, I guess, assuming that everything mattered, everything was a big deal, every thought I had was important to him. You’d think that would be a good thing, right? So much concern for everything I thought? It gets to you, though. And I don’t know that he really heard me any time I’d answer, like he was just content that I’d respond. But times like this, they were nice. We didn’t have to say anything. We could just be.

Eventually, the road turned into a highway. On the one hand, it was nice to be out of the woods and have some ambient light. On the other, it was an excuse to drive even faster. A little Jetta pulled in front of us, and he raced. I gripped my arm rest as he weaved us between semi-trucks and chased the other car. Saying something wouldn’t do any good; he liked going fast. I had no idea how fast we were going, the little speedometer only went up to 100, and the pointer bounced around up there as we raced. He claims to have never crashed in his life, but it still scares the crap out of me. It sort of seemed like he enjoyed that aspect of it, got some weird thrill out of scaring me shitless. Eventually he stopped, content with the knowledge that he could keep up in this old thing and proud of his own ability.

His pride got to me, sometimes. He seemed to act differently when he had an audience. It never seemed like he was starved for attention, but he certainly enjoyed it when he had it. I never bugged him about it, but he wasn’t self-conscious about anything. Sometimes, though, I was embarrassed on his behalf. Still, I had no control over that, no more control than I had over his driving.

We stopped at a hotel in Lexington. I brushed my teeth and changed while he waited for me in the bed. He was silent, but he definitely had a few simple things to say when I joined him. Still, there’s something to be said about just being held by someone, to just lie down with him. I wouldn’t know how to say it, but I don’t care much. Just that it’s worth while is enough. He fell asleep, and I watched him for awhile. You think too much, I thought at him. There’s this part of you that makes me feel important, wanted, and respected, but the rest of you drives me nuts. I didn’t know what aspect of him did what, and I never really figured it out. I don’t know that it mattered. Maybe I should have told him, but what good is telling him something that I don’t really know? I didn’t dream that night.