Arts & Letters

Hugo Awards: Raven Stratagem

Yoon Ha Lee’s Ninefox Gambit was a dense, sometimes gruesome Space Opera. I really enjoyed it, and it was nominated for a Hugo Award last year. Raven Stratagem is the follow up, second in a trilogy, and yes, I enjoyed this one too, despite it succumbing to traditional middle entry in a trilogy syndrome.

raven-strategem.jpg

I was initially a little hesitant to pick up this sequel. As much as I enjoyed it, I remember the first novel being a bit difficult to follow at parts, and I didn’t entirely remember what had happened (I read it almost two years ago) except in broad strokes. Fortunately, Raven Stratagem presents itself in a much more accessible manner than its predecessor, which allows you to ease back into the universe without too much strain.

We continue to follow the bleshed personalities of Kel Cheris and Shuos Jedao, quasi-successful at retaking the Fortress of Shattered Needles in the first book, as they now set out to defend the Hexarchate from an invading enemy, the Hafn. Cheris is a gifted mathematician and infantry captain for the subservient Kel faction. She’s been possessed by the “ghost” of long-dead military genius, madman, and mass murderer, Jedao, of the Machiavellian Shuos faction. The Hexarchate being an oppressive tyrannical semi-dystopia, the leaders/dictator aren’t sure if they can trust Jedao and his stated intention to simply repel the Hafn. For that matter, neither is the fleet that Jedao has taken over for that purpose. General Kel Khiruev even attempts to assassinate Jedao, but eventually succumbs to Jedao’s, er, charms? That’s not the quite the right word, but it gets the job done, I guess.

So yeah, that brief description kinda captures the density of the worldbuilding, but again, Raven Stratagem is more accessible at laying this out than Ninefox Gambit. This is a best-of-both-worlds situation here. I appreciate dense worldbuilding, and Lee was able to make it more approachable without losing anything. Shuos Jedao, despite frequent reminders of atrocities he’s committed in the past, remains a fascinating character and indeed, things tend to bog down a bit whenever we’re not following him (and I should add her, as Cheris is a woman). I found myself much less interested in the Hexarchate politics side of the story, which comprises a large portion of the second act, though it’s clearly a necessary part of the story.

There are some twists and turns along the way. One of them, which I think is played as a twist, was actually something that I thought I had just misremembered from the first book, but which it turns out, I remembered correctly*. But the final revelation sets up a genuinely interesting premise for the third book to tackle. Unfortunately, that leaves this book in a sorta limbo, as a lot of middle entries in a series feel. This is excellent, but it’s not self-contained, and that always makes Hugo voting a little tricky. Of course, the Hugo context is a bit unfair – as middle entries go, this is a good one, and it moves the story along briskly (which is more than can be said about a lot of middle novels). In any case, Lee’s worldbuilding is solid, but quite dark and sometimes gruesome. Fortunately, he doesn’t wallow in the misery in the way that other books tackling similar themes seem to do.

As Science Fiction, I’m not entirely sure the whole Calendrical Math thing feels grounded enough; it feels more like a metaphorical representation of the way the Hexarchate is controlled than an actual mathematical thing. That not a terrible thing, and it does seem to be played with an internal consistency that I appreciate. Again, Cheris and Jedao are interesting, and their immediate surroundings work, but as mentioned above, once you get beyond that, the story falters a bit.

This is a good book, and Lee’s skill is worth rewarding with a Hugo Award, but I don’t think this is the book to do it. As the second in a series, it feels incomplete (again, not in a way that is bad outside of the Hugo context), which makes it difficult to judge against other books. On the other hand, I expect this will actually do well when it comes time to put in my ballot – I like this work, so I suspect it will come out ahead of several other nominees that I’m unsure about. Fortunately, Lee also has a novelette that’s been nominated, Extracurricular Activities, which is self-contained and excellent. It follows Jedao back when he was a young officer, and bears a sorta Bujold-esque feel to it, which I naturally love (this is high praise, people). I haven’t read any of the other novelette finalists, but I suspect this one will top my ballot. Ultimately, I will most likely pick up the final book in this trilogy, which says a lot, and I greatly look forward to whatever Lee tackles next.

* (Spoilers) I had assumed that Jedao’s ghost had died in the betrayal at the end of Ninefox Gambit, but for most of this book, Cheris is basically just pretending to be Jedao, and since she still has all of his memories implanted in her consciousness, she can pull it off. Lee can get away with this because we mostly see Jedao from the perspective of others, like Khiruev, and Cheris has no reason to let on that she is using Jedao’s reputation for her own purposes (which, to be fair, were also Jedao’s).

The 2018 Hugo Awards: Initial Thoughts

The 2018 Hugo Award Finalists were announced yesterday, so it’s time for moaning and whinging about the nominees. Assorted thoughts below:

  • The novel ballot looks interesting enough. Only half are part of a series! Arguably. One of the series entries is the first (and reasonably self-contained), but one of the non-series is set in a universe the author had already established. So I guess it evens out.

    John Scalzi’s The Collapsing Empire is that reasonably self-contained first entry in a series, and it’s a lot of fun, my favorite Scalzi since The Human Division. I don’t expect it to win. New York 2140 seems like a pretty standard Kim Stanley Robinson offering, an extension of many of his usual themes. Again, I don’t expect it to win. Provenance, by Ann Leckie is the aforementioned standalone novel set in Leckie’s Imperial Radch universe. It seems like a heist story, but the writeups emphasize that it’s about “power, theft, privilege and birthright” which is pretty well tread ground for the past few years of nominees (and for which Leckie has already been recognized), but then, this seems to be what current voters like. I don’t see it winning, but what do I know. I really enjoyed Raven Stratagem but Yoon Ha Lee’s second Machineries of Empire novel suffers from middle-novel-in-a-trilogy syndrome, so it did not make my nominating ballot (Yoon Ha Lee has been a mainstay of my nominating ballots for years, and as we’ll see, there’s another option for him that I think works better in an awards context). Then again, Jemison’s Obelisk Gate also suffered from middle novel syndrome and managed to win last year, so once again, I know nothing. Six Wakes, by Mur Lafferty represents the only new-to-me author nominated (she won the Campbell a few years back, so not a completely new name), and the novel sounds like a neat closed room mystery… in space! I never managed to catch up with it before the nominating period ended, but it was something I wanted to read. Who knows if it has any chance? The Stone Sky, by N.K. Jemisin is the conclusion to her trilogy, of which the first two entries have already won Hugos. For any other series or author, I’d say that means this one has less of a chance of winning, but despite my hesitations with the previous two books, people seem to really love these novels, so there’s a fair chance it’ll win again this year. Not sure what that augurs for the health of the awards, but I guess nothing is decided yet.

    I’ve only read two of these novels, definitely want to read one more, was curious about another two, and am not particularly looking forward to The Stone Sky (but at this point, I feel like I should probably finish out the trilogy). That’s a reasonable batting average, I guess. Pour one out for The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O. though. I suspect that will remain my favorite novel of the year, even after catching up with these other four nominees.

  • I’m a little surprised that Lois McMaster Bujold didn’t get a nod in the novella category, but I’m guessing that releasing three Penric novellas in one year managed to split the vote. I was happy to see All Systems Red by Martha Wells get the nod (it was on my ballot and one my favorite reads of last year). A few other recognizable names on the ballot, but nothing that really grabs me. I skipped the category last year, not sure if I’ll manage this year.
  • Novelette has another Yoon Ha Lee story, “Extracurricular Activities”, that was what I nominated instead of Raven Strategem. It takes place in the same universe and features a character from his novels, but is entirely standalone (and more accessible than the novels as well).

    My other nominee didn’t make it, and nothing is jumping out at me for the other nominees.

  • I haven’t read any of the nominated Short Stories, but in my experience with these awards, this category is almost always the biggest disaster. I almost never enjoy any of the short stories, for whatever reason.
  • I remain skeptical of the Best Series category on pragmatic, logistical grounds, but think it funny that Lois McMaster Bujold could win the award again this year (and I judge a fair chance of that).
  • The Dramatic Presentation awards look decent enough, considering the venue. Still wish that Colossal and Your Name would have gotten some love, but hey, you can still watch them (go give them a shot – they’re both great). In other news, I’ve actually already seen half the Short Form nominees, which is a rarity.
  • The 1943 Retro Hugo finalists were also announced. I actually nominated a couple of things, and they both made it. Rooting for Hal Clement’s short story, “Proof” (a fantastic story, well worth checking out if you can find it – are these included in Hugo Voters Packets? Be on the lookout.) And Asimov’s “Foundation” got a nod too (though it’s only the Novelette, a subset of what most of us read). The only real surprise is that The Screwtape Letters, by C. S. Lewis didn’t get a nod. Or maybe not. Current Hugo voters aren’t into Lewis’ religiousity, I guess.

And that covers it. I’ll most likely be reading and reviewing over the next few months (might take a bit to get going, as I just started a large book that will take a bit to finish)…

Hugo Award Season 2018

The nomination period for the 2018 Hugo Awards is open, so it’s time to get out the vote before the requisite whining and bitter recriminations start in earnest. I’ve read a bunch of eligible works, but of course not all will make the cut. Here’s where I’m at right now:

A much better list than last year, when I was only really able to muster a couple of nominations. I’m betting at least one or two will make the finalists, but short fiction is always so impossible to predict. I have a few novels on the bubble as well:

  • Artemis by Andy Weir – It’s a fun book, but it doesn’t hang together as well as The Martian and the story doesn’t feel entirely baked. Some things about this just didn’t sit so well with me, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a nomination (and indeed, it would probably fair well when compared against the last few years’ finalists).
  • The Caledonian Gambit by Dan Moren – I’m about halfway through this one, which seems like a pretty straightforward space opera/spy thriller type of thing. Great start, but it’s bogged down in the midsection. A strong finish could certainly put this on my ballot though.
  • Raven Stratagem by Yoon Ha Lee – I’m a fan of Yoon Ha Lee’s work (see above referenced novelette), and I liked the first novel in this series quite a bit. I will definitely read this before the nomination period closes, but as the second in a series, I’m not sure how likely it is that I’ll put this on my list, even if I love it.

I haven’t looked at Best Series in detail, but an initial glance reveals that Steven Brust’s Vlad Taltos Series is eligible, which would work. I still think the entire concept of the award is flawed due to logistical considerations (for example, Brust has 15 Vlad Taltos novels, with almost as many additional short fiction entries – how does one read enough of that, along with all the other nominees in order to make an informed decision?)

As per usual, I’ll continue to avoid the most mainstream choices for Best Dramatic Presentation, Long Form (i.e. Star Wars and Marvel don’t need my help here and will most likely make the ballot, but these movies are worthy of consideration):

There’s a fair chance that Your Name would be judged ineligible because it came out n Japan in 2016, but it didn’t really hit the US until 2017. Otherwise, there’s a fair chance that one or two of these movies might sneak onto the ballot. Fingers crossed.

Also of note is that Retro Hugos for works published in 1942 are being held this year, and there are a few classics there, notably Asimov’s initial Foundation story and CS Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters, but the one I really want to nominate is a short story by Hal Clement called “Proof” (it’s not available online, but it’s in tons of collections – the one I read it in was The Ascent of Wonder). It’s an awesome story, and it’s tale of creatures living in the sun has long legs and influence.

Any recommendations or suggestions are welcome! I’m curious to see how the nominations go this time around. Will the novels be dominated by series/sequels to previous nominees? Will the reduced puppy contingent have any impact? Do I really care that much? I don’t know, but there’s only one way to find out.

Vintage Science Fiction Month: The Big Jump

Vintage SF Month is hosted by the Little Red Reviewer. The objective: Read and discuss “older than I am” Science Fiction in the month of January.

“Across the gulfs between the worlds, from end to end of a Solar System poised taut and trembling on the verge of history, the rumors flew. Somebody’s made it, the Big Jump. Somebody came back.” –The Big Jump (Page 1, Kindle Locations 82-86).

Leigh Brackett is best known for her screenplays, notably including The Empire Strikes Back, but she actually had a long history of SF writing behind her at that point. A few years ago, I read Brackett’s The Sword of Rhiannon, a Mars-based adventure featuring an Indy Jones-like protagonist, and greatly enjoyed it. So I figured it was time for another, this time opting for The Big Jump.

The novel opens with the return of the first interstellar expedition (a mission dubbed “The Big Jump”), but the authorities are vague and noncommittal about what was learned. Arch Comyn takes it upon himself to solve the mystery, sneaking into secret facilities to discover that only one crew member made the return trip, half-dead and near insane. Hearing the man’s dying words, Comyn bluffs his way into the follow-up mission. But is he ready to discover what awaits us beyond the Big Jump?

The first half of the novel reads kinda like a Noir and SF mashup, and Brackett pulls it off in style.

“[…he] wished he knew two things: who had paid the boy with the bad teeth to kill him, and whether this ace in the hole he was going to bluff the Cochranes with might not turn out to be just a low spade after all—a spade suitable for grave digging.” –The Big Jump (Page 36, Kindle Locations 973-975).

Yes, this was the woman who wrote the screenplays for The Big Sleep and The Long Goodbye, and it shows. Indeed, while the story and characters are somewhat standard, it is Brackett’s prose which elevates this into something worth reading.

“This was not the going between worlds that men had grown used to. This was an adventure into madness.” –The Big Jump (Page 70, Kindle Locations 1888)

The story is a bit dated (originally published in 1955) and its short length (bordering on novella) means you can’t really delve too deeply into characterization, but Brackett’s prose turns the page and her plotting has enough twists and turns to be interesting without seeming convoluted. I can see how the finale, which features a fair amount of existential ambiguity, might turn some folks off, but I found an unexpected depth in it that worked well for me. It’s perhaps at odds with the pulpy beginnings, but it does set up some interesting questions (which have to go unanswered).

“They had not conquered any stars. A star had conquered them.” –The Big Jump (Page 132, Kindle Locations 3408-3409).

While not Brackett’s best, fans of old, pulpy SF would enjoy this, and it works well on that level. The general story is probably something like you’ve read before, but Brackett’s style and verve carry the novel favorably.

Vintage Science Fiction Month: Ringworld

Vintage SF Month is hosted by the Little Red Reviewer. The objective: Read and discuss “older than I am” Science Fiction in the month of January.

A common trope in Science Fiction is the discovery of some sort of vast, enigmatic structure, often affectionately termed a “Big Dumb Object”. The stories revolve around deciphering the structure, who built it, and so on. While there are earlier examples of this sort of thing, Larry Niven’s 1970 novel Ringworld is generally held up as a gleaming example of the sub-genre, a trope codifier if not a ur example.

Louis Wu, a 200 year old but restless Earthling, is recruited for a mysterious deep space mission by Nessus, a three-legged alien that sports two snake-like heads mounted on long necks (they’re called Puppeteers). Nessus also recruits Speaker-to-Animals, another alien, this one from an aggressive feline race called the Kzin, and Teela Brown, who seems to have been chosen for luck. What? Yeah, more on this in a bit. Nessus is annoyingly vague about the details of his mission, but it eventually turns out that the ever-cautious Puppeteers have spied a rather massive object in a distant star, the titular Ringworld, and this expedition is going to investigate any possible threats.

The Ringworld itself is a megastructure that doesn’t so much orbit a sun, but rather surrounds it. Unlike a Dyson Sphere, it doesn’t completely encapsulate the sun, but forms a ring around it. The one in the book is said to be approximately the diameter of Earth’s orbit, which means it contains a surface area equivalent to approximately three million earths.

The opening of the novel is quite enjoyable. The character introductions and recruitment are ably handled and the initial discovery and explanation of the Ringworld (and its scale) provides that sense of wonder hit that SF fans clamor for (even if I was already aware of what a Ringworld was, which does blunt the impact a bit, I guess, but that’s not the book’s fault). Once they crash land on the Ringworld and start exploring the surface (looking for a way to repair their spacecraft), things are more uneven. Some of the episodes that take place here are done well and interesting, others are not quite as effective.

The characters are typical SF fodder, meaning that this isn’t a particularly deep dive into their personalities and interactions, but there’s enough there to keep things moving. Some aspects of the characters go over better than others. Louis Wu is mildly bland, but makes for a good everyman protagonist. Speaker-to-Animals is amusing, but comes off as a Star Trek-like alien race (i.e. a human being with certain traits exaggerated). Nessus is a bit too unpredictably passive, but interesting enough.

Teela Brown’s raison d’etre is a bit odd for an SF novel. You see, she was bred for luck, which seems like a strangely irrational thing for a SF story to focus on. That concept is, however, explored in interesting ways. For instance, the crew is initially confused as to why they crash landed, considering they were traveling with the benefit of Teela’s luck. But then someone mentions that if she was really lucky, Nessus would have never discovered her in the first place. It later turns out that her luck has served her (and only her) well, but in unexpected and unpredictable ways. So it’s sorta like a SF exploration of a not so SF idea.

One of the more annoying things about the story, though, is that we learn almost nothing about the Ringworld Engineers, those who actually built this megastructure. We do see some of their descendents, but after some sort of past tragedy, they are mere shadows of their former glory. Some speculation is made about how their downfall came about (something about alien mold), but little is really known about them. Also, they are distressingly similar in appearance to humans, something that isn’t really delved into very much. This undercuts some of the wonder present in the premise, though it doesn’t wholly diminish it.

Thematically, Niven does a reasonable job exploring the concepts around playing God and the hubris of certain projects. And the novel has been incredibly influential. As previously mentioned, it’s among the first Big Dumb Object stories, and most of what followed used a similar structure to the plot. I read Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous with Rama a few decades ago (ugh) at this point, but I actually remember that as being a slightly better take on the concept. Though they share many similarities and neither are perfect, Ringworld is missing that perfect last sentence stinger that punctuates Rama.

This is an interesting book, and I can see why it’s so influential, but I do suspect that this ultimately winds up being the sort of thing that only students of the genre can really love. Too many of the stories that this inspired have made improvements, such that going back to read this afterwards might seem like a bit of a letdown. Basically, I should have read this 20 years ago when my brother did. It was sitting right there on his shelf, why didn’t I just grab it? Fortunately, I do consider myself a bit if a student of the genre, so I did find this rather interesting. Next up on the Vintage SF Month list is a pulpy tale from Leigh Brackett, so stay tuned.

Update: I have been corrected! The Puppeteers are not quadrupeds, but rather three-legged. A thousand pardons. The post has been updated.

2017 in Books

Well 2017 happened, and I read some books. In accordance with tradition, I shall take look back at my year in reading (and watching and drinking, but those will come later). I keep track of my reading at Goodreads (we should be friends there), and they have a bunch of fancy statistical visualization tools (but definitely not enough for a dork like me), so let’s dig into it:

First up is the total number of books read:

Total books read in 2017

I read 54 books in 2017, which is a record in the current era (i.e. since I started tracking my reading in 2010), though a fair amount of these titles are actually short fiction, but we’ll get more into that later. Full list of titles here. Also of note, a fair amount of these were audiobooks, which sometimes feels like cheating. Still, even taking into account these disclaimers, looking at another angle is also a record breaker:

Number of pages read per year

With a nod to the inherent variability of page numbers, I just barely slipped past last year’s count by almost 100 pages. Not half bad. More info:

Summary of Book Reading in 2017

As befits the expansion of short fiction this year, the average page length is down significantly to 279 pages (from 296 last year, 306 the previous year, and the record of 356, set in 2013, when the quantity of books was quite small). The longest book of the year was The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O. at 752 pages, which is nothing to sneeze at (so NO SNEEZING), but notably lower than last year, when I read two 900+ page books.

Pie Chart of Books Read in 2017

Another breakdown of the books, with an expansion of short fiction, but I will say that was mostly absorbed by not reading any comic books this year.

Books I Read in 2017 by Publication Date

In terms of publication dates, I did ok at spreading things out, but perhaps not as good as last year. The whole Hugo Awards participation thing makes it a bit challenging, but even beyond that, I read plenty of recent stuff. I am looking forward to digging into some more vintage fiction in 2018.

Moar assorted thoughts:

  • Only 7 non-fiction books for 2017, which is lower than it should be and will need to be rectified in 2018. I know I said something similar last year, but I mean it for reals this year.
  • 27 of the 54 books were written by women, with an additional two co-authored by women (so 29 total), which I’m pretty sure is a record to me. Also of note: this happened almost completely by accident and without any real plan. Go figure.
  • The oldest book I read last year was 1953’s Mission of Gravity, by Hal Clement, which was fabulous.
  • A quick scan of the list reveals that only 19 of the books were Science Fiction, which seems a bit unusual (and I was being pretty generous, for instance including Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O., which is borderline). A fair amount of this was driven by the Hugo Awards (which seemed to be more fantasy focused than usual), though also Lois McMaster Bujold published three Penric and Desdemona (i.e. fantasy) novellas this year, and I read more stuff for Halloween than normal… which might have driven my SF numbers down. I suspect this will revert to the norm this year.

And that about covers it. Stay tuned for a overall movie recap, followed by the traditional onslaught of the Kaedrin Movie Awards. Sprinkled in there will be some reviews for Vintage SF Month, because I’m looking forward to that…

Martin Scorsese on “brutal judgmentalism”

Martin Scorsese recently penned an oped for The Hollywood Reporter where he expounds on the nature of criticism in the digital age, with particular scorn heaped on obsessing over box-office results, Cinemascore, and Rotten Tomatoes. There is, of course, a nugget of truth to what Scorsese is talking about here. Discussions of film are too often sidetracked by box-office numbers or aggregate scores. On the other hand, it’s 2017, and a lot of this article comes off like Scorsese has only now discovered that the internet is a thing that exists.

He even mentions that Cinemascore started in the 1970s (almost 40 years ago) and it’s worth noting that Rotten Tomatoes isn’t exactly a recent phenomenon (it began in 1998). And Scorsese isn’t alone. Hollywood had a really poor summer, with many big tentpoles flopping or at least underperforming. Their scapegoat? Rotten Tomatoes. This makes no sense. Several highly rated movies (War for the Planet of the Apes and Logan Lucky are both at 93% fresh) still managed to do poorly at the box office, while many “Rotten” films found audiences (The Hitman’s Bodyguard is at 39% and yet it’s the only film to be #1 at the box office for three weeks in a row).

Even Darren Aronofsky’s ambitious and divisive mother!, ostensibly the movie that drove Scorsese to write the oped in the first place, ends up certified “Fresh” on Rotten Tomatoes (albeit, not overwhelmingly so at 68%). Of course, Scorsese seizes on that film’s “F” Cinemascore in that instance, but most of what I’ve seen about this dreaded score is that while it’s devastating for a movie to get that grade (as it means the marketing wholly failed to represent the movie and thus pissed off audiences, usually resulting in poor box office), it’s also something of a badge of honor. If you look at why this movie received some polarizing scores, you find that most people are responding to exactly the sort of things Scorsese values in the film.

It was so tactile, so beautifully staged and acted — the subjective camera and the POV reverse angles, always in motion … the sound design, which comes at the viewer from around corners and leads you deeper and deeper into the nightmare … the unfolding of the story, which very gradually becomes more and more upsetting as the film goes forward. The horror, the dark comedy, the biblical elements, the cautionary fable — they’re all there, but they’re elements in the total experience, which engulfs the characters and the viewers along with them. Only a true, passionate filmmaker could have made this picture, which I’m still experiencing weeks after I saw it.

Most reviews, even the harsh bloodsport ones, don’t deny the skill and craft of the film. I certainly don’t! I’m super happy that the film got made at all, and that I got to see it at a local theater (rather than making the long and expensive trek to an art house theater). I have a lot of respect for a filmmaker who swings for the fences like this, and again, the skill on display is astounding, but the film still falls into the realm of “interesting failure” for me. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist or that you shouldn’t watch it though, and it’s probably worth checking out over many of the bland pixel stew blockbusters out there. It doesn’t surprise me one iota that this film did poorly. It’s a difficult film to watch, almost by design.

Much of this comes down to a matter of perspective. As a filmmaker, much of this data is used against someone like Scorsese. He mentions how preview screenings can give studios license to meddle, which must be frustrating. I assume he gets slapped with other aggregate measurements used to undermine his efforts too. I’m not sure if it’s still a thing, but there was a time when Video Game companies would actually judge their employees based on their game’s MetaCritic score, which seems like an awful idea. But as a viewer, I’m able to recognize the usefulness of something like Rotten Tomatoes. It’s true, those scores shouldn’t be treated as absolutes, but as a starting place, there is indeed some upside here. Similarly, people are interested in things like Box Office performance because they want to see more of what they like, and if a movie they like does well, it means that perhaps we’ll get more of that (or conversely, when a movie they don’t like does poorly, it hopefully means we’ll see less of that). This summer has been brutal for huge franchise efforts (that aren’t superheroes, which seemed to be the lone bright spot for Hollywood), but a lot of smaller or more ideosyncratic films like Dunkirk and Baby Driver found audiences. I think it would be great if we saw more of those sorts of movies next summer, rather than yet another Transformers or Pirates of the Carribean movie.

Scorsese’s rumblings are nothing new. Indeed, much of the current marketing landscape around films has evolved as a way to combat once-powerful critics. Back in the day, you could argue that movies were made or broken by the thumbs of two critics, Siskel and Ebert. Hollywood reacted to powerful criticism and growing online sentiment by front-loading movies and leaning heavily on marketing, so much so that many movies that severely disappoint audiences still manage to do well at the box office because the film was released in 3000 theaters and word of mouth couldn’t spread fast enough, even in the digital age. Rotten Tomatoes is partly a response to that, and Cinemascore is a purely marketing-focused metric.

Criticism has been around since the dawn of art itself. Find a 30,000 year old cave painting, and there was probably some moron named Grog who complained about it. The state of criticism today is probably different than it was ten or twenty or a hundred years ago, but there will always be great critics and worthless hacks who just want to tear things down. In the end, audiences just want to watch a movie they’ll enjoy. Scorsese doesn’t seem to care about audiences though:

Good films by real filmmakers aren’t made to be decoded, consumed or instantly comprehended. They’re not even made to be instantly liked. They’re just made, because the person behind the camera had to make them.

Personally, I don’t think you need to be so narrow in defining what is “good” in film. When I first consumed Taxi Driver (99% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes!), I instantly liked it. That doesn’t mean that after years of rewatching it and decoding various aspects of the film, I didn’t find additional depth there. Yes, some of these things can’t be instantly comprehended (I had to decode them first!), but not everything needs to be that way, does it? There’s not one type of good movie, is there? It’s possible to make art with the audience in mind, right? Sometimes it feels like movies have bifurcated into Hollywood fluff and heavy, artistic slogs, with that middle ground of well-crafted entertainment suffering as a result. Of course, they’re still there, you just have to hunt them down. Hey, maybe if enough people supported those movies, we’d get more of them. Let’s go check Box Office Mojo

6WH: Season’s Readings

Just catching up on some of this Halloween season’s readings. I’ve already covered Stephen King’s Christine and Thomas Harris’ The Silence of the Lambs (and their corresponding filmic adaptations), but here’s the rest of what I read:

  • Death Count: All of the Deaths in the Friday the 13th Film Series, Illustrated by Stacie Ponder – As a big fan of the recently revived Final Girl blog and Stacie Ponder’s associated offerings, I was happy to see that she decided to collect her artwork from the Death Count blog into a fancy schmanzy book.
    Jason in his high school yearbook photo

    Ponder’s artwork is distinctive and generally fun, even when depicting horrific scenes of terror (some choices are absolutely inspired), and her short writeups of each movie are well done. Most of the actual content is still available online, but fans of the Friday the 13th series might want a copy all for themselves.

  • Deep State by Christopher Farnsworth – I’ve long been a fan of Farnsworth’s Nathaniel Cade books, particularly Red, White, and Blood. For the uninitiated, Cade is a vampire who is magically bound to serve the President of the United States. It’s ridiculous, of course, but a whole lot of fun. The series has been on a bit of a hiatus since Farnsworth switched publishers, but he’s published a couple of novellas, including this most recent one, which actually picks up after the cliffhanger at the end of Red, White, and Blood. A nuclear missile silo has gone dark, and the president calls in Cade to resolve the matter. The only problem is that he needs a handler for the vampire, and no one seems up to the task since Zach Barrows was unceremoniously fired during the events of the previous book. So the president finally admits his mistake and rehires Zach, then they go fight some vegetal monsters and save the world. Again. Spoilers, I guess, but Cade is kinda like a superhero – you know he’s going to win. It’s great to see the duo paired up again. This wasn’t quite the continuation of the story I was expecting, but the greatest part of these stories is the esoteric bits and pieces of horror lore, not the overarching meta-story. Someday I hope Farnsworth can free himself from whatever legal bonds are preventing him from a proper, novel length Cade story. In the meantime, this is a decent story (and better than the previous short offering, The Burning Men) and worth checking out for fans.
  • Some of Your Blood by Theodore Sturgeon – This is a hard one to talk about without spoiling anything, but if you like Sturgeon and horror-adjacent psychological stories, it might be your bag. It doesn’t seem like much at first. Told in an epistolary format, it initially covers a sort of auto-biography of George Smith, followed by some correspondence and documentation from his psychiatrist, who manages to deduce Smith’s true nature. It makes for a good companion piece to Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend, only instead of focusing on physical explanations for vampirism, Sturgeon goes into psychological reasons, positing a non-supernatural vampire. It takes a while to get there, but overall the story is very short and strays considerably from whatever you might expect from the description above. It’s slow and oddly structured, but I kinda appreciated that and ultimately really enjoyed the book for what it was.
  • Final Girls by Riley Sager – I originally picked this audiobook up because I thought it was the next book on this list (the titles both involving “Final Girls” in some way), but I immediately realized my mistake when I started listening. But hey, both are literary takes on my beloved slasher sub-genre, so that’s fine by me. The story follows one Quincy Carpenter, lone survivor of the Pine Cottage massacre that claimed the lives of five friends. The ever considerate media thus associated her with two other women who had survived similar ordeals, thus dubbing them “The Final Girls”. Ten years after her traumatic experience, Quincy is doing ok for herself. A popular food blogger with a loving boyfriend and a support network that includes Lisa (one of the other Final Girls) and Coop (the cop who saved her life that fateful night), she almost feels normal. Then Lisa turns up dead, an apparent suicide. And Sam, the only other remaining Final Girl shows up at Quincy’s doorstep. Is someone trying to finish off the Final Girls? It’s a neat premise that has a lot of potential. Unfortunately, Quincy isn’t the greatest protagonist, constantly filled with self-doubt (understandable!) and getting herself into obviously dumb binds (not so understandable). Sager does a great job implicating just about everyone we spend time with in the story, such that any of them could turn out to be the killer in the end… but there aren’t enough characters for this to entirely work, and she makes these ambiguities so conspicuous that by the time she actually does reveal the killer, it’s not as surprising as it could be, since we’ve already been considering that person the whole time (and we’re never quite able to really rule anyone out). Still, despite dragging a little in the second act, the finale works well enough. I admit I was hoping for something more slasher-esque, but this doesn’t really deliver on the potential of its premise, even if it was a diverting enough read.
  • The Last Final Girl by Stephen Graham Jones – Lindsay, homecoming queen, has just survived a typical slasher movie style massacre at the hands of a madman wearing a Michael Jackson mask. But the killer’s body was never recovered, and it seems like the replacement homecoming court is in for a bumpy ride. Now this is more like it, a story that is drenched in slasher tropes and explicit references, sorta like Scream on hallucinogens. The prose style is unusual though, and I’m not entirely sure it works. It’s kinda like a hybrid movie script and novel; explicitly specifying camera movements and cuts, but adding a little literary flare too. It does imbue the story with momentum, but clarity suffers a bit. There’s not a ton of exposition, so some stuff feels a little unexplored, and it’s hard to keep the characters straight. Stephen Graham Jones clearly knows his stuff though, and not just the big names of the sub-genre. And so do his characters, who all know they’re in a slasher film and have seen enough to know the ins and outs. The final revelations are, perhaps, a bit too twisty, but this is definitely better than the previous book on the list in that respect, and this one’s a lot shorter too. Fans of the sub-genre could enjoy this, assuming they can get past the odd formatting… I certainly did.
  • Shutter by Courtney Alameda – Micheline Helsing is one of the last descendants of the Van Helsing line, and she continues their monster hunting ways. Her weapon of choice? An analog camera, which can capture spiritual energy on film. A seemingly routine haunting turns complicated when her entire team (including herself) is infected with a curse that could kill them all in seven days if they don’t exorcise the ghost that infected them. Cut off from the Helsing organization, they must find this powerful ghost and figure out a way to defeat her. A decent, light YA novel with some creepy atmosphere and imaginative creations, it also struggles a bit with exposition (not a huge deal in my book, honestly) and there’s simply not much here that we haven’t seen before. It’s a little formulaic, but well executed and generally fun. Not something you need to rush out and read, but it’d be a good introduction to many of the tropes it relies on. Those of us already steeped in those tropes might find it a bit staid, but you could do worse.

We’re in the homestretch now, stay tuned for a Speed Round of short reviews of all the movies that didn’t make it into the weekly (usually themed) recaps…

6WH: The Silence of the Lambs

The Silence of the Lambs has slowly but surely established itself as one of my favorite movies and it’s something I’ve rewatched far more than I would have expected when I first saw it (around 25 years ago, sheesh). Despite loving the movie, I had never read Thomas Harris’ novel until recently. Last week, I looked at John Carpenter’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novel Christine, a typical instance of the book is better than the movie even if the movie is worthwhile on its own. This time around, Jonathan Demme’s filmic adaptation of Thomas Harris’ book is one of those rare the movie is just as good as the book, if not better type situations.

Silence of the Lambs First Edition Hardcover Artwork

The film follows the novel very closely, so much so that a detailed comparison isn’t particularly useful. True, the novel does go into more detail, but while the film streamlines some components, it doesn’t feel like anything is lost. There’s a subplot involving Jack Crawford’s sick wife (not in the movie at all), more detail on the transexual elements (or rather, the lack thereof, which is the point), some additional tension around the possibility of Starling missing too much class time and being “recycled”, more sequences with Senator Ruth Martin and a bunch of other side characters like Barnie, Starling’s roommate Ardelia Mapp, or their firearms instructor, and, um, in the book Lecter paired an Amarone, not a Chianti, with his census taker’s liver. If that last one didn’t tip you off, all of these are minor changes and snips, and in fact their removal might actually have improved the movie.

The story is centered on Clarice Starling, an FBI trainee played by Jodie Foster in the movie, and her enlistment of the menacing but imprisoned Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) in trying to hunt down another serial killer. Again, the movie follows the book closely, hitting every major beat, and mostly leaving the story alone.

Starling in an elevator

Starling surrounded by gawking policemen

It does, however, make ample usage of the visual medium. Starling enters an elevator at the FBI academy and is immediately dwarved by taller, broader men. Starling, alone, surrounded by gawking local police officers at a funeral home. I’m not usually one to comment on the concept of “male gaze” but it’s apt here, both almost innocently, as when some classmates turn their head during a jog, and much more menacingly, as Buffalo Bill stalks his prey with night vision goggles. The role of gender in the film could easily have been overplayed, but maintains a good balance. Hannibal Lecter’s reveal, seen from Starling’s POV is perfectly executed. The production design of Lecter’s cell and they way he is later transported on a handtruck with custom restraints, all unforgettable details that you don’t really get on the page. Lecter’s garish staging of his victim. And one key addition to the movie (that would probably not work in a written medium) is the way Demme cross cuts from an FBI raid to Buffalo Bill hearing the doorbell. It’s a cheat, maybe, but the best kind of cheat.

Hannibal the Cannibal reveal

Hannibal in his travel gear

For her part, Jodie Foster does an exceptional job portraying a woman making her way through a man’s world who nonetheless manages to project more confidence than she probably feels. She’s clearly intelligent and knows exactly what she’s getting herself into, but sometimes self-conscious of her background, a point immediately seized on by Lecter. Speaking of whom, Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter is an enduring creation, despite not having nearly as much screen time as Starling. Cold and calculating, you never really know how much you trust him, but because of Starling and Lecter’s relationship, you find him almost likable (he’s helping her, after all, and seemingly understands her plight better than anyone else), despite the fact that he’s quite literally a monster. Comparatively, Ted Levine’s Buffalo Bill is perhaps not as chilling, but still represents a more deviant threat. There are some who laugh off his performance with a sort of ironic hipster detachment, but he does a good job. Most of the other supporting performances, even itty bitty ones like Frankie Faison as the competent orderly Barnie or Anthony Heald’s slimy turn as Dr. Chilton (his bumbling, inappropriate attempts to proposition Starling are particularly relevant at the moment, I think, as is his generally self-serving demeanor, actually), turn out to be surprisingly memorable. This is no accident.

Starling in night vision

Despite being so similar, I also enjoyed the book quite a bit. Perhaps it’s just my fondness for rewatching the movie that made reading the book (well, listening to the audiobook, actually, which did have a great narrator in Frank Muller) so enjoyable. Ok, maybe some of the expanded bits were interesting too, but I honestly don’t see them as necessary. Harris’ prose is straightforward but well suited towards the story. As Ted Demme’s visual style is not showy or grandstanding, yet still extremely effective, so too does Harris’ prose work to keep the story moving without calling too much attention to itself.

Lecters ghastly staging of a victim

Plus, it’s not like the movie didn’t inherit Harris’ well constructed plotting, which is what gives it such a propulsive pace. Clocking in at nearly two hours, it never feels like it’s too long, and yet Demme finds time to linger on the certain elements of the story in a way that helps generate a generally unsettling tone. This isn’t a traditionally action-packed story (though there are a couple of solid set pieces), so these more restrained approaches fit, while still keeping the viewers and readers engaged. This movie hits that goldilocks zone. Red Dragon was a little too lurid and sloppy, Hannibal way too ugly and disturbing (though, I will note, I’m only going by the Ridley Scott adaptation on that one), Silence of the Lambs is just right. A combination of high and low in perfect proportions. Lurid and disturbing, but leavened by insight and depth. Involving and frightening, Silence of the Lambs will probably outlive its siblings, and will almost certainly join the ranks of the horror classics (if it already isn’t there, which it should be and certainly is in my book).

6WH: Christine

I have long been a fan of John Carpenter’s Christine and consider it his most underrated work. I had not read Stephen King’s novel of the same name until now, and while it’s hard to call any Stephen King work underrated, it doesn’t seem to come up as one of his most popular books either (call it top of the middle tier King?) As an adaptation, Carpenter’s film makes drastic changes while retaining the basic themes and shape of King’s story.

Christine on the assembly line

The changes are apparent immediately, as the movie starts in a car factory where a red 1958 Plymouth Fury is being constructed. As it rolls down the assembly line, an “accident” mars one of the workers. Soon after, another worker enters the car and promptly dies. This does an effective job of setting the car up as some sort of inherently evil presence that is nonetheless able to attract certain types of people. The book begins when the car is sold to teenage dork Arnie Cunningham two decades later, and the car’s malevolence is driven more by its previous owner than the car itself. It’s a key change, but one that I think works well enough.

A Broken Down Christine

The aforementioned dork, Arnie Cunningham, spies a dirty and broken-down version of the car, but with a for-sale sign in the window. He immediately falls in the love with the car (which is named Christine, of course), takes it to a shop to fix it up, and starts to act very differently with his family and even his best friend Dennis. He finds confidence in his new purchase, which allows him to ask out the new girl in school, but also leads to a more hot-headed, dismissive attitude in day-to-day interactions. The car makes him feel stronger, but he’s really just becoming more cruel and mean. Also, it seems that Christine has fallen in love with him as well, and has taken to prowling around at night all on her own, taking out various bullies who have threatened Arnie.

When laid out like this, it sounds like a silly premise and I guess that it is, but both King and Carpenter are able to ground the story in the mundane at first, only gradually introducing the more fanciful elements as the story proceeds. King has always had a knack for imbuing conventional, every-day perks of modern life with something more sinister. Here, it’s a car. In The Shining, it’s a hotel. In Cujo, it’s a dog. And so on. There’s something archetypal about this sort of thing that King is able to capture, and that Carpenter is able to maintain in the adaptation.

Both versions of the story do a reasonable job portraying the superficial pleasures of teenage, suburban life. There’s a cynicism that underlies this that could be obnoxious, but both King and Carpenter are able to touch on these ideas without completely drowning the story in misery. As befits most fiction, the relationships and interactions are a bit exaggerated, but not so much that you can’t relate. Characters are flawed and not totally likable, but you can still empathize with them.

Christine Book Cover

King’s book obviously allows much more time to establish Arnie and the gradual descent he undergoes as he’s driven by Christine (irony!) or, more accurately, her former owner, Roland D. LeBay. It never really drags, and King does a good job capturing the community and families involved as well as the main characters. We get a lot more about Christine’s previous owner and his troubled history (before and after the car). Arnie begins to talk like him, act like him, and Dennis even notices that Arnie’s signiture has changed (implying that he’s sort of possessed). Christine drives around by herself, but really it appears to be LeBay’s spirit that’s doing the driving, and as the story progresses and Christine picks up more power, people start to hallucinate in the car, even seeing things like the rotting corpse of LeBay.

Carpenter’s adaptation neatly simplifies all of this, directly imbuing the car with malevolence. It’s a choice that works while still allowing the movie to hit many of the same beats as the book. Obviously much of the story is cut out and that does have an impact, particularly when it comes to the third act, which does feel rushed. Still, Carpenter is able to cleverly devise visual treatments to emphasize Christine’s nature without resorting to anything particularly showy. Lots of steadicam shots, low angles, and great nighttime cinematography of headlights suddenly appearing in the darkness and so on. The car looks fantastic, and Carpenter lingers just long enough to let your mind wander. Are we, the audience, just as attracted to the car as Arnie? It’s a restrained but very effective approach. The use of music on the radio in the car can be a bit on the nose, but it’s a reasonable device to use for the medium and it’s not overdone. The sequence where Christine rebuilds herself, which relied on practical effects, is well conceived and perfectly executed (were this made today, I’m sure the inevitable reliance on CGI wouldn’t be nearly as effective).

Show Me

Ultimately, this conforms to the standard book is better than the movie situation, but the movie does a good enough job to justify its existence and even ranks pretty highly among adaptations (King or otherwise). Given the size and scope of the book, I can’t imagine a better adaptation, and Carpenter’s formal precision and visual prowess nearly carries the day. The film falters in the finale, but manages to hold on well enough for non-book-readers. Still, I suspect even book-readers could appreciate the film, as I certainly did.