I’ve really enjoyed doing the Q&A’s, but based on how many times I’ve been asked the same question … I’d like to end the Q&A’s now.
The ellipsis there removes some specifics from the final answer in what became, as of, and because of, that answer, the final SlayAlive Q&A with Scott Allie about Buffy: Season 8. I’ve removed the specifics because I think that the more general statement the above sentence becomes via the ellipsis nicely sums up my own general view of those Q&A threads.
Or, at least, it does so when combined with an earlier use of paraphrase by Allie himself, in which he reduces (aptly) a question he says has been “echoed, rephrased, reflected” repeatedly to this: “What are we supposed to conclude from this thing that you’ve only started to reveal to us?”
And there you have it in a nutshell, the fanatical thread that ran through every Q&A discussion thread. Whether merely ignorant or simply rude, the insistence on running up to a serial storyteller, waving him off before he opens his mouth, and declaring that you don’t care that what he wants to do is Tell Us A Story (storytelling, of course, being something of an event which occurs over time), you just want him to tell you what it means, and/or how it ends, and/or at least what happens next.
I wish I knew, or at least I think I do, whether all these fans are just ignorant of how storytelling works, or whether they really do simply not care how it works, and just want their God damned answers now. But the storyteller — and, make no mistake, the editor necessarily is part of the storytelling process, not the marketing process — is under no obligation to be serving anyone’s interests in the story except the writer. The editor is not the publicist (who, to be clear, also should not be considered to beunder any obligation to out the writer’s intentions, let alone outright his plot development, in advance of the writer doing so himself), he is the editor. He is a servant to the story being told, and occasionally its master should he have something constructive to add to the writer’s process.
But one thing the storyteller — be he writer or editor — is not subject to is the whim of fandom. He is not at their beck and call, and just because this storyteller or that one might be gracious enough to give over some of their time to engage with a fandom during a story’s telling doesn’t mean free reign to assault him with demands to subvert that telling by outing meaning, endings, or what happens next.
Nestled amongst the nooks and crannies of this anti-storytelling entitlement are all the related agonies of fans insisting that the storyteller must not only know, not only respect, the vagaries of each and every permutation (hyperbole to underscore the point) of what this or that faction of fandom might potentially wig out and/or be concerned about, but, worse yet (frequently implicit, and occasionally explicit, in that insistence) must absolutely make sure that the stories he tells never tramples upon them, or, apparently, else.
No storyteller should ever be seen as being so obligated. Not by fandom, and hopefully not by themselves.
It reminds me, in tone to be sure if not in the specific issues or demands at hand, of the sort of crazy-making nonsense that drove me out of covering local politics, and if Scott Allie hopes to maintain his sanity as a storyteller going forward, I humbly suggest he stay away from any such Q&A sessions in the future.
There is only one thing he and any other storyteller should be obligated to understand about fandom (and I mean this in the sense that they owe this obligation to themselves, not to anyone else), and that is this: fandom, for all of its delight and wonder (and having founded a fandom event that in four years has raised over $300,000 for charity, I’m in no way a stranger to its delights and wonders) is bursting at regular and particular seams with people who either do not understand storytelling and do not seek to, or who simply do not care.
Steer clear, and just set to the task of telling story. Those of us who get it, get it. Those of us who can be made to get it, will get it eventually. The rest, they are just lost to us — ultimately, I’d argue, in many ways lost to themselves — and will not stop until you’ve given them the opportunity to drive you completely mad.
Thanks to the Netflix subscription gifted me a month or two back, tonight I finally watched Shane Acker’s 9, and while it’s one of the most visually beautiful films I’ve seen (ragpunk?), I mainly wondered why the story didn’t appear to make any actual sense.
Central to the story is the mysterious talisman, which as near as I can tell serves only two purposes: to wake the machine and grant it the power literally to suck the souls out of the dolls, and to release those souls up to some heavenly hereafter should the correct sequence of buttons be pressed.
Which is all well and good until you really take a look at it, since the second purpose is necessary only if someone is stupid enough to allow the talisman to fulfill the first. And “wake the machine and grant it the power literally to suck the souls out of the dolls” seems a fairly daft thing for anyone to want, so the inescapably problematic question is: why does the talisman exist anymore in the first place?
For that matter, even if it exists, why would the scientist specifically set out to create a race of dolls, each possessed of a portion of his own soul, and then leave behind for the ninth and final doll a device whose first purpose — the resurrection of the machine responsible for destroying humanity — is horrifyingly counterproductive?
I could come up with only one answer: the scientist saw this as his only means of spiritual escape and redemption for the role he played in creating the machines which ended all human life in the first place. But what that means was he was willing to create life in order for that life to die so that the pieces of his soul would be released unto heaven.
What that explanation in turn means, ultimately, is that the scientist suffered from a rather terrifyingly selfish and manipulative sense of his own spiritual needs. One that, no less, would seem to undermine that suggestion that he’s even deserving of any sort of redemption. If so, the story certainly then makes sense, but turns out to be not only almost rampagingly cynical, but almost completely deceptive about being so.
Humanity, the film would then be saying, not only would destroy itself through the creation of and self-interested manipulation of machines, but would then respond to doing so by extending that self-interest and manipulation into the creation of new life whose sole purpose is to be left behind and die in order to set free the soul of the destroyer.
“We had such potential,” the scientist says. “Such promise. But we squandered our gifts.” I’m left to wonder whether this also describes 9 itself, or whether Acker is a mad genius who smuggled into the nation’s movie theaters a near masterpiece of human misanthropy.
Despite failing to convince enough people it was worth their while, I’ll try again now that the nomination period for this year’s Shorty Awards is underway. My argument is the same now as it was then.
It’s a long shot — a ridiculously long shot, in fact — but I thought it would be interesting to see how far we could push an unofficial account promoting a given brand that doesn’t have an official one.
The larger argument for the utility of the unofficial account in question is outlined in On Mutant Enemy And Social Media, also posted back in November. Most of the case for the account’s successful, if unoffocial, representation of the Mutant Enemy brand in social media is made by spending some time browsing the past several month’s worth of its updates.
Unlike the Mashable awards, as near as I can tell from the rules, you can only nominate once for a given account under the Brand category in the Shorty Awards. Or, rather, you appear to be able to nominate a brand multiple times, but I believe it simply replaces your previous nomination with your new reason (you have to supply a reason with your nomination).
So, please consider nominating @UnofficialME for the Brand category in this year’s Shorty Awards. It’s still a long shot, but it’d still be interesting. Just remember: You must include a reason for your nomination to count.
Update: In addition to the official Brand category, I invite you also to nominate @UnofficialME in the community category Fan Brand, created as a kind of fallback position. If there’s enough support for a given community-created category, the Shorty Awards might convert it to an official category.
Update: See the @UnofficialME profile on the Shorty Awards site for the instructions on which categories in which to nominate.
I tried to like the web series Riese, which premiered in November with a substantial production budget behind it. But it’s a problem for any show when its lead goes about her business looking nothing so much as bored for the entirety of the roughly 45-minute story.
I should explain up front that this is the second version of this review. I went into my first attempt intending a piece mainly about disappointment. I feel bad about it, but upon my re-watch of the entirety of the just-concluded Chapter One, it’s become a piece that can’t help sum itself up at the start with the bluntness above.
It’s true that the strange quietness of the almost dialogue-free opener, embedded above, and the vague intimations of steampunk in the series’ design and promotion, intrigued enough for me to want to see what the series had in store. But it didn’t take long for that initial interest to turn, mainly, into a sort of impatience. What little online discussion I read tended to gravitate to the same early criticism: poor pacing. Too little seemed to be happening in a series whose episodes clocked in at around eight minutes in length each.
By the time we got to this week’s release of the fifth and final episode in the series’ first chapter (the second chapter shot in December for a release cycle to start in February), that frustration expanded to a more encompassing theme: almost everything in the series — pacing and energy, action and dialogue, the performances themselves — is, in a word, flat.
There’s an almost complete lack of variation in tone, events happen at more or less the same speed, and no one seems particularly invested in anything they are saying or doing. For all the attention the project has generated — whether due to its creator’s use of social media and a sort of alternate reality game (ARG), or through some attempts at comparing it to Sanctuary, which went from the web to television — the end result has been something of a disappointment.
Where there should be a serious attempt to generate a real and palpable tension, Riese instead presents us with thumping music played over lugubrious camera work. On occasion, an actor apparently was told to breathe heavy. In essence, the series indicates tension but never actually presents tension.
That might be the crux of most of the series’ deficiencies: it indicates rather than presents. There’s no sense of who any of the characters are as people, until and unless we get one of the stray moments in which one character says to describe another. Indication instead of presentation.
During my re-watch, my notes for this, the second version of this post, became increasingly staccato. It might make sense just to combine by theme and offer them up here as bullet points.
Over-reliance upon thumping music to tell you to be interested, or to try to compensate for flat movement. Pointless Batman-like camera angles, to go with the thumping music, to try to get you interested in nothing happening on screen. Endless shots of Riese walking through the forest, or walking through hallways, or walking outside buildings, or standing around breathing heavy isn’t tension, especially not just because there’s thumping music. It’s just monotonous.
Unfortunately, the lead mainly comes across like she’s playacting, not acting. Everything she does is exactly the same, via the exact same lack of expression. Half of the time when Riese is in danger, she just looks, in fact and instead, bored. The only variation comes when the director apparently told her to breathe heavy to indicate tension.
Dialogue is stilted, or too on the nose, or too clunkily expository, delivered with no life in it. Why does everyone talk so slowly? Countless pauses (in conversation or even within a single character’s lines) and laconic delivery isn’t, again, tension or interesting character dynamics. It’s just boring.
No sense of character comes from the performances.
One realization that struck me during the re-watch necessitates a comparison. While my introduction to web series came through Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog and The Guild, it was After Judgment which convinced me that dramatic science fiction not only could successfully take to the form, but be done well.
The first season of After Judgment (leaving out the intertwining, and semi-separate Before Judgment), consists of sixteen episodes totaling around an hour of story. While a bit more happens in terms of plot development and exposition in that hour than happens in Riese’s forty-five minutes, it isn’t enough more to explain the differences. After Judgment, unlike Riese, flows smoothly and offers a clear sense of an entire range of characters just from the performances alone.
But in Riese, I have no sense of even just the title character beyond what someone else says about her — unless I’m supposed to be getting something from the fact that she’s bored all the time and breathes heavy.
For all of Riese’s much-vaunted budget, After Judgment manages to best it on almost every count — proving, if nothing else, that it isn’t money or connections or marketing savvy that makes for a good web series. All things considered, I’ll take a lively script and dynamic performances but no real budget over the opposite any day.
There was some chatter from the series’ creators on Twitter that they were reading the criticisms from certain quarters and taking some of them into consideration as they put together the second chapter. Most of those early criticisms were generally about the pacing issue, but my re-watch made it clear to me that the pace of Chapter One is inextricably bound together with a larger set of issues.
And casting a number of recognizable genre actors for the upcoming episodes (see the series’ blog for details), as much as additional talent can often prompt others to step up their own game, isn’t going to be enough.
Addressing the issues above would invariably have an effect upon pacing, sure. But the problems aren’t that limited, or simple. It remains to be seen if in Chapter Two the series graduates from merely indicating to the audience how they should consider a given scene to actually presenting something which will instill the intended reaction.
I do still plan to check in with Riese than the series returns in February. But given that Chapter One led me from mere disappointment to something far more critical, they’ll have to overcome a fair amount of skepticism to snag me for all of Chapter Two.
Six years ago tonight, I sat amongst hundreds of people at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. The standing room only crowd had surged past the capacity of the auditorium, forcing the facility to open up the planetarium next door for the overflow.
Nearly everyone there likely could have stayed at home, enjoying the comfort of their own living rooms or dens, thanks either to cable television or the Web. Instead, all of them deliberately went out of their way not to watch the evening’s events on their own, but instead in the company of others who also deliberately went out of their way not to watch the evening’s events on their own.
Six years ago tonight, the Mars Exploration Rover named Spirit approached the red planet for entry, descent, and landing. In two rooms at OMSI, hundreds of Oregonians watched NASA TV together. They held their breath in sync with the Jet Propulsion Laboratory engineers on screen during the so-called Six Minutes of Terror. They burst into applause when the indication came that the airbag-cocooned lander was bouncing on the surface. And they settled into the anxious rhythm of bated breath and ecstatic applause as the EDL team reported each new indication of success.
Three weeks later, what I can only assume were mostly the same hundreds of people descended upon OMSI all over again, as the EDL team repeated their success with Spirit by landing its sister rover, Opportunity, on the other side of Mars.
As most should know by now, the Mars Exploration Rovers were never designed to operate much past three months. It’s anyone’s guess who actually knows this, because the attention of the press, and the public long since has drifted elsewhere.
I’ve said it ad nauseam, and I will continue to say it every time one of the rovers marks another milestone: In any civilization worthy of that term, the scientists, engineers, and technicians of the Mars Exploration Rover program would be considered as rock stars. In my book, there was no greater human accomplishment in the past decade than successfully landing not one, but two, rovers on Mars to conduct groundbreaking scientific exploration — and then have them still plugging away as best they can, despite countless obstacles and painful setbacks (Free Spirit!), a full six years later.
If for some reason you’ve never done so before, do yourself the favor of watching two editions of the program NOVA: “Mars: Dead or Alive” (Hulu or Netflix) and “Welcome to Mars” (Hulu or Netflix). The achievement matters, and should be remembered. If you’re anything like me (the first job I ever wanted was Outer Space Moving Van Driver), you probably won’t make it through dry-eyed.
Spirit and Opportunity: some of us are still watching, as we have been all along. And our grateful thanks continues to go to the entire Mars Exploration Rover team for giving us the gift of being witness to this mission in our lifetime.
Note: The graphic at the top of this post is taken from this MER@6 collection of posters and desktop wallpapers.
I’ve said it ad nauseam, and I will continue to say it every time one of the rovers marks another milestone: In any civilization worthy of that term, the scientists, engineers, and technicians of the