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cosmiciaria · 3 years

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Assasin’s Creed III Remaster review - Spoilers! - Long post!

I wanted to keep this spoiler free, but as this game is such a narrative experience, I don't think I'll be able to. I'll try to keep them at minimum, but be warned: there are major spoilers ahead. By the way, this game is almost a decade old, so y'all had plenty of time to get spoiled beforehand. And if you're reading this, it's because you like this game and you probably know how it ends.

Review under the cut because this is way too long.

As always, I express my feelings and impressions regarding my experience with a game – I write it because I like writing reviews instead of, I don't know, recording a video for YouTube. I'm not a YouTuber and I feel safer behind a keyboard where people don't point out about my weird accent (the accent every Hispanic person has when they speak English). Since the pandemic started, I found refuge and comfort in AC games, with Syndicate being my first contact with the franchise, and Unity solidifying my love for it. I found strength and weaknesses in all the installments I've played, which are almost all of them by now (excluding the first AC with Altaïr, the new saga with Origins, Odyssey and Valhalla, and Rogue). I've also platinumed three of those games I've played, and I'm on my way to platinum this one, so I think I can speak from a deep fan standpoint by now.

Since Syndicate, I studied from up close each of the protagonists of the mainline games. I felt drawn to Arno because he looked like one of my oc's (and his girlfriend looked like my oc's girlfriend as well); I wanted to learn about Ezio because he's a fan favorite; I wasn't at all impressed by Edward but ended up growing fond of him; I respect Altaïr for what he means to the Brotherhood; but I can safely say, that I haven't felt as attracted to a main AC protagonist as I felt with Connor.

From the moment I knew he was a native American (such a bold choice, it seemed for me) I felt instant attraction – but not the, idk, physical (he's a cutie I give it to you), but because of what he could bring about as a main character. A perspective we don't usually get to see, and personally, as I'm not American, a point of view to educate me on a different side of history. I wanted to see what they could do with him as the star of the game, I wanted to play with him and understand how someone like him could rise up and become a protagonist of such a well known and beloved saga of games. I applaud this decision from Ubisoft, whether they did it because they wanted to look progressive or not, I don't care, I'll always cherish that the protagonist of a famous videogame is a Mohawk. And with the American Revolution as the main stage, no less. Such an important scenario to strengthen the virtue of independence, patriotism and love for a country, going hand in hand with a character that represents America even more than the Founding Fathers.

(Also I'm a Hamilton Fan Trademark so I couldn't stop singing random parts of songs while playing this game, it was a nightmare every time Lafayette appeared on screen because I JUST HAD TO start mumbling Guns and Ships)

I lunged blindly into this game – I'd only spoiled myself the very ending because I played Black Flag before – so imagine my surprise when I first saw Haytham, Connor's father, as the main protagonist.

So here's the deal. Let's clear this out of the way.

I thoroughly enjoyed the game. It was what I expected and more.

But.

Yes, there's always a but in AC games, you know the drill.

As I kept playing with Haytham, charming though he was, I kept thinking to myself "ok but when does Connor come into play". I also already knew Haytham was a Templar, so the end of the first few sequences didn't catch me by surprise – actually, what caught me by surprise was that there was no mention of Assassins or Templars during the "prologue" with Haytham, instead you're left to believe they're all Assassins until he prays to the Father of Understanding and you realize with a gasp "oH NoO!".

You play with Haytham the first three sequences. One of these have the most memories out all of the sequences more or less. This whole thing can take up to three to five hours depending on how much time you wish to put into exploring or completing the optional objectives. And still no signs of Connor.

Connor does come eventually – as a child – by sequence 4. It's not until the end of sequence 5 that you get to play as (almost) adult Assassin Connor, so maybe five or six or even seven hours into the game and you're barely starting.

I know what they did here. I understand. And this is what I meant when I said they were going for a 'narrative experience'. To make you play as Haytham before, to lure you into a false sense of safety believing he was an Assassin working for a just cause, to make you feel invested in his relationship with Ziio – only to discover he's one of the bad guys, that will eventually give birth to our true hero of the game – it sediments everything perfectly. It tells you everything you need to know to understand these characters and their motivations. I can see where they're going and some of it can be quite predictable, but it was done right. On the narrative aspect at least.

I got used to Haytham by the time we switch to Connor, we're used to his cloak and his three pointed hat – his accent, his sassiness, his everything. You grow fond of him and you think, hey, maybe it isn't so bad to not play as Connor, I can roll with this – until the sudden change happens. The game completed its purpose: let you know and care for Haytham, only to strip him away from your hands and bring you the real protagonist with an interesting background that didn't need to be told, but it was instead shown to us players. What a better way to tell a story.

But the problem is – most of Haytham's memories are fillers. For starters, the very first memory where you appear in the opera house (similar to that one at the end of Black Flag… mmm) serves as a tutorial for climbing and killing with the hidden blade. Then the whole memory on the ship to Boston – completely expendable and removable, the story doesn't suffer from it. All the memories used with Haytham as tutorials – how to shield from an open line of fire, how to use ranged weapons, how to sneak and find stores and viewpoints, how to use horses and walk on snow, fricking Ben Franklin – everything, everything could've blended in better. You could still tell the story you wanted in only one sequence playing with Haytham, and end it the way it does end in sequence 3, without avoiding any important detail to frame Connor's backstory as well – but instead, this part with Haytham does feel like it overstays its welcome, and by the end you're just hoping it ends soon, it drags on for too long, and there's no real sense of thread pulling the strings together here, everything just kind of 'happens'.

But the never-ending prologue doesn't end there (badam tum tsss), because Connor still isn't an Assassin. Connor is not Connor actually, as I had been led to believe prior to playing this game: his real name is Ratonhnhaké:ton, which I wish it was used more often than it was. Ratonhnhaké:ton is like four or five years old when you first play with him, and his village is assaulted by what we assume are Charles Lee's men, a Templar and companion to Haytham. Ratonhnhaké:ton swears revenge upon these putrid British invaders and he grows up resenting the death of his mother, who died in the fire provoked by these Templars.

Not even knowing what a Templar or an Assassin is, Ratonhnhaké:ton is sent by one of "the spirit guides" (actually, Juno, one of the Precursor people) to seek the Brotherhood. When he's around 14, he sets out of his village into the wide world and finds Achilles, who will become his Assassin mentor – that is, after completing a set of tasks that yet again seem to go on forever. Ratonhnhaké:ton turns into Connor to cover his true origins, a name I thought it was random, but by the end I realized how wrong I was.

It isn't until Connor turns 17 that he becomes a fully-fledged Assassin – and you might think, well, Ezio became an Assassin at the same age – yes, but it didn't take him five sequences to reach there. I can't believe I'm defending Ezio.

It's not that I didn't enjoy playing as Connor when he was a kid, no, and I also don't think that part of the game should be skipped since it shows his people, family and friends – maybe comprised, yes, into only one sequence – the real problem here is the fact that first you need to play what could be considered the longest prologue ever, even longer than Kingdom Hearts 2's one, and you're teased with grasping the real protagonist but no, because there's still more 'prologue' to cover with Connor's rise to the Brotherhood. The real, real story, begins in sequence 6, and even then you still have a lot of tutorials to listen from the NPC on duty.

And if you do the maths – you're halfway through the game – halfway! – and you're just starting. The game has twelve sequences and the meat of the plot is on the last six. Then, why did I play all the previous parts?

For the 'narrative experience' thing I talked about. They wanted to lay the groundwork for a better, compelling storytelling, and I can appreciate it, but not when it hinders the pace of the game this way.

That is, certainly, my biggest issue with the game. The pace. If you're going to give me such a slow start, introducing characters non-stop, and only give me resolutions, discoveries and action packed sequences on the later half, then the story isn't balanced at all – I understand that at some points you need to slow down and sink in what's going on; you can't also introduce ten characters in one cutscene because that's just bad story telling – but the memories of this game are clearly not well organized and weren't thought with the player in mind, but rather with the story in mind. To think that the first mission you do as a full Assassin is to receive more and more tutorials on how the fast travel points work and how you can lower your notoriety (as far as gameplay goes in this mission, it's only walking around at a slug's pace to follow the NPC giving you instructions) it does feel like a slap in the face after all the things and hours and effort you put into it to finally reaching this point (which, I remind you, it's by sequence six!).

It's at this point where I can't blame people for not following through with this game. I have plenty of friends who abandoned it even before reaching this part. And I found myself having trouble to return to it: I only wanted to go back to it because I knew I had to like Connor, I knew he wouldn't disappoint me as a character.

Boy, was I RIGHT!

Now, to be honest, I may be biased, like I said: I was instantly attracted to Connor due to his backstory and I wished to see what he could bring to the table. And I have to say, he didn't disappoint me at all.

Maybe you know or maybe you don't, but up until this point, my fave Assassin was Arno: he showed weaknesses and he suffered the consequences of his actions, to the point of no return, that rendered him vulnerable and a mere human being. And I love me a good vulnerable character who knows their limits and strives to get out of that pit. I love me a good, compelling character that has growth and agency and isn't made of cardboard or has a one-dimensional personality. And Connor delivered on this front.

Connor might very well be my new fave Assassin. I'm sorry, Arno. I still love you babe. But Connor… I never found myself rooting for a character more than I did with him. I wanted him to succeed, I wanted his people to be saved, I wanted to see his ideals become a reality – and he's got so much agency, he's a storm when he comes into a scene, his naivety mixed with the brutality of his killings, the simplicity of his reasonings – he's an idealist, and he fights for it, whether we like it or not, and that devotion to his own creed is at least respectable, let alone admirable. He's never downplayed for his upbringing or his ethnicity, he works among the most notorious people as if he was another one of them, he's well respected in his community, he shows kindness and always offers a helping hand to those in need, but never doubts to plunge his blade into this opponent's throats, fearlessly, he doesn't mind telling George Friking Washington to shut the hell up and not follow him because he'll kill him (there's such a pleasure in a native reprimanding enslaver Washington) – he's, simply put, a great hero.

I've seen many complain that he's boring, or that the actor who played him, Noah Watts, delivered lines in an emotionless way – the only thing that could make him 'boring' is the fact that he's not a lady's man like Ezio was, and to my eyes that's a plus. He speaks slowly and modulates well in English because that's not his mother tongue, and I can appreciate when a company puts these little details, like his way of speaking changing throughout the game as he gained more confidence with this new language he was learning to use. As non-English native speaker, I certainly can commune with the feeling of adapting my tongue and my brain to a new language, and I also know that I speak weirdly to those who are native, maybe I don't have the same intonations, and maybe I sound emotionless as well, who knows, but I can't think of a better portrayal of a non-English character speaking English in videogames than this one. They remained faithful to his culture, and even though I noticed Noah didn't speak Mohawk as fluently as English, I can still feel pleased with the fact that Connor speaks in his mother tongue in all of the scenes he interacts with Mohawks (that's something they did better here than in Unity, where not a single character has even a French accent. I switched the language spoken to French in my subsequent playthroughs, much to my disappointment, because I really liked the Canadian actors). I know subtitles may seem threatening to some, but I wish they did this more often: deliver more lines in the original language of each of the protagonists. It shows care and respect. And I think this game excels at respect.

So, yes, I liked Ratonhnhaké:ton, as you can see. Maybe a lot. Too much.

I also really, really enjoyed his relationship with Haytham.

When Haytham appears back in to the fray it's when the plot picks up. Their interactions are gold: I love the rivalry, I love that Haytham is constantly testing his son, and I love the tiny bits that may show or make us believe that Haytham has a soft spot for him – I love that we never truly know what's going on through Haytham's mind, why does he do the things he does – but what I enjoyed the most about these two fighting together is the fact that they represent opposing forces, a clash of interest, and they bring back the concept of the blurred line between the Templars and the Assassins, their different methods. Haytham represents the collectiveness of the Templars, through him we learn of what they truly uphold as right and just, and behind some of his reasonings you can see sense and understanding – you comprehend his goals, you get to know your enemy, your antagonist, which is something, for instance, the Ezio trilogy lacks (because Templars bad bad pium pium die Templar bad guy) and Unity and Rogue tried to do but ultimately ended wasting its potential. I never understood Templars more than I did through Haytham, and sometimes I found myself nodding at some of his statement, like 'hey… huh… he's not that wrong about this…'. But still, we're led to believe that the good guys, the Assassins, are never wrong, so we pull through with Connor – only to realize that yes, Haytham was right in many aspects, and yes, Haytham has lied to us and he needs to be stopped.

It's here when my love for Connor reached its ultimate stage: when he denies both his father (Templars) and Washington (for whom the Assassins were working). It's here where you see the true agency of this character. It's not black or white, as Ezio's games were; it's not that he was expelled against his will from the Brotherhood like in Unity; it's not that because of a clash of interest now he resorted to the Templars, like in Rogue; no, it's the philosophy of the very first AC game with Altaïr: Templars and Assassins are one and the same, they only differ in their methods, and when Connor comes to this realization, his struggle is visible and he puts his people first. Like always.

He remains true to his personality. He's grown, he's seen the truth, but he must make a decision. And after all, we're here because we want to see him protect his people. That's his real main driving force and we root for him because of it.

Now, I've spoken a lot about our main character. But, what about the secondary ones?

Achilles, Connor's mentor, hides more than he's willing to share – but slowly his backstory unfolds. In his homestead, Davenport, you're able to build a community with different townsfolk that you can invite to live with you through special sidequests, which combine plot and gameplay seamlessly. Through the homestead missions, you get to know Achilles and the other inhabitants and you see them thrive and grow into a tight-knit community close as family. I daresay that these missions were my favorite out of the whole game, and seeing the town grow not only in NPC's walking around but also in sounds, steps, people working and laughing and dogs barking and kids playing, gave me all the fuzzy and cozy feelings of a warm blanket in winter. Most of Connor's innocence and kindness is shown through these missions, and there are also some really good jewels hidden there, like the quest that asks you to guide the pigs back inside – damn. This game gave me very good laughs.

On a gameplay level, this game is light years away from its predecessors – the parkour alone has been revamped and revitalized, making it more fluid. Free running now isn't a chore anymore. Now you can hunt, which is a great part of Connor's backstory and culture, so it's good to see they blend gameplay with plot like this. There's a crafting system that took me ages to understand, but thankfully I got the hang of it. The combat is pretty much the same (counter kills always for the win) and the difficulty remains quite easy, as the games that came before. I wasn't looking for a challenge so I'm fine with it. Now, if you're looking for a challenge… the optional objectives got it covered for you. Because, good lord, they made these stupid main missions so much unnecessarily HARDER and IMPOSSIBLE to complete without having three or four ragequits and sometimes you have to restart up to ten times. To be honest, I never found myself more enraged with the optional objectives than I was with these missions, and I thought Unity's optional constraints were stupid ass complicated, I was wrong. This game. Must be. The most. Annoying. Piece of videogame. To platinum.

Apart from the 'oh I want to die optional objectives' thing, you have naval missions – which, yes, you guessed it, take place on a ship – I guess they were testing the mechanics for a (not so far away) future pirate game, because I can see the seeds of what later Black Flag came to be. It's serviceable and it fulfills its purpose, but as I don't like ships much, I left it on hold for the endgame.

If you don’t dig the naval missions nor the main missions, there’s plenty to do in this game: you have the aforementioned homstead missions, the club challenges (which can take... quite a while), the underground fast travel points (a nice change of pace, though you can easily grow tired of them), the liberation missions, which will see you help liberate a city from Templar control and recruiting a new Assassin apprentice, much like in Brotherhood and Revelations; taking Forts, hunting like there’s no tomorrow, courier, delivering items and message delivery missions, a ton of collectibles, etc, etc.

You might realize I stopped talking about the plot by the time I reached sequence 6 – yes, it's because I'm a little upset with it.

I said that we're here because we want to see Connor protect his people and triumph against the Templars. Yes. We receive that, yes. Amidst. A thousand. History. Lessons.

In my Ezio's Collection review, I complained that in Revelations we were shoved history in the face – I hadn't still finished AC3, because then I would've mentioned something about it. Connor comes across all the important figures of the American Revolution in such a contrived way – he acts as a guardian angel of this revolution, aiding each of the emblematic characters that took part in. I can roll with it in my suspension of disbelief (how come this one person was present at every major event, you know), what I can't roll with is the fact that he was present at the Declaration of Independence – this is some Ken Follett level of bs of probability of something happening to a character. Besides, it's always latent though never truly explicitly addressed, but Connor's skintone was something that should've deterred him from even speaking to someone like Washington – let alone, be present at the moment they signed the Declaration. He does mention at some point that freedom and this new nation was only for white men, and that he acknowledged that slaves deserved as much freedom as everyone else was fighting for; I'm glad he addressed the elephant in the room, though I'm also glad they didn't make the whole thing about it, because normalizing a character like this as a main protagonist was the main idea, I think, when they chose a Mohawk to represent the American Revolution. Still, that someone like him was able to achieve all he achieved in a plot like this, it only means he has some kind of Main Protagonist Shield, otherwise I doubt this could've served as a realistic story for anyone else in the same situation as him. It's, uh, a little hard to believe, that's all. Whereas I can see Arno existing within the historical frame of the French Revolution, without being the one that let the guillotine fall on King Louis' head, this one was a little more far-fetched.

I haven't touched upon the Desmond part – the present day of this game is more, uh… present than ever. And I loved it! I loved it because it delved deep into the Precursor's lore, and also it fleshed out Desmond's relationship with his father, and we actually do shit with Desmond – though that part of the Brazilian stadium, huh, for a company that paid too much attention and consulted with experts on the Mohawks, they clearly left Brazil out of their investigations. I forgive them, they tried.

The music… didn't have as much personality as other installments, it was kind of there, and right now I can't evoke a single theme except for the main menu one, so there you go, it's quite forgettable for my taste, sadly.

I forgot to mention that: this game looks gorgeous. I played the Remastered version of the game, and sometimes it looked like it was done for the PS4 instead of being a remaster (it does look better than Black Flag which came afterwards!). Lighting is magical, the trees breathe life into the screen, the water effects are crystal and realistic; many times I felt like was horse-riding in a Last of Us game (yes, I just compared Ubisoft to Naughty Dog, don't hit me). Davenport Homestead is my favorite location, now more than ever, because it's not only beautiful, but it also means home.

This game accompanied me in a very important moment of my life: I sprained my ankle and I spent a week in bed recovering, while also pondering about my job and the prospects of my future; I took many decisions while playing regarding what I want for my life. I cried at the end because I realized I had become too attached to the characters and because I was so sad to see Connor keep losing things. It all comes full circle by the end. It's a very mature ending, maybe a little unfulfilling, but reality is often disappointing and not everything needs a happily ever after.

All in all, my major complaint goes to the structure of the game and the poor organization they gave to it (AND THE OPTIONAL OBJECTIVES DAAJKSDAD). But Connor as a character in itself made it all worthwhile for me. And I'll always cherish him. I know he won't resonate with everyone, but he resonated with me.

#videogame review #review #assasins creed iii #ac3 #aciii #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton #ubisoft #haytham kenway #assassins creed #assassins creed 3

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scarmander · 5 years

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Women, power and anger

An analysis of Game of Throne’s misogyny regarding Daenerys Targaryen in the last two seasons.

This is a very long rant. It’s over 4000 words. I needed to get this off my chest because it helps with my grieving process.

A quick summary: I try to figure out when the show decided they wanted to go with the ‘Mad Queen’ bullshit theory. I try to undertand why they’ve done her so dirty lately. Spoiler alert. It’s not pretty.

So, if you want to know

Game of Thrones has been known for its brutality, its shocking twists and deaths and ruthless scriptwriting. It is also known for having ‘strong’ female characters amidst broken journeys and fallen heroes. In a sea of raped, enslaved, prostituted and belittled women our female protagonists were born. From those patriarchaly imposed positions of subordination Daenerys Stormborn, Yara Greyjoy, Missandei of Naath, Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark and Arya Stark were hatched from the fossilized shells of the broken bodies and souls the male characters had made of them. They rose from their own ashes, time and time again, made themselves stronger with every blow men would throw their way. We watched them grow, evolve, fear, feel, fail and win for years, watched them become more than what their society wanted them to be, more than what they were allowed to be. They became rule-breakers, game changers, rulers and warriors. But that was until the show had decided that the end was coming and everything ought to be put back into order. The patriarchal one, that is.

It is my belief that everything changed the moment when Daenerys Targaryen, undoubtedly the most empowered and powerful woman on this show, decided to sail for Westeros with her fleet, three female allies (Yara Greyjoy, Ellaria Sand, Olenna Tyrell), the three dragons she had given birth to and the ‘largest army the world had ever seen’. Imagine the audacity of a woman accomplishing all of that. So, it is on this character that I will put my focus on, I’m also super fucking biased, but whatever, I would gladly do an entire essay on how they’re ruining every female character in this show. Anyway, back to Dany T. main female protagonist, the woman with the most amount of screen time (behind the two male protagonists Jon and Tyrion).

Let’s talk about the audience’s opinion of Daenerys. Truth be told, Daenerys’ influence and might as a character has already greatly surpassed the show’s realm, and that for a very long time. Even in the first seasons where she didn’t actually get that much screen time, she made a mark. And she has grown increasingly more so over the years. She has become an icon of pop culture to the point where people who are unfamiliar with the show recognize her. Now, this might have in part been facilitated by her peculiar looks and strange-sounding name, but Daenerys Targaryen is known worldwide for having power. She is primarily known for one thing: she has dragons. She’s the Dragon Queen, the Mother of Dragons. And those dragons are the physical representation of her inner strength. The only reason she has those dragons is because she walked into her husband’s funeral pyre and hatched them from stone like she hatched herself out of the stony shell of a weary, fearful teenage girl the world had forced her into being. And out of that pyre came out dragons and a woman with so much might the world watched in awe. Some people may call her Khaleesi, an unusual title which has stuck into people’s minds to the point where non-watchers recognize the title as her name. She is the most recognizable character in the show to the point where her hair colour has been a trend that has become every hair stylist’s worst nightmare, where people have named their children and pets after her and her title. She is also noticeably the show’s best marketing strategy, she is the one with the most personally dedicated amount of merchandising, and is relentlessly used by HBO’s marketing team to promote the show. But I digress. Sort of. The amount of power her character has both on and off-screen is indisputable and is probably what led us to the gigantic mess that has been season 8. She has too much power. Even away from the show’s narrative. She has had an impact on women. She has marked us, branded us with her might. And the show does not know how to handle this.

So, Daenerys, one of the most iconic female characters of this generation goes to Westeros. Unluckily for her, her arrival into Westeros also coincided into her arriving into the male protagonist’s territory. And that was the show’s last straw in deciding to let women have that much power. This is her fatal flaw, existing in the same realm as the male protagonist. The writers realized right then and there that they had greatly miscalculated. Because of how much power they had let Daenerys accumulate over the years she had spent far far away from the male protagonist’s character arc, she had become a threat to the sacred male character’s hero journey. See, that’s the issue with having a strong female character that you let grow into her own power for 7 seasons, where she is free to go into conflict with men after men after men who all share the same unlucky traits: they are all both non-white and not the main male protagonist. So, Daenerys brings them all to their doom, they try to tackle her, try to diminish her, take her power away. They try, all of them, so many times. And they all inevitably fail. Because she is powerful. And men and women alike bow to her when they realize her might and her power. She is a goddess incarnate, dragons or not. She is so powerful fire dares not harm her. She is unique, mystical, mythical and strong. And not only is she powerful and strong, she is beloved by her people, her own soldiers follow her not out of fear but out of complete devotion, because she frees them, gives them the freedom she had wished someone would give her and finally realized she had to give to herself. She is a woman. She is their mother. She has power. She frees people, loves them, inspires them and has so much power the world shakes beneath her feet and fire fears her wrath.

And then comes season 7, along with Jon Snow, D&D, and Tyrion’s shitty battle plans. Whatever, it’s all one and the same. It’s all there to take her out piece by piece. That’s it, that’s been the show for two seasons now and I wish I had realized it earlier. I mean, I had my moments of realization here and there, but damn was I severely unprepared.

In Season 7 episode 2, Daenerys has a council made up of 4 women (Olenna, Ellaria, Yara, Missandei) and 3 men (Varys, Tyrion, Theon – and I’m only including Theon out of pity). By episode 3, Daenerys has 1 woman – Missandei, who unlike the other women does not advise her on military tactics – left in her council, and just as many men. Hell, by episode 5, she has gained three more men who ��advise’, or more accurately question her every move. Jorah (I mean not you bby, come back to us), Jon and Davos, who is more of a comic relief personal pep-talker than anything else. But Varys and Tyrion’s advice grows like ivy and tries to strangle Daenerys from every angle. They try to control her more and more with every episode.

How the hell did I not notice right there and then where this was going? I don’t know, call me blinded by love.

How the hell did Daenerys end up with so few women left in her council? Men happened. The writers, the characters, all of them. That is literally the first thing they did to her storyline in season 7. It went something like this:

1) Get Daenerys to Dragonstone.

2) Get Ellaria and Yara out and destroy some of those ships, she has too many ships, that’s bad, can’t have her be too powerful.

3) Get Olenna out, but like, not at the exact same time because that would be too conspicuous, let’s wait another episode or two. Oh, and take out some of those Unsullied soldiers and even more of her fleet.

4) After one fucking badass battle let’s kill two random traitor assholes who have sided with the queen who murdered their former queen and daughter of their liege lord, their liege lord, their liege lord’s son and a good chunk of King’s Landing’s population on the field of battle who have refused her generous offer to get their titles and lands back if they just join her against the murderous queen. And also that one offer of going to the wall to protect the realm. They refuse. She kills them. Tough luck, bitch. Bad choice, should have probably offered them a cup of tea and a warm blanket instead as they went back to King’s Landing to fight you and kill your army at their nearest convenience. You fucked up because idk, Dickon was kinda hot I guess. Yeah and also they have names and one relative people know on the show, so that’s bad for you. Randyll and Dickon Tarly. You don’t know it yet, but this one is gonna be bad for you because you are now evil and your hand and his shitty bff are now saying you are mad. Maybe you should have been, maybe you should have killed them both too. If only. Sigh.

5) Have her lose a dragon. Give it to the Night King instead, she is too powerful.

6) Have her fall in love with the man who would bring her doom. Have her save his life. Have her think that maybe she deserves something good as she grieves her child’s death. They decide he’s the one who is going to kill her. Because having her become mad isn’t bad enough. She has to be killed by the one man she has let herself love not out of obligation but out of mutual admiration.

7) Make her promise to help defeat the Night King and go North to fight him.

Now, they take all that away from her. But they give her a love story with Jon Snow in return. And you think, alright, at least she’s not alone in this world.

And then we move on to season 8. The ultimate acceleration of events because they realized that they needed to wrap this shit up and that people didn’t hate her enough. So, Season 8 is where you learn that the plot twist to end them all was that Jon Snow was going to be the one who destroyed everything Daenerys has and is and will be the death of her. Groundbreaking work there. I wonder if GRRM has the same ending planned. So here’s the plan in Season 8:

1) Get Daenerys to WinterHell. Everyone is behaving like assholes. Bran is a cold little bitch who’s like “remember your dragon? Your dead dragon? He’s back and now he wants us all dead yayyy” and she has like zero seconds to process it because ‘we don’t have time for all this’. But you know what we have time for? Sansa hating her. The xenophobic MAGAs hating her. That’s valuable screentime. Sansa hates her for daring to bring her SoLdIeRs to her HoUsE and her DrAgOnS who she can’t believe are there to fight. Sansa brings up food issues when she knows the wall has been breached and the Night King is bound to arrive very shortly. She knows Daenerys isn’t going to stay here very long. Doesn’t matter. She (the writers) wants to be angry and petty and so she is. Because we couldn’t possibly have women collaborating on this show. Not after last season! Notice how they left out every single woman in Dany’s circle? Cause who would want THAT. Am I right MEN? I hope the meninists are having a good time.

2) Jon doesn’t comfort her much, doesn’t defend her much. He’s there. Like, he’s a physical man who barely says anything and is there. His purpose is to be… There, I guess. Good for him. He has everyone’s support anyway. He’s a man and he’s there. That’s all they ask of him. He’s not formally the King but he is the King anyway. He has the power. He makes the decisions. He’s a man.

3) Daenerys gives Jon access to her dragon. The one she gave metaphorical birth to. The one she walked into a pyre for. He has it. He has access to her power.

4) Jon now knows who he is. The man who tells him is that one relative of the family that Daenerys killed last season. He hates her. He tells Jon to take her throne, that it’s his anyway because he’s a man. He says that Daenerys is evil and should bend the knee to him. Jon then ignores Daenerys for at least an entire day while she has to face the man who killed her father, made her a homeless orphan on the run who lived on the streets, in fear, running away from assassins. She is angry but listens to a woman’s tale about him, asks for Jon’s opinion on the matter. She lets him have the decision.

5) The Night King comes. Daenerys’ armies are first in line and defend WinterHell with everything they have. Daenerys herself is first in line. Jon Snow wants to wait around. Daenerys has a sudden jolt of independence run through her spine, claims back her own authority and climbs on her dragon, burns as many wights as she can. Jon Snow follows her mechanically, like a lost puppy, gets attacked by the Night King and Viserion. This injures Rhaegal. Daenerys knocks evil Mr. Freeze down from HER precious bby boy and tries to burn him. It doesn’t work. She saves Jon’s life a second time in the process. And then a third, risking her and her dragon’s life for him. She ends up on the ground, with her oldest friend with a sword made of dragonglass and fights for her life. Her oldest friend dies in her arms.

6) And so it goes down from here.

This is the moment you’d think SOMEONE somewhere would show the tiniest fucking bit of sympathy, of gratitude. And they don’t.

What we got instead in Episode 4 was Daenerys being alone as Jon was being praised for her accomplishments. Jon falls upward as Daenerys faces consequences for her actions, good or bad, it doesn’t matter. Daenerys faces consequences because the show wants her to. She is alone. She begs Jon not to tell anyone about his ‘rightful claim’. He betrays her and tells his family. She has warned him Sansa can’t be trusted. Turns out Sansa can’t be trusted. And on it goes as Sansa, Tyrion and Varys plot behind her back to make sure that Jon falls upward for the uptenth time, Varys even going as far as to suggest killing her. His reason is that she is a woman and he can’t control her. That is Daenerys’ biggest crime on this show. And it won’t let her live it down. Hell, they’ll kill her for it. There is talk of a wedding between Jon and Daenerys. Somehow this is a bad idea because she is too strong and cannot be controlled.

She is too strong. Too much. Too powerful. That is Daenerys’ problem. She is too much and too much of a she. She is a dragon they cannot tame.

7) And just because she hasn’t had enough already they kill another one of her dragons for shock value, out of nowhere, with no purpose whatsoever but to show that they could. That she would be ‘mad’. That this somehow was the point of her character. It feels gross and unjustified.

8) And then, because why the fuck not at this point, fam, they go and execute Missandei. It has no purpose other than to show us that they put a former slave back into chains to kill her, to make Daenerys and Greyworm angry. That is what her life is worth. Her value will be the sum of two other character’s madness level.

And the countdown accelerates.

Let’s go back to when everything changed for Daenerys Targaryen. Let’s go back to Season 7, Episode 3. The moment where Daenerys Targaryen met with Jon Snow, hero extraordinaire, broody, rugged, manly and characteristically lacking of ambition. Jon Snow is a Bildungsroman’s wetdream of a protagonist. A poor little bastard boy hated and mistreated by his (semi-evil) stepmother who somehow rises to great heights despite everything adversity has thrown his way and who somehow ends up being the Chosen One to lead them all out of the darkness and to fight evil. Like Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, King Arthur and countless other Christ-like figures before him, Jon Snow is good. That’s it, that’s all there is. That’s all you need to know about him, that’s all the story wants you to know about him. He is good. Sure he makes mistakes, but he’s good. He’s killed a child but he had his reasons, he killed a man begging for his life, but he had disobeyed him. He is good. And to top it all off, the lucky bastard just might happen to be a man. He is therefore the Chosen One. He is thus because he is He.

In Season 7, Episode 2 when Melisandre introduced to the audience the show’s own version of an Arthurian prophecy – Azor Ahai or: ‘the prince that was promised will bring the dawn’ – the show had its last inkling of an ability to pretend that they could somehow have a woman be a hero. Daenerys’ only female adviser and personal translator Missandei of Naath (a former slave they had captured and chained last episode just to kill her, in case you’d ever think the only woman of color in this show could die as a free woman) pointed out that that the High Valyrian word for ‘prince’ is genderless and that it could mean that Daenerys might also fit that prophecy. They also introduced the idea that BOTH Daenerys and Jon would play a role in this. I was fine with this. I thought all of their parallels from previous seasons meant that their fates were linked and that they would be two sides of the same coin.

If only the show had stopped right there. If only they hadn’t even tried to bring that up when they didn’t need to, when they didn’t even need to pretend to care. I’m wondering what the purpose of this line was. What was the meaning? A red herring? A last sliver of hope? Their last attempt at trying to pretend women mattered as more than canon fodder to further narratives, as more than bodies to be used and killed for entertainment’s purposes? It doesn’t matter. The very next episode sent off the ticking time bomb on Daenerys’ life.

In Season 7 Episode 3, Daenerys Targaryen met Jon Snow. The writers called it “A meeting of Ice and Fire” continuing on their claim that this is what the entire show had been leading up to, that even in Season 1, GRRM had told them that this was important, that the story was about these two characters coming together. I was pumped. I was rejoicing. The whole meaning of the show was right in front of me. And here’s how it happened: they made Daenerys look smug and entitled, having Jon Snow look humble and measured in comparison and when I watched it, I was taken aback, I didn’t understand what they were doing. I remember thinking that the way they were framing it looked weird because she was just as much of a protagonist as he was. I had been stupid enough to think the show could have a female protagonist when they already had a male protagonist.

The show wanted you to side with Jon Snow. The show wanted to make it clear that if you had to choose between Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, you would choose Jon Snow. Humble, measured, naïve, male Jon Snow.

The ‘General Audience’ caught onto that. The moment Daenerys’ set her eyes on Jon Snow, she had lost. You should go and have a look on the comments of the Youtube videos of their first meeting. On that day, Daenerys was the villain. She lost that day, because she was in the man’s way. Because she spoke to him and didn’t bow. Because she stood there, fire and might, and didn’t let him take everything from her right on the spot. He was asking her to lay her entire life’s goals aside to help him with nothing in return. She was painted as arrogant for not bending to him and his will on the spot.

If only things had stayed that way. If only she’d stayed ‘arrogant’ and hadn’t let him close. Would she still become ‘mad’? Would she still lose it all anyway to make sure he would get it all in the end? Probably. Because why not? Why would the show give the most powerful woman any other outcome?

I guess the moral of this story is that women are only allowed to have power as long as it doesn’t interfere with a man’s ability to have more power than they do. And isn’t that what Varys has been telling us in the latest episode? That Daenerys and Jon would never be able to rule together because she was too strong for him and would bend him to her will? Because what could be worse than a strong woman having power? A strong woman potentially having power over a man. And so the ticking clock went off on Daenerys’ life. Her time has run out, because the show needs to have the male hero to win over everything, and if he can’t because a woman is in the way of the inherent inevitable male-centric greatness he will stumble and fall into reaching... Well then, it’s the woman’s fault and she angry and mad. So Daenerys will be mad and angry and hysterical and evil and he will kill her. Take that, woman she show tells you. Take that and die. We don’t need you when we have a male protagonist.

In a way, this show will end quite like the fairy tales warned us it would. The white knight, the Chosen One, the Prince that was promised, in his shining armour of goodness will swoop in and kill the evil dragon(Queen) to save the realm. And if this is a fairy tale then the dragon had it coming for daring to stand in the hero’s way. Perhaps the dragon ought to have apologized and stepped aside, perhaps the dragon ought to have known its place. Perhaps the fairy tale’s magic kingdom should have stopped the dragon’s rise before. And they did try. All of those men are knights, even the worst slavers of them all. Knights because they fought the dragon. They died trying to take her down. Perhaps they were right, then to try and defeat her. Perhaps it is sad, after all that the dragon took those poor men down. But it’s alright, the male protagonist will win. Because that’s what he does.

But if this is winning then why does it feel like rage and fire?

Because somehow the dragon is every woman. “You are a dragon” is what this show is telling me, as if that was a bad thing. “You are a dragon. You are too much. You ask too much. We will not bow to you, begone, be slain, you are in the man’s way. You are a hiccup in his rise to greatness. You will be killed prophetically and be swept aside and the hero, the man – the words somehow become synonymous – will inevitably win. And down you will go, defeated and broken. You and your might. You and your will. You and your power. Bow to us, woman, to our will, wishes, words and actions. Bow to us.”

The show wants me and you to know that. The show wants you to see what happens to women who stand in the way of men’s ascension to power, who are too powerful, who are too much for the story to handle. You are a dragon and you will die.

But dragons are fire made flesh risen from the ashes and dragons do not go down without a fight.

In a show that wants women to gaze adoringly at the male protagonists, women like Daenerys Targaryen have no place. They have no place because the show cannot fathom how someone could take her seriously, could value her efforts and her strengths when men are… There. That’s all they need to be.

And from that same patriarchal cesspool of a show/fictional society was also born Cersei Lannister, evil queen incarnate. She was the protagonists’ – male and female – foil, their enemy, and she still is somehow, but she is also apparently doomed to be the female protagonist’s future. Cersei is evil because she has power. Cersei is bad because she is a madwoman. Cersei is all of your fairy tale’s evil spinsters. Cersei is in the way of a man’s greatness. And Cersei is Daenerys’ future as much as she is Sansa’s, or mine or yours. Bow down, women. Or be villains.

And so, in Season 8 Episode 4, as they tried to tear down at the last piece’s of the main female protagonist’s might they ignited the enraged fire that women try to swallow back down with every breath, for fear of being slain for having shown too much power and might. And the audience has never loved Daenerys more than it does now. The audience has done the unexpected. People who hated her now want her to burn the world down. People who already loved her have never wanted her to use her might as much as they do now.

“Dracarys” was Missandei’s last word. The show didn’t seem to realize it was a call to arms. “Women everywhere, join her and burn it down” seems to be the meaning the audience got from Missandei. I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment.

The show wants me to think that ‘Dracarys’ was meant to take down the Cerseis of the world. It didn’t realize it made me want to take it down.

Maybe the show is right, maybe I, too, am a dragon ready to be slain. But if that’s the case I’m not going down without burning everything to the ground. Try and take me down, assholes.

#daenerys targaryen #a long ass meta #game of thrones #got #anti got #i can't believe i wrote all of that #god where was that person when i was in school and needed to write papers #feminism #pro daenerys

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cometsweepandleonidsfly · 5 years

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David Sims: “ As a fan of the TV show, I felt battered into submission. This season has been the same story over and over again: a lot of tin-eared writing trying to justify some of the most drastic story developments imaginable, as quickly as possible....[T]ime and time again in recent years, Benioff and Weiss have opted for grand cinematic gestures over granular world building, and Drogon burning the Throne to sludge was their last big mic drop.

Spencer Kornhaber: The penultimate episode of Game of Thrones gave us one of the most dramatic reversals in TV history, with the once-good queen going genocidal. The finale gave us yet another historic reversal, in that this drama turned into a sitcom. Not a slick HBO sitcom either, but a cheapo network affair, or maybe even a webisode of outtakes from one. Tonally odd, logically strained, and emotionally thin, “The Iron Throne” felt like the first draft of a finale.

When Dany torched King’s Landing last week, viewers were incensed, but I’d argue it was less because the onetime hero went bad than because it wasn’t clearwhy she did. Long-simmering madness? Sudden emotional break? Tough-minded strategy? A desire to implement an innovative new city grid? The answer to this would seem to help answer some of the show’s most fundamental inquiries about might and right, little people and greater goods, noble nature and cruel nurture. Thrones has been shaky quality-wise for some time now, but surely the show would be competent enough to hinge the finale around the mystery of Dany’s decision.

Nope. The first parts of the episode loaded up on ponderous scenes of the characters whose horror at the razing of King’s Landing had been made plenty clear during the course of the razing. Tyrion speculated a bit to Jon about what had happened—Dany truly believed she was out to save the world and could thus justify any means on the way to messianic ends—but it was, truly, just speculation. When Jon and Dany met up, he raged at her, and she gave some tyrannical talk knowing what “the good world” would need (shades of “I alone can fix it,” no?). But whether her total firebombing was premeditated, tactical, or a tantrum remained unclear. Whether she was always this deranged or just now became so determines what story Thrones was telling all along, and Benioff and Weiss have left it to be argued about in Facebook threads.

The Dany speechifying that we did get in this episode was, notably, not in the common tongue. Though conducted in Dothraki and Valaryian and not German, her victory rally was clearly meant to evoke Hitler in Triumph of the Will. It also visually recalled the white-cloaked Saruman rallying the orc armies in The Two Towers, another queasy echo. People talk about George R. R. Martin “subverting” Tolkien, but on the diciest element of Lord of the Rings—the capacity for it to be seen as a racist allegory, with Sauron’s horde of exotic brutes bearing down on an idyllic kingdom—this episode simply took the subtext and made it text. With the Northmen sitting out the march, the Dothraki and Unsullied were cast as bloodthirsty others eager to massacre a continent. Given all the baggage around Dany’s white-savior narrative from the start, going so heavy on the hooting and barking was a telling sign of the clumsiness to come.

Jon’s kiss-and-kill with Dany led to the one moment of sharp emotion—terror—I felt over the course of this bizarrely inert episode. That emotion came not from the assassination itself but rather from the suspense about what Drogon would do about it. For the dragon to roast the slayer of his mother would have been a fittingly awful but logical turn. Instead, Drogon turned his geyser toward the Iron Throne. Whether Aegon’s thousand swords were just a coincidental casualty of a dragon’s mourning or, rather, the chosen target of a beast with a higher purpose—R’hllor take the wheel?—is another key thing fans will be left to argue about.

Then came the epilogue, a parade of oofs. David, you say you were satisfied by where this finale moved all its game pieces, and if I step back … well, no, I’m not satisfied with Arya showing a sudden new interest in seafaring, but maybe I can be argued into it. What I can’t budge on is the parody-worthy crumminess of the execution. Take the council that decides the fate of Westeros. It appears that various lords gathered to force a confrontation with the Unsullied about the prisoners Tyrion and Jon Snow and the status of King’s Landing. But then one of those prisoners suggests they pick a ruler for the realm. They then … do just that. Right there and then. Huh?

It really undoes much of what we’ve learned about Westeros as a land of ruthlessly competing interests to see a group of far-flung factions unanimously agree to give the crown to the literal opposite of a “people person.” Yes, the council is dominated by protagonist types whom we know to be good-hearted and tired of war. But surely someone—hello, new prince of Dorne! What’s up, noted screamer Robin Arryn?—would make more of a case for another candidate than poor Edmure Tully did. Rather than hashing out the intrigue of it all as Thrones once would have done, we got Sam bringing up the concept of democracy and getting laughed down. The joke relied on the worst kind of anachronistic humor—breaking the fourth wall that had been so carefully mortared up over all these years—and much of the rest of the episode would coast on similarly wack moments.

It’s “nice” to see beloved characters ride off into various sunsets, but I balk at the notion that these endings even count as fan service. What true fan of Thronesthinks this show existed to deliver wish fulfillment? I’m not saying I wanted everyone to get gobbled up by a rogue zombie flank in the show’s final moments. Yet rather than honoring the complication and tough rules that made Thrones’ world so strangely lovable, Benioff and Weiss waved a wand and zapped away tension and consequence. You see this, for example, in the baffling arc of Bronn over the course of Season 8. What was the point of having him nearly kill Jaime and Tyrion if he was going to just be yada-yadaed onto the small council at the end?

One thing I can’t complain about: the hint that clean water will soon be coming to Westeros. Hopefully, someone will use it to give Ghost a bath. As the doggy and his dad rode north of the Wall with a band of men, women, and children, the message seemed to be that where death once ruled, life could begin. Winter Is Leaving. It’d seem like a hopeful takeaway for our own world, except that it’s not clear, even now, exactly how and why the realm of Thrones arrived at this happy outcome.

Lenika Cruz: Do I have answers? Who do you think I am—Bran the Broken? Before I get into this episode, I need to acknowledge how unfortunate it is that Tyrion decided to give the new ruler of the Six Kingdoms a name as horrifyingly ableist as Bran the Broken. You could, of course, argue that the moniker was intended as a reclamation of a slur or as a poignant callback to Season 1’s “Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things,” when Tyrion and Bran first bonded. But given the “parade of oofs” this finale provided—including the troubling optics of Dany’s big speech—it’s hard to make excuses for the show.

Now that we’ve gotten our “the real Game of Thrones/Iron Throne/Song of Ice and Fire was the friends we made along the way” jokes out of our system, where to begin? I basically agree with Spencer’s scorched-earth take on “The Iron Throne.” I was already expecting the finale to be a disappointment, but I didn’t foresee the tonal and narrative whiplash that I experienced here. At one point during the small-council meeting, my mind stopped processing the dialogue because I was in such disbelief about the several enormous things that had happened within the span of 15 minutes: Jon stabs Dany. Instead of roasting Jon, Drogon symbolically melts the Iron Throne and carries the limp body of his mother off in his talons. A conclave of lords and ladies of Westeros is convened, and Tyrion is brought before them in chains, and they know Dany was murdered, and Tyrion argues for an entirely new system of government while being held prisoner by the Master of War of the person he just conspired to assassinate. Excuse me? (The way that Grey Worm huffed, “Make your choice, then,” at those assembled reminded me of an impatient father waiting for his children to pick which ice-cream flavor they want.)

David, Spencer—of the three of us, I’ve been the most stubborn about thinking this final season is bad and holding that badness against the show. I don’t fault viewers who’ve become inured to the shoddy writing and plotting, and who’ve been grading each episode on a curve as a result. But I personally haven’t been able to get into a mind-set where I can watch an episode and enjoy it for everything except stuff like pacing issues, rushed character development, tonal dissonance, the lack of attention to detail, unexplained reversals, and weak dialogue. All of those problems absolutely make the show less enjoyable for me, and I haven’t learned to compartmentalize them—even though I know how hard it must have been for Benioff and Weiss to piece together an airtight final act solely from Martin’s book notes.

...Much like with last week’s episode, I can actually see myself being on board with many of the plot points in the finale—if only they had been built up to properly and given the right sort of connective tissue. For all the episode’s earnest exhortations about the power of stories, “The Iron Throne” itself didn’t do much to model that value.

For example, I can’t be the only one who was let down, and at a loss for a larger takeaway, after seeing a high-stakes contest between two ambitious female rulers devolve after both became unhinged and got themselves killed. After all the intense discussion about gender politics that Thrones has spurred, and after seeing characters such as Sansa, Brienne, Cersei, Daenerys, and Yara reshape the patriarchal structures of Westeros, we’ve ended up with a male ruler (who once said, “I will never be lord of anything”) installed on the charismatic recommendation of another man and served by a small council composed almost entirely of … men.

Perhaps there’s no deeper meaning to any of this. Or perhaps this state of affairs is a commentary on the frustrating realities of incrementalism. I am, of course, beyond pleased that Sansa Stark has at least become the Queen in the North—a title that she, frankly, deserved from the beginning. But I haven’t forgotten that this show only recently had her articulate the silver lining of being raped and tortured. Nor am I waving away the fact that Brienne spent some of her last moments on-screen writing a fond tribute to a man who betrayed her and all but undid his entire character arc in one swoop. My sense is that the show’s writers didn’t think about Thrones resetting to the rule of men much at all, and that they were instead relishing having a gaggle of former misfits sitting on the small council. See? the show seemed to cry. Change!

At times, Thrones gestured more clearly to the ways in which the story was going a more circular route; this was especially true of the Starks. Jon headed up to Castle Black and became a kind of successor to Mance Rayder—someone leading not because of his last name or bloodline but because of the loyalty he’s earned. Arya’s seafaring didn’t feel out of character to me—it fit with her sense of adventure and reminded me of her voyage across the Narrow Sea to Braavos all those years ago. Sansa became Queen in the North in a scene that recalled the debut of “Dark Sansa” in the Vale, but that felt like a true acknowledgment of how much her character has transformed. I’ll admit, the crosscutting of the scenes showing the Starks finding their own, separate ways forward was beautifully done. It made me wish the episode as a whole had been more cohesive, less rushed, and more emotionally resonant.

Spencer, I think you smartly diagnosed so many of the big-picture problems with the finale—the sitcommy feel, the yada-yadaing of major points, the many attempts at fan service. So rather than elaborate even more, I’ll end this review by saying something sort of obvious: Viewers are perfectly entitled to feel about the ending of Game of Thrones however they want to. After eight seasons, they have earned the right to be as wrathful or blissed-out on this finale as they want; it’s been a long and stressful ride for us all. I’m genuinely happy that there are folks who don’t feel as though the hours and hours they’ve devoted to this show have been wasted. I know there are many others who wish they could say the same thing.”

#game of thrones #spoilers #such rotten storytelling

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mermaidsirennikita · 7 years

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September 2017 Book Roundup

Undoubtedly, I read two standout books this September: Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust, a sometimes-macabre retelling of Snow White (with a feminist spin) and Mari Lu’s Warcross, the story of a girl, a tech mogul, and a virtual reality game that can make or break your future. On to October--I’m going to try to read as much spooky stuff as possible.

This Is Not The End by Chandler Baker. 3/5. In the near future, a substance called “lifeblood” has made it possible for people to be resurrected even years after death, revitalized and fully healed. Laws restrict how many “resurrections” people are allowed and when they can resurrect someone--you can only resurrect one person, and you can only perform the resurrection on your eighteenth birthday. Following a terrible car accident, Lake has lost her best friend Penny and her beloved boyfriend Will. Not only is she--mere weeks from her eighteenth birthday--torn between which to resurrect; she also has already promised her resurrection to another person. This was a very quick read for me, and I found it compelling and at times moving. So many different issues are tackled--are resurrections ethical? Should people be held to promises they made--and in Lake’s case were pressured into--years ago? Hell, Baker even goes after the ethical arguments surrounding assisted suicide and the disabled. The problem is that while I understood the logic of why only one resurrection is allowed per person (population control) I couldn’t understand why someone could only have a resurrection done on their eighteenth birthday. Sure, I see why only legal adults can request resurrections, but why is the request time such a short window? More concerning was the fact that there is a romance in this. Yes, a romance between Lake--a girl who just lost the boyfriend who’d been her best friend before they dated, a guy she fantasized about marrying someday--and some other guy... weeks after said boyfriend died. I can understand having sex with someone while grieving, but this felt more like we were supposed to see Lake beginning to fall for someone else. I’m not saying that can’t happen, but it distracted from Lake’s story and the themes surrounding it.

Dress Codes for Small Towns by Courtney C. Stevens. 2/5. Billie is a preacher’s daughter in a small Kentucky town. She and her best friends--collectively known as the Hexagon--have been tightly-knit for years. But everything changes when Billie finds that Janie Lee and Woods, two of those friends, have feelings for each other. And Billie might just have feelings for both of them. “Dress Codes” is about figuring out gender and sexuality in a John Hughes sort of lens. Stevens does have a really distinct voice, and some turns of phrase were beautiful--while others were, in my opinion, a bit overwrought. A bit too forced. Billie and her friends just didn’t think or speak in a way that seemed recognizable to me as teenager-y. And while I was touched by the story, in a sense--it was also quite boring. I wish I’d loved this, but I just didn’t. I think many people would, it’s just not my cup of tea.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust. 5/5. This retelling of Snow White takes on the dual perspectives of Nina, the “wicked stepmother” and Lynet, the cossetted princess. Nina’s side of the story takes place from past to present, telling the story of a girl with a heart of glass--assured by her father, the alchemist that replaced Nina’s rotting heart to save her life, that she is incapable of love and being loved. Lynet is her stepdaughter, the spitting image of her mother, protected by her father, and made of literal snow. Fate has pitted these two women against one another, despite their love for each other. Time will tell if they will fulfill their destinies. Pitched as a feminist fairy tale retelling, this book will disappoint you if you’re looking for knife-wielding assassins and monologues about how women are meant to rule. I love that it didn’t have any of that. This story is made of subtler stuff, its beautiful, sad prose focusing on the relationship between Nina and Lynet, and how they’ve not only been forced into roles they don’t want to play by men--they’ve been turned into the antagonists in each other’s stories... by men. Poetic and beautiful and not without a dash of romance--one of them featuring wlw at that--this is a must-read if you love gently dark fairy tales that will hurt your heart. (Even if it’s made of glass.)

Genuine Fraud by E. Lockhart. 2/5. I’ll be honest, I skimmed this for the most part. As someone who hasn’t seen or read The Talented Mr. Ripley, I’m told that this is basically a gender-flipped version of that, following teen criminal Jule... or is she??? The thing is that this is a story told in reverse-chronological order, and even though I figured out the twist very early on, how we got there was so confusing that I didn’t even want to figure it out.

Love Minus Eighty by Will McIntosh. 4/5. In the near future, beautiful women who’ve died young are cryogenically frozen and temporarily “awoken” for five minute sessions for men who want to talk to them--typically, men who can afford the $9,000/5 minutes fee that comes with these “dates”. If chosen to be the brides of these men, these “bridecicles” are revived permanently--making them desperate to do whatever they can to be chosen. This story focuses on three people: Mira, a bridecicle who’s been frozen for decades and longs for her lover, Jeanette; Rob, a young man who falls in love with bridecicle Winter after accidentally killing her; and Veronika, a dating coach who can’t seem to find love in this connected world. This is a sad, occasionally funny story about the perils of a world in which we’re so connected through technology that actual human technology is difficult to find. It’s not super unique in that respect, but the bridecicle concept is both fascinating and grotesque. I couldn’t put it down. With that being said, the romances in the book were a bit lackluster for me, and I at times wasn’t sure about how Veronika’s perspective connected into things. Still a really good, thought-provoking read.

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera. 2/5. Thanks to a service called Death-Cast, everyone is given 24 hours (or so) notice on the day of their death. Teenagers Mateo and Rufus have just found out that they are going to die, and though strangers, meet up through and app called Last Friend and decide to live out their last day together. Just... I don’t think Adam Silvera and I are going to be friends, y’all. First off, this world is pretty much ours aside from the weird death service, and there was really no explanation as to why everyone just took this service at face value. Sorry, I really feel like we’d fight that. Also, Rufus’s dialogue in particular was cringe as fuck. It was so uneven--he’d use slang and I got the impression that Silvera was going for “impoverished gang kid talk” with him but then he’d have a whole paragraph of dialogue in a manner totally inconsistent with “I’m in mad love with this dude” or whatever. And there were so many other points of view when Rufus and Mateo’s were the only ones that really mattered. Like, points for diversity, but nah on everything else.

Warcross by Marie Lu. 5/5. Hacker and bounty hunter Emika Chen is, like everyone else on Earth, a fan of the virtual reality game Warcross. As poor as she is, she hacks into the game--and in a desperate moment, steals an item that would fetch the money she needs on resale, using a glitch to do so. This catches the attention of Hideo Tanaka, Warcross’s billionaire creator, who flies her to Tokyo and offers her a job (that pays 10 mill, by the way): she needs to enter the Warcross Tournament--a major event--as a player and secretly act as his bounty hunter, searching for the unknown--and dangerous--Zero, a mystery to even Hideo. So this is hard to describe but damn is it good. Emi is a character who has an unlikely resume but it actually seems plausible in the context of her life and her world. Same goes for Hideo, who is probably one of my favorite characters to come out of YA this year. The stakes build as the novel does--and as Emi grows close to Hideo, which, like, obviously she was but fuckyeahI’mintoit. It’s super fast-paced, entertaining YA and I honestly enjoyed it more than Lu’s Young Elites series, which I loved in the beginning but was ultimately disappointed in. So. Hoping the rest of the series lives up to this book!

One Dark Throne by Kendare Blake. 4/5. The second in what is now a four-book series, One Dark Throne continues the story of triplet queens Mirabella, Katharine, and Arsinoe. Where Mirabella was once the clear frontrunner to be the next crowned queen, recent events have revealed that it could be anyone’s game--though the fact remains that the winner must kill her sisters. Arsinoe hides her true gift from almost everyone, pretending to be a naturalist still; Mirabella deals with having her world rocked, and questions her relationships with her sisters; and Katharine, called the “Undead Queen” grows increasingly unstable--and powerful--after her near-death experience. I can’t say that One Dark Throne was quite as compelling as Three Dark Crowns, as it was a very talky book. Furthermore, Mirabella, one of my favorites of the first book, was a shadow of her former self. Arsinoe is clearly poised as the protagonist of the sisters, but... I don’t dislike her, but I don’t find her compelling either, and I don’t care much for her friends Jules and Joseph either. They’re so typically good. Katharine is worth reading the whole book for--you never know if she’s mad or aware of some truth nobody else has caught onto. Furthermore, she has the best romance in the book--taking the form of her fraught relationship with Pietyr, a boy she loves and hates. While I still love the concept and the world and Katharine and all the poisoners really, and this was a good book, I think everyone else needs to get on my girl’s level.

There Is Someone Inside Your House by Stephanie Perkins. 3/5. New to the tiny town of Osborne, Nebraska--and hiding from a dark past--Makani lives with her grandmother, is trying to ingratiate herself her new friends, and pines for school outsider Ollie. Then kids start getting murdered, in shocking ways. As Makani struggles to avoid being next, she grows increasingly afraid of her secret being revealed. This book has been compared to Scream, and while there’s sex and blood, Scream it is not. I mean, it’s basically one of Perkins’s romance with some murder thrown in, and it disappointed me because I wanted so badly to be impressed with the genre shift. It was fun, don’t get me wrong, but like... just that. It wasn’t the genre. Shit--I thought that at least the mystery of the killer would be good, but it wasn’t. It kind of shocked me to read the author’s note about Perkins spending six years researching this and workshopping the book, and--not to be mean, but while it was entertaining, that effort did not show.

The Merciless by Danielle Vega. 1/5. Girl goes to new school. Girl makes new friends. New friends suggest performing an exorcism on another friend. And so on. I thought this would be fun gore, and while it was gory, it was... not good. So bad, really. The book was incredibly basic and boring, and took the least interesting turn regarding the exorcism possible. I hated it.

#books #book recs

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kittypeas · 7 years

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The Force Awakens and fairytales: part two. Prince Lindworm.

This is the second and (probably) last part or my essay “The Force Awakens and Fairytales”. This time I wanted to describe the Norwegian folktale about Prince Lindworm (which can you read HERE) which, in my opinion, is the most accurate summary of Kylo/Ben & Rey relationship. First, I will discuss a theoretical framework and concepts that I will need to conduct proper analysis of the parallels between TFA and “Prince Lindworm”. But don’t get discouraged! Throughout this essay I will continuously get back to the movie.

Some time ago Pablo Hidalgo tweeted that „long time ago in a galaxy far away” should be read as a begenning of a fairy tale. Surely it means more than just a fact that every movie in Star Wars trilogies is similar to popular tales like Snow White or the Beauty and the Beast. A myth or a folktale is, as Karen Armstrong describes it “in some sense is an occurrence that happened once and happens over and over again”, because it takes place inside each of us when we read, adapt and reenact it. “Mythology, just like poetry and music, should open us to a sense of wonder, even in the face of death or a threat of annihilation.”

This notion reminds me of your posts that I see frequently on my dash: those where you described how reylo helps you in dealing with difficulties, how you find yourself in various traits displayed by the characters, how they can voice your feelings and thoughts. Because every fairytale has also a therapeutic aspect, which manifests itself in the said sense of wonder, described by Rudolf Otto as a numinotic experience. Numinosum is an encounter with Mysterium tremendum et fascinans:

Mysterium which is a source for the English word “mystery” has its roots in Greek “mysterion” which originates from “myein” which can be traced in “mustism”, a condition in which a person is deprived of an ability to speak. Mysterium is a superhuman revelation which we experience in silence because it is both tremendum, as you can guess – tremendous, terrible – and fascinans, fascinating. Igen wrote:

“Our religions and psychotherapies offer frames of reference for processing unbearable agonies, and perhaps, also, unbearable joys. At times, art or literature brings the agony-ecstasy of life together in a pinnacle of momentary triumph. Good poems are time pellets, offering places to live emotional transformations over lifetimes. There are moments of processing, pulsations that make life meaningful, as well as mysterious. But I think these aesthetic and religious products gain part of their power from all the moments of breakdown that went into them.”

There is an intimate relationship between the numinosum and trauma, often conceptualized as a rupture in continuity of personal narrative. On the other hand, experiencing the numinosum –through physically inconsequential process of identfication with fairy – tales characters and participation in their adventures as well as struggles – is a factor that could restore unity to individual’s inner world. To paraphrase Kalsched’s claim: a fairytale describes psyche’s self-portrait of its own archaic defensive operations; in other words, it illustrates a psychological process and even though the events from a fairy tale never took place the material world, they take place inside any of us during the lecture. The Force Awakens, just like the story of a dragon or a snake Lindworm is an example of a type of story about a traumatic event, dissociation or a fissure in personality, and the need for internal integration. In this sense the only hero of the story is Prince Lindworm – or Kylo Ren, whose ego (i.e. self) breaks, or is dissociated.

“I’m being torn apart. I want to be free of this pain”

In TFA it happens when Ben Solo symbolically kills his former self and gives himself a new name. He tells Han that “his son is dead” but you know that it is not true and those two identities are alive and at war with themselves. In the story about Prince Lindworm this division is marked in the moment of his birth. Lindworm was one of the pair of twins. Cirlot writes in his book of symbols: “dual nature of twins has two sides, one light and one dark, one giving life and the other bringing death; […] However, the night craves to become the day, evil admires righteousness, life is heading towards death.” This duality often serves a certain narrative purpose and can, for example, be used to avoid the taboo of parricide, like in “Enchanted doe” where one of the brothers kills their mother. In The Force Awakens it is not Ben Solo, Han’s son who murders him, but alien to him Kylo Ren.

It is said in the beginning of the tale that “And this [that they couldn’t have children] often made them both sad, because the Queen wanted a dear little child to play with, and the King wanted an heir to the kingdom”. Then, it is quite possible that the duality of twins is used to illustrate the process in which all unacceptable affects – anger, aggression, defiance – are placed not in the firstborn son but in his shadow, his evil brother. What supports this thesis is the fact that after the happy ending another wedding is prepared but not a word is spoken about Lindworm’s brother. In TFA Kylo Ren represents the same qualities as Lindworm, while Ben Solo is a boy who was born to the light.

This is not the only split visible in the characters of the narratives. The “Prince Lindworm” fairytale belongs to quite popular type which describe the story of monsters which hunt innocent girls, like Bluebeard, the Beauty and The beast and almost all vampire stories.

Their common point is the motive of a malevolent figure, abducting and captivating defenseless woman. What seems most interesting, is that every time a vampire, a sorcerer, or a terrifying creature is both a persecutor and a savior. In the fairy tale of Bluebeard, the protagonist wants to test his wife, but instructs her how she can get out of his jail. Similarly Count Dracula, who in the Coppola’s adaptation allows the woman and the men protecting her to catch him. As Suzy McKee Charnas writes in the "vampire tapestry": the monster is a "predator paralyzed by an unwanted empathy with his prey".

The titular vampire of the story recalls yet another fairy tale, when he accuses the main character that she wants to seduce him. He mocks her, saying: “Unicorn, come lay your head in my lap while the hunters close in. You are a wonder, and for love of wonder I will tame you. You are pursued, but forget your pursuers, rest under my hand till they come and destroy you" That's where the title of this novel came from, and this is what medieval tapestries and paintings depict. Nowadays we think a unicorn is a beautiful, enchanting horse. Once upon a time it belonged to the catalog of wild beasts and in many works of art it is depicted as a dangerous predator, tearing animals and people into pieces.

The ‘Hellsing” manga describes vampires as follows:

It seems that in the depths of his heart the creature from a fairytale wants to be killed. The human part of the monster is suffering because of the terrible fate he was condemned to. It is the girl who impersonates this dissociated, human element of the monster who wants to be defeated and liberated by death.

“You, a scavenger”

Typically, these women are described as virgins or poor peasants – which in the “Prince Lindworm” tale is underlined many times – the narrator often speaks of their bare feet, as in the Snow Queen tales in which Gerda sets out barefoot to the snowy land to save her beloved Kay from Snow Queen. The Lapland shaman says about her: “I can not give her more power than she already has. Can not you see how great she is? You do not see how men and animals are obliged to serve her; How she travels the whole world with bare feet? This power does not come from the magic, it comes from her heart!…”

Still, the bare feet of heroines or their virginity do not symbolize - as we would expect - their innocence. On unicorn tapestries there is often a scene in which a unicorn sleeps in a woman's embrace, and then the hunter's arrows reach him. In this situation, the victim puts her persecutor in a mortal danger. Similarly, Rey is “no one”, lowly scavenger from a desert planet, uncivilized and uneducated. But she is the one who brings the prince to his knees.

At the end of the story, it is said: " No bride was ever so beloved by a King and Queen as this peasant maid from the shepherd’s cottage. There was no end to their love and their kindness towards her: because, by her sense and her calmness and her courage, she had saved their son, Prince Lindworm”. Stories about young men tell about their courage that helped them in the process of becoming a hero; correspondingly, the girl from “Prince Lindworm” is not fearless, but brave when she decides to oppose the hideous snake, or, in case of Rey, to defy someone who might as well be a monster under his mask. When the girl says "Prince Lindworm, slough a skin!" (just like Rey when she wants Kylo to take his helmet off) he replies, " No one has ever dared tell me to do that before". He hissed and showed her teeth, but the girl was not afraid (“you! You are afraid…!”) and persuaded him to do as she commanded. At first we do not know if Lindworm, outraged by her impudence, will not eat her alive, but there is this part of Lindworm which wants to obey and – by revealing his weakness to the girl – make him mortal, easy to hurt. And indeed, "And there was nothing left of the Lindworm but a huge thick mass, most horrible to see. Then the girl seized the whips, dipped them in the lye, and whipped him as hard as ever she could. Next, she bathed him all over in the fresh milk. Lastly, she dragged him on to the bed and put her arms round him. And she fell fast asleep that very moment. "

As it has been said, girl’s compassion is the key to Lindworm's transformation but before this act is completed, "the girl confronts Lindworm with his violence on his own terms." Only after reflecting and recognizing his - and consequently her own - destructiveness and aggression (just the way Rey did during the duel on Starkiller Base), the prince-monster is bathed in milk – which symbolizes the milk of his mother – and can be born anew – so he can lay in the arms of woman. Bettelheim said: "If we do not want to be ruled and - in extreme cases – torn apart by our ambivalences, we must recognize them, deal with them in a constructive manner and reconcile with ourselves and our personalities."

Her grief is nothing more but the mercy shown to a monster by a man in him. It is then that the integration of his "ego" with the numinosum happens. As Anna Freud wrote, "The most pressing task of man is to resurrect what he has annihilated in a defensive reaction, i.e. recreate what has been repressed, return to the previous place what has been displaced what he moved, to return to the old place, and integrate what he dissociated.”

It seems that Ben Solo has a lot work to do! ;)

#Rey #Kylo #kylo ren #kylo x rey #kylo ren x rey #reylo #meta #star wars #Star Wars The Force Awakens #the last jedi #snoke #supreme leader snoke

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elderlingacademic · 7 years

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Inspiration from Tolkien

Robin Hobb has stated many times the impact that The Lord of the Rings had on her, and every so often that makes me think about ‘Realm of the Elderlings’ in the light of that, and draw comparisons. One of my favourites is comparing one scene from Fellowship with another from Royal Assassin.

It’s not so much that the same things are happening in the scenes as it is the feeling they create. Excerpts follow; more thoughts underneath them.

Take this section from The Fellowship of the Ring:

‘You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,’ said Frodo. ‘I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.’

Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. ‘Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,’ she said, ‘yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! it was brought within my grasp. The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Would not that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?

‘And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!’

She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad.

‘I pass the test,’ she said. ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.’

- The Lord of the Rings, Book Two Chapter VII.

...and then compare it with this:

‘Fool. I wish not to hear this.’

‘You had a chance to deny me. But thrice you demanded it, and hear it you shall.’ He lifted his staff as if leading a charge, and spoke as if he addressed the full Council of the Six Duchies. ‘The fall of the Kingdom of the Six Duchies was the pebble that started the landslide. The soulless ones moved on from there, spreading like a bloodstain down the world’s best shirt. Darkness devours, and is never satiated until it feeds upon itself. And all because the line of House Farseer failed. That is the future as it is woven. But wait! Farseer!’ He cocked his head and peered at me, considering as a gore-crow. 'Why do they call you that, Fitz? What have your ancestors ever foreseen afar to gain such a name? Shall I tell you how it comes about? The very name of your house is the future reaching back in time to you, and naming you by the name that someday your house will deserve. The Farseers. That was the clue I took to my heart. That the future reached back to you, to your house, to where your blood-lines intersected with my lifetime, and named you so. I came here, and what did I discover? One Farseer, with no name at all. Unnamed in any history, past or future. But I have seen you take a name, FitzChivalry Farseer. And I shall see that you deserve it.’ He advanced on me, seized me by the shoulders. ‘We are here, Fitz, you and I, to change the future of the world. To reach out and hold in place the tiny pebble that could trigger the boulder’s tumbling.’

‘No.’ A terrible cold was welling up inside me. I shook with it. My teeth began to chatter, and the bright motes of light to sparkle at the edges of my vision. A fit. I was going to have another fit. Right here, in front of the Fool. ‘Leave!’ I cried out, unable to abide the thought. ‘Go away. Now! Quickly. Quickly!’

- Royal Assassin, chapter fifteen.

They are definitely distinct scenes, of course. The attitudes of Fitz and Frodo make for the most striking difference - Frodo is quiet, perhaps curious; Fitz is resistant, and frightened. However, both of them provoked this sharing. Frodo offered the One Ring to Galadriel; Fitz asked three times, “whence comes the Fool, and why?”.

Galadriel and Beloved both give our less arcane protagonists a glimpse of the potential future here - Galadiel as wielding the One Ring, and Beloved in a less personal way of the Forged Ones consuming the Six Duchies and further from there. Both potential futures are frightening; both feel like a glimpse into something horrific in an otherwise benign setting. Both indicate the risk of evil beneath the surface of the world.

They’re not the same scene repeated; but I definitely see a degree of inspiration here. What are your thoughts?

#realm of the elderlings #robin hobb #The Farseer Trilogy #farseer trilogy #farseer #fitzchivalry farseer #lord of the rings #j r r tolkien #beloved #frodo baggins #galadriel #rote: opinion #farseer week

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how2to18 · 6 years

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MY MOM has always hated Star Wars, even though I’m pretty sure she’s never seen any of the movies. I know she disapproved of it, because after my dad took me to see The Empire Strikes Back at the age of six, she wouldn’t let me have any of the toys, for purely ideological reasons. As pacifists and radical activists, my parents had agreed on a strict “no war toys” policy for me and my siblings. To my dad — an avid fan of Tolkien, Disney cartoons, and comic books — Star Wars action figures weren’t the same thing as G.I. Joe dolls. But to my mom, less easily seduced by the Dark Side of US popular culture, it seemed self-evident that Star Wars was about wars — and was therefore off-limits for us kids. The uncomfortable compromise my parents reached allowed me to keep the handful of toys my dad had already given me, but without their blasters, rifles, and other weaponry.

In spite of this personal history, which in many ways shaped my own lifelong obsession with entertainment franchises and fantastic fiction, I rarely questioned the cartoonish, spectacular, and seemingly innocent violence of the Star Wars movies. The Last Jedi, however, directly addresses the franchise’s glorification of mass violence in a subplot that introduces a political economy of arms dealers and exploitative capitalists profiting from conflict by selling weapons to both sides. It’s one of the slippery ingredients that make this eighth episode in the ongoing Star Wars saga a deceptively subversive film. Not only does it question and even challenge its own legacy, but it also accepts responsibility for a cultural phenomenon that is itself part of a frighteningly powerful media empire. This makes The Last Jedi a whole lot more than just another episode in an ongoing series; it is also a film that struggles to distance itself from the most toxic elements of Star Wars in order to chart a more progressive terrain.

In the years since Disney purchased Lucasfilm, we have seen Star Wars grow incrementally more radical in its representations of politics and ideology. The Force Awakens balanced nostalgic reassurance with a radical rebranding: under the Disney flag, it promised us that Star Wars was going to resurrect the comforting and familiar style of the beloved Original Trilogy, while at the same time rejecting the early franchise’s overtly masculinist and racist overtones in favor of a more progressive and inclusive representational politics.

Last year’s Rogue One repeated this strategy, again making a young woman the main protagonist and surrounding her with an almost comically diverse cast of supporting characters. But Rogue One also went further in its subversive representation of geopolitics. It offered an unambiguous response to the pathetic fanboys associated with 4chan, MRA movements, and the “alt-right,” who responded to the new films’ politics with hashtags like #boycottstarwars and #whitegenocide. Even if its notoriously troubled production resulted in a film that was less sure-footed than its predecessor, it left no doubt about its ideological agenda: released just weeks after the election of Donald Trump, the film drew a clear distinction between the Empire as a gang of fascist white supremacists and the Rebellion’s embattled coalition of oppressed minorities.

This holiday season, The Last Jedi once again combines the resurrection of nostalgic characters, props, and motifs with new and diverse elements. Helmed by Rian Johnson (known for his almost-too-clever plays on genre tropes in films like Brick and Looper), episode eight invokes our memories of The Empire Strikes Back in ways that are similar to, but also subtler than, Abrams’s more blatant nods to A New Hope in The Force Awakens. We spend more time with the major characters (both old and new) while an impeccably structured sequence of close calls, countdowns, and double bluffs distracts us from what is ultimately a deceptively simple plot.

But what lingers above all after the film’s dizzying 150 minutes of mythological reinvention, character development, good-natured humor, and breathtakingly staged action sequences is the degree of critical self-reflection that Johnson has woven into his thematically rich screenplay. An overwhelming anxiety of influence predictably permeates any new director’s attempt to elaborate on the world’s most famous entertainment franchise. In J. J. Abrams’s hands, this anxiety was clearly that of a fan-producer struggling to meet other fans’ expectations while also establishing a viable template for future installments. In doing so, his cinematic points of reference never seemed to extend far beyond the Spielberg-Lucas brand of Hollywood blockbusters that shaped his generation of geek directors, and he tried desperately to make up for what he lacks in auteurist vision with energy, self-deprecating humor, and generous doses of fan service.

But Rian Johnson is a filmmaker of an entirely different caliber. Just as Irvin Kershner and Lawrence Kasdan once added complexity, wit, and elegance to Lucas’s childish world of spaceships and laser swords, Johnson makes his whole film revolve around characters’ fear of repeating the past, and both the attraction and the risk of breaking away from tradition. His cleverness about transforming the Star Wars legacy is apparent in the smallest details: when the iconic battle on the ice planet Hoth looks like it’s about to be reproduced toward the film’s end, one character takes a moment to taste the white stuff on the ground and remark that it’s not snow, but salt. Such gestures clearly illustrate Johnson’s consistent strategy of playful trickery, while at the same time adding poetic resonance with the implicit suggestion, as Walter Chaw put it so perfectly, “that hope can even grow from salted earth.”

The same kind of ingenuity occurs on almost every level of the film as it performs constant summersaults and about-faces that both honor and subvert the Original Trilogy. The most telling moment of self-reflection is the remarkable scene in which Luke Skywalker, both accepting and subverting his role of reluctant Jedi Master, is forced to accept the idea that good students don’t follow in their teacher’s footsteps: instead they end up passing them by, moving on to bigger and better things. This is a courageous gesture from a young director stepping up to a franchise presided over by the legacy of a single author-god figure, zealously guarded by a deeply nostalgic fan culture, and deeply invested in cyclical narratives of patriarchal succession. The key struggle for the film’s two strongest characters revolves around a strikingly similar anxiety of influence, as Rey and Kylo Ren both face their contradictory desires to reproduce the past and to break free from the stifling weight of tradition and expectation.

But the real and lasting masterstroke in Johnson’s truly invigorating film is the way it connects the rejection of the Jedis’ patriarchal tradition to the roles played by women in the narrative. As important as it is to have more diversity in casting Hollywood blockbusters, diversity alone is not enough as long as narratives continue to serve the same old ideological purposes. Even if we might applaud the idea of a gender-swapped Ghostbusters, the results of gender-swapping will remain limited unless the reboot also addresses the original film’s political agenda. By the same token, we shouldn’t have to settle for Rey as simply a “female Luke”; her gender becomes meaningful only if and when it challenges the way capitalism’s violent and oppressive structures of patriarchal power have been deeply embedded in the Star Wars narrative.

This is where The Last Jedi makes a far more substantial effort to champion and incorporate real feminist values than either of its recent-era predecessors. Not content to merely include competent female action heroes like Rey or authoritative female leaders like General Leia Organa, Johnson’s film repeatedly opposes male characters’ impulsive and presumptuous actions with alternatives supplied by their female counterparts. This tension is introduced when the cocksure, ultra-masculine “laser-brain” pilot Poe Dameron defies Leia’s orders, refusing to back down from a battle he clearly sees as an opportunity to demonstrate his own heroism. But even though the scene plays out along lines familiar from the iconic Death Star assault, a crucial shift in perspective emphasizes first and foremost the sacrifices of the comrades whose lives Poe is so eager to put on the line. This reverses a redoubtable Star Wars tradition, in which everyone but the protagonist is sacrificed so the “real” hero can demonstrate his inherent superiority by blowing up the enemy in an orgasmic spectacle of explosive violence.

As my mother obviously intuited all those years ago, there is something deeply unsavory about the kind of pleasurable violence that Star Wars has unfailingly delivered. It’s a pleasure that emerges from a resilient obsession with totalitarian forms that Susan Sontag described with unflinching clarity in her famous essay “Fascinating Fascism”:

Fascist aesthetics […] flow from (and justify) a preoccupation with situations of control, submissive behavior, and extravagant effort; they exalt two seemingly opposite states, egomania and servitude. The fascist dramaturgy centers on the orgiastic transactions between mighty forces and their puppets. Its choreography alternates between ceaseless motion and a congealed, static, “virile” posing. Fascist art glorifies surrender; it exalts mindlessness: it glamorizes death.

It is difficult indeed to deny the dominance of precisely this kind of fascist aesthetic not just in Star Wars, but across Hollywood action movies as a whole. As early as 1978, Dan Rubey identified the beating heart of totalitarianism underneath all the layers of nostalgia, romance, and mythology that made Star Wars seem so “innocent.” Rubey argues that the film’s demand for the audience to submit to its massive technological apparatus reveals an underlying infatuation with fascism — from the film’s explicit citing of Riefenstahl to John Williams’s militaristic marches and Wagnerian leitmotifs, to George Lucas’s original instructions to make the Star Wars logo “very fascist.”

Perhaps the big question, then, is whether it is even possible for a franchise like Star Wars to rid itself of its own latent fascism. I would argue that this is where Johnson takes important steps in the right direction. The initial conflict between the increasingly aggrieved Poe Dameron and the women in leadership positions who surround him is echoed throughout The Last Jedi’s many plot strands: again and again, we see male characters’ self-centered and violent heroic ambitions challenged and corrected by female voices redirecting the narrative, always in the first place by refusing to glamorize death. And this tension is given nuance and emotional resonance by having the characters learn and grow from these encounters.

Thus, by connecting female representation to values that challenge and transform toxic masculinity, The Last Jedi attempts to supplant the franchise’s traditions of hero worship and redemptive violence with compassion, individual agency, and — startlingly, in a few brief moments — strategies of nonviolence. It even responds to those fans who have mistaken the storyworld’s Manichean structure for moral equivalence, reminding us that Star Wars is important to us not because it endlessly reproduces some meaningless eternal battle between good and evil, but because it dramatizes the much more urgent and contemporary distinction between right and wrong. And in this debate, The Last Jedi even suggests that the real source of evil resides not in some withered old man with magical powers, but in the lethal intersection between toxic masculinity and a disinterested class of “apolitical” capitalists who profit from an environment of endless war and conflict.

The key strength of The Last Jedi therefore lies in its determination to move beyond the original films’ formless mysticism and articulate clear moral and political values. When Finn is reminded at a crucial moment that the Resistance will win “not by fighting what we hate, but by saving what we love,” these words don’t come across as mawkish sentimentalism. In fact, the statement effectively sums up the necessity of positive and progressive goals for a radical left that has become increasingly reactive to the aggressive assaults of far-right movements. As Croatian activist and philosopher Srećko Horvat expounded in his recent book The Radicality of Love:

[T]he answer to the question “love or revolution” should be as simple and difficult (at the same time) as: love and revolution. Only here are we able to find the true Radicality of Love.

The radicality Horvat describes is one of sincere emotional investment in solidarity as a basic moral value. In The Last Jedi, Johnson draws on his own obvious love for Star Wars not only to move the franchise in exciting new directions, but also to subvert the franchise’s reactionary politics — while lifting a casual middle finger to the many fans for whom Star Wars has become a set of sacred texts. Without discarding the franchise’s long history, his intervention opens up new spaces that make this creaky old space saga feel vital and relevant to our cultural and political conversation, in ways the original films never did. And the film’s mawkish but disarming final moment speaks directly to the power these fantasies have to shape our values and ideals through the impact they have on children’s make-believe and gameplay. Call me crazy, but The Last Jedi may finally even convince my mom that Star Wars toys aren’t necessarily evil. Maybe I’ll give her a porg for Christmas.

Dan Hassler-Forest teaches media studies at Utrecht University. His most recent book is Star Wars and the History of Transmedia Storytelling.

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assume-a-virtue · 6 years

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Pre-NaNoWriMo

So this is the pre-NaNoWriMo post. NaNoWriMo is something I haven't attempted in, oh hell, years? Over a decade at this point. This practice run is occurring eight hours or so before NaNoWriMo actually begins for me. I plan to write in the mornings, though I know that plans change and muses can be elusive.

The plan is to write each morning, about two thousand words per day. This will give me sixty thousand words instead of the fifty thousand. Editing will chop out what needs to go.

So what am I writing? This is a good question, and not one I myself know the answer to. I have a lot of characters, but they're old, familiar, and beloved. I know their stories backward and forward, like a book I revisit for comfort and not necessarily for new.

I don't want that.

I want to meet someone new, someone outside the staid parameters of the people I know. I saw a recent prompt that I can't get out of my head, though I don't know if I have the talent for it, or how to execute it.

It follows the 'new phone, who dis?' trope, someone sends a dick pic out to a number they think is an ex's, and it's not. It's some random stranger who maybe flirts with them. They continue to text (why?) and begin to fall in love through this medium.

I like it. There are ways and ways to do it, and being real, how many people have not texted a wrong number by accident? Especially if (as I imagine the protagonist to be) drunk and lonely? I can even throw twists in; urban fantasy is big as hell right now, so why not make the phone owner something else? Vampire fiction is still raging, werewolves too, fairies will never die... the possibilities are endless.

Of course, this goal bases itself on these two characters (and all other side characters) being people we, the readers, relate to. This is possible, even with the urban fantasy twist.

Consider:

The old immortal with a face caught too many times in artwork, trying to figure out how not to be so visible in our social media drenched world.

The vampire HR director with impostor syndrome: the only reason she knows how to handle people so well is because she's dealt with many, and there are only so many variations on unprofessional behavior, even now.

The werewolf dog-trainer, bossing the dogs brought to him so they behave, cancelling classes around the full moon and worried people will notice.

Trees that speak, fish that grant wishes, cats that tease ogres into small shapes and then eat them; these are the things that make fairy tales.

What about modern fairy tales? Do we have any? I can suggest that we still have Cinderella; the recent Kingsman duology is a Cinderella story with two twists. The Cinderella is male, and being a secret agent has given him what he needs to blend in during "the ball" so he can marry the Princess without shame.

I'll go further and say that we have Snow White yet, still. Loved ones and relatives in comas, spoken to as if they can hear us and come back to beloved voices? Yes. What better glass coffin than a hospital? What better dwarves than doctors?

In my heart of hearts I always preferred fairytales like the Twelve Dancing Princesses, Aarne-Thompson 306. I like the complicity of the princesses in the tale. They drug their suitors, even knowing that the penalty for failure is death. Some versions of the story end with failed suitors disappearing to become the enchanted princes they dance with, but I like the "do or die" version best.

How often do you find complicit princesses in fairytales?

I think I will alternate points of view, after a point. At first all we'll know is the guy who texts the mistaken picture. Does he text a man or a woman? Well, good question. Probably a man. Does he get a dick pic in return? Good question. There are several ways to react to an unexpected dick pic, after all; they are the male version of 'notice me, I am alive!' and any attention is good.

Protagonist A, in an agony of loneliness and drink, sends a dick pic. Does he add any message to it? A drunken, lonely ramble, a confession of how alone he feels? Who did he break up with? How long was the relationship? When did they break up? What did they break up over, or was it over? Was he blindsided or did he see it falling apart?

Protagonist B receives it. Does he critique? Send his own? Does he ask who it's from? Does he respond to the ramble? Does he have time to respond to the ramble? Does the pic catch him on a rare day of downtime?

What keeps them talking? I suspect B may have to respond to that loneliness, if only to continue the connection between them. I do want them to end up together.

I like this idea. There's an online list of questions that I guess I'll try to answer for this, to flesh it out:

1. The Jump Start The first scene in the story where a protagonist with limited knowledge of a problem is drop-kicked into action on page one as conflict begins.

What is the opening image that will stick in the reader’s mind?

The dick pic, followed by the feelings!dump text, something most of us can sympathize with wanting to do, even if the idea of it is humiliating.

What is the opening mood?

Our mood is sympathy; who hasn't been lonely enough to want to send a feelings!dump to a recently departed ex? Protag A's mood is profound loneliness and sadness, maybe a bit of drunken rage. This was a serious relationship for him, maybe only his first or second but probably the longest lasting one so far.

What is the opening tone?

What is the opening conflict?

Protag A trying to convince the wrong person that they should be together and how good they are with/for each other.

What is the protagonist’s outer desire?

Wanting to reunite with his Ex, to return his life to the way it was.

What is the protagonist’s hidden need that she will fill at the end of the book or series?

Being loved for who they are.

How does the protagonist demonstrate that she doesn’t really understand the problem?

Protag A focuses on winning back that previous relationship, instead of forging new ones.

What is the central theme of the book and how does it relate to the opening scene?

Being loved for who you are, knowing when a relationship is gone, knowing when a new relationship has happened to you. Learning how to live in the present and accept the lessons of the past without assuming that the future will always become what the past was. Learning how not to love like one's parents.

Who is the antagonist?

I'm not sure there is one. A's ex isn't malicious, only oblivious. It hurts A but Ex doesn't mean to be cruel. A's mother is emotionally abusive, A's father enables her. What does that make A's home life like? Something he would want to flee as soon as he could. How old is A? A least 18-- Maybe he's 22? Did he go to college? If A's mother (hereafter called Mommy Dearest) let him, it would have been commuting. A can drive, or there's public transportation. Maybe A can't drive; this is something to overcome, a way to become more independent.

How is the antag introduced or foreshadowed?

A's family. Emotionally abusive mother and enabling father, A moved cross country to be with Ex (and secondarily to escape family reach). Not sure if they cared about his coming out. She (mother is the controlling factor) may have been accepting until it was her precious baby that comes out of the closet? I've seen this reaction before, would be easy to write it and I suspect it's more common than people realize.

If the antag is only foreshadowed, is there a main minion who appears? Is this main minion a recurring character central to the overall plot?

Maybe minions. If A moved to be with Ex, then all his friends would be Ex's friends. Having to navigate a new city and new job without any kind of support is a lot to deal with. Moving is one of the biggest kinds of life stress; to move and then be abandoned would be even worse. Does A go out with Ex's friends a little, trying to pry information out of them about Ex? I think he does, and it makes him feel even more lonely.

Prior to the opening, what internal and external forces have been at work to make the protag suffer?

Ex's obliviousness to A's needs, A's friends being mostly Ex's friends so that the breakup leaves him alone. A moved cross-country to be with Ex, and has no support now that they've broken up. Even the friends A thought he had are gone now, and everything about the city makes him think of Ex.

How are these tied to the protag’s hidden need?

A longs for a love that doesn't tell him he needs to change. A love that he doesn't need to be better for, or thinner for, or less smart for. Something felt wrong in his relationship with Ex, but there was so much physical chemistry first that it overwhelmed the concerns he might have had. Maybe A is young, too, hasn't had too many serious relationships. What is his home life like, the examples he's had? Emotionally abusive mother, enabling father? What kind of love is he used to/thinks he deserves?

So I've ended up with way more questions than answers, but these are good questions to have. These questions are what will build the story. I definitely can relate to some of it, and I figure it'll get hot and steamy somewhere along the line. Phone sex, dick pic exchange, maybe some short videos? There's a lot of draw in that.

Word Count: 1700

Time: 2 hours

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