Where Do They Eat?

Where does The Joker go to eat? McDonald's? Does he stroll in like he is the fast-food chain's clown? Different colors, more menace than whimsy, but still a clown? Camouflage-in-plain-sight? Number 13, crispy, with a large fry and a large Coke, please. No, not diet Coke, regular. Man, his cholestrol must be through the roof.

And where does Vader go for the maintenance of that Light-Brite torso of his? Sure, droids might perform the work, but surely there is a living creature/humanoid who ultimately owns the establishment or oversees the auto shop on the Star Destroyer, right? There's pressure for you; not just a Tuesday morning at all. And does Vader pack a sack lunch when landing on other planets, or does he trust to native cuisine? I can't imagine the burn wounds did any favors for his digestive tract.

Where does the Wicked Witch of the West get her clothes? I realize we are only talking about a fitted black sheet with room for her arms, but still. Is she spinning her own cotton looms? Does she knit? Is the WWW a knitter? With the monkeys coming and going, bringing fresh supplies, commenting on her patterns, her backstitch seams? Do the monkeys comment on her backstitch seams? And for goodness sake, does she run her designs by anyone else, or is she really so confident as to never, ever seek approval from others?  We are talking about fashion, after all.

And where is she eating? In the castle, every morning by herself with nothing but her coffee? Does she brew a full pot? Or just a K-cup single? Decaf? Probably not.

Where does Lady Macbeth shop for her hand lotion? She uses lotion, right? Just as a normal part of her daily hygeine regimen? Or hand sanitizer? Something, right? Who is supplying her with this? Does she receive free samples? Who is the shopowner audacious enough to charge her? Does she shop for any of this herself, or make this a job for servants? Does she ever borrow a smidgeon from someone else? Casual conversation, hey what's that it smells nice, it's my moisturizer do you want some, sure. But then it doesn't smell as good as she thought. There's trouble. Letting Lady MacB use some of your hand lotion. Trouble, that.

And who is cooking her food? Do they dialogue with her about her nutritional needs, or do they just cook her whatever she wants? Fried foods and ice cream every night? Heavy on the veggies, skimpy on the red meat? Would you ever use the word skimpy in front of her? No, gentle reader, you would not.

I tell you what.

World War Zzzz

I watched World War Z last night. The zombie moving starring Brad Pitt and 1,000,000,000,000 digital extras.

I went to bed. I did not have nightmares. I slept soundly. In fact, I did not really think much more of the movie outside of the fact that I had watched the movie. Actually, I thought a whole lot about what I was possibly missing from the movie----some underlying meaning, some deeper angle into ideas of humanness and humanity and what it means to be a human as opposed to being not human (or a zombie)----because I guess I wanted something to mull.

Something. Anything.

This morning I clicked on Roger Ebert's review of World War Z and eureka! I discovered words that described my own fuzzy opinion on this big-budget film that resonated such very small waves with me. (Read Ebert's full review here) Ebert aptly describes the camera shots as "panoramas of thousand of computer-generated zombies swarming ant-like up walls and over barricades and taking down computer-generated choppers while panicked generals watch on monitors from thousand of miles away and Forster's close-up camera wobbles and wiggles and swings all over the place to generate unearned 'excitement.'"

Unearned excitement. That's it. That's why this movie didn't stick with me.

It's not that this movie is bad. I enjoy zombie flicks, I'm a Brad Pitt fan, I like gratuitous violence for a cause sequences, but I also get bored fast with anything that belabors the fact that the main guy ain't dyin' no matter what. (Enter any Pirates of the Caribbean movie here...) And I also cannot invest myself in any character or conflict or moral dilemma which hasn't first been invested in elsewhere. Why am I suppposed to care? Even about the end of the world as we know it? HOW I am supposed to care, when it only takes 3 minutes and 49 seconds (I exaggerate?) of film time to present the swirl of emotion I am supposed to feel, compress it, and dab it in my eye, only it's not my eye, it's a digital eye, moving at a frenetic, zombie pace.

Unearned excitement indeed. Give me the book.

Right? Right, gentle reader? Isn't this precisely why the book beats Hollywood, always?

I'm not talking about a large percentage here. I am talking about a perfect record. Book beats movie 100% of the time. Close seconds allowed and expected, but ultimate winners will always come packaged in ink. Or at least digital ink.

Condition: You have to have read the book first. Because if you haven't, then the phrase "based on the novel/short story/etc. by _____" takes on such flimsy meaning and there's no going back. Enter the Bourne series here. Excellent movies. So very loosely based on Ludlum's novels. Miles apart different and both excellent fun.

Prove me wrong here. Need another example? Look at my previous post.

Look at the career that Tolkien handed to Peter Jackson even as he confidently stepped back up to the winner's podium.

Look at Harry Potter episode 3. Or the fact that it took them two movies to fully give us The Deathly Hallows.

Look at any of the clumsy attempts at Alice in Wonderland (weirdly creepy). Or any movie based on the writing of Michael Crichton (Jurassic Park the movie had 17 total good minutes). Or Stephen King, for that matter. The Stand miniseries, anyone?

And why is this? Why the difference? Why the superiority in writing? Unearned excitement. Hollywood provides us a cheaper route to adrenaline, emotion, even inspiration. 90 minutes of digital zombies cannot match 90 minutes of its page-turning equivalent. It's not bad, in fact it can be quite great. But not better. Our brains know better.

I could be wrong.

98% of All Literature=The Gatsby Dilemma

"I thought you knew, old sport. I'm afraid I'm not a very good host."


I'm Gatsby.

Gatsby's only legitimate problem was that he backed the wrong horse. Yes, Daisy is a horse in this scenario. What Gatsby should have done was back a winner, like Khartoum. But if Gatsby had backed Khartoum, then he would have run the risk of turning into something less than Gatsby and more like a typical power-hungry money-grubber who only interests himself with seeking more power and more money.

"I thought you knew, old sport. I'm afraid I'm not a very good host. And I wear silk pajamas."

I'm Jack Woltz.

 



So we need someone willing to back a tragic horse, who still has an edge, but not so much edge that dooms him to a less reputable spot on the good guy spectrum of characters. Someone with a sporting chance at victory.

"I thought you knew, old sport. I'm afraid I'm not a very good host. I'm not a host at all."

I'm Batman.

 

 

Still too much.

 

 

I'm Sam I Am.

 

Sam I Am does display the same kind of grit that Jay does in his respective story. The only key difference is that Sam is not too put off by the Other Guy in the story. Sam doesn't wallow in the past or attempt to recreate it in the present. In fact, Sam could be considered quite dull due to his inability to change gears, to "track with the rest of us," to move on. But it is this singular ability to remain, gentle reader, to not double back, to only see now that allows for his own personal happy ending.

 

Then again, I would hate to apply such a trite final objective as happiness to either story. Because I don't think either are quite that shallow. Not even that 2D fellow wearing a yellow Eurofit moomoo with the gangrenous protein.