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juushikaLet's talk about the visual media I've consumed lately, thanks to the influx of new content to Netflix Instant (some of which I'm watching, some of which has inspired me to continue what I'm already watching so that I can watch it next):
Adventure Time, season 1
The turning point was when I went from disliking the opening theme song to singing it to myself. The show has a rocky start, in part because it's simplistic/quirky/gross style takes some adjustment, in part because I went in with expectations that the first few episodes can't fulfill. Tumblr filled me with expectations of strong, well-rounded, diverse/female characters, but half of the first season is reiterations of Finn rescuing a woman in distress; the trope is used intentionally as, say, the paper-thin plot of Super Meat Boy: just ironic/humorous enough to feel justified when really it relies on and reinforced one of the most problematic and overused of narrative devices. Things don't really improve until Marceline shows up—she serves a different narrative function than Princess Bubblegum, the plot structure begins to diversify, and there's an increasing sense of a united, if not progressive, narrative. By then the humor and aesthetic had begun to grow on me, and the 10-minute runtime of each episode gives it all a fun consumability. This isn't a new favorite, but I don't imagine the first season is indicative of what it becomes; I'll watch more when it comes to Netflix.
Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger
Nope, I haven't seen The Avengers! I just didn't care at the time, and would watch it now if it were on Instant, but I won't go out of my way to see it. These films don't make me any more eager. There's something in the Marvel films which I find intriguing: the shared universe, the sleekness, the often-fantastic casting, the larger-than-life feel of comics brought to film, the nods to other parts of the universe; they're more vivid and enjoyable than most comic adaptations, and I want to like them. And I did like Iron Man, but I ragequit Iron Man 2 and Thor and Captain America just ... bored me. The plots are the problem, here. The beats are overly familiar, especially for these two: human introduction, superhuman creation, antagonist interaction, love interest interaction, antagonist/superhero showdown which contrasts creative CG action scenes against bittersweet unfulfilled romance. It's often sleek and smart and pretty, but it's also trite and, in retrospect, absolutely forgettable; mostly-just-a-love-interest is also a waste of both Natalie Portman and her character.
The Hunger Games
I didn't have too much love for the novel (hi, I hate my old reviews), but to my surprise I was awed by the film. Much of what bothered me in the novel edits better for film: the mediatized aspects are more relevant and less obtrusive, and while the obligate love triangle will forever bore me it's a little more insidious, subtle, and painful here: two people whose genuine respect for one another must be buried under contrived affection. But what makes the film is Jennifer Lawrence and Katniss. When visual media melds first and third person (e.g. character is drunk, image of character goes blurry) it can throw me out of my immersion by drawing attention to the camera as narrator, but The Hunger Games often uses similar technique to great effect, particularly by manipulating sound: when it deafens while Katniss is overwhelmed by trauma or fear, when it becomes a tinny ringing after an explosion, the audience is thrust into a physically exhausting first person narrative even more effectively than in the book. And Lawrence can act—she can act like ain't no one's business. I felt like survival-via-"love" overwhelmed Katniss's strength of character in the book, but that doesn't happen in the film: in her attitude and insecurity and will to survive, she is the utterly believable core that sells a larger-than-life world and narrative. I went into The Hunger Games looking for another competent but unremarkable action flick to pass the time, but was utterly taken back and truly impressed.
The X-Files, seasons 7 and 8
(Read more of my X-Files thoughts here.) The series certainly peaks in seasons 4 and 5; season 6 does some mytharc things I enjoy but its pacing is all over the place; 7 does some mytharc things I enjoy less and the pacing is even shakier; 8 is ... different. I've been reading some of the Reopening The X-Files series on Tor, and it's fascinating stuff. What sells but also limits the show is the Mulder/Scully relationship: two people held in opposition by the constraints of the show, but whose intimacy is the driving force of both plot and emotional motivation. It's the need to preserve this premise that makes so many of the episodes frustrating: Scully must remain the skeptic, and no matter what she sees it can't truly change her. When the show attempts to move away from that Mulder/Scully core, it threatens to alienate its entire audience and ultimately never succeeds at making a more diverse/longer running show—but it also, finally, forces the Mulder/Scully dynamic to change. Nothing else about it quite works—Doggett is, frankly, boring—but Scully the believer is fascinating, both as commentary on her and on Mulder's role (as perceived by the show and by Scully). The Tor series has some true gems, comparing the show's narrative format to its narrative content, looking at how characters do and don't mature—and when this growth successfully impacts the viewer. It's revived a lot of my interest in the show, which is a good thing because I'm rushing through it so that I can watch Fringe next.
Adventure Time, season 1
The turning point was when I went from disliking the opening theme song to singing it to myself. The show has a rocky start, in part because it's simplistic/quirky/gross style takes some adjustment, in part because I went in with expectations that the first few episodes can't fulfill. Tumblr filled me with expectations of strong, well-rounded, diverse/female characters, but half of the first season is reiterations of Finn rescuing a woman in distress; the trope is used intentionally as, say, the paper-thin plot of Super Meat Boy: just ironic/humorous enough to feel justified when really it relies on and reinforced one of the most problematic and overused of narrative devices. Things don't really improve until Marceline shows up—she serves a different narrative function than Princess Bubblegum, the plot structure begins to diversify, and there's an increasing sense of a united, if not progressive, narrative. By then the humor and aesthetic had begun to grow on me, and the 10-minute runtime of each episode gives it all a fun consumability. This isn't a new favorite, but I don't imagine the first season is indicative of what it becomes; I'll watch more when it comes to Netflix.
Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger
Nope, I haven't seen The Avengers! I just didn't care at the time, and would watch it now if it were on Instant, but I won't go out of my way to see it. These films don't make me any more eager. There's something in the Marvel films which I find intriguing: the shared universe, the sleekness, the often-fantastic casting, the larger-than-life feel of comics brought to film, the nods to other parts of the universe; they're more vivid and enjoyable than most comic adaptations, and I want to like them. And I did like Iron Man, but I ragequit Iron Man 2 and Thor and Captain America just ... bored me. The plots are the problem, here. The beats are overly familiar, especially for these two: human introduction, superhuman creation, antagonist interaction, love interest interaction, antagonist/superhero showdown which contrasts creative CG action scenes against bittersweet unfulfilled romance. It's often sleek and smart and pretty, but it's also trite and, in retrospect, absolutely forgettable; mostly-just-a-love-interest is also a waste of both Natalie Portman and her character.
The Hunger Games
I didn't have too much love for the novel (hi, I hate my old reviews), but to my surprise I was awed by the film. Much of what bothered me in the novel edits better for film: the mediatized aspects are more relevant and less obtrusive, and while the obligate love triangle will forever bore me it's a little more insidious, subtle, and painful here: two people whose genuine respect for one another must be buried under contrived affection. But what makes the film is Jennifer Lawrence and Katniss. When visual media melds first and third person (e.g. character is drunk, image of character goes blurry) it can throw me out of my immersion by drawing attention to the camera as narrator, but The Hunger Games often uses similar technique to great effect, particularly by manipulating sound: when it deafens while Katniss is overwhelmed by trauma or fear, when it becomes a tinny ringing after an explosion, the audience is thrust into a physically exhausting first person narrative even more effectively than in the book. And Lawrence can act—she can act like ain't no one's business. I felt like survival-via-"love" overwhelmed Katniss's strength of character in the book, but that doesn't happen in the film: in her attitude and insecurity and will to survive, she is the utterly believable core that sells a larger-than-life world and narrative. I went into The Hunger Games looking for another competent but unremarkable action flick to pass the time, but was utterly taken back and truly impressed.
The X-Files, seasons 7 and 8
(Read more of my X-Files thoughts here.) The series certainly peaks in seasons 4 and 5; season 6 does some mytharc things I enjoy but its pacing is all over the place; 7 does some mytharc things I enjoy less and the pacing is even shakier; 8 is ... different. I've been reading some of the Reopening The X-Files series on Tor, and it's fascinating stuff. What sells but also limits the show is the Mulder/Scully relationship: two people held in opposition by the constraints of the show, but whose intimacy is the driving force of both plot and emotional motivation. It's the need to preserve this premise that makes so many of the episodes frustrating: Scully must remain the skeptic, and no matter what she sees it can't truly change her. When the show attempts to move away from that Mulder/Scully core, it threatens to alienate its entire audience and ultimately never succeeds at making a more diverse/longer running show—but it also, finally, forces the Mulder/Scully dynamic to change. Nothing else about it quite works—Doggett is, frankly, boring—but Scully the believer is fascinating, both as commentary on her and on Mulder's role (as perceived by the show and by Scully). The Tor series has some true gems, comparing the show's narrative format to its narrative content, looking at how characters do and don't mature—and when this growth successfully impacts the viewer. It's revived a lot of my interest in the show, which is a good thing because I'm rushing through it so that I can watch Fringe next.
