Random acts of Ranting

A short review of Avatar in 10 parts

PETERMBALL Conspicuous Acts of Cultural Consumption , , , ,

1) I’m going to find every mother-fucker who tried to convince me I’d like this film and I’m going to punch them in the arm. If they trotted out the “you just have to turn your brain off” logic, I’m going to punch them twice. I turned my brain off, as advised. It was still too stupid for me to actually like it.

2) To be fair, there were some good bits. Many of them recycled from Aliens, the last film James Cameron made that I actually liked. I liked Giovanni Ribbisi’s evil corporate guy far more than I liked Paul Reiser’s evil corporate guy. And Michelle Rodriguez in an ornithopter makes up for a variety of ills.

3) At the end of the first hour, I hoped that this might not be an utter disappointment. The opening is solid, the characters get onstage pretty quickly, the set-up is full of bad naming conventions but otherwise okay. Conflict is established: the marine among the field researchers; the humans against the world; Ripley versus Paul Rieser; that second Avatar pilot getting jealous of Jake’s success with the Navi. Sure, most of that conflict disappears once Sully is inside the Avatar, but maybe it’ll come back.

4) At the end of the second hour, I decided there really should be some Disney song about A Whole New World playing over the top of the long sequences where we learn that the world is magical and interconnected for the ninth or tenth time. Said sequences do a great job of showing of the technology and creating spectacle, but also eliminates every character arc but one. Most of the more interesting arcs are blatantly written out via voice-over.

4b) I’ll be honest here – Avatar is primarily about spectacle. I don’t do spectacle. My first response to the Grand Canyon was “It’s a hole in the ground; lets go do something else.” Couple this with being an SF fan from way back and most of Avatar is really just well-rendered vistas of standard SF/Fantasy landscapes. If they wanted to do that, they should have just made a computer game.

5) At the end of the third hour, the movie had tried to perk me up by saying “Dragon’s versus Ornithopter’s, dude. Come on, this is cool.” For the most part, it was too late – I was bored and irritable and just wanted the fucking film over. Still, it was a cool fight scene. It lured me in. Then things got really stupid. Deus ex Machina stupid. And it tacked on a hand-to-hand fight scene it didn’t need, and tried to play out the character arc I would have been interested in if they’d actually bothered to build it at some point.

5b) The worst line in this film – and there are some contenders among the rather generic dialogue – comes in the finale twenty minutes when the hard-arsed marine captain squares off against our hero Sully and asks “how does it feel to betray your own race?” and you’re left thinking “you know what, it’d be nice if someone actually put some thought into that before this point in the script.”

6) Okay, the turning off my brain thing mentioned in point one? I can do it. Honestly, I can. I own copies of The Chronicles of Riddick. And Desperado. Heck, I own a copy of the Core. And I really, really liked Aliens. The thing is, most films where I turn off my brain basically say “look, if we have subtext it’s primarily accidental. We’re just chasing after the next cool thing.” They know that Subtext is a two-way street – you can’t promise it and walk away just because you have pretty visuals and nice action sequences. Avatar promised subtext and meaning. I paid attention. It decided I wasn’t getting it, despite the fact that the subtext is relatively shallow, and proceeded to beat me around the head with said subtext for the final hour of the film.

7) Seriously, the best thing in this film is Michelle Rodriguez flying a gunship.

8) Pandora? Sully? Grace? UNOB-FRICKEN-TANIUM? Worst naming conventions since the Chronicles of Riddick. And at least the Chronicles of Riddick knew it was an unrelenting sequence of cheese and action-sequences with all the depth of a wading pool.

9) 3D movies give me a headache.

10) Good things about this movie: Michelle Rodriguez; Sam Worthington; Paul Reiser Giovanni Ribisi; Ripley; the ability to endlessly snark about its failings; ornithopters. If someone would just take these elements and, say, remake Dune or put out a new Alien movie (without Predators), I’d be a happy man. ‘Cause there’s potential there for something awesome, especially now that Avatar’s gotten the obligatory “new film technology’s endlessly wanky film that’s really about how awesome said new film technology is” out of the way.

End Note: All of this leaves off the original objection to the film I posted on facebook a while back – that it’s going to be the same tired replay of white post-colonial guilt we’ve seen in shit like the The Power of One and Dances with Wolves and every other story where a white block from the conquering nation saves the tribe by becoming one of them. Needless to say, that objection remains, but I’m saddened to discover that there’s really no attempt to complicate the the narrative beyond that. Here’s one of those hints to take home – you can write a gritty story about the evils of corporations, or you can write a fairy tale. It’s fucking hard to do both in the same story, and Avatar falls apart about the point that it tries.

Six Things About America That I Tend to Covet

PETERMBALL Madcap Adventures and Distracting Hijinx ,

It’s been a rough week thus far (yes, all two days of it) and I’m in a covety kind of mood. I can’t help it, honest. Coveting things is one of those survival tactics that kick in when I’m otherwise unsure of what’s going on in the foreseeable future. And I figured I’d share some of the coveting. A tiny big of it, anyway. It will distract me until my jelly is ready to come out of the fridge and do it’s comfort-foody magic.

And so, in approximate order, the six things about America* that I tend to covet:

1) Home-delivered Chinese food that comes in neat folded cardboard boxes.

Oh little paper boxes full of wontons, cashew and noodle, how I dearly covet thee. In the fifteen years I’ve actually been eating Chinese food (I started late in life, after some bad experiences in my childhood) I have always been disappointed by the plastic containers in which Chinese take-away is served.

To say nothing of my disappointment upon discovering so few Chinese restaurants will deliver in my homeland; Pizza, I can order in, and a good Indian curry if I pick the right suburb. Thai food, maybe, should I be very lucky; heck, in recent months I’ve even had the option of home-delivered schnitzel, though the cost of delivery is prohibitive (and unlikely to be taken up on, were it not for the novelty of the experience). Home delivered Chinese food? Never seen it. And even if I had, there would plastic containers and the disappointed wailing and gnashing of teeth.

I have heard, of late, that the folded boxes are on their way out, a conceit retained in movies and TV shows because they’re far more aesthetically pleasing than plastic tubs. If this is true, I shall be a sad panda. Should I ever actually make it over to America to visit the various friends I don’t get to see often enough, you can bet that my default response to the question of “what do you want for dinner” will inevitably be “Chinese” in the hopes of eating from said cartons. And this is in spite of the fact that Chinese food and my digestive tract rarely get along.

2) Constitutionally protected right to free speech.

Because say what you will about the bits of your constitution and its many amendments that seem outright crazy (yes, constitutional right to bear arms folks, I’m looking at you), this one is just plain cool. That you have folks who recognise how awesome it is to have this and fight to keep it from getting stomped into the mud is likewise very cool.

Those of us stuck in Australia don’t actually have this right, though it’s a fact that catches most people by surprise. It would depress me less if we used it to silence the vocal-but-utterly-moronic segments of our populace, but unfortunately we tend to celebrate them and offering them a spot on Dancing with the Stars.

3) Doctor Pepper

They tried to launch it in Australia, they really did, but many of my countrymen just didn’t seem the glory in a fizzy drink that tasted, primarily, like cough syrup. I suspect it’s because they never got around to putting bourbon in it, but that’s just me.

I would also be covetous of the fact that you have Jolt, but there are enough hardcore geeks in Australia to ensure you can usually find it lingering in the back of some non-franchised twenty-four hour convenience store somewhere. Six weeks ago I would have coveted your Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, but it appears there’s now a supplier importing them to my local store, and that fucking rocks.

I don’t, however, covet your tendency to use high-fructose corn syrup in such drinks. That shit is just wrong. And it makes your cola taste funny.

4) Stamps

Not for any aesthetic or monetary value, just for practical reasons. I need to send self-addressed stamped envelopes to America pretty regularly, so coveting stamps is just a business decision and will remain so until the SF magazine industry is run entirely via internet submissions.

This would be higher on the list, but I’m fortunate enough to be well-stocked in American postage for the moment. I’m just, you know, coveting on the principle that I’ll need them eventually.

5) Southern Gothic…

…because kudzu, ghosts, vampires, and melodrama warm my heart. And because Australian Gothic involves too much red dust, dry heat, and empty landscapes to be much fun. And because kudzu is a fun word to say out loud.

6) Population Density

Yes, I know this isn’t universal, but you guys have a lot of people. Even your small cities are big enough to dwarf most of the urban areas in Australia. I’m sure it comes with its own problems, but with population density comes interesting pockets of subculture and more people who are likely to be interested in whatever weird-ass thing you’re interested.

As a guy who tends to like weird-ass things and frequently finds himself with limited options for talking about them locally, population density is one of those traits that looks particularly promising.

*disregarding the various awesome American peeps who’d I’d gladly steal from you, the fact that America tends to be the  biggest market for English language fiction in the world, and the fact that it’s the hub for SF industry. ‘Cause those go without saying.

Twenty-Five Random Thoughts About Writing

PETERMBALL Writing Advice - Business & the Writing Life , , ,

Right what is says on the tin – it got inspired by a facebook meme but my natural love of verbage meant it raged out of control. Anyway, this is actually a pretty good summary of what the interior of my head looks like when the subject of writing comes up. Some are me-specific, some a general, and most were written down fast in order to see what the first twenty-five thoughts that came to mind actually were. I take no responsibility for accidents caused if you follow any of these hastily constructed thoughts and give the usual warnings of upcoming writer-angst (it’s been that kind of week):

1) There is no “one true way to write,” but there are several commonly touted pieces of advice that both make sense to me and largely represent an decent list of “things worth doing unless you’ve got a good reason not to.”

2) This list is not one of them.

3) There is nothing I can achieve as a writer that will silence that little voice in the back of my head urging me to do more. I will never do enough and I can always do things better. This probably isn’t a bad thing, since the alternative is stagnation.

4) Fear is the mind-killer. Many problems with getting something written can be traced back to fear of some kind.

5) Writing does not lend itself to sick days. Nor does it lend itself to holidays. It would be nice if it did, but the realities of putting writing first means it’s unlikely to happen.

6) Writing is a stupid career choice. You will know this, because people will tell you the same thing in a myriad of ways – the low rate of monetary reward, the sneer people get at parties when you tell them what you do, the prolonged conversations with family members who still think things like “owning a house” and “getting a real job” are in your future. Eventually it will sink in and you’ll start having these conversations with yourself.

7) Once six sinks in, the primary thing between you and writing tends to be yourself (see point four) . There are no issues that cannot be fixed by writing more.

8) Focus on the things you can control (submissions, practice, wordcount), because it’ll distract you from the things that you can’t (acceptances, the publishing industry, society frowning at you because you’re a jobless wastrel).

8b) Wastrel is one of those words, you know? It just begs to be used.

9) It’s never seriously occurred to me that I wouldn’t make it as a writer. This could result in a very rude shock sometime over the next two decades.

10) Writing exists in isolation from the rest of the world – I have trouble seeing the correlation between real world issues (such as the nightmare busy periods in the day job, when I have one lined up) with low-energy-periods in writing. These things will be obvious to everyone else, but I keep missing them.

11) Writing is a million times easier once you’ve got a network of folks who understand how writing/publishing works than it is when you’re surrounded by people who don’t. The former understand why you’re excited by getting a short story published while acknowledging its not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, while the latter just think it’s “nice” or “a very big deal.”

12) Most writing advice and editorial conventions are much easier to understand and implement once you’ve been told why they’re in place. For example, understanding the history of poetry as a purely verbal Epic form helped me wrap my head around why rhyme and meter became important (and understanding that helped me figure out why free verse came about and started doing what it does).

13) There are many things in writing that you need to learn, but everyone assumes you already know how to do. Some of it is covered in how-to-write books and courses, but the really important stuff isn’t – how to deal with page-proofs, how to run your finances – and by the time you need to know it, people usually assume you’ve already got it under your belt.

14) Banging your head against a brick wall might not be the most effective way of bring it down, but it both works and proves enormously satisfying when you eventually succeed.

15) There is a point in every project where everything feels like its going wrong and it needs to be scrapped. Even something as simple as this blog-post (Incidentally, the self-critique on this kicked in right…now. This is doubt point for this list. I am giving myself permission to be a pompous wanker in order to get this finished – see point 4).

16) The primary manifestation of fear tends to be self-doubt, feelings of inadequacy, and a sense of self-depreciation in regards to writing.

17) Talking about writing with other writers can be a source of exquisite pleasure, but also a source of distraction. At some point you need to stop celebrating the fact that there are other people who ‘get it’ and get back to work.

18) Rejection is your friend – you instantly have a piece of writing that’s ready to send elsewhere, and a market that’s sitting empty and waiting for you to send them something. It may be frustrating at the time, but in the long-term having someone say no is a good thing. Acceptance mean you need to write more in order to keep the cycle going.

18b) Not that I’m knocking acceptances – they’re pretty damn sweet.

19) Writing is not art. Nor is it entertainment. The thing you have written at the end might be both, but conceptualising the act of writing as anything other than a job that needs doing tends to result of frustration (‘Course, conceptualising it as a job results in frustration as well).

19b) You aren’t allowed to hurt people who say things lings “I want to write to be more creative” or “I don’t care if I ever make any money, I just want to do this for me.” You’ll want to, really you will, but it’s impolite and the cultural myth around art largely means they’re over-romanticized the job.

20) None of the following things are mandatory parts of being a writer: coffee, cigarettes, alcohol, promiscuous sex, road trips, silly hats, cups of tea, an interesting life, drug habits, a garret in France, fame, fortune, volatile personal relationships, angst, suicide, fishing for marlin off the coast of pain, pining for a muffin and promising yourself you can have one after you’ve finished the next thousand words of your screenplay, neurotic self-destruction, a black turtleneck, anything else you can think of that doesn’t involve some aspect of either writing or submitting things. And yet, for some reason, I’ve made the mistake of thinking many of those are part of the process at least once.

21) You are not a real writer. There is no such thing. People-who-don’t-write will not think you’re a real writer unless you have Stephen King/JK Rowling/Stephanie Meyer-like success. There is no writers union who will drop past and give you a real-writer business card. Therefore, you should probably go back to work. Unless you’re a poet, because they do have a union in Australia. Although I’m not sure it does much, and they probably don’t have cards that’ll make you a real writer either.

22) Odds are, I will not have Stephen-King-like success. I’m okay with that, really. I probably won’t be JK Rowling or Stephanie Meyer either. I’m cool with that too.

23) I want to hide this list under a clicky-cut because it feels pompous and arrogant. This fear stems from the suspicion that I haven’t done enough to justify writing a list of thoughts about writing. Presenting myself as a writer who knows stuff invites a frightening level of public censure.

24) You will inevitably come to dislike most of the things you have published, if only because you can see the flaws. That’s a good thing – it means you’ve grown as a writer. When you can see the flaws even before something is published, you’re probably better off saying no and re-writing it rather than living with the nagging guilt.

25) The next draft of this list would be so much better. If I was sensible, I’d probably listen to myself on point 24. At the very least I’d go back and make sure it was all in first or second person. Unfortunately it’s time to go work on something else.