Responding to Things We Think About Games -- Gaming Expectations: Playing Optimally

Last week, Cinerati featured the first in a series of responses to the book Things We Think About Games. In the post, I discussed how the interaction between a game's narrative and its mechanics might affect the player's experience. In particular, I praised Robotron 2084 and criticized the Dawn of War real time strategy game. Both games are highly enjoyable, but when Dawn of War is played in Campaign mode the ending leaves the player feeling less than satisfied with their achievements.

But specifically narrative expectations aren't the only kinds of expectation players can have when approaching a particular game. Some gamers look at the game system itself as a kind of puzzle to be solved. Many games, particularly war games and games like chess, tic-tac-toe, and checkers, have a finite number of "good moves." In fact, some games can be "solved." There is a perfect way to play checkers and chess -- thankfully the "solutions" to these games are so monumentally complex that there are currently no players who play these games "perfectly." One of the lessons of tic-tac-toe is that solving a game can make future play less fun than "imperfect" play. For these players, the examination of the system itself is a wonderful experience -- one that I will touch upon more fully in a later post -- but their mindset, that games are puzzles to be "solved," can be a useful one to those who are more competitive in their gaming habits.

Which brings us to the passage in Things We Think About Games that I'd like to talk about today:

STATEMENT 060
If doing well matters to you, learn the optimal methods for the games you like.

I'll be honest, I'm not one of those people for whom doing well at a game matters. I blame Candyland for this, but for me the most important thing is that everyone is enjoying themselves. One can only submit themselves to the whims of fate, unalterable fate, as manifest in Candyland so many times before they begin to care less about winning than most game players. But I also happen to be one of those people who likes to break game systems into their respective parts and put them back together, so I do tend to play "more" optimally than someone who doesn't care at all. I just have a different motivation for finding the optimal methods for the games I like. This also means that I don't mind being totally "owned" by an opponent at Blood Bowl, as long as I can see why I was getting so easily destroyed.

But for those who do care whether or not they do well, which might be different than winning, the analytical tools that those who treat games like puzzles use are one of the first places a player should look to find out what the optimal methods of playing a particular game are.

Take for example this brief analysis of die probabilities over at the Giant Battling Robots blog. Take a moment to read Kit's article and come back to this page. We'll still be here, I promise.

The post is expressly about how modifications (bonuses and penalties) to a bell shaped probability curve have disproportionate effects on the player depending on where along the bell curve a particular target number is. That is to say that a penalty punishes the player more, with regard to a positive outcome, the closer to the middle of the distribution the initial target number was. A -1 penalty when the target number needed for success is 11 or greater, on 2 ten-sided die added together, is about 10%. The -1 penalty effectively changes the target number from 11 to 12. Whereas the same -1 penalty on a target number of 19 is only a 2% penalty.

This means that any player participating in a game that uses die rolls that have bell shaped probability distributions -- games like Feng Shui, Dream Park, and Battletech (notice I am counting "opposed" d6 rolls as the same as a 2d6 roll as they are the same for probabilistic purposes) -- one should examine what significance the individual penalty or bonus will have when making a decision. The human mind typically inducts all +1 or -1 modifiers to be the same, but this isn't the case when the die rolls have a bell shaped distribution. This means you might take a risk you might otherwise ignore if it only has a moderate affect on your probability of success. You need to know when +1 means +10% and when -1 means -2%. This lets you take more rational risks, ones that are more optimal.

Kit uses this analysis to come up with a quick equation that can be used "on the fly" to determine whether you should take a particular action. All you need to know is your initial target number, your opponent's initial target number, and how much your action will affect each of these. This is a powerful tool that can be used in a number of games and will help the player play more efficiently.

One doesn't need to be a mathematician or statistician to utilize these tools either. Thankfully, there are plenty of mathematicians and statisticians who are willing to write their discoveries regarding a particular method, and put it in layman's terms. Perhaps Kit will follow up his article with one including specific examples of how his quick equation is used. Besides this, the massive number of Chess and Poker books available at bookstores is testimony to the fact that there are those willing to share optimal play. Likely because they like to play with others who care about playing well as much as they do. Take some time to find these resources, if only to find out more about how a game works.

There are many games, Dream Park I'm looking at you, that could have benefited a great deal if they told the players a little bit about the mathematics behind their opposed roll systems. Many a GM running Feng Shui has misinterpreted the significance of adding as little as 3 points to a villain's skill/statistic. It can change the dynamic from a fun night gaming, to one where the villain is impossible to defeat. In role playing games, GMing optimally, means understanding how changes in one part of the game affect the probabilities of success. In Candyland, playing optimally means not minding that the results are predetermined the moment the cards are shuffled -- though you don't know the result -- unless you shuffle the full deck after each move in order to intentionally create a Markov-chain.

"Classic Hollywood Versions" of Gen X Classic Films

Stefan Blitz, of the excellent Forces of Geek blog, posted a couple of youtube videos yesterday. The videos were mash ups of classic Hollywood films cut into "fantasy" trailers for films like Raiders of the Lost Ark and Forrest Gump. In the fantasy versions, the starring role of Indiana Jones is played by Charlton Heston and Forrest Gump is portrayed by Jimmy Stewart. The concept alone is inspired, but what makes the clips work is Ivan Guerrero's dedication to detail. His use of scenes from Harvey and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington as key moments in the life of Forrest Gump is brilliant, particularly the scene from Harvey which captures the "feel" of Forrest Gump to a T.

It doesn't matter if you are familiar with the works Ivan Guerrero uses in his Raiders clip, as he also tends to release a "clip by clip" comparison with notations describing the scene he selected, where it is from, and why. I don't know exactly were this falls within the copyright wars raging around the world now, but I will say this. This is exactly the kind of content that those who are reasonable on the copyleft are trying to protect. It also happens to be something that I think, especially with the "annotated" versions, could become a poster child for what could be considered fair use. At no time is Ivan trying to profit from, or dilute the value of, another IP, instead he is trying to share a love for Classic film and classic Gen-X films.

Here is the Raiders of the Lost Ark trailer.



Here's the Raider's trailer with annotations.

Responding to Things We Think About Games -- Gaming Expectations: Heroic Endings or Doomed to Failure (Case Study One: Robotron 2084)

In 2008, game designers Will Hindmarch and Jeff Tidball released a very useful book entitled Things we Think About Games. The book contains 101 statements by the authors, with a couple of additional statements by guest gamers/designers. Some of the comments are common sense, some are blunt, and all are thought provoking. Things We Think About Games is a book that belongs on every gamer's bookshelf, and Will and Jeff's website belongs on every gamers rss feed.

At the San Diego Comic Con this year, I asked Jeff Tidball if he would allow me to write a series of posts featuring the statements from the book. Each blog post would be a gamer reacting to one of the statements in the book, and eventually I'd like to address all the statements made by the various game designers. I will also continually belabor the fact that Will and Jeff asked Wil Wheaton, and not me, to write the introduction to the book. While this is a common mistake, it is one that I will point out at every opportunity. Yes, Wheaton is more famous (and is in Secret of Nimh which I recommended as last week's Hulu recommendation), but I am less likely to use expletives.

This being a blog, and not a Thesis or Dissertation, I will address the statements in no particular order, but I do hope to address them all. Today's blog topic is inspired by the 101st entry in the book.

STATEMENT 101
Know Why You Play Games.

The statement is simple enough, and is a gamer's version of Oracle of Delphi's famous dictum Gnōthi sauton or "Know Thyself." It is a statement seems to have an underlying claim that some ludophile Socrates might adhere to, "the unexamined gaming experience isn't worth playing." That may, in one way, be the whole point of Hindmarch's and Tidball's book, but this quote provides a nice starting point for any discussion regarding games and spurs one on to think philosophically about the subject.

It was this thought that was lurking around my subconscious when I read an article at Gamasutra about Robotron 2084. The article is an historical article about the game and its legacy with regard to game play. A good amount of time is spent discussing the games innovative use of a two joystick system, an innovation that couldn't be accurately emulated in a "home experience" for many years. It makes for interesting reading, but there was one quote which mixed with STATEMENT 101 to inspire me to think about why I play games. The quote was a simple one, "The player is tasked with the grim, desperate, and ultimately futile task of saving the last family of Humanoids (emphasis added)."



Ultimately futile -- the words echoed in the back of my mind.

Why would I want to play a game that I cannot, no matter how skilled I get at it, "win?"

What particularly bothered me about this statement is that it pointed to a contradiction in my game playing habits. I have been a fan of Robotron 2084 for decades and have played it uncountable times. In that time my skill level has migrated, from poor to excellent to poor to average, depending on how often I have played the game during a given time period. I am not always in the mood for Robotron, but I never find the game -- as it was designed -- to be a bad game. As big a fan as I am of this particular futile effort, I was seriously disappointed by the end of Dawn Of War. After many hours of game play, and total victory over the forces of Chaos, I watched as all my hard work evaporated in a "1970s Satan has eaten your soul Bad ending" as my Space Marine Captain unwittingly released a new demon into the universe.

The futility of all my hard work playing Dawn of War was made clear to me during the final animated narrative sequence. Lucien Soulban's scripted ending undid everything I had struggled for in playing the game -- and it seriously aggravated me. I was all the more aggravated because an author/game designer I respect was the one who dropped the "futility bomb" on my head.

Why was I experiencing such a strong emotion that was, on its face, a contradictory sentiment to my thorough enjoyment of the equally futile Robotron 2084? To answer this, it was helpful to contemplate statement 101.

Why do I play games?

I play different games for a variety of reasons, but one reason that keeps me coming back is "story." I like the way that games, of all kinds, tell stories. It's one of the reasons I am a "good loser." I don't mind losing to someone who is better than me at Chess, all I want is my learning experience to be a good story. Candyland, with its pre-determined gameplay, taught me the importance of story in play and de-emphasized "winning." Both Robotron 2084 and Dawn of War contain story elements. Robotron's appear to be "weak" at first, but they are deeply embedded in gameplay -- if simple narratively. Both games contain narratives where the actions of the player, in the end, result in failure -- so there must be some element of the game and how it interacts with story that allows me to enjoy one in its entirety while feeling dissatisfied with the ending of the other.

Aha! It isn't the futile ending that is disappointing. It is the fact that the futile ending was not a part of game play -- it was a forced narrative tacked on to the end of the game. When the player inevitably loses in Robotron it is because the game has finally become too hard to finish, the game has literally beaten you. When you "lose" at the end of Dawn of War, it occurs after you have achieved "final victory." The contradiction lies in the interaction between the mechanics and the story -- a contradiction made even stronger by the underlying expectations of Real Time Strategy games. The underlying expectation of an RTS is that you can win, any advantage in supply or troops the computer opponent has is usually made up by an imperfect AI -- necessarily imperfect as a perfect AI would likely win all the time and lessen the fun.

Would I have felt differently if I had actually lost the final scenario of Dawn of War rather than have a scripted 70s ending? Not if the game had followed standard RTS genre conventions, the player "must" have a chance to win in the conventional. If the game progressed in a manner similar to other RTS games, each level getting slightly more difficult but winnable, with a final impossible level, the game would have likely been as unsatisfactory. This dissatisfaction would likely have been accentuated by the interstitial narrative clips.

On the other hand, if the game lacked interstitial clips and the narrative left only to game play I would probably have accepted an unwinnable level. At least possibly, especially if I knew going in that the game eventually becomes unwinnable as each level becomes more difficult than the last. But that isn't the central conceit of an RTS campaign, the central conceit of an RTS campaign is that the player is unlocking a heroic narrative. In this case, each victory leads to a new chapter in the hero's tale. A hero can hit a low point, like the one at the end of Dawn of War, but that ought not be the end of the story. In this case, it is. There is no sequel to the narrative, though there are many sequels to the game. My Blood Angels forever stand defeated in their victory, where my mutant defender of humanity just ends up dead after finally facing overwhelming odds.

I think it would be interesting for someone to design an RTS where each level becomes more difficult than the last, with no end in sight. Then the story changes from how my victory was taken from me, to how far I was able to get and who is able to get to the farthest level. I think I might prefer traditional RTS games -- with victorious endings -- to that "futile" RTS, but given my love of Robotron 2084 I'd probably like that killer RTS more than the end of Dawn of War because the ending would be driven by the mechanics of the game.

I don't mind losing when it's a part of the rules, but I hate losing when I won fair and square.

Anne Thompson, Toy Movies, District 9, and the Indie/Popular Divide

I am a great admirer of Anne Thompson and find the majority of her coverage of Hollywood to be insightful, and to be honest "must reading." But there are times when I just have to cross her name off of the Holiday card list, and her recent post discussing the merits of District 9 while excoriating Hollywood for making films like GI Joe is one of those times.

Certainly, Thompson is right to praise a film like District 9 which manages to bring to the big screen quality science fiction at a budget price. Geekerati plans to do a show this weekend begging the question, "is there an inverse relationship between budget and the quality of an SF film?" Where Anne wanders off into the hinterlands of privilege, snobbery, killjoydom, and filmic cultural selectivity is when she writes, "That’s why I want G.I. Joe to take a dive this weekend (sorry Lorenzo Di Bonaventura), not because I want Paramount to lose money but because I want the Transformers-blinded studios to see that derivative toy movies are not the only way to go." Even worse, she goes on to claim that Hollywood executives, "In their search for franchises and tentpoles... ignore the obvious: most of them were once originals, from Star Wars and Lethal Weapon to The Matrix and Raiders of the Lost Ark."

One find's it hard to believe that a journalist covering Hollywood could write such passages, that is unless the same journalist happens to be wearing her Blinders of Public Disdain +5. Apparently, Anne owns a pair of those not so rare magic items -- or maybe she has the powerful artifact Schiller's Monocle of Aesthetic Disdain. Whatever the case may be, her statements are not only disrespectful of a particular audience demographic (Gen X and younger males), but are just plain incorrect at one level -- she is correct in stating "studios often forget what their customers really want: something new that they’ve never seen before". She just forgets that they equally want something that they are nostalgic for.

It's one thing to assert Anne's wrongheadedness, but one must address the individual statements and analyze them as well.

First, why should Anne want GI JOE to fail because she "want[s] the Transformers-blinded studios to see that derivative toy movies are not the only way to go?" Is it necessary for studios to fail for them to see that movies inspired by nostalgia for a particular intellectual property aren't the only way to go?

Not a chance.

If the films should be required to fail, it should be because they fail to inspire the same level of awe that was created by the intellectual property audiences feel nostalgia for in the first place. Hollywood should make hundreds of "derivative toy movies" if they manage to capture the mystique of the original IP -- especially if they are profitable. Transformers has failed to do this twice, largely because they have erred to much on the side of making adolescents laugh and not enough on telling a good story. This is the opposite error that many childrens movies make today, the modern kid flick spends to much time making sure to wink at the adults in the audience and not enough time telling a compelling story. If Transformers 2 had fewer "ball" jokes, and a more coherent narrative, the film would have been amazing. Sadly, that was not the case. It's hard to say that Transformers had a derivative narrative, since it's hard to say what the narrative of the film even was -- other than giant robots blowing stuff up.

This isn't true of GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra. The Joe film managed to have an underlying narrative that was fairly original.

[Spoiler Alert that contains information that even those who saw the movie may not have understood] Cobra's plan was to replace the President of the United States with a Cobra agent so that when a major terrorist attack took place the world would turn to the US for leadership, only to end up under the direct control of the terrorist group behind the attack.[End Spoiler Alert]

That's a pretty cool underlying premise. The execution of the film is flawed, as the film tries to do to much in some areas and not enough in others, but that's not a particularly derivative story. In fact, in structure and execution one could argue that the GI JOE film is the true heir to the 007 films of Connery and Moore -- as the Craig movies are more a return to the tone and feel of the novels. One can argue that Joe wasted money on cast, money it didn't need to spend, since it is the IP and not the cast that brings one to a nostalgia fest, but one shouldn't argue that it was derivative. "Original?" No. "Awe Inspiring?" No. But if one imagines what the collective mind of 12 year old boys in 1984 want out of a Joe film, one gets a film pretty close to what ended up on the screen. That was the point, to fuel and feed off of nostalgia.

Even more to the point of it not being "necessary for studios to fail for them to see that movies inspired by nostalgia for a particular intellectual property aren't the only way to go?" Let's look at some very successful films from the past decade that break from the "tent pole" assumptions. My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Mama Mia! by themselves provide ample proof that lower budget movies aimed at a "non-tent pole" audience (read: not 18-35 males) can make an amazing amount of profit. It is necessary that non-extravaganzas be made and be successful for studios to see these films have value. The more that are made, the more that will be made...by the studios. Studios will go where the money is. It is easy to do a Net Present Value analysis of an existing IP, with an established fan base. It is much more difficult to do one on an unknown idea. You have to be willing to take a risk and lose money, and that's something that business people don't like to do. They don't like to spend good money after bad.

Want to watch your investment money disappear faster than an addiction to crystal meth? Invest in an independent movie that you believe in. Risky films are risky. That's why Hollywood, which is risk averse because it likes profits, doesn't make a lot of these films. Show them that the risk isn't as big as they believe, and you can and will see more films like Juno.

Never mind the logical fallacy that "toy movies" need to fail for studios to learn there are other options, even more egregious is Thompson's assertion that "most of them [tentpoles] were once originals, from Star Wars and Lethal Weapon to The Matrix and Raiders of the Lost Ark." Originals? Really? Are you serious? I'll give you The Matrix (just), but the others?

Can Thompson actually believe that Star Wars, a masterful combination of the narratives of Hidden Fortress and the Flash Gordon serials -- which includes frames lifted straight out of Flash Gordon, is original? Shoot me now. Star Wars is amazing, but it is highly derivative. It is homage.

The same is true for the Allan Quartermain inspired Raiders of the Lost Ark. Could this movie exist without King Solomon's Mines? Not a chance. Raiders is phenomenal because it captures the essence of the old serials and combines it with the raw fun of H. Rider Haggard's tales. As an aside, King Kong is a combination of Haggard's tales with Conan Doyle's The Lost World. Raiders appealed to a nostalgia in a particular generation and did it so well it created nostalgia in a new one.

If Thompson is even trying to hint at the fact that Hollywood's great movies were "original," I can already feel the milk bubbling through my nose from the laughter.

Gone with the Wind? Based on a novel.
Wizard of Oz? Based on a novel.
West Side Story? Based on a Broadway musical, based on Romeo and Juliet.
The Maltese Falcon (1941)? Based on a Dashiell Hammett novel and had three theatrical versions between 1931 and 1941. Three in a decade before they made a great version?!
Yojimbo? Based on Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest with a touch of The Glass Key thrown in for good measure.
Rashomon? Based on a short story.

I could go on and on and on. Hollywood isn't in the business of making "original" stories. Heck, film makers aren't in the business of making "original" stories. Hollywood is in the business of making money. Film makers are in the business of entertaining. Sometimes they entertain us with original ideas, and some times they entertain us with familiar ones. I put no preference on either category. I just want to be entertained...and sometimes educated when I'm feeling Aristotelian.

As for District 9? I'm excited about this combination of Alien Nation, V, and Cry Freedom. Though I do share some of Science Fiction author Steven Barnes' concerns.

Truth is, there is a lot of truth in Anne's article. Hollywood should remember that there is a relationship between risk and reward. The higher the risk, the greater the potential reward. Films like GI JOE may have a predictable NPV, but they aren't going to provide the high levels of profitability that something like My Big Fat Greek Wedding are going to bring.

Hollywood should take some risks.

But Anne...you need to stop hating the male Gen X and younger audience. We just want to be reminded of those afternoons when we and our friends made up stories while playing with our GI JOE and TRANSFORMERS action figures.

Are Modern Films Really Worse than Classic Films? A Blog Series Introduction

On the 24th of June, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced that Academy members would vote for Best Picture from a selection of 10 films rather than the 5 that had become standard. They assert that this is a return to an older Academy tradition and are pitching the change by doing a bi-coastal screening of the 10 films nominated in 1939 -- an amazing year for movies.

In response to the announcement, Anne Thompson shared the contents of an email a film historian sent her which listed an "imaginary" additional five nominees for the years 1967 through 1979 as a demonstration of films that had been overlooked by the Academy in years past. It's a fun read, filled with some pretty keen analysis.

In her introduction to the email, Thompson asserts, "Bottom line though, the Academy had more quality films to choose from then than they do now."

Such a statement immediately begs the question, "Really?! The Academy had more quality films to choose from then than they do now?" I find the statement to be on the face incredible -- traditional definition -- and a bit knee-jerk in the certitude of the statement. Certainly, my own reaction to the statement is knee-jerk as well. My assumption is that Thompson is wrong, but is she? The only way to find out is to do a year to year comparison continuing from a date after 1979 and comparing it to past years. One could easily write a book on the subject if one wanted to do an in depth analysis, one could probably write a book merely on what the best methodology to use for comparison.

I have neither the will, nor the luxury of time to do that. So I offer the following. I will create my own "nominee+5" lists for each year starting in 1987 and compare that year to the year twenty years prior. Thus 1987 will be compared to 1967. Each list will be done in a single blog post. After I have completed the first set, I will begin again in 1997 and compare to a year 30 years prior. The +5 "best of year x" list will be one of my own choosing, and thus will hopefully spark conversation as you may believe that some other films deserve to be in the +5. The merit of a given year won't merely rest on my own +5, but include those anyone else can think of as well. After all, we are measuring whether the "now" holds a candle to the "then." That, and not whether my specific choices are the best, is the question that should be discussed.

Stay tuned to this blog for 1987 vs. 1967, the first in a series of posts.

Thanks George Lucas, Because 10 Years Ago You Killed My Childhood Forever

Marc Bernardin reminds me why today is a sad day for Gen X.

When I was really young, I used to spend the night at my grandparents house every Saturday night. It was a magical time. Like most kids who visit their grandparents, my time with Oma and Opa was spent reading, picnicking, washing cars, getting to sleep in to ridiculous hours on Sunday, and experiencing the love of one's elders -- which included a very different set of social norms from life with my parents. My Opa was a retired career Sergeant Major in the Army who had served in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam. And when my Opa returned home to the United States after his tour with the US Occupation forces in Europe, he brought my Oma from Germany to our fair shores.

For the most part, my Oma and Opa were serious people. After dinner, we always watched the news and Oma and Opa were always interested in my opinions on the issues of the day. This was true when I was 14 and it was true when I was 7.

But the times with Oma and Opa weren't always so serious. Some of my favorite times were when my very serious Opa would, almost at random, tease my Oma with some sarcastic remark or jibe. His giggle was infectious and watching Oma go from red with anger at being criticized to laughing out loud and poking Opa when she realized it was only a jibe, is one of my fondest sets of memories from childhood.

The other time things weren't too serious at Oma and Opa's was late Saturday evenings. My Opa would stay up with me and watch the old Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers serials on some UHF bandwidth local station. I hadn't seen anything like them, and I was immediately addicted. Opa also introduced me to the glorious films of Ray Harryhausen. So in the summer of 1977 when STAR WARS was released in the theater, I had the perfect background of experience having spent a good part of 1976 and early 1977 watching the old serials with Opa. The movie captured the feel of those classic tales perfectly, and even borrowed some scenes. I dare anyone to watch the Flash Gordon serials without experiencing moments of "déjà cinema". I was 6 years old and STAR WARS was a joy to see in the theater. I watched it over 20 times in the theaters -- I am certain that is a conservative estimate. The serials fostered my love of narrative storytelling, but STAR WARS cemented my love for movies.

This is a love that continues to this day, but a part of the childhood wonder I brought to every movie I watched died ten years ago today. You see...on that day ten years ago, George Lucas released STAR WARS EPISODE ONE: THE PHANTOM MENACE. The movie was the single largest pop culture disappointment I have ever experienced. It was worse that when DC killed Superman and broke Batman's back. It was a worse disappointment than the Joel Schumacher Batman movies (though not a worse movie than those movies).

THE PHANTOM MENACE wasn't that bad of a movie, all things considered, but it did lack one thing that the original had in spades. The new movie lacked "heart." It didn't contain the same sense of wonder that inspired the first films, it seemed more workmanlike than inspired. The original series of films has a number of flaws, narratively and cinematically. For example, ust how long does it take for the Sarlacc to digest you? But the original films had an aura of enchantment that the franchise has failed to recapture as it has become more about continuing STAR WARS and less about sharing the wonder of a tradition of Space Opera tales.

Since THE PHANTOM MENACE, my movie viewing has become a little more cynical and I don't go in expecting to feel enchanted anymore. Sometimes a film can make me feel slightly enchanged, STAR TREK and QUANTUM OF SOLACE come close, but I no longer watch previews expecting that they even come close to representing the wonder (or lack thereof) that a particular film will offer.

Don't even get me going on how much I think WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE will suck.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom: The Conversation Continued

When I wrote my review of JBJ, I did so in the hopes that LA Weekly's Bollywood critic David Chute would read the piece. David has been on the cutting edge of film viewing trends since his days advocating Hong Kong cinema before it was cool to do so. He's perceptive and I wanted to know what he and his fellows over at the Hungry Ghost Blog thought about my little piece.

The blog highlighted my review and I was immediately attacked (not personally) in the comments section for beginning my piece with a discussion of a disconnect between the opinions of the native viewing audience in India and the opinions of those American critics who deigned to review the piece. Tulkinghorn, writing from his "capacious writing-table... on which is a pretty large accumulation of papers," was the one who took me to task by stating (slightly edited):

Gee.

Seems to me that trying to figure out what people in Glendale think about American blockbusters is hard enough if you... live in Glendale.

Trying to figure out from Southern California what people in Bombay think about Indian blockbusters is almost certainly pointless.

It violates either one or both of David's rules in the immediately preceding post.

On the other hand, figuring out why YOU like the movie is very useful...

I take it as a complement that the sinister attorney is interested in my own reasons for liking/disliking a particular film.

Mr. Chute, who for some reason goes by the name Generic on the blog (I will have to talk with him about this), came to my defense in an interesting comment. What was most interesting about the comment was a quote that had little to do with my JBJ review per se. His comment included a kernel of an underlying philosophy of what it is to be a reviewer, a question that I find very interesting -- and will write more about tomorrow when I look at an essay Poe wrote about Poetry criticism. Mr. Chute writes:

As I understood the code of the profession when I was coming up the ideal was not care whether a given film had been validated by the box office or other critics. If you liked something, you said so. To do other wise was dishonest and/or cowardly. Each critic creates his/her own Pantheon. Endorsing something the cool group despised was a badge of honor; in a twisted way this made you even cooler.

This is followed by comments in defense of my original review. Kind and insightful words, but nowhere near as interesting as the paragraph above. There is so much to unpack in this paragraph that one could devote a career, let alone a series of blog entries, to examining the assumptions discussed in it. I should point out that nothing in the above states that Mr. Chute currently agrees with the content of the paragraph, merely that it represents the code of the critical profession as he understood it when he was "coming up." Never the less, it is an exciting paragraph.

I wrote a quick response, which sadly ended up as the last word on the topic. I am going to reproduce my comment in full here, in the hopes of soliciting more discussion.

I believe a critic should always examine his/her own views in relation to the views of others, both other critics and "the masses." One should always be reflective when reviewing. The box office may not be a perfect measurement of the zeitgeist, but I have taken to many economics courses to dismiss Price, and the willingness to pay, as at minimum a proxy for what people enjoy.

I firmly agree that the views of others, the "public" if you will, should not shape what a critic says. Otherwise, their opinion is a mere populist voicing that adds nothing to the medium. And adding something to the medium is one of the legitimate roles of the critic.

Equally, reviling something the cool group likes, merely because they like it (I know this isn't what you are advocating) is as pointless as liking something because other like it. Certainly, another legitimate role of the critic is to champion that which might otherwise be overlooked, or even reviled, were it not for an astute critical mind.

I believe that by examining the disconnect between critical reception and audience reception, one can find both why one enjoyed a film, but also what one might otherwise overlook.

I would never have overlooked the slow first act of JHOOM BARABAR JHOOM, it was readily apparent but as readily overwhelmed by the overall enjoyment of the film. A large rock takes a lot of effort to move, but once it is moving it really moves. JBJ was the same.

I might have overlooked the soft gloved, almost trivial, way the movie dealt with Pakistani and Indian relations if I wasn't focused on thinking about the disconnect. A part of the film takes place in England, and I've read enough John King to understand that setting the film in England involves certain assumptions -- which are barely touched on in the film. Partly because we are dealing with Romantic Comedy and you don't want to go too dark. But that is what separates "Loves Labours Lost" from "Much Ado About Nothing," the stakes are different.

While I would never presume to speak for why the Indian public responded to JBJ less enthusiastic than I did, knowing that they did helps me examine beyond first impressions. One must find tools to break through their visceral and vicarious eyes to get to the voyeuristic one.

Cinerati Lexicon #2: Gothtentious

Last August we presented our first Cinerati Lexicon entry. That entry focused on what we like to call filmic cultural selectivity. It has come time once again for the Cinerati blog to share another definition with you based on our movie going/appreciating experience.

Like most film fans, we have a flixter account and are fond of examining how closely our "friends" and our tastes match up. In the past, this has led to some pleasant surprises. Not the least of which is that Anne Thompson's opinions match Cinerati's so well that we are considered "Soul Mates." This is true even with our vast disagreement on Pretty Woman. She likes it a lot and we think that it overly debases the Eliza character from My Fair Lady and is thus only worthy of scorn. We must admit though that the recent episode of Flight of the Conchords had a compelling review/interpretation of Pretty Woman. Suffice it to say, that the close proximity of our film tastes will make Cinerati more likely to trust Thompson as someone who likes the films we like.

Other comparisons have been less rewarding. During our most recent foray into the flixterverse, we encountered something we thought impossible. One of my flixter friends, who shall remain nameless in order to protect their life, rated The Incredibles a meager 1/2 star out of five. We had believed that such a rating was only possible when the reviewer lacked this little thing we call a soul. Alas, it appears that this misguided individual does in fact have a soul -- and is a pretty good reviewer to boot -- so their must be some other explanation. Cinerati has yet to discover what affliction this individual suffers from that makes them hate The Incredibles, and makes them believe that Tom Cruise's War of the Worlds is better than The Matrix, while simultaneously having a proper love for YouTube videos featuring Bettie Page photographs and music by The Cramps.

Our initial suspicion was that this individual was extremely Gothtentious.

What do I mean by Gothtentious?

Gothtentious

Gothtentious is a neologism combining the words Gothic and pretentious.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary (in a March 2008 Draft Addition), Gothic can be defined as: "Of or designating a genre of fiction characterized by suspenseful, sensational plots involving supernatural or macabre elements and often (esp. in early use) having a medieval theme or setting."

Additionally, Gothic may be defined as (OED Additions Series 1993): "A style of rock music, and the youth culture associated with this, deriving originally from punk, and characterized by the dramatically stark appearance of its performers and followers, reminiscent of the protagonists of (esp. cinematic) gothic fantasy, and by mystical or apocalyptic lyrics."

The most common definition of pretentious, according to the OED, is: "Attempting to impress by affecting greater importance or merit than is actually possessed; making an exaggerated outward display; ostentatious, showy."

Thus gothtentious would be when someone is "attempting to impress by affecting a demeanor which disdains all that is not suspenseful and macabre. Especially, the gothtentious person reserves particular disdain for lighthearted and bourgeois entertainments. The individual will also praise material that is otherwise lacking in merit for the mere fact that it contains an appropriate amount of macabre or suspenseful content."

The gothtentious person would often be willing to take a position of disdain for a particular entertainment vehicle merely to distinguish themselves from the crowd. Such opinions may be driven by a narcissistic desire for attention, even negative attention, from others, or from an underlying sense that one is held in similar disdain by society at large. In these cases, the gothtentious person is acting out against society either for attention or as revenge.

An example of this kind of gothtentious would be the following:

Films like The Incredibles are a perfect example of Hollywood, and America's, obsession with bourgeois morality tales. In it, the dichotomy between hero and villain is clear and even the "children" of the tale can act without fear of any real consequences. We all know how the story is going to end...happily. It is time to move beyond these stories and grapple with the underlying sense of despair intrinsic in the human condition. It would be much better to devote storytelling resources to narratives like insert Neil Gaiman, China Mieville, or Poe reference here.

Another example might be found within Michael Moorcock's excellent Wizardry and Wild Romance:

I think my own dislike of J.R.R. Tolkien lies primarily in the fact that in all those hundreds of pages, full of high ideals, sinister evil and noble deeds, there is scarcely a hint of irony anywhere. its tone is one of relentless nursery room sobriety: "Once upon a time," began nanny gravely, for the telling of stories was a serious matter, "there were a lot of furry little people who lived happily in the most beautiful, gentlest countryside you could possibly imagine, and then one day they learned that Wicked Outsiders were threatening this peace...." ...That such nostalgic pre-pubescent yearnings should find a large audience in England is bad enough, but that they should have international appeal is positively terrifying.

As Moorcock demonstrates, the gothtentious person could also be described as a kind of social provocateur who -- when in possession of a serious intellect -- forces other individuals in society to examine what it is about a particular entertainment vehicle they find so rewarding. Gothtentiousness need not be a character flaw but it can certainly be irritating when it is done without the wit and sophistication of a writer like Moorcock. One should also point out that when Moorcock was writing Wizardry and Wild Romance he was drafting a polemic which argued for a new form of fantasy fiction. Specifically, it was arguing for the style of fantasy that Moorcock himself was writing. This is no small coincidence and is evidence of the gothtentious nature of the work.

Cinerati Lexicon #1: Filmic Cultural Selectivity

In yesterday's discussion of the origin of the Cinerati blog, it was mentioned that the first post contained "an attack on filmic cultural selectivity" without describing what was meant by filmic cultural selectivity. One imagines that most readers can decipher the meaning of the phrase, it isn't to arcane, but one should never assume understanding. Additionally, one of my goals in rebooting the website was to share not merely my thoughts about modern films and the state of modern criticism, but to share my ideas and my personal terminology with the world in the hopes of creating meaningful dialog.

What do I mean by filmic cultural selectivity?

Filmic Cultural Selectivity

Filmic cultural selectivity, is a logical error which frequently occurs in the discussion of film where the reviewer selectively chooses high quality films from a particular culture and compares them to another culture to express the superiority of the chosen culture. Such selectivity only actually falls into the category of logical error when the critic, in mentioning the quality of one culture, intentionally and knowingly excludes the existence of any lower quality (or fun exploitation) films within the given culture.

Below are some examples, one specific and one imagined, of this error in criticism:

Example #1 (the specific example):

Thomas Hibbs piece discussed yesterday (Kurosawa Kills Bill. In the piece, Hibbs damns American films as "vulgar distortions of Japanese film culture." He then follows this assertion with a list of Akira Kurosawa films which he presents as possibly representative of Japanese film culture. Nowhere in the piece does he mention lesser works of Japanese cinema. Nor does he mention the influence of Western genre films on the work of Kurosawa. Certainly he mentions a Western influence, Shakespeare, but he leaves out Dashiell Hammett and the influence of Film Noir on Kurosawa. He elevates Kurosawa (deservedly), and Japanese cinema in general (less deservedly), to a "high art" status while attacking American cinema as vulgar. As my response points out, Japanese cinema runs the gamut of quality by the standard set forth by Hibbs.

Example #2 (a proposed example):

You and a friend, who happens to be a respected film critic, are discussing your favorite films. You make the "mistake" of mentioning a mainstream blockbuster film among your list of great films. Your friend responds and a dialog begins:

CRITIC FRIEND

That's such a typical American answer which demonstrates your lack of familiarity with Italian cinema, which are in every way superior to American films. Have you never seen LA STRADA or 8 1/2? The Italian directors have a much greater understanding of the human experience than American directors who have been corrupted by commercialism and who seek only to appeal to the lowest common denominator.

Being ready for your friend's tendency to engage in filmic cultural selectivity, you are able to respond in a mocking tone.

YOU

That's so true. Sergio Corbucci's SUPER FUZZ truly captured the underlying conflict between the personal and professional of the modern law enforcement officer. And Ruggero Deodato's CANNIBAL HOLOCUAST is a "well respected" representation of indigenous cultures.

You didn't even mention DIABOLIK or get into how anyone who defends the social commentary merits of CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST, while simultaneously excoriating HOSTEL, is not only practicing filmic cultural selectivity, they are also being highly inconsistent...unless they also defend Wes Craven's THE HILLS HAVE EYES then their opinions are a little more complicated.

My point in saying that filmic cultural selectivity is a problem isn't to assert that American film is the best film making in the world. I am willing to listen to well-informed experts on other cultures films who advance the merits of that culture's films. The understanding of film only benefits from such a dialogue. I am merely asserting that one must acknowledge the bad with the good, it can only make your argument stronger if you are correct in your comparison. Had Hibbs mentioned BATTLE ROYALE, or any Chambara films, in his essay -- or had he mentioned RED HARVEST and THE GLASS KEY as inspirational to Kurosawa's YOJIMBO -- it might have actually made his argument stronger.

As for our imaginary film critic friend (and the one above is completely imaginary), I actually do like SUPER FUZZ...mostly for childhood nostalgia reasons. And while CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST is not at all culturally sensitive to indigenous peoples, it has strong proponents both inside and outside the horror field. As for DIABOLIK, don't just watch the MSTK 3000 version. John Philip Law, my second favorite Sindbad, is quite entertaining in this film. Don't even get me started on how much I love cheesy Hercules movies.

Cinerati Reboot

In late December of 2003, I read an article at National Review Online (Kurosawa Kills Bill) discussing the relative lack of merit of the films Kill Bill vol. 1 and The Last Samurai. After reading the article, I realized that many film critics, including most conservative film critics, and I were having very different experiences when we watched movies in the theater.

It took me almost three months to draft a response that I thought was appropriate, and on March 16th 2004, the Cinerati blog had its first post published on the internet. The post was a direct response to Thomas Hibbs NRO piece, a defense of the films mentioned, an attack on filmic cultural selectivity, and my first foray back into criticism after leaving a roughly monthly shared film review column in the Sparks Daily Tribune titled Celluloid Say-So when I left for graduate school in 2000.

At the time, I had intended Cinerati to be a film discussion blog where friends of mine and I would share our thoughts on film and on the state of film criticism. It quickly became something else. The community of posters I had always desired quickly dwindled down to me, with an occasional post by another Cinerati member. And what was originally intended to be a site which focused primarily on films, ended up a site with far more commentary about games, comics, and more games. In short, Cinerati quickly grew away from its name and its purpose. This, combined with the fact that posting has been slow of late and some new encounters with film reviews, inspired me to reboot the site.

Gone will be mentions of roleplaying games, video games, comic books, etc. Those will be reserved for the Geekerati blog. From now on, this site will be devoted to discussion of movies and television. In particular, this site will engage with other critics of film and television. There are enough "review" sites on the internet, in fact there is a glut. Too much time is being spent evaluating the "narratives" of film and not enough is spent evaluating the "art" of films. What is needed is a site that examines what is being said about film and television and examines whether what is being said is meaningful.

Over the next few days, there will be a series of columns discussing the direction of the site, the types of columns that will be written, and examining what the proper roles of criticism are when it comes to film and television. Additionally, there will be discussions of the particular terminology, or turns of a phrase, that I will use from time to time.

In fact, my very next post will be a brief post highlighting what I mean when I say or write filmic cultural selectivity.

But first, let's have a look at that first post:

In the Shadow of Kurosawa

By Christian Johnson (now Christian Lindke)

I can still remember the first time I saw Rocky Horror Picture Show. There I was, a “virgin” watching rolls of toilet paper flying and getting wet from squirting water when I realized that I was sitting surrounded by an audience that didn’t “get it.” Here they were talking, mocking, and interacting with a film that was hilarious on its own merits. Somewhere in all the chaos I managed to watch a parody of some of my favorite classic Hollywood horror films. I had a similar, though drier, experience when I watched John Waters' Cecil B. Demented in a theater full of people who didn’t know who William Castle was.

I experienced the same frustration when I read Thomas Hibbs’ recent article regarding Quentin Tarantino’s most recent film Kill Bill vol. 1 and the Tom Cruise blockbuster The Last Samurai (Kurosawa Kills Bill). In particular, I took issue with his claim that “despite their critical acclaim and their purported desire to be faithful to Japanese sources, these films are but vulgar distortions of Japanese film culture, especially the work of Akira Kurosawa.” I was surprised by my reaction because I have more respect for Professor Hibbs than I do for most of the celebrated “cinerati” who, like me, enjoyed these two films. You see, I think that the Distinguished Professor of Ethics and Culture is on to something with regards to America’s elites having a disturbing affection for nihilism, the subject of his book Shows About Nothing. So my reaction did not originate from a disagreement about the merits of these films with regard to virtue or an expression of human excellence. To be fair, I don’t know what his opinions are regarding The Last Samurai as a film about virtue, but I have a fair idea regarding Kill Bill. My frustration stemmed from his accusation that these films were “distortions” of a genre “especially” the work of Akira Kurosawa.

This led me to ask two questions. First, are these films a “distortion of Japanese film culture?” Second, are these films “especially” referencing the work of Akira Kurosawa? I refuse to address any other of the statements made in Hibbs’ article because they provide a wonderful introduction to the works of an inspirational filmmaker -- he provides a valuable list of Kurosawa must sees, though he surprisingly leaves out High and Low. I also think that Hibbs was remiss in not mentioning Chushingura by Hiroshi Inagaki as another wonderful film about feudal Japan.

Kill Bill is exactly what it purports to be, a celebration of Japan’s b-movies in the Chambara genre (and to some extent the Wuxia and Kung Fu films of Hong Kong). While Akira Kurosawa’s films (among them Sanjuro, Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Ran) are great films about Samurai culture, they do not stand alone as the only films from Japan about the feudal era nor are they in the b-list of this genre. Tarantino’s film is closer in tone to the Lone Wolf and Cub and Zatoichi films, but he adds the bloodiness of the films of Kinji Fukasaku whose recent film Battle Royale (based on the book of the same name) is a brutal combination of Lord of the Flies and the Survivor television show. One need only watch a few Sonny Chiba (who stars in Kill Bill and is referenced in True Romance) films to understand that Japan, like America, has an appetite for graphic violence. You cannot claim that a film is a vulgar distortion of a culture based on a case study, a more random sample is needed. I think that if Professor Hibbs takes a random sample of Japanese cinema post 1970, he will find more Hanzo the Blade than Throne of Blood.

Typical of Tarantino, any celebration requires examples of a genre’s influence on Western film. So we have a perverted “Charlie's Angels,” called the DiVAs, based on the Five Deadly Venoms by the Shaw Brothers. We have the exaggerated camera use similar to Sergio Leone used in the fight scene between Uma Thurman and Lucy Liu (the snow covered ground of which directly references the final fight in Chushingura). Tarantino gives us the Tokyo of Black Rain and Godzilla visually reminiscent of the Los Angeles of Blade Runner. We hear the theme song to The Green Hornet, and Ironsides, and Uma Thurman dressed like Bruce Lee in Game of Death. Through his director’s eye the audience sees the way Western movies, largely b-movies, have influenced Japanese b-movies, which have in turn influenced Western b-movies. We are presented with a dialogue, not a distortion, between two arguably vulgar cultural representations of the action genre.

The Last Samurai is more difficult to defend from Professor Hibbs’ criticism. While the film is infinitely less vulgar than Kill Bill, Edward Zwick appears to be imitating rather than celebrating what he thinks a film about feudal Japan should look like. The palette is reminiscent of Ran as is the tragic nature of its Japanese protagonist. The Last Samurai isn’t a film about feudal Japan, rather it is a film about how an American reacts and views feudal Japan. The framing device makes it apparent that we are watching the memories of an American Civil War veteran struggling to understand Japanese culture. The director has the difficult task of combining genre and cultural messages. How do you balance the need to show both Western and Eastern concepts of military virtue? How do you do this through the eyes of a character who has forgotten Classical virtue and is a product of Machiavellian prudential virtue?

The conflicts for Cruise’s character prevent the director from fully utilizing the Japanese cultural setting and so he abbreviates it. There are moments in the film when Cruise’s character is given advice from the Book of Five Rings a classic samurai text. The advice given him to him regarding sword fighting mirror advice from the 2nd chapter of the Hagakure (published in 1716 at a time when Japan’s Samurai class had experienced 100 years of relative peace), “There is surely nothing other than the single purpose of the present moment. A man's whole life is a succession of moment after moment. If one fully understands the present moment, there will be nothing else to do, and nothing else to pursue. Live being true to the single purpose of the moment.” The Last Samurai converts the advice into a physical representation during one particular duel between Cruise and a number of ruffians. The camera’s eye captures a perfect combination of single-minded concentration and void.

In the end though, these arguments regarding the merits of Kill Bill and The Last Samurai as examples of Western art encountering Japanese art may be unconvincing to the viewer who might believe that these films represent how we have come to “prefer sorrow over pain, suffering over peace.” To that viewer I can only offer the following.

My first example is one of hope. It is the moment in The Last Samurai when Katsumoto tells Nathan Algren that one could do worse than to spend one’s life looking for the perfect blossom. In this moment, we are told that the pursuit of beauty is a better profession than the pursuit of war.

The second example is one of caution, for it shows that man’s love of pain and suffering over peace isn’t a new one. It is a quote from the 10th chapter of the Hagakure, “If you cut a face lengthwise, urinate on it, and trample on it with straw sandals, it is said that the skin will come off. This was heard by the priest Gyojaku when he was in Kyoto. It is information to be treasured.”

If the first moment is merely a pretentious effort to seem profound, maybe we truly have abandoned the pursuit of a summum bonum. I dread a world in which it is “not the natural sweetness of living but the terrors of death [that] make us cling to life.”

Xbox Live will soon begin delisting certain titles.

Microsoft has apparently decided that it hates making easy money from its Xbox Live Arcade Marketplace. They will soon be delisting titles (that means removing them from purchase-ability) that have a "metacritic" score below 65%. Essentially, this is the equivalent of movie theaters deciding that they will not screen films with a Rotten Tomatoes score of less than 65%, but with less talented reviewers.

The metacritic rating is only one of the factors that Microsoft will be considering when it measures whether to keep or drop a title, but I want to fully make my straw man attack against them before I add the other factors.

Frankly, on the face this seems ridiculous. Metacritic may be a good review aggregation site, but let's face it reviewers are often very much out of touch with what people enjoy. They are especially out of touch with what I enjoy. Let's have a look at some successful films and how their metacritic scores line up.

If SEX AND THE CITY were a video game, it would be delisted. That 53 Metacritic score isn't even close.

National Treasure 2? 48% and it only made $239 million.

Does Microsoft realize that 48% means "mixed or average reviews?" They probably do. In fact, they probably notice that the ratings for video games seem ridiculously forgiving. It's as if people are judging games with 100s of hours of content upon a couple of hours of play time, or just on how "cool" they think the idea is. This explains the 65% as a measure of critical quality for games, especially given that it wouldn't work so well with movies. But let's hope it isn't the only criteria since there are over 45 XBox Live Arcade games with Metacritic scores below 65.

Let's see how many of them I own and enjoy...

Time pilot... ummm... classic.
Arkadian Warriors... I bought this game due to an add on the XBLA site. It's fun.
Rocketmen... Disappointing? Sure, but it's a fun Robotron style game.
Battlestar Galatica...Crap. Total Crap.
Battlezone...Not updated enough for some, but still fun to play.
Tempest... ummm... classic.
Tron... ummm... classic. 1337 gamers must not like the old school.
Cyber Ball...Plain old fashioned fun.

Now for the real comment. Thankfully this 65% only applies to games that have less than a 6 percent or lower trial conversion rate. Meaning that if the sales numbers are more than 6% of the number of trial downloads the metacritic rating doesn't apply. That means if we as consumers are easily entertained, lowest common denominator boobs, other people will be able to share our misery.

See how that 6% conversion rate changes things? That's why I left it out of my initial comments. It makes Microsoft reasonable, and we can't have that...can we?

Reuters Bizarrely Associates "28 Days Later" with "torture porn"

For decades people have been decrying the end of civilization and the jading effects of entertainment. Horror films have always loomed large in the eyes of these social critics.

Roger Ebert lamented that the original The Hitcher was a film that preached nihilism and wrote an elegant review criticizing the film as completely devoid of any moral value. He gave the film zero stars, a rating he once reserved for films he thought were morally repugnant.

Joe Bob Briggs has written a wonderful book which discusses the effect that Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the true "Saw," has had on popular culture and its filmic legacy. Briggs analysis is less fear-monger, and more fan, but he highlights many of the criticisms laid out against "shock value" horror.

In 2006, David Edelstein referred to Eli Roth's Hostel as "torture porn," a label that has been retroactively applied to other splatter-based horror films.

But like when Pauline Kael used the word fascist to describe Sam Peckinpah's The Straw Dogs, a use that trivialized the horror of the consequences of actual fascism by broadening the word beyond usefulness, it appears that critics are now expanding the use of the term "torture porn" to the point of making it meaningless.

I will be the first to agree with a critic who says that a film representing the torture of women for the supposed enjoyment of an audiences is misogynistic and likely debases the audience viewing it. But when one applies the pejorative term "torture porn," with all its baggage (as Reuters did today}, to a film like Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later the term has lost all useful critical meaning.

Calling the bi frication of Jennifer Jason Leigh's character in The Hitcher excessive and immoral is one thing, though it should be noted that the bi frication by Semi takes place off screen. Calling 28 Days Later, a film which stresses the centrality of FAMILY and compassion to the continuation of society, "torture porn" is quite another thing.

The first, I consider worth discussing. Is there any "moral" value to a film like The Hitcher or Hostel? Does Wolf Creek teach us anything other than we need to kill any random stranger who stops by our campfire at Ayer's Rock? Those things I am willing to discuss, and even concede a lot to critics. But to criticize Danny Boyle's film in the same way is so stupid as to be beneath consideration.

Let's have some specificity in our criticism please, otherwise it is useless to those to whom it is supposed to be useful.

A Different Take on Critics vs. Audiences

It's not everyday that you read a newspaper article discussing Kant's views on the relation between moral understanding and aesthetic judgment, but yesterday's Washington Post has such an article. Joshua Bell and the Washington Post agreed to collaborate on a little experiment. They wanted to find out what would happen if you took a highly regarded violinist and had him play during early morning commuting time at a subway station. Would his talented play attract a large audience if he appeared anonymously and dressed just like any other street musician?

Surprisingly, at least to the Post, he was treated like just any other musician.

I read the Post article and was impressed with the questions that the writer asked, and especially impressed that Gene Weingarten took the time to ask a Kantian scholar about what the lack of interest had to say about the aesthetic tastes of the audience. In a nutshell, the Kantian answer is that surroundings matter and that not appreciating high art when it is in a common setting is no moral failing. But I was surprised by how Weingarten, even after presenting the Kantian defense of the "masses," rejects the premise wholesale. From the title to the closing sentence, I could almost read Weingarten's disdain for the commuters.

"Pearls Before Breakfast," is quite obviously a reference to "Pearls Before Swine." Weingarten's title implies that the audience, who failed to recognize Bell's importance, are swine. He doesn't consider the fact that people are genuinely busy (though he does mention that about one of the people who stops for the 3 minutes that he had available). Weingarten also doesn't seem to truly understand the relation between context and appreciation. Certainly Bell's performance is wonderful, at least what is available on the Post site, and I am rushing out to buy his most recent CD today in response to the article, but it is also being performed at a subway station during commuter hours.

Weingarten mentions that all the children want to listen and implies that this means that they still have a pure "poetry of the soul." How about a different analysis? How about the fact that the children haven't fully developed a sense of time and obligation? For many of the commuters, it may have been a moral act of the highest order to not stop and listen. What if Bell performed during a time the subway was filled more with tourists than commuters? Would the results change? I don't think they would change significantly, but I think they would be mildly better.

What is evident here is that Weingarten, like the film critics who can't understand why audiences rush to see 300, doesn't seem to understand the way most people behave. Movie theaters aren't cathedrals of high art in the same way that the Disney Music Hall is, nor is a Metro station Carnegie Hall. When people go to see 300 they know they aren't watching high art and music at the Metro is likely to be ignored as commuters mentally prepare for their day.

I find it ironic that Weingarten, in judging others to be ignorant of the pearls thrown before them one January morning, throws aside the thoughtful examination of a leading scholar.

300 and the Disconnect Between Critics and Viewers

Peter Bart, over at Variety, wrote a column last Thursday about how so far this has been a year where there is a large disconnect between what critics opinions of a movie are and what the viewing audience's opinion is. He bases what the audience's opinion is based on the financial success of a particular film rather than on some kind of random survey data. I imagine that his method is as accurate as a good survey would be, people do vote with their dollars. This is particularly true if a given film is successful for more than one week, which implies that word of mouth was positive rather than negative. Bart has noticed that the audience reactions to Ghost Rider, 300, Wild Hogs, and Norbit are very much out of synch with the reactions of critics.

Ben Fritz, at the same magazine, also writes about the critical reaction to 300 and focuses on how the critics often compare 300 to a video game. Fritz argues that the critics use of this comparison is "both artistically demeaning and substantively wrong." Fritz doesn't, and he likely should in a future article, articulate how the opposite is more often true. Videogames are becoming more like films, a statement that is both artistically complimentary and substantively correct. One need only watch a few of the interstitial sequences in Marvel Ultimate Alliance to discern that the Marvel video game is attempting to create an entertaining narrative while also allowing the player to beat hell out of Dr. Doom and the Masters of Evil.

Which brings me back to the Bart article. Bart asks a couple of key questions in his editorial criticizing the critics. His central, and most important question, is whether "critics make a passing attempt to tune in to pop culture?" Bart begs the question, but he doesn't directly answer it. His editorial is more a discussion starter than an answer, though one could guess his answer might be a caveat laden "Yes...but..."

I would have liked to see Bart take a brave stand on this issue, which I don't believe is limited to this year's box office or critics. I think that it has been a problem for quite some time. I have often in conversation asked my friends, "Do you think that (insert favorite hated critic here) would like That Touch of Mink or Ben Hur if it came out today?" I usually get one of two reactions to this question. Sometimes my interlocutor agrees with me that the critic would hate both of these films, and might add that they would also dislike M because it ends advocating the execution of a child molester by "extra legal" means. Other times, the response might be that the person had never thought about that particular question. It often seems to me that critics are so fond of the French New Wave that they have rejected the idea that movies can be entertaining, they must have meaning!

With Bart not providing an answer to the question, one can be thankful that sci-fi writer extraordinaire Neal Stephenson decided to weigh in on the disconnect between critics and audience in yesterday's New York Times. His point was that the critics who negatively review the film won't even give the film a serious review, possibly because the subject matter is rooted in geekdom (at least in the case of 300). He also brings up some of the criticisms that have been thrown at the movie and dismisses them by saying, "such criticisms aren't really worth arguing with, because they are not serious in the first place -- and that is their whole point. Many critics dislike 300 so intensely that they refused to do it the honor of criticizing it as if it were a real movie." I agree. I also believe that any critic who feels this way is also practicing a bit of onanism. They are writing to read just how creatively they can mock a movie, and their only real audience is themselves. They "know" that audiences, lowest common denominator brutes that we are, will like the movie regardless of their review. So they decide to write witty and scathing responses so they can read just how well they can mock a movie. This is about as morally edifying as some critics have said they thought 300 was.

Stephenson provides a couple of key quotes from critics he finds to be particularly good examples of this type of criticism, but one in particular stood out to me.

300 is not sufficiently ironic. It takes themes (duty, loyalty, sacrifice, the preservation of Western civilization against enormous odds) too seriously to, well, be taken seriously.

As I have already pointed out, in quoting Victor Davis Hanson, "If critics think that 300 reduces and simplifies the meaning of Thermopylae into freedom versus tyranny, they should reread carefully ancient accounts and then blame Herodotus, Plutarch, and Diodorus — who long ago boasted that Greek freedom was on trial against Persian autocracy, free men in superior fashion dying for their liberty, their enslaved enemies being whipped to enslave others." But such critics deserve more than an appeal to History as a response, as these critics exhibit one of the greatest flaws I believe a critic can have. These critics lack a love of virtue and in aesthetics this is almost unforgivable, at least in aesthetics as traditionally understood (Schiller, Kant, Hegel) and not in criticism how it is currently taught (Gramsci, Krakauer, Baudrillard). Before you flame me, it should be noted that I very much like Simulacra and Simulation and the Mirror of Production and think Benjamin's analysis in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction is wonderfully insightful given YouTube etc. My point isn't that aesthetic critical discussions oughtn't include observations by the Frankfurt School and Post-Structuralists, rather that critics should also be aware of earlier aesthetic studies and their links to how aesthetics represent/affect virtue.

Nietzsche gave this kind of study a bad name, but that is because he turned the arguments on their head much like Marx did with Hegel. Of course, one should never forget the power of irony in philosophy, but that is another discussion.

These high art vs. vulgar art critics, a very Adorno-esque dichotomy, disdain both pious depictions of morality and the base comedy of films like The Wedding Crashers. Nevermind that Aristophanes has a multi-page discussion of farts and fart jokes in his play The Clouds. One word...Thunder. Just think about it. I hear that in Ancient Phrygia they used the word Phartos to describe Thunder. Most people turn off when I mention Aristophanes in a conversation, and my knowledge of his plays is much shallower than Fritz's (cinerati Fritz not Variety Fritz). Most people think I am making a high art vs. vulgar art distinction and trying to talk down to them when I am doing just the opposite. I am trying to demonstrate how even "high art" has abundant fart jokes. Don't even get me started on Shakespeare.

Back to the virtue discussion and whether 300 should be ironic. One of the classical virtues is that of thumos a kind of spritedness which combines patriotism and courage. It is the virtue that is central to the Spartan society. In fact, Spartan society might be said to value thumos over almost any other part of virtue as we understand it. Spiritedness is a powerful force in people, we like to take pride in our society and we value those who fight to defend it. That is thumos in a nutshell and that is what 300 is about. The film doesn't spend time showing us the ways that Sparta was unjust, and they were in many ways, because then the film -- and comic -- would be about Sparta. This film isn't about Sparta, it is about thumos.

Those critics who fear that the film is fascistic because of its overemphasis of thumos do have a point, but not as large a point as they believe. If the film were merely about thumos it would be true, but the films is also about freedom, equality under the law, and the need for just rulers. There is a reason that Plato devoted two dialogues toward critiquing Spartan culture. Both his Republic and The Laws present critiques of societies based solely on thumos. The "republic" of the Republic everyone tells you Plato thought was the "Just" society (though they forget to tell you how easily Plato has this society decay)? That could easily be read as a description of Sparta. And one of the key interlocutors in The Laws is a great Spartan who comes to understand that thumos and courage are only a part of Justice, the Stranger argues that Wisdom is the central component of Justice. These are not talked about in the film, but those would be the discussions to have if you wanted to criticize the film.

Instead a critic talked about how the film wasn't sufficiently ironic, as if the virtues the film advances ought not be taken seriously at all. Or that if you want them to be taken seriously you must use them ironically. This is the mentality that Roger Scruton argues against in his book on Modern Culture when he writes,

"modern producers, embarrassed by dramas that make a mockery of their way of life, decide in their turn to make a mockery of the dramas. Of course, even today, musicians and singers, responding as they must to the urgency and sincerity of the music, do their best to produce the sounds...intended. But the action is invariably caricatured, wrapped in inverted commas, and reduced to the dimensions of a television sitcom. Sarcasm and satire run riot on the stage, not because they have anything to prove or say in the shadow of this unsurpassably noble music, but because nobility has become intolerable. The producer tries to distract the audience from [the] message, and to mock every heroic gesture, lest the point of the drama should finally come home."

This is how critics are reacting to Miller's 300, they have disdain for its open admiration of nobility. That disdain must naturally result in mockery. Ironically, I have argued that Frank Miller himself helped contribute to the crisis in modern comics where the hero is eternally deconstructed when the "constructed" hero is so badly needed.

What do we need more in a world where our choices are so often gray, than a hero who has a clear and consistent morality?