Reintroduction-Who I Am, 5 Years Later

By the time this goes up, I’ll be celebrating my 30th birthday. Truth be told, this isn’t where I thought I’d be at this point. If it were up to me from 10 years ago, I’d be married and have a child or two by now. I’d also have moved out of my parents’ house and made it big as a writer. While I’ve made inroads since then, me from 10 years ago would be disappointed. Then again, 20 year-old me was a bumbling, naïve fool.

This November marks the 5th anniversary of this Blog, which was started to scratch a non-anime itch that Infinite Rainy Day couldn’t. Ironically, this Blog has outlived Infinite Rainy Day by two years. And that’s despite that Blog having over a full year’s head-start.

Regardless, because 30 year-old me feels a need for introspection, I’ll do that:

Growing up the middle child of Jewish, middle-class family wasn’t always easy. Despite having loving brothers and happily-married parents, I was lagging behind my peers socially and academically. When I was 7 years-old, I was diagnosed with ADHD, my first of many. Using that as a weapon, I attacked a kid in the school bathroom and received my first detention. The lesson to not take out my anger on people only half-stuck with me, as I had emotional issues that’d be exacerbated over time.

In middle school, after having been transferred to a special education school, I was re-diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Shortly after that, I was referred to a psychiatrist that I’d see regularly for 17 years. Despite my diagnosis explaining a lot, it didn’t help academically. I was regularly pulled out of class for one-on-one remediation, and I’d often spend my time in class either fighting with classmates or writing fan-fiction in my notebooks. This got me into plenty of trouble with my teachers, many of whom didn’t understand me.

The situation with my social life didn’t start improving until high school, when my peers began to be more accepting of me. I was also diagnosed with Tourette’s Syndrome around that time, leading to my first ever Facebook group project. With about 10000 members currently, it’s one of my biggest accomplishments. I also frequently get emails from people asking to join it.

With this acceptance came a challenge to my Jewish identity. Teenage-hood isn’t without challenges anyway, but I’d never considered my Judaism a part of it. Yet due to me being exposed to ideas I’d never been prior, that was to be expected. Even my teachers were unafraid to challenge conventions, expressing disappointment in the day school system for “never challenging students beyond an elementary level”. It was tough, but necessary.

My biggest wake-up call religiously, however, came in university. For one, my knowledge pool expanded, showing how sheltered I’d been. I’d never questioned my beliefs openly beforehand, having always taken them for granted, so this was new. My already-expanded Judaism became expanded even further, with a better understanding of how my history collided with other histories. It was a lot to take in.

And two, my demographic pool also expanded. Prior, I’d never considered something like transgender or gender expression. I never thought grammatical rules were flexible, or that I’d been writing essays incorrectly. Most-importantly, I hadn’t considered how complex my identity was, something made more-apparent by a late mental health diagnosis. All of this was integral to shaping my adulthood.

Perhaps the biggest shift came from my time spent online. My social media exposure dates back to 2009, when I was writing blogs on ScrewAttack, but my post-university life’s where it really took shape. 2014 was tough emotionally, for many reasons, but that’s when my social conscience took shape. I became aware of how sheltered I was, and how it was important to sympathize with causes outside the Jewish community. Some might call that “radicalization”, but I call it “expanding my horizons”.

In my initial mission statement for this Blog, I mentioned wanting to discuss a myriad of topics. I think I’ve succeeded; after all, where else would my most-popular piece and my second most-popular piece be on a show and a Jewish calendar period? It’s been a weird trip down the rabbit hole, but also incredibly-satisfying. I think that speaks for itself.

Which leads me to now. Where to go next? For starters, I’ve managed to pursue ambitions to write a novel because of the pandemic. That’s something I’d have sat on without it, so I’m grateful for that. (I’m also almost done.)

Outside of that, I feel more can be done. I recently had a Zoom meeting with my cousin to see where The Whitly-Verse can go from here. It was suggested to use Reddit to expand viewership, but I’m not sure that’s enough. Besides, I like where I am right now, a small-fry with a dedicated audience. I’m not super-popular, or making money, but it’s nice to work at my own pace. It’s comforting.

If I have anything to say to my younger self, it’s this: be patient. Recognize your blessings when they come to you. 30 might seem ancient, but it comes at you fast. Before you know it, you’re having stomach and back problems, and then you realize how little you actually know. It’s humbling.

It also teaches you to slow down. Society prioritizes making a name for yourself early, but that’s not healthy. Lots of successful people only became so after 30, so there’s hope. There’s a chance it could still happen.

That’s all I can say here. Happy birthday to me, and I hope you got something from this!

Paper Mario: The Origami King Review

I’m a fan of the Paper Mario franchise. I’ve been one for over a decade. I’ve had bits of dialogue and gameplay memorized for years. I routinely listen to the music. I replayed Super Paper Mario last month. I even wrote a piece on the franchise’s decline when I was working for Nintendo Enthusiast! The games mean a lot to me.

So I was confused by Paper Mario: The Origami King being announced two months before its release; after all, why not do it a year ago? It doesn’t spell confidence when you shove it out last-minute. Still, I remained optimistic. The game looked solid, so why shouldn’t I have been? Yeah, diehard fan backlash was unsettling, but diehard fans aren’t the be-all-end-all. What really matters is if a game’s solid.

Paper Mario: The Origami King starts with Mario and Luigi heading to Princess Peach’s castle for an origami festival. Once there, they realize something’s off. For one, Princess Peach not only looks weird, but she sounds weird. And two, The Mushroom Kingdom’s barren, with no Toads in sight. An origami creation named King Olly has taken over in an attempt to shape it to his liking. Now it’s up to Mario, together with Olly’s sister Olivia, to restore balance.

One of the downsides to the Paper Mario franchise over the years has been prioritizing experimentation over quality. It began with Super Paper Mario, slowly rotting with the succeeding two entries. Fortunately, this one fixes much of that by reverting to something that works. It borrows from Super Mario RPG: Legend of the Seven Stars with its over-world and battle mechanics, all while maintaining the simplicity in story of the original two Paper Mario entries. There’s some missed potential, more on that later, but it works.

I’m not kidding, either. Paper Mario: The Origami King, while tinkering with the franchise again, is the most straightforward and fun entry since Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door. It opts for a puzzle/grid battling system, in which you line up enemies for maximum damage, instead of a turn-based approach, but the additional strategy makes the fights more interactive and exciting. Doubly-so the boss fights, where you guide Mario to the enemy and think in 3-dimensions.

And the over-world? It’s standard fare, but with a twist. Mario traverses the different areas and interacts with NPCs, many of whom are pre-programmed with humour, tragedy, charm, or all three, but there’s the additional component of fixing the damage Olly’s done. Any destroyed areas can be patched with confetti, something you collect at various locations. And there are Toads hiding everywhere, giving additional incentive to explore everything.

The music and aesthetics are also lovely. This is the first entry for the Switch, a console that’s portable and stationary, and it takes advantage. Whether it’s the battle tunes, using the console’s motion controls for puzzle solving, or admiring how much attention to detail went into the game’s look, there’s no shortage of awe-inspired imagery. This is good, as it helps to compensate for the occasional parts that can be frustrating, like when grid puzzles don’t co-operate.

I have some minor gripes about the mechanics. I’m disappointed that conventional level grinding doesn’t exist. The first two Paper Mario entries had you collecting Star Points that could be cashed in for upgrades after you defeated enemies in battle. This had limitations, but it made battling more enticing. Paper Mario: The Origami King, however, has none of that. Instead, you’re forced to find heart containers scattered throughout the over-world. It’s not a bad trade-off, but it’s not “great”.

I also don’t like how your allies only do so much. Mario and Olivia encounter several of them throughout the game, but they’re not great fighters and you can’t always access to them. You also don’t get to control them in combat, robbing you of fighting possibilities. I honestly found them hit or miss: when they’re helpful, they’re incredibly helpful. But when they’re unhelpful, they’re practically useless.

Finally, I don’t like how most of the battle accessories have limitations. Mario can equip different boots and hammers to make fights easier, which they become with them at hand. Yet while I appreciate the strategy of learning when to use them, counting down until they break is frustrating. It’s a problem I have with modern Zelda games too, and I long for the Badges of earlier entries.

Did I mention the game is funny, though?

Overall, this is a great entry in a franchise that was previously on life-support. Is it the “best” Paper Mario game since the first two? No, and I wouldn’t rank it above Super Paper Mario. But it sits comfortably at fourth place. Not to mention, it’s a return to form that has you battle origami animals alongside artist tools as bosses. If that’s not enough creativity to sell the game, I’ll eat my paper crane!

One X-Cellent Scene: Sentinels Attack

Multi-collab projects seem to be a regular occurrence these days. First it was Lessons Animation Taught Us. Then it was One Marvelous Scene, discussing The MCU. Then it was Star Wars Defined. Now it’s One X-Cellent Scene, focusing on the X-Men movies. I’m still waiting for The Pixar-Perfect Moment, my idea, to take off…

The X-Men movies have had their ups-and-downs, both qualitatively and behind-the-scenes, but their ability to pull off ensembles pre-MCU made them an anomaly for most of the 2000’s. It’s easy to take it for granted now, given what we’ve seen in the last 12 years, but there was a time when multiple heroes would’ve been a risk. For that reason, it’s easy to call the X-Men movies trailblazers. And while the franchise has fizzled out in recent years, its biggest achievement comes from its 7th entry, X-Men: Days of Future Past.

2014 was a great year for films based on Marvel IPs. We got four in one Summer, and, save The Amazing Spider-Man 2, all of them were well-received. Yet while The MCU’s entries may have aged better, X-Men: Days of Future Past was the still most interesting and ambitious. It not only had to be a direct sequel to X-Men: First Class, it had to tie into the first three X-Men films, fix the mistakes of X-Men: The Last Stand, jump off of The Wolverine and set the stage for X-Men: Apocalypse. And all while adapting one of comics’ most-famous stories. That it pulled this off while also being satisfying is no easy feat, and its key moment is its climax.

X-Men: Days of Future Past takes place in the future, where mankind’s enslaved by shapeshifting sentinels and mutants are nearly extinct. The surviving mutants have formed an underground resistance, but the odds change when Wolverine enters the picture. Due to complicated plot contrivances involving Shadowcat’s time-travelling skills and Wolverine’s healing factor, Wolverine’s sent to 1973 to stop the event that’d kickstart everything. And the clock’s already ticking.

The scene I want to discuss occurs, like I said, during the climax, and it spans the two timelines. In the future, the mutant resistance has to hold off the sentinels and buy Shadowcat and Wolverine time. In the past, Wolverine, Professor X and Beast must confront Magneto and prevent him from murdering Trask. As the carnage of the future mixes with the suspense of the past, we’re left with a question: can the crisis be averted?

At first glance, it seems that no, it can’t. As the opening suggests, the mutants can buy themselves time, but only so much. Because sentinels are shapeshifters, they’ll forever have the upper-hand, as shown by them mowing down mutants like disposable pawns. Seeing that happen again, right as pivotal moments are happening in the past, makes it nail-biting. It’s the classic “all is lost moment”, except with higher stakes.

It doesn’t help that the little sacrifices end up meaning nothing: so Magneto blew up Professor X’s ship and stopped most of the sentinels? Too bad, the shrapnel severely wounded him. So Storm and Bishop were able to fend off early waves? Too bad, more sentinels have arrived. So Sunspot and Blink stalled for time? Too bad, they’re disposed of quickly. Even Iceman, who puts up a fight inside the hideout, is taken out with little effort, leaving a badly-wounded Shadowcat and Wolverine’s body fully-exposed.

The past isn’t fairing much better! Between Professor X being temporarily trapped, Beast having no chance alone and Trask’s sentinels under Magneto’s control, it seems like the future’s inevitable. Even Mystique, who’s dead-set on murdering Trask, refuses to budge. And right in the middle of this, the TV cameras are pointed at Magneto, who’s surrounded an empty stadium with sentinels, has Trask and several other politicians in the centre of it and is pointing all of them down with loaded guns. Both timelines are looking pretty grim.

And then Magneto gives a big, weighty speech, summarizing his philosophy and stating the message of the film. Ignoring the crosscuts between timelines, there are two points about this moment that make it powerful. The first, an external factor that’s largely speculative, is Proposition 8. Proposition 8 was a controversial amendment to California’s legislature that barred same-sex marriage, and it was repealed fully in 2013. Proposition 8 might not be mentioned, but given that Bryan Singer, the director, is gay, and that the franchise carries with it pro-gay undertones, it can’t be accidental that Proposition 8’s repeal and the timing of this movie were so close. Especially when looking at how this movie mirrors the history of gay people.

The second, one that holds more ground, is how younger Magneto’s speech ends right as older Magneto expresses his regrets to Professor X. As he says:

“All those years spent fighting each other, Charles…to have a precious few of them back…”

This is a big deal for Magneto, as he’s spent most of his life consumed by the vengeance brought on from being both a Jewish Holocaust survivor and a mutant. He’s so caught up in rage, he hasn’t seen clearly the damage he’s caused. He hasn’t seen how he’s driven people away. He hasn’t seen how his attempts at deflecting missiles in X-Men: First Class literally paralyzed Professor X. But most-importantly, he hasn’t seen how his radicalization of Mystique led her to murder Trask. He might clamour for a fight, but at what cost?

Of course, young Magneto’s taken out by Mystique soon after, leading to her final choice: does she murder Trask on camera, become a monster and kickstart the apocalyptic future, or does she listen to young Professor X’s words and spare him? It’s a tense moment, and it comes right as the future sentinels have taken out Iceman and are about to blow up Wolverine’s body. So much is relying on that moment, especially as Mystique cocks her gun. Essentially, it’s a “will she, or won’t she?” moment.

Ultimately, she chooses not to murder Trask, realizing she’d be no better than him if she did. And with that final decision, the future apocalypse vanishes. The sentinel’s blast stops, everyone in that room disappears, and the tension resolves. It’s over, like it never happened. And it’s brilliant.

It helps that this scene has excellent use of film techniques: there are lots of crosscuts between past and present, with audio bleeding over. Much of the action in the future battle’s slowed down, signalling how tragic and hopeless it is. Each death is focused on individually, so as to show weight. Even the music, which alternates between loud and frenetic in the past and slow and miserable in the future, is great, and the main score’s even noticeable at one point. But the part that makes it work best is that we’ve come to care for these characters.

A lot’s been said about these movies: how influential they are. How dated they feel. How the director of four of them is an accused pedophile. All of these are worth discussing in further detail, but the one constant is getting people to think. So much depth exists here, and this scene’s a microcosm of why. It’s truly One X-Cellent Scene.

It’s too bad the franchise took a nosedive in quality following its success, but that’s what Logan and the Deapool movies are for, right?

#ReleasetheTiredCut

I’ve put off discussing Zack Snyder and the recent DCEU news surrounding him for a while. There are two reasons for why. The first is that I’ve said a lot on his involvement in the franchise before, so saying more would be redundant. The second is that I don’t care about this recent development. It’s like, what else is new? But it didn’t end there, so I can’t avoid it.

See, a while back it was revealed that Snyder, director of Justice League right up until a family tragedy pulled him out of Hollywood, had a first print of his film stored somewhere. This is misleading for several reasons, most-notably because it wasn’t even a working one and was unwatchable, but its existence got DCEU diehards who were unhappy with Joss Whedon’s revisions worked up enough to create a hashtag demanding it be released in its original, unedited form. This went on for a year, until WB finally caved and announced its release for HBO Max.

On one hand, this being released at all is interesting. Directors often make compromises on their vision during editing, as that’s where their movies really take shape. Having an “original vision” come to life is exciting, as sometimes the original vision’s better than what we end up with. That Blade Runner only became a classic after the director’s cut came out proves that. Plus, it’s sometimes cool to see what’s changed between versions.

On the other hand, the way in which this came about feels disingenuous. Ignoring how editing’s a thankless process that can cause burnout, a lot of this feels like a response to the toxic vitriol that followed in the years since the original story. This isn’t to say that everyone was toxic, most weren’t, but many of the most-vocal fans of The Snyder Cut were loud, disrespectful jerks who dominated the conversation with complaints of “Joss Whedon Disney-fying” the material for “children who can’t appreciate high art”. Ignoring that superhero movies, even the good ones, are meant for the lowest common-denominator, it elevates The DCEU beyond what it is: edgy, grim-dark filmmaking that failed to resonate with most people. I’d also argue that it diminishes what Whedon brought to the table, but that’s for another day…

Regardless, it’s happening, and now there’ve been talks of bringing back other films to experience them in their unedited forms: Suicide Squad went through changes? #ReleasetheAyerCut. Batman Forever had an original version that made more sense than what we got? #ReleasetheSchumacherCut. The second Superman film wasn’t what was originally intended? Didn’t The Donner Cut already happen?

The problem with this is that directors don’t always know what’s best. We’ve seen that with how the first ever Star Wars movie was rescued in editing, transforming it from a bloated mess to what we love. Editing’s a thankless job that often goes unnoticed when done well. I should know, I edit most of my pieces on this blog!

Besides, the director’s voice isn’t the only one that matters. It’s important, yes, and much of the movie couldn’t exist without it, but other voices are equally as crucial. There’s the screenwriter, for instance, who provides the dialogue and stage notes for the director and actors. There are the actors, who recite the lines. There’s the DP, who frames the shooting. There’s the conductor for the music. There’s the special effects team, who make all the fancy visuals. And there are hundreds upon hundreds of crew-members responsible for making it all go smoothly. The director simply unifies these voices.

Demanding a director’s cut purposely ignores all those voices in favour of one. And that’s not fair. I know the above information contradicts “auteur theory”, the idea that the director’s the true voice of a project, but it’s true. Especially since, as I said before, the director doesn’t always know what’s best. (Look no further than George Lucas and The Star Wars Prequels for that.)

It’s really easy to become attached to a project based on the director. I’m not innocent in that regard. We all want our favourite directors to make their movies their own way, even if they’re bad. But sometimes it’s important to know when a ship has sailed. I say this knowing that I’ll probably never get to see the unaltered versions of The Original Star Wars films because of George Lucas’s stubbornness.

As for The Snyder Cut? It’s happening now, even if not in the way people intended. Does this mean it won’t be interesting to see how the two versions of Justice League compare? Not necessarily. Does this mean it’ll be the better end-product? That’s not off the table. Now, do I want this for every movie that’s been heavily-interfered with from now on? No, especially given the years of toxic vitriol.

Still, my only regret is that I don’t have HBO Max, nor can I afford to pay for it. Seriously, $15USD a month for a streaming service? Absolutely not, even if it has enough content to last a year without getting bored!

2013 in Movies: A Lamentation

COVIDtine’s been really exhausting. Usually at this point, I’d have already seen a handful of Summer movies at the theatre, be they action, comedy or animation. This year, however, I haven’t been to the movie theatre since March, when I saw Onward. It’s been trying waiting out a global pandemic, made less-helpful by so many countries messing up their responses, but it’s had me thinking about 2013.

For those unaware, or don’t remember, 2013 was terrible for Summer movies. It was terrible for movies in general, with most big hitters debuting in time for Oscar season, but the Summer months were notoriously awful. Not since the late-90’s had releases been so vapid and/or disappointing, with most high-profile releases falling flat. So what better time to reflect on 7 years ago, right? Here goes:

The year began like most: after a drab Winter, as well as an early-Spring that was equally barren, we got a glimmer of hope in early-May with Iron Man 3. Helmed by Kiss Kiss Bang Bang visionary Shane Black, who’d later direct The Nice Guys, the movie was promising: an MCU film from one of Hollywood’s most-subversive action writers? That’s a dream come true! And did it deliver?

Well…somewhat. Ignoring the twist reveal, the movie, while a step-up from its predecessor, buckled under the weight of its expectations. It was a big movie with many great moments, but it couldn’t live up to its promise. In short, it disappointed. And it was still The MCU’s best offering that year.

That disappointment trickled into every big-budget release that year. Star Trek into Darkness had its moments, and it was well-acted, but it couldn’t shake screenwriting and directing issues. It also ripped off a better Star Trek movie with the Khan angle. Essentially, it was a big, bloated and underwhelming mess. So the season wasn’t looking promising.

This was the frustration of 2013: most of the tentpoles were either underwhelming, awful, or both. Whereas DC’s previous outing, 2012’s The Dark Knight Rises, left audience members polarized, their 2013 offering, Man of Steel was a train-wreck. Whereas there were usually 2 or 3 big-budget animations to hold younger audiences, the biggest, high-profile release was Monsters, University. It was a tough year to get hyped for anything, and the biggest crowd-pleaser, Pacific Rim, wasn’t even that great.

You know what didn’t help? Waiting for good releases. That was painful. In a normal Summer, it’s not uncommon to wait weeks between releases. 2013 had several weeks in a row with multiple films that were badly-received. It says a lot that: a. I saved money by not watching movies for several weeks in a row. b. my favourite movies of that Summer were This Is the End, a comedy about 5 Hollywood actors surviving The Apocalypse, and The World’s End, a comedy about 5 friends bar hopping during a covert invasion. When I wasn’t reducing movie-watching, I was watching people hold onto their humanity on-screen. Clearly, I’m a fan of schadenfreude.

If there was a silver lining to 2013, it’s the indie dramas. Of the 17 films I watched pre-September, most were low-budget, independent dramas. That’s not necessarily bad, though: I loved Mud and The Way, Way Back, and my frustration over missing Fruitvale Station in theatres was a nice change of pace. But it wasn’t the same. I craved big-budget comedies, animations and action films, three experiences that weren’t being offered in a satisfactory manner.

Fortunately, everything turned around come September. Right as I was about to give up on 2013 altogether, along came Rush. And Prisoners. And Gravity. And a slew of incredibly high-profile dramas. If the first 8 months of 2013 were a wasteland, filled with nothing but high-budget garbage, then the last 4 months of 2013 were the saving grace. It’s frustrating that Hollywood was holding out that long, waiting until the Fall and Winter for the big guns, but it was worth it! Not enough to forgive most of the year, but worth it!

It helped that the Fall/Winter months were compensating for much of the earlier misgivings. With the exception of Thor: The Dark World, arguably The MCU’s worst entry, those few last 4 months felt like an apology for the earlier ones: no good action movies? Have The Hunger Games: Catching Fire. Disney left you wanting with Monsters, University? Try forgetting Frozen for the next 7 years. Even The Wind Rises, which I’d see in January of the following year, and The Wolf Children, which’d come out the year before in Japan, showed that there was good stuff in anime.

Regardless, it all felt like overcompensating. Which leads to the final question: why mention this?

Two reasons. The first is obvious, that being boredom. I’m bored and need something to do. COVIDtine’s been taxing for many reasons, and writing’s surprisingly therapeutic. That, and it gives me a chance to vent about 2013.

The second is perspective. So 2020 won’t let me go to the theatre? It could be worse! I could be scraping the bottom of the barrel for gold, assuming it’s even there! I may have only seen a handful of movies in theatres this year pre-pandemic. And yeah, that sucks. But pre-COVID’s track-record was better qualitatively than 2013’s was for most of the film year. That accounts for something, right?

But I digress. It’s been frustrating regardless, so why not lament about simpler times? It’s not like this pandemic’s gonna lift soon, right? (But seriously, stay home and wear a mask in public. Don’t be selfish.)

Don't Be a Chicken!

Aardman Animations. Despite never getting the mainstream recognition of, say, Studio Ghibli or Pixar, thanks largely to their niche storytelling, they still have an excellent track-record. Whether it’s their character models having jovial faces constantly, their British humour, or even tackling bizarre concepts in fun ways, Aardman’s mastered Claymation. Which is why it hurts to be critical of them when they make bad decisions. Case in point: Chicken Run.

Those who’ve followed me since ScrewAttack’s heyday will know that Chicken Run’s one of my favourite animated films. I even included it in a Top 15 list that, sadly, no longer exists. It’s a great movie, and it pays homage to one of the greatest chase movies ever made, The Great Escape. Yet it never crossed my mind that a sequel could be milked from its premise, as it ended conclusively. But having discovered some upsetting news, I’m not sure I want one anymore.

See, Chicken Run recently had a sequel green-lit. The idea’s curious enough, but then there was the announcement that its leads, Mel Gibson and Julia Sawalha, wouldn’t be returning as Rocky and Ginger. For Gibson, this makes sense, as his behaviour in the years since has been questionable, and Aardman would rather not be associated with that. But Sawalha not returning raises eyebrows, as the reason given, that she’s “too old”, doesn’t add up.

Let me explain.

Voice acting, unlike in-person acting, is tricky. It’s not as appearance-oriented, as your voice is what matters, but it’s equally as demanding. If Tom Hanks is indication, it might be more demanding, as all of your energy has to go into your voice. If you’re not giving it your all vocally, it’ll show.

In that sense, I can see why Aardman wanted to replace Sawalha; after all, she’s in her 50’s, and voices do age. Considering the strain of voice acting, it’s not unreasonable to want one that’s capable of the stresses of the microphone. Especially since a lot can happen in 20 years to a person’s vocal cords. It’s bad enough when you strain it once, let-alone constantly!

But I have to still call bullocks. For one, even when factoring in the aforementioned, VAs are capable of voicing characters at advanced ages. The late-June Foray was voicing Rocky the raccoon well into her 90’s. Even in mainstream animation, Jessie was voiced by Joan Cusack for over 20 years, while Elastigirl survived two movies with Holly Hunter. Even Mark Hamill has been doing The Joker off-and-on since the early-90’s, and his voice has considerably changed since then! So Sawalha being “too old” feels disingenuous.

Two, older VAs have voiced younger characters before. Older woman have even voiced children, boys in particular. Wendy Lee was the original dub voice for Takeru, an 8 year-old. Brianne Brozey was the official dub voice for Tomoki, a 9 year-old. And let’s not forget Tara Strong, who’s been voicing Timmy Turner since the early-2000’s. Considering the ages of these three women when they started their work on these characters, it’s disingenuous that Sawalha’s age was a factor here.

Three, we live in an age of technology. Voices have been scrubbed over and cleaned up for decades, like when one of the voice actors in Animaniacs hit puberty. And given that some voices can be artificially replicated for VAs who can’t make a session, it’s not like there aren’t ways to fix aging voices. Couldn’t Sawalha record her lines and have Aardman polish them in post? Is this impossible? I don’t get it.

Four, and this is especially important, I don’t think Sawalha’s voice has changed that much. She recently shared herself rerecording her lines online, and the change was really subtle. Sure, there might’ve been a slight difference, but it’s nothing that couldn’t be fixed in post. If anything, her rerecording’s the best argument against being recast as is!

I understand wanting to recast someone. It happens in Hollywood for a variety of reasons-health, puberty, scheduling conflicts, scandals, death-and it happens constantly. I also don’t think that Sawalha owns Ginger, even if she helped create her. But that doesn’t mean she can’t still voice her because she’s “too old”. She’s in her early 50’s, for crying out loud!

It’s also not like Sawalha’s committing vocal blackface. She’s not. Ginger’s not a person, she’s a hen. Unless hens become personified and can think independently, I don’t think she’s breaking any moral boundaries, either. So why does it matter if she’s 20 years older?

I wouldn’t be annoyed if this reasoning didn’t hamper plenty of actresses. It seems like adult actresses are only good for a few years, fall into a black hole, and then resurface years later as mothers or grandmothers. And that’s sexist. I mean, is that all women are good for? Being single for a while, then being maternal figures later? This isn’t something they asked for, right?

There’s not much I can really do, sadly. Sawalha has already written a statement, which you can find here, so it’s not like this went by unnoticed by her. I only wish Aardman had given a better reason than her age, especially considering how voice acting actually works. And who knows? Maybe they’ll reconsider? Only time will tell!

The Existential Superhero

COVID-19 has presented a unique challenge to entertainment. Usually we’d be well into Blockbuster Season by now, with the superhero movie as the big cash-cow. However, with a global pandemic keeping people inside, movie chains and movie production have both suffered. Movies have been forced to either delay their openings or release on streaming, and the big-tent superhero films have been halted altogether. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Yet COVIDtine has given me time to ponder what I never thought of prior, including something I’ve been flirting with for a while now: why are superhero movies made the way they are?

Now, I’m not going to spend time dissecting the relevance of superheroes in 2020. Not only do these movies make tons of money at the box-office, but they don’t release nearly as frequently as detractors claim. For relative figures, we get about 10-12 superhero movies a year. There were more than double that number of musicals and Westerns yearly in the 50’s and 60’s. We’ll survive.

I’d like to, instead, shift the conversation to how these movies have changed, as well as what they’ve had to say about society as a whole. Because art doesn’t exist in a bubble, it’s always a response to what came before it. Movies, one of the most streamlined forms of art, are no different, catering to various groups’ fears, concerns and anxieties simultaneously. It only makes sense that the superhero movie, which gained its footing during the Carter presidency, would evolve to stay relevant.

I’ll start with 1978’s Superman: The Movie. Released in the years following The Vietnam War and President Nixon’s resignation, the movie is a response to American fatigue with its own exceptionalism. Comes Superman to remind people that Americans still have what it takes to be great. They can still be a nation of supermen, provided they adhere to a moral code. It’s cliché, and the film addresses that, but it has its cake while eating it too.

Superman: The Movie would spawn a franchise, including a sequel with two versions, but it’s a contrast to the 1989’s Batman. If Superman: The Movie was a response to the Carter years of post-Watergate distrust, then Batman was a response to the Reagan/Bush Sr. years of mass-privatization, Reaganomics, Cold War paranoia and staunch conservatism. If Superman: The Movie was a lighthearted fluff-piece, then Batman was its dark, heavy counterpart. If Superman: The Movie was silly, then Batman was serious. And while Batman might feel hokey by today’s standards, especially in light of the themes presented in modern superhero films, it successfully captured the paranoia and uncertainty of the late-80’s while being crowd-pleasing.

Like Superman: The Movie, Batman would see a slew of sequels that’d inevitably run the franchise into the ground. Unlike Superman: The Movie, the Batman IP would fall victim to the “late-90’s Blockbuster curse” that’d make Summer releases feel gluttonous and excessive. I feel bad for even slamming Batman & Robin openly, especially in-light of its director’s passing. Sure, it’s not “good” by any means, but it’s no more corporate and pandering than many of its contemporaries. It feels like a victim of 90’s excess, no doubt due to the economic boom and “first-world problems” brought on by Clinton’s presidency.

Nevertheless, the damage was done. And while 1998’s Blade would make a valiant effort to rehabilitate superheroes, it wasn’t until X-Men in 2000 and Spider-Man in 2002 that that’d be successful. Both films took their concepts in different directions, but they felt like direct responses to those superheroes that’d come before them. For the former, the movie was a response to the glut of the 90’s. It was a serious movie that dealt with serious themes, and it did so while catering to older fans. In contrast, Spider-Man would show the accessibility and everyman appeal of superheroes, all-the-while feeling like a response to post-9/11 disillusionment.

With this success came the inevitable reboot of Batman with 2005’s Batman Begins. A darker reimagining of Batman that’d spawn two equally-successful sequels, the film felt like a commentary on Bush Jr.’s neoliberalism, including its views on the uber-wealthy. These ideas would be expanded on in The Dark Knight, but the parallels remained. This movie could’ve only been made during the Bush Jr. years, it has his presidency’s fingerprints all-over it.

Which leads to Iron Man and The MCU, as well as the current superhero landscape. While Iron Man began as a commentary on late-American attitudes toward Bush Jr. and The Iraq War, especially in its discussion of WMDs, the franchise that’d spawn from its success would broaden its scope to include global ideas of how superheroes effect the public. Themes of superhero accountability, population density, isolationism and global unity, to name a few, would be tossed around frequently. While these themes would be tackled with varying degrees of success, they played to the public’s growing distrust of politicians and world governments.

And now we arrive at the current landscape of superheroes. It’s true that, on some level, the batting average of these films is far better than even a decade ago, thanks to actual fans of these properties helming them. But that doesn’t interest me as much. I’m more intrigued by what these superhero films have to say about society. Like the post-Nixonian Westerns of the mid/late-70’s, the superhero film’s in a state of self-reflection. 42 years after Superman: The Movie, the genre’s become contemplative.

Is this good or bad? I can’t say. There are pros and cons to having a genre be reflexive, and we’ve seen both with the superhero film. For every deconstruction ala The Incredibles or The Dark Knight, we’ve gotten entries like Man of Steel to balance them out. But that there can be room for these movies in an increasingly-populist genre impresses me. It shows how flexible the superhero is.

I know that superheroes require a huge suspension of disbelief. In the real world, a Batman-type character would be another shameless billionaire “fixing” the mistakes that he created. Even ignoring that, there are ethical and moral quandaries that arise from these movies. Some might even call them irresponsible, and there’d be due cause! After all, why watch something that promotes policing crime without accountability?

Still, while this is a valid question, it ignores what the superhero has demonstrated over the years: flexibility. Flexibility of concept, flexibility of themes and flexibility of ideology. Whether tackling Carterism or Reaganism, the superhero film has stayed relevant by appealing to what we expect from it in our day and age. And because it’s always been evolving, no doubt as a response to our ever-changing values, it’s clear it isn’t disappearing anytime soon. Unless Hollywood collapses, because you never know!

Harping on Harper's Magazine

Life is trying. I say that in light of recent events, be it The Coronavirus or how political figures globally have been embarrassing and frustrating people. There’s lots going on that’d stress anyone out, hence I’m conflicted about writing this. Why put myself through more stress? Call me a masochist, but I’m discussing Harper’s Magazine and their recent…I guess you could call it a “slip up”?

Harper’s Magazine, a publication that still doesn’t pay its interns, published an academic-level letter about public discourse. I won’t copy the full text, it’s verbose and long-winded for something so short, but it argues that not engaging in debate without freaking out is bad. It rails on “cancel culture”, even if it doesn’t use that phrase, and argues that exposing bad ideas, not shutting them down, is the best method for eliminating them.

There’s lots to unpack, like what constitutes as “open debate”, but what bugs me is the people who’ve signed it. Some, like Malcolm Gladwell, I have no issue with, especially if you know what they do for a living. But then you have names that make me scratch my head. A few even make me angry.

I won’t spend too much time whining about the document. While it bugs me on many levels, as many “victims” of cancel culture haven’t really been de-platformed, I agree with aspects of it. I find there’s an ingrained bias against those that don’t line up with the masses 100%, and so this feels like a kumbaya response from 150 people across the spectrum. But while it’s a nice sentiment, especially in this day and age, the signatories and their backgrounds raise more questions about the letter’s authenticity than the publication wants to admit.

Take Noam Chomsky, for instance. Anyone who’s encountered Israel discourse has heard the man’s name. He’s vehemently anti-Zionist, and he’s been openly criticized for some of his takes on the country. I’m not a fan for that reason, but I’ve always thought of him as someone who takes ardent stances. He’s the guy who openly chastised the media for not taking Donald Trump’s behaviour seriously, after all. So for him to put his name on a letter asking for a free-exchange of ideas that contradict his beliefs? I’m not sure what to take from that.

Then there’s David Frum. Anyone who’s old enough to remember the George Bush Jr. years will recall that he was active in his administration. He was Bush’s speechwriter (or one of them), and he was instrumental in convincing the public of invading Iraq with his “Axis of Evil” speech. Recently, however, Frum has been an anti-Trump conservative who attacks the president while reminding people of his older self on occasion. Him signing this letter actively frustrates me because it feels like he’s asking people to forget that he was partly responsible for the deaths of thousands of soldiers and Iraqis.

Perhaps the biggest offender’s JK Rowling, author of the Harry Potter books. Rowling’s a whole case to unpack, but her inclusion’s probably the most toxic. For those unaware, Rowling’s gone on frequently transphobic tirades on Twitter and Blocked people who challenge her. She’s become so toxic that the latest MMO bearing the Harry Potter name is trying to distance itself from her. Rowling signing this letter comes off as hypocritical, especially when factoring in the above information.

I mention all of this because it’s nigh-impossible to disassociate this letter from its signatories. And yes, I’m sure many of them believe what they’re signing was right. I’d also be remiss to slam all of them for extending an olive branch. But many of the signers come off as in-genuine, with chips on their shoulders and wanting to escape accountability. That’s inexcusable.

But I also think two issues are at play, and they’re directly related. The first is parameters. What, exactly, is a “fair debate”? Someone arguing that, God forbid, “raping children is okay, actually” would fall under the letter’s vague guidelines, even though arguing that position is abhorrent and would be grounds for immediate-dismissal in most cases. That there are no limits laid out is a problem.

The second is that of honest debate. Not every debater wants to engage fairly. There’ll always be individuals who don’t care to listen to the opposition fairly. And it’s these individuals who often have the loudest voices. I should know, I’ve Blocked many of them on Twitter!

It’s this that people have taken such personal offence with. Yes, I’m not guiltless. I’ve said stuff that might be “bad faith”. But I always ask for people to, respectfully, call me out, hard as that may be. Because I’m human, and, therefore, make mistakes.

I also think some of the backlash is unreasonable and bad faith too. Whether it’s the nasty criticism, or even some bigoted and bizarrely cartoonish remarks, there’s been plenty of toxic discourse as a result of this. And that’s not okay. It’s especially not okay because it obscures the original intent, which I’d hope wasn’t written in malice.

Regardless, I take issue with the fact that this letter exists, especially in-light of who’s endorsed it. The world might be messy, yes, but this nonsense doesn’t help. It glosses over how hurt many people have been by bad faith actors, and it ignores how so few of them have actually faced accountability. If anything, it highlights how these bad faith actors have “fallen upwards”, and we know what happens when someone does that!

The Case for The Legend of Zelda...

On Sunday, June 18th, 2017, I posted a rant discussing my frustrations with the Zelda franchise. I’ve slammed the franchise on numerous occasions since then, enough to start a running tally. But constantly attacking a franchise I don’t like is really unfair. Because Zelda games aren’t bad, they simply don’t appeal to me. So, in the sake of fairness, I’ve decided to write a counter-piece for these games. Here goes!

The Zelda franchise is known for many innovations. Most-notably, the first game introduced the save feature in cartridges. Prior to this, video games relied on single play-throughs, with interruptions forcing gamers to start from scratch. Being a massive, open-world game with non-linearity, the first Zelda title was next to impossible to beat like that, hence the save feature. It might be primitive now, but for 1986 that was huge!

Additionally, the Zelda games made open-world exploration mainstream. Is the first game’s over-world too big and confusing? Yes. Would every game since be even more confusing? Again, yes. But a non-linear map allowed for, in theory, free-reign for exploration, as well as the unpredictability that came with that.

This only heightened the exploration aspect: don’t want to start with Dungeon A? You can do that. Want to talk to some people along the way? That’s possible too. Curious to try a side-quest? Guess what? You can.

One of the coolest parts about Zelda games is exploration. Because immersion centres around choice, as well as not having it predetermined. That you can veer off in your own direction means playing however you want, upping the fun factor for many. It’s something that’s taken for granted nowadays.

Another feature taken for granted is intuitive controls. The Zelda games all have perfectly-attuned control layouts. Each scheme also fits the respective console, making for a more immersive experience. This has often resulted in delaying the game for increased polish as well. The Zelda games being unafraid to tinker with new technology doesn’t hurt.

Speaking of, the Zelda games routinely utilize new gameplay mechanics. Whether it’s the 3-Day Cycle in The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask, or flying in The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, each one continues to “reinvent the wheel”. It may not always work in its favour personally, but it does for most generally. And isn’t that what counts?

I’d be remiss to mention the in-game puzzles. I’ve harped on them for over-relying on franchise history, but when you solve them it sometimes feels rewarding. It helps that the games have pleasant jingles for solving the puzzles. If all else, considering the dungeon and over-world designs feeling tedious, that’s a nice touch.

Then there’s the games’ adherence to formula. I know, for instance, that when I beat a mini-boss in a dungeon I’ll be rewarded with an item. I also know that that item will be used against the dungeon boss. And I know that the dungeon boss will play fair. This familiarity, while arguably tired and cliché, feels welcomed.

Speaking of, the aesthetics continue to impress me. I saw The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time for the first time as an 8 year-old and was wowed. Future entries would only continue pushing the limits of their consoles and handhelds, with some still looking amazing today. I mean, look at the wind effects in some of them! Or even the waves! I know it’s bare-minimum to praise the visuals, especially since a game’s more than that, but still!

I can’t go without mentioning the games’ OSTs. These are great scores, both past and present-alike! Whether it’s the constant remixes of the over-worlds, some of the dungeon tracks, or that famous chest jingle that’s been re-orchestrated too many times, there’s no denying the staying power of the music. I can listen to an entire playlist of Zelda jingles and never be bored, they’re that good. Forget Mario, Metroid or Pokémon, Zelda’s music is Nintendo’s finest! In some ways, it might be better than the games themselves!

Lastly, the games, at times, are fun. And yes, I know that I routinely pick on them for being tedious, obnoxious, repetitive and laden with puzzles I rarely think are fair. I also know that I despise the in-game sidekicks for being completely unhelpful, often telling you information you already know instead of being useful. I even know that I’ve complained about the games’ shameful padding. But when they’re none of the above? That’s when they’re really great.

These glimpses of brilliance sometimes even overshadow any problems, thereby not letting me hate them. But I can’t lie. The games are, at worst, always well-made with moments of brilliance. If that doesn’t sell them, then I don’t know what does. You can quote me on that!

It sounds like I’m being superficial right now. I get that praising a franchise I don’t like could potentially ring false. This was really hard to write for that exact reason. Still, it was worth it. Especially since the internet has plenty of unbridled negativity, so a change in perspective was needed to balance everything.

And that’s my defence of the Zelda games. Don’t worry, I’ll have many opportunities to trash them again!