On Remember Me: Let Them Eat Achievement Points

I have this theory that a piece of art—in this case referring to a movie, book, painting, picture, video-game, etc.—can described as a piece indicative of it’s country of origin outside of the basic imagery associated with that piece. What makes something like Great Gatsby, Citizen Kane or even Fight Club “american” is not just their inclusion of things like office life, the roaring twenties, etc, although that may be a part of it. They can also be very “American” in theme. For example, Great Gatsby explores the hypocracy of old money and what-have-you, and Fight Club looks at consumerism and the definition of masculinity, all of which are things that things American culture still struggles with to this day. This brings me to an obscure little videogame called “Remember Me” something which I could undeniably call a product of French culture, not unlike the works of Dumas or Camus.

            For those of you who, understandably, may not have heard of “Remember Me,” here’s the jist. In the not too distant future in the city of Neo-Paris, a major corporation has commodified human memory by digitizing it. Inevitably things go wrong, and this leads to people altering memories and such as well as a prison where they lobotomize you by taking away your memories, in other words what makes you you. Speaking of memory alteration, the player takes on the role of Nilin, one of the best memory hunters around, in other words, people whose job it is to steal corporate secrets Inception style. She can even alter the memories of others. In the end though, she was sent to said special prison for siding with the “errorists” (no, I wouldn’t be surprised if that word was supposed to be one t short of "terrorists", thank you very much), but is broken out and is now on the hunt for the truth of what happened to her and just what the hell is going on.

Now, this is a fairly standard cyberpunk fiar with the addition of memory alteration and what have for a nice hook, but on the surface, between the sleak looking character and clothing design and the over abundance of neon signs about, it’s hard not to mistake this for your standard issue cyberpunk setting. That being said, about half-way through, something occurred to me: this is all a metaphor for the French revolution. The distinct divide between the haves and haves nots, the cruel treatment of the have nots by the errorists later on, it all added up. The icing on the cake of course had to be the fact that the super-special prison was called “La Bastille”. I shit you not, it’s called La Bastille you can look it up.

What I’m getting at here is that what makes “Remember Me” ever so slighty note-worthy is its French flavoring, not the clunky platforming or the we-wish-we-were-as-smooth-as-Batman:Arkhem fighting, not the setting or even Nilin’s refreshing, if not uncunny similarity to Mirror Edge’s Faith, sexism free character design, but it’s French core. And while the French may stink on the outside, there’s always something intriguing on the inside.  

On the Star Wars Prequel Trilogy: A Great Disturbance in the Force.

So, it’s about 9:30 at night and I haven’t actually done any writing that could actually tangibly be called “personal”. Oh there were those 625 words I wrote this morning but that was for a response to a reading I had to do that was due today. I’d continue actually writing something productive, however the migraine is somewhat preventing that at the moment. For the time being, however I intend to sit my ass down, endure the mild headache that’s been brewing, and write something while my brain is still halfway functioning. So I figure now is as good a time as any to write about write the Star Wars prequels, seeing as how this must be the state of mind George Lucas wrote at least the first one.

            Now, let me make something very clear, I, to my eternal shame, was actually part of the generation who was wooed by the ridiculous stupidity of the Phantom Menace. As a child, you tend not to notice things like annoying children or shit when there are dudes with laser swords, loud noises going left and right, and god knows what else. I watched it endlessly, mostly because anything I watched, I watched endlessly. I suppose I was too distracted by the awesomeness of the visuals to notice the boring politics, and I was too young to notice any of the blatant racism or lil’ Annie’s annoyingness, for that matter.  Even by the time Attack of the Clones reared it’s boring, insipid little head, I was still too excited by the car chases ripped right from Blade Runner (not that I had the sense to have seen that movie) scenes to care just how extraordinarily awkward the “romance” between Anniken and Amidala was as well as how horrible Hayden Christensen’s “acting” was. It was only when I reached Revenge of the Sith that I was starting to understand just how terrible the other movies were, as well as how ham-handed this one was, not to mention how much of a missed opportunity General Grivious was. By then it was too late. The damage had already been done. The previous movies had already intermingled with my memories of the original trilogy—which I’d only gotten to watching after Phantom—and the latter were tainted in my mind for the remainder of my adolescence. Frankly, I don’t fain innocence. We should all claim responsibility for the shit we’ve done no matter what. And that is why I am doing this. I suppose you can call it a mikva—jewish ritual bath—by fiery words. I shall cleanse myself of the sequel trilogy in the thrashing of it.

            Well, that and the fact that every single asshole on the internet has farted out their opinions on the prequel trilogy, so I figure I might as well add my fifty cense to the several billion dollars worth of opinions floating around on the internet. I like jumping on the band wagon. It means I don’t have to be original.

            So down to business. I suppose that might as well go in order from Menace to Revenge. Let’s get down to business.

            If there’s one thing that can be said about Menace it’s that it’s crappiness is legendary. Hell, there are entire reviews of Menace that are longer than the movie itself. There has also been something of an effort to, not so much defend it, but debunk some of the nastier elements that people have been claiming are in it, Moviebob and Jim Sterling being two of these individuals. After having thought about it for a bit myself, I’m of the opinion that Menace is primarily successful as a film for children, in the same way that, say, Three Ninjas was. There were enough goofy elements and enough lack of plot to keep us going, even if the politics was confusing.

However, as an adult, it is painful to watch. Yeah, sorry Jim, but while I certainly did like the finale and the pod racing bit was pretty cool, it’s hard to give a damn when you’re constantly hoping that those Sand People shooting at the contestants gets little Annie in the head. Look, I get it, Jake Lloyd is forever scarred by the reception he got, but, I’m sorry, he sucked. It’s like they boiled down the most annoying things about Mcalay Culkin and threw it into our faces like hot water, scarring us for life. It doesn’t help that this annoying little shit is supposed to grow up to be the great, intimidating darth Vadar. And don’t you tell me that little kids can’t be intimidating, every horror fanatic and anyone who’s ever watched Looper (spoiler warning) will tell you otherwise. To be fair to Lloyd, I do get the feeling that a lot of this can be attributed to Lucas himself, going a little bit too far with his “prequel”.

Original Concept Art for
 the Viceroy

And then there’s the space racism, and I’m not talking poignantly used space racism that's trying to make a point like in that one episode of Star Trek or District 9. Look, Lucas, I get it, part of the thing about Star Wars, as well as Indiana Jones work is how it borrows elements of classic science fiction and action. But that doesn’t mean you had to take the full on racism. You’re aware there’s a reason why no studio executive would even consider touching a remake of Chu Man Fu? So then why do you have a green-skinned maniacal bad guy who speaks with a noticeably Asian accent? It’s gonna leave a bad taste in the mouth.

And don’t even get me started on Watto. I swear, if I ever see a larger Space Jew in the world of pop-culture, then I’ll go straight to Israel right away, knowing well that anti-semitism is on the rise. He makes the Ferengi practically look like Sabras in comparison. He’s cheap, fat, has a big nose and is bald. If anyone is familiar with anti-semetic propaganda used during the third reich, you’ll understand why his depiction can make me physically ill.

Original concept art for
Watto

Finally, there is of course, Jar Jar Binx. Oh dear god, Jar Jar. Ignoring the fact that I’ve seen less   Yeah, that’s a guy I’d want hanging around.

offensive blackface, some of the aforementioned defenders have said stuff like he’s just supposed to be the comedy relief like R2-D2 or C3PO in the original trilogy. I call bullshit. For one thing, a good comedy relief is not a constantly bumbling idiot whose thrown into the plot for good measure. Take the original two droids for example. They were a part of the story, instead of a hanger-on like Jar Jar. R2’s there when they blow up the death star. Hell, their escape practically get the entire plot rolling as it were. They were also endearing. R2 was plucky and resourceful and made cute noises, while C3PO was clever and knew how to talk his way out of bad situations. And then let’s look at Jar Jar. He’s high-pitched, clumsy, and practically makes the Qui-gon and Obi-wan drag him along. The only thing he actually does is show them the way to the Gun-Gun city, but aside from that he’s totally and utterly useless. Hell, he even says, outloud, he was banished from his own city for being “clumsy”.

The decent action, the imaginative special effects and the thumping music are no match for the dynamic-duo of dickbaggery lil’ Annie and Jar-Jar. Their very presence drowns out anything good the movie may provide and accentuates all those bad qualities. The mindnumbingly boring politics, the acute racism and so much more are all accentuated, thanks to the combined efforts of Aniken Skywalker and Jar-Jar Binx.

All of that being said, it’s, actually, no the worst of the prequel trilogy. No, that dubious honor has to go to Attack of the Clones. While Phantom Menace may have been offensive and annoying, it at least had this intriguing watchability, not unlike a video of someone removing a botfly from their eyelid. You want to look away and are feeling physically ill watching, but at the same time you can’t because something within you is enraptured. Attack is just boring. It’s like what happens if you take the most dull parts of an art movie and added in CGI for good measure.

Before I continue, I’d like to thank a certain Noah Benzion. Noah, if you’re reading this, then I would like commend your endless wisdom for skipping right to the fight scene between Obi-wan and Jango Fett, which is roughly around the time something vaguely resembling plot finally rears its’ tired head. To be fair, there are moments in this movie that work. The first and third acts are decent enough in terms of action. It’s just a shame that, traditionally in story telling, the second act is where we spend the majority of our time. And what a second act it is, ladies and gents.

Yeah, Aniken and Padme. Not exactly the most dynamic couple of all time. Hell, I’d even venture as to say that their relationship is almost a worse love story than Twilight.  Nothing quite screams heart-pounding action like watching Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman choke out expository bullshit and “bond” over stuff like Aniken cutting a pear for Padme and passing it to her with the force simply so Lucus will have another excuse to flash us his huge effects budget. I’m sorry, what the hell made George Lucas think this was a good way to build character? Last time I checked, romance in Star Wars was formed from the bonds of adventure and action, not the bonds of a Sundance reject. It doesn’t help that Lucas decided to continue the tradition of having Aniken played by the least likable person imaginable. I wonder what the casting call for Aniken Skywalker said: “wanted: annoying actor to play Aniken Skywalker: monotone required, must be able to pout for hours on end, nasely whine a must.” It doesn’t help that Natalie Portman, who’s usually a decent enough (read:Oscar nominated) actor, but seems to not to phone it in, but phoned in the phoning in.

Even the action feels less interesting this time around, minus that final scene with count Douku (alright Lucas, be honest: did you lose a bet? Because Douku is exactly the kind of name I'd think of when thinking of a threatening villain name). The music seems to only give one quarter of a rat’s ass and we rarely get to see much of anything interesting happen that wasn’t done better in the five other Starwars movies. And naturally the CGI gets in the way of anything vaguely resembling enjoyment.

And lastly, there’s Revenge of the Sith. And, honestly, there really isn’t that much to be said about Revenge, seeing as how it’s actually not all that bad. Okay, not all that bad compared to the previous two, but you get the idea. Yeah, there was a missed opportunity with General Grivious, and Hayden Christensen’s acting is still painfully emo (you know, directors, there is a difference between being a genuinely tortured soul and being emo. Just making sure), but the pace is decent and the action isn’t too bad. Also the fight scene between Yoda and the Emporor: actually pretty awesome.

In short, if I was going to rank the three movies worst to best—much in the same way I’d rank hangovers—I’d have to go Attack of the Clones, Phantom Menace,  and Revenge of the Sith. Revenge of the Sith was alright, Phantom Menace had all the wonder of watching the original trilogy interspersed with a Minstrel show and Attack of the Clones was just plain boring and stupid. In short, watch them if you must. Just make sure you’re well versed in the original trilogy beforehand. Also, if anyone asks, Han shot first. Trust me, you’ll be better off.

On "My Immortal: The Fan Fiction": Ka-WHHHYYYYYYY!!!!!!!?????

I wrote this a while ago. I don't know why I haven't published it yet:

There comes a time in every writer’s career where they think “I’m a hack. A pretentious bastard whose pitiful work isn’t worth the blood, sweat and tears I’ve put into it.” Well at times like that, I like to google a certain fanfiction called “My Immortal”.

            Say kids, did you love grow up loving Harry Potter, but now have some vaguely defined vendetta against it? Do you have too much faith in humanity? Then read My Immortal. If you’re not gouging your eyes out by the end, seek help.

            My immortal is not a piece of fiction. It is the butt sex shits of the twisted mind of a certain Tara Gillespie, whom I can only hope has stayed away from keyboards, writing implements and sharp objects since the wire-hanger abortion that is it’s completion. While I’m usually against lobotomies, I’ll make an exception in this case. My Immortal is not a light read, heavy read, or any kind of read. It is an endurance test. A literary Gom Gabar whose every line will take away a little piece of your sanity as you read it. Those who have completed it are either to be given awards, given several months worth of counceling or just completely institutionalized. To call it the worst Harry Potter fan fic would be a misnomer, as would calling it the worst fan fic in general ever. No, “My Immortal” is the worst piece of fiction, period. Ever. In the history of man, never has there been a piece of literature so bad, so utterly putrescent, and that’s saying something. If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure it’s use has been banned by the U.N. as cruel and unusual torture.

The narrative—and I use that word in the loosest of terms—concerns a certain miss Ebony Darkness Dementia Ravenway in a twisted version of the Harry Potter universe filled with more self mutilation and black clothing than the school kink club. Gillespie occasionally breaking the fourth wall to show that she’s listened to her readers and spelled one word correctly in a sea of poorly spelled ones. Each chapter begins with her calling inevitable flamers “preps” and threaten to stop writing unless she gets at least five good reviews, as if such an act could be seen as a genuine threat as opposed to an act of mercy.

            There’s a little bit to hate for everyone here, whether you’re a fan of decent writing, Harry Potter, or decency in general. Although I’ve only gotten aobut a third of the way through, I’ll try my best to recount what exactly it is that makes this particular fan fic so unreadable, not unlike a PTSD victim describing the inciting incidents that brought him to his decrepit state.

For one thing, I haven’t seen a canon so horribly violated since I watched the second Transformers movie, that being said I’m not a particular stickler to canon so let’s just leave out the minor complaints for the bigger ones. From the get go the most blatant would have to be the endless number spelling errors that pollute the thing. I swear to you, I’m pretty sure Gillespie didn’t so much not bother to put this through spellcheck so much as Microsoft word took one look at the thing and gave up before it committed itself to anything so Sisyphean. If you’re one of those people who can’t stand spelling or grammar errors, the beginning might as well say:

ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER.

I swear, I haven’t seen this many ways to spell a single word since I read some documents from Puritan times. It gets so bad that you won’t be entirely sure whether the main character’s name is “Ebony” or “Enoby” or whether said main character is a “goth” or “goff” by the end of the first few chapters.

            And then there’s the story itself. I’m pretty sure what Gillespie must’ve gone through a copy of “Elements of Style” and made sure to do the exact opposite of every single thing suggested. Characters are killed off only to come back seconds later, plot details are revealed in the most contrived ways imaginable, people get angry with hardly any provocation and use swear words with even less provocation, and I swear if I never read such needlessly detailed description of goth clothing again, it’ll be too soon. So there’s this one particularly dark Robot Chicken in which a little girl captures Pegasus, shears it’s wings off, paints it pink, and whips it until it finally accepts that it’s name is now “sunnymuffin,” ala “Roots.” Well that’s pretty much what Gillespie does to the Harry Potter canon. Harry, Draco (whose now Enoby’s lover), Hermione and even poor Hagrid of all characters all get smothered in black makeup and the contents of a dumpster behind a hot topic. Everyone else is a prep whose main goal in life is to stalk “poor” Enoby ceaselessly and swear profusely whenever Ebony is in the vicinity. Gillespie goes the extra mile by adding not only self-mutilation (most chapters begin with Ebony casually cutting herself before the show begins), but also a healthy dose of yaoi subculture, what with the fact that Draco is now Harry’s Vampire’s ex-lover—which is an ironic choice seeing as how “yaoi” is the inevitable sound you make when your fist makes involuntary contact with your face after the first few chapters of this.

            Just to drive the point home, why don’t I tell you the line that started it all, the line that made me realize just what a terribly, idiotic person Tara Gillespie is:

“He put his thingie into my you-know-what and we did it for the first time.”

            Now, please, I insist. Convince me that any piece of fiction with those words could possibly, ever, in a million years be anything vaguely resembling good. Go ahead. I DARE YOU!!!!!

             There are those out there who insist that thing is an act of Trolling. I’m of the opinion that these people are still holding out hope that humanity could never produce something so insipid. And while I don’t pretend to be an expert, I will say that humanity as a whole is capable of some pretty fucked up stuff. If someone is capable of creating the Atomic Bomb, Mustard Gas, White Phosphorous as well as the Last Airbender Movie, then someone is capable of creating the monstrosity that is “My Immortal.”

If you're up for a challenge, or just feel like there aren't enough feelings of suicide in your life, you can find this turd here.            

I'd recommend listening to the dramatic readings found on youtube. Particularly either this one if you're up for some snarky comments along the way or this one if you just want to listen to it.