Okay, this’ll be a very short one – I’m in Delhi for the week (work, I’m afraid, and without my better – and certainly better-looking – half) and don’t have all that much time for non-work blogging, but I just saw this and needed to share my excitement with the world. I’d heard that Steven Soderbergh was going to quit filmmaking, but it seems that one of his last gifts to cinemaphiles is what looks to be like the lovechild of Traffic and Outbreak – with Gwyneth Paltrow as the monkey. So, without much further ado, get infected.
Month: Jul 2011
You’re a mean one, Mr Kratos!
It is strange that I should enjoy God of War III so much. I’m not a particular fan of hyper-violence – and with a game that features Zipper Tech, a subroutine that calculates innards spilling out of a disembowelled centaur, it’s fair to say that it’s a tad on the violent side. I’m also not the biggest fan of puerile sex scenes in any media – and banging Aphrodite (off-screen) by Quick Time Event while two of her bare-breasted attendants watch and get all hot and bothered in the process doesn’t strike me as a particularly mature depiction of human (or indeed mytho-divine) sexuality.
And yet, in spite of me slaying more Olympeans than I care to shake my blades at (come to think of it, most of them I killed by shaking my blades at them, repeatedly), none of my pinko liberal borderline-pacifist sentiments complain the way they do when I hear about how much Jack Bauer rules. It’s not that I fist-bump every time Kratos tears some satyr’s head off or impales a minotaur on his torn-off horns… but damn, if the game doesn’t make those things enjoyable! And even though I’m about the greatest story-whore there is when it comes to games (two fingers to you, ludologists!), I guess my enjoyment of God of War III comes down to gameplay, first and foremost. I don’t know how Sony Santa Monica did it, but the Ghost of Sparta (known as Krony-Poo to those friends of his who want to have a close look at their lungs) and his arsenal of mythological weapons of mass destruction control so well. For non-gamers, it may be difficult to understand just how much a game can pull you in with a reactive, easy-to-learn-hard-to-master set of controls – and the God of War series has always been extremely good at this.
While story isn’t the game’s main attraction, it is pretty well told – and eminently pretty, in a “Look at the shader effects on that flesh wound!” way – and Kratos’ butchers tour of ancient Greece features some memorable re-interpretations of the big names, from snide but doomed Hermes to bruddah Hercules who gets his face Gaspar Noéd in to poor doomed Hephaestus who only wanted to protect his daughter, Pandora. But the visual beauty of this game doesn’t come from the characters (although it’s impressive to see Kratos’ scars in realtime HD) or the cutting-edge (pun intended) blood and guts – it’s the amazing, epic scale that each of the games has managed to put onto the screen. From fighting the Colossus of Rhodes to the Steeds of Time to climbing around on Gaia’s ample back fighting harpies… and don’t even let me get started on the architecture! In effect, God of War III may dress up as splatter, but at its heart it’s scale-porn – it gets hot and bothered showing tiny little figures climbing around gigantic buildings and creatures. It’s what a model railway built by Peter Jackson would look like. And, pinko lefty liberal that I am, I eat it up like it’s going out of style… and if it means pulling the heads off another 99 hydras.
“Remember when?” is the lowest form of conversation…
… nevertheless, though, remember when I did a semi-ironic, semi-appreciative post on Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life? And remember when I plugged Mark Kermode’s BBC Radio film reviews?
Well, those two threads got together, had some glasses of wine and cuddled up under the blankets… and now, months later, voilà!
Because, obviously, Kermode would never have reviewed Tree of Life if it hadn’t been for my blog. Ob-vi-ous-ly. (In any case, it’s not one of the funniest or most cutting reviews, but that’s because Kermode’s reaction to the film, while more negative than mine, is fundamentally respectful if baffled and at times frustrated with Malick’s riff on Genesis, the Book of Job and Walking With Dinosaurs.)
Mummy, take that scary lady away!
Directed by Phyllida Lloyd of Mamma Mia! fame, no less!
At this point I’m hoping for a Being John Malkovich style mindfuck where everyone is a Meryl Streep character from one of her earlier movies. The sheer amount of different accents would make such a film implode and form a linguistic singularity.
There’s no place like Oz
In the game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon – The TV Edition, Oz must hold a special place: it seems like every other character is played by an actor who later turned up in The Wire, Dexter or (apparently) Law & Order: SVU. It’s also the first of the heavily serialised HBO programming, a trailblazer for later series such as The Sopranos, Deadwood and the aforementioned Bawlmore epic, The Wire.
Arguably, it’s also the weakest of all of these series, the one that holds up least well. No doubt about it – the people involved in this series are smart and talented, and there are wonderful moments throughout… but the longer the more, the individual moments of great writing or brilliant acting are hampered by the series’ tone. It tries too hard to be brave, hard-hitting, ironic, poignant, human, cynical, all mixed into one, and the result is that Oz can feel, clumsy hysterical and inauthentic. I don’t mean ‘unrealistic’ – I have no problem with a stylised approach. What the series does at times is manipulate the plot, characters and presentation To Make A Point. These moments come across as a mix between a heavy-handed editorial on social issues and a stand-up comedy routine by someone who’s less funny than he thinks he is.
It’s a shame, because the material is there, the actors are there, the themes are there. If the show runners had trusted Oz more to achieve what it sets out to do without trying so goddamn hard, the series would be up there with the best of HBO, I believe. Even as it is, there are moments that are fantastic TV – but then the next scene is likely to be as blaring and obvious as the soundtrack. Oh, the soundtrack. It’s as bad as the music in a Mike Leigh film, but more embarrassing.
We’ve got 2 1/2 seasons to go, and I’m by no means at a point where I resent the series. It’s still watchable and worth it for the moments when it all comes alive, when what the series could be isn’t weighed down by what its makers think it ought to be, and what it ought to express, turned up to 11.
But I’m sure that by the last episode, one question will remain, a question that puts all the mysteries of Lost to shame… Just how does Adebisi keep that ridiculous cap of his on his head?
A Damn Fine Cup of Culture 