Author: HORansome

Rising Bollard

Rising Bollard.

It’s not the most auspicious name for a young man’s home town. Indeed, if pressed, Rising Bollard wouldn’t make it on to a top ten list of attractions, but at least it’s not in the bottom fifty of places you wouldn’t want to live. Not easily locatable on a map, nor desirous to be when you find it, Rising Bollard is a one cafe-type of town, with a meagre higher education college, one hill of reasonable note and a population bordering on the thousands.

Still, it’s home. We have our own crazy cult leader, Brother Morthos, a preponderance of retired couples who move here for reasons as yet unidentified and, despite being way up river, it hasn’t stopped Capt’n Dick from setting up shop with his tales of piracy on the Waitemata.

Our stories are not great nor are they epic. People don’t live and die in Rising Bollard… Well, not in the dramatic sense. Romance hardly blossoms here and childbirth is the norm rather than a miracle. Men are men, women are women and the influx of metrosexuals is doing little to change anything.

We persist, and in persistence things stay the same in what we might hesitantly call excitement.

Rising Bollard. Let’s share the love.

Hex Season One Review

Say what you will about ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ but as a TV series it, more than any other, redefined modern telefantasy. It showed that a genre show could be popular and that character drama was equally as important as plot devices, a notion that many shows to this day could well do to remember. Like all shows, ‘Buffy’ has had its imitators, and none is more blatant and yet so different than ‘Hex.’

This is a review of the first season only, as season two which has completed its run, I have not yet seen. ‘Hex’ is Brit-Buffy; we have a pretty girl who wants to be popular as the nominal hero, we have the wacky sidekick, the arrogant drama queen and even the tortured demon (who this time is actually an angel). In many ways every major part of the setting is due to ‘Buffy.’ It’s set at a school, it has a school principal who may know more than he is letting on and the world is at stake.

Yet, at the same time, it is remarkably different. (more…)

Not really an argument but a half-formed pointlette

In Mick Garris’ ‘Chocolate’ a man, for no discerable reason, suddenly starts to share sensations with another person, someone he has never met. It is the kind of conceit commonly found in horror that, if not handled properly, can yank the viewer out of the story and make them wonder ‘So, why is this happening again?’

If I was to be overly general I would say that there are two schools of horror; deserved and undeserved victims. It’s a rather usually demarcation; is the antiquarian of M. R. James’ ‘Count Magnus’ deserving of his fate simply because he showed an academic curiousity in an old casket? Still, there is at least a question that any horror ‘author’ must answer; why is this thing happening to these people? Often this is blithely ignored, and sometimes for good reason. Why are the dead returning to life and terrorising these people? Because the horror of the situation comes from being in such an extreme and unexpected context. The victims of this horror are not unique; the terror is ocurring to everyone everywhere and the story comes from what these select individuals will do given their circumstances.

Yet when something utterly random and unique plagues a character; well, that takes rare skill to sell.

Perhaps it is my academic training that makes me question such things; it probably does disrupt the fiction. Yet perhaps not. Take ‘Ringu’ as an example. Sadako has invested her anger in a videotape. A reporter becomes involved; she (he, depending on which version of the story you are experiencing) seemingly has weird and random events occur to her (him)… Except that they aren’t. She is researching a killer video tape. People, that she knows of, have died because of it. So it is not random or unexpected, just different.

Unlike ‘Chocolate,’ which has no rhyme or reason behind it. It is a series of events with no explanation and no real consequence. Pity, really.

Soon to be straight-to-DVD cliches I

There is a serial killer prowling the streets of New York, killing seemingly unconnected people. A rookie cop is teamed up with a grizzled old hand on his last case. He thinks the killer is a sicko but the rookie finds something suspicious about the victims. Following a hunch she discovers that the serial killer is preying on fellow serial killers. Trailing a potential victim she is killed by the man she is ostensibly protecting. The villain of the piece then kills him as the old hand arrives on the scene. The serial killer pleads for his life, saying that he is only doing good. The film ends with the cop holding a gun to the head of the serial killer whilst backup arrives. As the credits scroll a single gunshot is heard.

It’s “Like”, You Know

Analogies. They’re like a plague upon the English language. See what I did there; I analogised analogies. That’s like sending coals to Manchester. Or tea to China. Taking the Piss out of Newcastle (points to the person who actually knows what that means)…

I could go on, but I’ll stop now.

Analogies are a plague in a lot of comtemporary writing. Our descriptive powers have seemingly waned over the last century. Whereupon we once described sunsets as a conflagration, a fire from the gods settling upon the far horizon yet burning away without damage we now say that a sunset is like a conflagration, a fire from the gods settling upon the far horizon yet burning away without damage.

Fiction rests upon analogy; genre fiction such as fantasy and science fiction live upon such literary comparisons. If you following the “genre as contemporary commentary” angle then analogies abound because the salient points of the novel, short story, film or episode are meant to be ported back to actuality. The zombies in Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead” are analogous to seemingly brainless activities of shoppers in malls. The political machinations of the Clarke regime in “Babylon 5” were meant to be analogous to the USA historically, although it turns out that it was more in the line of prophecy than anything else. Thus, we can say, that analogies are an important aspect of genre writing.

However, not all analogies, however, are successful. Analogies should not be things that we hit readers over the head with. I’m really talking here about descriptive analogies such as “He was like a fish without a bicycle” or “Her hair was like a running stream of coal and tar.” Heavy duty, obvious analogies. Sentences with the word “like.” These are the blights upon our literary landscape. Such sentences fail to do real work; by making the analogy explicit, “X is like Y,” the sentence lets down the reader and belittles the writer. In part this is due to the easy, short-cutting nature, of analogies; “His face was like that of a Faustian devil.” Now, we all know (I presume) what a Faustian devil looks like; red-skinned, high-browed, pointed goatee and eye-brows that slant upwards. So, if this is the case, why not describe your character and let the reader, after they have processed the description, think for themselves “Aha, he looks like a Faustian devil.” Do not rob the reader of their intellectual satisfaction. Obvious analogies reduce the need for the audience to interact with the text. Interaction is good; this much, at least, was the worth of that whole ‘post-modern’ project.

(Here, if I was to be predictable, would be an analogy, and there would have been one if I was clever enough to think up of one…)

Attempted Murder, She Wrote

‘Murder, She Wrote’ was, for a time, a common subject for memes on the internet. Most of them revolved around the ‘Jessica Fletcher’ is a plague of death that descends upon towns and cities; an apt commentary on the subject, I might add. I’ve been rewatching a lot of the series over the last few weeks (God bless daytime TV). It’s not exactly dire; if you only ever watched one episode you would think it fun. Two episodes; okay entertainment. More than three in one week? Well, it’s a bit of a weird show, really.

Everyone makes fun of William Shatner’s shirt-ripping in ‘Star Trek;’ I say lets make fun of the fact that Angela Lansbury’s character must always end each show laughing or smiling, despite the death(s) of those around her. Without fail a silly joke will be made and people will break into large smiles, even if they were recently widowed or they have found out that their partner was a murdering bastard. It’s a sloppy conceit; an appropiate wisecrack every so often is a natural reaction to death but Jessica Fletcher just doesn’t seem fazed by death at all. She is the nice Miss Marple; so nice that the stain of death does not touch her. She never seems troubled by the fact that wherever she goes people die or that the friends she makes are often not only victims but purpatrators of terrible crimes.

Still, all of this is the symptons of a show that ran too long. ‘Murder, She Wrote’ only ever had one plot device; every episode someone must die and Jessica Fletcher (ignoring the season where she only guest-starred in here own show) must solve the crime. You can only do so much with murder and with no plot-arc or want to sustain a change in personality every episode must be treated as the first one an audience member might see. It is a show with limited value; decreasing returns to the viewer each and every episode.

Yet I keep on watching it.

Sad, really.