Jurassic World restored my faith in humanity a little bit.

Dramatic, I know. But if you've heard or read anything I've said about the modern state of Star Trek, Mega Man, Metroid, or any of my other favorite entertainment franchises, you know I've become bitter. Like I'm the only fan who cares about integrity, continuity, coherence. We can't just make sequels and prequels and interquels anymore. Everything has to be a reboot, even if it isn't technically a reboot. Everyone has to tell a story on their own terms, even if that means tearing down the foundations that have held a series together. Modern entertainment is selfish, nearsighted, and usually terribly written, but that didn't stop me from getting excited about Jurassic World when I saw the first advertisement for it.

Jurassic Park is my favorite movie of all time. It's been my favorite movie since I first saw it in the theater with my mother back in 1993. I've written about why I love it, but in short: Dinosaurs! As any child will tell you, dinosaurs (if not ninjas or robots) are the coolest thing in the world. Jurassic Park perfectly evokes those childlike feelings of awe and wonder, followed by utter horror and helplessness as things spiral out of control, which ultimately gives way to a mature admiration and respect for these fearsome creatures. No matter how old I get, the movie never fails to make me feel like a kid again, and by the end of it, I've grown up a little more, just as the characters have.

The sequels don't come close to duplicating the quality of the first movie, but they're at least reasonable continuations of the story. Despite some moments where I find it difficult to suspend my disbelief, I like Jurassic Park III  (William H. Macy and Téa Leoni go a long way in improving my opinion of any movie). I tolerate The Lost World: Jurassic Park (Jeff Goldblum and a rampaging T. rex go a long way in improving my opinion of any movie). With nearly 15 years' distance from the last installment and a two-sequel precedent of "generic action movie" to follow from, Jurassic World had every excuse to be a disappointment.

I left the theater in tears. But for the first time since maybe 2009, when a layer of ice shaped like J.J. Abrams started to cover my heart, those were tears of joy. Jurassic Park was the one thing—and I mean the one thing—left in the entertainment world that I held dear that nobody had messed with, and Jurassic World brought it back with the kind of care and dignity that, pardon the irresistibly obvious pun, I thought were extinct.

Jurassic World remembers where it came from. It understands what makes the first movie so much more popular than the next two. It caters to a new generation of fans without leaving the old ones behind, also capitalizing on the current popularity of the Marvel Cinematic Universe with Chris "Star-Lord" Pratt and Vincent "Kingpin" D'Onofrio playing key roles. Touchstones to the first movie are everywhere, and they're not just there for the audience; they play an important role in the story—a story that recaptures that childlike wonder, offers up some fresh scares, and thoughtfully explores the possibilities of a successful park filled with dinosaurs. Jurassic World reboots the franchise without severing ties to continuity, and it clearly has a plan for where it wants to go from here...but if this is the last Jurassic film we ever get, it's not a bad stopping point, either.

That's not to say I wouldn't change some things. The film is about 10 minutes too slow, getting hung up in the beginning on multiple introductions that could have been condensed or conveyed through other means. There's a hint of romance that doesn't necessarily take away from the movie, but that could have been excised for the welcome novelty of having a male and female character not end up together after spending a whole 90 minutes with each other. One character gets killed off in a particularly gratuitous fashion that befits an especially vile villain, but not an unassuming person just trying to help. John Williams' unforgettable Jurassic Park score is back in full force, but the new music tends to meander, and the score as a whole sometimes overshoots or undershoots the tone of a scene.

Still, these are shortcomings I can live with. Changing them wouldn't change the fundamental character of the film. Jurassic World breaks new ground without desecrating the old, and it does so with style and love. That's what I want out of a sequel. I sat through the whole credits with a grin on my face, wiping the joyful tears from my eyes, remembering just how good it feels for one of my favorite things in the entertainment world to make me happy for a change.

Judging by my enthusiasm for Dungeons & Dragons, the variety of fantasy novels on my bookshelf, the number of fantasy-themed RPGs on my Backloggery, and the fact that I've back-to-back marathoned both The Lord of the Rings extended edition trilogy and all eight Harry Potter films (at separate times, of course), you'd think I was a fan of the fantasy genre. In truth, I merely appreciate a well-told story. More often than not, I like these works of entertainment despite their genre, not because of it.

I'm an escapist. The less my fiction resembles reality, the more I tend to enjoy it, at least as a general matter of principle. That's why I'm such a big fan of sci-fi: when was the last time you terraformed a planet or took a spaceship to work? Sci-fi is often futuristic. I know where we've been, and I know where we are, but I'm most excited to see where we'll go. Dystopian fiction? Forget it. I want to believe we have a bright future ahead of us, or at least a future where our prosperity and advancement have introduced a whole new set of conflicts unlike any we've previously dealt with.

Fantasy? Fantasy lives in the past. Medieval England. Old folklore. Rehashes of Tolkien. Fantasy is hung up on that which cannot be explained. Magic. Ancient curses. Elements that do not hold writers accountable to any standards of logic or continuity. Fantasy is gimmicky; something familiar with something unfamiliar slapped on top of it. ("These aren't any horses! They're magical horses.") Fantasy has the potential to be a realm of pure imagination that bears only a passing resemblance to reality. What I want out of the genre is the whimsical creativity of Roald Dahl, the built-from-scratch feel of the Golden Sun universe, and the utterly foreign lifestyle and culture of Conan the Barbarian. What I most often see and think of is, "WHOA! Dirty peasants, filthy hovels...and a dragon!!!"

And elves. Always with the elves.

Anybody got any suggestions that might win me over?

I am an anime fan, but for reasons previously discussed elsewhere, I don't often write about my fondness for this fandom. I've been to a few conventions, dressed up as a few characters, purchased numerous DVDs and a manga or two, received a calendar and a couple figurines as gifts, put up a wall scroll and a small handful of posters in my home, even had (or still have) a minor crush on a few characters who I readily recognize are fictional—that's more than enough for me to have plenty to write about Japanese animation and the surrounding fan culture.

Still, next to anyone else I've ever met who likes anime, I'm a rookie and a casual fan at best. I watch a combination of maybe a half dozen films and series a year, I write up a post if there's one like Fullmetal Alchemist or _Clannad or Gurren Lagann or Black Lagoon that sparks a strong enough reaction, and then I go back to Star Trek and Mega Man and whatever else it is that everyone thinks I exclusively do. I'm neither diehard enough nor well-versed enough to feel inspired or qualified to say very much about the medium most days.

I've got my favorites, though: Blue Seed, the formulaic and often intentionally funny action series that acted as my first formal introduction to anime; Trigun, the slightly sci-fi western with a satisfying balance of goofiness and thought-provoking seriousness; Azumanga Daioh!, the cute, innocent, and hysterical slice-of-life heartwarmer; Neon Genesis Evangelion, the classic mind-bending show that starts off about kids piloting giant robots and ends in buh-wha-huuuuuuuuh!?; and the first seven episodes of the aforementioned Black Lagoon, before everything gets all stabby and uncomfortable. There are plenty of honorable mentions, too: Panda-Z, FLCL, Fruits Basket, Dirty Pair, Read or Die, Spirited Away, Perfect Blue, Onegai Teacher, Poyopoyo Kansatsu Nikki, Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit, Tokyo Godfathers, Crying Freeman, Soul Eater, Doraemon, and Sekirei—and if you know anything about these anime, this is a weird list of honorable mentions.

Not as weird as it could be, though. I have no stomach for graphic violence, little or no interest in the supernatural, no particular attachment to steampunk or traditional fantasy, no patience for series that take five episodes to tell a story that could fit into one, and a slew of other preferences and intolerances that tend to rule out sticking with certain films or series, assuming I bother with them in the first place. Drastically dissimilar as some of my favorites and honorable mentions may be, there are some commonalities between many of them: funny or lighthearted, action-oriented, intellectually challenging, emotionally uplifting, beautifully animated, excessively cute, populated with compelling female characters, family-friendly, and light on censorship. Anything I've mentioned probably meets at least four of these criteria.

Evangelion remains my favorite TV anime, and I've been looking forward to adding the reboot series to the collection, just as soon as I'm positive it's all been released and I have any idea how to decipher installment titles like Evangelion 3.141592: You Will [Not] Figure This Out Anytime Soon. However, there's one series I enjoy even more than Eva, and it's one that holds a special place in my heart: you see, I might not be married if it weren't for Lupin III.

My wife and I went to the same college and ran in many of the same geeky circles. One fateful night, things were slow at the video game club, and we opted to skip out early. We talked on the way back to our respective dorms, decided neither of us was tired, and she invited me to watch anime in her dorm. Enter Lupin III and his merry band of elite and stylish thieves. (Hopefully you have a mental picture of Lupin, Jigen, Goemon, and sometimes Fujiko piling into the dorm room with us, with Zenigata and his army of policemen behind them, because that's exactly how it happened.) I loved everything about it: the characters, the dynamics between them, the sight gags, the over-the-top action sequences ("He cut a plane in half with a sword!")--Lupin III was pure fun. Getting to share that time with someone equally fun made it even better.

We ended up staying awake until 4:30 in the morning just talking after the anime ran out (and I hope you're now picturing Lupin and the gang making a hasty egress through the door and window). We were good acquaintances before, but Lupin III is, for me, the start of where we became good friends and eventually a couple. My wife informs me this actually happened on a different occasion watching Read or Die, which just reinforces my sentiment that I'm not qualified to talk about anime.

So wait. You're telling me that Star Wars: Episode VII, Ghostbusters III, Indiana Jones 5, and Beetlejuice 2 are all real movies that are happening or likely to happen in the next few years? Look, I'm all for a sequel if there's a good story to be told, but I think everybody missed the boat here. If we've learned anything from the likes of Star Wars: Episode I, Indiana Jones 4, and Terminator III, it's that sequels made 10+ years after the last installment consistently fail to resemble the movies they're following (which is occasionally advantageous; just ask Men in Black III or Rocky Balboa). More to the point, I'm concerned about this apparent resurgence of interest in continuing film franchises where half the people involved in the original film are either dead or of retirement age.

You had all of the '90s, guys. This isn't some long-lost parent you reconnected with in the twilight years of their life; these are properties that have happily been in the public consciousness for decades, enjoying continuous merchandising and no end to the books and comics and video games that have continued the story you could've been telling on film this whole time. I don't pretend to know how long these filmmakers have been trying to make sequels to these films, but I have to imagine at least one of these planning sessions went something like, "Jeez, Harrison Ford's getting up there, isn't he? Guess we'd better start making sequels again before he's too old to lift a whip or a blaster. You know, I'd completely forgotten he was still acting until I saw a few minutes of Air Force One on TV last night. That was only from a couple years ago, right? He looks great!"

There might be hope for Star Wars: Episode VII, which is being brought to us by the very same director who brought us the last two Star Wars movies (Star Trek and Star Trek Into Darkness). Otherwise, I'm skeptical. Unless the people involved—new and old—profoundly understand both what makes the originals good and how to effectively pick up with a story some 10, 20, even 30 years later, I think I'd rather save my money and catch Joe Dirt 2 whenever it arrives on Netflix.

I'm something of an amateur film and television buff. Growing up, I received a great deal of exposure to shows and movies of all sorts, thanks to my dad—just like video games are my favorite way to unwind, practically any kind of TV and cinema are his. I'd often sit down to watch something with him, or else do homework or play Game Boy or read a book in the same room, so that we could still spend time together while he was catching up on the latest episode of Don't Really Care 'Cuz There Are Lawyers In It. Visits with my grandparents broadened my horizons even further—I picked up a bit of a taste for boxing, professional wrestling, Britcoms, cooking shows, and even a low tolerance for farming shows and home shopping networks.

By the time I left for college, I'd seen—in whole or in part—films and shows from a broader spectrum of genres and time periods than the average kid my age. Aside from a few things my dad refused to put up with—I have yet to see A Christmas Story or anything from start to finish starring Woody Allen—I'd potentially watch anything as long as I could stomach it (I'm quite squeamish and don't do well with horror flicks, much to my dad's—and my wife's—chagrin). I arrived on campus with a willingness to at least try watching whatever anybody put in front of me, because I'd learned that even the oldest, campiest, weirdest, and most awful-looking shows and movies can sometimes be surprisingly enjoyable...and that you can always flip to something else if not.

One of the first extracurricular activities I got involved with at college was the anime society. Saturday afternoons until dinnertime we'd sit down to watch five back-to-back episodes of an anime series; same deal on Sundays, but with a different series. Now, I had seen a few episodes of Sailor Moon and Speed Racer here and there, but Japanese cartoons weren't part of the regular lineup in the Hoover household when I was younger. I believe it was my roommate who suggested I attend the first meeting, and any excuse to hang out with people at college was a good one. We started with Blue Seed, a charmingly formulaic monster-of-the-week show with occasional humor and plenty of action. We also had at least a dozen other people with us—a few of whom provided fantastic MST3K-worthy commentary the whole time—as well as having an auditorium and its huge projector screen all to ourselves. I was hooked.

By sophomore year, I was marathoning all of Neon Genesis Evangelion in my dorm room in a day and a half. Reading subtitles had become second nature to me, and I'd grown to appreciate the preservation of the original voices and inflection that subtitles provide. Anime was a gateway to foreign films, another category that wasn't a staple growing up. Between my Spanish classes, my semester abroad in Spain, and a handful of on-campus screenings that I otherwise wouldn't have attended without that initial exposure to anime (and that willingness to try watching anything), foreign films from any country became a minor interest.

When I discovered a wall of Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplain movies in the school library, I added silent films to my list as well. If I could read subtitles, I could read cue cards, and having no spoken language wasn't that far off from having a spoken language whose meaning I couldn't comprehend. Besides, I was used to the decades-old war movies and Christmas movies and Twilight Zone episodes that I and various members of my extended family enjoyed; black-and-white was nothing new to me. It's amazing what you miss by limiting yourself to a single era or genre of film; since watching Battleship Potemkin, and more recently, Metropolis, any preconceived notions I ever had about the standards and limitations of vintage cinema have been thrown out the window.

I believe it was my junior year of college when I began my great movie project. Whenever I was home on break, I'd make trips to the local library to stock up on movies for the week, going through the DVD shelves in alphabetical order. I didn't pick up every movie available; just the ones that (a) were landmark films that everyone assumes you've seen, such as The Godfather; (b) were being talked about with any sort of frequency at school, such as Fight Club; and (c) I felt like watching for the heck of it, such as *batteries not included. By the time my project formally came to a close, I was up to Hotel Rwanda.

In the years that followed my graduation, my friends, wife, and in-laws were largely responsible for the continuing expansion of my cinematic experience. I got roped into trying the 3-D fad with the likes of Beowulf, Avatar, and A Christmas Carol. My buddy Alex and I sat down to watch five films by Akira Kurosawa for an Exfanding project one year. Out of self-preservation, I began watching Doctor Who so that I could keep up with the inevitable conversation topic anytime I was with my wife's family. I was at the US premiere screening of the Japanese film Ramen Samurai thanks to my wife, who has also introduced me to more classic children's movies than anyone else who's not a blood relative. (What do you mean you've never seen Thumbalina!? We're fixing that right now!)

Netflix, of course, has been the biggest contributor of the last few years. Given my wife's eclectic tastes, and my eclectic tastes, we've successfully confused the adaptive suggestions of this delightful on-demand movie streaming service. We choose to share a profile that tracks both of our viewing habits so that we can get movie recommendations from categories such as, "Quirky, Action-Packed, and Cerebral Korean Buddy Cop Documentaries from the 1930s Featuring a Strong, Scantily Clad Mad Scientist Female Lead and Visually Striking Animated Bollywood Musical Sequences for Children, Filmed in Outer Space, with Vampires." Needless to say, our movie queue is quite colorful.

It's been a long time since I've watched movies and TV shows purely for entertainment. There's the joy of discovering new things I never realized I'd like. There's the cultural experience of learning about a different country, or time period, or way of life through film. There's the academic pursuit of becoming informed about this My Little Pony thing that people keep asking about. Call me a cinematic sponge, absorbing whatever I can. If it happens to be fun, so much the better. After years of pushing the boundaries of what I watch, I've learned it's the viewing experience—the quality time I spend watching with other people, and the knowledge and in-jokes and discussions that we take away from it—that makes it potentially worthwhile to watch practically anything.

It occurs to me that, after my last post, it might be beneficial to establish that I'm not altogether opposed to everything new and modern. It's true that I tend to live in the past, watching television shows that've been off the air for a decade and reading books well after they've been moved off the New Releases shelf, but that's not to say I have an aversion to everything new—after all, everything old was new at some point.

To help illustrate my lack of ill will toward all forms of modernity, I've compiled a list of my top five favorite films from the last five years. It's too early to have a Top Five list for video games (I haven't played half the ones in my library), I think I've only read four books from the last five years, and my other big passions (namely, food and music) would require more time than I'd like to spend researching. Off the top of my head, Mere Churchianity, The Gastronomy of Marriage, All the President's Pastries, Mega Man 9, Muramasa: The Demon Blade, cherry-flavored Tic Tacs, and Foster the People have been welcome additions to my life. Unless Wikipedia's correct and the Tic Tacs are from 2007, in which case I should probably throw out the package I have in the car.

Clever segue...

Nathaniel's Top Five Favorite Films of 2008-2013:

How to Train Your Dragon (2010) - Funny, likable characters, an appealing animation style, and seriously one of the coolest climactic battle sequences I've seen in a movie. My wife and I saw Iron Man 2 afterwards, and we both agreed that, for as explosive as the film was, this children's movie had a better final boss. It's that good.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2009) - This was a surprise; I'm normally not into gritty crime thrillers and dramas that don't involve spaceships and sentient computers, but the original Swedish adaptation of the book series everyone else was reading left a big impression on me (the extended version in particular). In addition to being one of the most shockingly "adult" movies I've ever seen (remember, this is the guy who just put How to Train Your Dragon in his top five), it's not often that I've seen such a unique, complex, and compelling female lead as Lisbeth Salander (and such an incredible performance, at that). Between her, the storytelling style, the twists and turns of the plot, and the novelty of being the first Swedish film I think I've ever seen, everything came together to make Dragon Tattoo such a fascinating experience that even I couldn't help but get sucked into it.

Inception (2010) - The most satisfyingly cerebral action flick I'd seen in a long time. Interesting concept, great execution, and very pretty. Also nice to see Tom Hardy and a grown-up Joseph Gordon-Levitt doing something completely different from their respective roles in Star Trek: Nemesis and 3rd Rock from the Sun, which is all I'd known them from previously.

Oblivion (2013) - Similar to Inception, Oblivion was the most satisfying science fiction flick I'd seen in a long time. I'd been sorely missing the kind of escapist sci-fi that, in the first five minutes, establishes a sense that this is a universe unlike our own. Decent sci-fi throws hovercars and funny-looking aliens at the viewer; good sci-fi develops settings and situations unlike anything we've ever encountered in real life, but with enough traces of reality that the viewer can still relate. Despite any of the film's shortcomings, Oblivion sticks with me because of the thought-provoking world it created—and great sci-fi keeps you thinking about it long after the credits roll. Plus, the film's got a killer soundtrack by M83, so you can guess what would be on my Top Five list for music, if I had one.

The Avengers (2012) - Ah, the one movie on my list that doesn't end in -ion or have the word "dragon" in it. While I think I might like Iron Man (2008) just a smidge more, The Avengers represents the culmination of film collaboration the likes of which Hollywood has never seen, unless there's another five movies out there with independent storylines that were subtly woven together to form the groundwork for a single film starring all of the other films' characters. The Avengers isn't just an engagingly comedic and action-packed spectacle in its own right; it's proof that movies can be so much more than a string of sequels, remakes, and reboots. The shared continuity of a cinematic universe has been long overdue—television's been at it forever, from Eureka and Warehouse 13 to Frasier, Wings, and Cheers—and you can tell the people involved have actually picked up a comic book before. I think Hollywood is finally realizing that the source material is what makes the source material popular; radically changing it to appeal to a moviegoing audience defeats the purpose.

Honorable Mentions:
2008 - Horton Hears a Who!, Kung Fu Panda
2009 - Watchmen, District 9
2010 - Despicable Me, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, The King's Speech
2011 - The Smurfs (Kidding! Kidding. Everything I've seen has been decent or pretty good, but not honorable-mentiony.)
2012 - Les Misérables
2013 - I didn't see it in 3D, but does Jurassic Park count?

"General bitterness commentary." That's how one of my friends has described my recent creative work. It's true, you know.

I've always been something of a perfectionist, so complaining about things that are less-than-perfect comes naturally to me. Still, I can do more than complain. I prefer to do more than complain. I used to be a very laid-back, happy-go-lucky sort of guy. Humor used to flow easily into my writing. What happened to me?

Perhaps a better question is, "What happened to the world around me?"

Anybody who knew me in elementary, middle, or high school and has seen me even remotely recently could probably tell you I really haven't changed much. I'm taller, wider, and beardier, but still a theatrical goofball with an overactive imagination and a cabinet full of Spaghetti-O's. I'm still a terrible backseat gamer, a goody two-shoes who can barely lie to keep a birthday party a secret, and a squeamish liability at a horror movie. I have the same lack of fashion sense (thankfully I'm through my sweatpants-in-summer phase), essentially the same hairstyle (with a few exceptions, like the floofy ridiculousness featured on my first driver's license), and the same penchant for playfully flipping other people's ponytails and pigtails whenever they're within reach (long hair is magical). I'm not absolutely identical to the me who walked into his first day of fourth grade and threw up on the floor, but I'm not too far off.

I also tend to be more forthcoming about personal information than I should be. Maybe I should work on that.

The more I think about what I've been writing, the more I'm realizing what the root of my bitterness is. Everything that makes me happy is being systematically distorted into something that makes me unhappy. No doubt there's more to it than that, but I cope better with Big Life Stuff and the stress of being a so-called "grown up" when my sources of entertainment function as escapism, and not something to be escaped from.

I've stated before that it usually takes time for me to warm up to change. I am not instinctively opposed to it, but I don't often see the need for it. Don't fix it if it ain't broke; make it better, not just different; that sort of thing.

Over the last several years, I've watched my three favorite entertainment franchises--Star Trek, Metroid, and Mega Man—veer off toward the boundaries of what I'll tolerate as a fan. I've endured an endless parade of website redesigns that seem to cater more to the people designing them than the people using them—Facebook, YouTube, Gmail, Pandora, and Blogger have undergone everything from minor tweaks to major overhauls, inevitably replacing something I love with something that annoys me. I've seen more and more large corporations—Capcom, Nintendo, Microsoft, Borders—make decisions that call into question whether they know anything about their consumers.

I've witnessed geek culture get absorbed into the mainstream with The Big Bang Theory, 4th Edition Dungeons & Dragons, and Mega Man 10's Easy Mode; now I'm just like everybody else, and my geek cred means nothing because we're all geeks now. I've watched the fan community create so many mashups of Firefly, Zelda, Star Wars, Calvin & Hobbes, and Doctor Who that there's barely any meaning left to them—what was once a charming novelty has become a mass-produced commodity. I've heard more and more music on the radio that hooks me with a great instrumental introduction and sends me away screaming when the vocals come in.

Too much change. Too little improvement.

And too much time spent agonizing over the few major merits in a sea of incredible flaws. If only they had fixed this, or left out that, we could've had something more amazing than anything before it. I miss the days when I could simply like or dislike something without deliberating over the pros and cons. It's draining to write about the things I love when they're also the things I hate, but the things I merely like usually don't get me fired up enough to talk about them unprompted.

Thus, you have my general bitterness commentary. However, if I can get off my soapbox, I'm sure I can also get out of my...
um...complainy pants. Bitterness boxers? I should stop gravitating toward clothing.

Effective as soon as I feel like it, this blog will be taking a more positive direction. I still reserve the right to complain, but I'd like to do so in a manner that's more humorous and thoughtful than it is straight-up cathartic. I feel more like myself when writing with a smile on my face, and I haven't done enough of that lately. I take requests, so let me know if there's anything you'd like to see.

April brought everything back into balance for me. I found time to write, play, record, and do all that other cool off-camera stuff the rest of the world can only guess at (though if you guessed, "making an impromptu trip to the grocery store because you had an uncontrollable craving for salad," then you are correct). Here's what happened as it pertains to the Internet:

This Blog:

Groovy. A little bit about YouTube, Facebook, geeky gifts, and cinema, plus something more philosophical. Yay variety.

- Retrospective: March 2013
- Debacle, Explanation, and Apology
- About Face(book)
- Good Things Come in Threes
- When I Die
- On Oblivion
- Series Opinions: Mega Man series: Mega Man 6-10

GameCola:

Groovy. A totally esoteric comic, admission of a videogame crush, a new format for the podcast video posts, and coverage of a game genre I don't talk about nearly enough. Yay variety.

Columns:
- Q&AmeCola: Your Videogame Crush

Comics:
- Sprite Flicker: Middle-EarthBound

Reviews:
- King's Quest III Redux: To Heir Is Human

Videos:
- GC Podcasts #41-43 on YouTube: No More Turnabouts
- GC Podcasts #44-46 on YouTube: Let's Not Get Too Limited on Saramail

YouTube:

Footage from the livestreaming 2012 Megathon continues to trickle in, and I made an honest-to-goodness video (referred to in one of the posts above).

GeminiLaser:
- [April Fools'] Mega Man 7 - Part 1: About Time!

DashJumpTV:
- Megathon 2012: Rockman 6 (Famicom) / Mega Man 6 (NES)

The Backloggery:

After seeing the frighteningly long list of additions to my Backloggery back in February, I swore I'd cut back on collecting games and start playing more of the ones I had. This went exceptionally well until I was gifted with a mega-pack of fantasy roleplaying games from GOG.com. Only my Backloggery is complaining, though; a lot of these are games I've been curious about, and the rest seem right up my alley.

New:
- Dungeon Keeper  (PC)
- Dungeon Keeper 2  (PC)
- Dungeons & Dragons: Dragonshard  (PC)
- Forgotten Realms: Demon Stone  (PC)
- Neverwinter Nights 2  (PC)
- Neverwinter Nights 2: Mask of the Betrayer  (PC)
- Neverwinter Nights 2: Mysteries of Westgate  (PC)
- Neverwinter Nights 2: Storm of Zehir  (PC)
- Ultima I: The First Age of Darkness  (PC)
- Ultima II: The Revenge of the Enchantress  (PC)
- Ultima III: Exodus  (PC)
- Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar  (PC)
- Ultima V: Warriors of Destiny  (PC)
- Ultima VI: The False Prophet  (PC)
- Ultima VII: The Black Gate  (PC)

Started:
- Half-Life 2: Lost Coast  (Steam)
- Mega Man X: Command Mission  (GCN)

Beat:
- Half-Life 2: Lost Coast  (Steam)
- Tomb Raider  (PC)

Completed:
- Boing! Docomodake DS  (NDS)
- Half-Life 2: Lost Coast  (Steam)

Lookin' good, me.

My wife and I went out this week to see Oblivion, the Tom Cruise film that's already my top candidate for favorite new film of the year. I watch a lot of sci-fi both old and new, and one of the things that appeals to me about Oblivion is how many things it does right. Sure, it's entertaining and thought-provoking and stuff blows up real good, but the movie is crafted in such a way that it transcends the basic hooks of premise, characters, and the novelty of the sci-fi elements to engage the viewer. I think plenty of science fiction movies—and movies in general—could stand to learn a thing or two from Oblivion.

Lesson #1: Set the Stage

Whether it's aliens, futuristic technology, or a post-apocalyptic setting, something about your sci-fi universe is going to be unfamiliar to the viewer, no matter how many times they've seen it in other films. Sometimes it works to be thrown into the action and figure things out as you go (see: Star Wars), but even then there's a certain amount of context that needs to be established. Oblivion takes the time to explain loads of backstory before the movie really begins, but the exposition is concise and effective—within the first five minutes, I had a firm grasp of the universe, these characters, and the life they lead, immersing me in the story before much of anything had happened. All too often I've seen movies devote too much screen time to introductions and backstory that are vital, but delay the start of the main plot (see: Harry Potter). Just as often I've seen movies that tell you nothing, possibly glossing over some critical backstory more than halfway through the film (see: Star Trek (2009)). Oblivion tells you everything you need to know up front, devoting the rest of its running time to telling the main story and further developing these characters you feel like you already know.

Lesson #2: Subvert Expectations

A hero lands in an empty field to repair a damaged drone that was shot down by scavengers. As the screenwriter, you should:

a) allow the hero to fix the drone, but be ambushed by scavengers on the way back
b) allow the hero to fix the drone, but have it malfunction and try to attack him
c) allow the hero to fix the drone, and go about his business

Most any other movie would've picked a) or b), but Oblivion frequently comes up with an option c). Murphy's Law is usually in constant effect elsewhere in the cinema world, because turncoat technology and overwhelming odds tend to make for better drama than when things go as planned. Oblivion uses this to great effect—every time something goes right, it builds greater tension for the things that go wrong. Veering away from the obvious while staying within the realm of reasonable possibility makes the story feel more authentic and less contrived, and it's easier to invest the audience in your story when they really don't know what will happen to the characters.

Even in the places where things do happen as you expect them to (a few minor deus-ex-machina moments come to mind), they're not overdramatized.

Lesson #3: Use Death Responsibly

From the noblest of heroes to the lowliest of Stormtroopers, people die in movies all the time. Death is often a climactic emotional gut-punch (see: Serenity) or an obligatory component of action sequences (see: Flash Gordon); all too infrequently do characters die as a natural consequence of choices and chance. Oblivion kills off its share of individuals, whether we know their names or not; the difference is that it would do the same regardless of whether an audience was watching.

Lesson #4: Always Keep One More Secret Up Your Sleeve

Oblivion is full of plot twists. Sometimes it's an unexpected revelation about the plot; sometimes it's the unexpected actions of the characters; sometimes it's a bona-fide out-of-the-blue surprise. Up until the very end, there's always something more for the viewer to discover about the characters and the universe. This also makes for a fresh experience re-watching the film, knowing now what you didn't know then.


Overall? I could stand to see more movies like Oblivion.