Far From Heaven

The film watching on break continued with today's screening of Far From Heaven. But before that, I also saw some other stuff that's worthy of comment.

A couple of days ago, I watched Maria, Full of Grace. This was a good movie, with a really intersting story that's well told, but it didn't engage me. The style is very verite, documentary-like, and it works for the story, but it's not that fun to watch. There's some nasty moments in the movie, specifically the swallowing the drugs scene. If this movie tells you one thing, it's don't be a drug mule, the process is not a pleasant one. I liked the ending, but as I said before, it's a good movie, just not one that hit me in any special way.

Then, I watched The Road Home, a film by Zhang Yimou, the director of Hero. Like Hero, this was a really beautiful film, with some great visual acting by Zhang Ziyi. She didn't have too many lines, but just through her facial expressions, you could understand everything she was going through and it was heartbreaking at times. The story is very simple, but it's in the telling of it that the film works, and it does work. I like the contrast of the color of the past to the black and white in the present, even though the message of the film, like in Hero, is a bit suspect. He seems to be saying that village life and the past are inherently better than more modern life, and I can't agree with that. But, that's more an issue surrounding the film than something about the merit of the film itself.

Yesterday, I watched eXistenZ by David Cronenberg, which wasn't particularly good. It had some cool ideas, and I liked the way he played out video game conventions with real people, but ultimately, the twist at the end didn't have much meaning because he hadn't created characters you care about. It felt like a really elaborate Twilight Zone that had material for a half hour, not a feature film. The film just wasn't made in an interesting way.

However, Far From Heaven was an amazing film, and one I could wholeheartedly embrace. The film is about the issue of racism and homosexuality in the 50s, but it's addressed through the cinematic language of Douglas Sirk, director of 50s melodrama and the man behind the adjective Sirkian.

While I've seen one of Sirk's films, Written on the Wind, I primarily know him secondhand, through the filmmaking of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, a great director behind the film, The Marriage of Maria Braun, and numerous others. He made the film Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, which was a loose remake of Sirk's All that Heaven Allows, and Todd Haynes' film is another take on the same story.

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul was a great film, and I can see a ton of parallels between that and Far From Heaven, most notably the bar scene, which is almost a direct rip. I think Haynes surpasses both Sirk and Fassbinder. He's got a better handle on character development and style than Fassbinder, and he has a freedom to deal with issues that Sirk didn't have. It's really interesting to see a film set in the 50s, and produced in a very strict classical Hollywood style dealing with racism and homosexuality in the way that people in the 50s did. There's no trace of modern attitudes in the film, but as the viewer, we clearly bring a more modern view and that can make it frustrating to watch the film. You don't want the characters to behave in the way they do because they seem like good people, but are flawed.



The relationship between Kathy and Raymond was the core of the film, and it's really well played. You can see why she's attracted to him, and also how the pressures of a racially divided society ultimately destory their hopes. Julianne Moore is one of the best actresses working today, and this is right up there with her best performances. It's very similar to her role in The Hours, but is played in a different way, because of her relationship with Raymond. She pulls off the right blend of 50s inspired acting and more emotionally realistic methods. Dennis Haysbert is surprisingly good as well, and I really felt for his character. His speech at the modern art show perfectly articulates the essential question of the film, and that's is it the surface that matters or what's beneath. Can you see past the surface to the essence of something?



In many ways the real star of this movie is the style. It's gorgeously stylized. I love how their living room always has a heavy blue light when the lights are off, perfectly setting the tone for scenes like the one where Frank slaps Kathleen. Color is really emphasized in the film, and is well integrated into the story with elements like the lilac scarf. The score is great, both imitating classical Hollywood scores, but doing it without the excess of those scores. It compliments the emotional content of scenes rather than overwhelming them.



I could see people who would look at this film and see it as a pointless exercise in homage. What is the point of so slavishly recreating someone's style of filmmaking? I think it does what remakes are supposed to do, but usually don't, and that's take the essence of a work and present in a new modern light, thus exposing previously unseen potential within the work. In this case, Sirk couldn't address prejudice like Haynes does here, and by aping the style of the 50s film, Sirk is able to make you better accept that people could hold these attitudes.

I think the film is one of the best statements against prejudice put on film because rather than telling you that these attitudes are wrong, it makes you feel just wrong they are. The fact that otherwise nice and respectable people can hold these attitudes just drives home how easy it is to be prejudiced, and makes you aware of prejudice's negative effects.

So, I loved this movie, I think it's deep, challening, and beautiful. It engages you as a viewer, and makes you work and think. That's what a film should do.

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Kubrick's Barry Lyndon

Spring break rocks on today as I watched Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon. Most of Kubrick's later period films are very well known, 2001, A Clockwork Orange, The Shining, Full Metal Jacket and Eyes Wide Shut are all commonly known and pretty well thought of films, with the exception of Eyes Wide Shut, which is criminally underrated, and sadly thought of as softporn rather than the great film than it is. I hope in the future, the film will be rediscovered by critics and appreciated because it's a phenomenal film, #32 on my personal top 100 list.

But, regardless of their opinion, people still know the film, and that's something that can't really be said of Barry Lyndon, which seems to be sort of the lost film of Kubrick's late canon. The only thing I really knew about the film before seeing it was that it was directed by Kubrick and he developed new lighting for the film that would let him film scenes using just candlelight. Well, now having seen it, I think it joins Eyes Wide Shut as another very underrated film.

The film is a great companion piece to what I was talking about yesterday with Satyricon, in that it drops you into a completely alien world, with its own practices and rules that we gradually pick up on. For all I know, it's a realistic depiction of 1700s life, but it's a world with very different rules than our own, and over the course of the film, we gradually learn what these rules are. This is a place where emotions are kept extremely guarded, and our only guide to the characters emotion is the subtleties of their tone. This is a world where a sharp "Gentlemen" can be analagous to "Fuck you" as when Barry basicallly tells Lord Lyndon he wants him to die so he can marry his wife, witha simple 'Gentlemen.' It's very subtle, but that shouldn't be mistaken for a lack of character. This is a world where everything is beneath the surface, constrained behind ridiculous costumes and makeup.

It's notable that we never see Barry break down, even at the end of the film when he loses the duel, he doesn't express any sort of remorse, it's just something that happened, the rules of the society dictate what he has to do, and he can't break those rules. The dueling scenes best demonstrate the absurdity of the world. They think that a logical way to resolve disagreements is to stand ten paces away and shoot each other. There's a strong dwelling on the rules of the duel because it's something that seems so dumb, the rules give it a grounding in reality. They're all a prisoner of the restrictions of their society.

The only moment where we see Barry react is when he assaults Bullington after his long series of coded insults. It's satisfying to see Barry punching this guy because Bullington was clearly insulting him, and previously we've never seen someone actually do anything about being insulted. So, seeing Barry lash out here is both shocking and a relief.



I've been reading some reviews of the film, and a lot of them talk about how there's no character development, and I can't agree there. The characters have fully developed emotional lives, but they're all restricted by the rules of their society.

In most movies set in the past, I find the character interaction really unnatural. For all the visual splendor of something like Gladiator or Troy, the way they talk just isn't real. Here, rather than trying to have the people act like modern people, and just talk in the language of the past, Kubrick creates characters who actually come from a different world. That's why they seem so odd, but I completely got the story of Barry and what he went through. I feel like everyone is resigned to the fate they've been given and just drifts along. In the first half, Barry is the exception, with his social climbing and scheming, but in the second half, he is defeated and beaten down like everyone else. Lady Lyndon doesn't seem to do anything or feel anything, but I think it's actually that she's disappointed and trapped in her world, so she has drifted off into an odd haze where she spends her whole life.



If I can find one consistent theme in the film, it's that all the poorer people are alive because they're struggling to reach the level of the nobility, such as Nora's family when they're trying to marry her off to Quinn, or Barry's mother in the second half. However, the people who are actually nobility sort of detach from reality and engage in frivolous pleasures without ever really accomplishing anything.

The film is known primarily for its visuals, and it's an astonishing film. It's sucha rich world, full of atmosphere, and beauty. The costumes are really over the top, and convey the absurdity of the world. Kubrick is a master of framing, and pretty much every image in the film is striking and interesting. His direction isn't as obvious or present as someone like Wong Kar-Wai or Chan-wook Park, but each shot and cut are still very clearly motivated and exacting. The shooting by candlelight works well to enhance the reality of the scenes, and place you in the mindset of these people. At first, I was wondering why there were so many candles around, but I realized their only light was candles, if they didn't have those, it'd be completely dark, no light but the moon.

It is a long film, but I don't think anything should have been cut, it isn't slow paced, it's just there's a lot to cover. It would be possible to lose some of the stuff at the beginning, like his encounter with the German woman, or his fight in army camp, but those things add to the reality of the world, and if you try to streamline the film into what's absolutely essential, you lose the sense of this being a fully realized world, that which is the films greatest virtue.

So, I'd place this film third on my Kubrick ranking. I haven't seen everything he's done, but the ranking of what I've seen is:

1. 2001: A Space Odyssey
2. Eyes Wide Shut
3. Barry Lyndon
4. The Shining
5. Dr. Strangelove
6. A Clockwork Orange
7. Full Metal Jacket
8. Paths of Glory

I haven't seen Spartacus or Lolita, but I get the feeling he didn't become a real master until 2001, a film which besides being one of the greatest films of all time, marks a huge leap in terms of style for Kubrick. His earlier films have pretty coherent narratives, and are more about content than style. 2001 is definitely concerned with themes, but it doesn't have a very solid story. It's much more about using the medium to riff on something, really taking advantage of film itself as a storytelling medium.

I read an interview with Kubrick where he talks about how his later scripts aren't very detailed, and wouldn't be interesting to read, because he wasn't writing scripts, he was making films. The script is just a step, the quality of the film is ultimately decided by the direction and production team. A great script pretty much ensures a good film, but it takes something more than just a great script to make a great film, and in his later films, Kubrick clearly realizes this.

Like Wong Kar-Wai, he doesn't write a script and then film it, he goes in with an idea of the film in his head, and then tries to capture it as he goes along filming. This means he shoots for a long time, and the film evolves as he goes. Barry Lyndon shot for 300 days, which is brutal, and as time went on, Kubrick took even longer to make each film, notably with the twelve year gap between Full Metal Jacket and Eyes Wide Shut. Similarly, it took five years from the start of filming for Wong Kar-Wai to finish 2046.

I think this way of making a film makes a lot more sense than a traditional script. Shooting Ricky Frost, we first went for the dialogue, and the priority was to capture the dialogue, rather than to use the visuals to tell the story. That's why with the project I'm writing now, I'm going much looser, and plan to do a more detailed list of shots, rather than a traditional script. While this goes against the figure it out on set method of Kubrick and WKW, it's necessary, because I don't have people who are going to wait forever for me to figure out what I want to do. But, it's going to be a type of script more suited to film, rather than the format inherited from theater that most directors use.

Interestingly, Barry Lyndon touches on a lot of the same themes as A Clockwork Orange, but I think it's covered much better here. ACO is very obvious in its message about the way that society changes you. The conditioning stuff is great, but it's clearly allegorical, the average person isn't going to be confronted by something like that. Barry Lyndon takes the same themes, the way that society destroys the individuality of the average person, and does it in a much more subtle way, one that's relevant to everybody. Barry is molded into someone acceptable to high society just through the course of everyday events, in the same way that society molds every person into something they might not want to be today. If you don't assert your individuality, it's very easy to get sucked into a role within society, and after Barry gets what he thinks he wants at the end of Part I, we see the society he's living in destroy him in Part II. So, with A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick plants the idea of societal conditioning, then explores it further here in Barry Lyndon, in a much more everyday situation. While our world may be very different than Barry's, there are similar rules on how to behave, and to violate these rules leads to rejection. While our boundaries have changed, the same basic rules about what we can and can't say in 'polite conversation' persist, and everytime you have the "How are you doing?" "Good, and you" "Pretty good," exchange, you're inhibited by the same rules that inhibited Barry.



We never really meet Barry emotionally, there's no scene where he breaks down, or tells us how he feels because that would undermine Kubrick's point. These people can't be emotionally honest with each other, and the audience feels that same frustration. They have to become numb, because if they didn't, repressing those emotions would be too difficult, and they'd react violently, as Alex from ACO, Jack from The Shining or Gomer Pyle from Full Metal Jacket. When Barry does act out violently, he finds himself rejected from society, and as the film winds on, he becomes increasingly numb, such that losing his leg and being thrown out of his home at the end of the film is almost a relief.

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2001: A Space Odyssey (7/1/2005)
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Satyricon

I'm on break, and no one else I know is home at present, so I've been watching a lot of movies. In the past two days, I've seen Casino, We Don't Live Here Anymore and Satyricon.

Casino was an entertaining movie, but it really felt like a weak echo of Goodfellas. Scorsese uses much of the same cast, the same co-writer and the same filmmaking style. This basically forces you to compare the two films, and Casino just doesn't stack up. Its story is all over, and it lacks the feeling of innovation that Goodfellas has, even fifteen years later. The film has music going in practically every scene, but Scorsese never really uses the music, it just plays along, under the action, and rarely comments on the scene its involved with. So, I liked it, but it's probably the weakest Scorsese film I've seen. Of his work that I have seen, I'd say Goodfellas and The Aviator are the best. It took me two viewings to really appreciate Goodfellas, but I don't think another viewing would improve Casino that much.



We Don't Live Here Anymore is notable for featuring two of David Lynch's ladies, Naomi Watts and Laura Dern, as well as Peter Krause, aka Six Feet Under's Nate, and Mark Ruffalo of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. So, this is a hell of a cast, but it's a movie that never quite comes together. The opening sequence is really striking, but for most of the movie, the characters just argue with each other, but unlike in, say, Six Feet Under or Buffy, you don't care about these characters, so watching them argue isn't that interesting. If this sort of stuff was happening with characters you cared about, it'd be riveting, but here, it doesn't quite make it. The acting is great though, and there's some very cool editing moments.



So, that brings us to Satyricon, by Federico Fellini. I watched 8 1/2 by him a few weeks ago, and it was great. I thought it was a pretty odd film, but this film goes way beyond it. People always say stuff like "It's a one of a kind film" or call films weird, and normally I don't agree, but this was a very weird and unique film. It's a film that challenges the viewer, but also puts you in a world where pretty much anything is acceptable, a world where morality doesn't apply, so you might be put off by what's going on, but the characters don't question it.



The mcguffin of this film is when Ascilto steals Encolpio's slave boy, Gitone, and sells him to an actor. Encolpio is in love with this slave boy, and the film makes no comment on the morality of this. You just have to accept that his quest to have a life with this boy is ok if you're going to enjoy the film. I was a little confused at first when no one seemed to question him, but it's ultimately just a way to get things started, and his quest is forgotten as the film continues.

After a little bit of watching, I was a bit disappointed that this movie didn't have the dream cut ins from 8 1/2. But, after a while, I realize that the entire film is like a dream. It just moves from one episode to another, and you're not really sure how you got there. There were moments, like when Encolpio is fighting a minotaur when I tried to think of what happened to get us to this point and I couldn't remember. We just ended up there somehow, and you can't really question it. Trying to find a coherent narrative in the film is a great challenge. Encolpio gets carried along, sometimes disappearing from the film, only to return a few minutes later after a little episode involving someone else occurs.

The most notable stylistic thing about the film for me was how Fellini constantly had the extras looking at the camera. There were these huge crowd scenes, and he'd move around the place, only to wind up with some strangely made up person staring directly at the camera. This is in some ways a Brechtian technique to emphasize the artificiality of the film world, but it doesn't take you out of the story, so much as draw you into it. It's like these people are asking what you think of what's going on, as if you're really there. It was freaking me out, because these people were just staring, like they were waiting for me to do something.

This was a movie that, despite not having much of a plot, was never boring. I got completely sucked into the world of the film and sort of drifted along, seeing this bizarre world that Fellini created. He described it as a science fiction film, but the alien civilization is Rome before Christianity, and that's accurate. This feels like a completely different world, and the film has more in common with Gilliam's Time Bandits than Gladiator.

Visually, the film is extremely rich. There's a lot of huge crowd scenes, and all the extras are made up in really odd ways. The sets are gorgeous, and there's a lot of bizarre occurrences on them. Also, everyone has the 60s ring around the eyes makeup, which I'm a big fan of.



The ending of the movie was oddly abrupt, but appropriate. Fellini just throws you out of the world, and you see the remnants of it on the beach, in the form of the mosaics. You're there, pondering what has happened, and realizing that the movie wasn't really going anywhere, it was what it was, just moments from a world that's gone. I loved the film, I think it really works as sort of a harder edged version of the typical 80s fantasy movie, and just as a really strange dreamlike journey of its own. 8 1/2 I really liked, but it went on a little too long, this one did not.

So, that was a top notch film. I've got La Dolce Vita on hold, so that'll be my next Fellini.

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8 1/2 (2/19/2005)

Endings

I feel like recently, and in the next few months, there's been a lot of endings. I've had a lot of series running along, that I'm partway through, and they all seem to be coming to a close now. Last week, I read the end of Promethea, something I started in senior year of high school, and had read sporadically over the years. It was a series I loved, and one of the few unread masterpieces I've had in comics.

In addition to that, I'm right now watching the final Buffyverse DVD box set, Angel season five. Buffy isn't something I've been watching that long, compared to others, but it still hurts to know that I'll (probably) never have another new DVD from the series. Then, later this year Six Feet Under ends. This is one of my favorite TV shows, and with that finished, only the last season of The Sopranos remains as an outstanding unfinished series. I love watching 24, Lost and The OC, but none of those series come close to how good Six Feet, The Sopranos, or last year's cancelled Angel was.

And right now, I'm also finishing up The Dark Tower book series. This is something I've been reading for a long time, like five years, and am 300 pages from the end of the last book. It's been another one of these incomplete stories that is finally being completed.

And then in May, the biggest incomplete thread is finally wrapped up when the final Star Wars movie is released. I saw the original Star Wars back in the 80s and have been waiting for this story for over 15 years. To finally see what happens is going to put a rest to speculation, and provide a finale to one of the dominant stories of my life. Those movies have had such an influence over me, to know that 'the circle is now complete' and I'll never have another first Star Wars experience is pretty sad, but also good, because I'm hoping it's going to be a great movie.

I feel like the end of a long TV or comic series, where they have to start tying up all the loose ends. All these endings I was waiting for are finally arriving, and after The Sopranos closes up in 2006, I don't think there's going to be any sort of long term story that I'm waiting for a conclusion on. A couple of years ago I had all the stuff mentioned above, plus Angel, Lord of the Rings, The Matrix, New X-Men and more. Now, everything's getting wrapped up, which probably means I've got to branch out and find some new series, new stories to enjoy, but that gets more and more difficult. I know in comics for a long time, I had a seemingly endless supply of stuff to look at, in terms of long run series, but lately, I've had a bit of a struggle to even find the new Preacher, let alone the new Sandman or Watchmen. I suppose the current run of Vertigo books, like Fables and Y: The Last Man, could yield something down the line, but I definitely feel like I covered most of the great comics.

Same in TV, there's a couple of shows I still want to check out, but I feel like I've seen most of the great stuff that's out there. But, that just means I have to be more diligent in looking for stuff. Same in movies, I've found most of what is easy to find and enjoy, I have to look deeper and find stuff that's not as easily accessible, but might still be great, like Spaced or Cowboy Bebop.

Related Posts
Promethea: Until the End of the World (24-32) (2/27/2005)
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith (5/20/2005)
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Before Going to Break

I'm on break now for the next two weeks, so I will be back in Mamaroneck by the weekend, and the kicking of it will begin. Not sure exactly what I'm going to do over this break, hopefully go to the Doves concert if I can get tickets, see Joss Whedon if I can get in, not sure what else, but I'm sure things will come up. I've got a bunch of movies on hold, some vintage, some foreign stuff and even some recent American films, so much variety.

It's been a really good half a semester, but more notably, a really fast one. The weeks go by really quickly, and then the weekends are just gone in a long indiscriminate period of leisure broken only by sleep. Reading Promethea was one of the highlights. The best movie I saw since getting back was Infernal Affairs, as well as its nearly equally brilliant sequel, Infernal Affairs II: The Legend. I'm taking the course on action movies, so I know a little something, and these two were phenomenal action films.

I'm looking forward to the Scorcese remake, called The Departed. I doubt it will top the original, but it's such a great premise, I'd love to see a master like Scorcese riff on it with a cast that includes Matt Damon, Leonardo Dicaprio and best of all, Jack Nicholson.

Promethea: Until The End of the World

Yesterday I finished reading the comic series Promethea, one of the best pieces of fiction ever created. Not since reading The Invisibles have I been so in awe of a work of fiction. If it weren't for the comparatively weak first nine issues, I would say this is Alan Moore's greatest work. As it is it's second only to Watchmen. What he does at the end of the series is a phenomenal fusion of character resolution and concept exploration. This is a series that redefines the storytelling potential of comics. It's an incredibly deep and powerful work, and is the only thing I've read since that comes close to touching the phenomenal experience of reading The Invisibles.

After finishing the journey up the tree of life storyline, Alan Moore brings us crushingly to Earth, with the extreme humanization of Sophie and Stacia, who are caught up in petty jealousy. First of all, I love the new look of Stacia after becoming Promethea, she's got awesome hair and cool sunglasses, and just carries herself in a different way. It's great that JH Williams is able to pull off giving her a completely new look, and yet we're still aware that it's the same person. This is even more notable in issue 31, when we see Stacia with a radically different look. The idea that Stacia and Grace are simultaneously lovers and inhabiting the same person is crazy, and Moore really pulls it off. The two of them have great chemistry, as we see in issue 25.

So, Stacia is now a master of the material realm, which brings her into conflict with Sophie, who wants to resume the role of Promethea. Their fight is pretty cool, and I love the visual of the original Promethea's scream cutting through their reality. It's a crushing return to petty humanity and individual stubbornness after the oneness that Sophie experienced in the Godhead. What makes this so powerful is that Moore is acknowledging the difficulty of maintaining an enlightened worldview in everyday life. That's something I've talked about a lot, and Jon focused on when we discussed. If you believe in a lot of this stuff, people are going to say you're nuts, and getting too lost in the meditation realm can make it tough to exist in the real world. There's a fear of going too far. What happens here is Sophie is brought back crushingly down to Earth, by Stacia's jealousy.

The next issue, the trial with Sophie vs. Stacia and Grace is pretty awesome as well. Here, Moore brings all the plot threads that were developing over the Kaballah journey to the fore. Lucille Ball and Karen Brueghel's investigation continues here and eventually they find who they're looking for. There's an incredible two page spread at the Limp concert, where we see the two of them snake through the crowd, trying to find out information about Promethea. It's perfectly executed, very readable, but also enjoyable as just a huge image of this concert. Williams drops something phenomenal in each issue, and that spread is what it is in this issue.

I really like the humor in this issue as well. Solomon's inept judging is great, and his constant desire to use that cutting the baby in half solution. And, we get some great thoughts from Weeping Gorilla. The book constantly makes me laugh out loud.

But, it's the end of this issue that leaves you reeling. It's so epic and perfect, watching the immaterial trial conclude, then seeing the FBI come around to pick everyone up. It reminds of the end of Becoming I on Buffy, where Drucilla kills Kendra, and you're reeling, then the police come in and arrest Buffy. Or perhaps even more, Seeing Red in Buffy, where Buffy defeats Warren in battle, only to have him come around with a gun and shoot Tara, bringing harsh reality into this mystical world. That's what the FBI agents do here. Seeing Jack Faust get taken into the car is tough, but the next page is brutal as we see Stacia going for her glasses, then getting shot. I literally said "Stacia!" out loud after seeing that, and had to pause the book for a minute to get back. I don't know why, but this book really got to me emotionally, in a way very few other things have ever done, and Stacia getting shot was just one such moment.

Then, the end of the issue with Trish saying goodbye to Sophie is really strong too, and we see her run off into an uncertain future. It's such a bold ending to the issue and book four. Everything's gone wrong, things are going to hell, and Sophie's got to leave. The genius of the issue is in the way it perfectly pays off everything that developed during the kaballah arc. All these threads were laid out and they culminate here in an absoultely brutal issue. Let me just say I'm glad I wasn't reading this in monthly format, because the wait would have been torturous.

From there, it's a leap into the future, where we find Sophie working at a video store in Millenium City, home of Tom Strong, fellow Alan Moore creation. Issue 26 is really jarring because it's so different from the usual Promethea style. Alan and JH work with a nine panel grid, mutely colored, wiith none of JH's trademark double page spreads. It feels so constricting and I think that's the point. Sophie's life isn't epic any more, it's almost suffocatingly normal.

Just look at the cover to get an idea of the colors.



But, the thing I love about this issue is the fact that Moore isn't condemning her new life. Sophie is happy, and maybe that's enough. I love her relationship with Carl, and the dialogue there is hilarious, particularly the Sopranos stuff. And who knew Alan Moore could do 'Your Mom' humor. There's some hilarious stuff here, and you get the sense that Carl and Sophie really care about each other. Moore creates a fully rounded character in a matter of pages, such that we can see why Sophie doesn't want to become Promethea later in the issue. The other thing that really gets me is Sophie crying as she calls her mom from the pay phone. After the step their relationship took, it's painful for her not to be able to be with Trish.

However, the new life can't last, and Tom Strong turns up in pursuit of Sophie. I'll admit I found it a bit jarring to all of a sudden have Tom Strong in Promethea's world, but it pretty much works. I'm really glad I read two trades of his series, since it helps you to get what's going on. I think Tom Strong is being used to represent an outmoded moral paradigm, but more on that later.

The return of Promethea in issue 27 is a phenomenal moment, in a really cool spilling cup two page spread. The next chunk of issues all sort of run together, culminating in the revelations in 31, but I'll try to give a bit of what I liked in each one. In 27, I love the scene between Carl and Promethea as she's saying good bye. Carl reminds me a lot of her father, and it seems to be implied that the love she missed out on with him, she has found with Carl. A little Elektra, but it makes sense.

So, Promethea goes to New York, and over the final four issue arc, she gradually breaks down the barriers between imagination and reality. Issue 28 touches on a lot themes similar to The Invisibles, most notably the two page spread where Karen Brueghel is taken outside of time, and we get to see all of time existing at once. This is basically the same thing as the time worm back in Invisibles 3.2. Here, Promethea goes into the prison and breaks out Dennis Drucker, Stacia and Jack Faust. I love the fluctuations in time and space in this sequence. Sophie is basically pulling a John a Dreams and moving through time and space fluidly. She has become powerful enough to recognize the essential fallacy of a linear time continuum, and is thus able to stop playing by its rules. Everything builds up to the moment where Trish places the swizzles the stick in the glass of water, the wand in the cup, the male in the female, another big bang, and the beginning of the end of the world. The thing I love about this stuff at the end of the series is it makes us see in action a lot of the concepts discussed in the Kaballah journey, and also gives us a better understanding of those concepts. I sort of got the male/female thing, but this shows it really concretely, and it's even clarified a bit more in issue 32.

What the merging of the male and female/cup and wand does is create a wave of hyperreality that seems to make people aware of the essential fallacy that is the division between thought and the material world. It makes people recognize that we're all one thing, we're all connected. As Promethea says, "She's always been there in us all, but she's revealed...now everything is revealed." It seems to make people hyper-aware of their lives and the moment, basically knocking you out of your apathetic trudge through daily live and begin to recognize the majesty of existence. Trish says, "Sophie, I'm real...My life is real. It's really happening to me. This...this is now."

A really funny gag in issue 29 is the painted dolls killing each other. It's a beautifully drawn sequence, and I love the idea that people are going to the doll as an angel of death, so much so that he's swamped and destroyed. He's programmed to kill, but he can't kill fast enough to satisfy them. I love the little sequence where Stacia and Dennis Drucker reuinte with their Prometheas. The Dennis Drucker story was something I really wasn't expecting to see again after issue seven, so seeing it return back in the kaballah thing, and then be resolved here is very cool. "Now we can be together. Now everyone can be together" is such a cool sentiment, it's the idea that with time and reality breaking down, these people who loved each other a time past can be together again.

One of the coolest things about the end of the book is the incorporation of stuff from the real world. Before I read the book I thought nothing good came out of the Iraq war, but this book's depiction of George Bush and the events of Iraq is so cool, it's at least one good byproduct. Moore is basically playing off the disinformation of Bush, and the constant fluctuations. As time changes, people think the war's over, right, mission accomplished, but wasn't this last March? It's a great depiction of time breaking down and blending together. Later, there's a really great scene which perfectly captures the way Bush talks. I think it's notable that even though this stuff was written in 2003, the points are even more valid now. You'd think being so topical would quickly become dated, but this Iraq war really has just stretched on for years now, and I'm glad to see Alan becoming increasingly political in his work, in a way that he hasn't been since Watchmen or V For Vendetta.

The opening of issue thirty contains what is basically a microcosm of the whole series. We first see through the eyes of Peter Hansard, an FBI agent who wearing artificial retinas, and as a result sees just what is material, his vision is objective, uninfluenced from his perception of the world, like a camera. Thing is, the world is so much more than just the material, and that fact has been made even more apparent in the new world that Promethea has created in New York. People exist in a purely idea based world, and the concrete worldview of science seems woefully inadaquete in perceiving that world. This parallels what Alan is talking about in issue 32, the idea that scince isn't enough to understand everything, and our next step forward intellectually will involve the fusion of what we've learned with science combined with the flexibility of magical systems. It's about replacing a strict scientific paradigm, that is based on an uncompromising belief in the material world. Hansard's powers of perception are woefully inadaquete here, and he has to change, just as all people with a restrictive worldview have to change.

One of the things I found sort of tough to figure out was the role of the traditional superheroes in the story. I think Moore is basically pointing out the inadaquecy of the manichean wordivew held by people like Tom Strong in this new world. Tom Strong in particular is a conservative figure, trying to keep things as they are, while Promethea is a force of change. So, Strong is woefully inadaquete in dealing with this new threat, because it's not a concrete villain you can fight, it's not even something bad.

Another important scene, and one that clarifies some of the concepts in the Male/Female Kaballah issues is Sunny and Uvula having sex. This ties into the image of the whore of babalon having sex with the beast, the same as Pan and Selene. So, she is both destruction and creation. This ties in with the idea of the big bang and the big crunch being one thing that just echoes through time. She simultaneously the end of the world and the beginning of a new one. It's an absolutely phenomenal spread too, with all the heads justting out around her.

I really liked the way that each character got a nice closure for themselves. At the end, Trish finally finds Juan again, and she's happy again. I mentioned it before, but the scene where we first meet Juan back in 'Fatherland' was one of the best in the whole series. He is the void in Trish, thinking that her one true love abandoned her, her life sort of fell apart. So, when he returns, and she finds out he's been there the whole time, still in love with her, she moves from recovery to happiness.

The two page spread at the end of 32 is awe inspiring, and does a good job of conveying the basic ideas that Alan talks about extensively in the next issue. The basic thesis of the series is that because all time is one, every moment, everything is connected. Even though Promethea may be fictional, she's still a part of the world, and as an idea, she's just as important, if not more than those things in material reality. Even though Promethea isn't real, she's talking to you, the reader, and in reading the book you're spending time in the world.

You could argue that we are in fact talking to Alan Moore, through the work of JH Williams, but part of the beauty of the comic book is the unique collaboration of it. In books, we hear things in the author's words exactly, in films, we hear things through the voices of actors, but in comics we see the characters, and they speak the writer's words, but there's not as strict an interpretation. We bring more to it. One of the beauties of the medium, an aspect that plays into what Moore is talking about, is the removal of the time element. Film is linear, even if there's flashbacks, it's not up to you when they happen, but in comics, you control the speed, and you can easily time travel to stuff that happened before just by flipping the page. That's the brilliance of using comics as a medium for discussing the nature of time, because examining the book itself will let you understand it. Even if someone dies at the end of the book, the moments that they lived are still there and equally valid. It all exists simultaneously within the cover, and we move through in a linear way. Comics exist outside of time, but in moving into the universe, we become subject to the rules of 3D time.

I'd imagine that if we were to time travel, it would feel like flipping through a comic book and seeing all these moments existing right next to each other. When you're outside the book, the simultaneity is apparent, but when you're in it, you don't know what happens next, it's like living life in our world, where even though on some level it's happened already, we're blissfully unaware of the future.

And, this all brings us to issue 31. While it's been touched on before, this is the most explicit acknowledgement of the reader in the book. Promethea talks to you, and you talk to Promethea. I love the idea of Promethea sitting by the fire, telling you this story about the universe. It ties in to cave people sitting telling stories around the fire, and Promethea ties in with Prometheus, the fire bringer. But, Promethea doesn't bring fire, she brings light.

There's a speech from promethea after the double spreads in which she talks about how she has ended the world, by opening 'your' eyes to the nature of time and the universe. While on the one hand, Promethea is talking to everyone in her world, she's also talking to the reader, and this is one sequence that I can appreciate but didn't hit me in perhaps the way it could have, because all of her revelations are very similar to those in The Invisibles. After The Invisibles, I really did feel like my world had ended and I had made a huge jump forward in understanding the universe. The book was a spell to change people, and it changed me. Promethea would have probably done the same, except The Invisibles got there first, so my world had already ended, and this was just a further exploration of it. Still, it's really powerful, and her final worlds, 'Stay Awake' say a lot. This Promethea is dead now, and a new world has begun.

This last chunk of issue 31 is probably my favorite part of the series because it presents Alan Moore's view of something I'd always wondered about. The Invisibles, not to mention a ton of other works, talk about this huge jump in consciousness that's going to occur in 2012, but they basically stop at 2012, and we don't get to see what the new world would be like. How would the world change if everyone was enlightened? That's what the end of this issue tells us.

First, I love the art style here, it looks very Frank Quitely, and that's one of the best compliments comic book art can get from me. Williams is a god of comic book art, and I am just in awe of the different visual styles he brings to the comic. He pulls off the ultra-real stuff earlier in the issue, then this more stylized stuff at the end. The pages where he has all the different superheroes and draws them all in their trademark style are amazing, it literally looks like five different artists drawing the page in their own unique style. Williams is the sort of person who can seemingly do anything, and I'm really excited to see where he goes from here.

The basic gist of the 'post-apocalyptic' world is that everyone's much nicer to each other, and there's a much greater tolerance for exploration of ideas, an integration of magickal ideas into everyday life. I liked te fact that there's still problems, and crime and poverty, but people approach things in a different way. It's not a utopia, but it's a much more open, more loving world. Hansard has chosen to go blind rather than wearing the artificial eyes. This is probably because he recognized that those artificial eyes limited his perception of the world, and, while he may not be able to see the material world, there's a lot more to see than just that.

Stacia gets a happy ending too, as she becomes part of a threeway relationship with herself, Lucille Ball and Grace. The thing is, people just seem to much more tolerant of this thing in the new world, and there's an emphasis on exploring new ideas, and synthesizing things together that don't necessarily fit. The main thing seems to be that rather than just going around like ants, as they say in Waking Life, people are open adn thing about things. Ideas aren't something to be ashamed of, there's no pressure to conform to acceptable societal ideas. That's what everyone being enlightened is all about, the freedom to explore new ideas and destroy the boundaries we place on ourselves.

Using the Texture news service, Moore gives closure to a lot of the B characters from the series. Clearly, he had a lot of sub-arcs in mind and they all get really nice wrap ups. I love the image of The Painted Doll driving around with The Four Swell Guys, though I've got to say that it looks like Kenneth and Roger have become King Mob and Ragged Robin. Trish also gets a really nice closure.

One of the coolest things for me was realizing who the twins that Carl is with are. It took a minute, but then it hit me and I saw Barbara and Stephen Shelley. He doesn't have to say anything, you just know, and it's amazing. Barbara and Stephen have reunited with Sophie now, and she's also got Carl now. I really liked Carl from back in issue 26 and 27 and seeing him return is great. Sophie gets a happy ending after all, and everything looks good for the future.

I think that whole second half of 31 is perfect, and feels a lot like those final moments of The Invisibles. It's like, the reason we fight, the reason we try to make humanity better is so we can be happy, and ultimately that happiness comes from other people, and just being together. In the new world, everyone is less alone, and that's what Promethea is about. Through the spreading of ideas, she unites people. The entire Kaballah journey was about finding the commonality, the one space that all humans are, the Godhead. We're all one, and that's what's reaffirmed by the end of the series. Positively dazzling, I love the new world, and I hope that one day we're living there. Like the fictional character Promethea, this book, Promethea, is helping move us into that world, and I'd place it alongside The Invisibles as a work that is brilliant becuase it makes you think in new, different ways, and gives you a greater appreciation for the world around you. I've been so happy since I finished this book, and that's the power of great fiction, of a great idea, a great discussion.

The last issue is basically a summation of everything that's come before, but it has a brilliant device that makes it completely unique among comics. The entire point of the series is that we're all one, there's no time, no linearity, you have to move beyond that. So, with the last issue, you first read it in linear order, then you literally break it apart, and assemble it into something bigger. You move from looking at the comic in linear time, to observing the whole at once. It moves you from the third dimension to the fourth dimension. The content of the issue itself isn't as mind blowing, but it does a great job of clarifying some questions I had from earlier.

So, Promethea is finished, but it's also just begun. I don't know how the ideas I absorbed reading it will affect me, but judging from The Invisibles, it's not something I'll soon forget. The greatest works of art rewrite the reality of the reader/viewer, and in this case, that is completely true. And, that is the reality of Promethea. She may be a fictional character, but she's rewriting reality. This is the kind of book that makes me want to tell stories for a living, to create a world, and a character that transcends fiction is magic, and amidst everything, that's the point that stands out most to me from this book. So thank you Alan Moore. Thank you JH Williams. And, thank you Promethea.

Related Posts
Promethea: 1-16 (2/22/2005)
Promethea: 17-19 (2/24/2005)
Promethea: 20-23 (2/25/2005)

Jackie Brown

I'm almost done with Promethea. The series is at direct injection level right now, I really want to read the rest of it right now, but I'm trying to give what's happened so far a little more time to sink in. The thing that strikes me is how similar this is to The Invisibles. I have the feeling if I hadn't read The Invisibles, I'd be reeling and in awe right now, like I was after the first reading of Volume III. I still love what Moore is doing, it's just I'm more into the characters than the concepts, because I've already read the concepts in The Invisibles.

Anyway, yesterday I watched Jackie Brown, Quentin Tarantino's third film, and his second best, behind only Kill Bill I. Jackie Brown is a really unique film, even though it's referencing 70s blaxploitation movies, it's not in the same way that Kill Bill references Kung Fu movies. It's really in the soundtrack and star that we see the blaxploitation influence, not so much the content of the film.



What makes the film unique is something difficult to articulate. It's a combination of pacing and style. On the DVD, Quentin calls it a 'hangout' film and I think that's really accurate. You're not so much engaged in the story as you're sitting around, kicking it with the characters. Other than the opening title sequence, we don't even see Jackie Brown until a half hour into the film. The film has a leisurely introduction to its world and characters, so that by the time we run into Jackie Brown, we know the stakes of what she's involved in.

But, even once the main plot starts up, we still get the feeling that we're just capturing the everyday travails of these people. Most movies focus on the most extraordinary moments of people's lives, and while what happens in the movie does have a huge impact on the characters, there's never the sense that it's so out of the ordinary, until the end. Sometimes, I feel like the ultimate goal for filmmakers is to make a movie in which nothing happens, yet is still very interesting. This movie is a step in that direction, we just drift through their lives, observing. The thing is, Quentin makes the characters so interesting that their very existence is fun to watch. It's a tribute to his filmmaking skill that he can make someone listening to music in their car as they drive a riveting scene.

The core of the movie is the relationship between Jackie and Max Cherry. Robert Forster as Max Cherry is the most human character in a Quentin Tarantino, and the most interesting to watch. You really understand him, and the joy that Jackie brings to his ordinary routine. The chemistry between them is huge, and I love their final scene together.



The use of music in the film is amazing. Quentin is always able to find brilliant obscure 70s tracks and bring them to the surface, and that talent is never better put to use than here. The most notable is the way he integrates The Delfonics' 'Didn't I Blow Your Mind this Time' into the narrative. Tarantino associates the song with Jackie, so just the scene of Max buying the tape can tell you everything you need to know about how he's feeling. Plus, it's an awesome song. Other great tracks include 'Across 110th Street' over the titles, Brothers Johnson 'Strawberry Letter 23' and The Grassroots' 'Midnight Confessions.'

I could see why some people would find the film too long, it's by no means a tight film. You could easily cut this down to an hour and a half, but that's completely missing the point of the film. It's all about inhabiting this world with the characters, not the money switch business. I can't think of a single scene that stands out as boring or should have been cut.

This film is much less flashy and overtly innovative than Tarantino's other films, but it's also much more real. Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction are in many ways more about the telling of the story than the story itself, and Kill Bill Volume 1 is all about using a bare bones story as an excuse to do a bunch of sketches and set pieces. This isn't bad, I love to see messing around with the nature of storytelling, but Jackie Brown has such compelling characters, you get more wrapped up in their story than you can in the tale of Butch or Vincent Vega. Quentin is a big fan of Wong Kar-Wai, and while Pulp Fiction seems on the surface more similar to his work, this film actually reminds me a lot of his, in the way it dwells on the lives of people, rather than a really complex plot. This film has a lot of similarities with Kill Bill II, and the relationship between the Bride and Bill is the only thing that even touches Jackie and Max in Tarantino's oevure.

I love the film, and I think it's sad that a lot of people who enjoyed his other work never sought out Jackie Brown. It may not have changed cinema in the way that Pulp Fiction did, but in retrospect, it's a much more unique and layered film, and is just a joy to watch. Watching Jackie play all sides against each other in the brilliantly executed money switch sequence is also watching a brilliantly executed piece of cinema.

More Promethea

So, I just finished the journey up the tree of life in Promethea, and I'm pretty satisfied with how it ended. I think the earlier issues were actually more effective, since they had more easily definable concepts. It's a lot easier to talk about intellect or emotion than to talk about the universal male essence. But, that doesn't mean that Moore hasn't done good work or that these aren't great issues. I feel like because they're discussing tougher concepts, it's going to benefit more from a reread than the comparatively simple first chunk of issues.

Anyway, the male and female isssues I see as companion pieces, and are another followup on the idea of wand and cup discussed back in the first book and in 'Sex, Stars and Serpents.' I think 'Sex, Stars and Serpents' does a much better job of conveying the essential nature of the two energies, and without it, I'd have been lost here. The best I can come up with is that the female issue is all about both compassion and sexuality, as represented by the madonna/whore. So, the cup is both a site of lust, and a receptacle for love. It's all one love, and this is about receiving the love.

The more interesting thing in this issue is Sophie's new costume, which features an open third eye. It's a good representation of the changes she's gone through as a result of her journey.

Then, the masculine issue, which is one of the most beautifully illustrated of the entire run. Williams does gorgeous painting to show this gray world. What this is about is the spark of ignition that mixes with the love in the universe, which leads to the big bang, which sets the material world into existence. I feel like this stuff is much more about Moore's cosmology than stuff that's really relevant to the real world. But, that's logical, considering this is supposed to be about a realm that goes beyond the material world.

Everything pays off in the final issue of the journey, where Sophie and Barbara make it to the level of God, and expierence what we are before we are born and where we go after we die. They make it to Heaven, and essentially discover the nature of God, as Moore sees it. The way I took it, the whole nine issue journey is about gradually stripping off aspects of worldly individuality, culminating when Sophie and Barbara are absorbed into the white bliss and experience what it is to be God. There's a really striking page where we see the prayers of people all over the world, represented in a variety of different languages. Then, we get a glimpse of hundreds of lives, and realize that God is present in everything, every moment of our lives, we're connected to something higher.

At the apex of their journey, Sophie and Barbara exist in 5D space, not held down by time or place, and are a part of every single person's life in the entire world. That's what it is to God, to be present in every facet of existence. Our lives (or afterlife) is a journey away from individuality to universality. That's what the serpent is, ascending up towards Heaven. Sophie and Barbara make it there, but she soon meets Stephen Shelley, and is reminded of her material existence. I feel like the point Moore is trying to make is that the love that Barbara and Stephen has is so strong it transcends this universal love and ties their individual essences together.

So, rather than merging into the bliss, all three decide to become doves and return to the material world. It's an amazing sequence as they descend past all the realms they experienced over the course of the journey. After going on this really long journey, it's refreshing to return to material things, not only for them, but for the reader too. It's difficult to decipher these issues after a while, especially seeing as how they become more and more complex. It really feels like you were with them on the journey and that's a tribute to Moore's storytelling.

There's something powerful in the idea that despite being in heaven, and having perfect bliss, all three of them decide to return to the material world. I think it's because once you ascend past emotion and all things human, it may be bliss, but it's impersonal. It's the emotions that make things real, and for Stephen and Barbara, their love is more important than the universal bliss they achieved up in sphere one. I like the idea that they're reincarnated, and get to explore the material world anew again.

For Sophie, the journey was all about moving beyond her own perspective, and coming to understand what's up with others, specifically her mother. The final scene is very sweet and plays off of one of my favorite moments in the whole journey, Sophie's encounter with her father.

Moore has set up a lot of stuff on the material world during the journey, and I'm really excited to see that play out. The whole journey was a very risky storytelling move, but it was a complete success for me. Together with JH Williams, he has completely changed the potential of what can be done with a comic book, in a way that no book since Watchmen has done.

I also think a lot of ideas were conveyed to the reader. I learned a lot, and I think he makes some important points. Over the course of the journey, individuality is broken down, and we understand the connections between everyone. The similarities between this and The Invisibles are striking, both have essentially the same message, and that's we're all the same, we're all connected, and if you just put in the effort to understand someone, you'll realize they're not so bad after all.

Related Posts
Promethea: 1-16 (2/22/2005)
Promethea: 17-19 (2/24/2005)
Promethea: Until the End of the World (24-32) (2/27/2005)

IPods and Promethea

I'm working in the computer lab, and I'm surprised to see that practically everyone walking around has their own IPod or portable CD player on. I'm not hater on music, and I listen to a ton of stuff everyday, however, I find the trend of wearing your IPod everywhere disturbing. The reason for this is because it's an example of removing the moments of transience from our day. When I'm walking around, I think about stuff, and I feel like if you're listening to the IPod you're trying to prevent yourself from thinking about stuff by filling the gap with music.

It's those in between moments were I come up with some of my best ideas. I know that I come up with more ideas for stories during the school year than when I'm on break, because I have classes, and unfortunately, sometimes I tend to zone out and think about stories, rather than think about what's going on in the class. The stuff I write, I basically write there in class, walking around, and when I'm lying in bed, trying to go to sleep. In other words, all moments where I'm sort of between things, sitting in a wating room, you can either read a magazine, or just sit there and think about stuff. Sometimes it's better to think about stuff. I like to have stuff to do, but when you take some time off, you can really discover new facets of your mind that you wouldn't otherwise find.

Like, when I watch a movie or read something, I like to take a few minutes after watching it and just ponder it. A lot of the time, I will find connections that weren't readily apparent, and it's in the thinking about it that you can find out a lot about what the director or author was trying to do. Rather than immediately moving on to the next activity, it's good to give the movie a little time to sink in.

I know I've been doing this on the Promethea reread. After each issue, I'll ponder what it was saying, and usually I'll find layers that weren't that obvious on the first read. And, this pondering can create ideas that I'll explore all across the day, when I'm between tasks. This is why I have a problem with the IPod, it removes this downtime where you can think about stuff. So, listen to music, yes, but do it as an activity unto itself, not just filler. When you're walking around, listen to your brain, cause I think there's some interesting stuff in there.

Anyway, I read three more issues of Promethea since last I discussed it, and I am now into unread issue territory. I reread one of my favorite issues, 'Gold,' which is about the highest sphere of human existence. It discusses how we create Gods that represent the highest aspirations within ourselves. So, Aprhodite, the god of love, represents the ultimate potential of humans to love, and she doesn't just represent it, she is present in all love. It's an interesting idea, but one that is sort of tough to justify. The more interesting idea in the issue is the evolution of gods. It's not that Apollo went away, it's that the idea of him became weaker and was replaced by a more refind God. T

he finale of the issue occurs when Sophie and Barbara reach the most recent manifestation, the one that represents the highest values that humanity can aspire to, Jesus. I haven't seen Passion of the Christ, but I feel like in two pages, Alan Moore accomplishes everything that Mel Gibson was attempting to do with the film. Sophie practically breaks down seeng the suffering that he is going through, during the crucifixtion, and she realizes the dual nature of the image. This is the highest human potential, brought down by the lowest human cruelty, and yet through it all, the good shines through. I'll admit, it's pretty shocking to see Jesus appear, considering Moore's pagan leanings, but it works very well, and I think actually really captures the message of Christianity, in a way that blends it with everything else that Moore is talking about. I love the issue.

There's a slight downturn in quality at the next issue, the 'red' issue, about judgment, essentially anger. The issue is still really well made, but it's tough to look at. The red coloring is a bit too much perhaps, and I feel like the point of the issue isn't as evident in the others. That said, it's still fun, and it sets up some interesting subplots out in the material world.

So, this brought me to my first new issue, 'Fatherland,' which seems to be about universal love and mercy, traits expressed here through father figures, who provide security and love to the characters they run into. Promethea runs into her father, and I like this because it brings about the return of Sophie, who's more interesting to read about than Promethea. The more interesting development is Sophie meeting her father. This scene was really well done, and really expressed this feeling of universal love, in the feelings that he and Sophie share for each other. Even though they never knew each other, there's a connection between them, and clearly this is a huge moment for both of them.

At this point, the series seems to be moving away from the more magick textbook style, and is instead using each step of the tree of life as a chance to riff on the characters and develop them further emotionally. One of my favorite things in these issues has been Sophie coming to understand her mother. In the green emotions issue, she understands what drives Trish to do the things she does, and it comes back in this 'Fatherland' issue.

Out in the material world, I'm really interested to see what happens with the FBI agents and Stacia. Moore is doing a great job of giving us just enough to keep those stories moving forward, and he seems to be positioning everything for a confrontation when Sophie returns. While I'll be sad to see the magical journey end, I do want to see Sophie back in the material world, dealing with the consequence of Grace/Stacia's actions.

Connecting things, I feel like constantly filling your time with little distractions, rather than thinking about stuff, takes you out of what Moore calls the Immateria and grounds you strictly in the material realm. The more you think about stuff, the more you see connections between things out here in the universe, and you become more aware of the higher realms of consciousness that Moore is talking about. I'm not that saying that everything in Promethea is real, I'm saying that his feelings about the power of ideas and the importance of the mind are very real. If you read the book as a physical journey, it's obviously very fictional, but if you look as an allegorical journey through humanity, it makes a lot of sense and, like The Invisibles, can be a helpful guide for fiinding a new way to look at the same world.

Related Posts
Promethea: 1-16 (2/22/2005)
Promethea: 20-23 (2/25/2005)
Promethea: Until the End of the World (24-32) (2/27/2005)

Promethea

"Any form of art is propaganda. It is propaganda for a state of mind rather than a nation-state but it is propaganda nonetheless, and it's best if you accept that and understand what you're doing and be honest about it: you are trying to change the mind of your target audience. You are trying to change their perceptions, you are trying to stop them from seeing things how they see things and start them seeing things the way you see things." - Alan Moore


That quote basically sums up the motivation behind Alan Moore's Promethea, the comic book series/magic textbook that released its last issue last week. I read the first 18 issues, and am now rereading those, and will move on to read the last issues as soon as I can. The first nine issues of the book are pretty good, interesting superhero work, with some cool concepts at the center. However, after issue nine, Moore begins to use the series as a way to convey to the audience his worldview, doing exactly what he talks about in the quote above.

The second year of the title begins a story about Promethea journey up the tree of life, according to the Kaballah. The already great JH Williams kicks his art up a notch and does phenomenal color themed issues that each touch on a different element. There's the dark blue moon issue about imagination and the yellow sun issue about intellect.

The intellect issue features a mind blowing page that's a mobius strip. As you read it, you flip the book around, going over and under the strip, gradually reaching the beginning, at which point you can continue seamlessly. The page goes on forever. It's also got great horizontal and vertical symmetry.

The series is basically an ode to fiction. Promethea is a fictional character that select people can transform into by writing about her. It's a symbolic version of the character inhabitation that every writer does. Eventually, the characters take on a life of their own. Promethea is the physical manifestation of this.

More than that, with the series, Moore strives to break down the walls between the material world and the world of ideas. He stresses that each of these worlds is equally real. In the intellect issue, he posits that since language defines reality, the material world is in fact subject to the particularities of language. Without language, we would have no material world.

Is the work therefore just a justification for the years of work spent creating fictional characters? Possibly, but it's also notable because it puts forth the very credible idea of the writer as magician, keeping the old gods alive in a modern world that values logic and science over emotion and spirituality. Promethea would not exist without the exploration Moore did in From Hell. From Hell puts forth the idea that William Gull (aka Jack the Ripper) is ushering in a new age with his killings, bringing the world from the feminine spiritual age into a masculine scientific world. When he kills Mary Kelly, he imagines himself in the present day, in an office building, profoundly aware that the mystical knowledge he carries is gone.

So, Moore is bringing it back with this book. He puts forth the idea that gods exist as ideas, so as long as the idea exists, the god remains. By writing this book, he is creating a concrete record of the sort of spiritual beliefs that were destroyed by the scientific revolution. It's an admirable goal, and I defnitely sympathize with it. I agree with the vast majority of what he's saying, becuase I also think that ideas are the most real thing. The most powerful ideas are older than any human, and will last longer than anything material will.

I'm really psyched to get to the rest of the series, and find out what happens at the end. Moore has done so many brilliant books, it's difficult to assess the highlights of his career, but I would say Promethea is probably his second best work, behind Watchmen. But, Watchmen, V for Vendetta, From Hell and now Promethea are the works of his that nobody other than Grant Morrison has touched, in any medium.

Probably the thing that makes Promethea so much more than just a magick textbook is the art by JH Williams III. I'm frequently prone to hyperbole when it comes to comic book art, but this is arguably the best art ever done in comics. Williams work is very pretty on its own, but it's the way he constructs the page that makes it so special. His double spreads are dazzling, and every layout seems to have meaning behind it. Williams and Moore are possibly the first people to fully actualize the potential of the medium. This is a story that couldn't be done anywhere other than comics.

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8 1/2 and The Isle

I've been watching a lot of movies recently, a lot of new ones. This year, one of my goals has been to continue exploring the world of foreign film, and keep discovering new movies. So far, it's been going really well. In the past couple of days I watched two really interesting foreign films, Fellini's 8 1/2 and Kim Ki-Duk's The Isle.

8 1/2 is a classic film, and one that I almost feel ashamed to say that I didn't see until now, but it's been taken care of, and I was very impressed by it. The 60s was such a cool time, and even though here in the States, we have this image of the 60s as Woodstock, flower child type thing, other countries had a very differnet stereotypical 60s. For Britain, this was the mod style, as chronicled in the Entropy in the UK storyline in The Invisibles, and lovingly mocked in Austin Powers. This was a classic culture, and a very cool one, but perhaps the coolest 60s culture was 60s Italy. This is seen in Danger: Diabolik, and here in Fellini's 8 1/2.

It sometimes surprises me when I watch a movie from the 60s or 70s that they could ever actually wear the stuff that they're wearing, or edit it in the way they do, not as an over the top type thing, but just in a way that they thought was cool. I think the movie is incredibly cool, but in a way that feels very self consciously designed, not in the same way that a current movie like Fallen Angels is cool. It's like watching The Prisoner, it feels so 60s, you can't imagine a world where this is the style.

But, even though I have trouble imagining it, I would love to live there. It's an awesome movie visually, the style is very 60s, but it's also still relevant. Fellini is definitely along the lines of someone like Lynch or Wong Kar-Wai, in that he constructs his films along emotional beats, rather than with the strict goal of telling a story. As the characters are extremely meta about, the narrative here is hazy and symbolic, but I've got no problems with that. The film dances between dream and reality, with each giving equal advancement to the plot.

The opening sequence is phenomenal, as is the sequence with Gudio and all his women living in a house together. The ending is also a wonderful blend of symbol and narrative reality. What's real? I don't know, that's not what matters, the image of all the people dancing in the line together says it all.



I feel like I need another viewing, because the film dragged a bit at times. I can't think of any specific slow points, it just felt a bit too long, but sometimes that happens on the first viewing, and on a rewatch, I can get into the film more.

The other foreign film I watched was from The Isle, by director Kim Ki-Duk. A few weeks back, I saw Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring by the same director. I liked it, and when I looked at it on IMDB, I read that his other films had a lot more edge than Spring..., so I ordered The Isle, and yes, it does have a lot more edge. I guess The Isle is a horror movie, but it's also a romance, a really twisted and nasty romance.

I really liked the film, it has a great atmosphere, and keeps you in the story, despite there not being much plot. The main character is basically mute, but we still get exactly what she's feeling. The most memorable and discussed thing about the film involves two scenes with fishhooks. 'Dat's nasty' pretty much describes them, without even showing anything explicit, they'll get to you. The thought alone will induce a cringe.

But, it's not just shock, these acts are the ultimate expressions of need, and for the mute girl, the only act of communication she has. When you can't talk, you have to resort to extreme measures.

The ending goes purely symbolic, and I'd consider it more a statement about men and women in general, rather than try to somehow tie it into the narrative of the movie. It's quite a film, similar to Spring in a lot of ways, but instead of the meandering Buddhist plot, it's a nasty little horror love story. I really liked it.

So, I'll definitely be seeking out more Fellini and Kim Ki-Duk in the future. Both are directors who make really interesting, arty films, the kind that I like. I'd love to see more stuff like this coming out of America, but it's just not happening, so I've got to look elsewhere.

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Leon: The Professional and Mathilda: The Amateur

Today I watched the film, Leon: The Professional. It's one of my absolute favorite films, and a film that really gets to me emotionally like few others do. I'm taking a course on action cinema right now, and I can think of few examples of the straight up action movie done better than this film. Why does Leon work where so many other action films fail?

The primary reason is because rather than being built around arbitrarily imposed action set pieces, the story development comes from the characters. There's not actually that much action in the film, there's the scene at the beginning, the finale and the montage of Leon and Mathilda 'cleaning' in the middle, but if you compare it to most action films, you'll find that not too much of the screentime is spent on action.

What it is spent on is character development, and this film has two of the richest characters ever seen on screen, the odd couple that the film is centered around, Leon and Mathilda. Right from the beginning of the film, you can empathize with these characters. A large part of that is due to the acting. Natalie Portman, who has been brilliant in some recent films, hasn't ever touched this performance, which is so natural and perfect, the line between character and actor is completely obliterated, you can't even imagine that this isn't a real person walking around. The first time I saw Mathilda, I thought wow, that looks like a miniature version of her now, but once she starts acting, you forget that this is Natalie Portman of Star Wars, it becomes Mathilda, hitgirl.

On a similar note, I don't know what Jean Reno is like in real life, but I couldn't imagine him being any different from Leon. He completely inhabits the role, and brings such an innocence to it, that you can't help but feel for the character. It's paradoxical because he is someone who kills for a living, but Reno makes you understand the humanity of the character from the very first scene. The movie theater scene sets out a lot of what's to come, as you watch this guy we previously knew only as a hardened killer get completely entranced by Gene Kelly dancing on the screen.

While they're both great characters on their own, it's in their relationship with each other that they become truly special. The scene where Mathilda is standing at the door, knocking, begging Leon to let her in always gets to me, to the point where I want to yell at Leon to open the door. The scene turns any viewer into stereotypical black female moviegoer, yelling at the characters on the screen, and that's because it's so well made. The stakes of the scene are clear, Leon has a very particular existence, one that he would forever destroy should he let Mathilda in, and yet, he also knows that to not let her would mean she would die. His humanity prevails, and thus begins the gradual humanization of the killer, Leon. Mathilda begging him at the door is such a powerful image, and a brilliant piece of acting from Natalie Portman. Similarly, Reno's very subtle facial expressions convey to us everything that's going through his head.

Another scene I have to make note of is the pig scene, where Leon puts on a show with his oven mitt for Mathilda. He's so goofy, and sincere in his hope to make her feel better.

Basically any scene between the two of them is brilliant. The two characters are perfectly designed counterparts. Leon is old, but child like, while Mathilda is young, yet much more knowledgeable about the world. They form a perfect match, and just watching the two of them interact is riveting.

The ambiguity of the relationship is what provides most of the tension in the second half. Once Mathilda tells Leon she loves him, he clearly begins to question what exactly their relationship is, and how far he can go with her. He wants to distance himself, but though he can't admit it until the end, he loves her too. The question one could ponder forever is, does that love go beyond concern and into the romantic arena? I would say no, I think Leon's moral code is so strict, and he so naive, that he would never even see her in a sexual way, and that's why her assertion that she loves him is so disconcerting. He had never considered that element of their relationship, and it makes relations more strained between the two of them in the second half.

One really frustrating scene for me, another 'stereotypical black female moviegoer' moment is when Mathilda tells the hotel clerk that Leon is her lover. How could she do that to Leon? It frustrates me so much, because I don't want to see him put in that situation.

Just the fact that the movie can get me so worked up makes me know it's a great film. A lot of directors will create these arbitrary attempts to bring tension to events, but Besson knows that it's better to just let it develop out of character interactions. There's no artificially imposed problems that create action scenes, everything comes out of the actions of Mathilda and Leon.

The scene in which Mathilda and Leon sleep together (but not in that way) is really beautiful. It says so much about how he's changed that he allows himself the comfort to let down his guard and just be happy for once. It's probably the first time he let himself do that since his girlfriend back home died. What Mathilda does for Leon is reintroduce him to the human world. It's almost like a Tim Burton movie, where this outsider who can't find his way into the world gets assisted into it by a kindly person. Leon is ultimately humanized, and at the end, he chooses Mathilda's safety over his own, and thus, we see how his priorities have changed over the course of the film. At the beginning, he was contemplating killing Mathilda himself, but now at the end, he places her life way above his. If he can get her out, he's happy, and in the end, despite the fact that he's dying, he's glad because he has given Mathilda what she wanted, her revenge.

But, he also gave her more than that. Much like Mathilda helps Leon overcome a personal tragedy, he does the same for her. His simple kindness and giving is what allows her to move on from her bad past, and at the end of the film, make a new start for herself. Leon was more of a father to her in the four weeks they spent together than her real father was in the twelve years they spent together.

I really like the ending of the film. While I'd have loved to have seen the Mathilda/Leon partnership continue, it's more logical for her to return to society, but still hold onto the lessons she learned over the course of the film. When she speaks to the woman running the school, she uses the same language she used when first approaching Leon, and the chance is there for a similar relationship. And, of course, the final image says so much. Mathilda is giving Leon his roots, just as she may have finally found a place that she can call home.

The film has many of the qualities of a typical early-mid 90s action movie, such as Besson's own La Femme Nikita, but it becomes special in the characters. Besson has made a number of other films, and the ones I've seen haven't even touched Leon. It's a confluence of a great script and direction and brilliant acting. If Natalie Portman hadn't been as good, the film would not have worked, and it took Jean Reno's innocence to make the relationship as interesting as it was. You never once think that he'd try to take advantage of her, and that's essential.

I love the film because of the people in it. Much like Before Sunrise or In the Mood For Love, the tension comes not out of action situations or plot points, but out of minute interactions between two characters. You can feel exactly what they feel, and want nothing more than for them to be happy. I love to really feel when I'm watching a film, and Leon makes me feel.

On a side note, rumors have been circulating for a while about a Mathilda sequel film. On the one hand, I don't think it could possibly be as good as Leon, but I'd love to see it. As I've probably made clear, Natalie Portman is brilliant as Mathilda, and I'd love to see how she approaches the character now, after so many years of acting. There's plenty to be explored around the character, and Before Sunset and 2046 have shown me that a great sequel can enhance the film it came from. The thing I wouldn't want to see would be Mathilda training a new apprentice, I'd rather see a new plot, same character. But, even if it's not good, I'll still be there opening day, Besson earned that with the brilliant film he created.

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Angel Season Five

Been a few days since last I updated. I guess that means I've been busy. I got Angel season five on DVD today. While it's a great season and I'm glad to own it, sadly, it also marks the end of an era, no more Buffyverse DVD sets will ever be released, barring potential films to come, but I don't want to get my hopes up for that.

Way back in December 2003 I bought Buffy season five, after having already watched Buffy seasons 1-4, and every three months since I've gotten a new season, a tradition that ends today. I'm really excited to watch the season again, since it's the only Buffy season I've never watched through in one go, I saw it in pieces as it aired, and I want to see how it stacks up as a whole.

Angel season five was one of the greatest seasons of any TV show, certainly the best of this show. It's got so many classic episodes, the Andrew episode, the Cordelia episode, the puppet episode, 'A Hole in the World,' 'Origin,' 'The Girl in Question,' and of course, the best episode the series ever did, the finale, 'Not Fade Away,' which succeeds in all the areas that Buffy's finale failed.

The season itself is a great meta-commentary on the events surrounding its production. After the fourth season, Joss and his team made a bunch of concessions to the WB in exchange for being picked up, a move reflected in Angel's move in to the law firm of Wolfram and Hart. Things go along pretty well until February when the show is cancelled. Coming on the hells of the hilarious 'Smile Time' and right before the show's best episode to date at that point 'A Hole in the World,' which saw Fred killed and taken over by a demon, Illyria. This is when the dark side of their deal with Wolfram and Hart emerges, and by the end of the season Angel has turned his back on them, and decided to go out fighting.

However, before that we have the excursion to Italy where Spike and Angel seek out Buffy, only to find Andrew, who tells them that it's time to move on, things change, and then he comes out in a suit. I see it as a meta-comment to the viewer, that it was great times, but they're coming to a close, don't just dwell in the past. It really struck me seeing Andrew in the suit that the world of Buffy was ending.

The last episode, in which the apocalypse basically just arrives is on some level, a metaphor for the end of the series, which was struck down in the prime of its life. Those last moments are haunting, it's the best series finale since Twin Peaks and one that leaves you simultaneously annoyed and thrilled that they pulled it off. Angel went out during its best season, it did not fade away.

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Daft Punk

Yesterday, I listened to Daft Punk's album Discovery in a way that I had never really listened to it before. Normally when I play an album, I'm listening to it in the background as I do something else, the better the album, the less complex the activity I'm doing, and I was planning on doing a little drawing when I played Discovery, but 'One More Time' started playing and I just sat on my bed and really heard it, in a way that I had never before. I listened to 'One More Time,' and it just flowed into 'Aerodynamic,' then 'Digital Love,' and for the rest of the album, I just sat there in the dark really hearing the music. It's an absolutely phenomenal album, that I feel like I only got for the first time yesterday.

The brilliance of Daft Punk is in the way they play with the elements of each song. Most music is based around a vocal, and the music exists to support that vocal. This has produced a lot of great music, but that doesn't mean that variety isn't good. What Daft Punk does is construct songs where each element is of equal value.

The most notable thing about this in listening to them is the way they use vocals. Rather than doing extended lyrics, with verses and stuff, they have only a couple of lines in each song. Think of 'One More Time,' there's about four lines in a five minute song. There's some slight variation towards the end, but there's no verse/chorus structure. What 'One More Time' does is blend together a few elements, the staticy guitar part, the bass, the vocals, and use them in different combinations throughout the song. Rather than doing chorus/verse, what Daft do is gradually build up the song, adding elements as time passes, then in the middle remove all the elements except the vocal, and gradually bring everything back. It may seem like it's just some guy saying the same thing over and over again, but that's only if you look at the song from a vocal-centered perspective. There's a ton of variation.

'Digital Love,' my favorite Daft Punk song, and one of my favorite songs period, uses a vocoder to make the voice blend in with the music, and become almost abstracted. There's more lyrics in this song, but it's not really about the lyrics, it's about the way the vocal is blended with the 80s style guitar. At the end of the song, the "Why don't you play the game" part, the vocal and guitar do a call and response, and the guitar has as much melodic weight as the vocal, it's not an echo, it's more like a duet.

Perhaps the best song at abstracting the vocal is 'Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger,' which repeats the title refrain in different contexts to make an incredible song. The vocal becomes basically pure beat, and the variations throughout the song are incredible. On the last song of the album, 'Too Long,' the vocal is reduced to one repeated line, and mixed in with a bunch of other elements, which gradually phase in and out of the song, slowing things down and bringing them back again.

Daft Punk are masters are manipulating the listener, they know just how long to sustain a loop, and exactly when to bring it up again. This is especially apparent on the non-lyric tracks, like 'Verdis Quo,' and 'Superheroes,'which use repeated vocal loops over the course of the entire song.

That's one of the reasons I love Michel Gondry's video for 'Around the World.' It represents each element of the song with a type of creature (robot, skeleton, mummy, etc.) which really allows you to see how they manipulate all the elements of the music. The Spike Jonze Big City Nights video is great, but Gondry's is perhaps the best music video of all time in the sense that it so perfectly visually represents the song.

While they are masters at song construction, ultimately a lot of the greatness comes down to the instrumentation. Discovery uses really distorted 80s style guitars, and it gives it this wonderful disco type atmosphere, that is at once very retro, and almost futuristic. The bubble pop type noises on 'Something About You' are a highlight, as is the entire 'Digitial Love' song, which is impossibly cheesy, yet completley pulls it off. I don't like that song in an ironic way, it's an out and out great song.

Then, today I played Daft Punk's new album Human After All. On the first listen, the title track and 'Robot Rock' were standouts. Human After All is definitely a move back to the more subdued, instrumental work of their first album, Homework. There's no songs with any real lyrics, like 'Digital Love.' There's also less of the 80s style stuff, it's a harder album. I don't think I'll ever like it as much as Discovery, but it's a nice addition to their canon.

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Irma Vep and Watchmen: The Movie

A couple of days ago, I watched the movie, Irma Vep. It's a French movie, with Maggie Cheung, who speaks in English, directed by Oliver Assayas, who also did the movie Demonlover. Demonlover was a really good movie, but one that never quite fulfilled all of its potential. Irma Vep is an even better film. It's about Maggie Cheung, who plays herself. She goes to France to work on a remake of Les Vampires, a 1915 serial, with an eccentric director.

One of the things that made me want to see the movie was the fact that I saw the original Les Vampires last year in my intro film course. I can't say it was riveting, but for the time, it was pretty good, and this film does an interesting job of capturing a lot of what that film was about.

I'm also a big fan of Maggie Cheung and this was one of her best performances. For the first time, I got to see her in an English speaking role, and she was great. If I was a big director, I would definitely use her in a movie over here, there's absolutely no reason not to. The scene where she puts on the catsuit and sneaks around the hotel was great.

The movie is almost stereotypically French in its rather verite style, bizarre messing with film at the ending, and constant self reflexivity. Having Jean Leaud play the director clearly positions this film as a throwback to the French New Wave. Leaud played the lead in one of the first prominent New Wave films, Truffaut's The 400 Blows. I love this art film style, especially because this film doesn't take realism as a cue to create ugly visuals. The whole burglary sequence is great visually, particularly when she winds up on the roof at the end.

The dialogue felt very real, like a lot of it was improvised. Maggie Cheung's performance reminded me a lot of Julie Delpy in Before Sunrise/Sunset, and you got the feeling that this charater was really who she was. Her relationship with Zoe had a lot of great moments, and was the anchor of the film. Even though the film has sort of an open ending, the rave scene does a really subtle job of wrapping up the relationship beween Zoe and Maggie in a way that feels final.

What else is up? I've got six hours of work in the lab today, which means some good money, but also a lot of time here on the computer.

One piece of news I've come across is this. It's the site for the Watchmen movie. Now, Watchmen is one of the my two favorite comics, and is one of my favorite stories in general. This was the book that got me into comics.

Back in the year 2000, I saw the X-Men movie, and I loved it, loved it enough to want to check out some comics. So, I bought this book called Essential X-Men, which had the first 25 or so issues of Chris Claremont's run. Chris basically created the X-Men as we know them, and his stories hold up to this day. There's some goofy captions, but the basic plots still work. So, I realy liked those, and in my travels online, I heard of this book called Watchmen, which was supposedly the best comic ever made.

So, I got it out of the library and read it, and it just blew my mind. I had never imagined a work could be so complex and perfectly constructed. I remember reading issue 12 and being completely overwhelmed by what had happened. It's very rare that a story hits you like that, the last issue of The Invisibles and the last episode of Twin Peaks are the only other things I can think of as comprable. I just sat there in awe of what had happened, and I went back and began to piece together the connections. The second read was possibly even more rewarding than the first, as all the pirate story and all the backups began to come together in my mind, and I understood exactly what Moore was doing with the book, he had created a multi-layered, endlessly variable perfect diamond of a narrative.

From there, I went on to read many more comics, in search of another Watchmen, and I eventually found a book that even eclipsed it, The Invisibles, but Watchmen is the book that got me into comics, and completely redefined for me the storytelling potential of the medium.

So, now a movie of it is coming out. While I myself would love to try and make one, I feel like creating a Watchmen movie is almost a futile act, because so much of the work's power is in the fact that it uses the medium of comics better than any other work in the medium. While the big trend now is towards making what are basically paper films, which just ape cinematic conventions, Watchmen uses storytelling devices that couldn't work in any other medium. The pirate comic substory. the Rorshach diary entries, even the meta-critical view of superhero costumes, none of this could be done in any other medium. Frequently the best works are the ones that take advantage of the unique properties of the medium. One of the reasons I love Magnolia so much is because it uses all the storytelling tools of cinema. If you tried to do it as a book, it just wouldn't be the same, the basic story would still be strong, but so much of the power of the work is exclusively rooted in the way it uses cinematic conventions.

So, in attempting to translate Watchmen to the screen, I feel like you're inevitably going to lose something. It's such a huge work, and if you start cutting out pieces of it, you lose what makes it so great. Let's say you lose the Bernards street life chunk of the book, then the ending loses almost all its power. While the images of masses dead in issue 12 are harrowing, the most emotionally affecting moment of the book for me is the last few panels of issue 11, when we see the older Bernard trying to shelter the younger Bernard from the blast. These are people we know and have hung out with for a while, and seeing Bernard die, as opposed to a more abstract crowd of extras, makes the moral question at the end of the book a lot tougher to answer. Even if it may have prevented a nuclear war, was it worth it to lose Bernard, Dr. Malcolm and Joey? I feel like the movie is inevitably going to lose that streeet level part of the story, and that's really unfortunate.

Also, Watchmen, while a brilliant work on the whole, is also a work made of a lot of smaller stories. It's structured to take advantage of issue/chapter format, and that doesn't always translate well to film. I don't know if the filmmakers will be able to spend the time necessary to do the Dr. Manhattan on Mars issue, where he reflects on what it means to be outside time. That's crucial to the character, and the similar issues for Rorshach and Laurie are equally important. If you lose these issues, and the street people, the book begins to look a lot more like a conventional superhero whodunit, one that will still work, but it won't capture the full greatness of the comic. You can't fit Watchmen in two hours, even three is stretching it.

Also, the issue of costumes is so huge in the book, but I'm not sure if it can translate in the film. Particularly with Dan, his costume is pretty ridiculous, but the ridiculousness is a huge element of the character, and I don't know if you can show it on film without the absurdity of the costume overwhelming the point they're trying to make. Similarly, it's probably not a good idea to have a protagonist of your film be a giant naked blue man, and presenting Dr. Manhattan is clearly going to be a challenge to the filmmakers.

But, I am happy the movie is getting made. It's such a great story, and there's potential to make an equally great film. However, I just hope they don't approach it as an action movie, it should be more of a character piece, that incidentally has action. Either way, I'll be there in 2006 when the film opens, I don't think it could be any worse than LXG.

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