Narrating the Obvious

...and God help you if you use voice-over in your work, my friends. God help you. That's flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write a voice-over narration to explain the thoughts of a character

-Robert McKee, Adaptation (2002)

Tangled, Disney's adaptation of the Rapunzel fairy-tale, may well have been a good movie, but I gave up after the first 15 minutes - a 15 minutes that included a sardonic voice-over, doing away with all subtlety and forcing plot-establishment down our throats. The movie opened with narration by the movie's male protagonist, Eugene, explaining the setting for the Rapunzel story and the movie's main conflict with broad strokes of self-aware post-modernism, explicitly identifying the films main villain and plot MacGuffin. 

Eugene the vain and Rapunzel the innocent - Tangled (2010)

The above quote from Brain Cox's character in Adaptation by Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman summarises why I found Tangled's voice-over so ham-fisted and uninspiring. These types of voice-overs violate the golden rule of storytelling - show, do not tell. In any medium, stage, written or visual, the story should be shown to us through the setting and portrayal of scenes and characters. Doing this in such a way that the audience doesn't have to think too much (and yet still fully comprehend) involves a high level of skill that comes hand-in-hand with good writing.

The recent trend toward voice-overs by animated films is a never-ending source of frustration for me. In a night of childish nostalgia, I watched Lilo & Stitch (2002), and Tangled (2010) back to back. The stark contrast between the first 15 minutes of both movies seemed to indicate a degeneration in Disney's storytelling technique. Lilo & Stitch relied on visual cues. The body-language, character and set designs suggested volumes about the universe in which Stitch existed and the circumstances behind his incarceration. Key scenes revealed most of the characterisation that we needed to understand Lilo and Stitch as outsiders in their own contexts.

Stitch's initial character design made him seem unruly and frightening

Tangled explicitly narrated almost everything. It pointed out to us who the villain was, why she was obsessed with eternal youth and exactly how the power of eternal youth was linked with Rapunzel's hair. It also went as far as to point out to us the significance of the 'floating lights' that appear every year on Rapnuzel's birthday. It didn't let us figure out for ourselves what was going on.

The argument that is frequently made to me in favour of Disney movies using this technique is that it gives the film a 'story telling' feel. Whilst I agree somewhat with this sentiment, film makers are given the freedom of a 90-minute long continuous visual medium in order to tell a story - beyond the limits of a 20 page children's picture book. And aside from treating children as bereft of subtlety, voice-overs remove the impact of audiences forming their own emotions as to what is going on. The triumph of Lilo & Stitch is that their characterisation is indirect such that the audience is able to pick out what key facet of their character connects the most. If you tell the audience how they should feel about someone, that sense of having an individual unique bond is lost.

Not every movie or play with narration is bad. Sticking with the Disney/Pixar/Dreamworks theme, Wreck-It Ralph and How to Train Your Dragon miss-step a little with their narration, but it doesn't go into the 'all revealing' territory that many recent movies have. Adaptation plays with this trope in Kaufman's stylistically post modern way. Film noir manages to feature voice-over narration as key technique whilst maintaining storytelling integrity, as in Orson Wells' The Third Man and  Frank Miller's Sin City. In these cases, narration is obtuse enough as to let the audience come to their own meaningful conclusions.

Sin City - narration obtuse enough to not compromise subtlety.

I'm guilty of falling into the voice-over trap myself. Some draft screenplays and stories that I've written have included lots of internal monologue because I was too lazy or tired to figure out another way to show what the character is thinking. But with revision I normally manage to find a more subtle way to show what's going on. And more to the point - writing like this leaves the work open for interpretation, which I find to be the overriding joy of absorbing and discussing literature with my friends.

Show, don't tell.

Female Accompaniment

So this is becoming a thing.

Female Accompanists - Elizabeth from Bioshock Infinite, Ellie from The Last of Us and Cortana from Halo 4

The success of recent blockbuster video games Bioshock Infinite and The Last of Us has been in no small part due to their secondary protagonists. Critics have universally lauded how the inclusion of Elizabeth and Ellie have enhanced the experience of these games. On the backs of other games following a similar theme, Halo 4 amongst them, this seems to be setting a trend in the industry that we need at least one other character whom we care about above all else in order to enjoy a video game.

This trend, though, brings with it an interesting question - why are all the secondary protagonists women who are younger than the older, male lead protagonist? 

For the last 10 or so years, two words have been the plague of gamers everywhere - Escort Mission. Escort Missions were segments of gameplay where you had to worry about protecting another game character whilst carrying out your own duties, shooting bad guys and finding your way out of virtual messes. They were mediocre at best - increasing difficulty in a linear manner rather than in any depth-adding mechanics. Most of the time they were badly done, and were just  an annoying distraction from the main gameplay of a mission. And they almost always included useless damsels in distress.

It seems that all at once, this particular mechanic has taken a turn for the better. What sets games like Bioshock and The Last of Us apart from the original idea is that the secondary protagonists are now a helping factor. They've been designed such that they have abilities which aid the player. Elizabeth throws you health packs in the middle of battle. Ellie throws bricks to distract thugs from beating you up. To top it all off, they've been written in a much more three dimensional manner such that you give a damn about them now.

Joel teaches Ellie how to shot in The Last of Us

As an analogue for feminism, this superficially signifies a positive trend. We've moved away from escort missions where we protect the helpless damsels in distress, and now the female characters in our games are actively helping us. This is to the point where we wonder how we could win the game without their help, or even play the game without them there. 

But they are still all girls or women who are younger than and ultimately helpless without the male protagonist. This particular fact shouldn't be ignored. Although they are strong characters whom all grow into strong independent females, we, as the player, spend the majority of our gaming experience either protecting, guiding or leading these women through each scenario. 

The sexism here is not conscious. I acknowledge that the developers of these games have put effort into creating strong female characters who do more than just stand to the side. The reason that the male protector stereotype is still played is because this particular literary trope has become a staple in action oriented fiction.

Leon: The Professional was perhaps one of the first works to use this theme. In this (highly recommended) film, Natalie Portman plays a 12 year old girl who witnesses the murder of her parents at the hands of organised criminals. A hitman, Jean Reno reluctantly takes her under his wing as she begs for the means to carry out vengeance. A surrogate father-daughter relationship is developed, and the girl finds her own strength, and grows out of helpelessness. 

Mathilda and Leon from Leon: The Professional

Recent black comedies God Bless America by Bobcat Goldthwait and Super by James Gunn portray the same trope - a gruff older male reluctantly takes a younger female under his wing and they end up participating in various shenanigans. In God Bless America, a young Roxy is trained by a mentally unstable Frank to aid him on his violent crusade across america. Super shows the questionable relationship between the young female amateur superhero Boltine following in the footsteps of the Crimson Avenger.

Frank and Roxy from God Bless America

The point is - it's an idea that we know well, and that therefore writers feel safe writing. The sexism that is coming out of this is as a result of complacency. Many examples of this trope already exist within literature. This has the twofold of effect of making it easier to write, and easier to relate to. It's an image we all know and have had experience with. It's an image that has already been proven to connect to its audience. The sexism is old - we've just gotten used to it.

I will sign off by saying that I think we're moving in the right direction with these sorts of portrayals. They are by no means ethically sound, but they at least portray stronger and more independent women than have been portrayed in the past through all media. That we still rely on old tropes is a mechanic of conservatism in all media.

We still need to keep pushing forward.

Steely Nolan

Zack Snyder's notable directing credits include The 300, Sucker Punch and that stupid owls movie. Perhaps his only saving grace was his daring adaption of Alan Moore's classic The Watchmen. I dreaded what he would do to my beloved Superman franchise. 

Mr. Snyder, you bastard, you've proven me wrong.

As you may well have guessed, I thought that Man Of Steel was a good movie. I won't go so far as to say excellent - it has its fair share of flaws. But given the scope of what he was trying to do and the constraints of a 2.5 hour movie, I think Zack Snyder and Christopher Nolan did the best that they could.

The fact that Christopher Nolan's name is so attached to this movie is rather telling of a few things. This is a rare occurance - the studios marketed their executive producer so hard that you can be forgiven for forgetting that Man of Steel is a Zack Snyder film and not a Nolan film. 

Whatever the marketing purposes may be, though, Nolan and Snyder's chemistry worked to the benefit of the film. The Dark Knight, Inception and his other countless films fairly firmly establish Christopher Nolan as one of our generations best storytellers in film. His skill in dancing characters and situations in a believable and profound way is just what the Superman franchise needed - the realistic anchor that made The Dark Knight such an amazing film.

But what Superman will always need in whichever incarnation is a sense of optimism, awe and wonder. This is where Snyder shines. Snyder brings to the table an element of fantasy and optimism to lift the weight of gravity that Nolan is so famed for bringing to his films. And what results is the best possible reboot that the Superman film series could have hoped for.

Kansas Family - Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) and his adpoted Mother (Diane Lane)

The reboot keeps together all the classic elements of the series and adds in some extra spice to keep the movie from being overly predictable. Jonathan and Martha Kent cross over into moral grey areas, trying to keep their adopted son's abilities a secret. Lois Lane has finally thrown off all the anti-feminist shackles of ditziness that plagued her throughout all the past portrayals. And Clark isn't a standup American home-boy. He's a drifter trying to figure out where he came from and what he should do - there's only so much rural American farmers can tell you about being a super-powered alien.

Where Man of Steel shines is in portraying Superman's relationship with humanity. The major theme in the movie is that of trust. And he doesn't trust America to know his secret, just as they don't trust him having hidden among them for 30 odd years. The world doesn't immediately take a shining to him because he puts out a few fires or saves a cat from a tree. The movie does well to grapple with what would happen if an Alien showed up on our doorstep.

Special mention must go to the film's addressing of people's core issue with Superman - that he's invincible. This is very much established that it's not the case. We see what Superman Returns failed to really show us - peril. Superman gets hurt, beaten down, even bleeds fair bit. This is a Superman who is pushed to his limits in a painful way. 

Not quite sure of himself, gearing up for battle

I did mean what I said, however, when I said that the movie was 'the best that they could do'. In order to do this movie and keep in believable and epic, the pace of the movie had to be set to fast forward. Scenes are cut together quickly, large swathes of time and character development left up to our imagination and a few significant plot developments happen off screen. 

All the criticisms I've read about this movie more or less stem from a disappointment in the way the plot and characters are developed. Perhaps I look at Man of Steel through the rose coloured glasses of a fanboy, but the way the movie played out felt as if all those extra scenes were written, and maybe even filmed, but not shown. Such is the constraint of having to contain an origin story within 2.5 hours that a significant chunk of these things need to be abridged, or even left out altogether. 

That having been said, Batman Begins suffered from many of the same detriments. But that movie gave The Dark Knight the ability to cast off the shackles of having to establish origins and focussed on Bruce Wayne's single greatest conflict and delivered to us the best superhero movie to date. I sincerely hope that Man Of Steel's sequels (which are now in production) will do the same.

Footnote: I laughed like a drain when I originally heard that Russel 'telephone-throwing kiwi' Crowe was playing Jor-El, a part previously played by Marlon Brando.

I walked out of the cinema thinking that he was kind of a badass.


....
Post-Scriptum - Bugger it. I'm going to do a spoilerific analysis at some point in the near future. Stay Tuned!

Ace in the Hole

Gangster Squad wasn't a spectacular movie by any stretch of the imagination. I walked into the cinema knowing that it had lukewarm reviews, but I was expecting something of a decent action romp nonetheless. I will leave more professional reviewers to sum up exactly why it was so ordinary. But what I was particularly annoyed by was the absence of a key element - the Ace in the Hole.

Gangster Squad -  missing something

Basic rule of watching most adventure/action movies - we want the good guy to win. Basic rule of making most adventure/action movies - make the good guy win. Puritanical cynicism then asks the question 'why do we watch these movies if we know that the good guy is going to win?' What hooks us into forking out to pay to go into a cinema and invest 2-3 hours of our time if we already know the ending?

This, though, is a question as old as literary criticism. And the answer is therefore nearly as old - we want to experience the journey. We invest time into a-run-of-the-mill, happy-ending story because we want to see what leads up to that foregone conclusion. But what a lot of story tellers seem to be overlooking these days is the Ace in the Hole - the 'thing' that allows the good guy to beat the bad guy at the climax.

Allow me to elaborate. Ignoring a multitude of very good and very intelligent exceptions, action/adventure films follow a fairly vanilla three act structure. In Act One, we meet the characters and get introduced to the whole situation. In Act Two we are off on our journey and all manner of shenanigans ensue. These shenanigans are often little character building adventures, the execution of different parts of a plan or a training montage. But most importantly, Act Two contains the confrontation and the low point, where our hero fails in a confidence shattering manner. It's from these depths that our guy then rises and launches into Act Three - the climax and resolution, where the bad guy gets beaten to a pulp.

Three act structure - source

The good films do one of two things with this formula. They either play with the formula itself, sending the audience on an unexpected ride (cf. The Dark Knight, Skyfall), or use the conventions in a particularly effective manner. And as a broad generalisation, this requires a confrontation that has the audience sinking further and further into their seats, a low point that makes you genuinely believe that the hero cannot come back, and then a climax and resolution that has us gripping our seats then whooping for joy.

But the key to that entire emotional process is the payoff - the Ace in the Hole. In order to rise from the low point, we expect the protagonists to unlock something vital, be it a weapon (like the sword Anduril from The Return of the King) or emotional acceptance (like The Matrix, Hot Fuzz and countless other examples). This something is then used as the hero's ace in the hole in the final confrontation.

Neo's acceptance of what must be done gives him the power to defeat the Agents

The novelty of the Ace in the Hole should not be taken so lightly. It shows progression in the hero's character and lets us share in a feeling of self satisfaction at the end (when the Ace is waved in the face of the antagonist as he's being defeated). In The Matrix, Neo's acceptance of his own destiny was vital in proving to Agent Smith (and to the audience) that there's no such thing as 'only human'. In Hot Fuzz (albeit in a somewhat satirical manner) Sergeant Angel's decision to dispense with his inhibitions and let loose with the action movie cliches surprises the entire village. The existence of the Ace makes our inner voice go 'yeah, now he's gonna get it'. It's a particularly satisfying feeling, and a payoff after the emotional turmoil in the Act Two confrontation.

What about Gangster Squad? I'm not going to spoil anything particular here by saying that after a violent gun fight, the Big Bad - Mickey Cohen - gets beaten and thrown in jail at the end. My beef is that the protagonist John O'Mara didn't learn anything - and I mean at all. All that happened was something went wrong, then he just says 'screw it, I'll go after Mickey Cohen like I would have even if everything hadn't gone wrong'. The movie was going quite well from a stylistic point of view, if a somewhat simplistic and unbelievable storyline. But there was nothing to hang onto emotionally during the climax of the film. And that ruined an otherwise average movie experience for me.

Gangster Squad - All races represented, but still missing something

To the director's and screenwriters' credits, there are some plot hooks here and there. But they come in awkwardly and don't provide the sufficient emotional payoff at the end.

Next time you watch a film, watch out for the three acts. It makes for some interesting comparison of film.