20071115

In a piece* discussing the current Writers Guild Strike and the death of television, written by the head writer and co-creator of Lost (a piece linked pretty much everywhere), we find an amusing sentiment:

I am angry because I am accused of being greedy by studios that are being greedy. I am angry because my greed is fair and reasonable: if money is made off of my product through the Internet, then I am entitled to a small piece.

While I understand his point and agree that the corporate overlords are greedy rapscallions and scalawags (and maybe carpetbaggers too!), I'd like to focus on the author's sense of entitlement for a minute. "If money is made off of my product, then I am entitled to a small piece."

The thing is, as nice and reasonable as that sounds, I'm not sure that it's true.

Certainly it would be both good and nice for him to get money for continued profits made from something to which he partially contributed, but entitlement? Imagine if we applied this across the board. Ebay and pawn shops would immediately shut down because it would no longer be easy to resell items - as a portion of a seller's profit would have to be sent to the item's original producer (so that producer could apportion the dough to the suitable contributors to the product's creators). Airlines should be entitled to a portion of the money made from those who use their service to ship goods for sale or ferry businessmen to money-making meetings with clients. The guy who designed the vaguely slick interface for Amazon.com should receive residuals from every sale made through that site. And the growers of Limes should be granted a small piece of the action from every guy who used Coronas as moral lubrication to pry the pants off a normally sensible girl.

After all. They're entitled.

The fact of the matter is: sometimes, you're just payed to do a job. Once the job is done, it's not your business what happens to your work. I've done work for people and seen that work end up not being used at all. I've seen other things help net an employer a pretty penny. In either case though, my involvement and entitlement ended the moment my contractual obligation was fulfilled. I.e., the moment I finished the job.

Look, it's fine if television writers want to renegotiate their deal. It's fine for them to want a bigger piece of the pie, more money. And if their employer wishes to give them such a deal, to cut them into a shared profit in hopes of, perhaps, inspiring a better product from them, then good for them. But to speak and act as if that cut of future profits is owed them, something they are entitled to, is an offense to reason, to reality, and to the rest of the working world who realizes that they are getting paid to do a job and any extra money on top of that which is contractually owed us is what we call a bonus.

*note: any time you want to read a protected article on the New York Times website, just use guest1 as both your member ID and password for free access.

20070821

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Television Miniseries.
324 minutes.

Bar none. Without exception. Approaching no parallel. Hands down. The very best spy movies are those that spring from the novelisations of John LeCarré. This is not to say that they are all good, but only to speak to the fact that if a certain example of espionage cinema is particularly excellent, odds are better than good that the film in question is a LeCarré film.

The very best spy movie ever crafted stars Richard Burton and is called The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Our present concern, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is the second best spy movie ever made, and features prominently a character who merely cameoed in the premiere film.

Alec Guinness plays the role of George Smiley who, at time of the film's opening, has recently been ousted from the Circus (the nickname given the echelon of the British secret service directorate). It was a wholly political evacuation of his office, brought about by the new guard in the wake of Control's recent death (from natural causes).

Yet Smiley is drawn out of his forced retirement in order to unearth a mole in the highest levels of British intelligence and policy—tidying the loose ends of Control's final project. The plot is twisting and complicated and repeated viewing is recommended if one is not a note-taker. Tinker, Tailor is far more complicated than The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, which is fitting as it is three times as long. Yes, it's true. In the tradition of the most faithful of literary adaptations, Tinker, Tailor was developed as a television miniseries and is broken into six hour-long chapters.

It carries my highest recommendation.

Rating:

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Television Miniseries.
324 minutes.

In the wake of what I imagine must have been the success of the Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy adaptation, the BBC adapted a later sequel in the LeCarré series. Smiley's People brings George Smiley back several years after the events of Tinker, Tailor—this time drummed out of retirement by the reemergence of his greatest nemesis from the Cold War and a chance to find closure in the most agonizing open case in his book: Karla.

Karla only appeared in flashback in the previous tale and only had tangential importance to Tinker, Tailor. This time, Karla is unearthed and on the move. People die and the tension is set. The question: is can George Smiley, a tired old man, succeed solely on the basis of his aging wit and dogged determination? Or will his obsession ruin him and leave him as dead as everyone else who has opposed Karla's movements?

Smiley's People (despite the title) presents a compelling conclusion to the Karla Trilogy (in the novelisation, there was an intermediate book between Tinker, Tailor and Smiley's People. Again, the story is twisting and suitably complicated, unfolding over an exciting six hours. Additionally, any character who survives to return in this final episode is played by the same actor as in Tinker, Tailor (personnel continuity is a boon to any series). My only quibble is that, while Tinker, Tailor featured a cast of understated characters, canny and well-played, several of the characters in Smiley's People felt to me overblown and too flamboyant. But that might just be me.

Rating:

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Animated Television.
324 minutes.

Madness.

Rating:

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Animated Television.
325 minutes.

After watching and enjoying and puzzling over (several times) Yoshitoshi ABe's Serial Experiments: Lain, I was delighted to hear another of his four-disc series would be coming to America. This was several years ago and at the time, I picked up each disc as it was released (anime distributors still haven't figured out how not to alienate potential customers and continue to release four episodes of a television series at a time, spreading the release of a single season of a series over months or years). And, as expected, I loved it.

I felt it was a bit slow, but still, Yoshitoshi wove some wonderful themes and ideas through the story.

Recently, I thought it was about time to revisit the series, so I sat down with The Monk and watched the entire series (thirteen half-hour episodes) over the course of a week. It was a revelation. The story struck me so much more cleanly this time through and those pauses for breath and reflection no longer made the tale seem to slow or drag. It was a wonderful experience and may be one of my favourite television shows yet.

Haibane Renmei is the story of Reki, an elder Haibane of the Charcoal Feather Federation, and her journey to overcome her fears of the unknown and her very personal and tightly held guilt-complex. The viewer experiences the story through the eyes of a subprotagonist, Rakka, a newborn Haibane, as she comes to experience the life and mystery of the Haibane for herself.

Everything is new to Rakka and Reki is the one she most relies on to help her understand her new place in life. Rakka is born full-grown from a giant watery cocoon, emerging with the body and mind of a what I'd guess is a twelve year old girl. Within days, she's sprouted small wings (which will never be useful for flight) and is given a halo (which has a humourous static affect on her hair). She is born into a whole new culture and has no memory of her previous life. It is through Rakka that we learn who Reki is and exactly how perilous is her state in the world.

Habanei Renmei is about love and charity and fear and guilt and knowing when to hold on and when to let go. And... it is, without question, wonderful.

Rating:

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Graphic Novel.
128 pages.

I had read the four chapters that comprise this initial volume of the adventures of Courtney Crumrin as they had originally appeared in single issues. I had found the series amusing but nothing spectacular. It's grim and fun, but shows little staying power.

Which is why it took me so long to review the collection.

I had purchased the first two volumes of the series in a fit of patriotism (participating in wild consumer endeavors is the best way to show ones support of the establishment). They've sat unread on my bookshelf for about two years. Slightly weary of the non-fiction work I've been devouring, I needed something inconsequential upon which to rest my mind, so I picked up The Night Things.

Largely, the series showed itself to be as I remembered it. An amusement and little more. Ted Ted Naifeh's art was fun to look at and the story-telling fun, but the episodic nature of the chapters did little to help me empathize with characters. The stories, to be plain, were not very engaging. Really, they concluded just as they were beginning.

I could wish for more from a series.

Rating:

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Graphic Novel.
128 pages.

Everything that the first book lacked, its sequel, Courtney Crumrin and the Coven of Mystics provides in spades. Honestly, I had pretty small expectations after reading the first book, so one might attribute my enthusiasm here to the fact that even a mediocre book could possibly excite me. Still, I don't think that is the case here.

The Coven of Mystics was a joy to read. I smiled and laughed and, well... felt all the way through. This solves the greatest difficulty of the first book by weaving interdependent stories into a greater whole. I wouldn't quite say "tapestry" but only because I would be embarrassing myself to say such things.

In this volume, Courtney grows a personality and we begin to get a feel for the world in which she inhabits. As well there were a lot of moments that "just felt right." I especially enjoyed the exploration into the lives and culture of cats; that chapter is a favourite. I don't really know what else to say but I will say this: I looked on Amazon and saw that a third volume was available and I cannot wait to get it and rejoin Courtney and gobliny acquaintances and adversaries.

As perhaps a necessary negative note, while Naifeh's expressive faces are a highlight of the series, he seems to have active difficulty with bodies. It's not a big deal, but I thought it should be mentioned. Here's to hoping practice will make perfect.

Rating:

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No More Girls

Having essentially seen the first two seasons of Gilmore Girls, I can say unequivocally that the show would be awesome if only there were no Gilmores to be found in program. The absolutely (and mind-bendingly) ridiculous dramas and melodramas in which the the two principles, Lorelei and Rory, engage rob an otherwise good show of both it's life and watchability. It's as if they are vampires of fun, sucking every last drop of enjoyability from the show.

The town of Star's Hollow is incredible and features a host of characters both interesting and entertaining. The inhabitants of the small community are each unique and boast the kinds of eccentricities that make small town life seem attractive to the rest of us. Miss Patty is the clownish, overweight dance instructor who's far to world-weary to be as charitable as she is. Babette and Morey Dell are the mismatched couple next door who love each other fiercely and say ridiculous things. Kirk is bafflingly amusing. Luke is angry, brusque, and witty enough to keep me from throwing shoes at the screen when Lorelei is onscreen. Michel is the requisite snobby French concierge who is the misanthropic soul of the show (and probably the reason, if there is one, to watch.

But then we have Lorelei and Rory. And especially Rory. Lorelei, we kind of expect to be dumber than wood. But Rory is supposed to be some sort of wunderkind, on the fast track to Harvard and all the stale dreams that such genius and ambition entails. The only reason we know she's a genius is because we hear about her getting good grades in her Ivy-league-prep school and see her reading all manner of hip novel and making quick-clip banter seem like a past time for children on the verge of entering the second grade (i.e., she's a fast-talker). The problem is: Gilmore Girls tells us all this without ever showing it.

If we were to judge Rory by her actions and the decisions she makes, she comes off a lot worse for her wear. To put it plainly. She's an idiot. In the classic, "village" sense of the word. This is especially evident in her interaction with those claiming the dreaded XY chromosome as their own. There is not a single instance in which one doesn't feel a deep and abiding sense of shame and humiliation for even watching her engaging in these horrible mockeries of actual life. It's like sneaking into the bathroom while your blind older sister's showering and filming the whole thing and then playing it over and over again over the unfolding weeks hence. That's how it feels to watch Gilmore Girls. And that's why I had to quit.

This is my story. And this is my song.

p.s. If you're not a Gilmore Girls viewer and want the merest taste of what I'm talking about and don't have a blind older sister, go check out the character synopses available on Wiki: Rory, Jess, and Dean.