Monday, September 10, 2012

Skyrim-Job

I didn't end up playing Bethesda Studio's Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion until about four years after it came out.  In fact, I believe I played through Fallout 3 (a couple times) before I went back and cut my teeth on Oblivion.  I didn't have any specific aversion, and in fact I grew up on the RPG video game genre, after a very steep learning curve with the first ever RPG I ever played, Final Fantasy Legend III for the original Game Boy back in the 90's, back when Kurt Cobain was an up and commer making waves in the music scene, the Diet Coke "Just for the Taste of It" slogan was out in full force, and the sanctity of the sandwich was still intact, defined as foodstuffs between two slices of bread and not, as the execs over at KFC would now have us believe, meat between more meat with a side of MSG and carcinogens.

Final Fantasy Legend III was unlike any game I had ever played before, and as a young whippersnapper of maybe ten or eleven years of age who had mostly played side scrolling actioners, as well as some Artari classics like Yar's Revenge or Frogs and Flies, I was quickly overwhelmed.  It was Christmas Eve, and I eagerly tore open the box completely ignoring the unusually thick instruction book and fold-out reference chart, rammed the new game into my Gameboy, and promptly lost complete interest in the game after about half an hour of trying to figure out what the fuck was going on.  I believe I received the game as a gift from my aunt and then-uncle as a total lark, the random purchase of adults who had no clue about games or gaming culture.  They knew I had a Gameboy, they gave me a cartridge that apparently had compatible software, problem solved.  It was the same twisted logic used by the first man to shove a small mammal up his ass.  Lost and alone in the woods, running low on food and fresh water, looking for one last tender moment, our hiker stumbles upon an unsuspecting squirrel, which he deftly snatches up then after a quick mental calculation about the daily amount of calories a full grown human being needs to facilitate basic survival and maintain simple organ function (including sphincter control), decides that instead of trying to fillet, roast, and consume the furry bastard and merely prolong the inevitable, he mind as well have one last thrill before he shuffles off the mortal coil and since he's already discounted oral and digestive pleasure realizes that the only other orifice he has readily available to accommodate his unsuspecting new playmate is his anus, which has thankfully already begun to slacken due to severe malnutrition, drops his trousers, braces himself, then winds up for the pitch, because, hey, he's got a hole into which another object fits, so what's the difference, really?

Well, thankfully, things worked out better for me and my Gameboy than for our hiker friend.  Months later, in a fit of boredom, when I finally picked the game up again and actually gave FFLIII a chance, I became a lifelong addict of the RPG video game genre.  I actually had an embarrassingly long learning curve on my first RPG experience, as I seemed unable to beat the first major boss I came across.  Luckily, after much cursing, bashing of my head against the wall (both literally and metaphorically), and repeated failure, I somehow miraculously defeated my First Boss, and shortly thereafter discovered the importance of upgrading weapons and that all that "armour" stuff was actually quite useful.

Is that an indistinct group of pixels
on your screen or are you just happy
to see me?
I'm not sure if it was a stroke of luck or the Hand of Destiny, but thankfully Final Fantasy Legend III turned out to be a kick-ass game, that still holds up as one of my favourites to this very day.  For the amount of computing power they had to work with "back then" the developers of this particular little gem turned out a surprisingly immersive (and fairly long) gaming experience with an incredibly detailed and engaging narrative that set my expectations for the RPG genre extremely high.  After my long and trying initiation, I eventually expanded my world with such titles as Might and MagicDragon Warrior, Faxanadu, Crystalis, and Dragon Warrior IV (another of my personal favourites), and then with other legendary titles like Chronotrigger and Earthbound.  There were some missteps along the way, like the disappointing Final Fantasy Mystic Quest, but overall, video game role playing treated me far better than I likely deserved.

Fast forward to Christmas 2011.  Jolly old Saint Nick (the holiday icon that makes obesity fun!) pulled his head out of his ass and got me The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim just in time for Christmas.  This was actually perfect timing, as it let me continue a very special holiday tradition I started by accident a couple of years ago.  As it so happened, my wife ended up working on that fateful Christmas Eve, and after putting the kids to bed, I found myself alone and bored.  So, I decided to head on down to the basement and pop a little game called Knights of the Old Republic into ye olde Xbox 360 and give it a whirl.  KOTOR had been released for the original Xbox way back in 2003, so I was only about six years late to that party.  But as it turned out, the old adage "Better late than never" proved to be all too true.  KOTOR not only turned out to be another amazingly detailed RPG experience, but also the perfect way to spend the holiday season, away from crying kids, arguing relatives and the general grab-assery that tends to accompany these occasions.  I love my wife and kids, and it's really shitty for my wife when she has to work Christmas, but I have to admit that a quiet night of contemplation in the basement with some solid RPG video game action has become my preferred modus operandi for the most wonderful time of the year.

Of course it helps if the game is totally kick-ass, which Skyrim definitely is.  Skyrim is definitely not a large departure from the classic sword and sorcery RPG, and you get your typical array of weapons, armour, and magic.  I mean, let's be honest, nobody's reinventing the wheel genre-wise with Skyrim.  Like previous entries in the Elder Scrolls series, it sticks closely to its fantasy roots.  That's not to say it's not original.  I think of genre within the analogy of music, where musicians take something like the classic twelve bar blues progression, and then riff off of that shared thread and do something unique.

Simply put, Skyrim blows away (most of) the competition.  It is, perhaps, the most emmersive, intricately designed game world I have ever had the privilege to explore on any console.  It's just so fucking comprehensive.  Truly this is the next evolution in the video game RPG genre.  I use evolution in terms of a sense of progress.  It's so obvious that the folks over at Bethesda have taken what they've learned in previous games, and made significant improvements to the latest iteration.  Skyrim puts the RP back in RPG.

Case in point, Skyrim's levelling system, which has been completely revamped since Oblivion.  It seems like they took the best concepts from both Oblivion and Fallout 3, and combined them here.  What makes the levelling system in Skyrim better than Oblivion is the fact that it is totally customizable.  In Oblivion, depending on your class, you were kind of stuck having to boost the same half a dozen stats, with no real opportunity to branch out.  But in Skyrim, you don't choose a class like knight, or wizard, or haberdasher.  As you level up you get the chance to upgrade various skill trees with a system reminiscent of Fallout 3's Perks system, but a lot more in-depth, and with greater customization.  The result of which is a thing of beauty, both functionally and visually.     


Ohhhhhh, shiny
 The thing I love about Bethesda's take on levelling up is that it's deceptively simple.  To get better at a thing, you do that thing over and over again.  Kind of like... uh, what's that thing I'm thinking of... oh yeah, Real Life.  Gone are the days when you levelled up after receiving theoretical experience points after killing faceless monsters and ne'erdowells (although, senselessly murdering hordes of bad guys (or even good guys) still does give you a boost).  There are many aspects to the game, and not all of them involve wanton death and destruction.  I didn't learn until much later into my adventure how important things like enchanting and blacksmithery would become (hint: keep some leather around).

Just like the levelling system, the game play too is deceptively simple, yet disguised in such a way to make it engaging.  The central game mechanic in Skyrim is not the combat system (which, although satisfying, is nowhere near comprehensive, and one of the few aspects about the game I hope they'll overhaul for the inevitable sequel) or any other individual skill, but rather an overacrching, recurring narrative structure, something I've come to label as the Boomerang Mechanic.  When you break it down, each quest basically follows the same structure.  Some dude sends you on a quest, usually to find some ancient artifact, you go and retrieve said artifact, then return to the same motherfucker who sent you, much like a boomerang.  Which -especially for some of the smaller side quests- can wear on you and get a little repetitive.  For the main quest and the guild story lines, it's not nearly as glaring because the narrative is very engaging and you're waiting for twists and turns in the story, but when Mr. Joe Nobody off the street asks you to retrieve his +0 Generic Artifact of Plainness and bring it back to him for *random reasons*, you sometimes find yourself wishing there was a dialogue option for "Why should I give a fuck?"  There's nothing that says you have to complete this random quest, except, of course, for the existential reason "Because it's there" and also for the fact that it clogs up your quest menu with yet another quest.  Don't think I used the word "quest" enough in this paragraph.  Quest.

Narrative is an important part of any game, but perhaps in no genre more so than the RPG.  In a first person shooter, for example, the narrative only exists as a means to get me killing NPC's or my family and friends.  Wow, that last sentence would sound so wrong taken completely out of context and presented as evidence at a sanity hearing.  Just to be clear, I'm making a distinction here between the framed narrative and the ludonarrative, as defined by Tom Bissell in his book Extra Lives, which contains some incredible insights into the video game as an art form and the struggles game designers face moving forward as well as Bissell's own hard-to-shake coke habit.  Basically, the framed narrative is the narrative provided through expository dialogue, text, cut scenes, or through the structure and limits of the game itself whereas the ludonarrative is essentially the unique gameplay experience that each player has as he interacts within the limits (however they are defined) of the game world.  The problem, as Bissell points out, is the disconnect between the two, and difficulty of bridging that gap, a problem not entirely dissimilar from reconciling a feuding pimp and his ho.  Or maybe it's entirely different, I don't know.  The pimping game has changed a lot since I left.

The main problem, especially when dealing with more narratively complex, open-world games, is that the chasm between the framed narrative and the ludonarrative has a tendency to become more apparent.  In part, this is because the parameters of the framed narrative are rigid, having been determined and set in digital stone by the programmers and developers months or even years before a player even interacts with the game world, while the ludonarrative is fluid and may produce unforeseen variables or consequences via either a technical glitch, or a loophole created by an oversight on the part of the authors.  At some point or another, these two narrative components just don't seem to mesh properly.  One solution to this would be some kind of advanced, super-intelligent AI which continually developed the framed narrative in accordance with the player's actions in the ludonarrative, in essence a story which wrote itself as you read it.  As you can tell from the italics in the last sentence, this idea seems far too insane to even be feasible, plus the super-intelligent AI would probably go all Skynet on us and plunge humanity into an epic battle for survival (instead of travelling back in time a couple hundred million years and just wiping out all the cave-folks before they became a problem... but then humanity would never have existed to build Skynet in the first place!  Oh my god!  The TERMINATOR time travelling assassination thing kind of almost makes sense.  Because of causality, the machines can't just alter the past all willy nilly; they have to be strategic and precise... of course, it was only because of the original T-800 going back in time that Cyberdyne Systems got a hold of terminator technology and built Skynet in the first place.  Curse you, time paradoxes!).

While it's important for the framed narrative and the ludonarrative to mesh for any game, RPG are specifically driven by narrative, so the concern becomes paramount.  It's a philosophical and technological conundrum that may not be solved any time soon, and the only strategy now is to mitigate any particularly jarring disconnects, which is achieved admirably in Skyrim.  Basically all this to say that the narrative in Skyrim is engaging and coherent.

One of the ways games -and particularly RPGs- try to branch out narratively is by having different endings based on choices made within the game, perhaps the most notorious example of recent years being the Mass Effect trilogy.  But Bethesda took a different approach than Bioware and dared to ask that unspoken question that hung on our lips and in the air:

What is better than a game with multiple endings?

And they then dared to answer:

Dude, how about a game that never ends?

Having never played an MMO, I'm not sure how the quest system works in those types of games, but for a console RPG, I've never witnessed such a spectacle.  With Skyrim's revolutionary new Infinite Quest Generator System* (*not the actual name), the game just randomly generates quests, and then then continues to pummel you with them, over, and over again, until it wears you down into a mere husk of your former self, then takes that husk, crushes it into dust, incinerates the dust, then scatters your ashes into the far reaches of the galaxy, there to float in an endless sea of purgatory from which no mortal has ever escaped.

I suppose it's all an attempt on the part of game makers to game-ify life.  Nowhere is this more evident (except, of course, for games like The Sims) is this more evident than in a game like Skyrim.  What open-ended, open-world games like this allow you to do is, in one way, create your own game within the game, that has nothing to do with the original game.  It's all very meta.  You can game-ify elements of a game that have nothing to do with the intended rules or limits of that game which, in turn, had already game-ified elements of an even larger game better known as Your Life, that have nothing to do with the intended rules or limits of that game. For instance, thanks to the internet, I now know about a player who just goes around robbing people and leaving a vegetable as a calling card.  I can't unknow that.  You could literally go through an in-game cookbook, buy or collect the necessary ingredients, and sit around and cook vegetable soup for eight hours.  Or read thousands of pages on the history of an imaginary world.  Or collect scores upon scores of dinner plates.  Why the hell not?

In attempting to draw inspiration from the real world and incorporate them into their games, developers have attempted to create something as engaging as real life.  The result is actually much better than life, because it can keep going long after you die.  It then becomes less a case of casual gaming, and more a case of anthropological study.  The games we play may well be some of the only evidence passed on for posterity, documents your progeny will ponder over to try and get a sense of their own history.  What will your grandchildren learn about you from your saved files?  That you had a strange fascination with discarded brooms or calipers?  And how weird is it that they will be able to step into the lives of their grandparents and continue living them, continuing on their lifes' work?  It's actually kind of creepy.


Fuck yeah!
 Bottom line, Skyrim fucking rocked.  It embodied everything I've come to love about my video game RPG experience, and then added a bunch of stuff I didn't even know I loved yet.  Like werewolves.  Did I mention that you can become a werewolf?  The game is far too detailed to explore every aspect of it here, and if you're a (video) gamer, and especially if you love the RPG genre, and you haven't already played this for some reason, then pick this shit up now.  Skyrim is and easy 10/10 and in my list of top ten games ever.




10 Things I Learned From Skyrim

1. You can make dragons your bitch, but giants will continue to fucking own you.  Bullshit!
2. Double fisting - uncomfortable in the bedroom, great when casting spells or wielding weapons.
3. Giant fireballs burn friend and foe alike. 
4. Just like in real life, children are indestructible.  I really wish Skyrim would let me build my armour out of children bones instead of dragon bones.
5. Hundreds of pounds of metal armour in no way hamper buoyancy.
6. Transforming into a werewolf is totally awesome!... unless you want to talk to people, recover health at a decent rate, or not randomly get attacked by every random buttfuck in Skyrim who, no matter their differences, seem to be singularly united in their hatred of werewolves.
7. The best way to determine the properties of random plants you pick is to eat them indiscriminately.  Which is great, because I have these mushrooms growing in my bathroom, and I wanted to figure out if they were poisonous.
8. Not even saving the entirety of existence from certain destruction will result in a discount in goods or services from your local merchants.  Nope.  Nada.  Not even a free goddamn cup of celebratory ale at the local pub.
9. Blacksmithing is, perhaps, the easiest trade ever conceived of.
10. All bandits hide out in caves, and all caves contain bandits.  And sometimes ghosts.
    

Friday, August 17, 2012

Wherefore Art Thou Scully?

The surroundings were all too familiar.  I found myself in a small, cramped office deep in the bowels of some old building.  It had two desks, one for each of its occupants.  There were several filing cabinets, and boxes upon boxes of files for which there were no room in any cabinets.  No room at the inn.  In one corner there was an old-school, carousel-style slide show projector and a small, beat-up pull-down screen, like the kind found in high school classrooms.  It was a relic from an earlier time.  A simpler time.

In the standard white ceiling tiles over one of the desks a multitude of pencils were stuck, lead-first into the soft foam.  Presumably, they had been launched at the ceiling out of boredom by the owner of the desk, missiles with direction, but no purpose except to kill time.  But time cannot be killed.  Only cheated.  In the time it took for those pencils to find their mark, entire civilizations rose and fell, galaxies were born and destroyed, and the agonies and ecstasies of a thousand generations were played out on the cosmic stage.

My eyes finally settled on a poster that had been hung on the wall amidst several bulletin boards loaded to the brim with newspaper clippings and other miscellaneous scraps of paper.  On this poster was a picture of a UFO -the classic flying saucer- and the words I WANT TO BELIEVE boldy emblazoned underneath in glowing white caps, perhaps the most inspiring four words ever committed to paper in any language.

Finally, I realised where I was.

I was in the basement of the FBI headquarters in Washington, DC. 

I was in the office of the X Files department.

And I was alone with agent Dana Scully.

For any boy growing up in the 90's, there was perhaps no female sci-fi sex symbol more deeply ingrained in his consciousness than Special Agent Scully.  Buffy the Vampire Slayer ran a close second. (And if I had to pick, Counselor Deana Troi would probably have rounded out the top three.  Wait, Xena was pretty hot too.)  Perhaps it was Scully's good looks coupled with her unmatched intellect, brought to glorious fruition by the unmatched acting abilitiy of Gillian Anderson.  Perhaps it was the fact that she carried a gun and handcuffs, and could punish or detain you if necessary.  Or, perhaps teenage boys are just really, really horny.  Either way, I have no doubt that the hours of my youth spent watching Scully on The X Files was the origin of my lifelong fascination with redheads (for purely intellectual reasons).

I rarely remember my dreams, and even more rarely am I able to remain lucid in my dreams, but now I was (literally) in the middle of a straight 90's male teenager's wet dream come true.  I was in full control of my faculties, alone in my mind with a 90's sexual icon who I could bend to my every sexual whim.

Or so I thought.

It wasn't long before the illustrious Dr. Dana Scully turned around, voicelessly discussing some unsolved case with me, and I realized that I was not in complete control of my dream.  I was lucid enough only to know that I was dreaming.  And what a bizarre dream it turned out to be.  Everything about Scully was the same as I remembered from the show -the blazing red hair, the impeccably stylish pant suit, even the FBI ID badge- except for one, slightly minor detail.

Scully had a beard.

It was still Scully, and she was still a woman.  She also just happened to have a full beard.  And it wasn't like stuble or a five o'clock shadow.  It was a full-on beard, probably a couple weeks worth of scruffy growth and it was red.  Not exactly the same colour red as her hair, just slightly darker as beards tend to be.  And just like that my one shot at a single passionate night of wild love making with Special Agent Dana Scully instead turned into a contemplative examination of current Western ideals of beauty.

Just like that we were in a hospital.  Scully was now wearing medical scrubs and a white medical gown, and still silently speaking to me.  Or maybe she was making sounds but I couldn't hear them.  Her mouth kept making the forms of words, but without sound I had no idea what she was trying to communcate.

And still the beard.

I can still remember in the midst of my dream trying to reconcile the fact that despite the beard this was still Scully and she was still hot.  I remember trying to figure out why a bearded lady felt so natural in this universe I had created, especially since I was conscious of the fact that I was dreaming and I knew it was not genetically natural for human females in the twentieth century to sport full beards.  Yet here was a bearded Scully, and I wasn't disgusted, nor were there other characters pointing out the absurdity of it.  And I knew that in this universe a bearded woman wasn't unusual.  In fact, the strangest part of the dream was the fact that it didn't feel strange.  The remainder of the dream was spent with me trying to understand how the genetic and social norms (ie. women with beards) of both the dream world and the world I awoke to in the morning could somehow both coexist peacefully in my subconscious without seeming to contradict themselves.

When I awoke, I recall thinking how strange it was that I remembered my dreams, which usually fade long before the morning sun peeks out over the horizon.  It wasn't until about a day and a half later that the possible implications of the Bearded Scully Dream began to hit me.  Where else had I seen bright red hair and a beard paired together before?  Then the terrible thought occured to me:

What if my dream had not been a twisted fantasy about Dana Scully/Gillian Anderson?  What if it had actually been about some deep-seated homoerotic desire for Eric Stoltz?




The lovely Ms. Anderson...
...and the incomparable Mr. Stoltz.
I'm still not sure exactly what my dream was really about, or if it was really about anything at all.  Even if it was about Mr. Stoltz, I'm pretty sure I could do worse.  I'm also secure in the fact that my heterosexuality is still holding steady at about 85%.

Even so, I don't think I'll ever watch PULP FICTION the same again.

I've also been left with the following philosophical conundrum: Would a Scully by any other manifestation still  be Scully?  Was I dreaming about Scully with a beard, or was I dreaming about a beard that just happened to end up on Scully's face?  And if it wasn't Scully I was dreaming about, then who or what was it?  These are the questions that will plague my waking hours.
 

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Battle Royale With Cheese

For a few individuals, notoriety is not a curse, but a gift.  Notoriety is a cruel mistress. Some are broken under her stiletto heel, while others seem to thrive. And there's no way to know where you reside on that scale until Fate's Dominatrix straps on her skin-tight leather outfit, ties you to a chair, slaps that weird leather mask with the zipper for the mouth on your head, and pulls out her whip. When that happens, only two things are certain: 1) in this game, there is no safety word, and 2) your life will be irrevocably changed from that point forward, for better or worse.

Despite a general broadening of horizons, widespread desensitization to concepts traditionally constructed as provocative, and technological and social advancements allowing for more open discourse, true artistic notoriety is still far from being an endangered species. This is due in large part to two basic human urges: 1) the urge to take offence at almost anything and 2) the urge to rebel against authority or to construct our identity as opposed to the mainstream and so remain "unique."

Wednesday, August 01, 2012

Rising Prospects Amidst Pleas for the Apocalypse... Spoilers for Life. Deep Thoughts, Wounded Souls, and Freaks Like Me

**NOTE: EXTREME SPOILERZ APLENTY**

After waiting four long years for Christopher Nolan's third installment in his seminal Batman feature film franchise, I could hardly believe it when I finally found myself sitting in the theatre waiting for THE DARK KNIGHT RISES to start.  Not content to simply create the best superhero film of its time with BATMAN BEGINS, Nolan sought to redefine not only an entire genre of films but also to remind us that the term "summer blockbuster" did not have to be used solely in the derogatory.  With THE DARK KNIGHT, Nolan  created some kind of strange, new hybrid that had the action, excitement, and scale of a blockbuster film but that was tempered with depth, substance, and integrity.  THE DARK KNIGHT was grand in the scope not only of its cinematic vision but also in terms of theme and philosophy.  It dealt with sweeping themes of morality, the nature of right and wrong, good versus evil, and self-sacrifice.  Amidst all the action and explosions (of which there were many), Nolan gave us a culturally significant piece of art that cut to the core of universal themes that humanity has been wrestling with since (*insert chronological hyperbole here*) with the insight and resonance usually reserved for ancient Greek dramas, Shakespearean tragedies, and certain HBO shows.  THE DARK KNIGHT was an independent art house flick with all the trappings of a Hollywood blockbuster without succumbing to the pretension of the former or the hubris of the latter.  It was simultaneously entertaining, emotionally poignant, and intellectually stimulating.  Nolan showed the world that it was possible to maintain artistic integrity (however you choose to define it) in as bloated and self-serving a medium as there ever was and to engage audiences both viscerally and cognitively.

In short, THE DARK KNIGHT was a game changer.

Of course the problem with THE DARK KNIGHT having been such an excellent film (if you consider excellence to be a problem) was that Nolan had set the bar so high that it was as inevitable as Icarus falling from the sky or getting laid at the prom that he could not hope to soar to those heights again.  He could get close, but how often does one achieve virtual perfection?  How could any movie, even another made by Nolan in the same universe, ever hope to match or even exceed the remarkably high standards he himself had set?  And as part of the audience going to witness this final chapter, how could I not help but compare THE DARK KNIGHT RISES with its predecessor THE DARK KNIGHT?  THE DARK KNIGHT RISES -as with any text- must be considered in the context in which it was produced, and a large part of that context is derived from THE DARK KNIGHT (and, of course, BATMAN BEGINS).  There are some who would shy away from comparisons between the two cinematic titans, because they're "too different," like comparing apples and a completely different kind of apples.  Some would say it isn't "fair" to compare TDKR to TDK because TDK was so special and so unique that TDKR couldn't possibly measure up, but I say that it is not only fair but necessary.  How is it unfair to compare a Nolan-helmed, Bale-starring Batman film to another Nolan-helmed, Bale-starring Batman film?  What the fuck is unfair about upholding a standard of excellence?

Of course, most of this trepidation was the result of the fanboy (sorry, fanperson) urge to preemptively defend a piece of art that some feared might not live up to their incredibly high expectations.  It was rationalization at it's worst ("If THE DARK KNIGHT RISES isn't as good THE DARK KNIGHT it's because almost nothing can be that good, so each movie has to be considered on its own merits.") which smacked of the self-righteous and a defeatist attitude as fans simultaneously hoped for an opus of epic proportions yet braced for some kind of vague sense of failure.  Success does funny things to people's brains, even brains that had nothing to do with it in the first place.  Unlike failure, it seems there are always people willing to help others bear the terrible burden of success.  Nobody ever wants to give Atlas a break.

I must admit to experiencing just a touch of that same trepidation mixed in with my excitement.  The concept of THE DARK KNIGHT RISES as a film had become an exercise in What If's.  What if it wasn't as good as THE DARK KNIGHT?  What if it wasn't good at all?  What if Nolan succumbed to the (supposed) third movie curse?  What if Heath Ledger hadn't died before this trilogy was complete?  What if.  Going to see Nolan's third Batman film for the third time had become a mental exercise of trying to juggle all of my uncertainties and the doubts of lesser men that had begun to grow in my mind like so many tumours. (Yes, I know Arnold, it's not a tumour.  It's a simile.)  The real mental exercise then became letting go of all of that bullshit and just experiencing the movie.

And what an experience it was.

It's difficult for me to describe how I feel about THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, even now, just over a week since I've seen it.  There's so much that's still uncertain.  The only clear emotion I can remember is the one on the drive home, which was an overwhelming sense of depression.  Not because the movie was terrible or because my expectations were not met, but because after witnessing something like THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, everything else seems so dull and small and insubstantial by comparison.  It wasn't until after the credits rolled that I got the sense of what had really happened.  I had been washed away in some strange tide and dragged out into an ocean, a world almost too vast, too grand to comprehend or take in.  The depression washed over me as the tide receded and I was deposited back on the shore of this world.  I felt as though for those two hours and forty-four minutes my mind had been expanded in order to take in Nolan's grand vision, and then afterwards had retracted again, though not to its original scope so that I still felt like there was something missing, some empty part of me that had not even existed before, yearning to be filled again.

There was one thought I had on the hour or so ride home (the nearest IMAX theatre was over an hour away from where I lived, though I felt (quite rightly, it turned out) that this particular mission necessitated the extra travel time, baffling my wife who couldn't understand what was wrong with the theatre that was literally a two minute walk from our front door) that stuck with me.  The thought came to me unbidden (or perhaps bidden by forces beyond my perception) that beauty was the conscious or unconscious willingness in a specific instance to believe in the illusion of perfection.  It was the active decision to either overlook or accept a specific subset of imperfections in the face of otherwise overwhelming grandeur.  Beauty was the abandonment of what is to the possibility of what could be: ignoring what you know to be true in favour of what you hope to be true until, eventually, what you hope becomes what you know, or crumbles under the weight of disillusionment.  I shit you not.  These are the exact thoughts, verbatim, that ricocheted around the inside of my skull after watching THE DARK KNIGHT RISES.  I knew at that moment that I had experienced art.  It was something substantial.  It was more than "just a summer blockbuster."  I can remember very few pieces of art that have actually inspired me into profound philosophical musings about the nature of beauty and art and my perception of the world as a whole.  This may sound like exaggeration or hyperbole, and to a certain extent it may be, but it is nonetheless still true.  Of course, it might also be argued that this thought was my own twisted form of rationalization for enjoying THE DARK KNIGHT RISES despite the "flaws" in the film that some people have pointed out and a desperate attempt to maintain the pedestal on which I have placed Nolan and all of his artistic endeavours.  I would argue to the contrary, however, I am not privy to the inner workings of my own psyche, so I could not argue the point with complete certainty.

One thing I am certain of, however, is that Nolan's Batman movies have, in my mind, become the seminal motion picture trilogy of our generation.  These films are game changers in the way that the original STAR WARS trilogy was a game changer, in terms of thematic significance, technological innovation, and narrative scope.  In fact, I would have to say that THE DARK KNIGHT trilogy supplants the STAR WARS trilogy's number one spot.  Nolan's DARK KNIGHT trilogy is like the STAR WARS trilogy if A NEW HOPE was more emotionally engaging, and instead of RETURN OF THE JEDI there was THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK Part II which incorporated all the emotional catharsis and all the best parts of JEDI such as Luke's badassery and Leia in her slave girl outfit.  And then imagine that A NEW HOPE, THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK I and THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK II (THE EMPIRE RISES?  THE RISE OF THE JEDI?) were more coherently unified in terms of theme and narrative and you will only begin to understand the truly impressive nature of Nolan's monumental achievement.
And 1,2,3, and 1,2,3...See?  You'll be ready for the
big dance competition in no time

In fact, there were certain times where I felt the influence or the intertextuality between STAR WARS and THE DARK KNIGHT trilogy.  The way THE DARK KNIGHT and THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK both ended on kind of a downer for our heroes.  In fact, in both of these second entries the bad guy seems to have the good guys on the ropes the whole time.  Both sequels also contain the only real love story in their respective trilogies.  In THE DARK KNIGHT RISES there is an early fight scene with Bane that is reminiscent of Luke's battles with Darth Vader in both EMPIRE and RETURN OF THE JEDI.  Bane and Batman battle along a catwalk overlooking a precipice as did Luke and Vader in EMPIRE, and like that movie, here the bad guy definitely had the upper hand.  Then in the same fight Batman hides in the shadows much as Luke does in JEDI, as their respective antagonists taunt them with bad guy shit.  Both protagonists feel the pain as Vader and Bane both wreak physical pain upon their enemies, though Batman/Bruce Wayne's punishment is definitely more severe.  A friend drew an interesting comparison between the way the rebels used cables to bring down the AT-ATs at the battle of Hoth and the way Batman used cables to bring down the Joker's transport in THE DARK KNIGHT.  The point here isn't to say that THE DARK KNIGHT trilogy owes a debt to STAR WARS and contradict my earlier assertions about the superiority of the former films over the latter, but rather as an example of how richly woven Nolan's narratives are with the cultural fabric of our time.

I have to mention here how fitting a character Bane was for the final installment.  Out of respect to the late Heath Ledger, and his performance of a lifetime as the Joker, Nolan's film doesn't even mention the Joker.  Some people get stuck on this point and are baffled that the Joker is not around.  In keeping with Nolan's themes of realism, I offer this solution:  Guantanamo Fucking Bay.  You really think the U.S. government is going to let a known terrorist hang out in a low security mental institution?  And as for no mention of him; how often do you hear about Osama Bin Laden on a daily basis now that he's out of the picture?  Suck on it.

Where THE DARK KNIGHT RISES would have gone were it not for Ledger's untimely demise is a source of endless and tantalizing speculation, however where it did go with Tom Hardy stepping in as Bane is as great a destination as any we could have speculated about.  Any worries the media stirred up about his voice were completely unfounded, and Hardy was both menacing and creepy in the role.  Some reviewers have talked about how hard it was for Hardy to "emote" as Bane, as if wearing a mask somehow detracted from the character.  That would be like saying Darth Vader was somehow less of a badass because his face was covered.  He looks menacing, he sounds menacing, and he... tastes menacing, I assume.

Not only that, but just like previous villains in Nolan's Batman universe, Bane was the embodiment of the theme of this film.  In BATMAN BEGINS Nolan's theme was fear, represented perfectly by both the Scarecrow (also with a nice cameo in TDKR, by the way) and Ra's Al Ghul.  The Joker in THE DARK KNIGHT actually verbally evokes Nolan's theme of chaos, claiming to be its agent.  And in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES where the theme is pain, Bane both dishes out a great deal, but also suffers from chronic, crippling pain which is why he wears the mask that dispenses some kind of pain killer in aerosol form.

More than that, Bane was the perfect villain to round out the series because he really was the yin to Batman's yang.  Bane is basically what Bruce Wayne would have become had he decided to kill that peasant dude in the first movie that Ra's Al Ghul wanted him to execute.  Like Bruce Wayne, Bane was trained by the League of Shadows, though unlike Bruce, Bane was excommunicated for being too extreme.  Both Bane and Batman represent two extremes, two sides of the same coin if you will, and it cannot be coincidence that the design of Bane's mask is almost exactly the opposite of Batman's cowl, revealing his eyes and the upper part of his face while Batman covers the top of face and reveals his mouth.  This contrast really brings to mind classic battle of good versus evil.

And while THE DARK KNIGHT RISES does deal with timeless themes of good versus evil, it is also, like its predecessors, a very timely film.  Part of Nolan's genius is the same genius that permeates the art of The Beatles.  Even their seemingly frivolous pop songs about holding hands or a hypothetical eighth day of the week which now seem heavily (out)dated and so much a product of their time, have a certain timeless quality about them.  In THE DARK KNIGHT RISES Nolan explores several culturally relevant themes that pervade the current Western zeitgeist.  One of the big themes Nolan explores is class conflict, where the exploited Marxist masses are put squarely at odds with the decadent, out of touch bourgeois, with clear battle lines being drawn.  This is clearly tapping into a sense of unrest in Western cultures that stems from societies evolving from an economic mosaic into a bipartisan scale with the two extremes -filthy rich and disgustingly poor- increasingly looking like the only viable options.  The erosion of the middle class at the hands of the self-indulgent, indignant, out of touch, economic elite, has lead to massive protests, the most famous of which so far has been the Occupy Wall Street movement, which, while accomplishing nothing, at least brought to light the growing sense of disparity many people are sensing.
That is one fine looking pussy... cat

Another response to current cyber culture is the Blank Slate computer program that Selina Kyle (AKA not Catwoman) is desperately searching for.  Basically the program is a digital holy grail that somehow manages to erase all digital traces of a person, essentially wiping out all record of their existence and, depending on the point of view of the target, is either an extreme inconvenience or, as the name suggests, a chance to escape one's past and start over fresh.  This, of course, taps in to contemporary concerns that have perhaps become most personified in social networking sites like Facebook, where every comment you write, and every picture posted of you no matter how compromising or scandalous is basically there for all of eternity for all the world to see.  More so for teenagers who grew up with Facebook and didn't consider the long term implications of posting pictures of themselves playing Rock Band naked with crude images of dicks drunkenly stenciled all over their exposed flesh with a felt tipped marker.  This generation of kids view social media in a totally different light than the generation of adults who will be running the workforce they will be stepping into.  The youth of today see social networking as a form of free expression and a means to engage with friends completely segmented from "the real world."  The current sense of things is that what happens on Facebook stays on Facebook.  Not so for those mourning the loss of their youth and who live in a parallel world where terms like "responsibility" and "accountability" become not only creed and contract, but also (sometimes) necessary burdens born by a grim coalition of the unwilling.  Neither side is incorrect, but there is still the fear that an errant Tweet can kill a budding career just as surely as a .44 Magnum will blow your head clean off.


But unlike other narratives, Nolan's universe holds no easy answers.  The overthrowing of the 1% at the hands of the 99%, which seems like a Marxist wet dream finally come to glorious fruition under the careful manipulation of Bane, and seems like it should be immensely satisfying to watch, is instead unsettling and deeply disturbing.  While storming the castles of the wealthy and plundering their spoils would be extremely satisfying, and in many senses just, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES shows that mindless looting and anarchy are not as appealing as they might seem.  You unseat the wealthy and punish them, and what then?  The same is true of the Blank Slate program which erases one's past.  The question posed by this movie is not only what one might do to start over, but what one might do if one could start over.  There's no program to erase one's own memories.  What we do with our future is at least as important as what we have done in our past.  At what point do you have to put aside worries about your past and move on?

There are no easy answers.  I've read a lot of reviews, and one of the things that the detractors seem to not like about THE DARK KNIGHT RISES is that it seemingly contradicts the themes of THE DARK KNIGHT.  I couldn't help but think that perhaps we had watched two different movies (has somebody already copyrighted THE DICK KNIGHT RISES?  Totally called it.  Pay up, porn peddlers.).  What I saw in TDKR was a continuation and evolution of the themes set out in TDK.  For instance there's Wayne/Batman's speech at the end of TDK where he says something along the lines of "Because sometimes the truth isn't good enough.  Sometimes people deserve more.  Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded."  And then he takes the blame for Harvey Dent AKA Two Face's crimes so the criminals put away by Dent as Gotham's DA will stay in jail and not have their lawyers spring them on a technicality like the guy who put them there was actually a murdering psychopath.  Then in TDKR we are shown the extreme  to which the pendulum has swung as hardened criminals are being put away by the barrelful in Blackgate Prison and held indefinitely.  I believe one or more characters mention the violation of the inmates' civil liberties.  Again, tying in to the timeliness of THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, this speaks to anxieties surrounding institutions such as Guantanamo Bay and the huge breech of civil liberties that was (and is) the Patriot Act.  Is a violation of civil liberties a necessary sacrifice to maintain law and order?  These are the types of questions THE DARK KNIGHT RISES evokes.

This is not a contradiction of the themes of THE DARK KNIGHT.  Sometimes people deserve more than the truth.  The corollary which Batman and Police Commissioner Jim Gordon never considered at the end of THE DARK KNIGHT is that sometimes people also deserve the truth.  For both Gordon and Batman/Bruce Wayne that delicate balance becomes ever more into question in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES even before Bane arrives in Gotham and the shit hits the fan.  Both Wayne and Gordon have had to bear the full weight of the lie that helped clean up the city.  For Gordon that meant losing his family who has moved away, and for Wayne his raison d'etre, and for both an extremely troubled conscience.  Bale and Oldman do a fantastic job of showing how this burden has eaten away at both of them, and both of their characters really feel like hollowed out shells of men.  Gordon seems especially troubled as he has to continue to heap praise on the man who was moments away from murdering his son.  This evolution from rewarding faith by lying for the greater good and the ends justifying the means to trusting that people are strong enough to endure the truth and bear the burden without breaking reflects an evolution in the characters and marks a shift from a more youthful idealism to the weary pragmatism of experience.  As people evolve, their needs sometimes evolve as well.  At the time of Dent's death it was important to reward people's faith, to give people hope, but as time and circumstances progressed it may also have become necessary to reveal the deception and (more importantly) the reasons for it, and trust that the majority of people would have seen the need for it at the time and allow them to move on.

And it is precisely this lack of trust that in part leads to Gotham's downfall.  Another so-called contradiction that critics point out has to do with one of the final scenes of THE DARK KNIGHT where two boats loaded with people -one with your average Joe Citizen and one with convicted felons- are rigged with a literal boat load of explosives and each boat has the detonator for the other boat's bomb.  The Joker informs them that whoever blows up the other boat first will live and if neither boat makes a choice then both will go boom.  Batman doesn't seem too concerned because he has faith in the people of Gotham, and that despite the Joker's assertion that given the opportunity there is no limit to how far so-called civilized people will sink:

"You see, their morals, their code, it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. I'll show you. When the chips are down, these... these civilized people, they'll eat each other. See, I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve."

In THE DARK KNIGHT the Joker tries his damnedest, but in the end his hypothesis seemed to be disproved by the folks on the boats who resist his sociological mindfuck.  Like Batman, who endured the Joker's demands to reveal his identity despite his promise to kill people until he did so, the people on the boats endured the fear and chaos that the Joker attempted to spread.  For critics the contradiction to the courage of Gotham's conviction is how seemingly easy it is for Bane to break the collective spirit of the citizens of Gotham City where the Joker previously failed. 

Well, it wasn't that fucking easy.  It took eight years of apathy and complacency to erode the hearts and minds of Gotham's citizenry.  With the Joker gone and the Dent Act in place allowing the cops to tackle crime unfettered from the shackles of due process, Gotham became an extremely safe, comfortable place to live.  Eight years later, with crime rates at an all time low and growing socioeconomic disparity (which had been addressed in the previous two films) the city, much like Wayne and Gordon, was eroding from the inside out. The point made in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES is that the people had not remained vigilant. It's the old cliche that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance. So when Bane comes in and starts off with his Marxist rhetoric about liberation from the oppression of the socioeconomic elite after appropriating a nuclear weapon and trapping the bulk of the GCPD underground, it's no stretch of the imagination that mass panic and group mentality would lead to uncharacteristically criminal behaviour on a large scale. There is ample historical evidence of looting and rioting on a mass scale in the wake of a disaster. The Joker was right to a certain degree. When the chips were down low enough, civilized people were capable of falling, of committing the very crimes they themselves had endured. Indeed, the people of Gotham were "only as good as the world allows them to be." Whereas Joker's full on assault came up against the people's resolve to resist falling prey to the same temptations as their enemies, Bane brought on an assault, but also preyed upon weaknesses already present in the fortification. The Joker tried to manipulate through sheer chaos, where Bane used chaos and calculated manipulation.

(Since we're on the subject (sort of), allow me to respond to another criticism of THE DARK KNIGHT RISES which revolves around Bane's (and apparnently Talia's) plan to destroy Gotham City.  Some critics cry foul and ask why Bane just didn't blow up the city with the IND (Improvised Nuclear Device) instead of letting anarchy rule for five months or so.  Thankfully, this is an easy one.  It's the same reason Ra's Al Ghul planned to release the airborn toxin in Gotham in BATMAN BEGINS and have the city "tear itself apart through fear."  He wanted to make an example of Gotham (the "world's most powerful city" and an obvious metaphor for New York) for the rest of the world, to weed out evil on the ground floor, but also to reign in the hubris of the rest of civilization.  Just like they had supposedly done in Rome and Constantinople and London, the League of Shadows wanted to make an example of Gotham for the rest of the world.  So, in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, the point of Bane's plan isn't just to break the spirits of Gotham's citizens (though it's a nice perk to help torture Bruce Wayne), but to demonstrate to the world how the spirits of any population can be broken.  It was a warning to the world to take heed of the corruption brewing beneath the surface and for other communities to take heed of their own arrogance when it came to letting evil fester.  So, yeah, it made total sense for Bane, who was trying to fulfill the legacy of the League of Shadows, to not only destroy the city, but also to first break its spirit, and break it for all the world to see to try and maintain "balance" in society.)

This is not to say that Bane was necessarily more badass or more intelligent than the Joker, merely that Bane was able to help fulfill Joker's prophesy.  After assaults by Ra's Al Ghul, the Joker, and finally Bane, there's only so much one city can take.  The themes in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES don't contradict the ones in THE DARK KNIGHT; they merely expand upon them, showing how even the steeliest of resolves can erode over time without the proper care.  The people of Gotham had lost their way.  Despite the public debate over the morality of vigilante justice that Batman's actions sparked and mixed public reaction, he had still become a symbol of hope and strength.  What Batman represented was the ability of an "ordinary" citizen being able to stand strong in the face of injustice and evil and even fight back and punch evil in the face a couple of times, or maybe give him a good kidney shot or break a few ribs.  In THE DARK KNIGHT RISES when Bruce Wayne is talking to Detective John Blake about wearing the mask, one of the reasons he gives is that "Batman could be anybody."  Assuming the identity of Batman wasn't just about Bruce Wayne concealing his identity for pragmatic reasons; the anonymity it created allowed people to see themselves in the role of Batman and feel empowered.  Another reason that the people of Gotham fell victim to Bane's manipulation was that they had lost that inspiration.  Batman was the immovable object to Joker's unstoppable force, but in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES the hope and inspiration that Batman as symbol represented was absent.  And the revelation of Harvey Dent's true actions (ie. murder death killing) is brought to light, the last remnant of hope is taken from the people of Gotham.

Thematically, this fits in with one of the overall themes of THE DARK KNIGHT trilogy, the idea of rising after a fall.  In BATMAN BEGINS when a young Bruce Wayne falls down an old well, breaks his arm, and gets attacked by a bunch of bats, his father passes on this bit of wisdom: "Why do we fall, Bruce?  So we can learn to pick ourselves up again."  The idea of hope and perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds.  When looking at Nolan's movies, and especially his Batman trilogy, at first glance they appear to be very dark, narratively speaking.  But if you really look closely and dig deeper, I think that overall his movies have a very positive if sometimes very grim message.  Yes, bad things are going to happen to you.  Yes, life might break you.  But in the midst of all that despair, it is possible to persevere, and to rise.  THE DARK KNIGHT RISES offers a more complete answer to Thomas Wayne's rhetorical question.

Why do we fall?

So we can learn to pick ourselves up again.

And so we, in turn, can help others pick themselves back up.

One of the most striking images in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES is the view from the prison where Bane exiles Bruce Wayne/Batman after breaking (or at least severely injuring) his back.  In a brilliant callback to the well Bruce Wayne toppled down as a youngster, the defining feature of the subterranean facility where Wayne is imprisoned by Bane is a large circular shaft (It's so huge!  Can I touch it?) leading directly to the surface and, potentially, freedom.  As Bane tells Bruce Wayne why this is the worst prison in the world he explains that it is because of the hope that is dangled just out of reach of the prisoners, and "Without hope there cannot be true despair."  Once again, Bruce finds himself in a subterranean hell, only this time his father isn't there to help pull him out.  He has to climb along the uneven walls of the shaft himself to rise to the surface, a feat which only one other before him has laid claim to.  There is one more image as Bruce Wayne finally manages to scale the prison walls (oh, fuck off, you knew he would) that is subtle yet powerful.  Before he wanders out back towards Gotham, he tosses a rope back down the shaft so that Bane's other prisoners will be able to escape as well, a subtle representation of this ability to inspire others and lift them up with you.

Bruce Wayne must rise both figuratively and literally if he hopes to save Gotham from its most recent plight.  But, before one can rise one must first fall, and fall Batman does.  Bane breaking his back and torturing him with a live feed of the chaos and pain Gotham is being made to endure is only the last step on the way to the bottom.  Bruce Wayne/Batman has fallen both emotionally and figuratively since his last outing eight years previous.  Batman has disappeared entirely, and Bruce Wayne has become a Howard Hughs-style recluse who has nearly driven his family's company into the ground.  Again, an interesting parallel as in BATMAN BEGINS his father, Thomas Wayne, nearly bankrupted the company to fight the economic depression, and n THE DARK KNIGHT RISES Bruce has nearly bankrupted the company trying to develop a cheap, clean energy source (another modern, timely reflection on a current cultural anxiety).

(Just as an aside, I read a review of THE DARK KNIGHT RISES by one Harry Knowles of Ain't it Cool News fame, who was "profoundly disappointed" with the film.  One of his many ludicrous assertions was that Batman wouldn't go into hiding because his girlfriend died.  Again, I wondered if we were watching the same movie.  If he had paid attention to any of Nolan's masterpieces in between chowing down on fluorescent coloured snack foods and making love to his own, hairy palms he would have recognized that Bruce Wayne didn't just hang up his cape due to the death of Rachel Dawes (although, she was kind of the love of his life, so it would be understandable even if this was the sole reason, as he kind of felt guilty about not being able to save her).  He gave up the vigilante game in the -correct- hope that becoming the scapegoat for all of Harvey's crimes, Dent's untarnished memory would live on and have lasting positive repercussions in Gotham. 

He sacrificed his identity as Batman, and as a result lost a part of himself, for as Rachel astutely pointed out she wasn't going to wait around for Bruce because she knew that Batman had become such a large part of Bruce Wayne's identity, that he needed so much to be that person, that she wasn't sure he would ever be able to exercise the demon.  Bruce Wayne gave up being Batman, sacrificing a part of his life he perceived as so central to his perception of himself, because he believed that Gotham no longer needed Batman, and that his presence at that point would be more hindrance than help.  And that sacrifice clearly ate him up inside.  In THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, it is made clear that at the first sign of real menace in eight years Bruce Wayne jumps right back in the saddle, despite the physical and psychological consequences and the emotional pleas from his butler Alfred (a surrogate father figure) when it looked as though Batman was coming up against a force more powerful than anything he had faced before.  So no, Harry, it wasn't "just because" the love of his life died horribly as he was attempting to save her that Bruce Wayne hung up the cape and cowl.  Bruce Wayne gave up something he loved, and the unrequited love between both he and Rachel and he and Batman nearly destroyed him.  Being the Batman gave Bruce Wayne true purpose in his life, and he willingly sacrificed that for what he considered to be the greater good.) 

Not only that, but Bruce's days as the caped crusader have exacted a harsh physical toll.  All the physical exertion and abuse he endured as Batman have lead to erosion of the cartilage in his knees, damage to his kidneys, and even the old noggin.  What did you expect with all the jumping, fighting and explosions?  In a nice reference to Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns, the cinematic version of Batman has to wear a leg brace so he can function at full physical capacity.  All of this coupled with the fact the Bane was able to beat the shit out of Batman and break his back, in an even nicer reference to the Knightfall comic series, gave Batman a vulnerability that is severely lacking in other super hero films.  I've been wanting to pop in some other super hero flicks lately, but I'm really hesitant to do so, because after watching THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, I can't help but shake the feeling that they won't be nearly as engaging for me as they were before.  This was the first cinematic super hero narrative where I actually felt that the hero was in any real danger, or was capable of engaging in any real sacrifice. 

The most recent example I can think of is THE AVENGERS, where to save New York, and ostensibly the world, Tony Stark AKA Iron Man grabs a nuclear warhead and flies off into some kind energy portal into the darkest depths of space in this supposed act of self-sacrifice, and his suit starts failing and he passes out.  I think the conceited Tony Stark is supposed to learn some lesson about the sacrifice it takes to be a hero, and thus provide a character arc, and it works to a degree, but there was something that was missing here that THE DARK KNIGHT RISES captures perfectly.  And that is the presence of any true danger to the character.  I understand that there's an entire Iron Man movie franchise so they can't really kill him off, but in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES Batman is ultimately not killed off, and yet there was still this undertone of personal danger like he could be killed at any second.  There was a humanity to Nolan's Bruce Wayne/Batman that is sorely lacking in any of Marvel's films that mostly has to do with that most human of experiences, death.  Nolan's Batman is imbued with a sense of mortality severely lacking in other super hero flicks.  And that shared understanding and fear of death helps the audience engage more deeply with the character and become more emotionally invested in the narrative.  In THE AVENGERS, we, as the audience, know that Iron Man, as the hero, probably won't die.  Watching THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, we, as the audience, know that Batman, as the hero, probably won't die.  But we also get the feeling that he could.  And that makes him a more relatable character, because he's just like us.

For all the haterz (I think the "z" makes it look a lot more hip) I feel I must address the sense of realism that Nolan brought to his Batman universe.  Of course, as soon as you say you want to ground your super hero movie with a sense of realism, automatically a certain segment of the population is going to automatically start nitpicking all the things that were "unrealistic."  And while I feel that Nolan did a tremendous job of grounding a fantastical narrative with so much explanation and quotidian detail, as an audience member one must keep in mind that though the films are (key phrase) grounded in realism, they are also still movies which, as an art form, are representative and metaphorical.  Case in point, the scene where the released cops clash with the mercenaries and criminals on the streets of Gotham, two opposing forces running headlong into each other is probably not as great a strategy in modern urban warfare as it was, say, in the time of William Wallace, but it was visually powerful and representative of the clash between order and chaos.  Some may say that we can't have it both ways, but I say; why the fuck not?  I see no inherent artistic contradiction between a grounding in realism and metaphorical visual representation, and I don't feel that these forces are at odds with each other or that their coexistence does anything to destabilize the coherence of the narrative.

Finally, this brings me to the ending of THE DARK KNIGHT RISES, which some might see as a cop out of sorts, but which really brings great emotional closure to the series.  You see, what some people don't understand is that Batman/Bruce Wayne did die in that explosion.  Yes, he physically survived, escaping, no doubt, in the proverbial nick of time.  But with his final act of heroism in Gotham City, the conflicted Bruce Wayne who had lived so long with the anger and guilt over his parents' death, who had lived so long with the rage and obsession of bringing criminals to justice and inspiring people, who had so desperately needed the persona of Batman to complete his identity, who had also so desperately craved some kind of normalcy and a life with the late Rachel Dawes, who seemed so hell bent in facing Bane that it seemed he was almost asking for death as a way to escape his demons, did die that day.  The man Alfred sees at the cafe is not the same Bruce Wayne.  This is a reborn Bruce Wayne, somebody who was able to exercise all those demons and who was finally able to get on with his life.

Ha, the joke's on you!  I've got ten thousand more where that came from.
And that's why THE DARK KNIGHT RISES and THE DARK KNIGHT trilogy kicked so much ass.  It was able to entertain and engage on a variety of levels, from the crazy action sequences to the philosophical ponderings of the personal and societal costs of justice.  The themes of the three movies -fear, chaos, and pain- can be summed up in a single word, however they also invite all manner of discussion and discourse on their deeper implications.  And as for the question of whether or not THE DARK KNIGHT RISES measures up to the standard of excellence set by THE DARK KNIGHT, the answer for me is that both movies are easily on par in terms of narrative value, cultural relevance, technological achievement, and entertainment value.  After all that, you can probably guess that I'm giving THE DARK KNIGHT RISES a resounding 10/10 = One Bat-Masked Head Rising Above the Rest.  

One does not simply talk about THE DARK KNIGHT RISES: one bears witness.  (I really liked this line, but didn't know where to stick it (yeah, yeah) so I awkwardly tacked it on the end.  Enjoy)

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Avenge This, You Bastards... Snakes In The Grass and Wings On Heads. A Very Colourful Coalition of the Willing


Eons ago in the primordial goop from whence all life on this planet eventually sprang forth, among all the wonderful possibilities of human potential, the seeds of all human triumph and tragedy, the spark of what would ultimately become the totality of human culture and innovation there existed the raw genetic components that guided us unwaveringly down a predestined path, woven together, it seemed, by the Fates themselves, that would inevitably lead to the creation of a little movie called THE AVENGERS.  It wasn't by random chance.  It was genetically predetermined, written in the very essence of our being, from the time when our ancestors huddled around campfires trying to fight off boredom by not getting mauled to death by saber-toothed tigers and inventing time-honoured traditions like the keg stand and the blowjob.  Through all of this, it always remained our destiny to cultivate a society that would allow the making of THE AVENGERS.  It is truly a monument to the soaring heights of the human spirit that this blockbuster among blockbusters has helped nudge us slightly higher on our progression towards our rightful place in the heavens.

The executives over at Marvel and Disney must be shitting their collective pants in collective jubilation right now over the fat stacks of cash that THE AVENGERS has been printing for the past couple of months.  I believe with worldwide intake it now stands as the number three all time cash factory after AVATAR and TITANIC, though it's possible before this whole crazy ride is over THE AVENGERS might just barrel right past them in a blaze of special effects, witty banter, and Robert Downey Jr.'s superbly styled facial hair.  In a way, this type of financial savagery offers a certain kind of legitimacy that (somewhat ironically) money can't buy.  For fanboys and girls the world over, this is a grand political statement on par with that guy in Tiananmen Square standing in front of the tank, if the guy was wearing a mechanical suit of power armour with energy blasters and holding a giant bag of cash and surrounded by a gaggle of fawning Dutch prostitutes.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

Experimental With a Tail Grab

Last weekend I was sitting around unwinding after a long day at work using an ancient relaxation technique used by wise Tibetan monks living high in the Himalayan mountains who, forsaking all earthly possessions to achieve spiritual enlightenment, developed a method to achieve oneness with the universe and transcend the boundaries between the corporeal and the ethereal otherwise known as getting shitfaced.  Ahhhh, that smooth, smooth, alcohol goes down easy.  Gin, gin, gin, ginny gin gin.  But anyway, all of the sudden through the haze I heard the ring of the doorbell rattling around my skull.  As I stumbled towards the front door I heard the dull ruble of thunder and I realized I had drifted far from the eye of the storm.  There was an ominous feeling of impending doom as I opened the door, and I know now that I should have followed by gut instinct and barricaded all entrances and readied myself with my latest batch of homemade TNT.

I unlocked the door and eased it open when suddenly a gust of wind stole it from my hand and slammed it wide open to reveal Ryebone silhouetted by an appropriately timed blast of lightning.

"Wassssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuppp?!?" Ryebone screamed into my face.

I wasn't sure how, but he had somehow tracked me down despite my having moved to a different city and changed my name.  I briefly considered beating him to death with a hammer I kept near the door for just such an occasion, dismembering the corpse in my bathtub with a skill saw then disposing of the body parts in a barrel full of lye in an abandoned warehouse across town.  But it was getting late, and my brain was shredded from the cocktail of chemicals I had been ingesting that night.  Instead, I dropped the hammer to the ground and mumbled something like "Don't trust the Doritos," then retreated back up the stairs and into my head.

My wife, upon hearing Rybone's scream like some demented, 90's catch phrase spewing banchee, had left the living room to lock up any valuables, ensure there were working fire extinguishers close at hand, and hide any and all materials that might be used to fashion a shiv.  Ryebone jaunted into the living room and shoved his hand in my face.

"Talk to the hand, bitch."

"Your hand smells like shit," was all I could think to say because his hand did, indeed, smell like shit.

"Yeah, my asshole was itchy," he informed me before sticking his hand back down his jeans.  "So, whose dick do I have to kick to get some hookers in here?  Also, where do you usually bury your dead hookers?"

I immediately realized that Ryebone's presence all but guaranteed the kind of bad trip you're more likely to find in the lawless wilds of Tijuana or Shanghai where after a night of drunken debauchery your odds of waking up in some random hotel with a splitting headache, a mean hangover, and a pair of thoroughly soiled underwear were about equal to ending up in some fascist prison with the kind of vicious scum you've only ever read about in fine publications like the Disemboweler and Savage Anal Rapist Quarterly and never being heard from by the civilized world ever again.  I had to act fast if I wanted to maintain even the slightest chance of staying in Darwin's good books.

"There's beer in the fridge," I fumbled hoping to buy some time.

As he went to get himself a beverage I hurriedly searched through the couch cushions for the remote and began feverishly sorting through the library on Netflix.  I needed something, anything to distract the beast and ensure that no more of my internal organs ended up on the Chinese black market.

"Hey man, later we should try this choking thing all the teenagers are doing.  I heard that shit really gets you high.  It's da bomb yo!"

Oh my god!  Fine something quickly, you desperate swine.

"... all that AND a bag of chips."

"Wait!" I practically shouted, my forehead and back drenched in panic sweat.  "Wait, I, uh, think I, well, there's a movie we should, you know, could watch, before we embark on the, uh, you know, potentially suicidal behaviour..."

"What the fuck ya got for me, dog?"

"Just, uh grab a seat.  Over there.  On the couch.  Across the room."

"Whatever," he squeezed out alongside a foul-smelling belch that smelled like rancid ranch salad dressing.  Luckily, Netflix delivers nothing but the bare bones, so I didn't have to sweat through any trailers wondering if he Ryebone might lose interest and involve me in his twisted brand of chaos.

"Where's those Doritos at?"

"I'll grab them," I said as I stumbled to the kitchen.  I went to the cupboard, then remembered that in an earlier attempt to open the bag, it had burst sending the orange powder-dusted triangular chips flying all over the room.  I had subsequently swept them up, so I grabbed a handful out of the trash can, threw them in a bowl and delivered them to Ryebone just as the movie title came on screen: THE EXPERIMENT.

"Fuck these are good Doritos."

"Nothing but the best," I said before cranking the volume hoping to discourage or drown out any more of his demented ravings.

I vaguely remember hearing something about THE EXPERIMENT some time ago, never mind how long exactly.  The basic premise was that a bunch of random volunteers signed up for a two week long psychological experiment in exchange for a some kind of momentary reimbursement.  Upon arriving at an isolated compound the group was broken up into two groups to simulate a prison environment.  Some of the volunteers were designated as guards and some were designated as prisoners.  To ensure full participation they were told that if any one person left, then all of their payments would be forfeit.  There was to be no violence.  The "guards" had to maintain order while ensuring that the "prisoners" got fed and had some exercise and whatnot.
"... OK, but what happened to your pants?"

Of course, what seems like a simple experiment quickly spirals out of control and in a matter of just five days the whole thing goes to shit, the "prisoners" riot, and the whole scenario is stopped before both groups rip each other to bloody shreds.  While parts (read: most) of the movie was very exaggerated, the basic premise was actually based on a real psychological study, the Standford prison experiment, which actually took place in the basement of the university and involved students.  Although there was not a riot in the "real-life" version, it still only managed to last for five days of its originally planned two week schedule due to the "guards" becoming overly aggressive and violent and the "prisoners" suffering from psychological meltdowns.

THE EXPERIMENT, while certainly not a masterpiece, presented an intriguing scenario and was just good enough to hold my attention, although believability was certainly strained to the point of breaking several times.  What kept it together was a short running time and the talents of Adrien Brody as Travis, one of the "prisoners," and Forrest Whitaker as Barris, one of the "guards."  There's also a bunch of other people you'll probably recognize from stuff, as well as Maggie Grace who appears at the beginning and the end as Brody's love interest.  I'd like to get Lost with her... Wait, where was I?
"Why would the smoke monster want me
to take off my shirt?"

Ah yes, THE EXPERIMENT.  While not exactly a deftly handled examination of the intricacies of the human experience, the movie does attempt to address some interesting concepts.  I'll boil it all down to basically two things the movie dealt with.

The first major theme of THE EXPERIMENT was the concept of socialization and the tendency of people to follow the most readily available cultural scripts depending on the specifics of their particular social position.  That is, the "guards," who were put into a position of extreme authority, began abusing that authority by continually testing how far they could go before the experiment was stopped and escalating their disciplinary measures through increasingly violent and depraved means (The old philosophical conundrum: is peeing on people technically considered violence?). The "prisoners," on the other hand, began to feel disempowered and emasculated and dealt with it by alternately succumbing to bouts of depression and dejection and trying to fight for some lingering shreds of human decency through varying degrees of defiance.  I suppose the purpose of the experiment (both in the movie and in the "real world") was to shed some light on the psychological effects that the standard Western prison system has on its occupants, both law abiding and otherwise, and that the institution itself might be an aggravating factor in some of the negative aspects of prison life.

In the larger scheme of things, though, what the experiment in THE EXPERIMENT demonstrated was the tendency we all have to live up to perceived societal expectations associated with a specific role.  A simplistic interpretation might be that if you're treated like a piece of shit, you're more likely to behave accordingly.  I am a big proponent of Free Will (at least in some capacity), however we cannot deny the effects of socialization, and so how we perceive the various social roles we occupy is of the utmost importance.  It shines light on the fact that identity is not something inherent, but rather a construction based on the interpretation of the experiences we have.  That is not to say we can ever escape the social scripts we follow, but at the very least if we are aware that our identities are constructed both by the people around us, society as a whole, and by ourselves then we become more cognisant of those forces and we can, at least to some degree, choose the social scripts we follow and take a a more active role in the construction of our own identities and become more aware of the choices we make and why we make them and hopefully make better ones.

The other related theme is related to the old axiom that absolute power corrupts absolutely.  What THE EXPERIMENT shows is both how powerful and how fragile social expectations can be.  The "guards" take quite a while to switch into full douchebag mode.  They are only held in check as long as they are (only five fucking days, which is rather frightening) by societal expectations of decent, moral behavior.  It is only the lack of continual reinforcement and fear of repercussion or reprisal from a perceived authority figure that eventually allows them to succumb to their base urges.

Which leads me to the second thing that really caught my eye in THE EXPERIMENT, which was the red light.  The "guards" had a red warning light in their office that would light up if the doctors running the experiment saw something (through a series of video cameras) that violated the rules they had been given or placed one or more of the participants of the experiment in physical danger.  So after a situation which bordered what they thought was unacceptable behaviour in the experiment the "guards" would gather around and wait for the light to go off, and as things began escalating and the light continued to stay dim, they forgot about the light and started doing things their way.  I don't know if it was intended by the filmmakers, but the simple image of the unpowered light on the wall was the most poignant and insightful part of the whole movie.

What the red light represented was authority, or rather the archetype of authority which is manifested culturally in many ways but perhaps most significantly in the concept of a deity or deities.  Basically, the red light represented God.  The participants of the study were told that if they violated any of the commandments, then the light would blink, and they would be punished by not receiving their monetary reward.  I think this interpretation is pretty clearly founded.  The light in the movie was positioned high up on the wall so the "guards" had to look up to wait for Its message.  I mean, the religious subtext was so clear that they might as well have gotten a bunch of candles and kept vigil and then fucked a bunch of young boys.  But I mean, it was the perfect representation of both God and organized religion.  God is a red light that never turns on.

Ironically, though, this red light offers more tangible and meaningful interaction than the traditional God or gods that people tend to worship.  It reminded me a lot of the "God booths" in THX 1138 (one of George Lucas' forgotten gems) where people like Robert Duval would go to have a chat with their electronic deity who would spout off random, preprogrammed responses from It's databanks.  This, of course, was supposed to represent a disconnected and uncaring authority, but, again ironically, this God computer interface was more interactive and offered more feedback than the God that people worship today.  The gods in both THE EXPERIMENT and THX 1138 are more tangible and significant than any that people actually worship today because the gods in these movies A) Actually exist and B) Have the ability, or at least the potential, to give their worshipers feedback because of A).

The red light also represents what I like to call the Santa Clause effect (for more see here) where people tend to behave according to social conventions of propriety and decency when they fear that any violations of these rules will result in reprisal from some authority figure.  Basically, it's only illegal if you get caught.  Which, incidently, was Ryebone's personal motto.

So one movie and thirteen beers later Ryebone was passed out on the couch and I had gotten through one of his visits without severe bodily injury and property damage under $1000. (He later ended up standing on the front lawn naked, screaming something about "the goddamn Doritos" and smashing most of my dinnerware on the driveway.  Still, a small price to pay.  I consider myself to have gotten off lucky.)  He was later arrested and I spent most of the next week ducking his calls asking me for bail money.  Anyway, THE EXPERIMENT exists in that strange amorphous zone of not being a cinematic masterpiece but still being  entertaining enough for me to want to add it to my Blu-Ray collection.  It was a pretty tight, unique little film, and it left me with the same kind of feeling as HOSTAGE, which also wasn't great, but which I still really enjoyed for some reason and felt the need to shell out cash for.  Final verdict: THE EXPERIMENT gets a 6.5/10 = One Shaved Urine Soaked Prisoner's Head

Also, because I can:
"So, are you sure Jack said the only way to get off the island is to have sex with you?"


        

Sunday, June 03, 2012

A Dark Place in the Woods and the Temptation Towards Oblivion. Cabins, and Scientists, and Zombies, Oh My!

Let me be perfectly clear right off the bat; I am not in any way a fan of Joss Whedon.  I don't understand how he built up such a hardcore cult following with shit like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel and Firefly.  Yeah, I know from his IMDB page that he did some writing work for the original TOY STORY (along with five other dudes), and he did ingrain Sarah Michelle Gellar as a sex symbol in the brains of an entire generation of geeks, and he's tried his damnedest to give Nathan Fillion some much deserved work and recognition over the years which is pretty cool.  But for the most part everything he's done has been shit and in my mind his popularity among fanboys defies all logic.  His main claim to fame in my mind is the hypnotic effect that his shitty TV show Buffy, and the totally, totally unnecessary spin-off Angel, seem to have over the intellectually unstable and weak-willed.  For me, understanding why people enjoy Whedon's work is like trying to understand the inner workings of the mind of a serial killer, or the logic behind the decision of any politician who ever lived (hint: there isn't any).  I know he's done a bunch of other stuff, but I'm not inclined to go near the it, not even with a twenty two and a half foot pole (I don't know, it was supposed to be a Grinch reference, but I can't remember the actual lyric).  I'll tell you what, Whedon: consider this an open invitation to suck my six and a half inch pole.

Actually, before I watched THE CABIN IN THE WOODS I wouldn't even have let Joss Whedon suck my dick if he paid me to.  And his nothing to do with any kind of homophobic hang-ups.  I simply wouldn't have wanted his mediocre lips wrapped around my shaft or his completely sub-par tongue tickling my balls.  His second-rate-dialogue-spewing mouth could never have kept me hard long enough to blow my load all over his pasty, white face and scraggly ginger beard.  And even now I'd be a little hesitant because Whedon was one of the two writers of THE CABIN IN THE WOODS, so I have yet to enjoy anything he's actually directed (looking like THE AVENGERS might bump Whedon up to full dick-sucking duties, but only time will tell).  Unlike Whedon's deluded disciples I went to see THE CABIN IN THE WOODS not because of his involvement but in spite of it and only because I was in a small town with a shitty record when it came to new release variety and LOCKOUT wasn't playing yet.  And I have to say, I actually enjoyed THE CABIN IN THE WOODS.  Don't let it go to your patchwork-bearded face, Whedon.  Redemption isn't a statistical anomaly.  Time will tell whether THE CABIN IN THE WOODS is a sign of better days to come or a blip on the metaphysical radar.

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS really worked for me on two levels.  The first was the "twist" on the horror genre that the media kept hinting at.  The genre twisting to which they were referring was the fact that this movie was a satire of the horror genre.  I believe the quote from Whedon was that it was a "loving hate letter" to modern horror movies.  Whether or not I misquoted him here or not, the statement is an eloquent way to sum up the movie as vaguely as possible.  Unlike some stupid shit like the SCARY MOVIE franchise which is just... I mean... is there a word in the English language to describe how terribly awful and soul-sucking those movies actually are?  The only thing the DVDs that the SCARY MOVIE franchise were distributed on are good for is wiping your ass after a massive diarrhea, and even then they'd probably break into shards of broken plastic that would shred your asshole causing massive internal and external bleeding.  Yet those kind of potentially life-threatening injuries are still infinitely more entertaining than any entry into the franchise.

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS did what the cock smokers in charge of the SCARY MOVIE chain could only dream of doing if their heads contained brains instead of donkey spooge and the rotting carcasses of dead dreams.  No, this movie was able to deconstruct, analyse, interpret, and provide intelligent commentary on all of the horror stereotypes and archetypes that plague the modern horror flick.  Not only that, but it's able to do this all while still being an entertaining horror film in and of itself which was the second of the two levels I mentioned on which THE CABIN IN THE WOODS worked for me.  I really felt that I almost got two movies for the price of one, because of the structure of the narrative and the framing device used.

The movie opens with Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford (you'll fucking recognize these dudes when you see them, trust me) as a couple of dudes or scientists or something gearing up for some big project at the facility/company they work at.  For the astute movie goer who saw a bunch of spoiler-ish trailers with giant holodeck style walls it might be assumed that these guys are pulling some strings, and that movie goer would be correct, though thankfully the movie will turn out to be a lot smarter than that movie goer will have given it credit for and the larger context cannot be entirely deduced and is a welcome surprise.  Jenkins and Whitford steal the show in a lot of respects and bring the right mix of humour and pathos to a couple of middle-management types who are going through the routines and trying to get through the daily grind while at the same time witnessing (and, I suppose, inflicting) some pretty grizzly shit.

The movie then shifts gears and we get introduced  to the usual gang of teenage idiots (some of them extremely hot) who tend to populate horror flicks.  They're all getting ready for (get ready for it) a weekend trip to a creepy cabin in a secluded section of wilderness somewhere in the United States of Generica.  Right from the get go the audience is let in on the fact that the whole thing is a set up with concealed agents and cameras keeping tabs on the gang of youngsters.  As for the kids themselves, the only ones I recognized right off the bat were Chris Hemsworth (of THOR fame, though this movie was actually made several years ago) and Jesse Williams who chicks and their browbeaten husbands and boyfriends will recognize from Grey's Anatomy.  Kristen Connolly, Anna Hutchison, and Fran Kranz (actually a dude) I didn't recognize, though Hutchison (pictured left) was smokin' hot and Krantz does a great turn as the token stoner of the group.  It must be noted that this movie depicts one of the coolest and most multifunctional bongs ever depicted on screen.  Overall the cast was great and seemed to have an onscreen chemistry and played well off (and on) each other.

The real fun of the film, though, comes from THE CABIN IN THE WOODS examination and deconstruction of all of the horror cliches that plague today's (supposedly) scary movies.  The five teens represent five horror archetypes -the whore, the athlete, the scholar, the fool, and the virgin- and when they fail to live up to these roles they are manipulated by Jenkins' and Whitford's characters from behind the scenes.  One of my favourite little jabs was the use of drugs pumped into the cabin to disorient the teens and get them to split up at a key moment after they wisely decide to stick together after they are besieged by a "zombie redneck torture family."  They also pump in some pheromones and help set the mood to elicit the requisite horror film nudity.  Later when Connolly's "virgin" character is on the run from the zombie terror she's holding a knife she drops it after it delivers a small electric shock (the old why-the-fuck-didn't-you-take-the-weapon-with-you conundrum). The surprisingly clever rhetorical trick used here is the reversal of using rational explanations to explain away otherwise irrational behaviour.

There's also a bunch of nods to other films in the genre.  The cabin that the group goes to looks so much like the one from THE EVIL DEAD that I'm pretty sure I saw a couple frames where they forgot to digitally remove Ash from the scene.  Later the zombie attackers themselves (the Buckners) are reminiscent of the deadites, though they also kind of reminded me of THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE as well, what with the disturbed family and all.  When Marty (Kranz) and Dana (Connolly) make their escape to the facility where all the nightmare creatures are kept (held by some mysterious magic?) and the subsequent slaughter that ensues once they are all released contains references to almost every horror film ever made.  There's the standard ones like werewolves, ghosts, and vampires and giant snakes and whatnot.  Then there's a killer clown (IT), saw blade head guy (HELLRAISER), doll mask murderers (THE STRANGERS), twin girls (THE SHINING), some crazy little girl with a giant mouth filled with razor sharp teeth instead of a face (???????), a merman (CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON), and a classroom of Japanese girls dealing with an evil spirit (THE GRUDGE, THE RING (or the originals JU-ON and RINGU)).  The last one, the Japanese girls fighting (and winning, proving that characters in North American horror films are often less effectual than thirteen-year-old girls), is extremely important as it is shown to the audience via a live video feed from Japan and ties in the the framed narrative of the movie.

The whole idea is that there are these beings called The Ancient Ones that need to be appeased by human sacrifice or else they'll rise and destroy the world.  This is a clever idea for several reasons.  First, there is the blending of archaic, ancient, tribal, primal horrors and rituals with the modern socio-industrial complex.  There's a sense of the uncanny by blending the ancient and the modern.  Secondly, there's the idea of ritualized and institutionalized killing (I'll leave you to draw your own cultural parallels) which seems a lot more horrific than some lone nut or even a legion of the undead or demon from the bowels of hell.  There's something intensely disturbing about being tormented by an unfeeling, uncaring, corporate, industrial machine because that's the kind of nightmare you don't wake up from or escape.  Zombies and demons and chainsaw-wielding maniacs can be defeated or maybe escaped from, but how do you run from a social institution you are complicit in and where everybody except you is in on the conspiracy?  (Coincidentally, that's also the reason the presidency of George W. Bush was so terrifying.) 

The conceit of the film is that every year the human race has to make a human sacrifice in order to appease these Ancient Ones and that this has presumably been going on since the dawn of human history.  There are also some very specific guidelines.  First, the group of sacrificees have to willingly choose to proceed with the ritual despite being warned by this creepy dude who works as a gas station attendant also known as The Harbinger.  The sexy teens then have to choose the method of their own sacrifice (via a series of objects in the basement of the cabin... kinda curious what would have been summoned if one of them can found a cursed dildo... death by snoo-snoo!) and not only that bu they also have to die in a certain order.  This really fucked with me, the idea that we choose our own destruction.  For me, this wasn't just a commentary on horror films, but a general commentary about the nature of humanity itself.  We are our own worst enemy and we seem determined to proceed down whatever paths we want to follow despite all evidence that it will lead to some seriously fucked up shit (like that one time you answered that classified add looking for the third member of a threesome and showed up to find two chicks but they were both wearing strap-on dildos and you end up with a sore ass, the taste of molded rubber and a bunch of strange feelings you've never felt before...) kind of like a a more complex version of the old "you are your own worst enemy" shit.

If THE CABIN IN THE WOODS was indeed intended as a "loving hate letter" to the horror film genre, then I think that for once there was a strong correlation between intent and result.  The film is at once an homage to and entry into the horror movie genre.  It is also a sarcastic critique that filmmakers so rigidly and dogmatically follow the cliches of the genre that it must be for a higher purpose, like, to save the world from total annihilation.  So, we have to endure the same old garbage film after film because the Fate of the Entire World depends upon it.  Why else would filmmakers keep pumping out the same tired shit year after year, right?  It's a stunning indictment of the modern horror flick which has become a victim of its own cliches and de-evolved into the realm of torture porn rather than genuinely intelligent explorations of the darkest parts of our collective psyches.  For that, I'm willing to give THE CABIN IN THE WOODS a solid 8.5/10 = One Merman Head Chowing Down On the Collective Intestines of Mankind.  I'm far from being sold on Joss Whedon's shit, but I'm also not one to not enjoy something to prove a point.  So grudgingly I'll have to admit that Whedon has won this round, but I'm hoping that in the future my hate will definitely be proven right.    

(Just as a quick postscript, THE CABIN IN THE WOODS was also one of the best pro weed smokin' flicks I've ever seen what with prolonged use of the ganja counteracted the drugs that the dudes in the facility were using to fuck with the minds of the five teens.  In this case marijuana literally freed the dude's mind.  Fuckin' A.  Fuckin' A.)