A Super Detail

Truth is I've had my FILL of superhero movies.

However, I'm going to go see Man of Steel, but ONLY because I want to see how it's handled given the intentions of the film. By which I mean: It's a just a Superman movie. Don't ask if it relates to the other versions - it doesn't. It's not really based any you already know. Don't expect a flat-out & full origin story, a la a reboot. It's a different take in that his secret identity is Superman, not Clark Kent. (Think about it. He's been brought up/taught not to use his powers. They're too dangerous/conspicuous/etc. Thus, he has a difficult time adjusting to everyone's "love"/appreciation of his powers. Nice way to make him vulnerable, no?) Also because of the horrendous, insipid, lousy and incomprehensibly bad Superman Returns, I want to see this character redeemed, as the filmmakers also reportedly set out to accomplish. I'm cheering for them to do it. He may be lackluster in my eyes, but this famed character deserves better. Otherwise I could not care less about him or any other superhero. (The only exception is Thor.  I still want/need Norse myth on-screen, even if it is the Marvel version. Thus, I'm looking forward to Thor: The Dark World)

Anyway, as the 'Man of Steel' is popping up everywhere now, a query popped up in my mind. It's a very simple question, but it causes a great deal of trouble to the logistics of the mythos.

How does Superman/Clark get his hair cut, nails trimmed, etc.?

Technically he can't. He's invulnerable. Bullets bounce off and knives curl on his body. So how is it ever possible to groom himself? Oops.

It's a minor detail, yes. But it's always in the details.

Storytellers must and should and cannot ignore them by any means.

A Capital Idea

There is a small difference between Barrie’s Pan tales and mine by way of some capitalization. Specifically the Native American characters as a race and Pan’s “gang.” i.e. Redskins & Lost Boys.

It’s true, Barrie does not have them with capital letters. Yet I do. Am I being inconsistent, against what I claim? I suppose on one level, yes. But on another, no. (Could have expected that, right?)

Why do I make them proper nouns instead? In the case of the “Redskins” I just think it entirely disrespectful toward the Native Tribes of the Americas that we don’t give them such a distinction. After all, it’s not exactly the nicest way to refer to them. Yet I cannot have them listed as something other than what’s in the original text. (And I give a reason as to Barrie's motives for doing so in my Foreword.)  Thus, I’ve tried to rectify the situation a little by giving them a shred of dignity as per their moniker.

As for the boys... well, they’ve become quite iconic since Barrie first introduced them, no? It’s my belief that we tend to think of them as a “tribe” in their own right, and so I’ve capitalized them now as well. Within the world of Pan [story-wise], tales of the eternal boy are retold and passed down... so who is to say that they haven’t acquired “proper noun” status by the time the events of Peter Pan’s NeverWorld roll around?

I can just hear someone with a counter-argument using this notion [i.e. that the story is passed down over generations] in the sense of being able to therefore disregard any of what’s in the story by chalking it up to being altered by oral tradition. Consider, though, this text from the Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens : ...if you ask her whether he rode on a goat in those days, she says she never heard of his having a goat. Then is it to be believed? Of course it is. For the Narrator goes on to say: Perhaps she has forgotten, just as she sometimes forgets your name and calls you Mildred, which is your mother's name. Still, she could hardly forget such an important thing as the goat. Therefore there was no goat when your grandmother was a little girl. This shows that, in telling the story of Peter Pan, to begin with the goat (as most people do) is as silly as to put on your jacket before your vest.

Therefore, the establishment of certain elements of Peter Pan’s history can’t be ignored or forgotten. We have the cannon text. It [a la the Narrator] obviously knows what from what and when from when, so we have to follow strictly. Something as trivial as whether or not “Lost Boys” is capitalized, though, well, that’s subject to change - either in thought or in the text as per how much importance one winds up placing on them. And as I’ve said, the Lost Boys, in my opinion, have earned the right to be given proper credit with a proper noun.  And the Native People?  Let's give them the respect they deserve, too.

Gee, I’m not too hyper-speculative or anything, am I?  ;)

Who's Asking About the Past?

Just because it isn't in the story as shown doesn't mean it didn't happen.

By that I mean storytellers need to know the backgrounds and histories of their characters even if those parts of their past are not told in the tale at hand.

As an example, in the movie Back to the Future (and its two great sequels), a high school boy is friends with a crazy (no no, crazy is too harsh... eccentric?  wiley?  frazzled?) scientist with a doctorate who specializes in wacky inventions and has a Rube Goldberg Machine to feed his dog.

The fact that they are friends is pivotal to the story... and when the movie begins, Marty is entering the Doc's (he calls him Doc) "lab"/garage.  Thus, from the start, they have an established relationship.  There's no denying they're good friends.  Even so far as the Doc telling Marty to meet him in the parking lot of the mall at 1:15 in the morning and Marty does it without question!  We're to accept their friendship and go on with the adventure. 

However, fans have always wondered... how does this unlikely pairing exist?  Why does a teenage boy (who has aspirations of being a rock star and problems at home [like so many of them out there]) with a girlfriend choose to spend his time with a (ahem) strange Doc of weird science?  Likewise, why does a white-haired scientist who's been [seemingly] unsuccessfully creating things since at least the 1950's such as a mind-reading helmet (which looks more like an Erector set dome with hair curlers) want to have an angsty kid hanging around?  Oh sure, plenty of answers can exist.  And the speculations ran rampant.  Everyone had their own idea of this duo's dynamic beginnings.  But what's the truth?  Which one is correct?  IS one of them correct?

It turns out yes, there is a definitive answer.  Why?  Because the truth is that director/writer Robert Zemeckis and writer Bob Gale, as well as the actors and others involved with creating the film had their own version of the origins of the friendship between Marty McFly and Dr. Emmett Brown.  Why?  Because as storytellers, they needed to know.  It would affect how the characters reacted, hence the actor's performances.  And it had to all come across as believable.  Which it did... I don't think anyone ever called "foul" on their friendship, just a "Hmmm...what's the deal?"  It didn't present it self as problematic.  Rather it became intriguing.

How do we know there's a definite tale of how they met and became friends?  Not so long ago in the media news, we were treated to the insight by Robert Zemeckis himself.  You can read it here if you're curious.

My point, then, is that a story exceeds the boundaries of the medium in which it is told.  Just because a piece of the characters' or situation's history is not revealed in the book, the author(s) must have an idea of what it had been.  It's not possible to create a successful tale and not know the backstories.  For knowledge of it will shape how the bits that ARE shown play out.  It helps to have the intesity of the emotions and situations bolstered by the past.

Think of your own relationships.  Are they not affected by what had been forged long ago?  If we were to tell an adventure from your life as a book, would it not behoove us to feel the fervor of what had been to better understand the events and kinships that exist during said adventure?  Of course.

Then again, it's not always important to actually know in the storytelling.  After all, we're telling specific events.  The audience can easily be bored by every detail of the past.  In the case of Back to the Future, for instance, we don't need to waste precious movie time with the events that Zemeckis described as the start of their friendship.  They're not part of the tale being told.  Imagine if it the film showed that scene.  We'd then have to show the progression, the build of how they came to care about each other... and thus it would take "forever" to get to what the movie is really about.  But again, these previous moments in time shine through in the background, for as I said, no one questions their being pals.

So it's up to an author to realize what information is pertinent to the story at hand.  But it's also up to the author to know what's pertinent behind the scenes, even if no one wants to or needs to know.  Yet if you do it right, they will want to know.  Any writer who cannot tell you about the extraneous bits of their story isn't doing the job.  That's not to say that every single bit of minutia of has to be known, but by golly, if asked, the answer should come springing forth.  And if it doesn't, don't fear, the characters know... just ask them.

Rules? Well, Maybe to START with...

I came across this on the world wide web. 

V.S. Naipaul’s Rules of Writing for Beginners

1. Do not write long sentences. A sentence should not have more than ten or twelve words.

2. Each sentence should make a clear statement. It should add to the statement that went before. A good paragraph is a series of clear, linked statements.

3. Do not use big words. If your computer tells you that your average word is more than five letters long, there is something wrong. The use of small words compels you to think about what you are writing. Even difficult ideas can be broken down into small words.

4. Never use words whose meaning you are not sure of. If you break this rule you should look for other work.

5. The beginner should avoid using adjectives, except those of colour, size and number. Use as few adverbs as possible.

6. Avoid the abstract. Always go for the concrete.

7. Every day, for six months at least, practice writing in this way. Small words; short, clear, concrete sentences. It may be awkward, but it’s training you in the use of language. It may even be getting rid of the bad language habits you picked up at the university. You may go beyond these rules after you have thoroughly understood and mastered them.

Much of it IS good advice.  But then, I can't get behind all of it fully.
For instance, what about #3?  See this post for more.

As for #4, does anyone actually do that?

I must disagree with #5.  Yes, I've encountered this rule/suggestion before.  But I don't think they need to be eliminated entirely.  Just curtailed.  Every actor will tell you that there's more than one way to read a line.  So in specific instances, writers may want to make sure the reader knows how the character delivered that line.  After all, it's not meant to be interpreted.  It's the author's story and s/he's the one "hearing" it, so naturally an author can/needs to let the reader know how it had been spoken when it's important to the story.

And #6 - avoid the abstract always?  I'm sorry, but for me as both writer and reader I like it when the text makes you use a little effort to figure out what's going on or has been said.  Not to any extreme, of course.  But I don't think every bit needs to be spoon fed without mixing flavors.

And how many times have we heard of a success that broke the rules?

I suppose it all comes down to it being for beginners?  Along with the line in it:  'You may go beyond these rules after...' But still, it seems as if writing produced under these strict laws would be very dry, dull and boring.  It might be effective in getting the point across quickly... but that's not always desirable in storycraft.  Or at least I don't think so.  A good tale needs to be spiced, tasted, savored and digested.

Thus, I prefer to think of them the way the rules are spoken of in the Pirates of the Caribbean series.  They're more like guidelines.

Writing the Future

I turned on the TV (I'll admit hoping for an episode of Johnny Test) and came across the original Buck Rogers serials being played on TMC.

It's fun to watch, seeing one of the influences on George Lucas to create the Star Wars Saga.  Even his expository remarks at the beginning receeding into space at an angle is an homage to these old space adventure shows.  I'd been aware, naturally, (though not specifically about the moving words!) and have seen the serials before.  But it doesn't stop it from being a treat.

I'd also seen the 1979 Buck Rogers movie as well as enjoyed the TV series that followed.  Not sure if that would still be the case, I might roll my eyes at my younger self for liking it.  Not sure.  But again, it's quite fun to re-experience the origins.  How things evolve, eh?

What prompted me to post however, had been a particular incident.  A man uses a teleportation tube of some sort, phazing in like he's being reconfigured atom-wise  (which, by the way, Star Trek borrowed for their transporters) to hand in a report to a head honcho.  It got me to thinking...  Interesting that in this ultra-futuristic 25th Century they don't have a way to send a report without a person hand delivering it.  They do have communication devices (like a future phone/intercom) though.  Sure, it could be the case that the reports are very secret or something and they need to be handled in person.  But in this part of the story that didn't seem to apply.

Obviously the writers didn't think up something like a fax machine, or even a text message.  I don't mean that as a slam or an admonishment.  There's no reason they should of conceived of them.  They had enough to dream up, no?

That's the part that got me thinking.  It's often the storyteller's job to invent the future. Suppose the writers had thought of data pads and wireless transfer of information.  They might have planted the seed for us having them today.  For as Jules Verne and H.G. Wells have demonstrated, tales of the fantastic will give rise to reality.

Stories don't just entertain, they inspire.

I'd Been Hoodwinked!

The other night when Bart and I gathered at Banky’s place for our weekly visit with him, Clara, Buttercup & Josiecat, I discovered once again that the “don’t judge by how it appears” rule applies.

Josiecat brought us a movie to watch. I knew of it. And I had dismissed it as something that I need not see. You know how it goes... it just looked like the type of stuff cranked out with all flash and no substance. Well, obviously the presentational packaging (trailer/ads) didn’t do it justice. To my surprise, Hoodwinked is a gem!

A spin on the well-known tale of Little Red Riding Hood, it had been a welcome change from the recent semi-letdown of Red Riding Hood. There’s a LOT packed into Hoodwinked. And all of it is delightful.

It actually begins with the old adage of not judging a book by its cover, opening up a storybook as it does so. We’re then told that there is more than one side to every story, also very true. We start the tale this time around with Red entering Grandma’s house and encountering the Wolf dressed as Grandma. It’s obvious that Red is not fooled, but plays along in the sense of buying time. Shortly after, Granny bursts out of the closet and then, well, the real fun begins.

Grandma’s house is now a crime scene - yellow “Caution Do Not Cross” strips, cop cars and everything. Each ‘character’ is questioned by the police (the chief is a bear) and gives their side of the story. As such, we are then treated to skipping backward in time to when their “real” story started. For instance, we now see Red leaving her place, getting on her bike and traveling to Granny’s. Along the way we notice various things we do not quite understand, such as the woodcutter looking awfully dejected and follow Red’s soon to be misadventures all the way up until she opens the door to Grandma’s house. Also for instance, in her version, the Wolf is quite intrusive and frightens her with an attack and she runs from him.

Well, then comes the Wolf’s side of the story. His over-inquisitiveness about the contents of Red’s basket and her destination? Oh, he’s really a reporter, you see, trying to crack the case of who has been stealing all the recipes for Goodies across the forest and putting everyone out of business. (Granny’s recipes [the best Goodies of all] are highly prized by whoever the bandit happens to be.) We’re then treated to the Wolf's misadventures. Thus, we now see what really happened in some parts. Like that ‘lunge attack and growl’ upon Red? His squirrel helper’s shenanigans crunches his tail and he’s really crying out and moving in pain. (Red saw it otherwise!)

It goes on... retelling each ‘day’ of each character and we therefore learn the truth about how things really played out. We find out why the woodcutter looked despondent. We find out why Granny had been tied up in the closet (which the Wolf swears had already been the case when he arrived - and my my my is it hilarious how it really goes down.)  [I tend to applaud this type of interlocking 'point of view' story in the first place.  The Simpsons also has a wonderful version of it.]

But it doesn’t stop there. Nope. The telling of the truth by each character only takes up a portion of the movie. From then on, it’s an action adventure as the characters race to find and capture the infamous bandit. And it never loses sight of that crafty wit and great story.

All of it is peppered with humor of the slapstick and pun varieties. And all of it is wonderfully entertaining. I must say the writing is ingenious. Funny lines coupled with tightly knit and unexpected ideas. I suppose one would compare it to the Shrek franchise - a la twisting the land of fairy tale with anachronistic and our-worldly themes. The similarity is there, yes, but the focus is quite different. Hoodwinked stands on its own, reminding me of the old Rocky & Bullwinkle shorts Fractured Fairy Tales. While Shrek is wonderful, it’s does not have the same drive and layers of Hoodwinked.

It has terrific vocal talent, too. Among others you’ll find Anne Hathaway, Patrick Warburton, David Ogden Stiers and Glenn Close.

I enjoyed this one immensely. Thank you, Josiecat, for showing it to us. I’m so very glad that I’d been wrong.

And I must say the title, although ‘cutesy’ is truly apt. The characters are not only hoodwinked, but it’s taking a wink at the story of Hood.

It’s really too bad that this movie, among a slew of other sub-par and quick-buck animated features, got lost in the woods.

P.S. - Hoodwinked Too! Hood vs. Evil will be out April 29. And yes, the way this one ends, the sequel is warranted and welcomed. Guess who will be going!

Tell It to Me Again...

I’m a little muddled on the concept of the “re-telling” of story.

From what I've seen lately, I think the term has become quite confused and ill-used.

Webster’s Dictionary defines it simply as: a new version of a story

Dictionary.com gives a little more info with this entry:

a new, and often updated or retranslated, version of a story.

I always took it to mean someone else is conveying a previously told/created story using their own flair, wit and words and possibly adding a new element here or there, or (as the online Dictionary suggests) updating it to meet current trends.

For instance, the story of Cinderella has been around since, for all intents and purposes, the dawn of time. One version or another of a tale of a bedraggled and abused person coming to happiness and fortune by the aid of a presence beyond the normal scope exists in every culture for century upon century.  Along the way, storytellers have put their own spin, so to speak, fleshing out the well-known facts of this rags-to-riches narrative in another light, changing a bit to give it their own pizazz or making it seem fresh.  Take Charles Perrault, who brought us the glass slipper as opposed to the golden footwear. Is it the spirit of her dead mother in a tree or is it a Fairy Godmother that comes to her aid?  In essence, it doesn't really matter... so long as she does have a “supernatural” helper to some degree. And so, Cinderella is “re-told.”

So my idea of a the reason/form of retelling would simply be for an author to “put it” as s/he would in her or his own style and way but ultimately following the original plot.

Where it gets complicated, it would seem, is when it's applied to a story that is not derived from an undiscernable source (a la fairy/folk tales passed down via oral tradition) but rather a tale conceived of and set down by a particular author.  Lately I have seen the word describing stories that use such an established tale as a springboard to send the characters and/or plot in a new direction.

For instance, let’s say one wants to retell Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. This new version starts off with her following the White Rabbit down the hole and meeting most of the same wacky bunch of characters but now Alice finds the cookbook to control the potent size-manipulation and uses her knowledge of the chessboard (as we can assume that the new storyteller wants to bring in elements of Through the Looking-Glass as well) to become the supreme ruler of the wondrous place and does so permanently, never leaving 'Wonder-Glass World.'

Okay... to me, that’s not a retelling. That’s something else...a... hmm... I’m not really sure. The word “reimagining” is often bantered around, but I don’t think that quite applies either.

As I see it, a reimagining would be something that takes the premise and tweaks it into another way of looking at it. For instance, the Alice tales reimagined: Alice is a quantum physicist who stumbles into another ‘string’ of reality and becomes increasinly more insane as she tries to apply her knowledge of how our universe functions in a place where the behavior of matter (and customs) are quite different and 'break down' from our own.  However, for all this imagined-differently, Alice still winds up at a banquet table, plays lawn darts with a Queen, is put on trial and then escapes...hence, recounting, more or less, the original events through this lens of our modern scientist Alice.  But then... since this "version" follows the semi-exact path of the stories by Lewis Carroll, does it then become a retelling rather than a reimaging?

 

Let’s take an example that actually HAS built upon Alice. The Looking-Glass Wars series by Frank Beddor has been labeled a retelling, so it's a prime candidate for this argument. For those who don’t know, heir to the throne Alyss escapes from another world (you know where) into ours and tells mathematician/deacon Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (Carroll) her harrowing tale of her aunt (the Red Queen) having taking over the throne and the land with a bloody and iron fist. The main characters are there, but in almost complete other forms. The ‘rub’ is that Dodgson/Carroll got her true stories all shuffled up, mistaking her plight for fantasy and "told it wrong" thus creating the wacky “children’s story" we know. And so, Beddor presents us with the "real" story of Alyss/Alice.  But that’s not a retelling... is it?  Again, the Alice stories aren’t quite being TOLD in it... they’re being used.

For another example, would Sarah Gray's Wuthering Bites be a retelling?  (See this post.)

I don’t mean to suggest that new elements cannot be brought in, nor that the events of the new version/vision must follow the sequence of events to the letter. Far from it... as evidenced by the Cinderella example. But when one takes the story itself FAR FROM IT, that’s, well, another story...

From the realm of the silver screen, I put up Sydney White as an example of what a completely overhauled story can be like and yet STILL be considered a re-telling.  Sydney White reconstitutes the story of Snow White but on a college campus.  Is it one-for-one with the fairy tale?  Okay, no, not exactly.  But then again, the SPINE of the story is there.  The major elements from the original tale exist in one form or another -- the magic mirror is a social networking website at the school showing student popularity, the poison apple [very easily yet smartly done (I won't reveal how!)], the seven dwarves become the 'seven dorks' [all wonderfully 'translated:' Sneezy has major allergies, Doc is a grad student, Bashful has social development issues, etc.] -- and the story takes serious turns from the original such as an election for Student Body President... yet it flows along, quite obviously parallel to the famous tale we all know.  It's marvelously done.  Bravo to writer Chad Gomez Creasey!

So I put this question out there:

What is a retelling?
Can something be a “retelling” if the original tale is not actually being told?

And if not, what DOES one call such a novel/story that borrows the locales, concepts, characters and a smattering of events from another author's  (whether specific or not) story? 

And if you’re wondering: No, in my mind the bold & marvelous Hook & Jill by fellow author and friend Andrea Jones is not a retelling.  Andrea's work is grounded in the adventures the Darling children are having in the midst of Barrie's tale, but then veers from his events into a brand new adventure for every character in it.  Thus it’s a... an alternate timeline, perhaps?  Yet this term does not cover many (or most?) of the other such adventures (ahem!) re-told.

Is the word we need for such storytelling re-envisioning? Or maybe reworking?

Is it just me?  Why are we labeling things a retelling when they are merely based on another tale?  Am I unclear on the meaning of "retelling" or has the world gone mad with a misnomer?

The Lies and No’s of "Pinocchio"

I asked Bart a question regarding the story of Pinocchio. It had probably been in comparison between the real thing and Disney. Bart had at least part of the answer, but promptly reported that he did not so much care for the original story as the little wooden boy proved way too awful for him when he had tried to read it once upon a time.

To the internet! As I suspected, Project Gutenberg came to the rescue... and I began to read The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi.  I’m kind of appalled. Not just by the unexpected horrid events in the story, but by the quality of the story itself.

Bart told me (and the internet confirmed) that it had been written as a serial at first - and Bart suggested the “made it up as he went along” as a probable “excuse” for the writing.

What got my goat? Well, the work is entirely off the wall for one thing, but more importantly, the narrative doesn’t seem to care one whit about logic. No, I don’t mean the fantastical elements of the tale such as a living marionette and a talking cricket. I’d been put off by the seemingly sheer disregard for sense and cohesion. For instance, at one point our mostly naughty protagonist comes across chick peas when he is very hungry (he’s very hungry quite a bit!) and we are informed that Pinocchio has always hated chick peas. How does he know when he’s never come across them before in the story? (Yes, we’re given blow-by-blow of his eating habits.) Oh sure, you might want to chalk it up to a kid turning his nose up at the sight of something but consider that it’s not written to be construed as such.  And I suppose a previous tasting could just have been left out. But if that’s not enough to convince you, other such "abrupt absolutes" exist such as the fact that Pinocchio, on his own, without having (yet) gone to school or having been taught by Geppetto (who, by the way, has at this point in the story landed himself in jail because the townspeople fear for the puppet’s life given his horrible temper) knows not only what an egg (by name) is when he finds one, but what an omelet (and other cooked forms) is as well as the procedure on how to produce said entrée. In fact, he knows all sorts of words and concepts right off the bat. Perhaps I am over reacting, as it is a children’s story and what does it matter? Two responses to that... first, it matters because it is one of many apparently careless absurdities mounting in an non-ignorable pile throughout the story up until then (and beyond) and I should like to think a child is more discerning than that. I, at least, had been, and know many other kids whose reaction to such occurrences in stories would be similar. It did not, you see, have a charming nonsense to it as one finds in the Carroll's Alice tales, nor does it have a self-contained indiscernible logic to it like Barrie’s telling us that fairy dust makes one fly. And that second response? Well, I’ll get to that in a bit...

Another disturbing factor in The Adventures of Pinocchio is that Bart had pretty much been correct. You may think Peter Pan is a horrid boy but at least he’s not throwing a hammer (and thus killing) an innocent talking cricket at his first encounter with one. Yes, he kills the (unnamed) cricket... sort of... the cricket comes back as a ghost and then at the end it appears as if (rather confusingly and ambiguously) that the cricket had only been pretending to be dead. But still, who would have thought that Pinocchio throws at hammer at the ‘beloved’ insect character because he doesn’t like that he’s told he’s a bad boy?

Pinocchio is bad from the start. As Geppetto is making him he kicks the old man. Oh... the blue fairy that comes to bring him to life? Forget about her for now. She doesn’t show up until halfway through the book, so no, she’s not the one who bestows life on him at Geppetto’s wish. (Geppetto never makes any such wish, actually - he creates him to make money performing with him.  And furthermore, Pinocchio doesn't seem to care about being a real boy until three-quarters of the way through the story either.) When he makes the mouth, Pinocchio instantly laughs at and insults him...when told to stop, he pokes out his tongue. Perhaps you’re wondering Geppetto’s reaction to his creation being alive as he makes it? So am I. There really isn’t one except for him thinking he deserves it...but otherwise, inexplicably, he just accepts it as it happens. In fact, NO ONE in the story is wide-eyed at a living marionette. Not the townspeople, the police, nor the Fox and Cat, the (alleged) evil puppeteer, the kids at school nor the teacher, Lamp-Wick, the fisherman... no one. Furthermore, it just seems to be a fact of the story that marionettes are alive. Indeed, the other puppets in Fire Eater’s (yes, that’s his name) theatre are alive. With no strings. Folks, Disney added that concept! In another example of the horrific nature of the story, Fire Eater wants to cook his dinner so he’s about to throw Pinocchio on the flames. Our dubious hero’s ramblings about his poor old father that he wronged who will be left all alone (which seems to be not so much actual concern as clever manipulation since he otherwise appears to hate Geppetto) and whatnot cause Fire Eater to spare him, so Fire Eater decides to use the Harlequin marionette (as throwing living puppets on the fire is a routine occurrence with his troupe) but then in another example of out-of-the-blue absurdity Pinocchio protests that he should be used in place of his best friend. Best friend? He met the other puppet naught but a scene ago! What’s more, the other marionettes recognized Pinocchio by name without ever having encountered or hearing of him before.

Other notable “whoa” moments: Pinocchio’s feet are burned off.  He is hanged.  He’s jailed (for being a victim of robbery and released four months later for admitting he’s also a thief.)  Laughing at Pinocchio tripping, a serpent bursts an artery and dies. Pinocchio is forced to be a watchdog, complete with a collar/leash and little doghouse. Unlike Disney portrays, Pinocchio fully becomes a donkey at the place of pleasure [translated here as the Land of Toys], is sold and made to perform in a circus - only to be become lame and thus re-sold, then drowned for the purpose of taking his skin to make a drum but the fishes eat off his donkey flesh and he’s a puppet boy again.

So there you have it, the story is filled with an unforgiving strangeness, all wrapped up in an overly heavy handed moral. It’s fine to have morals and lessons in a story but these are all too directly stated. And relentless.  (As in every other chapter.)

Okay, sure, kids might like this kind of thing, right? Well, I said I’d get back to that and here ‘tis:  The Adventures of Pinocchio had not been intended for kids. Well, half of it anyway. Collodi deemed the story over at the part where Pinocchio had been hung and he meant it (a la that overbearing moral) to show what a gruesome end one comes to for being disobedient. Someone encouraged him to write more, however, and that it could be a tale for children. Apparently children’s literature had been a brand new idea in the early 1880’s. Thus, he continued it and the Lady/Fairy with Blue Hair [who claims to be dead, by the way] saves Pinocchio. From then on the “Blue Fairy” is part of the narrative (but it’s not her that makes him a real boy.)

I suppose we can “forgive” the tale for its ill-crafted non-sensibilities given that children’s lit had been fresh out of the gate. But still, it just makes my skin crawl that someone writing a story would not pay attention to details.  I did suspect that the story had been meant as a tongue-in-cheek comedy, probably even a dark comedy.  But even on that level I don't see how it would have been engaging for an adult.

There are reportedly two (at least two) new movie adaptations of the little wooden boy coming to the big screen...and I’m curious how they’re going to handle it. After I read it, Bart and I watched the 1996 version starring Martin Landau and Jonathon Taylor Thomas. Not so bad, actually, but it resembled the original story only vaguely and loosely with plenty of MAJOR rewrites along the way, which, as evidenced, might not be such a bad thing. And Jim Henson productions really came through with some amazing spectacles.

I’ll tell you, though, this is one tale that Disney improved! But even theirs had a heavy-handed, beat-the-horse-dead moralistic tone to it. Curiously, though, they only have Pinocchio’s nose grow once in theirs... it does happen a few times in the original. (There’s even a scene where he cannot get out the door because his nose is so long [of which by the way, I fail to fully grasp the logic.])

So, once again, we have a tale that is completely overshadowed by the erroneous perceptions and elements thrust upon the original by others.   A story that everyone thinks they know by heart - but truthfully "no one" really knows the half of it.  Normally I recommend reading the real thing... but this one seems best when letting someone else pull the strings.

From the mouth of a puppet.

TWOting a Horn

Well, I have now seen every episode of Johnny Test. Yes, the quest to catch all of his adventures is over. I’d thought perhaps this happened a couple of times, for I’d not been entirely sure from the brief descriptions of a few of them if I had in fact seen those segments. Well, to be utterly redundant, now I have for certain. Not to worry though - new episodes are now on the way each Monday. Hooray!

I’ve made it known in this post how much I adore Johnny Test, both show and character. I think the last time I loved a cartoon program this much had been Animaniacs. I said that I’d most likely discuss aspects of it again. The time has come.

One such aspect that impresses me is that each episode has two segments, that is to say two separate stories. Each is about eleven minutes long. Think of that. A whole adventure in eleven minutes! Johnny Test, of course, is not the only TV cartoon which does that. Another that springs to mind is The Mighty B! which stars the great Amy Pohler. Another I like, The Fairly OddParents, also has two smaller stories. Even Animaniacs followed this format, sometimes with more than two ‘episodes’ within the half hour [and always with a different set of characters.]

I just wanted to point it out. From a writer’s standpoint, it’s quite a feat. Especially when the condensing still feels like a bigger event in such a short amount of time. In other words, I never feel short changed by the compact stories. In Johnny's case, it includes a funny bit that turns into the exposition/launching for the story, the acquistion of what's wanted/needed, the problems that ensue, the thinking of a solution (on the part of the characters) and the resoultion. All in eleven minutes. And that’s not just a “boom boom boom” of “plot points” but also character development, jokes and homages. I’ve talked a little bit about this with my faithful reader & commenter Anon, who holds the position that it speeds along too quickly. I can understand that view, for it isn’t as if the fast pace goes entirely unnoticed. But it doesn’t bother me, perhaps because it mirrors the ever-moving mind of a child. An argument can be made, I suppose, that it’s a reflection of the somewhat founded belief of kids’ dwindling attention spans. But I don’t see it that way, since they’re also “expected” to watch both mini-episodes.

The long and short of it is that it allows for more adventures of Johnny (or whichever character[s].) And I, for one, am much happier having had double the amount of his shenanigans.

So to those who write the mini-sodes of the cartoon world: Bravo!
Thanks for all the extra fun.

CthuFOOLhu

I admit it. I’d been fooled by it.
What is it?
An amazing movie:
The Call of Cthulhu

How/why did it fool me? Let me tell you.

I’d been browsing around Netflix and it made a suggestion based upon other selections. It decided that I would like movies based on works by H.P. Lovecraft. I’m not a fan of Lovecraft, not in the true sense. I’m not NOT a fan, either. I’m peripherally familiar with his work. I’d probably like most of it, but what I do know of it sometimes goes a little far out there even for my disturbed tastes… so I never delved in headfirst.

The movie it suggested, From Beyond, had mixed reviews, but it seemed most of them were favorable. Many, though, called it a faithful adaptation. Anyone who knows me will know that to be a big selling point. I thought I might have seen it in college, shown to me by a friend obsessed with the horrifying twisted stuff of Lovecraft. Turns out I had… but it then led me to check out another Lovecraft based movie, none other than The Call of Cthulhu. I’d been even happier to read that The Call of Cthulhu had been much touted as the most accurate film version of a Lovecraft work. Even more delicious: a silent era movie! Instant Queue’d immediately. Bear in mind that I didn’t really read up on the stats of this movie.

One day I got around to watching it. I went into it with an open mind, quite interested in how the infancy of cinema would achieve the fiendish dementia of Lovecraft. I’d been amazed at how well. Everything about this movie screamed care for the story and filmcraft. The sets, for instance, had a broad scope and "delivered."One tracking-like shot (going backward!) in particular sticks in my mind. The whole show seemed reminiscent of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. It maintained a high level of creepiness. And since I hadn’t read the short story it came from (but knew quite a bit about the character Cthulhu) I found myself drawn into the ever-deepening quest in the movie. The quest toward Cthulhu’s call, of course. And when the horrifying visage that IS Cthulhu the Great did appear on screen…whoa! Eat your heart out 1981 Clash of the Titans Kraken! Okay, yes, the effects 1981 were certainly much better… but hold your horses… The Call of Cthulhu is not actually a silent era movie! Come again? Thus, you see how I’d been fooled.

It’s quite true… the film had been made in 2005. Yes, yes, yes. I had seen that date on the movie description. I thought it meant the movie had been restored to its former glory. A logical assumption in this heyday of film restoration, no? Especially since I had also noticed that the H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society had been involved. I figured it to be an archival project. Nope. A 2005 film made to appear like it had been made circa 1925. Impressive! I took on a whole new appreciation for the film. Wonderful skills across the board – from the lighting to the acting. A beautiful mimicry. And to know the boundaries… by which I mean how to make it appear as if it could have been done back then. Using the tools of the day to the hilt.

One reviewer said that it’s not accurate in that it isn’t scary. In order to be true to Lovecraft, he says, it would have to be frightening. Obviously he’d not be scared by it. I have to disagree with him. Few movies actually“scare” me, but I’m a regular at getting unnerved and creeped out. And boy howdy, if this one didn’t do just that! Actually, I think it’s partially the “silent era” quality of it that boosted the overall creepiness. For I’d also been impressed with the way they delivered the chills “back then.” Which in turn praises the filmmakers for understanding not only the look of a bygone style, but the innerworkings of it as well.

And you know what? The story's quite fun and freaky, too.

Bravo H.P. Lovecraft!
Bravo director Andrew Leman and team!

The Excitement Overshadowed

It's GROUNDHOG DAY!

Uh... wait, should we even be excited?


Is this not one of the strangest "celebrations" ever?

My mother always asked how it could NOT see its shadow what with all the media lights and circus surrounding it, to say nothing of being scared back into its burrow regardless of catching sight of it. And me? I'd always thought how ridiculous it all seemed, especially when the groundhog most likely must be roused for the occasion (i.e. as if it acutally awoke on that date every year like clockwork [especially when the calendar is screwy anyway].)

Are we this desperate for entertainment or for the Winter to end?

Talk about concocting stories, eh?

Groundhog Day Wiki [Be sure to scroll down to "Groundhog Day in popular culture"]


Now... where else have I seen a shadow playing a major part in a story? ;)

Suspension Strength Speculation

In my previous post about Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, I mentioned I wanted to bring up another topic related to it.

Let me start by saying that I do not have an answer or a decision on this issue. (Which is kind of funny, given what it’s about.) I’m just bringing it up for discussion, as it were. I’d love to be able to figure it out, but alas, I have not yet been able to do so. Any theories you’d like to present would be great.

I don’t mean to be picking on this movie. As I have said, I enjoyed it as a fun flick. It’s just that this issue came to me once again while watching it, so I’ll be using it as an example.

The problem, in a nutshell, is exposition. Or in another term: explanation.

It would rather appear that Mr. Magorium is a magical entity. He says to another character (Henry Weston [Jason Bateman]): I've been inventing toys since the 1770's. Weston then calculates: You know, that would make you at least 240 years old, sir. Besides his longevity, Magorium seems to have other magical powers at his disposal - or at least is surrounded by magic: objects (toys) and doors/rooms of the shop. It’s quite delightful - except for one bit. I’d like to know the wherefore of it all.

Now, it certainly could be (and probably is) just me. For I asked Bart (who also enjoyed it but didn’t deem it stellar either) and he said that he didn’t mind not knowing about Mr. Magorium. He took him at face value, as some sort of magical being, and that’s that. That’s fine, it can (and for some) does work as such. But not for me. At least…not here.

What’s interesting is that there have been similar cases in other stories where not having some sort of explanation of a character’s attributes or abilities didn’t bother me at all. A very good example is Willy Wonka. He’s got a “magical thing” going on - as well as the longevity factor. I never wanted to question it - he’s Willy Wonka, damnit. You’ll also find a post in which I say that in Burton’s version of it I am put off by the addition of an explanation of sorts (i.e. a backstory.) I even got into a discussion about it with someone in the commentary. I should state, however, that Burton’s “past” for Wonka doesn’t give an explanation of his magical qualities. So that bewonderment is intact.

So the question is: Why am I readily able to accept Willy Wonka’s oddity but not Mr. Magorium’s?

One explanation (HA!) might be that I first viewed Willy Wonka as kid. Had I been less discriminating as a child? A good theory, but I don’t think that’s it. For I’d been the type of kid who found the plot holes. I still am. [Incidentally, I wrote a novel based on a particular fairy tale, spawned out of the plot holes I wanted to fix as a kid.] And yet… sometimes, it just doesn’t concern me. Take for instance, the beloved character with whom I am all too familiar: Peter Pan. As a kid I’d been fascinated by and accepting of the nonsensical in it. I’m STILL willing to suspend my disbelief (rather interesting choice of words for that story) however - it should be obvious at this point that I’m also “concerned” about it. After all, I’m writing a novel that helps explain some of its mysteries. By the same token, I am not trying to eliminate the mysterious either. I’m working within the boundaries of what’s established by Barrie to do it. A betwixt-and-between of rational and irrational elements.

I also recently posted about Disney’s Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty. I talk about how she’s just a bad egg, inherently evil for the sake of it - and somehow… somehow this is okay in that particular story. Usually when a character is evil “just because” it does not make for a good tale. Villains are “people,” too… and in general we need to know what makes them tick. How is Maleficent so charming and perfect just the way she is without having to know why?

Back to Mr. Magorium. As I also mentioned in the first post, the movie is written and directed by Zach Helm. Now, in another of his works [also mentioned prior], Stranger Than Fiction, we are expected to swallow the idea that a character and author are linked in the real world. Inexplicably. And yet… I not only swallow it, I eat it up with a spoon. Okay, this one might be able to be chalked up to the fact that I often tell people I “talk” to characters. But even so, it’s a fancilfully written story, and it works, sans explanation. Case in point, I found a “hole” in that story that readily has a self-contained solution. I’d been bothered by that hole until I figured out how it’s not one at all… but still, there remains no reason given why the aforementioned “link” occurs. It just does. And I’m fine with it. Interesting, since both of these stories are written by the same man.

So I put forth: When and why does “it just is” work? What makes an explanation moot? Is it the quality of the rest of the tale? Is it a compelling enough characterization? What’s the tensile strength of disbelief when stretched?

Does anyone else fall victim to this sometime-curiosity?

"I'm 'so' done with these, thanks."

Just for the record, here are four subjects for stories of which I am sick to death:

Post Apocalyptic Vampires

Zombies Nazis

You can all go ahead and continue liking them of course, but I for one have had my fill of them.

So I guess the best way to annoy me would be a tale of Vampire Zombie Nazis in the aftermath of a nuclear war (which caused the zombism and awoke the vampires, presumably.)

(Quite an interesting use of the Swastika. I'm hoping they are from the era before the symbol had been chnaged into its present iconography.)

"The Story Generator"

Need a jolt of creativity?

Or just want to create a laugh?

David Malki has made a tongue-in-cheek Story Generator.

Pick what you want from each category and voila!

The Psychonaut: In an anachronistic Japan, a young flying message courier stumbles across a dream-inducing drug which spurs him into conflict with a charismatic politician on the rise with the help of a tomboyish female mechanic and her wacky pet culminating in wish-fulfillment solutions to real-world problems.

You, too, can concoct your own story. Either click on the picture for a larger (and readable view.) You can also click HERE for the actual page and see more of Mr. Malki's creations.

At the very least it's highly amusing to play with...at the very most, it just might get your pen started.

Well played, David Malki. Thanks for sharing!

Lost in the Woods...

I apologize.
I pulled a Peter Pan maneuver.
I went away with saying anything first...

Bart, his father, aunt, a family friend and I whisked off to Door County, Wisconsin, for an extended weekend. We had a lovely time. It's just a great place to do the proverbial "nothing" and take it slow. My favorite part is always seeing the stars. Here in the city the lights overshadow the heavens. But in a clearing in the woods (where with the car lights off one cannot see one's hand in front of one's face) the very Milky Way shines above. When there I think about Ancient Peoples. How amazing the stars are to me, even with all the crammed in knowledge about their nature from schooling, etc. But to be enclosed in absolute darkness...with a multitude of glimmering pinpricks and washes of shimmering cloudiness... what it must have been like to experience. No wonder the Woods held such a grip on the imagination, fear and storytelling. The forests of Shakespearean plays, for instance, come alive anew. It's inspiring to say the least.

I'm sorry to have flown without warning. I'll try not to let it happen again.

It's JUST a story? Ah, no.

Yesterday I noticed on the on-screen TV Guide Night at the Museum coming on next. I set TiVo to record. I had not yet seen it and I’d also heard good reports about it.

Enjoyable, yes. Pefect, no.
Yes, I know, perfection is hard to come by.

I’m not actually going to review the film. Rather I wish to use it as platform to make a point.
While watching the movie, I wound up with several questions regarding the logistics.

First off, some of the museum characters/displays/figures could speak English, while others could not. Makes sense, until you consider that some of those who would not know English somehow did. And it seemed to be only for matters of convenience to the plot.

Second, I wondered what happened to some of the museum structures that would normally exist. What I mean is, when a full body Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton is on display, aren’t there support rods? Or wires from the ceiling, perhaps? And what about the fasteners between its own joints? The dinosaur in this film had none such structures and yet stood complete, posed. If it had these restraints on it, it couldn’t get up and walk around. How convenient. (It goes for many other displays, too.)

Said T-Rex also obliterated the front desk. I mean smashed it to hell. And yet, the next day, the front desk is unscathed, as if it didn’t happen. How? You might think this chalks up to the museum reverting back to its normal state. Well, that would work as an answer if not for the fact that other damages and changes do not revert. In fact, things amiss are part of the plot.

Perhaps your reaction to my qualms is: “It’s just a movie, get over it.” This happens to be one of my biggest pet peeves. And yet, I hear this response a lot. Sure, it’s a movie, but it’s not just a movie. It’s a story being told… a story being told about a particular place and time, one that has rules and regulations that should not and cannot be ignored. Especially when dealing with a basis in our own reality. If such details are not paid attention to, then the story is not composed properly. The “movie world” is real, at least for the purposes of the characters and objects within the movie…and by extension for the audience “buying into it.” But it’s difficult to "buy into it" when what’s being sold doesn’t fly.

If you’re still not convinced, I’ve thought of a comparison.
Let’s say you go out to eat. You’ve been looking forward to the restaurant all day, salivating over what delectable tastes will grace your palette. The food arrives. It looks great, smells pretty darn good… but, it’s bland. Someone didn’t cook it properly, perhaps? It doesn’t matter, though. It’s only food, right? Why do you need food to taste good? It’s just food and will still work with your metabolism, so why should you expect it to be prepared well?

Why, then, are we more often than not expected to swallow a half-baked story?

In the case of Night at the Museum, they do handle one of my objections: the speaking of English. It is explained that over the 55 year span that the displays have been coming to life, they picked up on the language from the museum visitors. There! Is that so hard? A quick, catch-all and convincing solution. [Except not ALL of the characters can speak English, so one has to wonder if it’s a matter of convenience for the plot [such as being unable to communicate with Genghis Khan and thus mayhem ensuing] or if we can blame it on lack of caring by some of them to bother to learn the language. Could be, but I'm guessing it's just lack of caring.

As for the other issues, they remain unexplained other than without them being there, the story will fall apart like the dinosaur would.

I think we should be able to expect more of our stories in terms of mental nourishment, don’t you? Even if it’s just “summer entertainment.” If it’s got gaping holes in, don’t present it as entertainment. If an author doesn't care enough to think about the ramifications of his/her own world/story, why should we care about the story at all?

Maybe it’s just me, but I hope not.

ADDENDUM: I have not read the source material by Milan Trenc. My apologies if the book does address the issues stated. Though glancing around on Amazon, it doesn't seem like it would, as the book and movie are apparently not alike other than the premise. (Imagine that.) And it's more of a picture book.

Fluffly, No!!

Are there any authors of children's picture books out there reading my posts?
I'm only asking because I think you might find this newspaper "report" lends itself to your craft.

Sets my mind ablaze with laughter, imagery and narrative possiblities.
How about you?

I found the above clipping at Criggo. If you're not visiting it regularly, you're missing out.

What Barrie Wrote Out the Window

Back in this post I brought up a discrepancy in Barrie’s work. Namely the amount of time Peter Pan spent at his parents’ house before flying away. It varies by version. But is it really a discrepancy? Let’s have a look.

In the eternal boy's first ever appearance, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens*, we are told he flew away seven days after being born. Though just one week does not sound very long, it is in fact the most amount of time given for the scenario.

For when Barrie created further adventures in the play, Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up we hear Pan say he left the day of his birth. Aha! The discrepancy!

You’ve probably heard (read?) me say that Barrie preferred the book over the play. What does he write in the novel? Wendy, I ran away the day I was born. So does it stand to reason he’d definitely switched it in his mind to a day rather than a week? Possibly.

However, the book is technically not the final version of the story. Consider from his screenplay: I ran away from home, Wendy, soon after I was born. Aha! Peter states it a little differently now. Note the ambiguity – “soon after.” Could be any time from the same day to seven days later.

So what are we to make of the situation? We could just dismiss it right here, content in knowing that Peter Pan spent a very short time at home. Perhaps the exact amount isn’t important. Very possible, but one more factor must be considered.

It can even be considered the solution – one provided by Barrie. Don’t forget Peter’s memory is not to be trusted. Plus, he’s inclined to make stuff up. Just as with the directions to the Neverland, Peter said anything that came into his head at the time. In fact, it’s also supported by the text of the novel: “I don’t know,” he replied uneasily, “but I am quite young.” He really knew nothing about it, he had merely suspicions, but he said at a venture, “Wendy, I ran away the day I was born.” Therefore, it would seem definite that Peter is just wrong on the amount. He doesn’t remember exactly. Yet we also know from the text that he did live in Kensington Gardens for a while, so the first story did occur. (Yes, Peter Pan is the one who tells us this bit of history as well, but it's supported by an entire novella.)

So what are we to conclude?

The “soon after” of the screenplay is obviously meant to cover both accounts of the event. But given Pan’s lack of understanding and knowledge, we must look to the place which has no such ties to Peter relating the story. Which takes us back to the Peter Pan origin adventure, where the narrator states the duration as a week. Coupling it with Barrie's preference to the book form, it also makes sense as Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens is both a book and its events are not negated by any version of the story. Thus, seven days is the correct answer.

I hope I’ve cleared it up.

Unfortunately, Barrie is not without a few other mysteries in his most famous tale. And the “big one” of these is quite a doozy – but I’ve tinkered with it and I believe I have a Barriesque solution. I’ve mentioned my interquel of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens and Peter and Wendy before. But that’s a story for another day.

*Technically, it's The Little White Bird, as PPiKG is a story within that story.