Dr. Horrible Returns

Hulu got AT&T to sponsor Dr. Horrible, so the entire show is available once again online:



...but, for how long?

Eric Violette: Hollywood Superstar, except not in Hollywood (nor very well-known)

Because television commercials are the most critical contribution that man has made to society since Offa of Mercia built a really good wall out of dirt--Good dirt walls are hard to come by, after all--I bear this planet's burden for highlighting the often overlooked television commercial work of otherwise unheralded actors.

Today's entry is Eric Violette. The talented French-Canadian actor does work that is at turns comic and strange, dramatic and ridiculous. Were we not living in an age where the avant-garde was passe', you might call him avant-garde. Were we not living in an age where the passe' is now considered avant-garde, well...you still might call him avant-garde.

Also, he speaks French. Yes, he's that good of an actor.

I highlight him today for his groundbreaking work in a trilogy of short films that redefine the ancient art of the television jingle.

That's right, he's the hero of the FreeCreditReport.com ads. And he's today's unsung television commercial star:



The important thread that ties the video tryptych together is that the pirate hat from the first commercial appears briefly in the back seat of the car in the final one. Thus the second ad is revealed as the wide-scoping bit, providing the large central frame that gives definition to the accompanying "bookends." Or maybe it is just a pirate hat in the back seat.

"It's Pat!* Answers" edition.

You humans, and your demands for answers. Don't get me wrong, there are answers to important questions, but your very nature resists them. In fact, questions are often like a tree: the visible part (i.e. the words we use) are like leaves that show signs of illness. The majority of human questions are variants of "Heal my leaves!" The problem is that the actual disease is in the roots.

Jesus answers a deep question often with an answer that simultaneously skirts the question's branches and buries into the root. If we are to have answers, then Jesus provides an excellent model for their delivery. Pat answers may be technically correct, but it is always important to ask, do they address the symptom, or the cause? It costs us more to answer questions with a true ear than with a quick tongue.

Q: Who is my neighbor?

A: Have mercy. Be a neighbor.

Q: Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left.

A: It is not mine to grant.

Q: Why couldn't we drive out that demon?

A: That kind requires prayer.

John the Baptist tells us to "Prepare the way of the Lord," not to "Provide answers for the way of the Lord." Though St. Paul admonishes us to have ready answers, part of having answers is also making space, preparing a way, leaving room for the Ru'ach to move without our meddling. Pat answers are like laundry baskets: great tools, lousy vehicles.

*Incidentally, the very funny creator of the Pat character, Julia Sweeney, from Saturday Night Live starred in her own one-woman show "And God Said Ha!" and is a deeply religious atheist. And thus, the circle draws to its incompletion.

Dr. Horrible, Billy Buddy and Melville

Dr. Horrible's secret identity (typically thought of as superheroes and supervillains' "real" or "normal" selves) is Billy, whom Penny affectionately refers to as "Billy Buddy."

The name is far too similar to Herman Melville's famous title character of the unfinished and long-lost novella, Billy Budd. Budd is the nearly angelic "pure good" character who is executed by the good, just, yet ultimately legalistic and cowardly Captain Vere for the crime of murder. The so-called victim of the murder is the nearly demonic Claggart. Budd accepts his fate, even to the point of calling on God to bless his executioner.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog seems to reverse the roles a little, but stays true to the themes, of Billy Budd. Billy Buddy is likeable, sweet and endearing, but he's the one with a seemingly friendly and justified demon inside (with jerks like Captain Hammer running around, isn't he allowed a little vitriol?). Captain Hammer slides almost directly into the Captain Vere role - the law-abiding, by the book, good guy who nonetheless can't transcend the letter of the law to the spirit of it: in other words, he's good and just, but also legalistic and uncaring for those whom he defends. So, in Joss Whedon's version of Melville, Billy Buddy is the one becoming an agent for the Thoroughbred of Sin, while Penny is the pure good in the Billy Budd role who is nonetheless an innocent catalyst for disaster.

Character Arc: Vork's Turning Point Catalyst

In my mind (I'm being a little arbitrary here), there are three main elements to a good turning point for a character.

1. The turning point needs to have motive.
2. It needs to be a logical extension of the character.
3. It needs to come at the last possible instant, when the character is forced from within to make the change.

Also, when you are dealing with a story with multiple characters, it is really great when the turning points harmonize, coming at different places within the narrative, but not in a predictable rhythm, and certainly not all at once. When character arcs rise and fall, seemingly independently of one another, the story can gain strength and depth. Kind of like a choir.

There have been times when I've thought something was written poorly, but it had nothing to do with style, grammar or emotional depth: it had to do with badly timed, poorly placed or unmotivated turning points.

A good example of harmonic turning points can be seen in the scriptwriting for The Guild. (ahem, you have watched the Guild, right?)

Six characters with diverse goals and objectives converge under extraordinary circumstances, and in harmony, build both to the climax of the story and to their own individual turning points.

Take Vork/Herman, played by Jeff Lewis. Vork is a man living in the shadow of society, subsisting off the social security checks of his deceased grandfather. He is thrifty, cautious, and, aside from his online persona (and recognized leader of the Guild), almost totally anti-social. If he ever goes out, which is rare, he sneaks his own beverages into restaurants. Yeah, he's that guy.

He encloses himself in obscurity at home, sealing himself from outside contact even though the people with which he associates online all live within a half hour of his house. He's a hermit, and likes it that way. The first conflict for this character arises when he's asked to venture outside.

His tipping point comes early in the storyline, in episode 3. When Codex/Cyd asks her online friends to meet in the real world for the first time, Vork's resistance to such a thing (which has already been well-established in the subtext of his character) is vocalized. Even after he exhausts his logic-based excuses for not meeting, he resorts to his base emotion:

"...and also, I don't wanna."

His turning point comes shortly thereafter, when Codex insists that it is critical to the group.

Vork's turning point occurs at about the 3:00 mark, and resolves by 3:12:

The moment of transition from hermit to face-to-face meeter passes briefly (A well-placed turning point is often subtle, and usually even more subtle with supporting characters.) but it is significant. Vork agrees to venture out.

Why does it work?

1. The motive for his change is laid early on. Vork is online leader, he's well organized, and, although he has secured his isolation by unscrupulously living off of government checks for the deceased, he was a dutiful grandson, caring for his grandfather while he lived. Herman/Vork has a sense of duty and thrift, organization and an aspiration to lead, all of which lead him to isolation...but also to his willingness to break from isolation. In other words, the conflict stems from "two divergent choices which stem from the same motive." His leadership of the online group provides justification for his hermitage, but also impetus for him to venture out.
2. It is telling that his decision is clinched by Codex's appeal to his acumen for organization. Vork has a choice of two risks, not one. If he follows his nature and doesn't meet face-to-face, he risks the online group. If the offline group falls apart, so does The Guild. More than that, by not meeting, he risks his control. Doing the thing he does not want -- socializing -- is the most certain way of ensuring that he doesn't lose what is most important to him: his (online) friends.
3. The consequences of not meeting will be immediate: Codex is at her wits' end, Zaboo is at a fever pitch, Bladezz has betrayed the Guild. The threat to the group is at the gates, and Vork must make the choice. Had it come any earlier, it would have lacked tension, any later, and it would have been too late to alter the course of events.

Also, and I think this is a key: even though all the characters are persuaded to meet face-to-face in this scene, it is only a turning point for Vork. A resistance to meeting is shared by almost all, but is only a bugbear for one.

If I get the chance, I'm going to look at another Guild character's turning point to contrast the two, and see if I can break the harmony down at the writing level.

In any case, good writers for the screen, stage or print know how to place a character's turning point in the right position.

Dr. Horrible and the Thoroughbred of Sin

Not that anyone reads these (fortunately, for the sanity and well-being of the civilized world) but just in case:

SPOILERS ahem SPOILERS WITH A CAPITAL "s" SPOILERS to follow.






Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is, well, relatively self-explanatory. It is a video blog that you can sing along with about a would-be supervillian named Dr. Horrible.

I've seen it, you've seen it, we've all seen it. But what's it all about?

In the first two acts, in true post-modern fashion, the show establishes sympathy for the lead character, Dr. Horrible (played by Neil Patrick Harris). This works because it plays off the well-worn anti-hero motiff. The anti-hero argument is basically this: traditional heroes are actually symbolic of the shiny veneer on the oppressive Social System, and the real hero is the flawed, unsuper fellow who can see through that facade, and fight against it.

In other words, Superman is a facsistic wish-fulfillment, a literal and figurative extension of the eugenics of the spiritual Third Reich. Batman is a sick sociopath, haunted by his impotence and forever dependent on criminality in order to give himself identity. Captain America is nothing more than a government tool. The Hulk is displaced rage with daddy issues.*

What about the poor, misunderstood supervillain? Doesn't he have motive? Doesn't he have good cause for what he does? Shouldn't his dreams matter?

Such is the case with Dr. Horrible. In act I, we quickly understand that Dr. Horrible is a puffed up, mostly harmless, social basket case. By the end of act II, we root for his cartoonish revenge fantasy, because we believe him to be wronged. By the end of act III, his dreams have simultaneously gone awry and come true, and we abruptly realize the depths of isolation that his success has brought him.

Dr. Horrible is, literally, all fun and games until someone loses a life. And it all started so innocently. Dr. Horrible, the incompetent, yet likable, blowhard confesses his love and ambition, and the viewers are inspired to take up his cause. Here's a guy who wants to be validated by membership in an exclusive club (the ridiculous-sounding Evil League of Evil) and get the girl of his dreams, Penny (Felicia Day). The absolutely goofy plot that develops dares the audience to take it lightly, and to vicariously hope for Dr. Horrible's too-perfect traditional hero foil (and jerk-of-all-trades), Captain Hammer (Nathan Fillion), to take one on his well-chiseled chin.

And, in Act III, he does. Dr. Horrible, in taking extreme measures by developing a lethal weapon (something that he found, in his saner moments to be unstylish), gets everything: Hammer is humiliated, people fear/respect Dr. Horrible and, by unintentionally killing Penny, he earns even the respect of Bad Horse, the Thoroghbred of Sin and head of the Evil League of Evil. At that point, when Dr. Horrible could come face-to-face with the consequence of his once-silly rage and once-overreaching ambition, he instead, reluctantly accepts the fruit of his sin, entering the League, reaping the fickle public's acclaim, and starting his quest in earnest to rule the planet. The audience, on the other hand, is left with broken hearts for a now incapacitated, weeping Captain Hammer and a dead Penny.

The last, brief image is that of Dr. Horrible, stripped of all artifice, staring blankly into the camera, feeling nothing.

This wasn't what many expected from something with the phrase "Sing-Along" in the title. But it is, in fact, the perfect title. The show says a great deal about what people have come to expect from their entertainment. It is alluring to live vicariously through the comic actions of bad characters. It is a standard trope that the traditional hero is, by definition, now considered to be, at best, a heavily compromised self-deception, and at worst, a greater problem than whatever evil faces us.

Dr. Horrible takes a lighthearted approach to temptation and sin, gives motive to wrath, revenge and power fantasies, and then pulls the curtain back to reveal what we all know inside: there are many ways to sugarcoat evil - downplay it, lampoon it, sympathize with it, explain it away, or laugh it up - but it is real, it is creeping, and it ultimately leaves us empty as a tomb.

And that is the story's genius. It succeeds as a laugh-out-loud comedy that leads us to the sobering conclusion that sin is nothing to joke about.

The shocking, tragic lesson of Dr. Horrible is that there is a deeply likable face of Wrong.

*It's not just comic books: the antihero-worship is an alternative for those who accept the musical accusation that "John Wayne was a Nazi" or the notion that subsistence is preferred to the risk of heroism.

Character Arc: Elmer Gantry

Before I saw the film, I'd always assumed that Elmer Gantry* followed the predictable stereotype of the religious huckster who demonstrated the ignorance of rural American Christianity (and, by association, all Christianity). In fact, most critics of Christian faith point to the character of Elmer Gantry when attempting to illustrate the hypocritical gap between faith and practice.

But that doesn't explain one of the most surprising and unapologetic character developments in film history, when Gantry, the womanizing huckster, the poser pastor, sets foot in a congregation that he has no intention of steering wrong, or steering at all.



This isn't a turning point for Gantry, but a character development that allows for a fully-realized, complex and, yes, sympathetic character to supercede any 2-dimensional stereotype that might be more comfortable to mock.

So, the next time you hear of a preacher being compared to Elmer Gantry, its probably a good idea to ask, "In what way?"

See also The Apostle with Robert Duvall.

*Note that I'm not talking about the book Elmer Gantry, by Sinclair Lewis. That one lives up to its anti-religious reputation with flying colors.** But, in this case, the film is a much more satisfying experience, even at the secular level.

**Often at the expense of the quality of the story. Lewis' internal tangents commit a sin far, far worse than violating religious decorum, they tell without showing, they tip his hand, and they take huge emotional shortcuts.

Character Creation and Arcs

Creation, both the act and the art, involve myriad details, but one that is frequently critical, but often overlooked, is change. Change, whether purposeful or unintentional, is a hallmark of most art. We say we are "moved" by art for a reason. Not only does it inspire an emotional, cognitive and spiritual response, but it also serves as a vehicle, to transport us from one place to another.

I think this is why character arcs matter so much in fiction. Characters that don't change over the course of a story are incapable of moving the reader. Inert characters inspire inertia: they are a form of anti-transport.

Jeff Gerke's Tips #3 and #4 (scroll down) go into the "how" of this in greater detail, but I think the why is important to remember. I think, if I get the chance, I'll intentionally take a look at the arcs of some characters and see if I can find the turning point of each, and determine what that means for the reader/viewer.

These Are the Stupid Things We've Been Waiting For

An intergalactic genius and people's hero has found those two stupid things that have been bugging every man, woman and child on the face of the planet since the dawn of gasoline and three-hole punching.

He invents a new form of government in the process.

Incidentally, the dawn of the modern three-hole punch has been traced to a 1940 issue of Popular Science.

Euhemerus Amok: Egypt's Long Tail (Tale)

Factotum's Rostrum has a cute observation on when historic analysis goes a bit too far on a bit too little.

Dr. Horrible Melts My Cold, Cold Heart with a Freeze Ray

Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog is set to stun.

Finally, the ancient question has been answered in the affirmative.

That question is, of course, "Can low-budget musical vlog that follows the budding career and withering heartbreak of a hapless evil genius give a heartless troll the goosebumps?"

Available now, but not forever...

Black Gate 12 Opens...Fantasy Awaits.

My favorite magazine* in all the world, Black Gate has just released its 12th issue.

I've got my copy, and only have begun to survey its topography. Every issue is an expedition, and this one looks to be no different, although it might be more adventurous than ever. In addition to top-flight tales of fantasy and adventure, spectacular illustrations, outstanding commentary, in-depth rpg and fiction reviews and the resurrection of long-forgotten pulp treasures, this special issue includes a self-contained solitaire role-playing game.

All for ten bucks. Editor John O'Neil and his minions have quite clearly lost their minds and have become drunk on the power that stems from unleashing pure art and wonder into the wilds of this planet.

I recommend you hunt a copy down before everyone hears about it and you have to wait in line for it.

*I use this term very loosely. The thing is an anthology of joy, with quality unsurpassed. But nobody knows what I'm talking about when I describe it that way, so I just say "magazine" for short.

Verdi's Anvil Chorus from Il Trovatore

...you know. Just because.



(Also because I celebrated the 4th of July by splitting wood. A lot of it. Every time I swung the hammer against the wedge, I'd catch myself humming Verdi.)

Hwaet, Me Worry?

If I seem on edge, it isn't because Ragnarok partially describes the future. It's because it accurately describes the near past and present.

The old Norse didn't know everything, but they had a pretty good handle on the strength of the world and its people, but also the fire and ice that burns and freezes inside creation and evelopes its destruction.

Ice can heal a wound, fire can light a path. But what did Smeagol scream when put in chains? "It burns! It freezes!" Destruction, too, can be ice and fire.

I see Ragnarok, not in a mythical time, but in ours, today. Today, I acknowledge the martyrs.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

The Battle Hymn of the Republic has been in my cold black heart since Independence Day.

A song with such rich lyrics sometimes requires a little explanation.

Here's a wonderful version (by LiliAna) wherein the lyrics can be plainly heard:



And a poorer sound quality, but nonetheless unforgettable performance on our nation's most recent day of prayer, fasting and remembrance:

I, For One, Welcome Our New Web Content

Trolls are incredibly difficult to own. We are messy, we are loud, we are fiercely religious and we occasionally eat our masters.

But The Guild owns me. For now. I'm sure they are going to regret it once I drain Vork's supply of orange drink and release Clara's shoats into the wild, where they'll be better cared for by the snakes and coyotes.

But this extended interview by Zadi Diaz with show creator Felicia Day from the blog of Epic Fu does a great job of getting to the heart of at least one key facet of the art of start-up media: the origin of creation.

Rejection is Good

I rarely repeat myself, but I'm going to here:

I don't look at the fiction submission process as an interview where I am the candidate. I think of it as an editor search. An agent/editor is a book's first consumer. Write the right book and find the right first consumer and they'll be best positioned to match the book with a like-minded audience. A query letter isn't a "please love me" note - it is a ruthless way of culling out all the wrong people who aren't a good match for your stuff.

So, getting a lot of rejections doesn't mean you are a lousy writer, it means you are cutthroat and specific. You know what you are looking for, and you have the pile of rejected editors and agents to show for it.

Quick "no's" are critical. It's what the potential readers do all the time.

Agents/editors aren't evaluating you, you are evaluating them. You've got to rip through as many of them as you can in order to unearth the right one. Rejections are good.

Quick rejections are better.

FourFour Makes Friends While Not Here to Make Friends

I would embed it, but FourFour deserves a little recognition for his deep philosophical examination of the zeitgeist of the "bad guy" subculture of reality television. I hope he gets some friends out of this.

Excellence is Not a Democracy

When I wonder why what is great is not revered, why a person's best efforts are often overlooked, while mediocrity holds court, I must remember: excellence is a virtue, not a reward. Excellence makes enemies. Excellence, while benefiting others, is an unwanted goad to others. Excellence won't win you love or universal praise. It may not even sell your books.

Melville excelled in Moby Dick, but his earlier works, esp. Typee sold better in his day. Excellence is no guarantee of reward. There are shorter roads to reward, democratic ones, even.

The most excellent way has no correlation to personal gain or even enrichment. But it is at the heart of life, and those who go there would not trade the world for its adventure.

Liberty in America

Thank the Maker for our founders and our freedoms.

At the Mountains of Madness in Del Toro's Hands

There's a script review of Guillermo Del Toro's production of one of H.P. Lovecraft's greatest stories At the Mountains of Madness. I find the secular author's approach to the atheism of Lovecraft and the Christian elements included by Del Toro to be fascinating, for obvious reasons.

The tension between Lovecraft's* beautifully misanthropic thesis (that beauty, science, art and man are useless) and his efforts (namely: the studied portrayal of beauty, science art and man) is a wonder to behold, even seventy years after first publication. I can only imagine what Del Toro is going to go through to try realize this on film. Even a failure could be a wonderful one.

Some great insights and excellent questions are raised by Big Ross at CC2K.

Spoilers, obviously.

As if Lovecraft's words are mortal enough to be spoiled...

*Even old Howard's surname betrays him: Love. (Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. ) Craft. (Creation testifies to its own Maker.) Can something be simultaneously delicious and painful? Certainly. A diet of ice cream, after all, likely contributed to the great man's untimely demise.

Ass* Kicking Book Cover of the Day

The Personifid Invasion is set to release in October. I've never read R.E. Bartlett before, but I'm going to give this author a shot.

Yes, based on my judgment of a book's cover. Best one I've seen so far this year.

+

*Balaam's ass, of course. What were you thinking?