Author: Jandy Page 94 of 145

Blogging is Life-Changing

Anna of Goannatree tagged me for a meme (originally started at Seedlings in Stone) wondering how blogging has changed your life, for better or worse. Let’s see what I can come up with.

1. Blogging has helped me find who I am as a writer. I’m not wholly there yet, in the writer-finding process, but I’m definitely closer than I used to be. I’ve always written well (at least, judging by my grades), but writing for class always carries some amount of artificial restrictions. I was always a more personal writer than I probably should’ve been in academic contexts, but in grad school, writing for class and writing a blog at the same time really helped me to pick out which parts of my writing came from academic requirements and which ones were me, and how to use both to my advantage. And also figure out that I’m a much better fit as a blogger than as an academic writer.

2. Blogging has given me an online community. Blogging is very fluid and bloggers in general tend to be very open, and you can enter communities without too much difficulty, if you try. I’m still on the outskirts of the film blogging community, but that’s because I haven’t tried hard enough yet (and I don’t want to completely alienate the people who read because they know me personally – more on that in #5). But blogging is also an easy entrance into other social media options – I have a really enjoyable cadre of friends on FriendFeed right now that’s largely independent of this blog, but I wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been a blogger first.

3. Blogging has helped me shape not only my identity as a writer but as a person. It’s a cliche that you can be whoever you want to be on the internet – I’m not sure it’s 100% true, because it’s very hard to be someone completely different than you consistently. On the other hand, it’s not difficult to shape and mold your identity a little bit online, and as you learn to do it in safe anonymity and distance online, you learn to become a little bit more like the person you want to be offline as well. I can definitely state that I’m a different, less shy (except with phones, that’s a different thing), less fearful person than I was before I started blogging/interacting with people online.

4. Blogging has given me a different perspective on online life. Sort of what Anna mentioned about learning to value internet surfing more since she started blogging. I’ve been a participant in message boards and journals for years, long before I started this blog, but after seeing the things that the tech sector and the political sector and the film sector and, well, everywhere really, is doing with blogs – using them in innovative ways from the very individual to the very journalistic to the very academic – I’ve learned again and again that to claim that bloggers are just a bunch of navel-gazers focused on minutiae is to miss the wide variety, interests, and quality of the blogging world. If you think that about bloggers in general, you’re reading the wrong ones.

5. Blogging has made me very aware of audience. Writing for school, the teacher is the audience, no matter how much they try to make the assignment call for a different audience (unless you have a fairly radical composition teacher, which I never had). In blogging, you have to constantly remember at least three audiences: the one you know you have (from people who comment or tell you in person they read your blog), the one you want to have, and the completely amorphous one made up of everyone anywhere who may stumble upon your blog from a link or a Google search. For me, the first one is a few people from my church, a few people from school, internet friends from previous boards, and people I know on FriendFeed or in the film blogosphere. That’s a wide range of people already I have to think about as I wonder how everything I say will come across. The one I want to have is the film and entertainment blogosphere (I would say film only, but I’m having increasing trouble keeping music out of the spotlight), so I think about trying to post things that would interest them. The amorphous one you can’t really plan for (though you can follow it somewhat through stats trackers), but you have to be aware that everything you say is public. Lately, potential employers have been greatly on my mind in this category, since my blog is my major writing sample when I apply to writing/editing/proofreading jobs.

That last thing has actually been on my mind for a while, as my blog has gone through some focus and identity changes in the past few months, so it’s good to get that out there. Thanks, Anna!

Let’s see, I’m horrible about tagging people, but saying “I tag everyone!” is a cop-out. So I’ll tag:
Abby – Pretty Funny for a Girl
Kat – So. There’s That.
Lori – She’s No Lady
Evan/Luke – MovieZeal
Ed – Only the Cinema

And anyone else, of course.

Here are the rules:

1. Write about 5 specific ways blogging has affected you, either positively or negatively.

2. Link back to the person who tagged you.

3. Link back to this parent post on Seedlings in Stone.

4. Tag a few friends or five, or none at all.

5. Post these rules— or just have fun breaking them.

Film Classics – Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans

directed by F.W. Murnau
starring George O’Brien, Janet Gaynor, Margaret Livingston
USA 1927; screened 8 July 2008 at the Silent Movie Theatre, Los Angeles

Let me just quickly tell you about me and Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans. It’s been on my see-soon list for years, as one of the most highly regarded silent films ever. Initially I added it to my Netflix queue, knowing it had been released on DVD as part of a Fox box set though not individually. Netflix apparently lost their copy or something and decided not to replace it, putting in the “unavailable” section of my queue instead. Plan B: Wait for it to come on during TCM’s Silent Sunday Nights or 31 Days of Oscar program. Several months later, it did, and I smiled and set my DVR. Which decided to flake and tape only the first five minutes. Foiled again. About a year later, I moved to LA and what should be showing at the local repertory cinema? Yep, Sunrise accompanied by a live band with an original score. And it was one of the best cinematic experiences of my life, so apparently the cinema powers-that-be just knew that I needed to wait and see it in a cinema rather than on DVD or TV. Thank you.

I’ve heard over and over that silent film had reached a heady apex of artistry by the 1920s that was shattered by the coming of sound and its attendant clunky equipment, but I’m not sure I ever fully believed in the poetic power of silent film as a fully realized art form until I saw Sunrise. I’d been impressed by individual elements of several silent films – the physical comedy of Buster Keaton, the pathos of Charlie Chaplin, the Expressionist oddness of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari - but never had I seen a film that combines the traditional qualities of silent film with a such a timeless sense of humanity and beauty.

The story is simple. A husband ignores his sweet but inconsequential wife in favor of a femme fatale (or vamp, since we’re in the 1920s) from the big city. The vamp convinces the husband to kill the wife to get her out of the way, but as he’s about to do this, he can’t and instead takes the wife to the city and they reconstitute their love. The very simplicity of the story, however, is what allows director F.W. Murnau room to exercise his Expressionist-influenced visual flair and create a dark, moody landscape for the characters to inhabit.

Near the beginning, the vamp coyly leads the husband through the wet and disorienting marshes near his farm, a scene ripe for interpretation by Freudian critics, let me just say. Similarly, the near-murder scene is overacted by both the husband and the wife, but Murnau uses the overdetermined silent movie acting style to great psychological advantage – out of context, the scene could easily be laughable today, but no one in the cinema was laughing. Later, the city is a bustling, dangerous place, showcasing the physicality and motion that silent films perfected before sound came and changed the game.

Though I’m far from seeing all the silent films available (which is still only a small percentage of the ones that were made), I feel fairly confident in declaring that Sunrise represents the epitome of silent film art. It’s not for nothing that it won “Outstanding Artistic Achievement” at the first ever Academy Awards – an award that was never given again. If you can see it in a cinema, do. Otherwise, keep your eye on TCM, as they do play it occasionally.

Favorite Films, One Letter at a Time

I rarely organize my collections alphabetically, at least not as the major organizational tool, since the letter the title starts with is usually less meaningful than the year it was made or the genre that it’s in. But there’s a meme going around film blogs (starting with Blog Cabins) to choose one favorite film that starts with each letter of the alphabet. Forcing you to pick something from each letter is generating some interesting results, so I thought I’d give it a try. (Other entries I’ve seen include: Only the Cinema, Film Doctor, The House Next Door, and Spoutblog.)

Shameless self-promotion – this task was made a lot easier since I recently completed a full list of all the films I’ve ever seen over at my archive site. Still working on the ancillary lists organized by year and rating, but the by title one is done.

AThe Adventures of Robin Hood (1938; Michael Curtiz & William Keighley)
BBand of Outsiders (1964; Jean-Luc Godard)
CCity of Lost Children (1995; Jean-Pierre Jeunet)
DThe Double Life of Veronique (1993; Krzysztof Kieslowski)
EElection (1999; Alexander Payne)
FThe Fountain (2006; Darren Aronofsky)
GGentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953; Howard Hawks)
HA Hard Day’s Night (1964; Richard Lester)
IIn a Lonely Place (1951; Nicholas Ray)
JJFK (1991; Oliver Stone)
KKey Largo (1948; John Huston)
LLock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels (1998; Guy Ritchie)
MMulholland Drive (2001; David Lynch)
NThe Naked Kiss (1964; Samuel Fuller)
OO Brother Where Art Thou (2000; Joel & Ethan Coen)
PPersona (1966; Ingmar Bergman)
QThe Quiet Man (1952; John Ford)
RRear Window (1954; Alfred Hitchcock)
SSunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927; F.W. Murnau)
TThe Thin Man (1934; W.S. Van Dyke)
UThe Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964; Jacques Demy)
VVertigo (1958; Alfred Hitchcock)
WThe Women (1939; George Cukor)
XX-Men (2000; Bryan Singer)
YYoung Frankenstein (1974; Mel Brooks)
ZZodiac (2007; David Fincher)

Anyone else reading this, please feel free to post your own. Consider yourself tagged.

Lost Odyssey – Things I liked, Things I Didn’t

I rented Lost Odyssey a few weeks ago largely because I asked Ashley (who writes a really good gaming-focused blog) about Japanese RPGs and how I could learn to like them. Her foreseeable comeback was to ask me what I didn’t like about them, to which my response was “uh….” Yeah, I’d never played one except for demos. So since she’d spent a long while with Lost Odyssey and spoke highly of it, I thought I’d use it for my J-RPG test.

And here are the results – the things I liked and didn’t like. The question now is what this means about my future with J-RPGs. Are the things I disliked common in J-RPGs? Am I likely to open a new category of gaming for myself, or should I stick with Western RPGs, which I already know I love?

Liked

1) The story and characters. I loved the care with which the story was crafted. There were moments when I laughed (mostly due to Jansen, who annoyed me slightly, but was definitely hilarious), and moments when I cried. It’s not always that video games are that moving. I enjoyed the way the story unfolded, as you learned more and more about why certain characters are immortal and the way characters you thought were enemies turned into allies.

2) The length. Somewhere around 70-80 hours. The trend lately in game design has been toward shorter games, and I’m not altogether happy about that. If I can finish a game on a five-day rental, it’s too short. (That’s why I joined Gamefly – I’ve had Lost Odyssey for about three weeks now.)

3) The leveling/skills system. Leveling works much like most RPG games – you get experience in combat, which automatically grants your non-immortal characters new skills. But the immortals learn skills by a) wearing accessories and absorbing their attributes or b) linking to mortals and learning skills from them. That made it so you had to think not only about what skills your immortals need the most, but how to best manage your group so that the mortals they need to learn from are in it (you can only have five of your nine characters active at one time).

4) The ring part of the combat system. You can equip each character’s weapon with a power ring that gives specific kinds of damage boosts. For example, if you’re fighting a magic enemy, you can equip a ring that gives extra damage to magic entities; or you can equip a ring that deals fire damage. Matching the right kind of ring to deal maximum damage for each enemy added an extra bit of interest to the combat, as did the need to hold and release a button at the right time to increase the effectiveness of the ring.

5) The dreams. Your immortal characters have lost their memories, but they begin to get them back in the form of dreams throughout the game. I was shocked at how moving many of these dreams are, even though they’re presented as text on background. (Reading a video game? I know, right?) But the animation and music and writing in the dreams is really great, and even though you can skip them to save time (and reading if you’re not the reading sort), I found myself looking forward to them.

Meh

1) Turn-based combat. I knew this was going to be one of my biggest obstacles, because it’s a staple of J-RPGs, and I HATE IT. Okay, hate is a strong word for something I ended up putting in the “meh” category, because once I got the hang of it, I didn’t mind it as much. But I still find it really frustrating, and pretty boring once I did it, oh, a few hundred times. Now I know what people mean when they talk about level-grinding. So annoying, and distracting from getting on with the story, which was all I wanted to do.

2) The world. I loved it as a background; the graphics are gorgeous, and I love the idea of a magic-infused not-quite-steampunk world. But it was just that – a background. There was little opportunity to interact with it, and I never really felt a part of it. There are very few NPCs, most of them shopkeepers who are little more than an inventory screen. I longed for the sense I get in Mass Effect, KOTOR, and to a slightly lesser degree in Oblivion and Fable of there being a living world beyond the parts I see, and people with lives outside of my story. In Lost Odyssey, you only get that sense during the dreams.

Didn’t Like

1) The randomness of combat. Battles just start randomly as you’re running through somewhere. Everywhere is perfectly devoid of creatures and enemies until the combat music starts, the swirly gear graphic appears, and suddenly you’re asked to set combat maneuvers for each of your characters. Oh, and the battle isn’t even in the same physical place where you were – you might be running up a set of stairs, but if you get the battle graphic, you’re at the bottom to fight it, then back on the stairs after it’s over. At one point you’re running through a train car, and you get in a battle, and suddenly the train car is the size of a small stadium. It’s disorienting, takes you out of the game, and while it didn’t ruin the experience for me, it came really darn close.

2) The linearity. I’m used to associating RPGs with open worlds and lots of choices and options about what to do and where to go. Maybe that’s a western RPG thing, or maybe that’s something that my favorite RPGs have inherited from Grand Theft Auto-esque sandbox games. I don’t know. Granted, Lost Odyssey does give you the ability to move back and forth between areas you’ve been to largely at will, but beyond allowing you to see a few more dreams and buy things from stores, there’s not a lot of point to this. The story goes on a straight line, and there are essentially no sidequests. Even going through levels is largely a linear affair.

3) No choices/conversation options. In fact, you don’t control any of the conversations at all. That’s my FAVORITE THING about Mass Effect and Knights of the Old Republic. In Lost Odyssey there’s no good and evil, no choices about how you deal with things. It’s sort of like watching a movie that you control parts of – which is okay only because the story is good. Oh, and side note, having to press “A” constantly to get through most of the conversations? Really annoying when you’d like to let a cut-scene play out while you do something else (like that time I died and the save point was before a ten-minute cut scene, which you can’t skip).

Overall

Overall, I enjoyed the game. Really. I enjoyed the story and the characters enough to keep me coming back despite my lack of affection for random turn-based combat and linear design. (I will admit that I didn’t go all the way to the end, because I got Fable II, which fits my likes much better, and after having Lost Odyssey sitting around for a week without playing it, I opted to do the responsible renter thing and send it back. But I saw enough checking walkthroughs to know that I was within a few bosses of the end – and something else I don’t like is boss battles. At some point in the future, I may rent it again and finish it up.) But if the things that appear in the “didn’t like” section are common in J-RPGs, I might not be availing myself of any more of them unless someone can convince me that a specific game has pros that outweigh those cons.

Jenny Lewis @ UCSD

Tap tap tap. “Is this on? Hello? Check check check. Do you just wanna do it like this?” Jenny Lewis moves to the edge of the stage, her chorus (aka her band members sans their instruments) ringed behind her. She puts a finger to her lips, lulling the excited crowd into silence. And she held them completely enthralled with just her voice and guitar throughout a fantastic unplugged rendition of “Acid Tongue,” the highlight of an already great concert.

Some have denigrated Lewis’s sophomore album (as well as Under the Blacklight, the 2006 release from her band Rilo Kiley) for being derivative rather than delving into her own psyche as effectively as she has done, as singer and lyricist, on earlier solo and band records, and I understand where they’re coming from. Acid Tongue as a whole is not as lyrically sophisticated as More Adventurous, The Execution of All Things, or Rabbit Fur Coat. (That’s too pat an analysis, but a concert rundown is not the place to go into the relative merits of Jenny’s songwriting oeuvre.) But trust me when I say that watching her live, you won’t be able to help falling under her spell anyway.

After opening her set with “Jack Killed Mom,” a rollicking rock number about abuse, bullying, and matricide, she settled into a few songs from Rabbit Fur Coat, including “Happy” – a song I never thought would work in concert. She slowed an already slow song drastically from the record version, but gave such an incredibly emotion-filled performance that I doubt anyone felt it went on too long. The only danger was that she and the microphone might have to go get a room.

Some performers treat a gig so much as a performance that it all seems by rote and others get so into the music that the audience might as well not be there. Jenny walks the line between the two – she’s clearly performing (her acting background is obvious) and has specific pieces of stage business choreographed in advance, but there’s an air of spontaneity to it, too, as when the band went acoustic for “Acid Tongue.” Which may have been planned as well, but it certainly didn’t feel as though it was (and photos from other stops on the tour have a microphone, as in the shot above). On the other hand, she can get so deep into the music that you feel privileged to witness it, but she never forgets the audience – rather, she brings you into her intimate moments.

Acid Tongue may not feel as personal as Rabbit Fur Coat, but for a concert, it’s truly awesome in its variety. Right after the small brokenness of “Acid Tongue” came the huge Southern rock-inflected anthem “The Next Messiah,” its eight+ minutes filled with style shifts, fills from guitarist/vocalist/boyfriend Jonathan Rice, and power belting from the little woman who had just finished testing how softly she could sing without disappearing entirely.

After having seen Jenny in the opening show of this tour in Los Angeles, I dragged a friend with me to see her at the final show in San Diego – having prepped her with Rilo Kiley and solo Jenny tracks first. And it was somewhere around half-way through the first song that she tapped my shoulder and said “I’m a total fan now.” Jenny is great on record, there’s no doubt. But she’s even better live. Her innate stage presence draws you in and won’t let go to the point that even after standing up for four hours in line, through opening bands, and her set, you still wish she’d continue singing all night. Let’s hope she continues performing for a long while to come. And if you get the chance to see her, do.

Hear three songs off Acid Tongue at her myspace.

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