Media

The Infinite Goods

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

Recently, I saw Promare for the second time. If you haven’t heard of this film, think “superhero firefighters with robot suits versus pyrokinetic terrorists” and then that’s only the start. In short order with this premise, it then races towards crazytown at the speed of light while slamming an energy drink. It’s a roller-coaster ride and visual treat, but not an emotionally deep story – it’s not aiming for that.

But, is it good? It seems to have been what Studio Trigger wanted.

I’m also catching up on Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, the animated series. It has many story arcs, and like Promare, starts with a simple premise – Victorian martial arts action where people battle a vampire. However, over time it becomes a generational tale of people with “Stands,” psychic doubles, battling various evils and each others. Oh, and it’s filled with music jokes, crazy posing, and character designs somewhere between Tom of Finland and a Rave.

But, is it good? The creator is obviously having a blast and it’s enjoyable being in on the ride.

We can ask that question of so many things. Recently I saw Fellini’s famous surrealist character piece, And the Ship Sails On. And the Great British Bake Off. And any number of things.

But, where they good?

Well the fact I put time into them and got a lot out of them tells you I thought they were good. The thing is there are different kinds of good.

Promare and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventures are experiences that are almost about feels, they’re states of mind. Fellini’s bizarre piece was both mood and exploration. The Great British Bakeoff is a mix of human and history and information. All were good, but not necessarily the same kind of good.

Right now you’re doubtlessly worrying about your own writing, art, games, etc. You wonder if they’re good, but that belies the question.

It’s not if they’re good – is it the kind of good you want?

Maybe the game you’re writing is supposed to be an action game of mood, of feeling over continuity, of mashed buttons over careful strategy. And that’s fine if you deliver the right kind of good.

Perhaps your story is inaccessible to many, a thing of dense references and subtle connections. It might not be for everyone, but it’ll be good to the right audience.

It could be your current creative work just has to be good to you as it’s fun, and if other people like it, they can sign on for the ride.

Stop worrying about doing “good” work and aim for the right kind of good. Make your choice of how your book or comic is supposed to go and embrace that. It focuses you, it guides you, it tells you what to leave out and what to include.

Also picking your “good” means that you accept you won’t please everyone – because odds are you won’t. If you were inventing chocolate or pizza for the first time, you could please most people, but those have been kind of done. So don’t please everyone, please the right people.

Life goes easier when you understand this. Besides, when you pick one good, you can find others, or expand your “goods” later in your works.

But pick a good and go for it. It may be shallow or deep, silly or serious, but it’ll be yours, and you can focus.

Steven Savage

Raiding Stars For A Vision

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

I’m a fan of Rifftrax and Mystery Science Theater 3000. This is because I love B movies and odd things, often they’re more revealing of the human condition than supposedly “good” and “popular” things. I find the humor of Riffers often tells us a lot about ourselves – be they dealing with a flawed movie or a popular one like the Rifftrax crew does.

Recently, I attended a Rifftrax of the half-Kickstarted film Star Raiders: The Adventures of Saber Raine. It was a film that was difficult to classify, and though the Riffing was fun, there’s a considerable amount to learn from this film. Three people cracking insightful jokes isn’t enough to really dive into what this was – and why it could have been better.

The film itself seemed to be an attempt to do pulp science fiction – it was essentially a 21st-century attempt to do a kind of 80’s-direct-to-video take on pulp SF. Chisel-jawed Saber Raine, former military space hero turned mercenary, is hired to rescue a prince and princess from a mysterious alien and his legion of cyborg zombies. There is, of course, more to the story as our hero and his group battle towards their targets on a war-torn world.

By description? It sounds like it should be a lot of fun. In reality, Star Raiders was a strange patchwork of things that never felt fully executed, a pile of ideas and scenes and concepts. It was a film that felt like its creators never fully realized it, partially because there were limits on money and actors, but partly as they didn’t quite seem to know what they wanted. I had fun – I would have enjoyed it on its own as that pushes some of my buttons – but it’s an erratic movie.

For instance, there were wonderfully retro spaceship designs that seemed to have come out of the ’30s and 40’s – and some excellent CGI. There was a villain with an army of cyborg zombies out for vengeance due to a centuries-old injustice – a great reason to raise an army of cyborg zombies. At least one swordfight appeared onscreen as per unwritten rules of pulp SF. Dramatic backstories were the order of the day as we find out the history of an alien race.

Sounds fun? Except . . .

The script managed to be sparse then over the top. Worldbuilding was dropped on us in giant globs between scenes that weren’t that needed. A few actors needed more coaching, even though some were obviously giving their all. Things got almost-explained. Some plot twists (such as a romance) seemed grafted on for no good reason. The feel of the film veered wildly, as if unable to settle on how its inspirations should work.

Star Raiders is a film that should have been better than it was, even when it managed to overcome its flaws. It was clear some of the cast was fighting to make it work no matter what. I was very impressed with martial artist Tyler Weaver Jr. – though it was clear his acting skills needed work, he charged ahead with a loveable lack of inhibition and some serious action skills.

So I began asking myself – what would have made it work? Quickly, I came to realize something that my friend Serdar summarized as follows:

“The greatest entertainments of any era either totally embody their moment in time, or seem outside of time altogether.”

Star Raiders was the child of many parents, many inspirations – from the ’30s to the 21st century. But they never quite gelled, never came together. It felt disjointed, as if the people behind it didn’t know what it should be, but thought they did. Perhaps it’s history – having to be finished on Kickstarter – was part of it.

I wanted to like it. Like Wolfcop and Manborg, it was an attempt to embrace something cheesy and fun and sincere. In fact, I did kind of like it, in the sense I could feel the heartbeat beneath the surface – it wanted to be a retro SF adventure but never settled on how.

It didn’t achieve the feel of a given decade, being a patchwork of inspirations. There was passion there, but unfocused, embracing neither a given decade nor a coherent fusion.

It had a lot of story but didn’t seem to know what it wanted to do with it. It was clear there was an attempt at worldbuilding, establishing an entire galaxy of people and politics. Someone loved their idea and didn’t know what to do with it.

There were obvious budget issues but forget those. The staff didn’t seem to care, and I respect that – it didn’t stop them.

Some actors needed to do better; clearly, some coaching was needed. It didn’t stop them, which I respect.

When I look it over, I think what Star Raiders lacked was not money or talent or enthusiasm – it charged on uninhibitedly. It was that its staff needed to sit down and figure out what they wanted. Was it going to be more of a given genre? Was it going for a more timeless feel? How would the intricate worldbuilding come out to enforce the feeling?

Star Raiders, despite its pause for Kickstarter funds, felt like what it really needed was a pause for everyone to figure out what it was at heart, to grasp that enthusiasm beneath the idea and weave it into something stronger.

The lesson here is the one Serdar stated. You can go for a feel for a time, or you can touch on the timeless. You might even be able to weave several times together as Star Raiders attempted. But to create a work, you have to know what to embrace to bring it out; you need a vision, a sense of place, of where you’re going.

For me, I wish the crew behind Star Raiders and films like them well. May they find their vision (and perhaps their sequels) and embrace it. We all need a place to go, creatively.

Steven Savage

The False Intimacy Of Media

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

Earlier I posted on how there’s two different ways to connect to Media. I summed it up roughly as follows:

  • Known Connections: A fiction reaches us as it triggers existing associations, such as tropes.
  • Created Connections: A fiction makes us see things anew, creating new associations and ideas.

Today I’d like to focus on the Known Connections, those cases where a media gets us interested because it contains known content, common ideas, and so on. I believe these kinds of metal associations with the media we consume explains one reason people get so addicted and defensive about their comics, books, movies, etc.

Consider how it feels when something “pushes your buttons” (in a good way) when you consume media. It feels good, it feels right, it feels as if it’s “for you.” Connection to a piece of media is an intimate experience.

Now, consider how media can throw Known Connections at you. That kind of story you can’t put down. That kind of character you always like. That obvious twist you still crave. The right media can pile on things you’ve seen before – and still get you to consume it because it’s the right pile of things.

Or in short, we all know that we will read the biggest mass of repetitive, unoriginal, done-it-all-before stuff if it hits the right spots. We might not want to admit it, but we will.

That explains, in part, why some people get so defensive of certain media that are, bluntly, pandering. It’s all the stuff they like, in a mass, wrapped up in a bow. They might not even be aware of how they’re pandered to, as that piece of media feels so right.

(And no, you’re not immune to this. I know I’m not.)

But there’s something else going on here. I think this love of media that pushes our buttons also leads to a sense of intimacy with the creator(s) and the people involved.

When we discover a piece of media that hits all the right spots (even if those spots have been hit a lot before), we also feel a sense of connection. Someone got all our focuses and loves right. Someone gave us what we wanted, even if we sort of have had it all before.

When you have that feeling, it’s a feeling of intimacy, of connection. It’s too easy to assume that this intimate feeling is, well, real. You probably don’t know the author. The media you chose, bluntly, is not that original (or is just pandering). Still, that connection feels right.

Looking this over, I think I understand why some people get obsessively protective of some media, authors, and actors. It does everything they like in the way they like. It feels intimate, it may even feel like it’s just for you.

It’s not, of course. But perhaps this explanation can help us navigating having discussions with people so attached to a piece of media.

Steven Savage