Pop music exists solely for the purpose of giving you that sugar rush, fizzy feeling only soda bubbles can provide. Of course, on closer inspection, the songs in this genre tend toward the flat, syrupy nonsense that signals it's time to crack open another 2-liter. Luckily, the Shallow End is here to lap up the dregs.
For all their differences, the two Louis XIV's that will go down in my history book (yeah, I'm writing one — professional baseball ends in 1985) actually have a lot in common. Sure, there's the discrepancy between their periods of relevance. The French monarch was in power for 72 years, while the San Diego-based rockers were a blip on the modern rock dial for roughly 72 hours. The king waged a war against Protestants, while the band focused their efforts on good musical taste (zing!). The king rested his head at the luxurious Palace of Versailles, while I can only suspect the band snoozed on a tour bus amid a group of squealing groupies. I mean, that's what Almost Famous taught me.
But perhaps the greatest congruency between the two is their inherent treatment of women as objects. This has become a central theme of the Inexplicably Close Look in our examinations so far, and in fact thinking about Louis XIV's semi-hit from 2005, "Finding Out True Love is Blind," I saw a clear cultural path from pop songs of days past.
The song provided some controversy when, in 2005, mega-school Hoover High in Alabama (that place where MTV filmed their high school football tell-all) banned the quartet from playing a gig under their roof. The reason? Promoting hedonism and rowdiness, with more than a hint of racism in the lyrics. Shallow End reports, you decide:
Ah chocolate girl, well you're looking like something I want
Ah and your little Asian friend well, well she can come if she wants
I want all the self conscious girls who try to hide who they are with makeup
You know it’s the girl with a frown with the tight pants I really want to shake up
OK, OK, ee cummings this is not. Let's also put aside the mildly amusing fact that a man wearing eyeshadow is crooning about picking a woman out of a glorified police lineup (everyone has their moment of "The Cure" weakness, I suppose). Is it racist?
Our dramatic voice in this song is soliciting a "chocolate girl." We can assume he doesn't mean the Hershey variety. And he clearly wants to friend-zone the "little Asian friend," perhaps she's coming along to carry the long train of garments Louis XIV was known to wear. There may be nothing sexual at all about the ditty. The last two lines clearly suggest this guy has something other than skin color on his mind, though. And that's getting with women who are insecure about themselves and perhaps one who will put up a bit of a fight in the process. Racist? Probably not. Morally reprehensible? You decide that one.
Really, we shouldn't fault Louis XIV though. I mean, "Finding Out True Love is Blind" is just an extension of the path we've been on since the Beach Boys' "California Girls" to Lou Bega's "Mambo No. 5." Yes, I did just mention those...shudder...artists in the same sentence (Bega, you owe me a beer for that last remark — that is, if those royalty checks from 1999 are still rolling in. If not, I'll take a rain check). For a band so keen on invoking history, it's only fair we afford them the misogynistic context they so rightfully deserve.
(Let's be fair to the Beach Boys, who were singing in a different time and place in our culture. But if one need see evidence of how far the "California Girls" conceit can be taken to the male-dominated extreme in our current culture of sexual dynamics, look — if you dare — no further than David Lee Roth's update.)
Let's not carry this too far, though. I mean, Louis XIV the band is merely singing to a generation of girls who are being told that their idols objectify the female form, while Louis XIV the man actually seduced mistresses in addition to his wife, who bore him six children. In between all that purging the continent of Protestants stuff and setting in place the contempt of authority that ultimately spurred the French Revolution.
The affront on your eardrums (and your liberal-minded tendencies) will have to make the call about which was more detrimental to mankind. Or maybe you'd rather spend time thinking about something more productive, like I should have been doing.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Virtual Dork: Bioshock Infinite Review
"The only true voyage of discovery, the only fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is."
-Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time
Reviewing Bioshock Infinite as a game is more than a little difficult for me. The feeling of not merely playing, but experiencing, the first Bioshock is much stronger in this spiritual sequel. There is a well-polished, brilliantly conceived and balanced shooter at the core of the Bioshock Infinite experience. But to simply dwell upon the game's genius mechanics would be a disservice to the beautiful piece of art (that's right, Roger Ebert, art) that Irrational Games has created.
Infinite begins with a very familiar scene for franchise devotees. You're in a boat, rowing toward a lighthouse. All you know is contained in a box of effects: your name: Booker DeWitt, a pistol, a photograph of a girl, a key and a few handwritten notes. On one of them: Bring us the girl, wipe away the debt. Devilish in its simplicity, the note kicks off a journey into the clouds that mimics the bathysphere spectacle that kicked off the original Bioshock.
From those few opening moments, Infinite becomes an increasingly unnerving exploration of that city — Columbia — and an early 1900s xenophobic patriotism morphed by Christian values that struck me as much more interesting than Andrew Ryan's Ayn Randian utilitarian Rapture. From the opening moments, as you're baptized among cloaked devotees in a brilliantly lit sequence initiating you into the city, to the final revelation of Zachary Comstock's (the zealot and main antagonist — or so it seems — of this installment in the series) perversion of religion to suit his lofty, utopian aims, Booker's journey through Columbia is one with horrifying and unsettling cruelty toward man under the guise of ideology and zealotry that never really lets go.
Your charge, as Booker, is to find Elizabeth, the girl locked in the tower. You do so early in the game, after inadvertently alerting the entire city —which wants to protect Elizabeth — to your presence. This is where the fighting comes in. Not only will you battle citizens of Columbia, who are not intoxicated by powers like they were in Bioshock but rather sane human beings driven by devotion either for or against Comstock, but also giant machine enemies known as Heavies and Elizabeth's protector, a massive mechanical bird controlled by Comstock himself.
The resulting escape mission will take you through many heart-pumping sequences throughout Columbia. Gameplay is cosmetically similar to Bioshock, though the names of the powers and perks have changed. Instead of plasmids, you have vigors, which range from being able to fire a flock of murderous crows from your hands to traditional electric charges and fireballs. I found Bucking Bronco, a new vigor that allows you to throw your enemies into a daze mid-air, extremely effective with conventional weaponry, particularly the shotgun. Once Elizabeth joins your side, you have access to things called "tears," in which she opens up portals to other dimensions to bring offensive and defensive objects into battle.
It's all very familiar territory, despite the changes. The aerial aspects of combat are improved greatly by the presence of a Skyline, a device that allows you to travel around Columbia on steel pathways that crisscross the city. There are also freight hooks throughout that you can attach to with your Sky Hook, granting you access to higher ground for strategic combat situations and secret areas where money, ammo and other secret goodies await. The Sky Hook also enables gruesome melee kills. This is not a game for youngsters.
The difficulty of Bioshock Infinite is also alleviated by Elizabeth's ability to revive you throughout. Once you've beaten the game, the devilishly difficult "1999" mode becomes available, in which respawns are limited and ammo is harder to come by. I haven't had a chance to fire it up yet, but the game ratchets up in difficulty significantly in the second act even on Medium. It will be an interesting challenge that I'm impatiently looking forward to.
All of this discussion of Infinite as a game is extremely difficult for me, though, as I said at the outset of this review. Because, to be perfectly honest, the gameplay isn't what stuck with me. This is a better-than-average shooter with an extremely high amount of polish, don't get me wrong. But the gun and vigor play wasn't what kept me riveted to the screen, it was the relationship between Booker and Elizabeth, and the little clues that something is amiss in the world you're seeing that kept my fingers from powering down the Xbox.
Without giving too much away, the final 20 minutes or so of the "game" will take you back to Rapture and cause you to question your motives throughout. One reviewer noted Infinite has no "Would you kindly?" moment, as the original Bioshock did. But the reason for that is complicated. The existence of multiple realities, and an unreliable narrator who knows just as much as you do, makes that scenario — groundbreaking in videogames just 5 years ago — seem obsolete. By the time the credits roll on Infinite, you'll have realized you were never playing the game you thought you were. And that makes another playthrough seem cheap, despite how fun the game is to play and the promise of missed achievements.
The game, in other words, is secondary to story. Some people will play Infinite simply because it is one of the prettiest and most functional shooters out there. Indeed, the thrill of landing a perfect headshot on a Skyline, then zooming down to light some fools on fire and stick a Sky Hook in their cranium is one that will continuously take your breath away. But the story crafted by Ken Levine and Irrational is something that transcends simply one kind of media, and quite frankly renders the intricate plot of the original Bioshock, which earned universal praise just a few short years ago, obsolete and trite by comparison.
Which is the only real criticism I can come up with for the game — I honestly have no idea how you can top, in terms of storytelling, the final act of Infinite (of course, I thought the same after Andrew Ryan got the golf club to the skull in the first Bioshock). It will make you question why you've become so complacent with video games as a medium. As mature gamers, we should be demanding experiences that challenge us and the traditional roles they play in our lives — escapism, mindless cathartic release and sensory stimulation. Infinite turns all those tropes on their heads, in a brilliant story distilling great works of fiction in all mediums.
Do not miss this experience. And stay for the gameplay.
Rating: 5/5 stars
-Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time
Reviewing Bioshock Infinite as a game is more than a little difficult for me. The feeling of not merely playing, but experiencing, the first Bioshock is much stronger in this spiritual sequel. There is a well-polished, brilliantly conceived and balanced shooter at the core of the Bioshock Infinite experience. But to simply dwell upon the game's genius mechanics would be a disservice to the beautiful piece of art (that's right, Roger Ebert, art) that Irrational Games has created.
Infinite begins with a very familiar scene for franchise devotees. You're in a boat, rowing toward a lighthouse. All you know is contained in a box of effects: your name: Booker DeWitt, a pistol, a photograph of a girl, a key and a few handwritten notes. On one of them: Bring us the girl, wipe away the debt. Devilish in its simplicity, the note kicks off a journey into the clouds that mimics the bathysphere spectacle that kicked off the original Bioshock.
Look familiar?
From those few opening moments, Infinite becomes an increasingly unnerving exploration of that city — Columbia — and an early 1900s xenophobic patriotism morphed by Christian values that struck me as much more interesting than Andrew Ryan's Ayn Randian utilitarian Rapture. From the opening moments, as you're baptized among cloaked devotees in a brilliantly lit sequence initiating you into the city, to the final revelation of Zachary Comstock's (the zealot and main antagonist — or so it seems — of this installment in the series) perversion of religion to suit his lofty, utopian aims, Booker's journey through Columbia is one with horrifying and unsettling cruelty toward man under the guise of ideology and zealotry that never really lets go.
Your charge, as Booker, is to find Elizabeth, the girl locked in the tower. You do so early in the game, after inadvertently alerting the entire city —which wants to protect Elizabeth — to your presence. This is where the fighting comes in. Not only will you battle citizens of Columbia, who are not intoxicated by powers like they were in Bioshock but rather sane human beings driven by devotion either for or against Comstock, but also giant machine enemies known as Heavies and Elizabeth's protector, a massive mechanical bird controlled by Comstock himself.
The resulting escape mission will take you through many heart-pumping sequences throughout Columbia. Gameplay is cosmetically similar to Bioshock, though the names of the powers and perks have changed. Instead of plasmids, you have vigors, which range from being able to fire a flock of murderous crows from your hands to traditional electric charges and fireballs. I found Bucking Bronco, a new vigor that allows you to throw your enemies into a daze mid-air, extremely effective with conventional weaponry, particularly the shotgun. Once Elizabeth joins your side, you have access to things called "tears," in which she opens up portals to other dimensions to bring offensive and defensive objects into battle.
It's all very familiar territory, despite the changes. The aerial aspects of combat are improved greatly by the presence of a Skyline, a device that allows you to travel around Columbia on steel pathways that crisscross the city. There are also freight hooks throughout that you can attach to with your Sky Hook, granting you access to higher ground for strategic combat situations and secret areas where money, ammo and other secret goodies await. The Sky Hook also enables gruesome melee kills. This is not a game for youngsters.
The difficulty of Bioshock Infinite is also alleviated by Elizabeth's ability to revive you throughout. Once you've beaten the game, the devilishly difficult "1999" mode becomes available, in which respawns are limited and ammo is harder to come by. I haven't had a chance to fire it up yet, but the game ratchets up in difficulty significantly in the second act even on Medium. It will be an interesting challenge that I'm impatiently looking forward to.
All of this discussion of Infinite as a game is extremely difficult for me, though, as I said at the outset of this review. Because, to be perfectly honest, the gameplay isn't what stuck with me. This is a better-than-average shooter with an extremely high amount of polish, don't get me wrong. But the gun and vigor play wasn't what kept me riveted to the screen, it was the relationship between Booker and Elizabeth, and the little clues that something is amiss in the world you're seeing that kept my fingers from powering down the Xbox.
Without giving too much away, the final 20 minutes or so of the "game" will take you back to Rapture and cause you to question your motives throughout. One reviewer noted Infinite has no "Would you kindly?" moment, as the original Bioshock did. But the reason for that is complicated. The existence of multiple realities, and an unreliable narrator who knows just as much as you do, makes that scenario — groundbreaking in videogames just 5 years ago — seem obsolete. By the time the credits roll on Infinite, you'll have realized you were never playing the game you thought you were. And that makes another playthrough seem cheap, despite how fun the game is to play and the promise of missed achievements.
The game, in other words, is secondary to story. Some people will play Infinite simply because it is one of the prettiest and most functional shooters out there. Indeed, the thrill of landing a perfect headshot on a Skyline, then zooming down to light some fools on fire and stick a Sky Hook in their cranium is one that will continuously take your breath away. But the story crafted by Ken Levine and Irrational is something that transcends simply one kind of media, and quite frankly renders the intricate plot of the original Bioshock, which earned universal praise just a few short years ago, obsolete and trite by comparison.
Which is the only real criticism I can come up with for the game — I honestly have no idea how you can top, in terms of storytelling, the final act of Infinite (of course, I thought the same after Andrew Ryan got the golf club to the skull in the first Bioshock). It will make you question why you've become so complacent with video games as a medium. As mature gamers, we should be demanding experiences that challenge us and the traditional roles they play in our lives — escapism, mindless cathartic release and sensory stimulation. Infinite turns all those tropes on their heads, in a brilliant story distilling great works of fiction in all mediums.
Do not miss this experience. And stay for the gameplay.
Rating: 5/5 stars
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
An Inexplicably Close Look at an Obscure Song: Green Day "Minority"
Ah, the year 2000. How much simpler you were. The world was still basking in the post-we-didn't-get-blow-to-smithereens-by-Y2K glow. Grand Theft Auto was still in two dimensions. And Green Day was still making music they didn't beat you upside the head with their political beliefs (and Billie Jo was wearing way less eye makeup).
Sure, other acts would follow Green Day's plunge into political messaging. The Hives. Bright Eyes. Hell, even R.E.M. got in on the George Bush bashing in the mid-2000s. Apparently, pretending you majored in political science became a badge of honor for popular acts of rock and or roll.
It doesn't change the fact that 2000's "Minority," about the much more pure and unadulterated punk message of rebellion, proved Green Day's biggest hit of the decade.
This is classic, zit-popping, unrestrained and misdirected rebellion at its finest. All it's missing from the early Green Days (see what I did there?) is a vaguely worded reference to masturbation. I mean, sure, you could argue there's some reference in there to the actual Moral Majority, but compared to later lyrics from Green Day, I think it's safe to say "Minority" can only be described as benign.
In many ways, "Minority" actually celebrates the idea of self-autonomy and the American experience. After all, would we even be a united democratic republic if our forefathers hadn't chosen to shout, "A free-for-all/F--k 'em all!" to the British? I mean, can't you hear the democratic music in that verse?
In all seriousness, James Madison warned in Federalist 10 "that measures are too often decided, not according to the rules of justice, and the rights of the minor party, but by the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority." Clearly, the young gentleman and voice of Green Day's campy ode to all things contrarian is taking Madison's call against faction to heart. One can only suppose, from the concerns of Green Day in their early hits and music videos, that such an anthem is meant to be a rallying cry for mental health care parity and universal access to life and health insurance, in spite of partisan-inspired arguments against such policies.
So here's a salute to marching out of time, Green Day. We here at Shallow End hope you're marching to your own beat now ... more in step with Dookie. That album was awesome.
Sure, other acts would follow Green Day's plunge into political messaging. The Hives. Bright Eyes. Hell, even R.E.M. got in on the George Bush bashing in the mid-2000s. Apparently, pretending you majored in political science became a badge of honor for popular acts of rock and or roll.
It doesn't change the fact that 2000's "Minority," about the much more pure and unadulterated punk message of rebellion, proved Green Day's biggest hit of the decade.
This is classic, zit-popping, unrestrained and misdirected rebellion at its finest. All it's missing from the early Green Days (see what I did there?) is a vaguely worded reference to masturbation. I mean, sure, you could argue there's some reference in there to the actual Moral Majority, but compared to later lyrics from Green Day, I think it's safe to say "Minority" can only be described as benign.
In many ways, "Minority" actually celebrates the idea of self-autonomy and the American experience. After all, would we even be a united democratic republic if our forefathers hadn't chosen to shout, "A free-for-all/F--k 'em all!" to the British? I mean, can't you hear the democratic music in that verse?
In all seriousness, James Madison warned in Federalist 10 "that measures are too often decided, not according to the rules of justice, and the rights of the minor party, but by the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority." Clearly, the young gentleman and voice of Green Day's campy ode to all things contrarian is taking Madison's call against faction to heart. One can only suppose, from the concerns of Green Day in their early hits and music videos, that such an anthem is meant to be a rallying cry for mental health care parity and universal access to life and health insurance, in spite of partisan-inspired arguments against such policies.
So here's a salute to marching out of time, Green Day. We here at Shallow End hope you're marching to your own beat now ... more in step with Dookie. That album was awesome.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
The best of everything 2012
They've done it.
The New Yorker, in a maddening meta move bound to get your Inception-sense tingling, released a list of the greatest lists on Wednesday. Judging by its placement in Shouts & Murmurs, I'm going to give the magazine the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a wonderfully satirical look at our obsession with creating lists at the end of the year. And not an exercise in forcing my brain to do seven backflips in a row.
Exponentially confounding indices aside, it certainly has been a great year for — well, pretty much everything. I mean, we're still standing here after December 21, so we must've done something right, right? Even though I have several pop culture adventures yet to go on before the clock strikes midnight next Tuesday, I've compiled my favorite things of the past 361 days. Don't go looking under your chair though, Oprah fans. There's no copy of "The Dark Knight Rises" waiting for you.
Favorite news item:
Higgs Boson found
It wasn't the sexiest story of the year. I mean, what could be sexy about a bunch of scientists in a Swiss bunker pursuing the so-called "God particle" by shooting lasers at each other. Actually, that does sound really cool, when you stop to think about it...
What really made the story interesting and my favorite of the year, though, was the attempts by lay journalists to explain what a Higgs boson was. Some failed miserably — and hilariously.
It was also nice to see those billions of dollars actually produce something. Even if it only lasted as long as it takes that impulse of dread to shoot up your spine when you see the bill for the project and the number of countries now in crippling economic straits. But enough of that, this is a best of list!
Favorite read:
"Snow Fall" by the New York Times' John Branch
It's not a story. It's not an infographic. It's not a photo gallery, nor is it a video or a GIS-powered map.
It's all of those things.
The New York Times, as only it can, combines brilliant narrative storytelling with all the bells and whistles the semantic web has to offer, and plops it down for readers, viewers, clickers to enjoy. It's a fascinating piece that is not only interesting in its own right, but shows the direction journalism is likely to go on the semantic web in a way only the most prestigious name in worldwide journalism could pull off.
And audiences responded. More than 3.5 million people have viewed the package as of this writing.
Favorite game:
You Don't Know Jack (Facebook)
There were so many triple-A titles on consoles this year. Black Ops 2. Halo 4. Assassin's Creed 3. Mass Effect 3. New Super Mario Bros. Wii.
And they all got outclassed by a free-to-play, Flash-based game.
You Don't Know Jack has always been a pleasure of mine. I love when the worlds of high and pop culture collide to create a serendipitous mess that questions you whether an item is a piece of Japanese origami or a position in the Kama Sutra. Putting it on Facebook, with new episodes to play every day, was just like sprinkling addictive drugs on a Chicago deep-dish style pizza.
The addition of themed episodes and iPod/Pad functionality only means good things in the coming year.
Favorite sports moment:
Kansas City fans boo Robinson Cano in 2012 Home Run Derby
WAAAAAH!
Here's why Kansas City fans booing Cano was awesome and not classless, as many East Coast-based sportswriters would have you believe:
1. Kansas City fans showed that, even in the midst of another losing season, they still cared about the game of baseball enough to make asses out of themselves on national TV.
2. A Yankee player was subjected to harsh criticism. You know, something they all experience daily from the New York media. Except it was Midwest-flavored.
3. Cano proceeded to go oh-fer after the rousing round of jeering.
Say what you will about the supposed importance of "tact" and "class" in a competition where the goal is to hit a ball over a fence, and that previous champions who were cheered breathlessly were actually steroid-popping cheaters. Watching Cano get what was coming to him was the highlight of an otherwise ho-hum All Star weekend.
Favorite movie:
Moonrise Kingdom
I know, I know. It's really difficult for me to conceive a world where I don't put The Dark Knight Rises or The Avengers at the top of the list. And, likely, 2012 will be remembered as one of the peak years for the comic book renaissance that has been in full gear for the better part of a decade.
But Wes Anderson outclassed every other title released in 2012, with perhaps his most precocious and accessible film to date, populated with a brilliantly familiar ensemble cast, a fairy-tale like visual style, and another hauntingly beautiful soundtrack. Well done, Mr. Anderson. Well done.
Favorite album:
Fun. "Some Nights"
This was perhaps my toughest choice. I really wanted to give it to Mumford's spirited release "Babel," which follows up "Sigh No More" fearlessly with a bevy of tracks that are just as memorable. Ben Folds Five also released a wonderful comeback album, "The Sound of the Life and the Mind," that made it sound like 1998 in my car all over again.
But Fun hit a level of enthusiasm, catchiness, and lyrical genius that just doesn't let go for the entirety of the album. While the tremendously popular "We Are Young" made my mind dizzy by mid-March with its inundation of every popular radio station and PA system in my general vicinity, the quality of the rest of the album more than makes up for being subjected to replay hell.
Favorite show:
"Boardwalk Empire"
While I didn't love the finale, it's clear Boardwalk Empire, after the death of one of its major characters in Season 2, rebounded with a series-defining season over the past three months. Showrunner Terence Winter took Nucky Thompson to places it seemed inconceivable he'd go three years ago when the show premiered. There was an epic weight lent to the events onscreen, and the decision to crucially break with reality in certain instances left the impression the show could pivot in a heartbeat to unexpected and horrifying territory.
2012 also saw the appropriate end of House, a breathtaking freshman effort for The Newsroom, a lackluster calendar year for How I Met Your Mother, the autumn absence of Psych and a slew of...hmm...reality shows. So, let's not overstep the significance of my favoritism toward Boardwalk.
The New Yorker, in a maddening meta move bound to get your Inception-sense tingling, released a list of the greatest lists on Wednesday. Judging by its placement in Shouts & Murmurs, I'm going to give the magazine the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a wonderfully satirical look at our obsession with creating lists at the end of the year. And not an exercise in forcing my brain to do seven backflips in a row.
Exponentially confounding indices aside, it certainly has been a great year for — well, pretty much everything. I mean, we're still standing here after December 21, so we must've done something right, right? Even though I have several pop culture adventures yet to go on before the clock strikes midnight next Tuesday, I've compiled my favorite things of the past 361 days. Don't go looking under your chair though, Oprah fans. There's no copy of "The Dark Knight Rises" waiting for you.
Favorite news item:
Higgs Boson found
It wasn't the sexiest story of the year. I mean, what could be sexy about a bunch of scientists in a Swiss bunker pursuing the so-called "God particle" by shooting lasers at each other. Actually, that does sound really cool, when you stop to think about it...
What really made the story interesting and my favorite of the year, though, was the attempts by lay journalists to explain what a Higgs boson was. Some failed miserably — and hilariously.
It was also nice to see those billions of dollars actually produce something. Even if it only lasted as long as it takes that impulse of dread to shoot up your spine when you see the bill for the project and the number of countries now in crippling economic straits. But enough of that, this is a best of list!
Favorite read:
"Snow Fall" by the New York Times' John Branch
It's not a story. It's not an infographic. It's not a photo gallery, nor is it a video or a GIS-powered map.
It's all of those things.
The New York Times, as only it can, combines brilliant narrative storytelling with all the bells and whistles the semantic web has to offer, and plops it down for readers, viewers, clickers to enjoy. It's a fascinating piece that is not only interesting in its own right, but shows the direction journalism is likely to go on the semantic web in a way only the most prestigious name in worldwide journalism could pull off.
And audiences responded. More than 3.5 million people have viewed the package as of this writing.
Favorite game:
You Don't Know Jack (Facebook)
There were so many triple-A titles on consoles this year. Black Ops 2. Halo 4. Assassin's Creed 3. Mass Effect 3. New Super Mario Bros. Wii.
And they all got outclassed by a free-to-play, Flash-based game.
You Don't Know Jack has always been a pleasure of mine. I love when the worlds of high and pop culture collide to create a serendipitous mess that questions you whether an item is a piece of Japanese origami or a position in the Kama Sutra. Putting it on Facebook, with new episodes to play every day, was just like sprinkling addictive drugs on a Chicago deep-dish style pizza.
The addition of themed episodes and iPod/Pad functionality only means good things in the coming year.
Favorite sports moment:
Kansas City fans boo Robinson Cano in 2012 Home Run Derby
WAAAAAH!
Here's why Kansas City fans booing Cano was awesome and not classless, as many East Coast-based sportswriters would have you believe:
1. Kansas City fans showed that, even in the midst of another losing season, they still cared about the game of baseball enough to make asses out of themselves on national TV.
2. A Yankee player was subjected to harsh criticism. You know, something they all experience daily from the New York media. Except it was Midwest-flavored.
3. Cano proceeded to go oh-fer after the rousing round of jeering.
Say what you will about the supposed importance of "tact" and "class" in a competition where the goal is to hit a ball over a fence, and that previous champions who were cheered breathlessly were actually steroid-popping cheaters. Watching Cano get what was coming to him was the highlight of an otherwise ho-hum All Star weekend.
Favorite movie:
Moonrise Kingdom
I know, I know. It's really difficult for me to conceive a world where I don't put The Dark Knight Rises or The Avengers at the top of the list. And, likely, 2012 will be remembered as one of the peak years for the comic book renaissance that has been in full gear for the better part of a decade.
But Wes Anderson outclassed every other title released in 2012, with perhaps his most precocious and accessible film to date, populated with a brilliantly familiar ensemble cast, a fairy-tale like visual style, and another hauntingly beautiful soundtrack. Well done, Mr. Anderson. Well done.
Favorite album:
Fun. "Some Nights"
This was perhaps my toughest choice. I really wanted to give it to Mumford's spirited release "Babel," which follows up "Sigh No More" fearlessly with a bevy of tracks that are just as memorable. Ben Folds Five also released a wonderful comeback album, "The Sound of the Life and the Mind," that made it sound like 1998 in my car all over again.
But Fun hit a level of enthusiasm, catchiness, and lyrical genius that just doesn't let go for the entirety of the album. While the tremendously popular "We Are Young" made my mind dizzy by mid-March with its inundation of every popular radio station and PA system in my general vicinity, the quality of the rest of the album more than makes up for being subjected to replay hell.
Favorite show:
"Boardwalk Empire"
While I didn't love the finale, it's clear Boardwalk Empire, after the death of one of its major characters in Season 2, rebounded with a series-defining season over the past three months. Showrunner Terence Winter took Nucky Thompson to places it seemed inconceivable he'd go three years ago when the show premiered. There was an epic weight lent to the events onscreen, and the decision to crucially break with reality in certain instances left the impression the show could pivot in a heartbeat to unexpected and horrifying territory.
2012 also saw the appropriate end of House, a breathtaking freshman effort for The Newsroom, a lackluster calendar year for How I Met Your Mother, the autumn absence of Psych and a slew of...hmm...reality shows. So, let's not overstep the significance of my favoritism toward Boardwalk.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Oilcan J's Bowl Predictions 2012-2013
As a mild-mannered undergraduate, I began a tradition of making bowl season picks on games I knew absolutely nothing about. Which, I contend, is a practice engaged in every year by sports pundits who do the same. So enjoy another installment of an irregular tradition your family is sure not to care about around the table this holiday season.
Like Aunt Mildred's prune casserole, the bowl predictions return for an irregular holiday season. I'll confess to watching roughly three hours of uninebriated college football this season, which means I saw 2 hours and 58 minutes more of the sport in a cogent state of mind than Lou Holtz. I also missed the prestigious Famous Idaho Potato Bowl. My apologies to all tubors involved.
For now, sit back, knock back some egg nog and enjoy another unqualified clod telling you what to think about sports. Because I know you don't have nearly enough of that in your life.
Picks (winners in bold)
S.D. County Credit Union Poinsettia
BYU vs. San Diego State
Beef 'O' Brady's St. Petersburg
Ball State vs. UCF
R+L Carriers New Orleans
East Carolina vs. Louisiana-Lafayette
MAACO Las Vegas
Washington vs. Boise State
Sheraton Hawaii
Fresno State vs. SMU
Little Caesars Pizza
Western Kentucky vs. Central Michigan
Military Bowl Presented By Northrop Grumman
San Jose State vs. Bowling Green
Belk
Cincinnati vs. Duke
Bridgepoint Education Holiday
Baylor vs. UCLA
AdvoCare V100 Independence
Ohio vs. Louisiana-Monroe
Russell Athletic
Rutgers vs. Virginia Tech
Meineke Car Care of Texas
Minnesota vs. Texas Tech
Bell Helicopter Armed Forces
Rice vs. Air Force
New Era Pinstripe
West Virginia vs. Syracuse
Kraft Fight Hunger
Navy vs. Arizona State
Valero Alamo
Texas vs. Oregon State
Buffalo Wild Wings
TCU vs. Michigan State
Franklin American Mortgage Music City
NC State vs. Vanderbilt
Hyundai Sun
USC vs. Georgia Tech
AutoZone Liberty
Iowa State vs. Tulsa
Chick-fil-A
LSU vs. Clemson
TaxSlayer.com Gator
Mississippi State vs. Northwestern
Heart of Dallas
Purdue vs. Oklahoma State
Outback
South Carolina vs. Michigan
Capital One
Georgia vs. Nebraska
Rose Bowl Game presented by Vizio
Wisconsin vs. Stanford
Discover Orange
Northern Illinois vs. Florida State
Allstate Sugar
Louisville vs. Florida
Tostitos Fiesta
Oregon vs. Kansas State
AT&T Cotton
Texas A&M vs. Oklahoma
BBVA Compass
Pittsburgh vs. Ole Miss
GoDaddy.com
Kent State vs. Arkansas State
Discover BCS National Championship
Notre Dame vs. Alabama
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Chekhov's Gun - The Secret to Comedy
There is an unsourced quote attributed to 19th century Russian author Anton Chekhov that goes something like this:
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there."
The quote has been in my head recently for a number of reasons. First, I read the delightful 1Q84 last winter break which made direct reference to Chekhov's rule, then deliberately broke it. Second, in my narrative writing class this semester it was used as an illustrative lesson in which details to include in our nonfiction writing.
And, third, it came to me as the reason Larry David is the modern king of comedy.
There are some who would disagree. David has been off the air for over a year now, the latest season of the fantastic HBO series "Curb Your Enthusiasm" airing at the tail end of 2011. He's at work on an HBO original movie at the moment, which will also feature Bill Hader, Jon Hamm, Danny McBride, Michael Keaton, Kate Hudson, Eva Mendes and Curb's "Leon," J.B. Smoove.
In other words, likely the funniest and sexiest thing you'll see on premium cable in the coming months. Well, at least if you shut your TV off before midnight.
What makes David's comedy so endearing? Is it the self-effacing characters? The insightful obliteration of societal norms? The ability to play with language?
No. The real reason is David understands Chekhov's gun and uses it to side-splitting effect.
Let's take an example from my favorite episode of Curb, "The Doll." The installment opens with Larry entering a theater. His doctor has told him he needs to drink more fluids, so he's carrying a water bottle. A woman, who he believes to be a worker, tells him no outside drink is allowed. So he throws the bottle out. When he realizes she's just another patron, a classic "Larry David moment" ensues — a shouting match in the middle of the movie theater.
The episode goes on. Larry cuts the hair off a doll's head for a friend's daughter, who doesn't realize it won't grow back. He's forced to take his friend/manager Jeff's daughter's doll and replace the head. But his wife, Susie, notices and implores Larry to return the doll's head, as only she can:
For any other series, Susie's revelation in the theater that she knows the doll's head has been stolen and used to replace her daughter's would be enough to close the episode. But David takes it one step further still, returning to the theater, water bottle tucked firmly in his pants pocket. Did I mention he also walked away from guarding an unlocked bathroom door for his wife, Sheryl, earlier in the episode? This all sets up the Chekhovian payoff, perhaps the finest example in a series rife with opportunity:
You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy doesn't mesh with your sense of humor. You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy dwells in the meaningless part of our social existence.
But you can't argue the guy lacks an appreciation for Chekhov.
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there."
The quote has been in my head recently for a number of reasons. First, I read the delightful 1Q84 last winter break which made direct reference to Chekhov's rule, then deliberately broke it. Second, in my narrative writing class this semester it was used as an illustrative lesson in which details to include in our nonfiction writing.
And, third, it came to me as the reason Larry David is the modern king of comedy.
There are some who would disagree. David has been off the air for over a year now, the latest season of the fantastic HBO series "Curb Your Enthusiasm" airing at the tail end of 2011. He's at work on an HBO original movie at the moment, which will also feature Bill Hader, Jon Hamm, Danny McBride, Michael Keaton, Kate Hudson, Eva Mendes and Curb's "Leon," J.B. Smoove.
In other words, likely the funniest and sexiest thing you'll see on premium cable in the coming months. Well, at least if you shut your TV off before midnight.
What makes David's comedy so endearing? Is it the self-effacing characters? The insightful obliteration of societal norms? The ability to play with language?
No. The real reason is David understands Chekhov's gun and uses it to side-splitting effect.
Let's take an example from my favorite episode of Curb, "The Doll." The installment opens with Larry entering a theater. His doctor has told him he needs to drink more fluids, so he's carrying a water bottle. A woman, who he believes to be a worker, tells him no outside drink is allowed. So he throws the bottle out. When he realizes she's just another patron, a classic "Larry David moment" ensues — a shouting match in the middle of the movie theater.
The episode goes on. Larry cuts the hair off a doll's head for a friend's daughter, who doesn't realize it won't grow back. He's forced to take his friend/manager Jeff's daughter's doll and replace the head. But his wife, Susie, notices and implores Larry to return the doll's head, as only she can:
For any other series, Susie's revelation in the theater that she knows the doll's head has been stolen and used to replace her daughter's would be enough to close the episode. But David takes it one step further still, returning to the theater, water bottle tucked firmly in his pants pocket. Did I mention he also walked away from guarding an unlocked bathroom door for his wife, Sheryl, earlier in the episode? This all sets up the Chekhovian payoff, perhaps the finest example in a series rife with opportunity:
You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy doesn't mesh with your sense of humor. You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy dwells in the meaningless part of our social existence.
But you can't argue the guy lacks an appreciation for Chekhov.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Change in the Sofa-Boardwalk Empire, Season 3 and Finale Review
Hmm.
One syllable to sum up my thoughts at the end of last night's third season finale of acclaimed HBO period piece "Boardwalk Empire." In many ways, the third season represented for me the kind of slow-burn, promise-fulfilling sprawling narrative that fulfilled the promise the original trailers and promotional materials established.
In that first episode, so expertly crafted by Martin Scorcese, Jimmy Darmody tells Nucky Thompson, in an oft-quoted line, "You can't be half a gangster. Not anymore."
It wasn't until Season 3, when Nucky's empire is threatened by an outside force rivaling any other in terms of TV villainy, that we were treated to what this statement truly meant. Nucky, after murdering Jimmy, has no qualms about getting his hands dirty. And he gets them very dirty before the season draws to a close.
Count me among the skeptics after Jimmy's death. I thought he was the rock the show needed. Young, troubled and ambitious, Jimmy represented an American spirit that lent a human element to the other senseless killing that took place on-screen.
But Season 3 overcame Jimmy's absence and the series ascended to new heights in terms of storytelling and drama this year. That's why the finale falling flat perturbed me so much.
Several narrative threads were resolved adequately. And the show finally made the full leap into allegory with Nucky's carnation falling to the boardwalk in the final scene. But the writers left several characters in the lurch, and relied too often upon violence to make a point. In a series that has increasingly impressed with its creativity and cleverness, last night's episode felt like a dud.
When the episode did it right, though, it nailed it. Nucky and Eli's conversation over the busted radiator was perhaps the most interesting and sincere scene in a season filled with dynamic onscreen banter. We see a relationship that was in tatters at the beginning of the season — remember Micky picking up Eli at the prison — coalesce into something lasting. "OK, brother," Eli says in the car after Rosetti is put down. It's a moment that typifies their relationship, and shows that Eli has earned back Nucky's trust. It was a major plot point left over from the inner turmoil in Nucky's outfit from last season, and to see it end in that way was powerful.
Another bright spot was drawing the Lasky/Luciano heroin partnership to a close, tying the failed business venture to the intrigue going on between Joe Masseria, Arnold Rothstein and Nucky. Anatol Yusef's (Lasky) face, as Luciano apologizes for screwing up the deal, is priceless. To see him unhinged, then draw it back in when Luciano loses it to Rothstein, solidifies his position as someone to watch in the coming seasons. Especially considering the real Laskey's long and profitable career in graft.
And finally, the political and social intrigue that has categorized this season reached a head. Stephen Root made one final important appearance in a season during which he has shined, revealing Rothstein fell into Nucky's trap by accepting ownership of the Pennsylvanian distillery. When Nucky told Rothstein, after he forsook him, that he would not forget this, you knew it was going to come back to bite even the mighty New York kingpin. It was nice to see, after several episodes of being on the run, Nucky return to his position as, in the words of Eli, "the man with all the angles." We'll have to wait until next season to see how the federal inquiry (and the fact that Masseria's men lie dead in a field in New Jersey) will impact their relationship with Nucky.
The bold narrative statement made in the closing minutes of the episode was also noteworthy, though I'm not sure I can classify it as a strength or a weakness yet. Boardwalk Empire has danced the line between symbolism and historical accuracy in the past. Season 3 brought the issue to a head, blowing up half of the boardwalk and forcing Nucky Thompson toward a much higher profile gangster lifestyle than his real-life counterpart, Nucky Johnson. It reflects the dichotomy showrunner Terence Winter has stated between the "look and feel of the show, which is as accurate as he can make it, and the content of the show, which is fiction."
Because it's fiction, Winter had a strong possibility for catharsis, which was completely destroyed in this episode by the interference of both Gillian and Harrow. For all the fanboy praise of Capone and Harrow's violence (one IGN commenter called Harrow's shootout the greatest few minutes in the history of television), it didn't amount to anything. We knew the side lurked in Harrow. We saw it in previous episodes, and up-close-and-personal in Manny Horvitz's retribution earlier this season. And we've seen Capone kill violently before, including a particularly grisly barroom scene earlier this season.
One syllable to sum up my thoughts at the end of last night's third season finale of acclaimed HBO period piece "Boardwalk Empire." In many ways, the third season represented for me the kind of slow-burn, promise-fulfilling sprawling narrative that fulfilled the promise the original trailers and promotional materials established.
Still gives me goosebumps.
In that first episode, so expertly crafted by Martin Scorcese, Jimmy Darmody tells Nucky Thompson, in an oft-quoted line, "You can't be half a gangster. Not anymore."
It wasn't until Season 3, when Nucky's empire is threatened by an outside force rivaling any other in terms of TV villainy, that we were treated to what this statement truly meant. Nucky, after murdering Jimmy, has no qualms about getting his hands dirty. And he gets them very dirty before the season draws to a close.
Where'd you learn to shoot like that, Nucky?
Count me among the skeptics after Jimmy's death. I thought he was the rock the show needed. Young, troubled and ambitious, Jimmy represented an American spirit that lent a human element to the other senseless killing that took place on-screen.
But Season 3 overcame Jimmy's absence and the series ascended to new heights in terms of storytelling and drama this year. That's why the finale falling flat perturbed me so much.
Several narrative threads were resolved adequately. And the show finally made the full leap into allegory with Nucky's carnation falling to the boardwalk in the final scene. But the writers left several characters in the lurch, and relied too often upon violence to make a point. In a series that has increasingly impressed with its creativity and cleverness, last night's episode felt like a dud.
When the episode did it right, though, it nailed it. Nucky and Eli's conversation over the busted radiator was perhaps the most interesting and sincere scene in a season filled with dynamic onscreen banter. We see a relationship that was in tatters at the beginning of the season — remember Micky picking up Eli at the prison — coalesce into something lasting. "OK, brother," Eli says in the car after Rosetti is put down. It's a moment that typifies their relationship, and shows that Eli has earned back Nucky's trust. It was a major plot point left over from the inner turmoil in Nucky's outfit from last season, and to see it end in that way was powerful.
Another bright spot was drawing the Lasky/Luciano heroin partnership to a close, tying the failed business venture to the intrigue going on between Joe Masseria, Arnold Rothstein and Nucky. Anatol Yusef's (Lasky) face, as Luciano apologizes for screwing up the deal, is priceless. To see him unhinged, then draw it back in when Luciano loses it to Rothstein, solidifies his position as someone to watch in the coming seasons. Especially considering the real Laskey's long and profitable career in graft.
Laskey is not impressed.
And finally, the political and social intrigue that has categorized this season reached a head. Stephen Root made one final important appearance in a season during which he has shined, revealing Rothstein fell into Nucky's trap by accepting ownership of the Pennsylvanian distillery. When Nucky told Rothstein, after he forsook him, that he would not forget this, you knew it was going to come back to bite even the mighty New York kingpin. It was nice to see, after several episodes of being on the run, Nucky return to his position as, in the words of Eli, "the man with all the angles." We'll have to wait until next season to see how the federal inquiry (and the fact that Masseria's men lie dead in a field in New Jersey) will impact their relationship with Nucky.
The bold narrative statement made in the closing minutes of the episode was also noteworthy, though I'm not sure I can classify it as a strength or a weakness yet. Boardwalk Empire has danced the line between symbolism and historical accuracy in the past. Season 3 brought the issue to a head, blowing up half of the boardwalk and forcing Nucky Thompson toward a much higher profile gangster lifestyle than his real-life counterpart, Nucky Johnson. It reflects the dichotomy showrunner Terence Winter has stated between the "look and feel of the show, which is as accurate as he can make it, and the content of the show, which is fiction."
Because it's fiction, Winter had a strong possibility for catharsis, which was completely destroyed in this episode by the interference of both Gillian and Harrow. For all the fanboy praise of Capone and Harrow's violence (one IGN commenter called Harrow's shootout the greatest few minutes in the history of television), it didn't amount to anything. We knew the side lurked in Harrow. We saw it in previous episodes, and up-close-and-personal in Manny Horvitz's retribution earlier this season. And we've seen Capone kill violently before, including a particularly grisly barroom scene earlier this season.
How much is too much?
Harrow's killing spree also sets up the ignominious end for Gyp Rosetti. Not at the hands of Nucky, whose life has been utterly destroyed by Rosetti and his association with Masseria, but a two-bit thug who was peeing himself in a closet. And he kills Rosetti while he's peeing. So ends one of the most interesting TV villains. But even he isn't given the shortest shrift in an underwhelming finale.
That distinction rests with Gillian Darmody, Gretchen Mol has played the character to creepy perfection for three seasons now. It was pretty clear that she was headed for a poetic end. But Winter decides to kill her at the hand of Rosetti, as she attempts to take his life in a manner similar to her real estate plot earlier in the season, itself a perfect example of the layered complexity that all Boardwalk characters have assumed in several seasons of development.
We're treated a wonderful seduction scene in which we finally see some strong, illuminating character development between Gyp and Gillian and their mutual hatred of themselves. All to realize that it's all a sham, with Gillian clandestinely (and poorly, I might add—her reversal of attitudes in his office was worse than a poker tell that she'd made up her mind to kill him to "save" Tommy) plotting to off Rosetti.
We're treated a wonderful seduction scene in which we finally see some strong, illuminating character development between Gyp and Gillian and their mutual hatred of themselves. All to realize that it's all a sham, with Gillian clandestinely (and poorly, I might add—her reversal of attitudes in his office was worse than a poker tell that she'd made up her mind to kill him to "save" Tommy) plotting to off Rosetti.
Not only that, but Winter can't resist one final attempt to drum up sympathy for a psychopath who's abducted her son's child (that may or may not be her own...yeah, I went there. There's no way you can forget that scene from Season 2; it's burned on my retinas). As she lies there, dying, Nucky approaches her during a hallucination of the night the Commodore impregnated her, probably with Jimmy, and thanks him for coming to save her. Well done, Mr. Winter. Don't let us forget that there's not a single character we can universally hate on your entire show.
This wouldn't be too bad if the storytelling were nuanced to reflect this complexity. The finest episodes of Boardwalk (the pilot, last season's aforementioned "Under God's Power She Fluorishes," in which we learn waaaaaay more about Jimmy and Gillian then we ever wanted to know through flashbacks, and this season's flawless "A Man, A Plan..." where we learn of Margaret's pregnancy with Slater's child only after he shows up dead in a box in the Thompson's suite) play with time and space, and give us multiple avenues for interpretation. Not so in this straightforward, 60-minute episode.
It's called a flashback, Mr. Winter. You have done it before, quite successfully.
And it's not even that straightforward. There are holes aplenty. What's happened to Van Alden, arguably the most interesting Boardwalk character of all, after his apprehension? How did Nucky return to power so quickly? How is Margaret dealing with her grief, aside from her visit to the abortionist? How has Chalky's allegiances impacted his family, and the African-American community in New Jersey? And what of the fallout in Washington with Jess Smith dead at his own hand?
This questions are even less important than the overarching question of, where do we go now? The end of Season 2 set up the perfect transition with Nucky assuming the mantle of a true gangster. This is Nucky's story, through and through, and has been since the beginning. But last night, the subsidiary stories overshadowed Nucky's plight. His confrontation of Margaret seemed trite and uninteresting, given her erratic acceptance of some of Nucky's vile ways but shocked hatred when he blurted out his murderous musings after a concussion. She's been just as unfaithful as he, but now seems unwilling to lead a life of more lies and deceit, though she knows she'll be safe that way?
While the carnation falling was significant, it came nowhere near the emotional significance of seeing Nucky put a bullet in Jimmy's head, Jimmy talking him through it all the while. And while it may be unfair to hold up this finale to a pivotal moment in the series' development so far, suffice to say the clear direction the show had after that moment has been tarnished. How much of this becomes a Chicago or New York-centric story? O'Banion's waiting in the wings in Chicago, setting up imminent mass chaos leading to the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre. And we know Rothstein (if history serves correctly) only has a few years left, too. With the news of Dennis Lahane joining Boardwalk's talented team of writers, it seems only likely the fanciful play with history will continue.
Spoiler alert: This didn't happen. Really.
The question after last night I'm left with, is do I care? Where does Nucky's next threat come from? And will it ever approach the brilliance or promise that Season 3 afforded, but could not deliver on?
Verdict: 2/5 stars
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