I did not have a very productive morning in terms of getting my grades done before noon like I normally do. I was a bit distracted by… a pressing matter that will come to a head tomorrow. So, at noon, I packed up my laptop and student essays, hid them, and made my way to see How to Train Your Dragon, which I’d wanted to see for a while. So worth the interruption to my day. If you haven’t seen it, get to your local theatre before it’s gone.
That being said, don’t read any further if you haven’t seen the film. Spoilers ahead.
“You’re not my son.”
Hiccup, the protagonist, is the skinniest of all the Viking in his village (except for Astrid, so you know they’re going to get together by the end) and the least physically able to participate in his tribe’s all-consuming pastime: dragon slaying (further evidence Hiccup will get together with Astrid by the end because, as Paula Abdul knows, opposites attract). Even though he has a million inventions to do the heavy lifting involved in dragon slaying, his father, the village chief, isn’t interested in progress. He’d rather rely on old-fashioned ways of dispatching the winged terrors. During a dragon raid, Hiccup traps a never seen, but rumored to be the worst dragon of all, a Night Fury. However, no one believes him when he announces his triumph. Hiccup sneaks away from the village and finds the Night Fury, whom he befriends over time and names Toothless. I’m going to have to admit that there were parts of this movie that made me tear up a bit. Maybe it’s the fact that I was really caffeinated at the time which always makes me emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that I have several pets, little souls in my care, whom I love more than I’ve loved most of my exes (not in an Erick Rivera kind of way, but in an appropriate human/animal kind of way). Maybe it’s because I have daddy issues out the wazoo (I can barely sit through The Lion King). Pick your trauma, but I found the plot of How to Train Your Dragon to be one with more depth and interest than most movies I’ve seen of late (including the last-in-a-line-of-godforsaken-French-films-that-unfathomably-win-awards opus, A Prophet).
“You just gestured to all of me!”
There’s something about a running gag that I love, and HtTYD is full of them, mostly directed at Hiccup. I want to call this “The Muppet Movie Syndrome”. Thankfully, the jokes never have the chance to grow predictable, and by the end, they’ve evolved into expressions of affection, again, directed at Hiccup. There’s also one transgressively bawdy joke at the expense of Hiccup’s dead mother. Stoick gives Hiccup his first gift: a horned helmet made from Mom’s breastplate. He explains, pointing to his own, that they’re a matched set; they keep her close. Hiccup tries to be appreciative, but, ya know, “Ew!”
The language is a little bit “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and a little bit “Glee”. Nothing wrong with that since that’s the demographic the movie points itself at (I was there! What more proof do you need?), and I didn’t even notice. At all. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m losing my linguistic edge.
“Well, most of him.”
I didn’t see the crippling at the end coming, though given all the other motifs, I should have. Still, I gasped when Hiccup got out of bed for the first time since being wounded fighting the Tyranodragon and his metal prosthetic touched the ground. It grounded the movie. Without it, the movie would have been good, but this irreversible maiming of a character made it, dare I say, profound.
“The food is tough and tasteless; the people even more so.”
I’m glad that How the Train Your Dragon was as fun as it was. Dreamworks is sometimes hit or miss with its animated features. Madagascar and Shrek had great early movies, but the shine dimmed quickly with all the sequels. Monsters vs. Aliens never got off the ground due to its glacial pacing and comic mistiming. However, Curse of the Were-Rabbit, Kung-Fu Panda and Chicken Run were all well done full stop.
One thing I found odd was the darkness of the 3D. At the end of the movie when I took my glasses ff, I couldn’t believe how much color had been filtered through the dark lenses. It obviously didn’t interfere with my enjoying the movie, and I obviously wasn’t even aware of it, but now I’m going to peek over my glasses during every 3D movie I go to to see if I’m missing something.
“That’s for everything else.”
When all is said and done, dragons will probably make a comeback at Christmas this year. I know I left the theatre wanting a dragon, but I had to settle for zipping through Friday afternoon traffic at speeds in excess of 15 MPH over the posted limit (I know: “Do you dare?”). I shouldn’t say that. My friends already think I’m a hazard on the road. Still, would I be less of a hazard riding a dragon? Well, maybe for airplanes.
Hie now!
Martin Gray of “Too Dangerous for a Girl” today asked his GLA brethren and sistren, “Is Heroes still doing OK in the US then? It pretty much lost UK viewer interest after the pants first season.” which sparked a discussion of whether or not he was just fucking with us by making up some seemingly plausible limey slang like “pants”. Turns out that it means “crap or nonsense”.
I am going to use this word every chance I get. Thanks, Martin!
Everyone knows that “ambidextrous” means “able to use both hands with equal skill”, right? “Ambi-” meaning “both, or dual” and “dextrous” meaning “right, or skillful”. So, how cool is it to learn that there is a counterpoised word that means “clumsy with both hands”: “ambisinister”!! As ever, all things left (or “sinister” in Latin) get a bad rap (ever hear about kids in Catholic schools getting their knuckles rapped for writing with their left hands because that’s where the Devil lives? Strewth!). This ranks right up there in terms of linguistic coolness with the curiously astrological roots for “disaster” (“dis” = “bad, wrong”, “aster” = “star”).
I heard this word on “Law & Order” the other day, and then it occurred to me that L&O is the best source to continue my yiddification.
Brightest Day #0
Geoff Johns needs to be cloned so he can write every current mainstream DC book, with maybe the exceptions of Wonder Woman and Batman and Robin and the upcoming return of Birds of Prey. His Blackest Night was the one event in years that was 1.) readable, and 2.) important. As one of DC’s new creative admins, he’s in the perfect position to make sure that his work isn’t changed at the whim of some editor **cough*dandidio*cough** because there’s more money to be had by putting out a new, contradictory event. With Brightest Day, Johns (with Peter Tomasi) brings continuity to his vision for the DCU by exploring the aftermath of the defeat of Nekron and the resurrection of several characters. There’s no story to report on so far, just tantalizing hints of what’s to come as seen by White Lantern Boston Brand, the hero formerly known as Deadman. Great stuff for the man I intend to father my children. Seriously, I’d grow a uterus for him. A+
Kill Shakespeare #1
I’m not a fanatical Shakespeare purist. You know, the kind who doesn’t have a sense of humor about adaptations or who can’t seen the plays done in alternative form (like “Ten Things I Hate about You” or “O” or “Forbidden Planet”). I am, however, one of those people who is going to give a salty opinion when some theatre group manages to mangle the text into something unrecognizable on stage. Which brings me to Kill Shakespeare. The stumbling blocks I had with this comic were exactly the elements that are crucial to a good comic book: the art, the language, and value of the story. Of course, the art sets the tone for the story because it’s the first apparent element when browsing a comic book title. Had Kagen McLeod, the cover artist for the edition I bought, done the entire story rather than Andy Belanger, I would have been more interested in the story. Belanger’s Mignola-like style pulls away from the story instead of supporting it. As far as the language goes, I wasn’t expecting iambic-pentameter (the only people who actually spoke in iambic-pentameter were pirates because in attempting to look educated, they were too dumb not to know that regular people didn’t speak that way), but I also wasn’t expecting contemporary language patterns. Lord knows there are enough 16th century resources and texts (or even amateur scholars) out there for people to emulate. And finally, Richard III is manipulating Hamlet into killing Shakespeare, and given the title, it seems a done deal that he’ll try to do so. Why show us your hand like that? It certainly doesn’t leave much in terms of plot twists or surprising moments. Then again, Rosencrantz here is shown to be a faithful friend to Hamlet and not Claudius’ crony, so who knows how Shakespeare himself will be characterized. Ultimately, there’s not enough here for me to consider buying issue #2. D
The study of saints. I was thinking that my short story collection should be titled Hagiography, even though only two of the stories are about saints. The rest are fairy tales of a sort. Still, until I find a word that means “the study of fairy tales”, I’m sticking with Hagiography.
Even though I agree with Lake Superior State University that the phrase “teachable moment” should be vanished from our collective vocabulary, I think I actually had one yesterday. or at least I had a moment and I turned it into a lesson.
My students have been struggling (mostly) with their most recent assignment Narrating a PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. I know they know how to tell stories, because that’s all they really do (it’s a Deaf Culture thing), so I’m beginning to suspect that it’s the structure and the limitations I’ve put on their story-telling abilities – “one specific moment told in interesting clarity” – that’s giving them agida. And I’ve been giving examples of how to do this out the wazoo, to varying degrees of success.
Then yesterday, something happened to me on the way home from work that I thought might be the best example yet. I typed it up in an email and sent it out to my students with the hopes that their love of the arabesque (seriously; one student wrote about ripping open his scrotum on a spiked fence post) would connect to the experience, and maybe help them with their own writing. Here’s what happened (broken down into sections so my students can see what each looks like):
TOPIC SENTENCE:
Yesterday while driving home, I had a heated verbal exchange with another driver which I later felt badly about.
BACKGROUND:
I think I am a safe driver even if my friends disagree with me. They say I drive too fast, that I’m impatient, and that I should stop yelling at other drivers when they make a mistake. I tell them that in the last 20 years I have only had three tickets (for allegedly running red lights, which I still think were all bogus) and no accidents. None of them can say the same.
BODY:
Be that as it may, on my way home yesterday, it was raining, which means I had to drive more attentively since Austin drivers tend to forget how to drive in the rain. On the 183/Airport Boulevard exchange, a lady in the car next to me tried to merge into my lane, almost hitting me. To avoid her, I pulled all the way over to the side of the road, honked, then resumed driving. I passed her as soon as I could.
A little bit down the road, I came to a stop light. While waiting for it to turn green, the door of the truck in front of me opened, and a woman stepped out. She glared at me and yelled, “You’re too close to me!”
Unsure I had her her right, I said, “Sorry?”
“You’re driving to close to me! That’s why you almost hit that lady back there!”
That was not why the lady and I had almost collided, but I was too incensed to want to discuss it. Instead, I retorted, “Well, I haven’t hit you yet, so try not to worry.”
She got even more angry and yelled, “It’s raining out. You need to back away from my car.”
Now thoroughly upset, I responded, “Thanks for the advice. Where should I send the Mother’s day card?”
“I mean it! Back off or I’ll call the police!”
And, I, unfortunately, said, “Put down the Ding-Dongs or I’ll call Weight watchers!” (She was… husky.)
Now she was completely upset with me, and started to walk towards my car. But before she could reach my window, I ducked down in my seat, covered my face with my arms and started screaming, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just don’t eat me! I’m sorry!”
She stopped dead in her tracks, stunned, then started crying.
Luckily at that moment, the light turned green, and put my car into gear and drive around her, my heart pounding with righteous indignation.
I made my way home, muttering angrily to myself the entire time. However, by the time I reached my front door, it occurred to me that I had really argued dirty. This woman who had to tell me to drive “better” was probably doing so out of concern for her own safety. Again, Austin drivers do not drive well in the rain. I know that, and she probably did too. So, I felt a little bad about bringing up her weight when that wasn’t really what the argument was about.
CONCLUSION:
It is unlikely I will see this particular woman again, but in the future I will try to remember to be polite to other drivers on the road.
The ending is a bit saccharine, but with a certain staff member who is looking for any excuse to bitch to my boss about me, I decided to ameliorate any possible offense by taking the mea culpa road. I’ve already posted about this on Facebook, so it’s out there in the public forum already, but I haven’t said how much is true and how much is my (very angry) imagination (see ASMD!!! and Rise of the Pink Ninjas). I’m trying to teach my students to be good liars by being one myself.
I’m excited to see what they give me on Tuesday. I mean, if I’m allowed to go anywhere near them.
I’ve missed out on reading many, many of the classics, so I pulled Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness off my shelf (yes, unread for (dear Lord…) fifteen years) and began moving towards rectification. “Ansible” is her word. It’s a radio that can transmit a signal across immeasurable distance instantaneously. Le Guin says it’s taken from the word “answerable”. It reminds me of the Latin “ansa”, which means “a handle or loop”. I have an idea for this year’s Christmas story, and I think some sort of ansible would fit in perfectly.
Another Yiddish word I’m going to try to incorporate into my vocabulary. I’ve already started to use “fartatshish”.
My friend John posted this stunning plea to studio heads to make Breaking Dawn into a movie. Unlike this young man, I’ve never read the book and have no intention of doing so, nor do I plan to see any of the Twilight movies. Still, his from-the-soul demand gave me two things: a good laugh and the word “lacteal”.
This season on “Supernatural”, the Winchester boys are working to stop the Apocalypse that they started. Of course, this means there’re more angel and demons running around than Dan Brown ever tried to name, relics to be had, and God to be found. During the last episode, “Dark Side of the Moon”, Sam and Dean have to travel along the “Axis mundi” to get to Heaven’s Garden Area. I thought I’d never heard of the Axis mundi before, but it turned out that everyone has probably heard of it, though maybe as one of its other names.
I love this phrase. Taken from a line in Hamlet, “petard” refers to small bombs that were used to breach walls or portcullises in castles; “hoist”, of course, means to be dragged or thrown into the air. Put together, there’s a wonderful image of a person planting a bomb and being to slow to get away before it explodes. Metaphorically speaking, it means that one’s weapon has turned around and hurt one instead. Ah, William!
I’m watching “Holmes on Homes” and just stunned by the level of incompetence displayed by the previous contractors who had worked on this couple’s basement. The Dunning-Kruger Effect doesn’t refer to Nightmare on Elm Street, but rather to the superiority incompetent people feel about their “accomplishments”.
I saw Clash of the Titans tonight. For those who don’t have time to read a whole review, I’ll summarize for you: “Don’t bother.” But if you have a few minutes, let me tell you why.
The Tyranny of Slavish Devotion vs. Just Call it the Fuck Something Else
No one loves deconstructed stories more than I do. Being able to take a familiar story and inject it with new and surprising elements is a skill that few people have, but more people should practice. Greek myths are, what, closing in on being two thousand five hundred years old now? Can we count how many times the stories have been told, re-told, embellished and spun? Doubtful. To tell the story of Perseus as one might find it in Edith Hamilton’s Mythology to a modern movie audience would invite sudden critical box-office death, which no one in the studio wants. Even to re-shoot the 1981 Clash of the Titans might cause audiences to wonder why a script with more 21st century sensibilities wasn’t used. In and of themselves, there is nothing wrong with these approaches to updating movies (whether one should update movies in the first place is another issue altogether), but every once in a while, something like 1995’s The Scarlet Letter rises from the brew.
Clash of the Titans is 2010’s The Scarlet Letter.
Again, one does not have to be tied down to the source material – Lord knows the original CotT wasn’t – but why mess with the relationships between the characters? Hades is out to rule Olympus? Danae is not Acrisius’ daughter, visited by Zeus in the form of a golden shower (ahem…), but his wife, visited by Zeus in Acrisius’ form a la Uther meets Igraine? Djinn? Perseus loves Io? Wasn’t she a cow? Should someone tell Perseus or will he discover her udders for herself (speaking of which, what an odd costume choice that was for Cassiopeia)? If that much re-arranging is going to be done, why even bother with the CotT name-recognition? Make up some mythical land with its own pantheon and released it under a different title altogether. Maybe Dungeon Siege is in need of a sequel.
“Getting to Know Nothing about You”
How is it possible that in the scope of a two-hour movie, almost nothing exciting happened? Wait. Let me qualify that: there was lots of destruction and things exploded and monsters were around every corner. But I could have cared less. I didn’t have the slightest interest in the problems of these characters because I didn’t know who they were. Thinking back, I can’t recall most of the names of the characters who I watched for most of the film. Frankly, I’m not even sure their names were said. I searched vainly on IMDB for a picture of the youngest member of Perseus’ party, first, cuz “woof!”, and second, because that was the only was I could hope to locate him: by his looks. I don’t have the slightest clue what his name was, though I’m guessing it ends with “-us”. Not that it matters because every character died in the Underworld anyway. Talk about Princess Parking.
The Schizophrenia of God
To look around these days, religion is getting kicked in the nads. Hard. Mostly through the fault of church leaders who, from all available reports, are in it for either a.) the tax-free donations, b.) the love of power, or c.) child-raping with impunity. The situation is exacerbated by the screaming devoted who on one had are a little too quick and a little to proud to make sure everyone knows they’re Christian, yet on the other are some of the biggest assholes around. Jesus loves you, but God will punish you. Do as I say, not as I do. Obama is a dark-skinned socialist, not at all like who Jesus was. God obviously needs a better PR machine than the one he has now because one doesn’t have to look any further than them to see why His stock is swirling the drain.
The Olympians are much like that. Zeus wants the love of the humans he created, but isn’t above terrorizing them to get it. He has a bastard son whom he’s willing to sacrifice because he’s not showing Dad any love, but then goes out of his way to help this son whose goal is to topple Olympus, yet somehow doesn’t see that or doesn’t care. Because family is just that important. All of which makes it easy to believe than an entire country has gone anti-god, and that a rabid pro-god cult has sprung up to fill the vacuum. Maybe it’s me and how I view religion, but the underlying message of “religion bad” was more pointed than an honor student’s pencil collection the morning of the SAT.
I’m torn between to possibilities: this was just part-in-parcel with the rest of the sloppy writing and editing in the film, or this was an on-the-nose condemnation of organized religion. I lean towards the latter because I’m a devoted anti-theist: I believe in a God of one nature or another, and I believe God’s true believers need to go find their own planet to live on. My proof, if one can call it that, is V for Vendetta. As soon as it was (relatively) safe to release an on-the-nose metaphor for the Bush Administration, they did. Better late than never, I suppose. Is CotT taking aim at the religious bedlam that has placed itself on the largest, yet most beleaguered (they say) soapbox in the public forum? No doubt Bill Donohue would be all over this cinematic lion, sending out poison e-missives to whomever still listens to him if he weren’t so busy making excuses for all the child-raping.
“Bitch” is the New Black
There is exactly one adult word in Clash of the Titans: “bitch”, as in speaking of Medusa, “Now let’s go kill this bitch!” After Perseus said this, I had a moment of déjà bolus. I had choked on this word before. Then I remembered from where: X3 with its now iconic “I’m the Juggernaut, BITCH!”
It was just as distasteful now as it was then.
Moments. Mere Moments.
Despite what I’ve said, not everything was terrible. Of course, there were Sam Worthington’s calves (sadly, he never took off his shirt. Not. Once. What the hell kind of sword-and-sandals movie is this?), but there was also a glimmer of a larger story. When Perseus and company arrived at the lair of the Stygian Witches, Io explained the ruins were the site of the battle between the Kraken and the Titans. Just like that, I wondered where the temples and personalities and nymphs and fauns and gods were. The one thing missing from this movie about Greek mythology was the mythology.
Another treat was the Bubo-shaped Easter egg that was in the movie for 15 seconds, though sadly as the butt of a derisive joke. It was cool to see him, but like the rest of the movie, this scene mocked its better.
“Re-make” ≠ “Better”
I saw Clash of the Titans at the Alamo Drafthouse South, where they showed classic “Dynarama” trailers spotlighting Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion effects work on The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, and Jason and the Argonauts, and the original Clash of the Titans. Even with the clunky monsters and their sometimes awkward interactions with real people, I just added the gift set to my Amazon.com wish list (hint hint). I can say with no uncertainty that will not happen with 2010’s CotT.
The And
Of course, this is just me. I’m a firm believer in “Go and see”. Once you do, let me know and we’ll talk. I’m eager to hear what others think. A final dire thought: as everything else goes these days, is it impossible that a sequel is in the works already?
This is the name of the paragraph mark used in editing. Now I’m dying to know if some clever cookie has come up with names for the infinity symbol (besides “lemniscate“) and the graphic used to show breaks inside chapters.
