When you see the movie first...

I was born in 1994, the era of not just two or three, but at least six different mediums of storytelling. There's books obviously, but also radio, film, television, the stage, and the youngest format: video games. When something is a success in one area, it's become a certainty that it will be transposed into another, either through a media expansion or an adaptation. And as I had specific dyslexic problems which prevented me from reading text properly, and not much of a "gamer", I encountered those two mediums through film and television. So I'll go in order with five adaptations that I saw/heard/experienced, how I felt at the time, and what I think now I've encountered the original.

*Pride and Prejudice (1995): We saw this on the OG broadcast, it was part of my early television life through our VHS recordings, and I think it still stands as THE best Austin adaptation of the period, if not of all screen time. It accurately adapts the novel's content and a vast chunk of its dialogue while trimming some of the original book's fat. That book, while still a great and insightful read over 110 years after its authorship, can wander a little and be a chore if you're not cued into some of the social aspects Austin is satirising.

*Lord of the Rings (2001-2003): I'd never encountered Tolkien's fantasy classic until now, except as an intimidating cover of a compilation of all three books in type so small I could barely read three words together of the old-fashioned prose. I remember enjoying the films as they released, and I still consider the Extended Editions as definitive fantasy experiences which did the impossible: they turned a rambling and often tiring narrative into a digestible sweeping epic, cutting out inconsequential or bumbling episodes (Bombadill, the wild men or whoever they were) and giving added prominence to other female characters (Arwen, Eowyn) without breaking the narrative. I'm not a huge Tolkien fan, he's too traditionally Nordic for my tastes, but I will always have a liking for the movies. When I've the time.

(I won't comment on The Hobbit, as that could've been nicely told in one film)

*Murder Must Advertise (1979): The radio version of what has ended up being my favourite out of Dorothy L. Sayers' seminal detective series is still sound. BBC Radio tends to be sound with its adaptations of sometimes extremely complex stories. But there are some where the book, and even the 1973 television version, trumps it. For one thing, Miss Meteyard was completely butchered, going from a spunky copyeditor to one of the secretaries, and some parts of the contrast that the book is built on between the undercover Wimsey, the employees of Pym's Publicity, and the "Bright Young Things" was sadly lost in translation. Still a descent introduction, but it feels like an incomplete package.

*Blithe Spirit (1940): I remember this being a kind of background staple of my mid-teens, as I found the writing delightfully funny. I didn't know anything about the original play's author Noel Coward, but this interpretation of his ghostly black comedy still ranks high for me. I will say the ending change feels a little unnecessary, there is some rearrangement or rewriting for the sake of the filmic presentation, and some of the American censorship it got was just idiotic (though we might be entering a new era of that sadly). But after having listen to several full performances of the play Blithe Spirit, this film holds up as a solid adaptation and a great piece of entertainment in its own right.

*Lara Croft - Tomb Raider (2001): I saw this by accident on live TV, when I knew nothing about the gaming and cultural phenomenon that was Lara Croft, and...it's okay. It's very much carried by Jolie's performance in the role and how sassy the writing is. I was bought the sequel a few years later, and while the story is much worse, the chemistry that exists between the two leads--right up to its somewhat tragic conclusion--has stuck with me for years. The games are different, especially since they changed continuity so much. Heck, I made a whole video on Croft for a reason. But I don't regret watching this. Lara Croft was my introduction to both strengths and weaknesses of female leads.

My watching experience: Older/classic sci-fi

 I'm a writer. Of sci-fi and fantasy, but my debut and current series The Cluster Cycle is a science fiction space opera spanning a millennium of history. As one might expect, I have actually experienced a goodly amount of classic science fiction films. And a usual allowance of filmic drek. I've seen people recently either recalling memories of older titles they watched way back when or talking about their experience watching them.

Now, disclaimer time, I've not watched EVERY classic sci-fi movie. I've never watched The Thing yet because it didn't look that appealing and I've never clicked with Carpenter. I've just not come across Event Horizon to watch. Others that I can't name off the top of my head... Well, the fact I can't name them off the top of my head should be indication enough that they didn't stick. So here in no particular order are twelve movies I saw back in the day, my memories of first watching them, and what I think of them through older more cynical eyes. Plus opinions on the music for free.



Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country: I'd experienced Star Trek through its series broadcast on TV (Star Trek OG and Next Generation on reruns, and Deep Space Nine and Voyager during their debut UK broadcasts). The Undiscovered Country was my first Star Trek film, I think, and it provided a post for measuring others I came across. Its tone felt right to me, and still feels pertinent when compared to...super soldier shenanigans and time travel. Also that music. Oh, that music...

The Fifth Element: I hadn't seen this film in full for ages, but I'd seen parts of it. When I saw it in full, I knew: instant favourite. Not for Willis's character, terribly bland and bleh IMO, but for everything and everyone else. The art style, the gender-defiant fashion, Eric Serra's delirious score, the blending of grim elements with humour which I still find pretty funny. This has aged well for me, and continues to linger in the back of my mind.

Blade Runner: This is one of the rare instances where I first saw it and wasn't impressed because I was too young and too inexperienced in cyberpunk to get it. I rewatched it years later, and I got it. This isn't a film for everyone, it's grim and fatalistic and deliberately ambiguous. But unlike other titles in this article that play the ambiguity card, Blade Runner pulls it off. It also (eventually) manages to paint a sympathetic portrayal of the antagonists. And for the time it released, that still seems to have been comparatively rare in mainstream films/

Alien (1979): I'd heard vaguely about this through pop culture osmosis, but it hadn't been shown on television yet. Then the original Alien tetralogy was broadcast on Channel 4 during the 2000s. I think it was on a tape recorder or an earlier DVD recorder (I forget which, probably the former), but my sister recorded it, and I watched it the following morning. No need to go into details, just...wow. Still love it. And for my taste, theatrical cut over director's cut. Also, if you can, find Jerry Goldsmith's original cut of the musical score before Scott butchered it. It's an audio revelation.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind: I'm just going to say it, this was one of the most boring film experiences I have ever encountered. It wasn't that I can't take slow movies (I mean, I like the OG Star Trek film, which is commonly dubbed "The Slow-Motion Picture"), but this movie just felt like it had no idea what a plot was. It may be because I wasn't brought up within Roswell culture that the alien elements fell flat (Lindsey Ellis's Axiom's End and Stephen Cox's Child duology are doing a better job of introducing me to that aspect of American culture). I watched to see what all the fuss was about. I still don't get what all the fuss was about. And...the music feels like it's trying to make up for the movie's shortcomings, and because I don't tend to click with John Williams, it fails completely.

Ghost in the Shell: I'd heard about this franchise through references, got a recommendation, and decided to try my luck and watch it. What I got was a film that has only grown more enjoyable with age. It's an enjoyable cyperpunk-style sci-fi title that knows exactly what to do. It doesn't spend too long on scenes unless those scenes need to be long, it balances conversations and contemplation with some grade-A animated action. Yes, it's a little old, and the dub hasn't aged well, but I still find it a great title and a strong sci-fi experience regardless of its animated presentation (yes, the snobbery towards animation was and to a point is very real). Also, Kenji Kawai's score...chef's kiss.

Star Wars: My experience with this film series is odd, because I experienced the prequel trilogy as it was releasing, and my opinions on it have remained soft. Yes, it has problems, but it's not the worst by a long way. I saw the OG trilogy through my oldest sister's VHS versions, and I found them enchanting. I don't like the later re-edits, but thankfully the original films got a DVD release that we own. Do I wholeheartedly like Star Wars? No, but I appreciate it, and I do like the original trilogy as it seems to be saying something. Also Lucas had the restraining hand of other writers, which is where I think the prequel trilogy suffered. The music's...okay.

The Matrix: I saw this when I was...very young. And while I shall always have a soft spot for the first two sequels, the original Matrix is completely appreciable as a standalone experience. The fact that whole schools of scholarship have been dedicated to this film...isn't that surprising. I don't find Neo that great of a lead, but Trinity and Morpheus make up for it, and there is some genuine tension and serious questions about reality and desire that have aged like a fine wine in this era of AI-generated content and virtual reality. I liked it well enough when I saw it as a child. I like it even better now. And, once again, the soundtrack is incredible.

2001: A Space Odyssey: I love Arthur C. Clarke as a writer, A Fall of Moondust is one of my favourite books. But I loathe this film. I think it's because of the Kubrick influence that this whole film feels like it doesn't know what to say from one scene to the next. It jumps about with very little rhyme or reason, every scene is at least five minutes longer than it needs to be, and the ending is a confusing jumble that tries to give you a migraine. As I've said, I can enjoy slow movies, but not movies that seem to be suffering from both ADHD and impaired movement. Also, I can never forgive Kubrick for the fact an excellent original musical score was scrapped for royalty-free classical music. The Blue Danube and Also sprach Zarathustra are forever tainted by this mess of a movie.

Predator: Once again, heard about this through pop osmosis, and I was shocked. Compared to my previous Schwarzenegger experiences, this was quite the tonal whiplash. Having watched it later in life, I still like it, even if I don't watch it for a deep story. I watch it for its unique building dread and vicious deconstruction of the action man archetype that still attempts to infest modern films. I even enjoy the sequel, which takes things to the next level creating a lead that is...difficult to like. Predator isn't a film I'd rewatch often, but it has an appeal when I'm in the mood. Also, while I don't tend to enjoy Alan Silvestri's work, his score here is engaging and genuinely creepy.

The Day the Earth Stood Still: It's shocking how well this movie holds up. I saw this as a kid, remembered it fondly, and still think of it fondly. It has the subtlety of a sledgehammer during its final ten minutes, but then that's forgivable in sci-fi of that era. It paints a still-pointed image of humans as scared and sectarian, and within the production limitations (AKA self-censorship) of the time, it conveys a lot of disturbing messages and warnings. Oh yes, and a tiny note: NOT THE REMAKE! NEVER THE REMAKE! And the music's all right too, though I've never much liked 50s music.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial: I suppose I should mention this one, as I did think it would be good. But...eh. I suppose I liked it well enough as a child, experiencing its approach to aliens for the first time. But I never wanted to rewatch it. And as I've grown older, that wonder has been replaced by a feeling that this film's story could have been told in 100 minutes rather than the 140-plus the original release used. I get it was aimed at a young audience, or at least I assume it was, but I as a child wasn't impressed. And the latter half is so full of needless dramatic cliches. Also, unlike most of the other films I've covered in this post, I really don't like the music, which wobbles between overdramatic and bland.



So, there we are. Twelve opinions, and depending on the movie hot takes that might get me cancelled. I don't know. Being honest about one's views and opinions is coming back into vogue now, so maybe we can say we don't like something other people do like. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it to a point if you got this far, and take care out there. We might enter a dystopia within the next few years, but let's hope not.

A (reasoned) defence of Ghibli's Tales from Earthsea

 In previous posts on this platform, I have talked about the Earthsea series by Ursula le Guin. The main book series, and the short story collection. They are classics, truly worthy of inclusion in the canon of fantasy and of wider literature. But I was introduced to the world of Earthsea via a route that...well, isn't well liked. Studio Ghibli's 2006 animated movie Tales from Earthsea. It was the directorial debut of Goro Miyazaki, and the stuff he had to endure from his father makes me pity him deeply and has permanently lowered my opinion on the older Miyazaki. But that's beside the point. How does the film adapt le Guin's work, and why do I still like it?

WARNING: THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR THE FILM IN THIS ARTICLE.

As a straight adaptation, it's terrible. It doesn't adapt a single book, but instead blends elements of multiple stories with more original elements. The story of the movie follows the archmage Ged on a journey across Earthsea as magic is fading from the world, and dragons are seen fighting. He takes in the wandering Arren, a young boy tormented by inner demons. The pair eventually find shelter with Ged's old ally Tenar, and her adopted daughter Therru, and eventually confront the evil wizard Cob.

This story blends elements taken from The Farthest Shore and Tehanu, with additional story beats and lore elements traceable to A Wizard of Earthsea, The Other Wind and the short story "Dragonfly". But there are also original elements that for book fans will come out of left field: some chronological elements, the inclusion of a slaver gang as secondary players, the reason and themeing behind Arren's torments, and a whole opening segment that is the furthest from le Guin's style it's possible to get.

As someone who adores the original books, I should find this as unwatchable as I find the film version of Eragon. Even more so given the complete whitewashing of the cast, something that is present in ALL of Studio Ghibli's works TBH. But when I look at this film, when I remember it, I remember that without this film, I wouldn't have been as deep into Earthsea as I have become. Though it strays wildly away from the stories, it keeps true to many of the series' themes and motifs. It preserves Therru's character in some important respects (she's the character most easily butchered) and doesn't go completely over the borderline as it might have done.

It helps that the music and performances help to sell this world. Tamiya Terashima's score is one of my favourite film soundtracks, blending orchestra with Celtic folk music. And the English dub is spellbinding. It sells the world in a way that I wasn't prepared for, and makes some of the...weaker elements of the plot and characters at least bearable.

Le Guin's own opinion was that...it wasn't her world, her Earthsea, but it was a fine film. And for the first work of a director under abusive pressure from a celebrity father holding an iron grip on his studio, it holds up. I like it far better than some other Studio Ghibli efforts. And it was my introduction to Earthsea at a time when my eyesight and reading problems meant the editions of Earthsea we had in the house were a closed book to me.

Should you watch it? Maybe, maybe not. If you're an Earthsea purist, you'd probably be insulted. But it is a good way of getting a feel for this world and these characters, from a culture the author was emulating. So...who knows? You might like it.

Review - Movie - The Hidden Blade

 Since around June/July, I've been working on a new fantasy WIP which takes place across a sizeable chunk of Japan's history. And one of the films that helped solidify my liking for it, and that I've watched recently since I'm suffering from a horrendous variety of the common cold, is The Hidden Blade, a 2004 drama film directed and co-written by Yoji Yamada based on the stories of Japanese author Shuhei Fujisawa.

Image credit: IMDB

Set during the 1860s, the late years of the Bakematsu when the Tokugawa Shogunate was in the process of falling apart under encroaching Western influence and growing Imperial pressure, the story follows the life trials of low-ranking samurai Munezo Katagiri. From the forbidden feelings he has for his servant Kie, the social burden of his father committing seppuku following a financial debacle he was not directly responsible for, to ending up pitted against a former student of the blade Yaichiro Hazama by his clan's retainers, Katagiri's struggles in his small town existence are real and a lot more relatable than a wandering swordsman defending a town or the noble (quasi-fictionalised) plight of forty-seven ronin.

An interesting element to this story is that, counter to the typical samurai shown in the work of Kurosawa and a number of others, . Multiple films during this time, including Yamada's two other notable samurai films Twilight Samurai and Love and Honour (and Takashi Miike's 13 Assassins) seem to tear down the mythology built around the Edo-period samurai. The Hidden Blade is a slow-paced deconstruction of the laws and codes which trapped samurai, the corruption of their lords during the late Bakematsu, and the growing discontent and disconnect among different factions with the increasing influence of Western martial techniques. There is a real sense of the suffocating social rules that by this point were creaking at the seams which must be attributed to the actors and their peerless performances.

I must also mention the PEAK HISTORICAL ACCURACY to be found in this film. The setting is on point, the armour and fabric and cloth colours are on point, the smaller details are peak, and in an interesting example of the time's culture clash a retainer sent to teach Western military tactics is shown blending Japanese and Western dress styles in his clothing that makes him stand out as an almost-alien presence. There is also no modern locality names to spoil the mood (there is mention of "Ezo" rather than its modern name Hokkaido, which would've been a big gaff), and the architecture and long camera shots show little to no modern elements to spoil the illusion that this is late Edo Japan. Combine that with a mixture of contemporary-style musical elements and an admittedly ahistorical orchestral score by Isao Tomita, and you have...probably one of the best modern Japanese films.

Is this film a must watch? Yes, absolutely. This should be on the list of every true Japanese film fan, regardless of genre. The writing is engaging, the story slow but entertaining, the atmosphere is peerless, the acting is great, and the score is heartwrenching. Please, please find a way to watch this film.

9/10

Review - Movie - Ninja Scroll

This review is based on the DVD Collector's Edition, published in the United Kingdom by Manga Entertainment.

Anime in the 1990s are sometimes a mixed bag. Several of them show their age through their animation or dubbing, but some remain great to this day. One of them is 1993's Ninja Scroll, a period action drama that cemented both the career of its writer/director Yoshiaki Kawajiri and the rise of animation studio Madhouse.

The story is pretty standard fair for its time. During the Edo period, a group of ninja are sent to investigate the death of an entire village, only to be all but massacred by one of a shadowy group called the Eight Devils of Kimon. The main protagonists are Jubei Kibagami, a cross between a ronin and a ninja who is blackmailed into helping by the Edo spy Dakuan; and Kagero, a survivor of the Eight Devils who has some serious relationship issues due to being a walking weapon whose touch alone is poisonous. The main plot is somewhat convoluted, but this movie's appeal is in its high action and the freaky powers of the Eight Demons, who fall directly into the tropes associated with ninja during the 20th to 21st century.

In the animation department, the movie is a triumph. It does use the common tricks of that era of anime (repeating animations, mostly-static conversation scenes), but it also features layered backgrounds and choreography that is stunning even after over two decades. The amount of love for the project is clear, ranging from the detail of the various ninja abilities, to the dedicated fight scenes featuring Jubei. There's plenty to enjoy during both the moments of calm and the hectic action scenes which come at frequent intervals. There's also the trait of arousing female and oh-so-manly male character designs that remains ingrained in anime culture.

The music from Kaoru Wada is very good. Not at all in keeping with the period, but also amazingly enjoyable. It pushes along the action and punctuates scenes of emotion without being intrusive. That also means that, aside from a few places where the music forms most of the scene, it can become unmemorable. The English dub is good for the time, having just the right amount of camp without reaching Dragon Ball Z or Pokemon levels.

Please note that this anime isn't for kids. Alongside Ghost in the Shell and Akira, it was one of the pioneers of true adult feature-length anime. This means that there is violence a plenty, blood and gore, disturbing imagery, nudity, and some traditionally awkward animated sexual encounters. I was surprised that it only contains very mild swearing, at least in the English dub. Despite being older than me, Ninja Scroll remains a classic for all the right reasons, even though it shows its age in places.

8/10

Oh yes, and a final note. I came to this movie after watching Madhouse's follow-up television series of the same name. I'll probably be reviewing the series next week.

Review - Movie - Traders

I don't typically like overt violence in movies, and most British small-scale movies have that weird greying effect that makes them look more depressing than they are. But there are a few British movies of that type I've watched and enjoyed. The most recent - and most unexpected - is the Irish-produced Traders. Currently available on BBC3 via iPlayer, Traders is what might be described as an action thriller with a surprisingly dark twist.

The premise is simple; a man named Henry Fox dissatisfied with his low-paying work becomes embroiled in a game created by Vernon, a man he meets by chance. The game is called Trading, and it soon takes in a viral quality. The rules are simple; sell possessions to create a money stake, fight to the death, survivor collects both stakes and arranges it so the victims are presumed suicides with methods difficult to trace and confirm. His first "Trade" nets him 10,000, but the thought of more pulls him into more and more trades, which become increasingly dangerous and violent.

The theme of the movie is the time-worn question of how far someone is prepared to go for riches, but it can also act as a commentary on the modern world and how the internet is allowing the creation of these types of "entertainments". It's one person creating the Trading game, and that one person is causing dozens of deaths. The theme is disturbing to say the least, more so because of a distinct lack of blood and guts. This is where the subdued tone works in the movie's favour; the emphasis on middle to lower-class suburban neighborhoods drives home a feeling of desperation, the fact that those trading probably have problems in their lives that need this money. The ambiguous ending drives the overall message home.

On the whole, the movie looks good. You can tell the budget was low, but the tone and subject matter actually help rather than hinder. The cast, including Killian Scott as the lead and John Bradley as Vernon, does a creditable job of portraying a group playing for high stakes out of desperation or greed. It must be stressed that this movie is not for younger viewers. Quite apart from the disturbing content and subject matter, there's violence a plenty. Most of it is deceptively bloodless, and consequently more disturbing. For me, seeing someone stabbed to death is far less unpleasant than someone getting the life choked out of them. There's also the usual - but thankfully sparse - use of swearing.

On the whole, this is a great movie of its kind. A very modest scope belies a scenario many might easily compare to Stephan King's original Running Man or Battle Royale, but while not original it's still highly enjoyable in a delightfully disturbing way. Some contrived moments drag the experience down, and the ending might upset some, but on the whole this is worth a watch while it's available.

8/10

Reapers are a Writer's Best Friend; Part 2 - Movies

Let's face it: death in all its myriad and repulsive forms is an inseparable part of life. It's the yin to the yang, the other side of the coin. Nere the twain shall meet, yet one cannot exist without the other. But the problem is that death is liable to be treated in popular media in a way that might skew its place in people's lives. Sure, there are plenty of ways in comics, movies, television, books and games that treat death with the respect and gravity it deserves, but there are just as many who treat death as an almost-trivial means of advancing the story. In this post, I'll be looking at how a death can advance a story in movies.

Oh, and since we're delving into character deaths, I'll say this for the sake of formality. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Movies have a distinct disadvantage against books; they have time limits, and are based on visual elements more than description. Live-action movies also have the issue of the basic restrictions of reality on their characters. This means that many deaths in movies can come off as fairly pedestrian. Sometimes this pedestrian quality can itself be dramatic. An example is the final sequence of events of the gangster movie The Departed, a Westernised remake of the Hong Kong movie Infernal Affairs. The final scene is a stark contrast to the hectic massacre that precedes it. Main protagonist Colin Sullivan has been responsible for killing his former handler Costello, undercover cop Costigan, and another mole in his department. He is hailed, but he is also miserable; he has destroyed both his own life and the lives of many others. Returning to his apartment, he is faced by ex-cop Sean Digman. Without music or fanfare, preceded by only a single hollow expletive, Sullivan is shot through the head and left on the floor. This hollow ending for the movie's main protagonist is sudden and flat, but that actually makes sense within the story's context. Considering all he has been through and all he has done, such a weak ending is perfectly suited to his character.

From protagonists to antagonists, we turn to the despicable personage of Hori, who is arguably the main antagonist of The Hidden Blade. A theme throughout the movie is how the honour and traditions of the samurai are beginning to come under threat during the 1860s, the last years of the Edo period. Main protagonist Munezo Katagiri is forced to watch the life of his friend Yaichiro Hazama twisted and ruined by the corrupt Edo elite, represented by Hori. Hori is shown to be truly repulsive, showing no respect to Katagiri and trying to force him to compromise the samurai code. He then arranges Hazama's dishonourable death, lies to Hazama's wife to receive sexual favours for the promise of Hazama's survival, then all but laughs even after her suicide. Katagiri is the man who whose unbending fealty to his clan meant the killing of his fallen friend, but when faced with Hori's horrific actions, he acts as Hazama's avenging angel. Using a secret style, Katagiri punctures Hori's heart, fatally wounding him. This is a richly-deserved death; for Westerners we seen a plain old horrible man, for Japanese viewers this is a man who soils treasured samurai traditions. His death is also quite apt; destroyed by the very man he forced to influence, with a technique he could never hope to understand, on behalf of the memories of those he condemned to death.

Death is not just a singular event, but can be the thematic foundation of a story. An example of this can be found within Star Trek Generations. Death, the end of things and the meaning of one's life form a recurring theme in the movie. Main villain Soren's obsession with reaching the blissful extra-dimensional Nexus partially stems from the death of his family at the Borg's hands; Picard's brother and nephew are reported dead, leaving Picard as the last of the line; and the movie itself opens with original protagonist James Kirk apparently dying saving the Enterprise-B from the Nexus ribbon. The movie ends with Picard and Kirk ironically using the Nexus itself to foil Soren's plans, but this results in Kirk's true death. Kirk's death alone would be shocking enough to long-term fans of the series, but the movie's real strength is that it uses death and endings as a recurring theme, even if many of the deaths seen during the story are reversed. This lends the movie a far greater weight than if it had been just one death.

In books, words are used to describe nearly everything, even when illustrations help. This can result in death scenes becoming clunky if handled wrong. In the visual arts, particularly in movies, a death can be illustrated in a fraction of the time it might take a book. It can also leave a more vivid impression, as the scene is exactly that; visual. As humans, we respond better to visual inputs, we see and we assimilate through seeing. Seeing death makes it that much more real; thus seeing death in movies, in all its subtle and gory forms, makes it more real to us.

Next week, we dive into the realm of television. While sharing many similarities to the workings of movies and more frequently bound by the rules of the real world, they also have the ability to tell longer stories and a greater freedom of expression.

Reapers are a Writer's Best Friend; Introduction

Let's face it: death in all its myriad and repulsive forms is an inseparable part of life. It's the yin to the yang, the other side of the coin. Nere the twain shall meet, yet one cannot exist without the other. But the problem is that death is liable to be treated in popular media in a way that might skew its place in people's lives. Sure, there are plenty of ways in comics, movies, television, books and games that treat death with the respect and gravity it deserves, but there are just as many who treat death as an almost-trivial means of advancing the story. This post is in the form of a basic introduction to the concept, recurring themes, and my goal with this post series.

So what makes a good death in fiction? Well, it depends on the genre, the scale and the setting, and also on how you want to tell the story. Deaths in the main cast can prove a strong catalyst for the story depending on how you lead up to them, while supporting characters carry less weight and are consequently more liable to slip into the background of importance. A villain's death or expected death - whether just or ironic or even humiliating - is an expected and consequently overused trope. Quite often it's the main protagonist dealing the blow, or failing that trying one last time to save them despite their villainy. Widespread death of a population can also form both a background and catalyst in the story - these can be caused by plague, human agency, or widespread disaster.

In a murder mystery or thriller, a death acts as the catalyst for the entire story, and can be anyone with anything as long as there's a kind of reason and logic apparent by the end of the story; it also has a realise on the type of genre featured. It can be a single isolated death driving the characters forward, or a series of murders leading them on. Everyday stories don't tent to feature death except in a natural form. In fantasy and science fiction, death can be treated rather more freely, even to the point that none of the characters die at all. It is also more likely to be highly fantastical and perhaps even clean due to the nature of the death.

The type of story the author wants to tell also affects whether death plays any part. Young children's fiction generally avoids the topic for good reason. Older children and young adult stories can more frequently involve it, but often in a stylised form. Adult fiction more often brings forward realistic and messy deaths where applicable. In general, various factors contribute to how death is introduced and handled , varying from author tastes and genre to the story's setting and tone.

Over the next few weeks, I will be creating several articles that look at particular deaths in different media, and how they impact and advance or conclude the story. My articles will concern death...

In books.
In movies.
In television.
In video games.

Finally I hope to look at how my own character deaths are created, and the lessons I've learnt over ten years of evolving my style. So until next week, please look forward to it. See you then!

Fritz Lang's Metropolis - Impressions from a Live Performance

On March 16, I was visiting family in Bristol, and as a treat I was taken to see a special event at the Bristol Jazz and Blues Festival. It was a screening of the classic silence science fiction film Metropolis, complete with a new electronic/orchestral score by Andy Sheppard. I didn't know it until I was in my seat and the MC started talking to the audience, but this was a unique performance - not only would it not be repeated again, but it was the debut of the to-date most complete cut of German filmmaker Fritz Lang's seminal work - with newly restored and incorporated footage, bringing it to within a few minutes of its original 1927 runtime. Full pre-release details here, and a critic's review of the performance here.

Having now experienced this landmark title, I can see why it both awes today and puzzled in its own time. It tells a surprisingly modern story of societal divides between the working class and the pampered elite, with the recurring sci-fi theme of the evils of industrialism being well-used here. But given the time it was made in, as the post-war Weimar Republic was beginning to fail and the Nazi Party was gaining political strength, it's easy to see why it didn't resonate with audiences - its clear anti-Nazi propaganda also can't have won it any favours in Germany at the time. The story resonates very strongly even today - particularly if you appreciate the subtle references to German folklore and legend within its characters - and even though some aspects display a deep naivete of how the world works, it still sends a strong message about interaction between workers and elite. Also it seems to have predicted the trend of sprinkling Biblical references ad nauseum, which this film thankfully can carry off with a grin rather than a grimace.

The performances are what you'd expect of a late 1920s silent film, but that also means there's a lot of emotional punch behind these scenes. The silent film tradition has reached its peak with this film, as has what was then current in German Expressionism. Artistically the film is a triumph, with impressive special effects for its time and art deco set design that does its era proud. The sheer scale of the sets and setpieces will awe you if you're accustomed to the pocket sets of comedy shorts from the time. But it also shows how the film is now a victim of its own influence - what was shocking and unnerving in 1927 is more or less commonplace today both in sci-fi and multiple other genres. Metropolis is still unique and a treasure, and it's a miracle that it's survived all this time, but its DNA can be seen in hundreds if not thousands of later films.

As to the performance I saw, it was mind-blowing mainly because of its music. The brass dominated the industrial scenes and pushed the raw cruelty of the workers' condition; low-key brass and electronica set the mood for the villainous scenes; brass and percussion backed the exciting scenes such as the workers' revolt; and some neat saxophone work punctuated the purity and hope main heroine Maria expresses throughout the film. Some of the themes repeated a little too much for my liking, but it still made a positive impression in its depiction of an urban metropolis run wild.

It's only now, more than two weeks later, that I can look back and fully appreciate the grandeur and bravery of the film, and how its score captured those feelings while putting their own unique twist on what it should be. As the MC said, there have been many different scores for Metropolis following Gotfriedd Huppertz's original, but I think this one should be considered the definitive score for the film after Huppertz's - not just because it was the most complete version, but because it did the film justice in a unique way, blending modern tones with the film's message to create a unique blend that, in my and several other attendees opinions, proved worthy of a standing ovation.