I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.
Twice this year, I’ve allowed myself to spend good money to see a movie adaptation of a property I love knowing full well beforehand that the film would be something of a frustrating experience. Bruckheimer’s The Prince of Persia was based off a great series of video games and was, at least, occasionally entertaining between bouts of incompetence. And now, M. Night Shyamalan has adapted a cartoon that I’ve only recently fallen in love with, and despite my premonitions that it would not be worth seeing, I dragged a couple siblings to a midnight showing to see it anyway. I’ve done the same thing with the Transformers sequel last year and a number of other doomed cinematic adaptations. I have some kind of puppie-like loyalty to these source materials as they make the jump to the big screen, one that has left me with fewer pleasant surprises than rolled-up newspaper swipes to my sensitive nose.
I’ve also given M. Night Shyamalan the benefit of every doubt I have. Unbreakable is still in my top 5 favorite movies of all time, so while watching his work take a much-publicized steep descent, I’ve kept hoping that his next film would mark his triumphant comeback. Even after his massive failure entitled The Happening, I still thought Shyamalan’s rebirth was just around the bend.
The Last Airbender has left me with no doubt in my mind that M. Night’s career is beyond hope. He has taken a phenomenally well-produced animated series and made what is one of the worst movies I have seen in recent memory(maybe barring last year’s Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen).
I’m at a loss. Where do I start with a movie this bad? How could this happen? It seemed like a sure-fire hit. You take a beloved series which has garnered immense critical praise and legions of devoted fans (oh yes, there were costumes in the audience) - a series which depicts an exciting, epic adventure spanning a conveniently-divided three seasons - and film it in live action with lavish production values and cutting-edge special effects. What could go wrong?
Everything, apparently. Shyamalan was kindly willing to show us just how thoroughly you can botch a movie adaptation.
Name nearly any part of M. Night’s bizarre vision in The Last Airbender, and it almost assuredly is awful (listed from worst to not-as-worst):
Writing: Here’s an oft-quoted example: “We will show the Fire Nation that we believe in our beliefs more than they believe in theirs.” Imagine the awfulness of this one line distilled across all the others spoken in a 100-minute movie, and you get the idea. What’s worse is a complete lack of context for anything that’s happening on screen. For all the terrible expository narration we get telling us what the characters are doing, Shyamalan never bothers with the crucial question of why? Our focal trio of heroes gets halfway across the world before they are given a purpose to even be travelling in the first place. In fact, if the narration didn’t tell us they were traveling great distances, we wouldn’t even be able to tell they were going anywhere. From what happens on screen it just looks like they lift off and land repeatedly in the same place, and it’s only the surrounding cast that suffers any variety.
Acting: The performances in this film are generally pretty terrible, but I’m willing to bet the turgid writing and controlling direction of M. Night played a significant role in damning the skills of the cast. Lead actor Noah Ringer as chosen-child Aang shows a moment or two of child-like energy and glee that brushes dangerously close to the source material before sinking back into self-important brooding. Shaun Toub as the sage-like Uncle Iroh and Slumdog Millionaire’s Dev Patel as his troubled nephew Zuko stand out as two truly talented actors trying desperately to shine despite the the lines they’re forced to recite.
Direction: Every once in a while Shyamalan will give us an effective or interesting shot, but they’re lost in the midst of his uncomfortable close-ups, bumpy tracking shots, and blandly staged action sequences. And unlike his last several movies, Shyamalan keeps the story moving at a brisk pace, but he does so without ever making it feel like anything is even happening. There is certainly a story behind the various occurrences that are depicted in The Last Airbender, but our massively misguided director absolutely refuses (or just plain doesn’t know how) to communicate it to us.
Special Effects and the correlated violence that happens: The “bent” elements that were created by Industrial Light and Magic look fantastic. Flames dance believably from a fire pit to its target, water sloshes and bubbles with life as it is lifted and thrown, and Aang’s winds carry a surprising force to them. But there’s a certain goofy quality to the “bending” that occurs in the film. Whether by Shyamalan’s specific decree or by a misunderstanding by the special effects artists, the manipulation of the elements is sometimes comically disconnected from the motions of the actors onscreen. An example that got a few chuckles from the audience included a pack of powerful-looking Earthbenders synchronized in a powerful-looking martial arts dance that summoned . . . a small, head-sized rock that floated slowly past the camera before whizzing at a nearby enemy. Fire Nation soldiers (with armor and big swords) will often wait patiently while Aang and his bending friends do time-consuming, complex martial arts dances before finally “bending” their given element. This gives a herky-jerky feel to many of the action sequences, as one side will warm up their element with some flashy choreographed moves while the other side stand around nervously, waiting to be pummeled.
I’ve been overly apologetic about Shyamalan’s failings in the past, but as he’s taken on the writing, directing, and producing roles in this film, and claimed complete responsibility for other aspects such as the utterly senseless casting, I can’t pretend to be on his side anymore. The total failure of The Last Airbender as a movie, let alone as an adaptation of a popular property, is completely in his hands. This is Shyamalan’s failure, and if audiences are smart enough to stay away from it this weekend and starve the film into a quiet death, maybe it will be enough to wake the once-wunderkind director up to his incompetence, and bend his career for the better.
Oh, who am I kidding?
My rating:
2.5 out of 10 somethings
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Race in Hollywood
I know, I know. This is one of those types of blog posts. Don't worry, I'll make it short. It's just something that's been on my mind recently.
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time has already attracted some attention for some of the interesting casting decisions made by its creators in regards to race. Specifically, not a single one of the most visible characters in the movie are played by an actor that even remotely resembles a Persian. Jake Gyllenhaal, a white-as-they-come actor headlines as the titular prince, while he is surrounded by the British likes of Ben Kingsely, Gemma Arterton, and Alfred Molina. The most ethnic the film dares get is in some elements of the art design and certain music cues. As someone who saw the film, I can attest that the lack of ethnic flavor was a major distraction, to say the least.
This is far from an isolated incident. M. Night Shyamalan's next film is an adaptation of the award-winning cartoon Avatar: The Last Airbender. The animated series is predominantly Asian/Inuit in its cast and design, while the baddies all appear to be white. I'll give you one guess as to what happened when M. Night cast the movie adaptation. Yep, the good guys all got whitewashed (a Texan kid, Noah Ringer, plays the lead) while the rogue's gallery got filled by actors with darker skins (Slumdog Millionaire's lead actor, Dev Patel, plays the primary antagonist).
Movie studios and their apologists usually claim that this is the result of market trends. Trending data shows, they say, that a film with a non-white actor in the lead role does significantly less well at the box office than one with an all-American cast. America, supposedly, is not ready to accept movies starring ethnic actors. Studios say they are simply reacting to demand. And this has been going on since film was born.
(I am aware that many examples can be named of reasonably successful films that starred actors of other ethnicities than white. But these are usually not summer tentpole films - the ones that make the real big money.)
My question is - who are these people that will not watch a movie with an Asian/Arab/Indian/African lead actor? Does it really matter to anyone reading this post if the actor on a movie poster or DVD cover is not eggshell white? Does that really affect your interest in a given movie? And if so, why? Because this is a position that I simply cannot understand.
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time has already attracted some attention for some of the interesting casting decisions made by its creators in regards to race. Specifically, not a single one of the most visible characters in the movie are played by an actor that even remotely resembles a Persian. Jake Gyllenhaal, a white-as-they-come actor headlines as the titular prince, while he is surrounded by the British likes of Ben Kingsely, Gemma Arterton, and Alfred Molina. The most ethnic the film dares get is in some elements of the art design and certain music cues. As someone who saw the film, I can attest that the lack of ethnic flavor was a major distraction, to say the least.
This is far from an isolated incident. M. Night Shyamalan's next film is an adaptation of the award-winning cartoon Avatar: The Last Airbender. The animated series is predominantly Asian/Inuit in its cast and design, while the baddies all appear to be white. I'll give you one guess as to what happened when M. Night cast the movie adaptation. Yep, the good guys all got whitewashed (a Texan kid, Noah Ringer, plays the lead) while the rogue's gallery got filled by actors with darker skins (Slumdog Millionaire's lead actor, Dev Patel, plays the primary antagonist).
Movie studios and their apologists usually claim that this is the result of market trends. Trending data shows, they say, that a film with a non-white actor in the lead role does significantly less well at the box office than one with an all-American cast. America, supposedly, is not ready to accept movies starring ethnic actors. Studios say they are simply reacting to demand. And this has been going on since film was born.
(I am aware that many examples can be named of reasonably successful films that starred actors of other ethnicities than white. But these are usually not summer tentpole films - the ones that make the real big money.)
My question is - who are these people that will not watch a movie with an Asian/Arab/Indian/African lead actor? Does it really matter to anyone reading this post if the actor on a movie poster or DVD cover is not eggshell white? Does that really affect your interest in a given movie? And if so, why? Because this is a position that I simply cannot understand.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Catholics, Mormons, Crises, and "The Wages of Faith"
I just finished reading Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling, a biography by Richard Lyman Bushman about the founder of Mormonism. The release of the book was accompanied by a mild ballyhoo of press hype amid LDS circles, being touted as the most upfront, honest treatment of Smith's life and controversies ever written by a believing, practicing Mormon. I think the promise of "honesty" scared away a number of potential LDS readers, which is a shame, but not surprising. At the time, I was serving in the Young Men's organization in my ward as the secretary to the presidency. The president mentioned that he was reading Rough Stone Rolling, so I asked him what he thought. He slowly shook his head and said, "That book really tries your faith in the prophet." This man is the very stereotype of the stalwart Mormon; salt-and-pepper hair, bounteous progeny, and a litany of high-profile leadership positions, before and since then. And this book was too "honest" for him.
I'm a sucker for controversy, so my interest in the book was instantly piqued. I picked up the book from the library recently and gave it a read. It was prodigiously researched, convincingly argued, and, as promised, completely open about the less-than-inspiring aspects of Smith's life. For anyone who wants a deeper understanding of the early years of the Mormon movement, Rough Stone Rolling is an excellent place to start. For me, the close inspections of Smith's follies and foibles did something unexpected; it built up my faith in his calling.
I explained this to my Dad, telling him that framing Joseph Smith as a fallible human was enhancing the compelling mystery of his life. By openly acknowledging his faults and admitting some confusion at some of his decisions, Bushman suddenly thrust the unexplainable aspects of Joseph's life into the spotlight. Namely, if he was a false prophet, someone please explain the Book of Mormon. Explain where the carefully-dictated revelations came from. Once his faults are acknowledged, controversies no longer become a crisis of faith, but an easily-explainable human error.
My Dad comes from a much more traditional approach to understanding the prophet: focus on the supernatural, inspiring, positive aspects of Smith's life, and casually ignore the rest. Where he sees inspiration, I see propaganda. Where he sees a conundrum of faith, I see an acknowledgment of the agency of man. Consequently, his favorite comic book hero is Superman, and mine is Batman. Coincidence? Hmmm . .
Anyway, I wanted to frame these different approaches to faith and history before moving on to the topic at hand. The Catholic church is going through one hell of a crisis right now that I cannot, for the life of me, understand. I remember when the first wave of accusations crashed against the church in the 90s or so, making the Catholic priest forever the butt end of myriads of pedophilia jokes. Back then it seemed to me that the incidents of priestly molestation were isolated in nature and didn't really reflect on the church in any significant way. It was just a bunch of sicko priests who got punished and sent on their way.
With the recent revelations about the institutionalized nature of child abuse in the Irish church, it's beyond clear that the Catholic church has a systemic problem that renders them incapable of dealing with this sort of issue. Offending priests are shuffled like so many decks of cards and offended families are ignored and disfellowshipped. Now, as the evidence, pressure, and criticisms mount, the Vatican is resorting to ever more irresponsible, crude, and just plain baffling methods of dealing with this historic crisis.
Evidence states that the Irish Church had a massive child abuse problem. The church's response?
"Woops, guess the Irish had a problem, eh? Well, sorry I suppose. Try prayer. I'm sure that will make it all better."
Evidence states that the Pope participated in a cover-up of priestly abuse. The church's response?
"Ah, this is all just petty gossip from the media. Pay it no mind."
Evidence continues to mount and more and more people call for the church to actually, you know, respond. The church's response?
"What you are all doing to us? Yeah, this is just like what Hitler did to the Jews. You should be ashamed."
Now, as more and more pressure is applied to the church, the Vatican is nearly silent but a myriad of Catholic voices are seeking to shift the blame to anyone they can. Everyone from working women to the Jews are more responsible for the church's failure to deal with pedophile priests than, you know, the actual church.
The Catholic church clearly has no idea how to respond to a crisis of faith brought on by those it assumes are most pious and trustworthy. When even the supposedly holiest man on earth is still susceptible to corruption, how can a believing Catholic respond? There are many ways, but the traditional practice seems to be the current one: deny or ignore any wrong doing and shift the blame to the forces of Satan. It's just the devil mounting a siege on the faithful from the inside out and back to the inside again. This cognitive dissonance and scapegoating sleight-of-hand the church is practicing is engineered to entertain and distract the minds of faithful Catholics, while the Vatican continues to shrug its shoulders as to how to respond to anyone outside the church. And they wonder why the controversy continues to mount.
This veritable circus of wrong-headed decisions and PR stunts is amusing to me, but only to a point. It becomes disconcerting when I realize how close to home this situation strikes (not to mention that, you know, hundreds if not thousands of children were abused at the hand of this veritably bonkers organization). Catholicism and Mormonism share a similar attitude regarding organization, authority, and power. This relationship is foreboding, should Mormonism encounter the same type of situation. Oh wait, it's already happened. Sure, it's not on the same scale as the Catholics yet, but the similarity is troubling, nonetheless.
When a religion with a highly-structured, extremely authoritative leadership is presented with such a grave sin within its systemic ranks, is the only recourse to sweep it under the rug and hope the secular world doesn't catch wise? If so, we Mormons have a disappointing future ahead of us, akin to the Catholics. When I mentioned something about the Catholic controversy on my facebook, my uncle responded, "Wages of faith *shrug*." Is that the idea that anyone dedicated to a life a faith is doomed to a regular practice of cognitive dissonance, denial, and allegiance to dishonest leadership?
Look, it's pretty clear to me that things don't have to be this way. I'm confused why the Catholic church doesn't just own up to its massive abuse of power and begin putting measures in place to ensure such things don't happen again. Controversy would subside, critics would quiet, and perhaps a new respect would be born for the church. Is that so naive to think? Am I foolish to think that such a move shouldn't utterly destroy any claim the church may have to divine design? They may lose a few disillusioned members who see the admission of fault to be a signal of apostasy, but I think the moral gain would be well worth it. And let's put that practice in place here in LDS-land before things grow too dire.
When Brigham Young decided to finally declare the then-established practice of plural marriage within the LDS church to be a divinely-appointed doctrine, the conundrum the present church faces was born. The teaching of plural marriage can never be fully rescinded at the risk of damaging Young's (and to some extent, Smith's) claim to prophetic revelation, while it can never be fully instituted again unless the law of the land (and cultural aversion to it) is changed. Such a rigid attitude puts the church in a no-win situation. It's not the situation that damages the church, it's the attitude. The attitude that church leaders are infallible and divinely-guided in every action throws their inherent humanity into stark relief. Then every criticism is a threat. The attitude that we are a pack of humans led by other humans who are divinely appointed and guided allows us a little more flexibility. Criticisms are no longer crises. Systemic abuses can be admitted, accounted for, and repaired. Mormons and Catholics both stand to gain much from such an attitude shift.
I am bemused, troubled, baffled, and deeply concerned over the Catholic child abuse controversy, because I see in it the seeds of a similar controversy for the Mormons. And I don't think that holding onto the same rigid dogmas of priestly infallibility and exhibiting more of a concern for the reputation of the church than for abuse victims is going to work for either church. Let's practice a little more intelligence in how we deal with our crises as a church than the one that ran the road before us.
I'm a sucker for controversy, so my interest in the book was instantly piqued. I picked up the book from the library recently and gave it a read. It was prodigiously researched, convincingly argued, and, as promised, completely open about the less-than-inspiring aspects of Smith's life. For anyone who wants a deeper understanding of the early years of the Mormon movement, Rough Stone Rolling is an excellent place to start. For me, the close inspections of Smith's follies and foibles did something unexpected; it built up my faith in his calling.
I explained this to my Dad, telling him that framing Joseph Smith as a fallible human was enhancing the compelling mystery of his life. By openly acknowledging his faults and admitting some confusion at some of his decisions, Bushman suddenly thrust the unexplainable aspects of Joseph's life into the spotlight. Namely, if he was a false prophet, someone please explain the Book of Mormon. Explain where the carefully-dictated revelations came from. Once his faults are acknowledged, controversies no longer become a crisis of faith, but an easily-explainable human error.
My Dad comes from a much more traditional approach to understanding the prophet: focus on the supernatural, inspiring, positive aspects of Smith's life, and casually ignore the rest. Where he sees inspiration, I see propaganda. Where he sees a conundrum of faith, I see an acknowledgment of the agency of man. Consequently, his favorite comic book hero is Superman, and mine is Batman. Coincidence? Hmmm . .
Anyway, I wanted to frame these different approaches to faith and history before moving on to the topic at hand. The Catholic church is going through one hell of a crisis right now that I cannot, for the life of me, understand. I remember when the first wave of accusations crashed against the church in the 90s or so, making the Catholic priest forever the butt end of myriads of pedophilia jokes. Back then it seemed to me that the incidents of priestly molestation were isolated in nature and didn't really reflect on the church in any significant way. It was just a bunch of sicko priests who got punished and sent on their way.
With the recent revelations about the institutionalized nature of child abuse in the Irish church, it's beyond clear that the Catholic church has a systemic problem that renders them incapable of dealing with this sort of issue. Offending priests are shuffled like so many decks of cards and offended families are ignored and disfellowshipped. Now, as the evidence, pressure, and criticisms mount, the Vatican is resorting to ever more irresponsible, crude, and just plain baffling methods of dealing with this historic crisis.
Evidence states that the Irish Church had a massive child abuse problem. The church's response?
"Woops, guess the Irish had a problem, eh? Well, sorry I suppose. Try prayer. I'm sure that will make it all better."
Evidence states that the Pope participated in a cover-up of priestly abuse. The church's response?
"Ah, this is all just petty gossip from the media. Pay it no mind."
Evidence continues to mount and more and more people call for the church to actually, you know, respond. The church's response?
"What you are all doing to us? Yeah, this is just like what Hitler did to the Jews. You should be ashamed."
Now, as more and more pressure is applied to the church, the Vatican is nearly silent but a myriad of Catholic voices are seeking to shift the blame to anyone they can. Everyone from working women to the Jews are more responsible for the church's failure to deal with pedophile priests than, you know, the actual church.
The Catholic church clearly has no idea how to respond to a crisis of faith brought on by those it assumes are most pious and trustworthy. When even the supposedly holiest man on earth is still susceptible to corruption, how can a believing Catholic respond? There are many ways, but the traditional practice seems to be the current one: deny or ignore any wrong doing and shift the blame to the forces of Satan. It's just the devil mounting a siege on the faithful from the inside out and back to the inside again. This cognitive dissonance and scapegoating sleight-of-hand the church is practicing is engineered to entertain and distract the minds of faithful Catholics, while the Vatican continues to shrug its shoulders as to how to respond to anyone outside the church. And they wonder why the controversy continues to mount.
This veritable circus of wrong-headed decisions and PR stunts is amusing to me, but only to a point. It becomes disconcerting when I realize how close to home this situation strikes (not to mention that, you know, hundreds if not thousands of children were abused at the hand of this veritably bonkers organization). Catholicism and Mormonism share a similar attitude regarding organization, authority, and power. This relationship is foreboding, should Mormonism encounter the same type of situation. Oh wait, it's already happened. Sure, it's not on the same scale as the Catholics yet, but the similarity is troubling, nonetheless.
When a religion with a highly-structured, extremely authoritative leadership is presented with such a grave sin within its systemic ranks, is the only recourse to sweep it under the rug and hope the secular world doesn't catch wise? If so, we Mormons have a disappointing future ahead of us, akin to the Catholics. When I mentioned something about the Catholic controversy on my facebook, my uncle responded, "Wages of faith *shrug*." Is that the idea that anyone dedicated to a life a faith is doomed to a regular practice of cognitive dissonance, denial, and allegiance to dishonest leadership?
Look, it's pretty clear to me that things don't have to be this way. I'm confused why the Catholic church doesn't just own up to its massive abuse of power and begin putting measures in place to ensure such things don't happen again. Controversy would subside, critics would quiet, and perhaps a new respect would be born for the church. Is that so naive to think? Am I foolish to think that such a move shouldn't utterly destroy any claim the church may have to divine design? They may lose a few disillusioned members who see the admission of fault to be a signal of apostasy, but I think the moral gain would be well worth it. And let's put that practice in place here in LDS-land before things grow too dire.
When Brigham Young decided to finally declare the then-established practice of plural marriage within the LDS church to be a divinely-appointed doctrine, the conundrum the present church faces was born. The teaching of plural marriage can never be fully rescinded at the risk of damaging Young's (and to some extent, Smith's) claim to prophetic revelation, while it can never be fully instituted again unless the law of the land (and cultural aversion to it) is changed. Such a rigid attitude puts the church in a no-win situation. It's not the situation that damages the church, it's the attitude. The attitude that church leaders are infallible and divinely-guided in every action throws their inherent humanity into stark relief. Then every criticism is a threat. The attitude that we are a pack of humans led by other humans who are divinely appointed and guided allows us a little more flexibility. Criticisms are no longer crises. Systemic abuses can be admitted, accounted for, and repaired. Mormons and Catholics both stand to gain much from such an attitude shift.
I am bemused, troubled, baffled, and deeply concerned over the Catholic child abuse controversy, because I see in it the seeds of a similar controversy for the Mormons. And I don't think that holding onto the same rigid dogmas of priestly infallibility and exhibiting more of a concern for the reputation of the church than for abuse victims is going to work for either church. Let's practice a little more intelligence in how we deal with our crises as a church than the one that ran the road before us.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Artists and Capitalism
I haven't written anything on here in a while.
It's not because I haven't had anything to say . . . far from it.
I've had a lot to say.
Problem is, every time I look at my blog and think about updating it, my eyes scrape painfully against the grating visual design and I just weep. That, and I keep having doubts about the whole "online journal" thing I set out to make this thing into.
But I got an anecdote from this week too interesting to pass up.
It actually starts several weeks ago, with the re-insurgence of my artistic vigor. I had completed a new digital picture using Corel Painter and my wonderful drawing tablet. Normally it would have stayed at that, and I would have dropped interest again for a while, but I got the bright idea to post it online for some feedback. The feedback I got was so positive that I flooded my facebook page with old art and showed my stuff off to more people than I had ever done previously. My sister did the same thing around the same time, only she was a bit more prolific and a little less exhibitionist.
In any case, my sister and I were hanging around our parents' house this Wednesday when their home teachers came over. We joined in the conversation while my sister continued doodling on her computer. They took notice and asked about what she was doing, and we explained. Instantly, one of the home teachers asked, "You making some money off your art?"
Sis and I both shook our heads, sort of perplexed. My Dad interjected, "Yeah, that's the problem with artists; They don't believe in capitalism." I'm sure he was (at least partially) joking. I mean, it got a laugh out of the home teachers.
This comment sort of irked me a bit, so I tried to explain that I didn't like the idea of drawing for profit. What I drew was for myself, and if others liked it, bonus. If they offered money, double bonus. The thought of commercial art had certainly crossed my mind, but never appealed to me. The only way I could see myself doing that sort of thing is if I got an art degree in college and got a job to do it. The sort of stuff I do on my own just really isn't suited for sale, and I have no interest in altering it for the sake of a market.
My Dad's dismissive response? "Well, sounds like I didn't teach you guys well enough."
If you couldn't tell, Pop's a thorough, proselytizing capitalist. He gave me "Rich Dad, Poor Dad" to read in High School, and reminds me to reread it on a yearly basis. I read it once, and thought a lot of it was really tickled my greed bone. I'm not trying to say I'm an anti-capitalist, baby-eating European socialist. If I raise enough investment capital some day, I intend to put a lot of the principles the book, and my Dad, taught me to good use.
But is it a failure on my Dad's part that I don't so completely embrace capitalism in everything I do?
Does the fact that I don't constantly think "Can I make money off of this?" mean that I'm somehow an anti-capitalist?
Am I thinking about this too much and giving my Dad too much of a hard time for trying to make the home teachers laugh?
(Probably)
It's not because I haven't had anything to say . . . far from it.
I've had a lot to say.
Problem is, every time I look at my blog and think about updating it, my eyes scrape painfully against the grating visual design and I just weep. That, and I keep having doubts about the whole "online journal" thing I set out to make this thing into.
But I got an anecdote from this week too interesting to pass up.
It actually starts several weeks ago, with the re-insurgence of my artistic vigor. I had completed a new digital picture using Corel Painter and my wonderful drawing tablet. Normally it would have stayed at that, and I would have dropped interest again for a while, but I got the bright idea to post it online for some feedback. The feedback I got was so positive that I flooded my facebook page with old art and showed my stuff off to more people than I had ever done previously. My sister did the same thing around the same time, only she was a bit more prolific and a little less exhibitionist.
In any case, my sister and I were hanging around our parents' house this Wednesday when their home teachers came over. We joined in the conversation while my sister continued doodling on her computer. They took notice and asked about what she was doing, and we explained. Instantly, one of the home teachers asked, "You making some money off your art?"
Sis and I both shook our heads, sort of perplexed. My Dad interjected, "Yeah, that's the problem with artists; They don't believe in capitalism." I'm sure he was (at least partially) joking. I mean, it got a laugh out of the home teachers.
This comment sort of irked me a bit, so I tried to explain that I didn't like the idea of drawing for profit. What I drew was for myself, and if others liked it, bonus. If they offered money, double bonus. The thought of commercial art had certainly crossed my mind, but never appealed to me. The only way I could see myself doing that sort of thing is if I got an art degree in college and got a job to do it. The sort of stuff I do on my own just really isn't suited for sale, and I have no interest in altering it for the sake of a market.
My Dad's dismissive response? "Well, sounds like I didn't teach you guys well enough."
If you couldn't tell, Pop's a thorough, proselytizing capitalist. He gave me "Rich Dad, Poor Dad" to read in High School, and reminds me to reread it on a yearly basis. I read it once, and thought a lot of it was really tickled my greed bone. I'm not trying to say I'm an anti-capitalist, baby-eating European socialist. If I raise enough investment capital some day, I intend to put a lot of the principles the book, and my Dad, taught me to good use.
But is it a failure on my Dad's part that I don't so completely embrace capitalism in everything I do?
Does the fact that I don't constantly think "Can I make money off of this?" mean that I'm somehow an anti-capitalist?
Am I thinking about this too much and giving my Dad too much of a hard time for trying to make the home teachers laugh?
(Probably)
Friday, January 8, 2010
OH SHIIIIIIIIIII . . . .
I love flickchart. I am on flickchart right now, as a matter of fact.
I also love The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966). So I decided, "I oughta re-rank The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly so I can move it up my list of movie rankings."
First match-up was against American Psycho (2000). Sorry Christian Bale, but your stunning breakout performance just doesn't do the trick.
Second was against Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982). Again, good movie, but no contest.
Flickchart wises up to my game and says "Alright, smart guy. Whaddaya say to THIS?"
Third match-up was against Lawrence of Arabia (1953).
This decision is going to take me all week.
I also love The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966). So I decided, "I oughta re-rank The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly so I can move it up my list of movie rankings."
First match-up was against American Psycho (2000). Sorry Christian Bale, but your stunning breakout performance just doesn't do the trick.
Second was against Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982). Again, good movie, but no contest.
Flickchart wises up to my game and says "Alright, smart guy. Whaddaya say to THIS?"
Third match-up was against Lawrence of Arabia (1953).
This decision is going to take me all week.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Fear
I feel trapped.
There are any number of things I want to write about in my blogs and facebook notes that I don't feel like I can or should.
Let me back up a bit.
What is a writer without his audience? Does a voice matter in a vacuum, or is it the listeners that validate its existence and make it worth listening to? Is it worth writing when no one reads?
Normally I'd say the subject matter of a writer's musings is irrelevant to the discussion of these questions, but in my case, the subject matter is of crucial concern.
Y'see, I live in a very red state, and my less-than-very-red opinions are not very popular here. My "audience," as it were, is pretty much restricted to a small geographic, as well as a very small set of very similar opinions. Sure, there's a few exceptions, but should my real opinions be expressed and prove repugnant to those who do not share them, I could ultimately be left with that few as my audience.
Some would say that I'd just need to say what I feel and find a new audience if needed. Sounds simple enough, but for a social anemic like myself, the prospect of finding a new audience (which I equate with making new friends) is terrifying. But I suppose they're right. It sucks to admit that fear is the main thing holding you back from doing what you want, but there you go. Now I just got to figure out how to get over myself.
In other news, can we talk about how much I hate New Year's resolutions?
So much.
There are any number of things I want to write about in my blogs and facebook notes that I don't feel like I can or should.
Let me back up a bit.
What is a writer without his audience? Does a voice matter in a vacuum, or is it the listeners that validate its existence and make it worth listening to? Is it worth writing when no one reads?
Normally I'd say the subject matter of a writer's musings is irrelevant to the discussion of these questions, but in my case, the subject matter is of crucial concern.
Y'see, I live in a very red state, and my less-than-very-red opinions are not very popular here. My "audience," as it were, is pretty much restricted to a small geographic, as well as a very small set of very similar opinions. Sure, there's a few exceptions, but should my real opinions be expressed and prove repugnant to those who do not share them, I could ultimately be left with that few as my audience.
Some would say that I'd just need to say what I feel and find a new audience if needed. Sounds simple enough, but for a social anemic like myself, the prospect of finding a new audience (which I equate with making new friends) is terrifying. But I suppose they're right. It sucks to admit that fear is the main thing holding you back from doing what you want, but there you go. Now I just got to figure out how to get over myself.
In other news, can we talk about how much I hate New Year's resolutions?
So much.
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