How Original

       Once again we'll be extending our warmest welcome to WordMaster, who this time will be sharing her thoughts on the Academy, Oscars, and the hype that originality gets. Enjoy.

        In the world of film buffs, there are two universally acknowledged truths: first, that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is narrow-minded, self-satisfied and woefully out-of-touch with reality; and second, that Hollywood has long since run out of original ideas and now exists only to churn out endless sequels, prequels, remakes and other disposable, mass-marketed drivel until society collapses under the weight of its own laziness. In short, film buffs are cynical as fuck.

         When Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon (the third movie of a franchise based on a toy) becomes the fourth highest grossing movie of all-time, and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close garners an Oscar nomination for Best Picture despite boasting a whopping 46% score on Rotten Tomatoes, it’s hard not to feel a little disenchanted.  2011 featured 27 sequels, skyrocketing past the previous record (24) set in 2003, and nine of the top ten highest-grossing movies last year contained either a number or a colon in their titles. Even the only non-sequel member of that club, Thor, is technically the fourth entry in Marvel’s ridiculously lucrative series of superhero extravaganzas set to (finally!) culminate in 2012’s Joss Whedon-helmed The Avengers, which, depending on who you ask, represents either a tidal wave of awesomeness so powerful its mere existence amidst the ranks of mortals is bound to unleash upon humanity the cinematic equivalent of a nuclear holocaust, or the bloated, overhyped personification of everything wrong with modern Hollywood (Spoiler alert: it’s the first one). Compare that to 2000, when only one sequel (Mission: Impossible II) made it into the top 10, or 1998, in which not a single one of the ten highest-grossing movies of the year was a sequel, and the ultimate box office champion was Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan, a multiple Oscar-winning drama about WWII.

        Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be yet another one of those sanctimonious rants about the degeneration of creativity and artistic freedom in Hollywood, though the fact that in the next three months, we will be getting a movie adaptation of a fucking board game is enough cause for a ten-page long tirade.

Seriously, people. It's happening. 

            With all this hullabaloo about sequels, remakes, prequels, reboots, sequels-to-remakes-of-reboots, etc., I feel as though people have forgotten to ask an important question: How much does originality actually matter? I’m not saying Hollywood should abandon all attempts at innovation (God, no), and now more than ever, it’s vital for filmmakers and the public to prove they care more about story and characters than brand name, but in the war against creative apathy, people have made originality seem like the be-all and end-all of good movies. Truth be told, it isn’t. Originality is important, but not all-important. To return to the earlier examples of box office returns, yes, in 2000, only one sequel made it into the top 10, but the highest-grossing movie of the year was Ron Howard’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas, which received a less-than-stellar 53% on Rotten Tomatoes. Also, the movie that made the most amount of money in 1998, after Saving Private Ryan, was Michael Bay’s end-of-world disaster flick Armageddon, a slice of blockbuster bombast arguably just as preposterous and inane as Transformers (albeit with at least a semblance of a heart, even if that heart is wrapped in ten tons of explosives) and a nominee for multiple Razzies, including Worst Movie of the Year. Frankly, I’d rather see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 at the top of the list than Armageddon.

         A few days ago, I came across an article on EW.com by Adam B. Vary arguing that Super 8, J.J. Abrams’ June 2011 ode to 1970s science-fiction movies, deserved Oscar recognition (in case anyone bothered wondering, Super 8, along with several other genre movies, including Hanna, X-Men: First Class, Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger, got completely ignored by the Academy, scoring not even a nod for Visual Effects or Sound Mixing/Editing). As anyone who knows me can attest, I adored this movie, so naturally, I agree with Vary’s article 100%. However, as much as I would love to ramble on about why I think Super 8 is an amazing movie that should be admired for years to come and why the recent trend of dismissing genre film as frivolous escapism is condescending bullshit, that is for another time. I want to discuss not the article itself but the comments attached to it, many of which said something along the lines of the following:

• “I would hardly consider this movie Oscar worthy.  It was technically proficient but highly derivative.  It will probably be rediscovered on multiple repeats as a pleasant story to while away a Saturday afternoon, but nothing more.  It had nothing new to say and was easily forgettable.”

• “Far too dependent upon all the films it borrows from, Super 8 brought very little new to the party.”

          Any frequent Internet user is well aware that most people that use the Internet (this statement could be applied to the entire world, really, but it’s especially true on the Internet) are dicks, and the sooner you get used to this fact and stop letting every little “Fuck you” or “Your taste sucks” get the best of you, the better. I think I’ve gotten reasonably immune to Internet dickishness, but that doesn’t prevent me from occasionally wanting to explode with righteous (if irrational) anger, particularly if the thing being insulted is a movie I happen to like a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I accept the fact that these are opinions, and while I sometimes wish everyone had the same taste as me, I’m not going to point fingers (though I’m confident that the Internet would be a much better place if people stopped acting like their personal opinions are facts agreed upon by everyone).

        The thing is, I feel more and more that the “it’s not original” complaint is a flimsy one at best. What does it mean to be “original” anyway? Fundamentally, it implies that the plot or concept of a movie is something that no one has ever thought of before, but in this day and age, after hundreds of years of storytelling, there is virtually nothing that meets those qualifications. To quote the Narrator from Fight Club, everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. That’s not to say that there aren’t any fresh ideas floating out there, but for the most part, they succeed because of competent execution, not ingenuity, because pretty much every conceivable plot structure has been used before, and film-makers all depend on their influences to some degree. Even Inception, a movie that has been widely celebrated for its ambition, was greeted by an ample amount of complaints about its similarities to other films such as The Matrix and James Bond, and the romance between Cobb and Mal was weirdly reminiscent of the one between Teddy and Dolores in Shutter Island (also released in 2010 and, coincidentally, starring Leonardo DiCaprio). Still, although the resemblances are indisputable, that doesn’t change the fact that Inception is one of the most imaginative, daring, memorable and outright thrilling movies of the past decade (IMO, of course), and I would have killed for the chance to come up with a story as awe-inspiring as Nolan’s, which, by the way, he first thought of in the 1990s long before The Matrix was even a thing.

Why can't I extract your dreams, you brilliant son of a bitch?

         In fact, a great deal of classics can be reduced to a not-so-original plotline – Citizen Kane is about a man rising to power and then losing it; Casablanca is about a love triangle; Gone with the Wind is a sweeping, romantic melodrama set against the backdrop of the Civil War; The Godfather is a mob movie; Jaws is a monster movie; Raging Bull is a true-story boxing film; and so on – but that doesn’t make them any less exceptional or noteworthy. More recently, yes, we have Pocahontas, Dances with Wolves and The Last Samurai, but Avatar provided audiences something none of those three movies (and numerous others) had, regardless of the film’s arguable quality as a whole: pure, exhilarating, once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. And that’s why it’s the highest-grossing movie in the history of movies – well, that plus the 3D and IMAX. The Social Network is superficially Citizen Kane for the Internet age, but it’s so witty, so subtly acted and quietly mesmerizing that it hardly matters. The Artist may not have the most innovative plot, but it does have bottomless buckets of charm, a gimmick that actually matters to and enhances the story and a dog named Uggie. It’s not about what you do; it’s about how you do it.

         All of this is to say, I’d be perfectly fine if Hollywood only produced sequels and remakes if they were all as good as The Dark Knight or The Departed, and besides, for as long as there are movies and people to make them, there are going to be inspired, thought-provoking ideas, though hopefully, they won’t all be confined to art house cinemas. Super 8 was a smart, entertaining, heartrending and all-around delightful experience for me, not to mention the rare summer tent-pole that cares more about its characters than CGI explosions, so in the end, I don’t give a shit if it is a little too evocative of E.T.-meets-Stand By Me or if it doesn’t “bring anything new to the party”. A good movie is a good movie, and not all movies have to be groundbreaking or revolutionary in order to be remembered or appreciated.

         As C.S. Lewis said, “Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.”

Picture References:

Battleship: http://teaser-trailer.com/movie/battleship/

Christopher Nolan: http://www.palzoo.net/user/gallery/view/id_11520/name_Christopher-Nolan/title_christopher-nolan-behind-the-camera/

Villains

CE Jenkins

           …Are one of the most important elements in a story. In my opinion. Which is right.

When I say villains I really mean antagonists, because not every story needs a pale thin man with a goatee and a penchant for dark castles and evil laughter. But every story does need conflict of some kind, because readers are evil people who love to watch characters suffer in elaborate ways. Even in character driven stories there must be a source of inner turmoil or whatever the kids are writing these days that will lead to character development. Characters are defined by their problems, so if you don’t have a good antagonist then your story could end up as stable and coherent as a drunken one-legged tyrannosaurus.

A lot of times baddies get the short end of the stick when it comes to character development, when there’s so much potential for a stronger story with a stronger antagonist. So here are a few general tips on building a good bad guy.

Decide what kind of villain the story needs. For responsible, organized writers, this step occurs naturally when they are neatly outlining their plot. But if you write like I do, you’ll just throw in an evil space monkey that you’ll realize 30,000 words later bears an unavoidable resemblance to Mojo-Jojo. No matter how you go about it, in the end the choice is yours. There are some categories to help get you started, though:

·         Man vs. Nature- Think disasters or survival in the wilderness. May also include the drinking of one’s own piss.

·         Man vs. Man- Someone or thing out there doesn’t like your character very much. What do?

·         Man vs. Self- Whether it’s demons from your character’s past or an existential epiphany, most of the conflict in this type will take place in your protagonist’s head.

Plenty of stories have more than one of these, or even all three. We’re going to be focusing on the Man vs. Man model this time, because I don’t feel like talking about the other ones.

Once you have your villain, find out where they come from. What was their childhood like? How did they get so evil? Why do they have an irrational fear of cheese? Most people don’t wake up one day thinking, “My, I quite feel like turning evil today!” Put your villain on the couch and ask about their childhood. Just be sure you have a taser or a thick sheet of bulletproof glass between the two of you, because you know they won’t stand for that Freudian shit. You don’t have to go too far in depth in the actual story, but the key is knowing it yourself and then working it in subtly as you go. This will make your baddie feel much more rounded, and studies have shown that being hit with a Frisbee hurts less than being hit with a wrecking ball. Think of characters like Voldemort, Loki, or Darth Vader; that last one got three whole prequels dedicated to how he got so evil.

Come up with your villain’s motivations. This can go hand-in-hand with backstory, but because this is an evil post of evil we’ll just pretend that metaphor was a lot more ominous than it was. So, why does your villain what to do that wicked thing he wants to do? If you answered that question with “Because he’s evil,” take a moment to enjoy this wonderful gif I found for you: http://gifsoup.com/webroot/animatedgifs3/1290449_o.gif

You need at least a simple reason for why they do things. Otherwise it’s just silly.

Consider their personality. No matter how much backstory you give a character, you still have to pay attention to where all that history has brought them. So many villains seem to be made with the same mould; they monologue, they kill their underlings and messengers like there’s no tomorrow, and they’re always very sinister with occasional bursts of insanity to remind us how evil they are. Don’t get me wrong, I love those guys. But at the same time, it doesn’t hurt to shake things up a bit. Villains are people too, unless they’re an evil squid dragon. They still should have the courtesy of having their own individual personality, because that will make them much more interesting to read about. Grey morality and sympathetic characters are fun, but on the other end of the evil spectrum you have buds like the Emperor and Sauron, and clearly those two franchises aren’t doing too badly. So no matter how you choose to do it, make sure you make the character unique.

Lots of good stories out there have a weak or clichéd villain. It is possible to pull it off, but my question is why would you want to? Baddies are a well of awesome story devices just waiting to be mined, and if that wasn’t a mixed metaphor then I don’t know what is. So build your villains carefully, folks. That is all.  

Don't Tease Me Bro

CE Jenkins 

One thing I’ve noticed as a recurring theme throughout book and movie series’ alike is the author’s tendency to let the midden hit the fan—and then not let anything be splattered with shit. Or they whip out some sneaky plot device that wipes up the mess as surely as if it had been karate kicked in the throat by Mr. Clean.

Readers spend the whole book being teased (see what I did there? with the title? Yeah, I'm ashamed of me too) by the possibility of something really game-changing happening, then are denied at the very end by some silly little trick. But instead of magic-erasering all the effects of world-changing occurrences away (or stopping them from happening in the first place), it can be so much more interesting to take those changes and make them a new part of the world. It shows that the story can evolve in unexpected ways instead of going flat as a month-opened can of mountain dew.

One example of this involves unleashing some kind of major event to wreak major havoc or change on the world, then mashing the ‘undo’ button at the last minute with finger guns and maniacal laughter. Now, I ask: Why? A big problem I’ve always had with sequels is that the novelty of the world wears off, but if you blast the world halfway to hell at the end of book one you have plenty of new material to work with. It’s interesting and unexpected, much more so than killing off half the planet then yelling “SYCH!!1!” and bringing them all back with some kind of magical event of carebear proportions. Yet if you let things stay screwed-up for a change you have a whole new set of challenges for your characters to adapt to and a whole bunch of cool things you can do in regards to worldbuilding.

Just look at all that nummy character development waiting to happen!

I’ll use Twilight as an example, since anyone who hasn’t already read it probably doesn’t give a shit about spoilers. In the very last book they spend the greater part of it amassing a veritable army of supernatural creatures to fight an epic battle against the cooler, more evil vampires. But when the bad guys show up we are denied the fight scene the whole book has been building up to and instead everyone decides to talk about their problems; thus betraying all of us who only read so far into the series in the hopes that Edward would die a horrible death. Then the bad guys skip into the sunset linked arm-in-arm throwing flower petals and singing cheerful songs about the power of friendship. Okay, exaggeration. Still, we spent the whole book anticipating the battle for one way or another, and suddenly all we get is an anti-violence lesson jammed down our throats and a vague feeling of self-loathing.

Nothing even closely resembling this image should be allowed to exist. Now please excuse me while I sterilize my computer's browsing history. With fire.

            My dislike of twilight aside, this plot device also applies to character development; say, the protagonist finds out she is responsible for the evil villain’s rise to power, or is destined to bring about the end of the world, and is understandably upset about all of that. Then suddenly, along comes that GD plot device with news that it was really the hero’s twin who did it, or the prophecy was broken when she helped that old lady cross the street back on page 23. Tada! All that baggage the protagonist was promised to be toting around is suddenly ejected somewhere over the realm of bullshit and she’s as snarky and carefree as ever. Um, epic hax much? What’s even the point of adding that plot twist if it’s getting curb stomped 50 pages later without contributing to the character? It’s much more interesting to take a problem the character must face and then show how it affects and changes them.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Like pretty much everything that doesn’t involve Nazis or cannibalism, this technique can work well if done properly. The problem is that most times it’s not done properly. Anyways, when things happen in the real world there’s hardly ever a quick fix to make everything go back to normal. Seeing the characters get off the hook so easily just looks like they’re using cheat codes. Or at the very least a game guide.

Picture References:

Mr. Clean: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/73/Mr._Clean_logo.png/220px-Mr._Clean_logo.png

Exploding Earth: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOvmfy8gLWj8QYj9bwPJXjRtiCp_nplZsi6x6siqpKOjuIo2MPmbo4VNx4rp_W1erY46E39F0V0WE6gc9rJyB4n4eJX5GFfnKnKSUIzXkvOxXCJ5k4qCc_bezFyZxhc-KY3jneijED1Tf_/s1600/500px-EarthExploding%255B1%255D.jpg

Twilight: http://dreager1.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/lgpp31687robert-pattinson-is-edward-twilight-poster.jpg