Stuck in the Box --
Has it really been nearly a month since my last entry regarding filmmaking? Geez, time sure blows by when you're working full-time and too damned tired to do much else but watch a movie or spend an hour or two playing video games before hitting the hay. Ah well, there's still another month left before I head back to San Francisco for good, and only another week or two before I leave my job (I gave them notice two weeks ago). Most likely one of our two films is going into production this weekend, which will be a nice change of pace.
I decided the other night to scrap the screenplay for Purgatory in favor of pulling a Wong Kar-Wai; instead of writing everything out with stiff dialogue and trying to stick to a solid idea I'm going to try and be more natural. Fluidity is the name of the game. I'm just going to head out with my camera, tripod, and girlfriend (who plays the lead character) and just shoot the scenes I've got in my head, and once Derek comes back from jury duty next Tuesday we'll start shooting his scenes as well. Heck, we might even be able to shoot the scenes that I'm in as well, given that one of Mari's friends is staying over for a few days. Most likely I'll add in a couple of scenes here and there to extend the film a bit, as one of the biggest problems I've had with the previous scripts is how rushed and compact it all feels.
Another change I wanted to make was to ditch the whole dark comedy angle and make it a bit more ... well, I guess I'd call it demented. I've always been a fan of darker films that tend to explore a character's nature instead of having some character with problems being placed in some situation that allows them to work things out. Mari likes the idea, as it'll give her character a whole new dimension that was sorely lacking based on the scripts I've written. Not to mention it's easier for me since I can stick with what I know; most of my recent stories tend to be told from a first-person perspective, and the characters tend to talk about themselves an awful lot despite what goes on around them. Sure, it's kind a cop-out to revert to a style you're already familiar with, but at the same time we - as in, The Breakfast Machine - have yet to make a real film that isn't some sort of action/martial arts short. The only exception is Apt. 309, which I liked because it was an homage to The Twilight Zone (1959-1964), one of my favorite TV shows.
My friend King, a graphic artist and animator, was telling me a few weeks ago when we were brainstorming ideas for an animated short together that one thing I need to do is to start thinking outside the box when it comes to the types of stories I come up with. We've worked together on a few occasions, notably a few years ago when we came up with a script that served two purposes - a treatment for a film and the basis for what would later be an idea for a graphic novel that I still want to do. He knows what kind of stories I write, and we both know that they're stories that aren't exactly the kind that appeal to everyone since they're darker in nature and tend to be somewhat personal. One thing he suggested I do is to try and think of stories that are generally appealing and deal with situations and problems that lots of people run into, and also to try and shape them so that they're funny (well, he may not have said that, but I guess it was implied, given that he wanted to do a comedy).
Purgatory was originally going to be funny, in a Wes Anderson kind of way, I suppose. It was supposed to look at the idea of an afterlife and make fun of the gravity of a situation like being dead, but somewhere along the line I think I lost that sense of comedy that I originally envisioned. It's just not that funny anymore, and everytime I look back at the first draft of script I tend to frown instead of laugh - if anything I'll laugh because the dialogue's just that bad. Death itself is something everyone deals with, but at the same time it's not really something that people find very funny. My girlfriend had a particularly impacting death in her family, and I sometimes feel like an ass because I'm casting her as a dead person, and part of the original screenplay includes a scene in which she commits suicide. Yeah, a bit screwed up, I know.
At any rate, this project isn't really for "mass appeal". It's really to prove to myself that I'm capable as both a writer and a director. Unlike most of the other films I've been involved in, I'm trying to take complete control of the reins instead of just having Derek do most of the work (which he usually wants to do, with the exception of the writing). It's a way for me to exorcise the ideas I've had in my head for months, almost years now.
I'm tired of giving excuses for not having started. That's probably the biggest reason why I'm just going to go out and do it.
Note: The title is fairly inappropriate considering the content is focused around an American cartoon using the anime aesthetic, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like this really does apply to a lot of other anime series, and it continues some of the stuff I talked about in the first part regarding fandom.
1. Fans v. Fandom
A week ago my girlfriend and I were ecstatic because it was the series finale of Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005-2008), a show that I've loved since its debut and - only this past summer - she had gotten into as well. On one hand, yes, we were sad that the series was finally coming to a close, as all fans are when one of their favorite shows does the same. At the same time, we acknowledged that all the loose ends would finally be tied up in one epic finale, which was what we had been anticipating since the beginning of the season; hell, they technically gave us two epic finales, the first being the mid-season finale. We enjoyed every second of the last few episodes, and once it was over we were both still reeling from it, trying to cope with the fact that it was over. Sometime during the week it sunk in, and I think for the most part we're both satisfied with the outcome.
As much as we'd like there to be another season of the show, it wouldn't make a lot of sense given the circumstances in the current story. Think about it. It's like trying to fit another full Harry Potter book after killing off Voldemort - there wouldn't be anything left to talk about other than second-rate issues that most fans can probably resolve with their imaginations. And that is exactly where this division between fan and fandom occurs. Before I delve further into this, allow me to present a situation which will hopefully show the difference.
Yesterday at the San Diego Comic-Con the creators of Avatar, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, held a panel for the show, in which they screened what looked like a clip from a supposed fourth season of Avatar. The result was the video you see on the right-hand side: a hilarious poke at the legions (and I do mean legions) of "Zutara" fans. In case you're unclear about the whole Zutara thing, essentially there's a huge debate among hard-core Avatar fans [link may not be work-safe] about whether Katara, the lead female protagonist of the show, should be romantically involved with either Aang, the protagonist and canonical love interest, or Zuko, the former antagonist-turned-protagonist. Supposedly, Zutarians claim that they make up the "core audience" of the series. Not too sure how accurate that is, but if it's - somehow - true then Mike and Bryan should start thinking about re-targeting their audience.
Anyway, to put it bluntly, Mike and Bryan - the creators of the show - essentially said two things: (1) there will not be a fourth season of Avatar, and (2) seriously, get over it, Zutarians. Hours later, I find posts like this, filled with hundreds of comments from whiny fangirls who are "heartbroken" and plan to "give up the series altogether" because the creators didn't pair Katara and Zuko together - and that should not be a spoiler to anyone at this point.
So at this point I'm sitting here scratching my head and saying to myself, "Wait, you're going to dislike the show because the creators told the story they wanted to tell? What gives you the right to decide how it should be done?" I don't get how, all of a sudden, the "core audience" of Avatar hates the series just because their stupid delusions weren't adhered to. Are these people really so ignorant that they think the creators are just going to change the canonical ending of the story and make another season (let alone a remake of the series, as I've seen suggested/hinted at) solely for the purpose of pairing Katara and Zuko up? Good lord, I almost feel dirty for being an Avatar fan!
This is where fans and fandom differ. While fans will ultimately respect the decision of the creators and accept the finality of whatever they decide to do with their creation, fandom chooses to alter the fictional reality of the setting to suit their own tastes. They live in their denial, defying canon and essentially ruining a perfectly good series. Fandom does not know when to stop, much to the chagrin of real fans.
2. The Dilemma of Creators
Avatar isn't the only series to provoke this kind of behavior. Back in the early days (read: high school) when I first started writing lengthy stories I was involved in fan fiction myself, and I saw this sort of thing all the time. It didn't take me long to realize that my favorite series were being ruined by no-talent, creative-less hacks who simply cared about pairing up their favorite characters. Not long after, I switched over to writing original fiction of my own creation.
Creators like Mike and Bryan really deserve some respect for having to deal with their crazed fanbase year after year, and doing so in a way in which they continue to be themselves. One of the biggest problems with creating something that becomes a hit is that the fans think the story should go one way that may be entirely different from what the creators envisioned, and they get testy when their demands aren't catered to. These fans feel like the creators are marginalizing them in some way, but in reality the creators need to tell the story the way they want; they're not there to satisfy some childish personal desire of their fans.
As a writer I have a very clear idea of what I want to do in my stories. I know what's going to happen with the characters and the story, even if I'm not looking straight from beginning to end, and when I do change my ideas they're because of practical reasons, not because of someone else's desire to see such-and-such happen. Mike and Bryan probably worked the same way with Avatar. Because of that reason I accept their work for what it is. They haven't disappointed with the show in its three-year run, and if anything I appreciate and respect them so much more for not giving in to the demands of either the producers or the fans, both of whom would love to see a fourth season. I'm not really sure why anyone else would think differently.
As far as I'm concerned, I think the Zutarians are a ridiculous little cult that seriously needs to stop whining and get over it. They need to start to live their lives outside of a cartoon world, or at the very least accept the fact that that's just how the story goes. Frankly, by now it's just really annoying for the rest of us.
Time to get back to real life now. I at least feel a little better that I got all of this out of my system.
YouTube fascinates me. It really does. It is quite possibly one of the most innovative websites to come along in the last few years, and it's completely revolutionized personal and viral videos on the Internet. It's not unusual these days to see your friends and co-workers on the site, whether as avid watchers with hundreds of favorites or vloggers who pour their hearts out to virtual audiences via webcam. Either way, YouTube and its clones have become major outlets for artists and advertisers alike.
Lately, I've been trying to think of distribution and using YouTube as a means to seriously get TBM 'out there', so-to-speak. Obviously we've already got a page on the site and we've posted the films we've made so far, but we've yet to sit down and seriously focus on a way to use YouTube as a means of promotion. And when I say that I mean looking at how people find our films, checking demographics and hit counts, toying with things like tags and length in order to maximize our audience, etc. Hell, even focusing on specific content geared towards certain established audiences; I'd love to do a series on deconstructing YouTube "celebrities" who don't deserve the title, even if it's the audience that puts them on a pedestal.
From what I've seen, YouTube can be a great outlet for creativity, but not in the same ways that traditional distribution works for lengthy narrative films. Take our 15-minute short from 2006, Delivery. Despite being what I feel is one of our best shorts thus far, it's got the least amount of views out of all of the films we've posted on YouTube. In fact, our most viewed film happens to not only be our shortest, but quite possibly our worst! I don't want to say it doesn't make sense to me, because it actually does make a lot of sense: the majority of the viewers on YouTube prefer shorter, easier to digest videos that have an average length of two minutes or so, with the exceptions being if the videos are produced by a specific user who holds some kind of popularity on the site (i.e. HappySlip, ArtieTSMITW). So how exactly do you gain this sort of Internet fame?
Well, there's probably no 100% fool-proof way to get popular on YouTube, but from what I've seen and read, there are a number of little tips and tricks that I'm itching to try out:
1. Produce short, episodic content that is generally appealing. As my friend King was telling me the other week when we were brainstorming ideas for a short film, if you want to reach the biggest audience possible you need to produce something that people can really relate to, and that makes them feel good. It's hard, given that a lot of the stories I like to tell deal with darker, more emotionally challenging issues, but I'm willing to start thinking outside the box. The episodic content is fairly crucial too, because it generates some buzz over time that keeps users coming back to your channel for more.
2. Create a persona. Some of the best YouTubers tend to use the vlog form as a way to construct a personality that others find interesting. Personally I never found the whole webcam video form that appealing, but if done right it can be just as engaging as a narrative character study, and more real than 'reality' TV. If you or someone who know has an outgoing, striking personality (good looks help as well), put them in front of the camera. Doesn't matter if they can't act.
3. Make an attempt at originality. No one likes a copycat, so try not to follow in the tracks of other, more popular users. Sure, movie re-enactments are fun to do, but don't bank on that idea alone less you want to be compared to ArtieTSMITW. Instead, think of something that hasn't been done before, or at least delve into a topic that - while still appealing - doesn't seem to have a whole lot of coverage on YouTube. Combine genres and forms in a way that's unique. It's a helluva lot easier to gain noteriety when it's your own brainchild.
4. Learn to take criticism and other comments with a grain of salt. Although not as bad as some viral video sites like Break, many users on YouTube tend to leave horrible comments which contain - but are not limited to - blatant racism/sexism, ignorance, bias, unprovoked insults, flamebait, etc. On one hand you might be tempted to fight back, spending an hour or so typing up responses left and right, but just learn to let it go. Take everything with a grain of salt and soon your own peers and fans will start fighting for you, marking stupid comments as bad remarks or spam so you don't have to.
5. Know your audience. Start keeping track of the types of people who watch your videos. With YouTube's new Insight feature it's easy to tell who's been watching, and there's all sorts of neat little demographical information you can get. Learn to manipulate your tags and other things to target the audience you want. I'm sure this will come in handy at some point.
I want to try and work more with the site in the near future. I've got some ideas in the works that will put some of my theories to the test. See you on YouTube.
A Repetition of Procrastination --
We seem to do this every year now without fail. Our output seems to consist of doing one real project a year with one or two other shorts (moreso if you include the Team Internet stuff Derek does with his other friends) randomly assorted sometime around that one project. Not an ideal situation if you're trying to break into the whole film business and/or build up a portfolio for graduate school. Since forming The Breakfast Machine about three years ago we've made some films that really stood out amongst our friends, but for the most part I feel like I haven't been contributing as much as I should be.
It's just hard to find motivation sometimes, especially when you're working with such outdated, low-budget equipment. We're pretty much reliant on natural lighting and in-camera audio - which, if you've ever worked with a low-end Hi-8 camcorder, you know is a pretty crappy way to do things. Sometimes it can be hard to get the right shots because of technical limitations. And then there's the lack of good actors. Somehow between the main four of us (myself, Mari, Derek, and Tommy) we don't really know too many people who are willing to be in front of the camera, let alone take on a starring role. We wind up having to be in our own films, which can be somewhat difficult if you're also trying to direct or otherwise view things semi-objectively.
So follows the same repetition of our workflow for 2008, although this time we started a lot later (we usually try to finish a film before spring so we can submit it to our college's film festival), and we're looking at completing two seperate projects. The first, naturally, is Purgatory, a short I wrote sometime last year and never got around to completing due to changes in my housing situation and because I kept altering the script. The second is an adaptation of Raymond Chandler's short story, Pearls are a Nuisance, which I read in The Simple Art of Murder this past spring. This past weekend Derek and I spent most of the afternoon discussing ways to both modernize and adapt the story in a way that we'd be able to do it, and we even found a radio show of it from 1945 (check it out here).
To top things off, since it's The Breakfast Machine's third anniversary we're trying to (finally) get a logo and start up a website so we can look official and maybe begin to take our group in the direction of a real business. It's something I've been dreaming of since our inception, and it's not unreasonable to think that we can succeed in this field so long as we put our minds and talents together and, most importantly, focus.
Status Reports --
In terms of the actual projects themselves, everything is moving at a decent pace. I'm in the middle of rewriting the Purgatory script (how many times have I said that though?) and two scenes for the as-of-yet untitled Pearls adaptation are finished. The former we can technically start shooting anytime, since I already have the scenes planned out and most of the dialogue can be improvised; it's a technique we've used more than once (see Apt. 309 for a good example). As for the other, we need to start planning out locations, making sure all of our friends and fellow crewmembers are on-board, and finalize the story. It's not that hard when you're working with pre-made material, but when it's from the 1930s-1940s it's a bit of a challenge trying to adapt it so it easily translates to modern times without completely overhauling everything.
Really we've just begun, so hopefully I can motivate myself by posting periodic updates and perhaps some screenshots from the work we'll be doing. Until then...
One thing that's been missing from this film blog has been reviews of the films I've been watching lately. I mean, if my resolution is to watch 120 new movies during the course of the year, I'm bound to come across a lot of good, bad, and horrendously terrible films. Why shouldn't I have something to say about them? After all, with a B.A. in Film & Digital Media I should be thinking critically, analytically, and serioously about each and every film I come across. And so begins the monthly series I've named "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly", after one of my favorite westerns (as if you couldn't decipher that on your own, right?).
Here are the rules: (1) You don't talk about GBU; (2) You do talk about movies seen during the month; (3) Pick three movies, one that was good, one that wasn't so great, and one that was just plain crap; (4) Explain why the movie was awesome or why it sucked; (5) Rinse and repeat once a month. Shall we begin the first session?
The GOOD: Surf's Up (2007) --
First off, the decision to stage the film as a pseudo-documentary/mockumentary was one that - as far as I've seen - hasn't been done in a mainstream animated film. This style not only makes the film a little more engaging for viewers - with handheld camera movements and the ability for characters to break fourth-wall conventions and seemingly interact with the audience - but also allows for a greater degree of freedom when it comes to character development. And the characters in Surf's Up, while sometimes cliche for a movie of this kind, are pretty nicely developed through this method. Of course, one problem with the use of documentary aesthetic is that sometimes there's no real excuse for the camera to be there, and some scenes certainly lose the feel of authenticity because of it.
Another thing that struck me about the film was the incredible quality of the visuals. Water is always hard to texture and animate in a CGI film because there's just so much random movement and fluidity that it's easy to gloss over and forget about. But when you're dealing with a film about surfing penguins then you really can't ignore the water effects, and I have to say, I have yet to see better water effects in an animated film or video game. The other textures were also beautifully done, as were the characters and their movements. A definite nod to the animators for their attention to detail.
Overall, Surf's Up is quite a stand-out film in the growing field of 3D animated films that have become popular in the US since Toy Story (1995) was released. It's perfect for younger audiences but has enough general appeal to satisfy practically anyone. I have not been impressed by a CGI film since The Incredibles (2004), and I'm always glad to see 3D animation done in a way that doesn't totally tank (cough, Matrix Reloaded, cough).
The BAD: Suicide Circle (a.k.a. Suicide Club) (2002) --
Don't get me wrong, the film is actually fairly well made, utilizing a lot of hand-held camera movements and long takes to really suck you in, and the conventions I mentioned above really fit with the creepy story (I mean, it's people killing themselves in huge waves). The social commentary is also quite apparent, given that Japan has a huge problem with suicide. However, much of the real power of the film is lost due to the lack of both sense and closure. And, from what I've read, the sequel - Noriko's Dinner Table (2006) - doesn't quite fill the void.
It's funny, but when my girlfriend and I talked about it afterward, I realized that Suicide Club is a lot like Haruki Murakami's After Dark: the writing is great, the characters are all interesting and well-developed, and the plot is fairly riveting, but by the end you realize the entire thing throws itself off the cliff before reaching the summit (actually, that seems to be a suitable metaphor for this movie). It's more unfortunate than it is bad really, which is why it's the Bad for June, as opposed to the Ugly.
The UGLY: The Forbidden Kingdom (2008) --
The plot of the film is pretty much a carbon copy of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III (1993), in which the protagonist of the film, some kung-fu obsessed white kid from the mean streets of contemporary Boston, discovers the legendary staff of the Monkey King, Sun Wukong, is an old Chinatown pawn shop and gets sent back in time to a mythical Tang Dynasty China. There, he is made to fulfill the quest of returning the staff to its rightful owner, and along the way is joined by a drunken scholar (Jackie Chan) and a monk (Jet Li). Oh, and the beautiful-but-deadly young female who - obviously - the white kid starts to fall for. I don't know about you, but I certainly see how the Hollywood power-play comes into effect here: when you're billing this as a film starring two of the world's most famous martial arts superstars, why include a character who has absolutely no business in the story? And to top it off, why make him the only white kid in the film? As opposed to what you might think, there weren't many Caucasians running around China in the Tang Dynasty, let alone speaking English.
Another thing I'm mad about is how badly all of the actors seem to be in this film. With such stars as Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and even Colin Chou you'd expect The Forbidden Kingdom to at least showcase their acting abilities in a well-developed manner. But no, they all continue to be placed in horribly stereotypical roles - Chan with his silly, drunken master role, Li with his unsmiling and serious monk role (though his Sun Wukong is funny to watch), and Chou as the make-up wearing bad guy who sounds "right out of a comic book", as Jim Kelly would put it. Naturally, the white kid's acting is also pretty bland.
I could go on and on about all the other little things I disliked about The Forbidden Kingdom, but instead I'll end my review with a positive note. This is probably one of the few Hollywood films that does martial arts action in a good way. Naturally, whenever you have Yuen Woo-Ping it's a good thing, but the director seemed to allow him, Chan, and Li a lot of freedom in terms of the fight scenes, which are face-paced and beautifully choreographed. While that may be the saving grace for some, like my friend Derek, it's not enough for me to consider this film good by any means.
The WRAP-UP --
That's all for this month's installment of the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. It wasn't too difficult picking from this month's films (head over to my 43 Things or All Consuming page to see what else I watched), although for a moment I considered replacing The Forbidden Kingdom with Troll 2 (1990). Although universally considered one of the worst films of all time, Troll 2 does have one saving grace: it's downright hilarious, which is more than I can say for The Forbidden Kingdom. Anyway, I need to get started on watching my ten films for July. I've been downloading a ton of Asian films lately so my list will probably be pretty centered around them. Until next month!
Telling Stories
When I started writing stories in second grade they were never very good despite being better written than my classmates' stories, which usually had to be dictated and modified by my teacher in order to make sense. While most of their ideas were original or based on personal experiences, mine often mimicked the movies I'd seen or the games I'd been playing. I guess I've always had a fondness for being influenced by other media forms. Still, my love for stories came about fairly early on in my life. By the time third grade rolled around I was already reading decent-length novels, and by fourth grade I had read both Jurassic Park and The Lost World: Jurassic Park twice, read practically every R.L. Stine book in existence, and had started writing my own science fiction novel, which has evolved over the years into something that I would have never expected - part of an amalgamation of stories and ideas for video games that I once thought had the potential to rival Star Wars.
Somewhere during college I think I lost some of my creativity, in no small part thanks to the rigid Creative Writing department at UCSC and the fact that I had to write loads of academic essays for a multitude of classes. The problem I had was that in my creative writing classes I had no real control of the style and aesthetics I wanted to employ in my narratives, which often blurred the lines between reality and what one of my TAs called "genre" fiction. The department had a very narrow approach to writing in that it had to be non-commercial, stick well within the boundaries of a realist mode, and utilize a very plain (and now popularized) mantra of "show, don't tell" aesthetics. Frankly, I couldn't see how this was anymore creative than using the Schaeffer Method. It was after being rejected twice from UCSC's Creative Writing department that I realized that it would've been a mistake to deny myself the privilege to retain my own style and sense of creativity that I'd developed.
In both my films and my writing I try to stick to my elements. There are certain things that I just like doing, not only because they're in the vein of other artists who I feel in tune with, but because they fit within the realm of what exactly I want to do. There are also a number of things like narrative tropes that I tend to utilize because they pertain to events in my life that I can't let go of (or want to). Tropes like a troubled relationship, cheating ex-girlfriends, and anonymous meetings. There are other tropes that I've come up with - as I said last time, I wrote out a list - though I've yet to use them in a finished product.
Aesthetics are also key. Although I always used to 'think big' and plan things out that were far too advanced to be practical, I've developed a kind of minimalist attitude based on the work of some Taiwanese New Cinema directors like Tsai Ming-Liang and Hou Hsiao-Hsien, who let their characters tell the story while the camera - and audience - sit back and observe. That's something I want to achieve with Purgatory, once we get around to shooting it this summer. As with my narrative tropes, I have a list of techniques that I feel suit me best depending on the kind of story I'm telling and the mood I'm aiming for. Even though I've never really taken a production course (outside of a six-week summer course in which I learned almost nothing), I feel like it's for the best. Part of me wants to tell myself this is a bad thing, because in the real world of filmmaking there are certain rules you need to adhere to, certain techniques that you just have to know in order to even be able to be considered for a job. The other part of me slaps me in the face with memories of being rejected from the Creative Writing department, and simply asks, "Do you really want to be just like them? Just like everyone else?"
There's a certain freedom in doing things your own way. Sure, it might be more difficult to gain acceptance and acknowledgment, but at least you can revel in the fact that you're doing what most people can't/don't/won't. You're standing on your own two legs without the aid of manuals and guides telling you how to tell a story. Seriously, if everyone stuck to these rules and aesthetics, wouldn't everyone's work be exactly the same?
(PS: I realize I'm a day late in posting this entry, but it couldn't be helped. Having a full-time job in which I have to wake up at 6AM every morning is more hectic than I thought, and a friend from out of town came down for the day. I'll start blogging the night before from here on.)
In a (vain) attempt to start blogging more - now that I actually have time to do so, what with college being just about over with - I'm going to attempt to regularly update all of my multimedia blogs. Perhaps I'll start updating my personal blog as well, though I somehow doubt that, since most of the people who can actually read it I see and talk to on a constant basis. Given that today is Wednesday, I've decided to update Film Major on Wednesdays. I'll start out updating once a week with major topics, and perhaps I'll sprinkle in some minor posts here and there when I feel like it. I'll have a lot of time this summer to work on blogging and personal projects, so I'll do just that.
Of course, I'll start next week. I've still got another final paper to write for tomorrow and my graduation on Saturday, so I can't possibly muster up anymore focus than I'm already devoting. Besides, I've yet to find a stable audience (not even my girlfriend will read my lengthier posts, haha), so I can afford to skip this week. Perhaps instead I'll go back and rework some of my entries, fixing things like spelling errors, tags, et cetera.
Until next week, when I'll be an official college graduate!
Lately, my roommate's been watching a Japanese anime called Lucky Star. A few minutes ago he and another friend were watching an episode of it on our living room TV, and I sat here at the computer listening to it and cringing. And that cringing leads me to write this entry, to explain why exactly I hold some contempt for the whole anime aesthetic and the people who adore it. In discussing this issue with my friend, we came up with three things in particular that I seem to focus on: (1) narrative, (2) artwork, and (3) fandom. While I'm sure there are more elements I take issue with, these are the three things I seem to have the problem with the most.
1. Narrative - "My Life for a Decent Storyline"
Being a writer and an avid fan and student of literature, I love books and movies that can tell good stories. Ones that can keep me immersed in a different world for hours upon end. If I feel like I'm emerging from a dream at the end, then it's been worth it to dedicate the time.
One of my biggest gripes with a lot of anime series I've come across are that they have no real story to them, or when they do they're so cliche and boring that I don't feel like watching the other 80+ episodes. For example, series like Inuyasha and Pokemon, which just never seem to end despite every episode having the exact same formula. I mean, even the shows that my roommate loves (Lucky Star, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya) don't seem to really do much in the way of plot, and simply serve as a vehicle for seemingly random events, 'cutesy'-ness, and cultural inside jokes. To me, shows like these are a real waste of time, because I don't feel invested in the characters at all, nor does there seem to be any reason to continue watching because nothing is really happening episode after episode.
On the other hand, there are certain anime that really attract me because of their strong narratives that transcend the importance of the genre and aesthetic. Neon Genesis Evangelion is quite possibly my favorite example of this. Although it tends to be shoveled into the genre of a 'mech' or 'giant robot' show, Evangelion focuses heavily on plot, character development, and the infusion of religious and philosophical criticism. While the show doesn't necessarily rely on its anime aesthetic or cultural relevance, it's hard to imagine the show being made anywhere else in the world. It's the same with a film series like Godzilla - it just doesn't work when you try to adapt it.
I also should mention here that, when I think about it, a lot of the American cartoons that I really love - Rocko's Modern Life, Ren & Stimpy - don't actually have stories either. They're more like sitcoms in that sense, and while they don't actually go anywhere, I still love them for some reason. Perhaps it's the cultural difference between American cartoons and Japanese anime. And here, I have to stress the need to point that YES, CULTURAL DIFFERENCE DOES MATTER (more on this in my third section on fandom).
2. Artwork - "I Know What I Like"
This section is a little more subjective, because people will always debate on whether animation (including 3D) should start moving towards realism or not; usually this comes up in discussions of next-generation video games. When it comes to anime the artwork of a show usually falls within a range of at least three areas: from realistic to moderate to exaggerated. The first area is self-explanatory. The third area tends to evoke more of a cartoonish feel, with a reliance on extreme facial expressions, unrealistic movements and actions, and 'different' appearances. The moderate area is pretty much a blend of the two, and typically seems to be used in shows of mediocre quality.
Now that's not to say I only watch shows that have a realist attitude. Hell, most American cartoons are extremely exaggerated. Many of my favorites even tend to use anthropomorphic animals as characters. It's just that for some reason I haven't found myself actually liking anime that use anything but. And as that old saying goes, "I may not know art, but I know what I like."
3. Fandom - "Or, Why I Don't Like You"
I've always wanted to write about the fandom surrounding anime. When I was in high school I was part of that group, known by the Japanese term otaku - if you'd rather not look it up, it essentially refers to anime geeks. Anyway, there was a span of time when I'd watch anime with my friends, attempt to learn some rudimentary Japanese, and use the same stupid exaggerated actions that the characters in the shows do. By the time I was ready to graduate I'd learned to stop that crap because I started caring about my public image - which does say something about the kind of image that is produced by engaging in anime fandom. It's not like you don't see this in other realms, otherwise there wouldn't be a fan about Trekkies, Comic-Con and Wonder-Con, or the entirety of geek culture that's become more and more appealing over the past decade.
The biggest problem I have with anime geeks is that they tend to worship a culture that, more often than not, they understand very little about. As opposed to what most would like to believe, Japanese anime does not depict a realistic view of Japanese culture or society, and it won't help you speak the language. Japan itself is a country that has a long, rich history that goes back centuries, and watching its cartoons is probably the worst way to try and grasp any notion of Japanese consciousness. What's worse is that there are hundreds of people out there who make no attempt at all to actually learn anything about Japan through academic means; I've heard stories of anime geeks who fail Japanese language classes and classes about pop culture because of their reluctance to learn anything outside of what they get from anime.
As I've said, cultural difference does matter. For most American otaku, I feel the need to pull them aside and remind them that they're not Japanese (sure, there are a good number of actual Japanese Americans that are ethnically Japanese, and depending on the case they remain the exception). If you're a white person who's lived your entire life in sub/urban America, you can't honestly expect anyone to believe that you're in tune with Japanese culture. And you shouldn't be going by some typical Japanese name you got from a cartoon. Anime is ripe with cultural constructs that only those who have lived in the society can understand, and many more instances of cultural relativism and criticism. We as Americans experience a very different lifestyle than the Japanese, and vice versa, and it just seems weird how so many Americans are obsessed with this false image of Japan that they almost construct for themselves. To me it's a more extreme version of cultural tourism.
While I could say the same thing about Trekkies or Star Wars fans, there's a certain cultural importance when talking about otaku. Even the Japanese seem to think we're silly people for our love of silly cartoons, catgirls, and maids. And unlike the aforementioned examples, more and more younger kids are becoming anime fans these days as it becomes heavily mainstream in American media and as an aesthetic that a number of American cartoons are attempting to cash in on as the cultural divide begins to become more and more blurry. You don't see as many kids playing with toy lightsabers and wanting to be a Jedi when they grow up. Too bad. As time goes on, anime's continuing mainstream success will only serve to devalue the aesthetic as a cultural value central to Japan. After all, why bother with authentically Japanese shows when you could use the same style of artwork, toss in some typical cliches like giant robots and people with cat ears, and skip all that subtitling crap by making everything in English. Oh, and you can forget all of those strange jokes that Americans don't understand because of their cultural specificity. Perfect!
It's hard for me to completely express my feelings on a matter like this in a single post. Most likely I'll find something that I forgot to mention and smack myself on the head for forgetting such an important issue, but until then this post will have to suffice. Anime is a touchy subject for me, given my personal involvement with it years ago, and I'm still skeptical about the whole idea of watching it because I don't ever want to go back to being one of those people. It scares me for some reason.
I'm pretty sure this guy would tend to agree:
Earlier today I was actually thinking of sports in relation to the way we think about film and television, mainly in terms of spectatorship. Most film theorists including Christian Metz viewed film as a medium that, although viewed in a theater packed with other people, is actually consumed by an individual rather than as a group. Sure, you can argue against that statement, but contrast watching a film in the theater with watching a film on TV with a group of friends. In the former mode of viewing there's more of an internalization of the story (let's assume the film is a fictional narrative), more engagement with what's ultimately going on in the world on-screen. In the latter mode one is more prone to staying outside the boundaries of the diagesis, remaining grounded in the real world via talking, making jokes and references, et cetera. As one theorist - whose name I unfortunately can't remember - wrote, film's relation to a viewer is likened to that of a novel. (Bare with me, I'm getting to my point regarding television and sports.)
Now television works on a fundamentally different level in terms of spectatorship. For the most part television is produced as a medium that actually depends and thrives on a large audience, though to a large extent fictional television still retains many of the functions of film. Take a show like Battlestar Galactica, a terrific serial that invokes the same engagement with the diagetic universe created for the audience. You know you're not the only one watching, but, as you're watching and remaining engaged with the story you unconsciously negate that factor. It's okay, that's natural.
Sports, on the other hand, along with certain types of shows including newscasts and reality television, tend to work in the opposite manner. Whereas narrative fiction is all about engaging one-on-one with the content, sports use the content to invoke a sense of unity between the largely unseen audiences. Here, the sports event is the spectacle, but because sports are inherently about a kind of a shared pride akin to something like nationalism within a country, it automatically presupposes this notion of 'us' - as in 'our team'. Not only do fans stand behind their team, but they also stand alongside - though not literally, at least when watching on TV - countless others, forming a collective group of fans who also share the same experience. This experience isn't the same as the kind you get from a show or film, especially these days when select episodes are available for download at any given moment or available for purchase on DVD. No, sports events are based solely on a fleeting moment in time, one that is often forgotten barring any memorable moments. What remains usually is the effect, either of a win or a loss, that carries over to the next game and remains cumulative over the course of a season.
Take sports rivalries for example. Not only do they exist between the teams themselves, but fans also feel the same distaste for each other that the players do. And the fans tend to remember and relive old rivalries long after the players do in many cases - the San Jose Sharks and Calgary Flames have been rivals in the National Hockey League for years due to the Sharks besting the Flames in previous playoff series, and even though many players have come and gone in that time, the rivalry is still felt between the players, both rookies and veterans. And, of course, the fans on both sides have kept the 'flame' going (hur hur, pun!), due to the two teams facing each other in the 2008 playoffs.
You can see this unity most clearly at sports bars, with everyone huddled together watching the television screens, cheering their team on in hopes of a victory. The fans watching the game on TV automatically have a kind of affinity for the fans in attendance at the actual game in that they're all watching the same game at the same time, and cheering for the same team. Get it?
Yeah, it's getting late and my thoughts are starting to get a bit cloudy. I should get some sleep, not only because I have another early morning tomorrow, but because game five of the series between the Sharks and Flames is on tomorrow night. And you know I'll be watching, along with thousands of other Sharks fans. And with that, I give you ... Joe Thornton.
The other day my friend and his parents gave me a ride back to San Francisco, and along the way we stopped by Costco so they could get some food for Easter Sunday. As my friend and I browsed through the crappy selection of video games and mostly cheap films we stumbled upon a gold mine of cheap television boxsets for as low as $15 a pop. Granted, most are shows I've never really watched, but they did have all three seasons of both Arrested Development and Veronica Mars, two of the most intriguing shows I've seen in awhile. Needless to say, I wound up getting something (er, rather, my friend's parents got me something so now I owe them $16) - I decided on the first season of Arrested Development.
A year or two later, when I first upgraded to DSL and discovered torrents, I downloaded the second season of the show, but watching it by myself I could never get farther than a couple of episodes. My friends had long watched the season, so I was on my own. Eventually I just kind of stopped and forgot about the series. Until now, that is. My mom and I have been watching the first season together, and she really digs it as well. It's been fun to watch again, and I'm glad I bought it. Maybe sometime soon I'll head back and get the rest of the series. Real shame that it was canceled after only three.
Television series and serials are strange like that though, especially in the United States. Unlike films, we always seem to want TV shows to go on forever, even when they seem to get stale. Hell, I stopped watching The Simpsons a long time ago because it started getting boring; even The Office is going down that road too. There's just something about wanting to hold on to the experience that those shows bring, but ultimately that experience really just has to end, less the material gets old. In some ways I'm glad Ronald Moore straight-out told Sci-Fi that season four is the last season of Battlestar Galactica. As much as I love the series, I couldn't imagine how they'd possibly stretch it out for more than another season. I mean, they've done practically everything that can be done without repetition or continuity errors. While I'm sure all the fans are going to be sad with the show ending, at least the creators get to end it their own way, they get to end it right.
It's always the good, interesting, unique shows that tend to suffer. Arrested Development and Firefly are two more recent examples of good shows that went underappreciated by both networks and fans until long after their cancellation. It's really too bad, because they're shows that should've been able to go on longer; I would've much preferred a secon season of Firefly over Serenity, which didn't really provide the closure I was hoping for.
Television is definitely a realm that needs to be changed. The current network-dominated setup just doesn't allow for creativity these days, what with all the reality shows and crappy new sitcoms that won't ever be as popular or funny as their predecessors. Personally, I think we need to start thinking about alternative means, possibly using the internet or other public-funded channels. Sure, like film, television shows cost a lot of money to produce, but when has that ever stopped independent filmmakers from making good movies? Hell, you just need the same things - a camera, a crew, a cast, and material. TV shouldn't be seen as this horrible thing that's rotting the minds of kids and turning people into couch potatoes. Maybe it's what I learned from Prof. Hastie over the past year, but I'm starting more and more to see the vast potential for an alternative form of television, one that has yet to be cultivated. All it takes is a little embrace and ingenuity.
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