IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Centurion

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Centurion — Blue Ink Alchemy

[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/centurion.mp3] The movie version of 300 has definitely made an impression. It's given us a ton of Internet memes, helped shape all sorts of workout regimens and pushed Gerard Butler towards being the stereotypical big scowly action star. But it also had the subtle benefit of introducing the world to Michael Fassbender. In between his memorable supporting turn in Inglorious Basterds and being exactly the sort of Magneto fans have been craving in X-Men: First Class, he took the lead in another period action-adventure called Centurion, but to say this movie and 300 couldn't be more different is something of an understatement. Fassbender is cast as Quintus Dias, a centurion serving as second-in-command at a Roman border post in Britain around AD 117. His garrison is destroyed and he captured by the vicious Picts. When he's rescued, it's by the legendary 9th Legion, which is given orders to stomp their way north to wipe the Picts out. This, unfortunately for the Romans, goes pretty horribly and Quintus tries to lead the handful of survivors home while a Pict hunting party lead by an exceedingly scary young woman tracks them down. At first, Centurion seems more driven by plot than characters. Unlike other movies that establish their ensemble cast as quickly as possible, writer-director Neil Marshall carefully paces the opening to give us the information, atmosphere and tensions of the age before really diving into the characters we're going to spend the next 90 minutes with. I haven't seen any of Marshall's other work - Dog Soldiers, The Descent or Doomsday - but he certainly seems to have a good grip on pacing in his writing, and clean shots in his direction, as well as an unflinching and visceral taste for combat.
With those metal weapons, Magneto would have sorted the Picts out in about 3 seconds flat. As the characters begin to emerge, their roles grow organically out of the flow of the story. Most of them are cyphers or stereotypes, but their delivery is earnest and the writing of their lines decent without either verging into ham-handedness. When the 9th falls, it's a sad moment, but it's difficult to care as much as Our Lady of Soundtrack Sorrow wants us to. The deaths of individuals later in the story means far more than the wholesale slaughter of faceless Roman soldiers. It's not that I'm expecting Marshall to compel us to care about all 3000 of the Romans, and the characters we do get are certainly better than many of their modern counterparts, I just feel that some of the drama's a little overwrought. This is a tale that owes far more to HBO's Rome mini-series than to Ridley Scott's Gladiator. As these characters grow and interact they do so in ways that seem earnest and unforced. Fassbender's Quintus in particular shows not only brotherly concern for his fellow men but a growing bitterness at their circumstances and a grudge against both sides in the conflict. And neither the Romans nor the Picts emerge as the 'good guys' in the war. Keeping the moral ground gray between the two of them was very wise on Marshall's part, as it keeps the focus on the dwindling number of actual characters caught between these rather dickish powers.
Trust me. She's pretty scary. While many other period pieces go for a stew of anachronisms, playing devil-may-care with the technologies and languages available to a given set of peoples, Centurion actually has a great deal of authenticity going for it. While the Romans speak English for our convenience, their arms and armor are right out of the Empire's heyday, and the dwellings and lifestyle of the Picts is masterfully depicted, from their means of restraining prisoners to the status of their women. Between this, the characters and the smart plotting, there's a lot to like about this movie. It doesn't quite delve into the naked melodrama of Edward Zwick's Last Samurai or Defiance nor does it play up the violence or spectacle for its own sake as 300 does. Centurion opts instead to tell a decent story about survivors behind enemy lines and does that job rather well. The characters we do get are interesting and well-acted, the story never bogs down or feels overly contrived and the action feels authentic and visceral without being completely over-the-top, which all adds up to an enjoyable adventure story bordering on the excellent. It does everything right that pointless slapped-together flicks like The Expendables get wrong. Consider checking it out on Netflix Instant if you're on the lookout for an action-adventure or period piece with at least a bit of a brain in its head. And while I mentioned I haven't seen any of Marshall's other work, considering he's put together a movie about werewolf soldiers and one that's described as Mad Max driving headlong into 28 Days Later... I think I'm going to have to correct that. Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

That Blessed Bean

That Blessed Bean — Blue Ink Alchemy

Coffee. Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee. I may be all but out of supply here in the apartment, but soon there will be more coffee at my disposal. It's my morning vice of choice. Considering I'm about to head back into full-time dayjob employment and want to present myself at least somewhat professionally, an early-morning cocktail is out of the question. But when I climb into Vera for the morning commute against the will of my protesting body, a good cup or two of this rather divine substance is sure to get me into a more productive frame of mind. One of the things I miss about working in Old City is the prevalence and accessibility of coffee shops. Taking a walk down the block or around a corner to pick up even a simple cup of coffee instead of hitting up the Keurig was a good way to clear one's head, try to get thoughts in order, possibly strike up non-work conversation with a co-worker. Especially if the weather was nice. It's certainly not a necessary vice, no more so than lighting up a pipe while reading over a novel or draft, or mixing up a martini to celebrate a few more thousand words or a particularly nice winning streak in ladder matches. But I consider it one of the perks of being an adult, so long as such indulgences are taken in moderation. It's National Coffee Day, and I'll be grinding up my last bit of Trader Joe's House Blend to celebrate. Share some java stories with me: what role does coffee play in your everyday life? How do you take your coffee? Do you have a preferred shop, or do you have an arcane system of coffee creation that no barista could ever top? Color me curious. And caffeinated. And in case you didn't know where coffee got started, how it works its magic or what the heck Americano is, don't worry. The Oatmeal's gotcha covered.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

That Blessed Bean

That Blessed Bean — Blue Ink Alchemy

Coffee. Coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffee. I may be all but out of supply here in the apartment, but soon there will be more coffee at my disposal. It's my morning vice of choice. Considering I'm about to head back into full-time dayjob employment and want to present myself at least somewhat professionally, an early-morning cocktail is out of the question. But when I climb into Vera for the morning commute against the will of my protesting body, a good cup or two of this rather divine substance is sure to get me into a more productive frame of mind. One of the things I miss about working in Old City is the prevalence and accessibility of coffee shops. Taking a walk down the block or around a corner to pick up even a simple cup of coffee instead of hitting up the Keurig was a good way to clear one's head, try to get thoughts in order, possibly strike up non-work conversation with a co-worker. Especially if the weather was nice. It's certainly not a necessary vice, no more so than lighting up a pipe while reading over a novel or draft, or mixing up a martini to celebrate a few more thousand words or a particularly nice winning streak in ladder matches. But I consider it one of the perks of being an adult, so long as such indulgences are taken in moderation. It's National Coffee Day, and I'll be grinding up my last bit of Trader Joe's House Blend to celebrate. Share some java stories with me: what role does coffee play in your everyday life? How do you take your coffee? Do you have a preferred shop, or do you have an arcane system of coffee creation that no barista could ever top? Color me curious. And caffeinated.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Looking Ahead at Guild Wars 2: Races

Looking Ahead at Guild Wars 2: Races — Blue Ink Alchemy

My wife and I haven't been doing much in the way of MMOs over the last year. We've tried a couple since parting ways with World of Warcraft but none have really hit that "sweet spot" for either of us, the sort of feeling we were expecting that would keep us playing for a long time. But there is one poised to hit that exact spot, and it's called Guild Wars 2. I never played the original Guild Wars and, as I understand it, I missed out. As such, I can't comment on how this game is looking to improve upon or innovate in light of its predecessor. Instead, I'll point out why I'm eager to get started playing when it's released some time next year. The first choice you make in character creation is your character's race, so let's talk about those first. Both the Charr and the Norn appeared in the first Guild Wars, and as I understand it, one or both of them were antagonists. Rather than pulling their cultures out of the aether, however, ArenaNet did a very smart thing in taking notes from our own history. The Charr have their roots planted in the fertile soil of imperial Rome, while the Norn seem to hail from the lands of the ancient Norse, if not Marvel's Asgard. They're fleshed out in Guild Wars 2 and while their cultures are different from those of humans, they're not so alien as to be unappealing; in my case, quite the opposite. The new races are the Asura and the Sylvari. I'm not a big fan of small races, as much as I love the goblins of Warcraft, but the Asura's thirst for knowledge, love of artifice and esoteric designs have me curious. The Sylvari, on the other hand, were appealing to me from the start. Their society is based on Arthurian legend and folklore, they have disparate but linked attitudes and personalities that bind them together, and gender is largely a non-issue when it comes to relationships and romance. I am so there. The humans in Guild Wars 2 seem similar to those in other MMOs, but the strata of their society and the history inherent in having an entire previous game gives them just as much weight as the others. I love the idea of creating a character that will be part of a society that has equal parts familiarity and uniqueness, and every single one here fits that bill. It's pretty much sold the game to me on that basis alone. Next up? Classes.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Passing the Test

Passing the Test — Blue Ink Alchemy

No writer is an island. Oh, writing's a solitary profession, no doubt about it. Locked in a corner with only a bottle of booze for company, etc and so on. We grow our beards, we yell obscenities at our pets, we quietly cry as we contemplate our heroes having sex. We do this all on our own. But unless you're planning on writing an epic twenty-seven chapter series of Terra Nova fan fiction, the point of writing is to create something for others to enjoy. How are you going to know if said others will enjoy it if nobody else reads it before you're trying to get them to buy it? The solution is to climb out of your writer-hole and put your words in front of someone else's eyeballs. We call these unfortunate slobs brave volunteers test readers. I love my test readers. Most of the people I engage to look over a chapter or passage of work give me feedback beyond "It's good" or "This sucks." And I try to do the same in return. The best time to get a test read done is when you have a specific concern. Does our hero come off as sympathetic? Does this action flow as well as I think it does? Is anybody going to buy a zombie cyborg Hitler rising from the grave only to face a down-on-his-luck high school senior possessed by the two-fisted ghost of Teddy Roosevelt? Test readers, to me, are invaluable. They're the grounded and sober advisors to the drunken raging dictators we are towards our stories. They're equal parts supporter and critic. They're the hitmen (hitpeople?) we must hire from time to time to subject our self-doubt to the Mozambique Drill. "Oh, what's that? You think your work sucks?" Pop pop. POP. "There. It doesn't suck. But it DOES need a couple of tweaks." If you're writing is going along and you're not quite sure how well you're doing, or you don't know how to get past your first chapter, or you're all done (or think you're all done) and want to ensure you're ready for the next step, get a test reader. Or two. Or five. Especially if you have a trusted friend or two willing to tell you exactly what they think, put your words in front of your eyeballs. You'll bite your nails in anticipation of them finishing. You'll wonder why you didn't catch what's obvious to them. You'll curse them for making you do more work. And then you'll thank them. With praise, gifts, booze and who knows what else. They'll have earned it, and your work will kick even more ass as a result.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Passing the Test

Passing the Test — Blue Ink Alchemy

No writer is an island. Oh, writing's a solitary profession, no doubt about it. Locked in a corner with only a bottle of booze for company, etc and so on. We grow our beards, we yell obscenities at our pets, we quietly cry as we contemplate our heroes having sex. We do this all on our own. But unless you're planning on writing an epic twenty-seven chapter series of Terra Nova fan fiction, the point of writing is to create something for others to enjoy. How are you going to know if said others will enjoy it if nobody else reads it before you're trying to get them to buy it? The solution is to climb out of your writer-hole and put your words in front of someone else's eyeballs. We call these unfortunate slo... I mean, brave volunteers test readers. I love my test readers. Most of the people I engage to look over a chapter or passage of work give me feedback beyond "It's good" or "This sucks." And I try to do the same in return. The best time to get a test read done is when you have a specific concern. Does our hero come off as sympathetic? Does this action flow as well as I think it does? Is anybody going to buy a zombie cyborg Hitler rising from the grave only to face a down-on-his-luck high school senior possessed by the two-fisted ghost of Teddy Roosevelt? Test readers, to me, are invaluable. They're the grounded and sober advisors to the drunken raging dictators we are towards our stories. They're equal parts supporter and critic. They're the hitmen (hitpeople?) we must hire from time to time to subject our self-doubt to the Mozambique Drill. "Oh, what's that? You think your work sucks?" Pop pop. POP. "There. It doesn't suck. But it DOES need a couple of tweaks." If you're writing is going along and you're not quite sure how well you're doing, or you don't know how to get past your first chapter, or you're all done (or think you're all done) and want to ensure you're ready for the next step, get a test reader. Or two. Or five. Especially if you have a trusted friend or two willing to tell you exactly what they think, put your words in front of your eyeballs. You'll bite your nails in anticipation of them finishing. You'll wonder why you didn't catch what's obvious to them. You'll curse them for making you do more work. And then you'll thank them. With praise, gifts, booze and who knows what else. They'll have earned it, and your work will kick even more ass as a result.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: Another Three Sentences

Flash Fiction: Another Three Sentences — Blue Ink Alchemy

Brevity is the soul of this latest challenge from Chuck Wendig.

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The protagonist has reached this point through trial and error (mostly error) but the goal is now within reach, allies close by and enemies poised to strike. The audience is expecting a resolution to the conflict, be it a happy ending, one involving varying degrees of sacrifice or even something where the goal is achieved but our protagonist does not see that achievement because they have to die or become crippled or board a ship with elves on it or something. So... what happens next, writer?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension — Blue Ink Alchemy

[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/buckaroo_banzai.mp3] We call them Renaissance men, polymaths or omnidisciplinarians. The last two are more friendly for people of all genders who dabble with success in multiple fields of interest, but one of the first was Leonard da Vinci. Benjamin Franklin is another, but neither he nor da Vinci ever developed supersonic cars, practiced neurosurgery or battled evil space aliens. That we know of. For confirmed antics of that sort, we must turn to a lesser-known but quite impressive polymath by the name of Buckaroo Banzai. In 1984 a docu-drama following an adventure of his was released, sub-titled Across the 8th Dimension. Sure, it may seem like a mash-up sci-fi adventure parody, but I'm sure it's just as much based on a true story as most things Hollywood slaps that label on these days. Dr Banzai began his adult life as a neurosurgeon, but a brilliant career in medicine felt too boring to him, so he took up super-science and crime-fighting as well as a rock career. His latest invention, the Jet Car, is supplemented by a tiny device of secret origin called the Oscillation Overthruster, which means the car not only achieves supersonic speeds but also drives through solid matter. The Overthruster was first tested in 1938, an incident that not only failed but lead to the possession of one of its inventors by the evil overlord of an alien race called the Red Lectroids. Thirsty for conquest but ill-equipped, the Red Lectroids were defeated by their peace-loving cousins the Black Lectroids and banished to the 8th dimension, which Buckaroo just drove through. Instead of citing him for speeding, the Red Lectroids try to get their paws on the Overthruster to free the bulk of their forces, which puts them in direct opposition of Buckaroo Banzai and his Hong Kong Cavaliers. Let's just hope they save the world in time for their gig in Atlantic City. If you think this premise sounds a bit silly on paper, you're not far from the truth. In addition to the special effects and music that place this chronologically smack in the middle of "the big 80s," the do-nothing-wrong Buckaroo may seem a bit stale for some, even verging into author or audience projection. Most of the special effects budget appears to have been spent on the Jet Car and the facial appliances for the various Lectroids, as the miniature work for the spacecraft we see is laughable even by the standards of Star Wars before Lucas started messing around with it. The movie certainly isn't going to be blowing your mind with clever narrative construction or even that many interesting characters.
What a guy. Then again, neither did Flash Gordon or Total Recall. Buckaroo's story has got its tongue firmly wedged in its cheek, and the smiles that pass between the Hong Kong Cavaliers are pretty infectious. Like any good parody, the movie is in on its jokes and knows it shouldn't be taken too seriously. It's one of those times where the MST3K mantra comes in handy. Unlike some other parodies, though, Buckaroo Banzai doesn't go so far as to address or even acknowledge the fourth wall. The film is, for better or for worse, mostly concerned about doing its own thing. In fact, that's one of the biggest selling points for this admittedly silly and campy flick: it's original. It's indicative of a time where filmmakers, actors and special effects houses were keenly interested in trying something new and different. In this case, the goal was to create a character that harkened back to the pulp adventures of two-fisted yet erudite men of action like Doc Savage while including elements of super-science of the nuclear age. While Buckaroo's polymath portfolio does verge on the ridiculous at times, the way in which he's presented seems more along the lines of Ace Rimmer from Red Dwarf than any straighfoward Mary Sue type. You may scoff at his ability to pull hitherto unknown devices and parachutes out of his ass, but you can't help but like the guy. He can't spend too much time thinking about how great he is, dammit, there's a world to save!
"VAT DO YOO MEEN ZEY DUN LIKE ZE MOVEE?" In the end, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension is harmless, campy and very unique fun. I can't say every modern viewer is going to tolerate some of its dated effects and conventions, as it was created before ironic artistic expression was as huge as it is, but it's certainly not looking to be taken seriously as art or make a lasting impression on genre fiction. There are quite a few mainstay actors from the fringes of the cinema present, from Peter Weller's aw-shucks Banzai to John Lithgow's extremely insane evil overlord, from Clancy Brown's warm and friendly cowboy to Christopher Lloyd's acerbic nefarious crony. It won't be the best science fiction, action/adventure or comedic spoof you've ever seen, but I can pretty much gurantee that when you watch Buckaroo Banzai, you'll agree that you've never seen anything quite like it. And in a world of derivative spin-off cash-ins and adaptations ranging from reasonably faithful to face-palmingly atrocious, that's absolutely nothing to sneeze at. Give it a try, and remember... no matter where you go, there you are.
"Sir, I'm going to have to write you a ticket for breaking both the sound and dimensional barriers...
...and for not making the Jet Car out of something more aerodynamic."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Book Review: The Hunger Games

Book Review: The Hunger Games — Blue Ink Alchemy

On our final trip to the local Borders book store, my wife and I picked up a few things, such as Earth: The Book, which is every bit as hilarious as you can imagine, and the first collection of the Path of the Planeswalker mini-comics based on Magic: the Gathering. On something of a whim, I also picked up the first novel in a trilogy penned by Susanne Collins called The Hunger Games. As I'm aiming one of my novels squarely for the upper end of the young adult audience, I figured it would be good for me to know what I'm up against. Finishing this book has convinced me I need to step up my game.
"May the odds be ever in your favor." The Hunger Games opens with a bleak picture of our future. After some North American catastrophe that is merely hinted at, we are introduced to the nation of Panem, a glimmering but austere Capitol surrounded by twelve specialized and somewhat downtrodden Districts. Our heroine, Katniss Everdeen, hails from the coal mining District 12, where she and her friend Gale must hunt in the forests (illegally) for food and supplies their families wouldn't be able to afford otherwise. At sixteen, Katniss has spent most of her adolescence signed up for the Hunger Games, where two children conscripted from each District fight to the death for the honor of bringing home wealth, food and prestige. When Katniss' little sister's name is drawn for this years Games, Katniss volunteers in her stead. What happens next goes far beyond the needs of Katniss' family and opens up a greater world of danger, intrigue, romance and adventure. Suzanne Collins clearly has a plan that extends beyond this book. As the first part of a trilogy, The Hunger Games must set up the characters, locations, events and themes to service the entire overall story. However, at no point does the book feel dry or overly expository. The perspective of Katniss both allows for the introduction of the necessary elements mentioned and keeps us firmly in the narrative of the story at hand. It's a fantastic example of characterization and plotting woven together to create a coherent first act that manages to stand alone. Speaking of characters, Collins also does a wonderful job fleshing out the people of Panem. Katniss as a heroine is at once strong and vulnerable, intelligent and naive. She feels, talks and reacts like a real person, with palpable confusion in some moments and grim resolution in others. Her fellow tribute from District 12, Peeta, shows a great deal of complexity as well, along with some of the adults involved and the tributes from other Districts. The entire enterprise from start to finish has all of the hallmarks of careful construction, not only creating this new world of a potential future but also giving readers a reason to care about it. The sensationalism and spin doctoring of Panem surrounding the Hunger Games and the undercurrent of oppression and misery feels close to home. There are eerie similarities between the ways in which the Capitol interacts with its Districts and the rhetoric and attitude of certain elements in today's world in general and the United States in particular. Between this similarity and the presentation of Katniss, Collins draws the reader in and refuses to let go, compelling each page to turn as the action unfolds. When the book is over, the readers is satisfied with the conclusion but left wanting more, which is exactly how any book should end, but especially when more are planned to come after it. The Hunger Games is a wonderful book, deeply involving and a delight to read. And yet it's only the first part of a greater narrative exercise. Subsequent books are poised to deliver more great characterization, a deeper exploration of the world of Panem, and more sleepless nights for the reader as they (that is, we) eagerly turn page after page. Good luck putting this one down. If this is what the kids are reading these days, the work of aspiring novelists like myself has clearly been cut out for us.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Book Review: The Hunger Games

Book Review: The Hunger Games — Blue Ink Alchemy

On our final trip to the local Borders book store, my wife and I picked up a few things, such as Earth: The Book, which is every bit as hilarious as you can imagine, and the first collection of the Path of the Planeswalker mini-comics based on Magic: the Gathering. On something of a whim, I also picked up the first novel in a trilogy penned by Susanne Collins called The Hunger Games. As I'm aiming one of my novels squarely for the upper end of the young adult audience, I figured it would be good for me to know what I'm up against. Finishing this book has convinced me I need to step up my game.
"May the odds be ever in your favor. The Hunger Games opens with a bleak picture of our future. After some North American catastrophe that is merely hinted at, we are introduced to the nation of Panem, a glimmering but austere Capitol surrounded by twelve specialized and somewhat downtrodden Districts. Our heroine, Katniss Everdeen, hails from the coal mining District 12, where she and her friend Gale must hunt in the forests (illegally) for food and supplies their families wouldn't be able to afford otherwise. At sixteen, Katniss has spent most of her adolescence signed up for the Hunger Games, where two children conscripted from each District fight to the death for the honor of bringing home wealth, food and prestige. When Katniss' little sister's name is drawn for this years Games, Katniss volunteers in her stead. What happens next goes far beyond the needs of Katniss' family and opens up a greater world of danger, intrigue, romance and adventure. Suzanne Collins clearly has a plan that extends beyond this book. As the first part of a trilogy, The Hunger Games must set up the characters, locations, events and themes to service the entire overall story. However, at no point does the book feel dry or overly expository. The perspective of Katniss both allows for the introduction of the necessary elements mentioned and keeps us firmly in the narrative of the story at hand. It's a fantastic example of characterization and plotting woven together to create a coherent first act that manages to stand alone. Speaking of characters, Collins also does a wonderful job fleshing out the people of Panem. Katniss as a heroine is at once strong and vulnerable, intelligent and naive. She feels, talks and reacts like a real person, with palpable confusion in some moments and grim resolution in others. Her fellow tribute from District 12, Peeta, shows a great deal of complexity as well, along with some of the adults involved and the tributes from other Districts. The entire enterprise from start to finish has all of the hallmarks of careful construction, not only creating this new world of a potential future but also giving readers a reason to care about it. The sensationalism and spin doctoring of Panem surrounding the Hunger Games and the undercurrent of oppression and misery feels close to home. There are eerie similarities between the ways in which the Capitol interacts with its Districts and the rhetoric and attitude of certain elements in today's world in general and the United States in particular. Between this similarity and the presentation of Katniss, Collins draws the reader in and refuses to let go, compelling each page to turn as the action unfolds. When the book is over, the readers is satisfied with the conclusion but left wanting more, which is exactly how any book should end, but especially when more are planned to come after it. The Hunger Games is a wonderful book, deeply involving and a delight to read. And yet it's only the first part of a greater narrative exercise. Subsequent books are poised to deliver more great characterization, a deeper exploration of the world of Panem, and more sleepless nights for the reader as they (that is, we) eagerly turn page after page. Good luck putting this one down. If this is what the kids are reading these days, the work of aspiring novelists like myself has clearly been cut out for us.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

There was a POST here. It's gone now.

There was a POST here. It's gone now. — Blue Ink Alchemy

Well, this is embarrassing. In the midst of finishing The Hunger Games and getting ready for today's interview, I forgot to write up a post for my usual noon release slot. Oops. So! Review of Hunger Games tomorrow, and The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension for IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! on Friday. Be there.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

One Gamer's Etiquette

One Gamer's Etiquette — Blue Ink Alchemy

Not pictured: polite conversation. I probably play more games than I should. It's my dominant hobby, and I've had more than my fair share of good and bad experiences with it. There are times when I recall days when I was much worse than I am now, unable to think things through properly and, worse, ungracious with fellow players. I don't shy away from competition and I feel an experience is better when shared, but it took some time to learn how to be humble in victory and gracious in defeat. Quite a few gamers need to learn those lessons. A team experience is a good one to have when it comes to games. Even if it's a free-for-all environment, the shared nature of the game hightens the enjoyment for everyone involved. It's why I enjoy Thursday nights up at Cyborg One so much: nobody's there to prove they have the best deck, just that they have a cool one, and there's so much more snarking, politicking and good-natured ribbing than around a draft or standard tournament table. Monobattles in StarCraft 2 are similar. Each player produces one type of unit, just one, and try to work their choices together into some form of strategy. Whether it works or not, it's all in good fun and everybody has a fun time with it. I feel more team experiences online should be like that. However, some players take their games very seriously. More often than not I log into a Team Fortress 2 server and choose a class the team needs or where I feel I can help the most, only to be told how badly I suck and how I shouldn't bother playing. Now, I understand that trash talk on the Internet has about as much bite to it as a septuagenarian with a bowl of oatmeal, but this usually comes from the team I happen to be on. It's disheartening to say the least. Maybe I'm being overly sensitive about it, but in my opinion it's better to offer a tip than to condescend. "Try not to lose your healing target" is a more helpful comment than "You suck so hard at being a Medic you made your mom cry when I banged her last night." It could be I'm simply logging into the wrong servers, and should be more discriminatory. It could also be that I shouldn't pay attention to the ramblings of youngsters who do nothing but play these games. However, I've had experiences like last night where I will leave a bad experience in one game behind to find a much better one in a different co-op game. After taking some stick in TF2 for not being an absolute baller at every class when outnumbered, I logged into Killing Floor and found a server where I could practice being a Field Medic on a vanilla map. It was night and day. You know you're doing something right when not only does a player say what a great time they're having and how well the team is working together, they specifically call out that the biggest baddies should be kept away from you because you're keeping everybody alive. I open every StarCraft 2 ladder match with "gl hf" - Good luck, have fun. Most of the time I'm echoed or get some form of positive response. But occasionally, I'll get a reply that would be classified as "bm" - bad manners - in the form of derision, dismissal or homophobic epithets. I find myself wondering why such antics are deemed necessary. It's probably funny to some, and my aversion to it can probably be construed as being overly sensitive, taking the game too seriously or something along those lines. But that's the way I feel about it. Good manners are not that difficult. And when you put them into practice, you make the gaming experience better for everybody involved. Unless the other player is utterly committed to calling every opponent they meet a talentless fag.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: Enter the Bishop

Flash Fiction: Enter the Bishop — Blue Ink Alchemy

Over on Terribleminds I'm playing The Numbers Game.

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He'd fought his way through her fortress, her brainwashed goons slapped aside as gently as possible. They were innocent, blameless. The silent plague they'd caught had done this. He entered the throne room at last, finding her on the wide dias, sampling ripe grapes. "You did this." The Bishop narrowed his eyes. "It was your enzyme." "Perhaps." Ivy stretched across her throne, indifferent to the holy man's indignation. "What, exactly, will you do about it?" He gripped his staff and called on his inner righteousness. The sword caught fire immediately. "May God have mercy on your soul. Because I certainly won't."

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Expendables

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! The Expendables — Blue Ink Alchemy

[audio:http://www.blueinkalchemy.com/uploads/expendables.mp3] With the unfortunate shutdown of Non-Social Media, I'm under no further obligation to do video versions of this feature. This may be a blessing in disguise, as I'm unsure how much free time I'll have on my hands in the future, not to mention the fact that I'm not feeling very well. On a possibly unrelated note, I watched The Expendables this week. I invite you to sit back and relax as you bear witness to me potentially becoming audibly ill. While there is something of a plot in this film, it seems to really only serve as an excuse for the cast to play off of one another. Considering the cast involves pretty much every major established action star of the last decade or so, to testosterone junkies this is probably a worthwhile excuse. For those interested in the details, the titular band of rogues are black-ops mercenaries contracted to take down the American-backed dictatorship in a fictional island nation. Actually, if you're familiar with video games at all, I'd venture that this plays out a bit like a movie version of the sandbox shooter Just Cause 2: a general lack of coherent plot, made-up island country, explosions you can outrun, one-liners with hilarious accents, and so on. Fans of action won't be disappointed. If all you look for in a movie is an excuse to dim the lights, pop some popcorn, pour some cola and turn your brain off for an hour or two, I say go for it. I'm in no position to tell people how to have their fun. I mean I spend a good portion of my free time with Magic the Gathering, StarCraft 2 and webcomics. For me to lean in from the side of the screen while Sylvester Stallone and his dream team of muscle men blow away legions of faceless mooks and say it's a pile of lifeless drivel smacks of pretentiousness, even hypocracy. And yet, as someone who takes storytelling in its various forms pretty damn seriously, I can't really help it if I get my boxers in a bunch over something like this. So if you're still with me after another one of my questionable digressions, let's crack this thing open and find out how many blanks it's actually shooting.
Writer, director, actor. When people say "triple threat" they usually don't mean "to good taste." Let's begin with the premise. I understand that this is meant to be something of an homage to the camp, over-the-top explosionfest action flicks of the late '70s and most of the '80s. If that's the case, where are the references to movies like Commando and Predator? Yes, Arnold makes a brief cameo appearance and there's one attempt at a joke at his expense (or maybe it was at Sly's, I couldn't bloody tell), but other than that The Expendables behaves very much like its own beast. And while some of it is certainly over-the-top in a moment or two of gratuitous violence and gun porn, most of it feels like it's trying to be taken somewhat seriously. There's banter and whatnot, sure, but there's no feeling of tongues being in cheek. If there's any sort of joke or irony at work here, our heroes are most certainly not in on it. From start to finish I was unable to find a single surprise, genuine laugh or legitimally compelling character. What little story there is takes more than a few unnecessary turns into the personal territory of characters we really don't care about. It's clear from the outset that Stallone is not writing, directing or starring in the sort of film where time and resources are managed well enough to both develop deep characters and put them through creative, well-shot action scenes - Sly is no Nolan. Hell, I hesitate to put him in the same directorial company as Michael freakin' Bay. His shot composition and ability to transition need a lot of work. At least he didn't use any wipes, so he has better sense than Lucas.
"So, Sly, what's my motivation again?"
"Yer shootin' people."
"Oh, right. Forgot." On a related note, let's talk about this cast and how they're utilized. Jason Statham showed some hand-to-hand fighting skill in his Transporter films, Randy Couture is a mixed martial artist, Dolph Lundgren has thrown down with the likes of Van Damme, Stone Cold Steve Austin beats people up all the time in staged fights and women when he's bored, and wiping the floor with all of them would be Jet "the second coming of Bruce" Li. So where are all of the breathtaking fistfights? Where's the mano a mano duels where weapons are discarded and it all comes down to one warrior's skill against another's? The moments where there's even the potential for this are shot, cut and paced so badly Paul Greengrass is rolling his shakey-cam eyes. None of the gunfights are particularly memorable, the villain has no real motivation other than greed and what should be an exciting or at least entertaining exercise in action movie nostalgia just left me feeling bored. Other than one neat sequence with the aforementioned seaplane and the monstrous AA12 automtic shotgun getting a moment in the limelight, The Expendables feels like another lackluster entry in the already bloated and uninteresting action film genre. It adds nothing to it, does nothing for it and says nothing about it. As I said, there's appeal in the fact that it demands nothing of its audience if said audience wants to give their higher brain functions a break, but the whole thing just feels tired, by the numbers and dull. Despite the star power of its cast, the potential for a reawakening of the band of misfits harkening to Seven Samurai or The Dirty Dozen and the opportunity for these manly men of modern movies to poke some fun at thesmelves, there isn't a single thing about The Expendables that would lead me to recommend it. No matter what Sly originally had in mind when he got this idea and gathered all of his friends, there's just nothing here.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Breaking Gameplay Down

Breaking Gameplay Down — Blue Ink Alchemy

Dire situations can lead to self-discovery. And sometimes soiled drawers. Very few of us are born experts. The process of going from novice to expert can be long and arduous. At times, it can be difficult to determine where to begin. In video games, once you get past the basic questions of which button does what, the various ways to distance oneself from being a newbie can seem overwhelming. Just as writing sometimes needs to be taken one word at a time, and programming to one line of code after another, so to can gaming be broken down into more manageable aspects. It's a form of what's called 'deliberate practice'. We choose an aspect of our skill set and work it hard until it's forged into something that will contribute to greater success. This is probably most prominent in any RPG you care to mention. If you want to find more loot, you need to practice picking locks. When I was playing World of Warcraft I found myself needing to improve on laying traps for crowd control or cooperating with a group without becoming flustered. You can be I will continue to work on those skills in Guild Wars 2, along with mastering the nuances of the classes one weapon at a time. It's not just limited to role-playing games, though. Even bare-bones shooters like Killing Floor lend themselves to this form of practice. Killing Floor features a set of perks for each player. You can choose which perk you want when joining a server and between waves of specimens ('zeds'). You can grind away at a particular perk until its maxed out, or you can get to a particular level and use that perk to earn some cash before switching to a problem area or something relatively untouched. For example, if you like being up close and personal, you can either get every tier of Berzerker or open up a long game by spending a few waves on that perk, then use the cash you earn to buy weapons for an underdeveloped perk such as Commando or Sharpshooter. The best part about Killing Floor is that some perks can be worked on even if they're not your primary choice - healing teammates contributes to your Medic perk even if you're running around as the Firebug. I didn't realize this particular form of practice had a formal name until I rekindled my interest in StarCraft 2 with the return of Day[9]'s Newbie Tuesday. He'd talked about a mental checklist before, but he also showed how focusing on a particular item on that list not only strengthens that item but also highlights other areas of weakness to be worked upon. I took this advice to heart and started playing again. I actually tried not to win and instead focus on one aspect of my play. I won a few games anyway. It's as true for video games as it is for most of our endeavours: sometimes, in order to build ourselves up, we need to break ourselves down first.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Breaking That Damn Block

Breaking That Damn Block — Blue Ink Alchemy

I know for a fact that writer's block doesn't exist. It's a phantasmal construct, a conjuration of minds desperate to make words appear on pages but struggling with an inability to do so. Every writer, from the best-selling novelist to the mommy blogger to the spinner of rhetoric deals with it now and again. The desire to write is there, hungry and unplacated, but the words are not. They simply do not appear. Those are the times when a writer is tempted to reach for the "writer's block" excuse. The fact of the matter is that many factors can contribute to a lack of words. Too many distractions. Not enough rest. Too much caffiene. Or not enough. Hunger, frustration, despair and doubt. Tangled emotions can wad up in the neurons of the writer and, yes, block the flow of creativity. It's the closest writer's block ever comes to being real. But along with the term comes the notion that it's wished into being by malevolent forces. A writer can believe that if writer's block is indeed the cause for a lack of productivity, there's little that can be done about it. Here's proof that you couldn't be more wrong. That's another thing that can cause a writer to believe in the so-called "block". A sense of futility. It can seem like there's no new stories to tell. An article on politics or gaming or frighteningly effective sex toys can appear redundant. This very post on writer's block feels a bit like repetition. So what? Just because a particular story has been told doesn't mean you can't tell it differently. Maybe even better. You won't know until you try, and the alternative is making nothing happen at all. In the words of XKCD, fuck that shit. We all have bad days. Everybody struggles. Not every moment is going to be full of the creative juices flowing freely from your brainpan through the dream-tubes in your arms to the paper or keyboard or tablet or paint-stained wall. And you know what? That's okay. What's not okay is letting it stop you from doing something about it. Maybe you won't write today. Maybe you feel your drawings suck. Maybe you think you suck hard at something you enjoy or want to excel in doing. Welcome to the human race, now stop beating yourself up over not being perfect. Let the issue drop. Stop worrying about it. Gnaw no more on your fingernails and insides. Take a break. Grab some food. Make yourself a drink. Find something pleasurable to do. Go the fuck outside. When you get back, the work will still be waiting for you. But you will no longer feel ill-equipped to deal with it. You will, instead, kick its ass. If writer's block did exist, consider sentiments like this your sledgehammer. I'll happily help you swing it.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey — Blue Ink Alchemy

You know those books about writing out there? Novels and Groupies for Dummies? The Idiot's Guide To Being The Next Stephen King? How I Did It by Stephenie Meyer? That's amateur hour. Kiddie stuff. On the battlefield of serious writing, where the freelancers struggle every day to make something happen, to feed themselves through words, to put bloody words on the page, they're the armchair generals. Chuck Wendig, on the other hand, is down in the trenches, right next to you, asking why in the hell you weren't issued booze and an iPad along with the spades to dig your foxholes. Revenge of the Penmonkey is the third book of writing advice he's put on Kindles, and the veteran status of his work shows. This is a guy who's been through the wringer. He's struggled, hand over hand, one word at a time, to carve out his own place as a storyteller and an iconoclast. He doesn't just show you how to make it as a novelist, short story writer, freelance penmonkey and menace to society - he shows you why. He gives you a "day in the life" entry that puts any office experience to shame. He explains in exhausting, knuckle-popping detail why your action scenes need to jump up, crane-kick and actually mean something. He shows you why self-publishing that limp piece of purple prose in your hand is a really, really bad idea. And he explains why he can say as much as he does with as much authority as he does. He's been there, man. He's seen the enemy. Looked it in the eyeballs. And it's us. Read between the lines of Revenge of the Penmonkey, moreso than his first two advice books, and you'll see what Chuck is really trying to tell us, what he wants to scream at us while shaking us by the lapels: Snap out of it. The words won't write themselves. Nobody can tell your stories but you. Forget the fact that the market's flush with the kind of thing you want to do. You can do it better. You can. But you have to take the first step. Write the words. Make the magic happen. Get off your ass. DO SOMETHING. The fact that he laces his heartfelt plea with anecdotes, the praises of gin and bucketloads of profanity is, really, just icing on the cake.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey — Blue Ink Alchemy

You know those books about writing out there? Novels and Groupies for Dummies? The Idiot's Guide To Being The Next Stephen King? How I Did It by Stephenie Meyer? That's amateur hour. Kiddie stuff. On the battlefield of serious writing, where the freelancers struggle every day to make something happen, to feed themselves through words, to put bloody words on the page, they're the armchair generals. Chuck Wendig, on the other hand, is down in the trenches, right next to you, asking why in the hell you weren't issued booze and an iPad along with the spades to dig your foxholes. Revenge of the Penmonkey is the third book of writing advice he's put on Kindles, and the veteran status of his work shows. This is a guy who's been through the wringer. He's struggled, hand over hand, one word at a time, to carve out his own place as a storyteller and an iconoclast. He doesn't just show you how to make it as a novelist, short story writer, freelance penmonkey and menace to society - he shows you why. He gives you a "day in the life" entry that puts any office experience to shame. He explains in exhausting, knuckle-popping detail why your action scenes need to jump up, crane-kick and actually mean something. He shows you why self-publishing that limp piece of purple prose in your hand is a really, really bad idea. And he explains why he can say as much as he does with as much authority as he does. He's been there, man. He's seen the enemy. Looked it in the eyeballs. And it's us. Read between the lines of Revenge of the Penmonkey, moreso than his first two advice books, and you'll see what Chuck is really trying to tell us, what he wants to scream at us while shaking us by the lapels: Snap out of it. The words won't write themselves. Nobody can tell your stories but you. Forget the fact that the market's flush with the kind of thing you want to do. You can do it better. You can. But you have to take the first step. Write the words. Make the magic happen. Get off your ass. DO SOMETHING. The fact that he laces his heartfelt plea with anecdotes, the praises of gin and bucketloads of profanity is, really, just icing on the cake.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey

Book Review: Revenge of the Penmonkey — Blue Ink Alchemy

You know those books about writing out there? Novels and Groupies for Dummies? The Idiot's Guide To Being The Next Stephen King? How I Did It by Stephenie Meyer? That's amateur hour. Kiddie stuff. On the battlefield of serious writing, where the freelancers struggle every day to make something happen, to feed themselves through words, to put bloody words on the page, they're the armchair generals. Chuck Wendig, on the other hand, is down in the trenches, right next to you, asking why in the hell you weren't issued booze and an iPad along with the spades to dig your foxholes. Revenge of the Penmonkey is the third book of writing advice he's put on Kindles, and the veteran status of his work shows. This is a guy who's been through the wringer. He's struggled, hand over hand, one word at a time, to carve out his own place as a storyteller and an iconoclast. He doesn't just show you how to make it as a novelist, short story writer, freelance penmonkey and menace to society - he shows you why. He gives you a "day in the life" entry that puts any office experience to shame. He explains in exhausting, knuckle-popping detail why your action scenes need to pop and actually mean something. He shows you why self-publishing that limp piece of purple prose in your hand is a really, really bad idea. And he explains why he can say as much as he does with as much authority as he does. He's been there, man. He's seen the enemy. Looked it in the eyeballs. And it's us. Read between the lines of Revenge of the Penmonkey, moreso than his first two advice books, and you'll see what Chuck is really trying to tell us, what he wants to scream at us while shaking us by the lapels: Snap out of it. The words won't write themselves. Nobody can tell your stories but you. Forget the fact that the market's flush with the kind of thing you want to do. You can do it better. You can. But you have to take the first step. Write the words. Make the magic happen. Get off your ass. DO SOMETHING. The fact that he laces his heartfelt plea with anecdotes, the praises of gin and bucketloads of profanity is, really, just icing on the cake.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Flash Fiction: The Torch

Flash Fiction: The Torch — Blue Ink Alchemy

Terribleminds made me do it.

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The news was the same as they walked into the restaurant as it had been all day: rumors of some sort of natural disaster followed by talking heads alternately saying everything was under control and everybody was doomed. Linus shook his head as he removed his wife's fur coat. "I wish they would make up their minds. Either it's under control or it isn't." "Well, if it were under control, someone in charge would say so, if anybody in charge was worth a damn." Linus pursed his lips, saying nothing. He didn't want to get dragged into another political argument with her. They'd been looking forward to this for too long. She looked damn good in her slinky black dress, her hair done up in a coy pile of ringlets on top of her head. Linus pulled out a chair for her as he looked around the room. The wait staff looked as good as ever, the men in tuxedos and the ladies closely resembling cigarette girls, despite the fact smoking was prohibited. The band was playing something smooth and atmospheric, as if time had left the club untouched since the 20s. He sat across from her, straightening his cufflinks and adjusting his jacket. The club insisted on the black-tie dress code, which was probably part of the appeal for her. He never thought he'd miss humping fifty or more pounds of gear through harsh conditions. "You're not here." His wife's words forced a smile as he waved for a waiter. "Sorry. Guess I'm still not sure about these cufflinks." "Please. They look fine. Try to relax, would you? I'd rather not have you wound up for our evening out." She loved this look, this period, the way women dressed and acted in books and films. It was an escape for her. She got away from her tiresome reports and the condescension of her superiors and the wandering eyes of coworkers. Linus understood that. What he never understood and never asked about was how she treated him at times like this. It was like she didn't stop being a boss. He knew she meant well, telling him to relax and all, but her tone just put him more on edge. He was already edgy after a day of taking engines apart. She picked up on this, smiled, and touched his hand as the waiter approached. She was ordering their appetizers – the most expensive one, of course – when the TV volume picked up. "This just in, government officials now saying that rumors of quake damage to Progenitus Labs facilities are overstated. Nevertheless, citizens are advised to stay in their homes..." Linus didn't hear the rest. He was already on alert. There was commotion at the front; someone was banging on the door. The staff was locking it. The last time Linus felt this way, he'd stopped a Hummer five feet short of an IED. "Wait here. I need to use the men's room." "At a time like this? The crab bruchetta..." "It'll keep." He stood. "Stay here." She furrowed her brows at him. "Where do you think I mean to go?" "Just do it." She crossed her arms and frowned. He headed for the restrooms but walked past them to the back door near the kitchens. It was unlocked and not alarmed. He made his way through the rows of cars to the sedan. He was rummaging through the trunk to find his stowaway case when he saw them. They shambled rather than walked. Men and women in lab coats, hazmat suits, uniforms and street clothes. They seemed to be skirting around the lights, keeping mostly to the darkness. Their eyes stared, bleeding from the corners. Arms twitched and legs spasmed. They drooled pinkish bubbles and moaned one to another. They were the ones banging on the front door. A few peeled off to head towards the parking lot. One of them reached the junction box on the outside. Fingers curved like claws reached for the metal and began to yank. It only took a few tugs to pull the box free of its moorings and wires. That's when the screaming began inside. Linus stuffed his pocket with double-ought shells. The Colt went under his belt at the small of his back, and he ditched the suit coat and cuff links. Rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed the boomstick and a couple of road flares. He wished he had sturdier shoes on as he broke into a run towards the darkened back door of the club. One of them lunged for him. He whirled and let it have a barrel of buckshot. The fire put it on the ground ten feet away with a gaping hole in its chest. They smelled awful. He got inside, slammed the door and popped a flare. The kitchen staff gaped at him. "Barricade this door. Nobody gets in." They scurried to obey. He walked back through the kitchen to the dining hall, getting up on stage near the stunned band. He turned to the crowd. Every face looked up at him, illuminated by the glimmering torch in his hand. His eyes moved from person to person, and then he found her. She was, like every other person there, terrified. All of the bluster and haughtiness that kept corporate dogs at bay fell away by the light of the torch, and in that moment, they were the only two people in the room. The woman he loved had been strong for him when he'd been at war, and had clung to that strength. Now it was his turn. What he'd done for his country, he'd now do for the woman he loved. "All right, people, listen up." Linus made his voice heard over the banging at the front door. "You're going to pay attention and follow my lead, and maybe, just maybe, we'll get out of this mess alive."

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief — Blue Ink Alchemy

Original Text: [spoiler] Joseph Campbell is famous for basically saying that all storytellers are essentially telling the same story. Be it a myth based on the perceptions of the ancient Norse of their weather patterns or the all-caps melodrama and bright, splashy colors of a comic book by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, our stories are a way of exploring ourselves and the world around us. Sometimes, the old stories are reimagined and transitioned into new forms that appeal to the altered sensibilities of modern audiences. Sometimes this works; other times, it doesn't. Not every middle schooler is going to have a nascent interest in the mythology of ancient Greece, so author Rick Riordan took it upon himself to set those stories in the foundations of those tumultuous schoolyards, giving us Percy Jackson & the Olympians. The first volume of this chronicle, The Lightning Thief, got the major motion picture from Hollywood treatment. And by 'treatment', I mean the potential for storytelling that's worth a damn got tied to a chair and worked over with a baseball bat. Our titular character is a struggling middle-school student with apparent dyslexia and ADHD. His mother is married to a complete and utter douchebag while his birth father scampered off while Percy was still a newborn. His best friend, Grover, walks with crutches and has a penchant for cracking wise that works really hard to put Chris Tucker to shame. A visit to the local museum and a lecture by his wheelchair-bound Latin teacher begins to reveal some truths to Percy: his dyslexia is due to his brain being hard-wired to read ancient Greek, mythological creatures want him dead, his best friend is a satyr and his teacher's a centaur. Oh, and he's the son of Poseidon, Greek god of the sea. He must undertake a quest to return the lightning bolt of Zeus lest the king of the gods starts a massive war over its theft. Why Zeus would leave his trademark weapon which also happens to be the Olympian equivelant of a tactical nuclear strike laying around unattended is one of the many, many unanswered questions brought up in the course of this plot. Odin had a damn treasure vault for stuff like this, and Zeus couldn't even slap a "No Touchie" magical whammy on the thing? But let's move on. I don't want to spend my entire rage quotient in the second major paragraph. Having never read this series of books, I can't comment on how well the narrative of the novel transitioned into the screenplay. What I can comment on is a visible shift in style and pacing by director Chris Columbus. This is a man best known for his light-hearted, kid-oriented films such as Home Alone, Mrs. Doubtfire and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. The Lightning Thief feels a bit like an act of teenage rebellion against those more childish forays into filmmaking. While once we might have spent more time with Percy at home or school learning about what makes him tick and how he deals with the challenges of his young life, we're thrust into the action almost immediately and given very little time for exposition. This is both a good thing and a bad one. Exposition, after all, is difficult to get right and more often than not becomes an anchor welded around the ankle of the story, dragging the audience into the cloying darkness of boredom. However, without even passing attempts at exposition the story is left adrift, batted without foundation between one event and the next with nary a thing to connect them. Percy's got a quest for a series of magical MacGuffins and an incidental need to rescue his mother to keep things going, but these elements have their own problems, seperate from those plauging the rest of the film. It would be one thing if the MacGuffins were tied one to the other by clues that needed to be investigated on the scene where each is found. Instead our heroes have a magical map that just tells them where to go. Cuts down on stuff like intellectual curiosity and character building, sure, but who needs that stuff when you have mythological creatures to battle with swords? As for Percy's mom, her character is also given something of the short end of the stick, and while most people would be genuinely concerned with a parent's sudden death or disappearance, Percy reacts to the incident with a bit of dull surprise, quickly lost when he spots the girl. Because, you know, hormones are a much better motivator for moving a story along than concern for a loved one. Without decent motivation or characterization for our hero, all we have left is action and spectacle. Again, the film falls short of delivering these elements without making things either bleedingly obvious or unnecessesarily dense. Instead of discovering the ways and means of his water-based demi-god powers, Percy has to be ham-handedly told how they work. Our heroes get out of their first two major scrapes thanks to everybody in the world having seen Clash of the Titans at some point, without explaining this point in-universe. The intrepid band spends five days in a pleasure palace before Percy's dad calls him up on the Olympin telepathiphone to inform him of the fact that they're farting around in a pleasure palace. And this says nothing about the aforementioned girl, supposedly the daughter of the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy, not employing the most practical and straightforward means of ending confrontations possible. Sure, it's in keeping with traditions to train with swords and bows and whatnot, but just think how many of these encounters Annabeth could have resolved more quickly, directly and painlessly with the implementation and distribution of fucking guns. Let's see, what else is wrong with this flick? Grover's irritating from start to finish, the only character who has interesting motivations and character beats in the slightest gets maybe five minutes of screen time, there's no real tension and any attempt the story makes at trying to be more than a pandering and predictable distraction for middle schoolers just trying to make out in the back of the theater is slapped down in favor of more of that blunt telling over showing bullshit I've harped about for the last three minutes. Given my personal interest in stories like this reworked into other settings and genres to prove their viability and longevity, I wanted to like The Lightning Thief, but the more I watched the angrier I got. No amount of Sean Bean or Kevin McKidd can save this flick. Harry Potter does a much better job of giving us relatable adolescent characters in a fantasy setting, and cribbing notes from Clash of the Titans made me yearn for the early 80s schlock of that original film and wonder about how bad the new version is. I guess I'll find out next week. For now, skip Percy Jackson. Give the books a try if you're part of the target demographic, but if you've already read Harry Potter and aren't frothing at the mouth for more of the same, I doubt you're missing much. Find Madeline l'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time or T.H. White's The Once and Future King instead. They're classics, they're poignant, and you don't have the token black character weighing the whole thing down with his attempts at being both the ethnic wisecracking sidekick and the Magical Negro. But at least you can make a fun drinking game out of every moment the so-called heroes of The Lightning Thief just get a solution handed to them and don't have to think for themselves, much like the audience. Wait. Scratch that. I don't want to be responsible for any of you dying from alcohol poisoning.[/spoiler]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief — Blue Ink Alchemy

Original Text: [spoiler] Joseph Campbell is famous for basically saying that all storytellers are essentially telling the same story. Be it a myth based on the perceptions of the ancient Norse of their weather patterns or the all-caps melodrama and bright, splashy colors of a comic book by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, our stories are a way of exploring ourselves and the world around us. Sometimes, the old stories are reimagined and transitioned into new forms that appeal to the altered sensibilities of modern audiences. Sometimes this works; other times, it doesn't. Not every middle schooler is going to have a nascent interest in the mythology of ancient Greece, so author Rick Riordan took it upon himself to set those stories in the foundations of those tumultuous schoolyards, giving us Percy Jackson & the Olympians. The first volume of this chronicle, The Lightning Thief, got the major motion picture from Hollywood treatment. And by 'treatment', I mean the potential for storytelling that's worth a damn got tied to a chair and worked over with a baseball bat. Our titular character is a struggling middle-school student with apparent dyslexia and ADHD. His mother is married to a complete and utter douchebag while his birth father scampered off while Percy was still a newborn. His best friend, Grover, walks with crutches and has a penchant for cracking wise that works really hard to put Chris Tucker to shame. A visit to the local museum and a lecture by his wheelchair-bound Latin teacher begins to reveal some truths to Percy: his dyslexia is due to his brain being hard-wired to read ancient Greek, mythological creatures want him dead, his best friend is a satyr and his teacher's a centaur. Oh, and he's the son of Poseidon, Greek god of the sea. He must undertake a quest to return the lightning bolt of Zeus lest the king of the gods starts a massive war over its theft. Why Zeus would leave his trademark weapon which also happens to be the Olympian equivelant of a tactical nuclear strike laying around unattended is one of the many, many unanswered questions brought up in the course of this plot. Odin had a damn treasure vault for stuff like this, and Zeus couldn't even slap a "No Touchie" magical whammy on the thing? But let's move on. I don't want to spend my entire rage quotient in the second major paragraph. Having never read this series of books, I can't comment on how well the narrative of the novel transitioned into the screenplay. What I can comment on is a visible shift in style and pacing by director Chris Columbus. This is a man best known for his light-hearted, kid-oriented films such as Home Alone, Mrs. Doubtfire and Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. The Lightning Thief feels a bit like an act of teenage rebellion against those more childish forays into filmmaking. While once we might have spent more time with Percy at home or school learning about what makes him tick and how he deals with the challenges of his young life, we're thrust into the action almost immediately and given very little time for exposition. This is both a good thing and a bad one. Exposition, after all, is difficult to get right and more often than not becomes an anchor welded around the ankle of the story, dragging the audience into the cloying darkness of boredom. However, without even passing attempts at exposition the story is left adrift, batted without foundation between one event and the next with nary a thing to connect them. Percy's got a quest for a series of magical MacGuffins and an incidental need to rescue his mother to keep things going, but these elements have their own problems, seperate from those plauging the rest of the film. It would be one thing if the MacGuffins were tied one to the other by clues that needed to be investigated on the scene where each is found. Instead our heroes have a magical map that just tells them where to go. Cuts down on stuff like intellectual curiosity and character building, sure, but who needs that stuff when you have mythological creatures to battle with swords? As for Percy's mom, her character is also given something of the short end of the stick, and while most people would be genuinely concerned with a parent's sudden death or disappearance, Percy reacts to the incident with a bit of dull surprise, quickly lost when he spots the girl. Because, you know, hormones are a much better motivator for moving a story along than concern for a loved one. Without decent motivation or characterization for our hero, all we have left is action and spectacle. Again, the film falls short of delivering these elements without making things either bleedingly obvious or unnecessesarily dense. Instead of discovering the ways and means of his water-based demi-god powers, Percy has to be ham-handedly told how they work. Our heroes get out of their first two major scrapes thanks to everybody in the world having seen Clash of the Titans at some point, without explaining this point in-universe. The intrepid band spends five days in a pleasure palace before Percy's dad calls him up on the Olympin telepathiphone to inform him of the fact that they're farting around in a pleasure palace. And this says nothing about the aforementioned girl, supposedly the daughter of the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy, not employing the most practical and straightforward means of ending confrontations possible. Sure, it's in keeping with traditions to train with swords and bows and whatnot, but just think how many of these encounters Annabeth could have resolved more quickly, directly and painlessly with the implementation and distribution of fucking guns. Let's see, what else is wrong with this flick? Grover's irritating from start to finish, the only character who has interesting motivations and character beats in the slightest gets maybe five minutes of screen time, there's no real tension and any attempt the story makes at trying to be more than a pandering and predictable distraction for middle schoolers just trying to make out in the back of the theater is slapped down in favor of more of that blunt telling over showing bullshit I've harped about for the last three minutes. Given my personal interest in stories like this reworked into other settings and genres to prove their viability and longevity, I wanted to like The Lightning Thief, but the more I watched the angrier I got. No amount of Sean Bean or Kevin McKidd can save this flick. Harry Potter does a much better job of giving us relatable adolescent characters in a fantasy setting, and cribbing notes from Clash of the Titans made me yearn for the early 80s schlock of that original film and wonder about how bad the new version is. I guess I'll find out next week. For now, skip Percy Jackson. Give the books a try if you're part of the target demographic, but if you've already read Harry Potter and aren't frothing at the mouth for more of the same, I doubt you're missing much. Find Madeline l'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time or T.H. White's The Once and Future King instead. They're classics, they're poignant, and you don't have the token black character weighing the whole thing down with his attempts at being both the ethnic wisecracking sidekick and the Magical Negro. But at least you can make a fun drinking game out of every moment the so-called heroes of The Lightning Thief just get a solution handed to them and don't have to think for themselves, much like the audience. Wait. Scratch that. I don't want to be responsible for any of you dying from alcohol poisoning.[/spoiler]

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Dragons, Sphinxes and Wizards, Oh My!

Dragons, Sphinxes and Wizards, Oh My! — Blue Ink Alchemy

I've been getting my Magic fix lately with both trips home to see the family and weekly jaunts up to Cyborg One in Doylestown on Thursday nights. The Commander games are free, but gas is not and so I must pass this week. However, it hasn't stopped me from trading online and assembling a few decks. My goal has been to move away somewhat from the pre-constructed decks provided by Wizards of the Coast while still using some of the conveniences they provide. After all, a big part of the fun for me is to come up with Magic decks that don't follow established patterns exactly (if at all) and still manage to win. Gamers up at Cyborg will refer to this deck or that deck and how close they are to completing one of their own. Me? I like to surprise people.

Karrthus, Tyrant of Dragons

Quite a few of the Commanders out there are dragons. And many players have dragons in their decks. What better way to undermine what could be game-winning creatures in the decks of my opponents than to summon a Commander who takes control of every single dragon on the table? The downside to playing a deck rooted in these flame-breathing flying lizards is that some of them are a bit pricey to summon. But there are ways around that, be they lurking in my hand or in the graveyard. And while Sarkhan Vol may not get as much love as some other planeswalkers, in this deck he really shines. Even when he goes nuts.

Sharuum, Queen of All Cosmos

Lots of people use Sharuum as a Commander. Artifacts are pretty neat, in my opinion, and have a variety of uses. The right combination of cards can produce an indestructible, gleaming wall of metal opponents will be hard-pressed to overcome. I've been a fan of artifacts for a long time and after seeing my brother-in-law use Sharuum, I pondered how to make her style of deck my own. By the time I got one in a trade, along with a few other essential artifact-related cards, I had a pretty solid idea.
"Yes, we were naughty. Completely naughty. So, so very sorry.
"But just between you and us, it felt quite good." That's right. The Katamyri deck is back. With Innistrad coming I was afraid this fun little tribal deck would no longer be viable. Not so! Some of the cards I'd like to acquire for the deck may be a bit hard to come by, but with adorable little myr coming out of every corner of it and folks like Venser and this fine young woman it should really turn some heads. Into goo.

Arcanis the Omnipotent Cage Fighter

"Do not concern yourself with my origin, my race, or my ancestry. Seek my record in the pits, and then make your wager."

My sister told me that she, her husband and some friends had been putting together mono-colored Commander decks to play against one another. In the same conversation, she reminded me of how much she loathes control decks. I remembered that in my old (and reviled) Chronomancy deck, one of the wizards I played was a legend named Arcanis the Omnipotent. Arcanis and I had the same reaction. "Challenge accepted." As it turns out, this deck is also effective against my father's modified Heavenly Inferno deck. There's been at least one occasion where he's needed to off his own creature after I've taken control of it, and it won't be the last. The crux of the Arcanis deck is to be insidious. It has win conditions of poison counters & proliferation, as well as titanic leviathans that lock down creatures who aren't flying or islandwalkers. The bulk of the deck is all about counterspells, tapping and untapping creatures, bouncing permanents and assuming direct control. A few more wizards in addition to those present would help beef it up, as well as ways to avoid decking myself, some of which are in keeping with the leviathan theme.

Other Decks

While I've made some modifications to Counterpunch since that first fateful skirmish the deck still feels a bit helter-skelter to me. I've benched it for the time being, and am considering narrowing its focus to elves and saprolings. I gave Arcanis control of its proliferation artifacts to help with poison and level counters, among others. I've also toyed with the idea of transitioning my old Chronomancy deck to EDH much as I did the Katamyri, but unfortunately Jhoira would be a vulnerable commander and I wouldn't be able to do my favorite trick of having both Akromas in the deck. Numot, perhaps? I also think I could make an interesting EDH deck out of my old Sliver deck. But no. That's too insidious. ...For now.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Dragons, Sphinxes and Wizards, Oh My!

Dragons, Sphinxes and Wizards, Oh My! — Blue Ink Alchemy

I've been getting my Magic fix lately with both trips home to see the family and weekly jaunts up to Cyborg One in Doylestown on Thursday nights. The Commander games are free, but gas is not and so I must pass this week. However, it hasn't stopped me from trading online and assembling a few decks. My goal has been to move away somewhat from the pre-constructed decks provided by Wizards of the Coast while still using some of the conveniences they provide. After all, a big part of the fun for me is to come up with Magic decks that don't follow established patterns exactly (if at all) and still manage to win. Gamers up at Cyborg will refer to this deck or that deck and how close they are to completing one of their own. Me? I like to surprise people.

Karrthus, Tyrant of Dragons

Quite a few of the Commanders out there are dragons. And many players have dragons in their decks. What better way to undermine what could be game-winning creatures in the decks of my opponents than to summon a Commander who takes control of every single dragon on the table? The downside to playing a deck rooted in these flame-breathing flying lizards is that some of them are a bit pricey to summon. But there are ways around that, be they lurking in my hand or Sarkhan Vol may not get as much love as some other planeswalkers, in this deck he really shines. Even when he goes nuts.

Sharuum, Queen of All Cosmos

Lots of people use Sharuum as a Commander. Artifacts are pretty neat, in my opinion, and have a variety of uses. The right combination of cards can produce an indestructible, gleaming wall of metal opponents will be hard-pressed to overcome. I've been a fan of artifacts for a long time and after seeing my brother-in-law use Sharuum, I pondered how to make her style of deck my own. By the time I got one in a trade, along with a few other essential artifact-related cards, I had a pretty solid idea.
"Yes, we were naughty. Completely naughty. So, so very sorry.
"But just between you and us, it felt quite good." That's right. The Katamyri deck is back. With Innistrad coming I was afraid this fun little tribal deck would no longer be viable. Not so! Some of the cards I'd like to acquire for the deck may be a bit hard to come by, but with adorable little myr coming out of every corner of it and folks like Venser and this fine young woman it should really turn some heads. Into goo.

Arcanis the Omnipotent Cage Fighter

"Do not concern yourself with my origin, my race, or my ancestry. Seek my record in the pits, and then make your wager."

My sister told me that she, her husband and some friends had been putting together mono-colored Commander decks to play against one another. In the same conversation, she reminded me of how much she loathes control decks. I remembered that in my old (and reviled) Chronomancy deck, one of the wizards I played was a legend named Arcanis the Omnipotent. Arcanis and I had the same reaction. "Challenge accepted." As it turns out, this deck is also effective against my father's modified Heavenly Inferno deck. There's been at least one occasion where he's needed to off his own creature after I've taken control of it, and it won't be the last. The crux of the Arcanis deck is to be insidious. It has win conditions of poison counters & proliferation, as well as titanic leviathans that lock down creatures who aren't flying or islandwalkers. The bulk of the deck is all about counterspells, tapping and untapping creatures, bouncing permanents and assuming direct control. A few more wizards in addition to those present would help beef it up, as well as ways to avoid decking myself, some of which are in keeping with the leviathan theme.

Other Decks

While I've made some modifications to Counterpunch since that first fateful skirmish the deck still feels a bit helter-skelter to me. I've benched it for the time being, and am considering narrowing its focus to elves and saprolings. I gave Arcanis control of its proliferation artifacts to help with poison and level counters, among others. I've also toyed with the idea of transitioning my old Chronomancy deck to EDH much as I did the Katamyri, but unfortunately Jhoira would be a vulnerable commander and I wouldn't be able to do my favorite trick of having both Akromas in the deck. Numot, perhaps? I also think I could make an interesting EDH deck out of my old Sliver deck. But no. That's too insidious. ...For now.

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Blue Ink Alchemy