08 January 2005
BOOK: THE KNOWN WORLD (2003).
 The death of a black slave owner in antebellum Virginia brings strange new changes to its once stable world. Author Edward P. Jones has been scribbling away in solitude for the last decade or so, and what he's managed to create is a masterpiece--a work that will wind up in classrooms, movie theaters, PhD dissertations.
The initially intimidating constellation of characters and storylines woven about in time slowly dispels any simplistic notions of slavery you might've had. Far beyond a basic "white man oppressing the black" model, the world of slavery as viewed through Jones' unblinking, unsentimental eye is morally confused, being both brutal and comforting at the same time; it constantly teeters on the edge of violence; and most surprising, it is filled with a tragic sort of honor, whereby people seek to do what is good and right but have only a murderous north star to guide them. The world of slavery, the text seems to imply, is an unnatural one, and people can only hope to do their best while living in it.
Each word of Jones' sparse, biblical language holds oceans of meaning (I'll be reading this novel again, to be sure) and can make the tone cruel, hopeful, pastoral, and surreal with a brisk grace, all while refusing to pass authorial judgements. The death of a black slave owner (abusive but beloved father figure; slaves freed but rudderless) already speaks volumes, and Jones but barely nudges his characters along to their respective destinies of heartbreak or hope. To taint these fates with prosaic editorial would undermine the fact that both outcomes are always, always equally possible; Jones avoids the naievete of trivializing one in favor for the other.
Amazing book. Didn't want it to end.
I met a dead man layin in Massa lane
Ask that dead man what his name
He raised he bony head and took off his hat
He told me this, he told me that.
07 January 2005
GAME: METROID PRIME: ECHOES (2004).
 Defend the world (yet again) from the Space Pirates' top secret Metroid breeding project. I imagine the Metroid Prime series as being not a first-person shooter, given its unusual 2D controls grafted onto a 3D world, or even as being an action adventure. I think of it as the most elaborate game of Concentration ever made. Gameplay revolves around remembering and relocating the locations of inaccessible passageways once they've been unlocked, all set in a sprawling and gorgeously detailed world that gives the player a geniune sense of roaming a ruined planet littered with ancient, advanced technologies.
Aside from the occasional boss battle, playing Metroid therefore feels as quiet and relaxing as knitting by the fire. Not a bad thing at all. Secret areas abound. The endless scanning and cataloging of flora, fauna, and lore data entries produces a soothing satisfaction similar to gathering answers from an only moderately challenging word-search puzzle. The dead seriousness of the game's hard tech aesthetic belies a soft center: this is rainy-day time filler. No wonder I picked it up again once the storms came to Southern California, cat on my lap, Nicki fast asleep on the couch, tumbler of Maker's Mark at my side.
This new chapter adds nothing to (and takes nothing away) from its predecessor. The craftsmanship, from imagery to seamless load sequences to sound design, is flawless as usual. Its only drawback stems from a sometimes murky travel path. All in all, however, it's low-stress fun: I've played for eight hours total now and have only died once.
- GAMEPLAY: A surprisingly playable mix of strafe & shoot and 3D exploration. Although I sometimes wish they just stuck with the standard FPS control setup we've all come to love.
- REMINISCENT OF: Metroid Prime.
- LIBRARY WORTHY? Yes. Wrap it in a tea cozy.
05 January 2005
GAME: HALO 2 (2004).
 Save Earth from marauding aliens. Halo is like a good steak: a savory comfort free of surprises. Halo 2 garnishes the franchise with a sprig of parsley, adding the simple pleasures of dual-wield capability, online play, and the opportunity to battle as an alien soldier (the "big surprise" that everyone's been talking about). The graphics, as usual, are top-notch, as is the enemy AI and control scheme.
I can't help feeling a swell of nostalgic pride each time I play the game which, directly descended from Bungie's venerable Marathon series, is running & gunning at its purest. Halo 2's complete lack of puzzles, minigames, and other extracurricular activities makes it a bit of a throwback, but I get the feeling it'll wear well over time. Bungie should have bound the collector's edition in leather instead of aluminum.
- GAMEPLAY: First person shooting at its most polished.
- REMINISCENT OF: Halo.
- LIBRARY WORTHY? O yes. Chorus along with the opening start screen.
BOOK: ASPHALT NATION (1997).
 An in-depth examination of the automobile's destructive history. So: I live in Los Angeles, and I hate cars. They're space hogs, costly, pretentious, dirty, &cetera. But hey, Oil War II and the growing popularity of "alternative" fuel sources should by now make Asphalt Nation an obvious read, no?
To some degree, it is: long commutes, the "carchitecture" of nowhere, the lack of light rail and proper community density. But, as Jane Holtz Kay turns the Car Problem over in her hands to peer at it from every angle, she reveals tons of odd details that we would never have noticed. The majority of car trips are made by women on daily errands, for instance, and not on the commute. The "free"way system is one of the most heavily publicly funded transportation projects in the history of man, as are its supporting systems of low-tax, low-cost gasoline and low interest rates for real estate in far-flung suburbian sprawl. Los Angeles' world-class rail system once stretched from the Valley down to Orange County before being destroyed by oil interests. Politicians tend to "fund" highways while "subsidizing" railways.
Interesting and exhaustive fuel for my anti-car flame, all competently written. Kay gets a bit brief when finally offering solutions to the problems, and one suggestion for a vehicle type/usage tax teeters over into preachy territory. But her passion for the subject wins out, reminding us that car culture is a new phenomenon--an unhealthy, unsustainable fad--so let's quit pretending we don't know any better. Think about it: almost every waking minute of every day involves the car somehow, whether in earshot or visual periphery, and the effect is far from liberating.
By duplicating the style and density of 300 years of settlement before the car was dominant, we might live and move in harmony.
MOVIE: THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (2004).
A ghostly character charms a young opera singer with his haunting voice. You already know all about this film, yes? Over-the-top melodrama starring a dark, brooding outcast straight out of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Catchy, pop-flavored operatics courtesy of the simultaenously reviled and beloved Andrew Lloyd Weber. Pedestrian dialogue sung with epic gusto, like Luciano Pavarotti ordering a Big Mac combo. The mishmash of accents, delineated by personality: French for the uptight opera mistress, American for the dashing male love interest, and the Queen's English for the rest. Not to mention many, many liquid gazes into liquid eyes.
And yet, and yet. I have to admit that after the relentless pep of the movie's first act, I found myself getting sucked in. Musicals in general couldn't find the word subtle in a dictionary, so when they deploy their emotional ordinance on the audience they go big, carpet-bombing the countryside with despair, fear, romance, glee. Phantom, being simply a musical captured on film, held my interest for the same reasons that Moulin Rouge did: the mysterious, genius outsider (my secret aspiration?); the grand love affair; the pageantry. I even got through that weird techno-cum-lite rock section of the Phantom theme song (one of the musical's many distracting anachronisms aside from its diction), and the outdated "roses, ribbons, and brass instruments" romantic aesthetic.
So yeah, not as bad as I thought it would be. I can partially see what all my bando friends had been raving about in high school. Nicki, a longtime Phantom fan, promises a trip to the theater in the near future.
Masquerade! Paper faces on parade--masquerade!
Hide your face so the world will never find you.
02 January 2005
MOVIE: OCEAN'S TWELVE (2004).
Master thief Daniel Ocean reunites with his old team to pay back the owner of the casino he robbed in the first movie. Everyone I know has complained about this movie, and it's easy to see why: there's no clear caper involved, it rambles and drags in places, and there's even a surprise celebrity cameo that, while integral to the success of the plot, disgusted some.
It's true--this is no Ocean's Eleven. It's not even close, really. The characters sport some really fabulous suits, which I would don immediately after selling everything and moving to Amsterdam (the movie's prime locale). Upon arrival, I would befriend eleven masterminds and engage in the same sort of lively, team-building banter that this movie indulges us with.
But for what? Too much of the action takes place via cellphone or hearsay; an "evil" master thief, nemesis to Mr. Ocean, shows up a bit too late in the action to displace what we thought was the true baddie, Bellagio casino owner Terry Benedict. Muddled, and slow. Not even Steven Soderbergh's finely wrought journalistic camera can save this one.
First, you tell me I'm the best. Then I'll tell you how I did it.
|
