I find a new platform* for my yapping over at the lovely Gamersyndrome.com, and begin by looking at upcoming jumpy-game New Super Mario Bros. Wii. “Nintendo have recently come out and admitted that, perhaps, their E3 showing was a bit weak. Certainly alongside Microsoft’s big Milo/Natal double-team, it wasn’t much. But, for a company so often accused these days of neglecting their “hardcore” audience- that’d be us guys- the headlines seemed to spell out ‘Nintendo Go Back To The Franchises’: two Mario games, a new Metroid and hints about a forthcoming Zelda.” BUT THERE’S A TWIST! Read the rest here.*Yup, this was certainly a pun.
Quentin Tarantino’s developed a different reputation, it seems, in the wake of Kill Bill and Grindhouse. He’s started to become entangled with the traits he played with there: breaking-the-rules, ironic ridiculousness, over-the-top-till-its-funny violence and homage to so-bad-they’re-good b-movies. And so when he does something in Inglourious Basterds, I almost feel a traitor for thinking about it seriously. Which leads me straight into the film’s biggest problem: Michael Myers. Funny when spotted in the credits, his Austin-Powers performance is so out-of-sync with the rest of the film it’s…well, it’s not funny. But because of the type of filmmaker QT’s become, raising these concerns with my friends was invalidated- just another joke. And it is a funny film, but at its best you’re laughing with (or, perhaps, at) the characters, not at the film. It feels like Tarantino’s trying to make a point in Inglourious, in a way I haven’t seen since that original statement: film characters have mundane lives too, y’know. And this is where I think Inglourious‘ negative reception comes from- that infamous one-star Guardian review, for example. Its hard not to give too much away, and I applaud the advertising campaign which has completely misserved the tone of the film (it comes off as a Brad Pitt action romp, which it really isn’t.) But if you’re going to see, I wouldn’t read on (I mean, I’d bookmark it and come back after and shower me with praise for my insight whilst linking all my friends, but that’s just me. Just a suggestion.) I think Inglourious is an attempt at taking apart the last films Tarantino’s made- Kill Bill and Death Proof. It precisely isn’t those films- there’s probably less action in this one than Reservoir Dogs– though it takes something from them. That last moment in Kill Bill Vol. 2, where Bea’s both crying and laughing and its the only time in the entire film anyone seems to make to anything to think, is all this revenge actually a good idea? The film is clearly pointed- the first two scenes serve as a perfect mirror- just as Col. Landa (wonderfully played, in the one thing everyone seems to agree on, by Christoph Waltz) hunts the Jews, and makes an extended, charismatic but horrifying argument for it, Lt Raine (Brad Pitt, I’m not sure if he’s another pure exertion of Pitt’s charisma or a one-dimensional cut-out) hunts the Nazis. But Raine doesn’t really seem to have a reason- because the genre demands it! Because they’re Nazis and they’re bad! Meanwhile, they offer the same choice to their captive audience- a French farm-owner and a Nazi sergeant- sell out your friends to your own benefit (i.e., survival) or don’t, and die. The Frenchman accepts, while the Nazi- boo! hiss!- stays loyal. And is very much killed. Woo! Yay! It seems like, by presenting us with cinema’s (and history’s) easiest baddie (excluding, of course, the loathsome CommieNazi), Tarantino is actually looking at how easily violence came in Kill Bill’s three-figure death count and how good he is at it- the stand-out scene in Death Proof is the wonderously misogyno-death scene of its (up till then) four main characters, played out in repeating, protracted pornographic slow-mo. The deaths here are inglorious- there’s no murder porn* as good as the Stuck in the Middle ear-subtraction, and the good guys come off as zealots. Even the Bea-2.0 character of Shoshanna, with a violently played out cause for revenge, is more terrorist than freedom fighter. Okay, in the words of John Lydon, I could be wrong, I could be right: perhaps Tarantino really is just making impulse decisions ’cause they’re kewl. And, if I am right*, its hardly the newest idea to say, yeah, but the German soldiers weren’t all Nazis or, maybe film violence is bad. Like all these things, though, its about context. The mainstream arena these ideas are being presented in, the subtle way** you can read the film either way, and the way it works against Tarantino’s reputation, make it interesting in a way chin-stroking Oscar-baiters or blatantly dogmatic addresses at the audience just never are for me. But, undeniably, Inglourious Basterds shifts the Tarantino brand- it strips away (probably not intentionally) the uber-cool soundtrack and the perfect remember-them casting, the pop-culture references and the worst excesses of ultra-violence. I think the reason I like this film so damn much is that I’ve finally realised what the Tarantino Thing is: the long, play-like scenes, the way he uses dialogue as a weapon to build tension and finally, messily, release. The entire film is a simple build-and-release tension-builder, and when we finally reach the violent loosing of that tension, nothing is ever really achieved***. But that’s Tarantino for ya.*And, okay, the film features Eli Roth, King Of Torture Porn, in an absolutely appalling turn as the promisingly built-up ‘Bear Jew’, so obviously we’re not entirely shaking off the shackles of violence oppression here. **Some would say “the proves-you-wrong way”. ***There’s an obvious way of arguing against this. Bring it. Come on. I dares ya. (Confession: I realise that the “Say auf Widersehen to your Nazi balls!” moment, at which I laughed at louder than the entire cinema like the absolutely abhorrent human being I am, somewhat undermines this argument. Its possibly the most ridiculous moment in any Tarantino film. I never said it was perfect- either my argument or the film. I just think we have to register some change.)
As my life takes on the traditional summer-holiday form of long days of gaming with little other nutrition, so do my for-the-blog scribblings become a games-only paradise*. But none of them still quite scratch the lingering itch that only Spelunky can satisfy. That is, something elegant yet mindless to do with my fingers while I chat/watch TV/listen to music. It’s why my girlfriend plays Tetris and Spider Solitaire while she catches up on Smallville**, why my flatmates play endless hours of Football Manager; it’s the unique debt we owe to laptops. 5 of us in a room, following (currently) the many running-people on TV and listening to the Ramones and discussing the “is she a man” controversy and never breaking the illusion of social contact.There’s a sense of pure uncomplicated flow to all these games that just fills a need. And even in console games- which tend to be a just-for-me, more serious time-consuming activity, I’ve found myself craving that flow. I think this is exacerbated by the death of my 360 and, in lieu of shooty games, seeking that other love of mine, the jumpy game. And it’s something I’ve just failed to find in the amusing, interesting mechanics of Super Paper Mario, or the pretty cartoon landscapes and addictive challenges of Wario Land: Shake It. They’re just not bouncy enough, frankly. It’s the same reason I love the Ninja Gaiden games, infuriatingly difficult though they might be at times, over more artistically interesting (and equally infuriating) games like, say, No More Heroes***. Now, having not touched Ninja Gaiden for maybe 6 months, if I close my eyes, I can imagine the exact moves. My fingers twitch automatically, dancing for where the buttons should be- a quick bounce of that guy’s head (R + A) to flip back off wall (A), then shoot myself (Y) back at him, get in a quick couple of slices (XX) before finishing with a uppercut stab (Y). There’s a sense of these games as an extension of your body, and the repetitive motion is their draw. It’s not a longing to do a particular level or move in Ninja Gaiden that causes me to inevitably crack open the case every six months- it’s a desire for its familiar mechanics. It’s soothing and at the same time I feel powerful. Which might seem a bit of a paradox in a game so infamously difficult, and with Spelunky being almost as hard. Sometimes the actual flow of movement on screen gets interrupted, often by death, but as I learn, I internalise the game’s mechanics. In Spelunky (and when I watch my girlfriend play Spider Solitaire I can see it happening in her head), I can look at a situation and, if I take my time, imagine the many- but finite- possible outcomes. The arc this thrown rock will take, how and when that spider will fall- into an arrow trap, which might wake the skeleton-is it an undeador just a throwable skull?- a simple bombshould solve it and let me safelydown to the next– I’m sorry, I need to go and play Spelunky. I’ve spent too long quietly typing this and not paying attention to the running-types on TV.*And, I realise, quite rarely committed to the blog itself. Internet’s been in a mess, etc. Comment if you’ve really missed me enough that you feel left down.**This isn’t an activity I encourage, but am consistently morbidly curious about it.***You can’t even jump in NMH. This is a travesty. (Confession: I’m aware this is about the most autobiography-heavy post I’ve ever done, for which I apologise. Handsome or no, I’m certainly less interesting than ninjas, tomb-raiders and Britney Spears.Confession II: I’m also aware the point of this post meandered more than a little. Apologies to the many teachers and markers who I am sure will recognise this quirk from every essay I’ve ever written.)