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Being as I am a fan of both Gary Oldman and Denzel Washington, I went to see The Book of Eli on Wednesday. Before going in, I knew nothing about the film, and had few expectations, but I wasn't quite expecting what I saw. For those who have yet to see the film, the basic synopsis is that Denzel Washington plays Eli, a man possessed with the conviction that he must carry a book across the wasteland that was once the United States. On the way, he encounters a small town (think 'Wild West' meets Mad Max) struggling under the dictatorship of Carnegie, played by Gary Oldman. Carnegie is searching for a Bible, convinced that if he controls faith, he can control his townspeople. Lo and behold, Eli's book is a Bible, and so begins the struggle for Carnegie to get hold of it.
It's a peculiar film, in a lot of ways. On one hand, it's a film that teeters dangerously closely to the edge of sentimentality in its depiction of religious conviction, with Eli so convinced that he's doing the work of the Lord that he keeps going when most would give up. Yet on the other hand, it yanks back the comforting blanket of personal faith to expose the control and manipulation of people by religion that lies underneath. Eli tells Solara, his female travelling companion, that "after the war", Bibles were burned because many believed them to be the cause of the war. As far as social commentary goes, it's a little ham-fisted, but in a clumsy way, the film has highlighted the importance of books.
Religious books, encyclopaedias, text books and even novels all tell us something about the world in which we live. A heavy tome about chemistry and a dog-eared copy of a hard-boiled detective novel are alike in their ability to grant power to the reader. Throughout the ages, dictators have recognised both the power, and the threat, of the knowledge contained in books, which is why the pages of history are dotted with scorch marks and burnt edges. Of course, the much higher level of global literacy makes the availability of information so much more dangerous. If people can read, then nothing is stopping them learning about economics, philosophy, history, mathematics or, inevitably, religion.
This, in a way, is another of The Book of Eli's veiled warnings. Few people can read in this post-apocalyptic world, leaving men like Carnegie and Eli as the sole interpreters of the written word. Interpretations are often coloured by bias, and where Eli appreciates the spirituality of the Bible, Carnegie sees only a route to power, at the expense of the spirituality of those he seeks to oppress. It's essentially a microcosm of religion as a whole. Some people view the teachings of their chosen religion as guidelines on how to live a fulfilled, and happy, life. The rest use the teachings to instill fear and obedience into their followers. This is why I say that books contain information and knowledge, but not truth. Truth is far too subjective, and open to interpretation. There is nothing inherently wrong with the information - it is the way in which it is used which casts a ruddy glow or gloomy shadow across it.
I won't sport with your intelligence by discussing the "twist" ending, but sufficeth to say, the book is not all that it appears. I would have imagined that you guessed that already. In a lot of ways, Eli is a truly admirable character, devoted to his cause and possessed by the sort of inner fire that you often dream about finding within yourself, when you're clinging to a pole in an overcrowded train carriage on a wet Monday morning. My biggest problem is that I simply can't put enough faith into the teachings of the book he is trying to hard to protect.
Still, in this digital age, it's quite nice to see a film centered upon a book. After all, I can't quite picture a film in which one man would happily shoot another over a Kindle, can you?
Friday, 5 February 2010
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Iron Council; Or how I learned to love China Mieville
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I'm quite pleased with myself today - I finally finished China Mieville's Iron Council this morning, meaning that I have started on the right path towards completing one of my New Year goals. That is, I wanted to read at least one novel every month for the whole year.
Now, I'll be honest with you. I didn't always like China Mieville. My good friend Simon was determined that I'd like him, and loaned me Perdido Street Station
a couple of years back. It sounded interesting, and I wanted to like it so much since Simon clearly thought a lot of it. Trouble is, I didn't like it. Not at first. I persevered with it for Simon's sake, getting bored with the length of time it was taking for anything to happen. Then, about 3/4 of the way into the book, it did. BAM! I couldn't put it down.
Still, that's a fairly bad sign if it takes me until almost 75% of a book to decide I like it. Simon was still determined that I'd like Mieville, and let me borrow The Scar
. I think The Scar is a much more successful book (possibly because the location is a lot more limited - New Crobuzon's sprawling nature means that sometimes more emphasis is placed on the geography than the plot), and features a host of fabulous characters (Uther Doul, the Brucolac, Tanner Sack etc.) but it still took me until half of the way in before I liked it.
Thankfully, where Iron Council is concerned, I liked it immediately. I found it quite difficult to warm to any of the characters, since they're all either selfish, arrogant, pathetic or one-dimensional, but the plot managed to keep things cracking along at a fair pace. He divides the book into smaller books, each concerned with past events which explain the present goings-on, or with the machinations and actions of the present. Mieville has certainly got a broad vision of his continent of Bas-Lag, and his sheer invention of geography, science and history makes this an incredibly awesome book. New Crobuzon, his immense city that provides a home to countless different species, becomes a character in its own right; both backdrop, and protagonist.
If you like sprawling epics within the speculative fiction or fantasy genres, then I suspect that you just might grow to like Mieville as much as I have...
Now, I'll be honest with you. I didn't always like China Mieville. My good friend Simon was determined that I'd like him, and loaned me Perdido Street Station
Still, that's a fairly bad sign if it takes me until almost 75% of a book to decide I like it. Simon was still determined that I'd like Mieville, and let me borrow The Scar
Thankfully, where Iron Council is concerned, I liked it immediately. I found it quite difficult to warm to any of the characters, since they're all either selfish, arrogant, pathetic or one-dimensional, but the plot managed to keep things cracking along at a fair pace. He divides the book into smaller books, each concerned with past events which explain the present goings-on, or with the machinations and actions of the present. Mieville has certainly got a broad vision of his continent of Bas-Lag, and his sheer invention of geography, science and history makes this an incredibly awesome book. New Crobuzon, his immense city that provides a home to countless different species, becomes a character in its own right; both backdrop, and protagonist.
If you like sprawling epics within the speculative fiction or fantasy genres, then I suspect that you just might grow to like Mieville as much as I have...
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china mieville,
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Thursday, 28 January 2010
Science, Or Why I Don't Just Do Art
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It's not something that I talk about all that often, but I am actually a great lover of science. My dad is an engineer, so I've had an awareness of the rational forces that hold the fabric of the universe together since I was little (he once helped me make a warren truss bridge out of drinking straws and push pins). I always thoroughly enjoyed biology, chemistry and physics at school, although I confess that anatomy held my attention the longest. I'm continually fascinated by how things work, and I suppose anatomy is similar to mechanics, in a way - it's simply mechanics on an organic level.
Anyway. I'm already starting to digress. Now, as well as loving science, I'm also heavily interested in the arts, and humanities. You can look at me as being split down the middle, if you like, a bit like Spock. Science, logic, rationality and reason on one side, and creativity, art, language and music on the other. So when BBC Four decided to run a programme on the history of chemistry, I was thrilled. You just don't see "history" and "chemistry" in the same sentence often enough. Episode two is on today (you can catch Chemistry: A Volatile History on BBC iPlayer) although I finally got around to watching the first episode with my dinner.
I was hooked! I learned how to get phosphorous from urine, how to make an electrical current using salt water, copper and zinc, and how thermometers work. It's all truly fascinating stuff, and I think that science, in a way, actually helps me to be more creative. Some might believe that in drawing back the curtains and showing what the world is made of, and how the universe works, scientists are destroying the magic and wonder of life. I disagree. In showing me how all of these random elements interact in a particular way, I'm even more in awe that the whole system works at all.
Air is made up of 21% oxygen. Only a few percent less and we couldn't breathe. But how does it stay at the right percentage?! It's questions like this that don't make me go, "Oh, there's no magic in the world, it's all science..." It's things like this that make me go, "Science makes it work...but HOW?!"
The world is wonderful, people.
Anyway. I'm already starting to digress. Now, as well as loving science, I'm also heavily interested in the arts, and humanities. You can look at me as being split down the middle, if you like, a bit like Spock. Science, logic, rationality and reason on one side, and creativity, art, language and music on the other. So when BBC Four decided to run a programme on the history of chemistry, I was thrilled. You just don't see "history" and "chemistry" in the same sentence often enough. Episode two is on today (you can catch Chemistry: A Volatile History on BBC iPlayer) although I finally got around to watching the first episode with my dinner.
I was hooked! I learned how to get phosphorous from urine, how to make an electrical current using salt water, copper and zinc, and how thermometers work. It's all truly fascinating stuff, and I think that science, in a way, actually helps me to be more creative. Some might believe that in drawing back the curtains and showing what the world is made of, and how the universe works, scientists are destroying the magic and wonder of life. I disagree. In showing me how all of these random elements interact in a particular way, I'm even more in awe that the whole system works at all.
Air is made up of 21% oxygen. Only a few percent less and we couldn't breathe. But how does it stay at the right percentage?! It's questions like this that don't make me go, "Oh, there's no magic in the world, it's all science..." It's things like this that make me go, "Science makes it work...but HOW?!"
The world is wonderful, people.
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Still Running (Flash Fiction)
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Apologies for the lapse in blogging, dear friends - real life had that annoying habit of getting in the way. Weddings, interviews - that sort of thing. Anyway. I've just been looking back through my notebook and discovered I actually have some reasonably decent work squirrelled away in there, so I must prompt myself to work on the stories. It's really not good practice to leave them 'festering' like that.
In lieu of anything else, I thought I'd post an old flash fiction of mine, slightly edited. I give you...
Rising out of the concrete floor, the machine was a tumble of pistons, steam pumps and glass valves. Rust marked its metal skin like smallpox scars. It hummed quietly, an archaic melody out of place among the pragmatic Resistance.
"How much juice can she handle?" Philip stepped back to see the antique control panel. Needles flickered across coloured bars behind grimy panels. Buttons and levers, smeared with oil, covered the switchboard.
"Enough to power the Resistance. That's all we'll ever need." Caleb grinned.
"I guess she’s the founder member then. Eighty years old and still running."
In lieu of anything else, I thought I'd post an old flash fiction of mine, slightly edited. I give you...
Still Running
"Yeah, we never thought the old girl would make it, but she has. War means nothing to her!" Caleb patted the generator. A kind smile creased his face.Rising out of the concrete floor, the machine was a tumble of pistons, steam pumps and glass valves. Rust marked its metal skin like smallpox scars. It hummed quietly, an archaic melody out of place among the pragmatic Resistance.
"How much juice can she handle?" Philip stepped back to see the antique control panel. Needles flickered across coloured bars behind grimy panels. Buttons and levers, smeared with oil, covered the switchboard.
"Enough to power the Resistance. That's all we'll ever need." Caleb grinned.
"I guess she’s the founder member then. Eighty years old and still running."
Labels:
creative writing,
flash fiction,
writing
Thursday, 21 January 2010
We're on The Road to nowhere...
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Let me get this out of the way before I get to the meatiest part of my post. The Road is a very beautifully-shot, gorgeous film, and I can't fault its cinematography. However, it feels to me like it's related to one of those vapid bimbos that you come across from time to time - an aesthetically pleasing collection of molecules, but with every little going on beneath the surface. Yes, The Road is incredibly depressing, and yes, The Road is a "hi-brow" and "literary" film...but it's also entirely pointless.
Before anyone who actually enjoyed the film starts to sputter and head for the 'Comment' form, let me explain my thinking. Most films, at least those produced by Western cinema, contain a plot, or narrative. Yes? I can think of very few successes from the past few years that have managed to dispense with this key ingredient and still have a hit. The film industry is exactly that - an industry. Many individuals who work within it might do so in order to produce art, but they still have to consider whether or not that art will make any money.
Now, The Road does at least have a vague plot. I'll admit that much. The plot is extremely basic (Father and son head across post-apocalyptic wasteland in search of a warmer climate) but that's no problem - lots of films can be summed up in a single sentence. "Four children enter a magical world via a wardrobe and have to save it from an evil witch" would be one example, while "A hobbit traipses across Middle Earth to dispose of a ring" is another. The problem is that there's very little room for growth within the plot. On one hand, you'd expect such a loose plot to give plenty of room for scope, but ironically, it does the opposite. The Road is more about the relationship between the father and son than what happens to them, and both characters wander through the film until its inevitable conclusion. Neither of them really appear to learn from their experiences, caught as they are within the rigid confines of the idea of the film, as opposed to its plot.
This, my friends, brings me to the "literary vs commercial" debate. The Road drops off the fence and lands so heavily on the literary side that it's cracked the paving. Beautiful cinematography and meandering philosophy replaces character development and a forward-moving plot because the experience of the film is more important than its story. Sure, there are instances in the film where plot is suddenly injected, and things get interesting, but then the conflict is resolved and everyone goes back to trudging along. Dull. Call me a Philistine if you want, but I'm unafraid to nail my colours to the commercial mast. I want to watch a film, or read a book, because I want to be entertained. I want escapism. I don't get that from literary films or fiction.
Right now I'm reading China Mieville's Iron Council, and sure, it deals with lofty themes and political ideals, but it also lets me wander the crooked streets of New Crobuzon when I should probably put the book aside and do my washing up. The Road might let me vicariously look at a post-apocalyptic landscape that I pray I never have to visit, but that's all it does. It parades its world in front of me like a John Constable or a J. W. M. Turner, but it never lets me engage with it. It offers no escape.
Lord knows there's enough in this life to escape from.
Before anyone who actually enjoyed the film starts to sputter and head for the 'Comment' form, let me explain my thinking. Most films, at least those produced by Western cinema, contain a plot, or narrative. Yes? I can think of very few successes from the past few years that have managed to dispense with this key ingredient and still have a hit. The film industry is exactly that - an industry. Many individuals who work within it might do so in order to produce art, but they still have to consider whether or not that art will make any money.
Now, The Road does at least have a vague plot. I'll admit that much. The plot is extremely basic (Father and son head across post-apocalyptic wasteland in search of a warmer climate) but that's no problem - lots of films can be summed up in a single sentence. "Four children enter a magical world via a wardrobe and have to save it from an evil witch" would be one example, while "A hobbit traipses across Middle Earth to dispose of a ring" is another. The problem is that there's very little room for growth within the plot. On one hand, you'd expect such a loose plot to give plenty of room for scope, but ironically, it does the opposite. The Road is more about the relationship between the father and son than what happens to them, and both characters wander through the film until its inevitable conclusion. Neither of them really appear to learn from their experiences, caught as they are within the rigid confines of the idea of the film, as opposed to its plot.
This, my friends, brings me to the "literary vs commercial" debate. The Road drops off the fence and lands so heavily on the literary side that it's cracked the paving. Beautiful cinematography and meandering philosophy replaces character development and a forward-moving plot because the experience of the film is more important than its story. Sure, there are instances in the film where plot is suddenly injected, and things get interesting, but then the conflict is resolved and everyone goes back to trudging along. Dull. Call me a Philistine if you want, but I'm unafraid to nail my colours to the commercial mast. I want to watch a film, or read a book, because I want to be entertained. I want escapism. I don't get that from literary films or fiction.
Right now I'm reading China Mieville's Iron Council, and sure, it deals with lofty themes and political ideals, but it also lets me wander the crooked streets of New Crobuzon when I should probably put the book aside and do my washing up. The Road might let me vicariously look at a post-apocalyptic landscape that I pray I never have to visit, but that's all it does. It parades its world in front of me like a John Constable or a J. W. M. Turner, but it never lets me engage with it. It offers no escape.
Lord knows there's enough in this life to escape from.
Labels:
film criticism,
films,
literature
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Another piece published!
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t is with great delight that I use this post to publicise the fact that I have another piece of fiction online! You can find it at The Tomlit Quarterly, in issue two. It's available as a free PDF, which means not only do you get my short piece, Cold, you also get tons of other great work too!
I'm actually quite proud of Cold, mainly because it's written mostly using dialogue. I've never been particularly good at writing convincing dialogue, because either all the characters sound like me, or they use English in the way that I'd write it, but not speak it. Writing dialogue is a tricky business since you either use slang and regional dialects to try and sketch the character more fully (which ends up sounding cheesy or fake), or everyone sounds interchangeable. Ideally, it should be possible to tell who's talking without tagging the speech.
Whether I've succeeded in that is entirely up to you, but I'd love to hear your opinions!
I'm actually quite proud of Cold, mainly because it's written mostly using dialogue. I've never been particularly good at writing convincing dialogue, because either all the characters sound like me, or they use English in the way that I'd write it, but not speak it. Writing dialogue is a tricky business since you either use slang and regional dialects to try and sketch the character more fully (which ends up sounding cheesy or fake), or everyone sounds interchangeable. Ideally, it should be possible to tell who's talking without tagging the speech.
Whether I've succeeded in that is entirely up to you, but I'd love to hear your opinions!
Labels:
creative writing,
dialogue,
publication,
tomlit quarterly,
writing
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
To CGI, or not CGI...don't make the Phantom Menace mistake
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Celebrated sci-fi author China Mieville has written this post for The Wall Street Journal to explain just why CGI is rotting sci fi cinema from the inside. For the most part, I'm only too happy to agree with him. If you ever read my post about Pixar, you'll know that I like CGI only if it adds something to a film.
Back in the good old days of Ray Harryhausen (see the photo that accompanies this entry), the effects looked ropey, but at least you knew that somewhere on the planet, those models existed. They had a sense of tangibility, and concrete 'realness' that CGI still can't replicate. Even look at a film like Jurassic Park, and compare it to Titanic. Jurassic Park is older, but it doesn't look quite as dated since a lot of the dinosaurs are animatronic. The actors are working alongside something that exists in the real world. The dinosaurs have weight, texture, and above all, believeability. Titanic, on the other hand, looks laughable. Move further forward to the 1980s, and matte paintings were de rigueur, instead of the contemporary crap that gets splashed across green screen.
We all know why CGI is there. In today's society, where everything has to be faster, shinier and altogether more 'wow' than what came before, CGI is cinema's way of twirling about going "Look at me! Look at me! I'm AMAZING!" It's almost being so fake because it wants you to notice it and admit how pretty it is. But unfortunately it ends up feeling like you're being followed around by an obnoxious six-year-old in a princess costume singing a Les Miserables medley while you're trying to read Wuthering Heights.
I love cinema. I really, really do, and I love big explosive action movies or giant set pieces as much as the next person...but you know what? You can actually do a lot of that without CGI. Just watch the 'making of' feature on the DVD for the latest Star Trek film to see that visual trickery is still possible even when you're using CGI. J.J. Abrams utilised everything from models and miniatures to mirrors and special lighting, and while he also used some CGI, I think the film feels a lot more organic as a result of the more hands-on approach.
It's true that special effects have been part of cinema since its inception (check out the work of Georges Melies for a good example, or the famous 'see through floor' shot from Hitchcock's The Lodger in 1929) but I don't think that an entire film should be one long special effect - they're called 'special' and should be used sparingly, otherwise they're not so special any more, are they?
Back in the good old days of Ray Harryhausen (see the photo that accompanies this entry), the effects looked ropey, but at least you knew that somewhere on the planet, those models existed. They had a sense of tangibility, and concrete 'realness' that CGI still can't replicate. Even look at a film like Jurassic Park, and compare it to Titanic. Jurassic Park is older, but it doesn't look quite as dated since a lot of the dinosaurs are animatronic. The actors are working alongside something that exists in the real world. The dinosaurs have weight, texture, and above all, believeability. Titanic, on the other hand, looks laughable. Move further forward to the 1980s, and matte paintings were de rigueur, instead of the contemporary crap that gets splashed across green screen.
We all know why CGI is there. In today's society, where everything has to be faster, shinier and altogether more 'wow' than what came before, CGI is cinema's way of twirling about going "Look at me! Look at me! I'm AMAZING!" It's almost being so fake because it wants you to notice it and admit how pretty it is. But unfortunately it ends up feeling like you're being followed around by an obnoxious six-year-old in a princess costume singing a Les Miserables medley while you're trying to read Wuthering Heights.
I love cinema. I really, really do, and I love big explosive action movies or giant set pieces as much as the next person...but you know what? You can actually do a lot of that without CGI. Just watch the 'making of' feature on the DVD for the latest Star Trek film to see that visual trickery is still possible even when you're using CGI. J.J. Abrams utilised everything from models and miniatures to mirrors and special lighting, and while he also used some CGI, I think the film feels a lot more organic as a result of the more hands-on approach.
It's true that special effects have been part of cinema since its inception (check out the work of Georges Melies for a good example, or the famous 'see through floor' shot from Hitchcock's The Lodger in 1929) but I don't think that an entire film should be one long special effect - they're called 'special' and should be used sparingly, otherwise they're not so special any more, are they?
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cinema,
film studies,
films,
science fiction,
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