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Showing posts with label Tolkien. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tolkien. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 May 2026

REVISITING A WIZARD OF EARTHSEA: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Upon revisiting To Kill a Mockingbird, reading the graphic novel, I decided to revisit another story adapted by the same artist – Fred Fordham. And so…
   I turned to A Wizard of Earthsea, by Ursula Le Guin. No Tolkien world-building here. Her creation is made of earth and sea rather than a vast continent, and features a mighty wizard in the days when he was not so mighty. It takes hard work to furnish a tale that’s an easy read. And I’d throw in the use of heavy thought to create a world as though made with a light touch.
   It wasn’t made with a light touch. Ursula used sleight-of-pen to give the impression that it all came easily to her. There’s no Gandalf here, or any of that wizard’s predecessors. No Merlin. And yet…
   Ursula gave herself over to the notion of a very famous magician. What was he like, back when he wore short trousers? Merlin, the Boy Wizard. How do you tell adventures of Gandalf the Kid? Do you just let the youngster magick his way around the world, or is there some mystical college you send these young enchanters to?
   Her story is not a story of Gandalf. More of a question. Where do all these Gandalfs and Merlins and Väinämöinens come from? Earthsea is about getting away from the overly-familiar story of a powerful wizard, especially in using the basic building blocks of wizardy tales. The quest, in Ursula’s fiction, is internal.
   Gandalf serves the rhythm of a mighty quest against relentless evil. And that’s a tale of Frodo’s exploits more than it is a tale of Gandalf’s. Merlin is a frequent visitor to another character’s story: Arthur – the Boy King.
   Strip that powerful wizard stuff away. Start with the foolish youth who has a point to prove to the world and to himself by showing he is no foolish youth. Watch as the future legend falls flat on his face in the early days, the youthful fool.
   Ursula’s story is one of magic. Magic comes to the forefront of this book. Authors are notorious for writing stories packed with magic rules…that serve the plot at the time, flash-in-the-pan style. Very much of the moment. The moment passes, and the rules of magic are altered, misplaced, forgotten, revived, reversed…
   Maybe there’s precious little magic in the fantasy world. There’d still be a place for wizards. And they’d be powerful, no matter how little magic they made use of.
   Bill Seligman, in a piece published in 1977, put rules to the framework of Tolkien’s magic by slotting Gandalf into the roleplaying game Dungeons & Dragons. Going by Gandalf’s exploits in the books, and turning to the D&D magic system, Seligman proposed that Gandalf was no more powerful than a fifth level Magic-User.
   (March, 1977. The Dragon: GANDALF WAS ONLY A FIFTH LEVEL MAGIC-USER. I’ve sworn off footnotes. There’s an overwhelming sense of wanting to use them for comedy purposes alone, and no good would come of that.)
   Some context, for non-gamers. Your wizardy chappie starts out at first level and, through adventure after adventure, rises in level, power, and stature. Broadly, the first three levels of the character’s game-life are about survival. The next three levels offer more options for adventure. Truly powerful world-altering characters are of much higher level. So, in a game sense, at fifth level, Gandalf would be versatile, but not awesome.
   This doesn’t track with the reputation Gandalf wields in Tolkien’s world. There’s a very good reason for that. Roleplaying games are not novels. The concept of the hobby as a business did not exist when Tolkien finished writing The Lord of the Rings.
   Tolkien died in 1973 as Dungeons & Dragons was being put together for publication in 1974. Several Tolkien-based references appeared in early D&D and had to be removed on pain of litigation. Hobbits were out. Halflings came in. It was that or pay Saul Zaentz a load of money.
   Official Tolkien roleplaying games came and went, as rights were rented out or expired. (While I sat typing this, an advert for a Tolkien-themed roleplaying game dropped into my e-mail.) Each new game offers a magic system. Magic exists in Tolkien’s writing. But it doesn’t match the magic system used in D&D. That takes inspiration from the writing of Jack Vance.
   D&D magic has literal rules to it. Much of the spellcasting is flashy. You’d increase the movie budget significantly just by welding D&D magic onto The Lord of the Rings. There’s before The Lord of the Rings in terms of fantasy stories and there’s after. There’s also before Dungeons & Dragons and after.
   Today, if you feel like writing a fantasy novel, you might delve into a game rulebook or two for ideas on how magic works in a setting. D&D magic is casual. Magic = spells, and spells are plentiful. You’d ignore how spells distort the world, only concerning yourself with how spells save the characters, or else you’d embrace the chaos…
   Do you need hospitals in your fantasy world if magic healing is plentiful? If you can create water on a whim, the Great Inaccessible Desert doesn’t sound so uncrossable after all. Turning lead into gold will flood the market. So the magician who can do this is a threat to society as a whole. He must be stopped. Or bought off. Not with gold, though. I see a flaw in there, somewhere.
   Magic has rules. Story demands structure.
   Back to Ursula. She, too, was writing before the first copy of D&D was sold, and didn’t need to consider the game of magic. Incidentally, if Gandalf is only fifth level in a game…which edition of the game would that be? Just let it go.
   All a writer has to do is consider the blank page. Ursula had to rewrite the wizard story, rather than just write it. And so. Our hero, Ged, is powerful. He’s heading places. The future is awesome. But first, the early years. Conflict. Drama. Tension. Mistakes. Learning from some of those mistakes. Making more mistakes.
   Magic, in Earthsea, comes at a price. There is balance. And if you push the balance in your favour, the balance shoves back. In this way, Ursula doesn’t trap herself into writing up a D&D spellbook. (Though, if she’d done that, Gary Gygax would’ve certainly perked up his ears and started scribbling notes.) Instead, she shows that magic is about making choices. Also. Actions have consequences.
   The magic in Earthsea is one of the most elegant depictions of magic I’ve encountered. Edward Eager, let’s call him an American disciple of E. Nesbit, gave us Half Magic. Magic wishes abound in the tale, but only at half-strength and for comedy. Characters wishing to benefit from full wishes have to double the description to gain the full wish. This also leads to comedy, and trouble. Yes, Hijinks. Shenanigans. Misadventures.
   Eager controls the rules with an iron glove. Tolkien has a loose hand on the tiller. C.S. Lewis provides this bit of magic here and that bit of magic there. Some of the magic is very old and deep, and woe unto ye if you seek to quote the rules of magic to any entity who was there when the deep magic was written.
   Ursula…gives us balance. A quest for equilibrium in an ever-changing world. Action and reaction. She sciences this up. There is a cost to making magical alteration. You could see an ecological theme in here. (For it exists.) What does magic cost the magician? Is there anything in the awkwardness of a young wizard’s journey that’s going to teach the much older character when looking back?
   A Wizard of Earthsea barely reminds me of anything else. It feels fresh. New. There are, perhaps, a few touchstones. Ursula wasn’t born when John Masefield wrote The Midnight Folk. Susan Cooper’s magical cycle, The Dark is Rising, shares something with John Masefield and Ursula le Guin. There’s a sense of flow.
   Random events in The Midnight Folk tune themselves into a sense of flow. And that goes on in Susan Cooper’s books. It seems to be everything in Ursula’s story. Granted, the flow is aided by the maritime nature of the tale.
   It’s not something I can put a finger on, and point to, in an illuminated manuscript. I sensed it, and I recognised something similar in the writings of Masefield and Cooper. Tolkien’s world is too vast, detailed, and intricate to give me that particular sense of flow. The gears grind slowly and relentlessly in Tolkien’s grand design.
   C.S. Lewis offers a mosaic feel to the tales set in far-off Narnia. Not this vague notion I’m trying to convey. Perhaps the vagueness in conveying it is part of the atmosphere. But even here, in good company, Masefield and Cooper, there’s a distinction worth making.
   Tolkien, certainly with The Hobbit, where his saga began, E. Nesbit, Edward Eager, C.S. Lewis, John Masefield, Susan Cooper…all have had this label applied at some point. They wrote books for children. To some, the Earthsea books are seen as for children.
   No. Recreating a story of wizards and magic so that it seems new, fresh, and hard to pin down…was not something Ursula did for children. Granted, children weren’t banned from reading those books. If you had the stomach for it as a child, maybe you gained something from The Lord of the Rings. And if you discovered The Chronicles of Narnia as an adult, you weren’t breaking any laws.
   Some books read in childhood may interest you enough to return to them when you are older and supposedly wiser, it’s true. I realise I’ve not mentioned the plot. Haven’t I, though? Ged is a young wizard, in need of training.
   He magicks his way through a maritime world, and learns the hard way that magic has a cost. Ged learns that striking the right balance is a difficult thing, hard to pin down. He heads off on a quest of his own making, for he is his own worst enemy and must leave to confront the error of his ways.
   Oh, yes, and something about a dragon. I’ll leave you to discover that for yourself if you haven’t read the book. The graphic novel adaptation is another John Fordham work. What to say of adaptations? I’ve seen adaptations of The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, the sequel to The Midnight FolkThe Box of Delights – some stuff by E. Nesbit, nothing by Edward Eager…and I’ve only seen the trailer for a fucking awful attempt at The Dark is Rising.
   Yes, I can judge the movie as quite awful based entirely on the atrocious trailer. It would make you reach for a Susan Cooper book if you felt in need of an antidote to the travesty on screen. Which takes me…nowhere. Certainly not in the direction of adaptations of Ursula’s works.
   I haven’t watched any of that stuff. And I won’t watch any of that stuff. If you seek an adaptation, try the graphic novel. There’s a sense of scale to the world, an atmosphere of menace in even considering the use of magic. And character aplenty.
   What level of wizard would Ged be, in a Dungeons & Dragons game? He wouldn’t be in a D&D game at all. (Ged faces the challenge of a dragon in one book. And there’s a dungeon later, but we mustn’t run ahead of the story sequence.) As I type, there is no commercial roleplaying game based on A Wizard of Earthsea. There’s the book, and a graphic novel adaptation. Steer clear of the moving image for now. Perhaps someone with passion for the story will take a decent crack at the whole series, one day. On big screen, or small.

 

Sunday, 1 December 2024

BOOKS AT CHRISTMAS: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Not Christmas books. Those are books about Christmas…or they are not about Christmas – just set then. Great Christmas movies? Bah, humbug! That was a hint about a great Christmas movie. I’ll leave you to discover it on your own.
   Christmas movies?
   Batman Returns.
   Lethal Weapon.
   STAR WARS.
   A James Bond film. You’ll have to guess which one, as many of them are shown at Christmas – which makes practically all of them Christmas movies. Do you know how Christmas trees are grown? I’ll leave you to discover that on your own.
   Christmas movies. Okay. But Christmas books? Do I read Christmas-themed books at this time of year? What would I consider a book with a Christmas theme? There’s an obvious candidate by Charles Dickens.
   The Chronicles of Narnia feature…koff, koff, spoiler alert…okay, eternal winter, and no Christmas as a major theme. So maybe, just maybe, if you do believe in fairies, talking lions, and Turkish Delight…Christmas might return to Narnia. Don’t accept sweets from strangers.
   It’s easier for C.S. Lewis to add Santa Claus to The Lord of the Rings than for J.R.R. Tolkien to add Galadriel to The Chronicles of Narnia. Tolkien couldn’t stand the thought of Santa Claus ripping down fictional barriers and being a guest star in a fantasy land. Mainly as he’d been busy as fuck impersonating Santa in letters to his children.
   Narnia is all the better for having Santa Claus in it. If, indeed, Santa puts in an appearance at all. I’ll leave you to discover that on your own.
   Do I consider Christmas books to be those with snowy settings? Is there more to it than that? Vitally, is there less to it than that? For reasons of the plot, C.S. Lewis gave us a Christmassy story. And there is snow. The snow also melts away, in the end.
   What about a story with a Christmas connection, angle, or timeline? The Midnight Folk, by John Masefield, leads to a very festive sequel called The Box of Delights. Perhaps the setting becomes more Christmassy for being written in the mid-1930s. But what sort of festivities feature in Masefield’s tale? I’ll leave you…etc.
   Scrooge inhabits Christmas. He is haunted by it. That was a spooky spoiler. In the land of Narnia, it’s always winter. Christmas was frozen out. Until…ah, but that’s a spoiler. I suppose there are stories you forget are set in December…
   But there are fantastical tales that don’t have the month of December in them, or any other month of the year. Those stories develop their own calendars. And may yet be Christmassy as fuck.
   There’s a rule about much-loved classics. Beware those who tout the phrase around. Particularly if they insert the word holiday into proceedings. A much-loved holiday classic. One we’ve never heard of.
   To return to the movies for a moment…animated movies…there’s a cartoonish cartoon based on the much-loved classic book I’d never heard of. The Polar Express. What the fuck is that, and why the fuck does everyone in the cartoon look like melted rubber?
   You may vomit at the very concept of Narnia, and that’s your business.
   Perhaps you’ll barely make it through more than five minutes of The Lord of the Rings. I read the whole thing and discovered that I’d never need to read one of Tolkien’s stories ever again. C.S. Lewis, being eminently more readable, and with a sense of humour, is an author I return to. But not specifically at Christmas.
   So what of books at Christmas? Not Christmas books. Books I find myself reading at Christmas. Oh. Gifts. Christmas presents. If I think of those books, they aren’t Christmassy in scope, theme, and use of language…
   The best gift of a book at Christmas is always one you are going to buy for yourself, as you know roughly what your own taste in books is like…though even you might unpleasantly surprise yourself with an ill-thought-out choice. So buyer beware – never surprise yourself with an off-kilter purchase.
   But always delight in an off-kilter purchase that proved true.
   You are not buying yourself a Christmas present. No. It’s a festive excuse to buy a book. As if you fucking needed an excuse. You aren’t going to wrap it and leave it under the tree for a stunned you to pick up in wonderment.
   For years, I’d just buy myself music I’d heard somewhere. That was my festive treat. Always have a back-up – music to listen to. I still buy music in, around this time of year. But the point of this blog is to consider books, and not festive discounts on music purchases.
   Books are great gifts if you like the books given. And if the books aren’t for you, they are for someone. Have I ever given away books I received as gifts? People have always chosen well, when furnishing the gift of a book.
   So…that’s never come up. It would be awkward to receive a duplicate of a book. But there are checks and balances in place. What would you like? Do you already have BLAH DE BLAH? I find that saves a lot of bother.
   It would be nice to receive an entire bookcase as a gift for more books that’ll turn up sooner rather than later. But I’d have to be asked if I have space for yet another bookcase. The answer is always NO, and then I conjure up more space anyway.
   How many books sneaked into the house this year? I never care to hear the answer. Why not? I always think the answer is around five. And it never fucking is. How many books leave the house? That’s the tricky part.
   I haven’t had a charity clearout in some time. And I didn’t dump much on the charity shops, even then. If I really need to, I’ll cast a cold eye over one or two volumes. Then I’ll take them to that nice farm in the country, and I’ll point out the rabbits.
   How many books have come into the house in the month of December? That’s easy. No books. So now I’ll set myself an easy challenge. How many books will have come into the house by December’s end?
   No more than…five…is my guess. And I will try to hold true to that. How? I’ll just not buy any. But wait a bit. There are things on order. Damn it. Yes. That’s true. How many? I have no clue. You see, I don’t want to know, and I don’t need to know.
   It’s true. I count my books by tonnage and not by volumes. The only thing stopping the floors collapsing is the lack of floorspace for more bookcases. It’s a complex mathematical calculation, to be sure. And it goes like this…
   Floorspace is represented by the symbol F.
   U, or Utility, covers the usefulness of the assembled volumes.
   From Einstein’s formula, we have C – in this case, standing for CASE. That’s the type of unit which absorbs floorspace and holds books.
   K gives us F.U.C.K. That’s what I think when I have to think of the number of books already here. The K might as well stand for KETAMINE at this point. I’m going to be on horse tranquilisers just thinking about moving another bookcase to make room.
   But I need not add five books to the library this festive-tide. I suspect five. There are 30 days left. If I want to be picky, I wouldn’t place bets on books arriving after Christmas itself. And we have to knock off a few days for lack of postal activity.
   Then there’s a week in which I will be recovering from the annual food coma. Last year I decided to cut back, and foolishly added parsnips to the Christmas dinner. I should have added lumps of concrete. Less filling.
   I suppose the most Christmassy book of all is a Christmas cookery book. That’s a gift once, just in time to be no use that year. But forever available for study, thereafter. I don’t believe I have any cookery books in the library. It’s better just to get on with the cooking.
   But that flies in the face of an entire industry, based around festive meals! So? Do any of these cookery books implore you not to add fucking parsnips to a meal that you are already trying to cut back on?
   Didn’t think so.
   I am reminded of Christmas annuals. Hardback anthologies of comic book characters. They year would always be the next one. So a 2024 Christmas annual is dated 2025. The format is for the next year. You are getting to buy the book early for Christmas, even though it’s technically a book for the New Year. Just a publishing quirk, designed to flog as many copies as possible. It’s like a sell-by date for a much-loved classic.
   A quick online check of Christmas annuals shows this chicanery is still going on.
   This blog post is now host to a question. Will there be more than five new books in the house, by month’s end? It’ll be a very short blog in January.

Friday, 1 November 2024

KARLA’S CHOICE: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Fact, in a world of fiction. Clear reflection, for once, in a wilderness of mirrors. George Smiley left the Circus with unfinished business. His chronicler, John le Carré, is no more. The family firm, concerned with the writing of stories, passed to his son. And so, I picked up KARLA’S CHOICE – written by Nick Harkaway.
   The premise is that intelligence officer George Smiley left the secret world of espionage behind, that he’s happy away from managing shady activity, and there’s a decade or so of a gap to fill in the chronology. And now the story can be told.
   What happens between THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD and TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY…well, that’s the topic of this continuation/fill-in book. To get into that, just a little, first I must bring an old file from Cold War storage… 

*

George Smiley is a character who sipped, like Horace Rumpole, from a minor immortality potion. Before A LEGACY OF SPIES came out, you could point to assorted Smiley stories and say, with confidence, that the dates didn’t quite match up. Characters simply had their ages revised, for convenience.
   This is the Batman Effect. Batman’s history extends back around a decade or so when considering his many adventures. He stays eternally fit and is forever 29 years old unless stated otherwise. The character is deliberately an older caped crusader in The Dark Knight Returns, for example.
   Inconsistencies in A LEGACY OF SPIES are overlooked. 

*

Why mention this observation from yesteryear? Nick Harkaway, in his introduction to KARLA’S CHOICE, tells much the same tale. He thinks of all the Smiley portrayals. Various actors from television, the movie, and audio adaptations. I think of Smiley once…
   This particular once. Only SMILEY’S PEOPLE puts that character’s name in a book’s title. Harkaway had one eye on that, I’m sure, when he took Smiley’s Cold War adversary, Karla, and bumped him up to star status on the cover.
   Co-star status. The cover tells us this is A JOHN LE CARRÉ NOVEL. Not a George Smiley one. It is a George Smiley one, but it is from le Carré’s universe. Graham Greene has Greeneland, a country of everywheres. No matter where you are in the world, in Greeneland you are always in the same place – five minutes from betrayal if you are on the ball. That’s five minutes after betrayal, if you aren’t.
   But le Carré only occasionally flirted with Greeneland. If anything, he subscribed to Tolkien’s draughty character-building England, and took over management of a small misty corner of it when the resident wizard left for the dreaming spires of Oxford the Far West and a community of weed-smoking elves.
   Not for le Carré the excessive usage of a literary crutch holding Cold War novels upright: flashy expensive science fiction gadgetry of the Yankee variety, which he considered akin to the use of magic in a non-magical world when writing espionage fiction – stripping away the label of espionage fiction in the process of employing said wonders. With one mighty gadget, our hero clichéd free. No.
   Instead, he relied on muddy tea, clanking lifts, Victorian brickwork, and rattling radiators of a between-the-wars vintage. Oh, and Russian interference with same.
   Karla is the bogeyman. He’s mostly an off-screen villain: Sauron, with hints of Lenin’s face. An all-powerful ring in a le Carré story is going to be a spy-ring. And that’ll be an all-powerful spy-ring…with many flaws.
   In the television adaptations, Karla is an almost unknown force of nature. He provides the Russian wind which blows through the Cold War. In portraying him, Patrick Stewart says not one word. But he brings the adversary to life.
   The non-speaking role in the flashback is important as a driver of many plot-threads. Smiley meets Karla and tries to recruit him, early. This encounter plants seeds of doubt in the boss, Control, looking for a traitor. Control considers the possibility that Smiley was recruited by Karla at that meeting, instead. Or that Smiley was already a traitor before then, and used the meeting to catch up with his Russian master.
   Control was strong on paranoia. He took three lumps of it in his toffee – a strange mix of tea and coffee served in Victorian institutions that exceeded their original century by some time.
   TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY has a list of suspects, including Smiley for several reasons, but it is the flashback meeting which furnishes a prominent mark against Smiley’s name. Why mention Karla and his non-speaking role?
   I’ve gone over it several times. When reading this John le Carré novel, written by le Carré’s son, the question of voice comes up. Once Alec Guinness played Smiley on television, le Carré found it difficult to shake the performance from his head. And so, he wrote fewer stories about the character. Guinness, ever the imp, stole more than a few le Carré mannerisms for the role.
   Reading KARLA’S CHOICE, I can hear Beryl Reid when Connie Sachs enters the tale. No one says actually quite like Hungarian Toby Esterhase. He seems to speak that way by bringing remnants of at least two other languages into English and hiring the word actually as the face-paint on the foreign words, to whore its way around a sentence or two.
   There’s a Hungarian connection in this novel, so Toby is brought into the narrative – and a welcome addition he is. Connie Sachs is always great fun, if alcoholically tinged with great sadness. And that’s her point.
   So, yes, characters are preserved. The timeline is a moveable feast, but at least a feast is had. And Harkaway confesses this in his introduction. He’s damned right to do so. Expectation is high. We’ve been down this road before…
    When A LEGACY OF SPIES came out, le Carré went back and filled in a few gaps so that THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD would make sense in light of TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY. And there, date-of-birth and character age were on the moveable menu.
   In terms of age Smiley may very well pass for 63 in the dusk with the light behind him. He hovers in the perpetual Twilight Zone of fifty-something years old under your average pub lights on a bitter mid-week November night, and sixty-something to any doctor evaluating him for signs of heart trouble.
   With that loose age in mind, Harkaway visited the well his father had returned to. KARLA’S CHOICE gives us more about that time between THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD and TINKER TAILOR…
   In dropping his bucket into the well, Harkaway had to give us another layer between those books that didn’t ruin the extra layer of icing his dad had already added to the cake with A LEGACY OF SPIES. Difficult terrain. Many mines on that field. The best approach was to say…
   Well, dad shifted the dates around a little and where’s the harm…do you want this book or not?
   I am strongly reminded of the oft-mentioned Penge Bungalow Murders. Horace Rumpole, Old Bailey Hack, consumer of Chateau Thames Embankment, and husband to the formidable Hilda, would trot out this running joke on an hourly basis. But Sir John Mortimer left the gag dangling. It was better to travel than to arrive.
   Until, in the end, he wrote Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders. Inconsistent? Rumpole isn’t a reliable narrator. If you believe that, I have Tower Bridge to sell you. And the book? A triumph, meeting impossible levels of expectation? It’s not about the murders. No, it’s about Rumpole’s meeting Hilda. A triumph.
   On a side-note about voice, and image, Leo McKern is Rumpole. His caricature adorns the book covers. Turning back to le Carré, you’ll find all sorts of editions of his books have very vague people on the covers.
   Except for one of the covers of KARLA’S CHOICE. One man, Karla, is inside the head of another – bespectacled Smiley. Smiley could be a vague nod in the direction of Sir Alec Guinness, though reminds me of Alan Arkin in profile. Karla seems to have been conjured up from publicity stills of East German Stasi man Markus Wolf.
   Le Carré almost used Wolf as a character, taken from his lawnmower. Then he learned Wolf was a real spymaster over in the East. If you believe the bit about the lawnmower, let it be on the basis that you’ve checked that brand exists. It does. We’ll leave off there, unless you, like control, also take three lumps of paranoia in your tea. And coffee. It’s toffee.
   What do we get in this book? Karla, scheming. He has a walk-on part. Many cogwheels click around. Do we have le Carré’s voice, and is Harkaway his own man? Yes and yes. He writes in the terrain of his dad, but not in his dad’s shadow.
   Harkaway respects the landscape of lamplighters and scalphunters. He wheels Connie Sachs on for a turn. But Harkaway gives us more. Connie is one of the Norns, weaving a thread and telling the tale of a man’s fate. She can’t do this alone, and has two other Norns in attendance, as is the custom. Harkaway uses another name for them. But they are Norns, just the same.
   This extra level of detail contradicts nothing in the original novel cycle. Even if there were contradictions, remember this is an espionage novel featuring Russian agents. The future is certain. It is only the past that is unpredictable.
   There’s a bit of a blip, but it is easy to overlook. Yes, there’s another book in the series. THE LOOKING-GLASS WAR features Smiley. But it doesn’t matter. He’s hardly in it. That story takes the Special Operations Executive from World War Two and imagines the organisation’s floundering and flapping along well beyond its use-by date.
   In that sense, it’s a bit of a curio that le Carré himself rejected and accepted and rejected by turn. Ultimately, he appeared to have settled on the idea that the bruises died down with the passage of time.
   Voice. Character voice. The voice of the setting. Voice of the argument, theme, being put forward. Those voices of TV and movie and radio/audio book actors. Smiley’s voice as a character and as Alec Guinness.
   Yes, le Carré’s voice and influences on him. His influence on Harkaway’s voice. (Harkaway sneaks in a spot of blurry family background that le Carré used extensively for THE PERFECT SPY. It’s his family history, though. So, fair game.)
   Then there’s the spectre of Kim Philby.
   Graham Greene and le Carré each had to deal with betrayal by Kim Philby. In le Carré’s case, he gave us TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY. Philby, in commenting on le Carré, set about a casual almost disinterested scathing dismantling of le Carré’s voice and purpose. By contrast, Graham Greene turned up to see Philby in Moscow, and sloshed vodka as they spoke of old times and a changing world.
   Greene provided a plug for THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD, and Harkaway seems to have returned the favour somewhat with a not-so-sly reference to Greene’s work in this continuation/fill-in novel.
   It’s difficult to evade the very long shadow of Greene in writing espionage fiction. Yes, le Carré fell foul of this with THE TAILOR OF PANAMA. That book has everything to do with Greene’s work OUR MAN IN HAVANA. For those embarking on the task of writing spy books, read Eric Ambler first. Then you’ll have a different shadow to leapfrog away from.
   I have to avoid the plot of this book. That means I must skirt around plotting in other books in the series. Where would I place it in the running? Same advice as ever. Read the Smiley books in order of publication…
   Start with the two murder mysteries. CALL FOR THE DEAD. A MURDER OF QUALITY. Then Smiley takes a back seat to proceedings in THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD. But events in that book come to haunt him.
   Smiley has a token role in THE LOOKING-GLASS WAR. After that, he’s back in THE KARLA TRILOGYTINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY, THE HONOURABLE SCHOOLBOY, and SMILEY’S PEOPLE.
   He turns up almost reluctantly in THE SECRET PILGRIM. Then we have the fix-it novel that connects THE SPY WHO CAME IN WITH THE COLD to THE KARLA TRILOGY. A LEGACY OF SPIES fills in some crucial gaps.
   Okay, but to read this book, KARLA’S CHOICE, I’d say – bare minimum – read CALL FOR THE DEAD, THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD, THE KARLA TRILOGY, and A LEGACY OF SPIES before even thinking about tackling Harkaway’s continuation.
   I have my suspicions about certain aspects of the plotting that could lead to another continuation book or two. More unfinished business. But I can’t really give you the plot here. Except to say…a man goes on the run, and everyone would like to find him.
   Smiley, called back to the job, goes after this man. Karla, Moriarty to Smiley’s Holmes, lurks in the deep background but haunts many a page. Characters collide, some old, some new, and Harkaway does justice to his dad’s legacy. Of spies.

Thursday, 10 October 2024

EMPTY STAR WARS TELEVISION: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

There is no spoon, and there never was one. Second and third spoons need not apply. (Plays ROGUE ONE soundtrack in the background. That’s not commentary or subtext. ROGUE ONE has its faults, its high points: I just chose a soundtrack at semi-random.)
   Fans of THE ACOLYTE …look away, now. If you enjoy the show, enjoy it while looking away from this area.
   Where to begin with a non-show in which nothing much happens? Nothing much happens. That’s a non-spoiler non-alert. I was waiting for the show to start when it reached its predictable end in episode eight.
   THE ACOLYTE. We need a bit of background. Not much. This show is set in a galaxy that’s long ago and, oh, so far away. I fell in love with you before the second show. (Shout out to Darth Coolidge, Darth Bramlett, Darth Russell, and Darth Carpenter for the song tie-in.)
   That’s true. STAR WARS is my thing. But I didn’t fall in love with THE ACOLYTE before the second show. Typically, almost a law for Disney STAR WARS, the TV show dropped with more than one episode on release day. And it kept on dropping.
   Spoiler. I didn’t fall in love with THE ACOLYTE after the second show. By the eighth, I wondered if I’d just seen the first zero-content TV series connected to STAR WARS. You may argue that other zero-content shows preceded this one. Who am I to stand in your way…
   To the deep space background, then. STAR WARS gives us a story about the Jedi: interplanetary hippie peaceniks who will, on occasion, dish out death-pain with big sticks of buzzy light.
   The Jedi are in decline, all but extinct, roundly beaten up, and stomped down by the Sith – enemies of all the good things Jedi believe in. A once great Galactic Republic turned into an Evil Empire™ overnight. With a little help from Sith operating in the shadows, you understand.
   Yes, the Jedi are done. But it’s time to fight back. And so, we get STAR WARS movies. At first, three of them. And the word Sith isn’t mentioned once. The actor Don Henderson says the word in a deleted scene from the first movie. I find the lack of its inclusion disturbing.
   Later, that first movie became episode four. And we had three more movies set before it. Easy as 1, 2, 3. Except, there’s a spin-off that links episode three to episode four: ROGUE ONE. That makes it episode four, even though it has ONE in the title, and the first movie that became episode four is now the fifth film in the series.
   To watch them in order, that’s 1, 2, 3, ROGUE ONE, 4, 5, and 6. I have them in 4K and still can’t bring myself to watch 7, 8, and 9 again. It’s going to take an effort. I feel they have to follow on from all the other movies, and that’s a hell of a binge.
   There’s another spin-off with the character Han Solo. That should be after 3 and before ROGUE ONE. It sits off to the side.
   No one counts those Ewok movies. On television, there are many many episodes of spin-off shows. They flit in and out of the main history. Basically, the primary space thrust of the timeline is…
   Okay, 4, 5, and 6 tell the story. Then 1, 2, and 3 fill in the gaps BEFORE. The concept of BEFORE is important. Jump back around a hundred years before the movie series to the televisual time of THE ACOLYTE. The evil Empire does not yet exist. There are no Sith, and there haven’t been any Sith for a long time, a long time.
   The Jedi preside over the Republic as peacekeepers. Cops. Space Samurai. You get the idea. Oh, and there are no Sith. Did I mention a complete lack of Sith? This is what the Republic believed. Before the Dark Times…before Darth Lucas sold the property.
   But they were all of them deceived. For another ring was made.
   Hang on…wrong saga.
   Everyone was deceived. If the Jedi are Space Samurai, and they are, then the Sith are interplanetary spies. Robbers. Space Ninja. You get the idea.
   I’d never heard of the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. On this side of the Atlantic there’s the Health and Safety Executive. HSE is also a virus that’ll fuck you up. It’s nasty.
   Anyway, I think HSE looks like just the right sort of name for a Sith character. Greetings, Darth Hse. And you brought the ruins of the battle-droid, I see. Your little joke. We Sith are known for our humour, after all.
    Insert EVIL CACKLE™ there.
   But THE ACOLYTE went with Osha instead. She’s all about health and safety in the workplace. This isn’t generally true of STAR WARS. The saga is full of high walkways with no safety barriers or railings. It’s a science fiction scandal. I’ve asked fellow delegate Binks to arrange emergency powers in the Senate. That should fix a lot of upward mobility problems.
   So. This television show is STAR WARS way before STAR WARS. That’s been done. There’s a whole prequel trilogy covering old ground, remember. But this goes way back before all that. It’s an even longer time ago in the same galaxy we’ve seen already. Before the before.
   If the Republic is doing well, and it’ll be a Republic for a science fiction lifetime yet, then what are the stakes in a story set in the deeper past? Where’s the risk? Can you point me in the direction of the drama? So many options here. Let’s not go with a limiting choice…oh.
   There’ll be Jedi. And they will investigate criminal stuff. Not the regular crime beat. The tough cases. Crime Scene Investigation: Scum and Villainy. But what are the stakes, though? Where’s the conflict? Will we see any operatic drama in our Space Opera? (There is no conflict.)
   This is a hundred years before STAR WARS. You aren’t going to change history, here. Yes, made-up STAR WARS history, but, y’know, still history. We are going to see the Jedi investigate things. Don’t quite know what.
   And there will be Sith. Except that there aren’t any Sith.
   Shock horror, the Sith were around the whole time. Lurking. Skulking. Sneaking. Gollum wasn’t sneaking! Er…maybe he was, after all. We’ll get to that bit.
   Okay. We know from STAR WARS movies that, near the end of the Republic, Sith haven’t been seen for AGES. True story. From a certain point of view. We have the word of the cone-headed Jedi. So it must be true. I searched for cone-head Jedi to reach video clips confirming this.
   If a STAR WARS character in a STAR WARS movie isn’t named aloud in a STAR WARS movie, any name attached to the character is only listed in the closing credits to plug the merchandise related to that character. A tale of many action figures. That’s an old song. If lucky, the character is named eventually on film, somewhere down the line.
   A world-weary view, you say. I don’t make the merchandising contracts.
   Ki-Adi-Mundi, Mr Cone-head, tells us the Sith have been extinct for a millennium. He does this in a movie. His emphasis on the timespan is irrelevant. There was a time when the Dodo had been extinct for five minutes. Dodo ain’t coming back unless someone pulls some Jurassic Park shit with…actual preserved Dodo shit and questionable midichlorian sperm samples.
   Once the Empire is a thing, the Imperials go around announcing the Jedi are all but extinct. Everyone keeps messing this up when considering absent enemy forces. We haven’t seen any. They are clearly dead. Most sincerely dead, as averred by the coroner. What’s the point?
   The point is this. In STAR WARS history, the Sith are gone. They were hiding. The Sith agents make a surprising return and create an Evil Empire™ out of confusion and chaos. So far, so good...concerning the bad.
   And so…in the before the before part of this history, back a hundred years you go into television land, you have a problem.
   In THE ACOLYTE, way before the Dark Times, before the Empire, you can’t throw Sith into the story that’s set ages before all the upheaval. UNLESS. You show Sith skulking in the shadows, being Space Ninja Bastards. (This gets too literal at the end of the show, when Gollum turns up and does a bit of sneaking.)
   What if the bad guys are discovered? As a writing choice, you must then wipe out all the good guys who discover the bad guys. This is a basic building block of any story you attempt to tell in that manner, just to preserve the (made-up) history.
   Reminder of that history. The Sith were destroyed. Then they turned up and created an Empire of pure EVIL. They used the element of surprise to plan a load of shit, before they were discovered too late to stop huge events already long in motion.
   Setting a story before they arrive on the scene is okay…as long as no one knows they’ve arrived on the scene way before.
   Just do Ninja Missions. Have close calls and dramatic escapes under the distracted eyes of the pesky Space Samurai. Make the show heavy on the viewpoint of the Sith. It’s about the baddies as the main characters. Yes. Do that.
   Setting the story BEFORE the other bit BEFORE, you have one job. If anyone spots a villain wearing a Sith label, no one gets out alive. Job done. Can you make it entertaining, though? Please make it about the characters. Conflict. Drama. Upset. Sacrifice.
   Lights. Camera. Inaction.
   Our story opens in the closing seconds of episode eight. That’s my view. Episode eight is a set-up for another series. That’s all it could be. So I thought. And it was, when it arrived. That’s what I found predictable. Not the only problem. But, yes, that.
   Never make your show into a trailer for the next show. That’s liable to get the first show cancelled, so there is no second show. The main symptom of this diseased error is a primary story clearly in the captivity of the secondary story you haven’t told yet. Nor will you tell it, thanks to the symptom of story weakness spread across your meandering tale.
   Part of the problem is this: I want an hour of STAR WARS TV so you can develop characters I could care about. But the longest episode is listed at 49 minutes. Then we knock off the opening titles, recaps, and apocalyptic levels of end credits…
   Okay. You made it shorter. Go for the unexpected bonus. The erosion of screen-time should give us a slam-bang science fiction serial jam-packed into a half-hour serialised format, right? Think Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers. Hell, I’d take King of the Rocket Men in a pinch.
   Give me chapters full of Plunging Death, Dangerous Evidence, High Peril, and throw in a Molten Menace or a spot of Ten Seconds to Live for good measure. Republic Pictures would repackage these super-short efforts into longer features. I’d take Republic Pictures over the Republic depicted in this STAR WARS TV story, any day of the week.
   Nothing is going to happen. In the trailer we see a masked figure with a red lightsabre facing a Lone Jedi Dude. So. There’s your Sith and Jedi problem in the trailer…
   If you preserve even a hint of STAR WARS by staying true to previous movies set long after this moment in history, if you hope to save the basic integrity of the overall saga, then as storytellers, as TV writers…
   You do so by silencing those characters who witness the mere existence of the masked figure with the red lightsabre. Rocks fall. Everyone dies.
   STAR WARS never cared too much about continuity, scientific accuracy, or avoiding holes in the plot. But we’re talking about a basic bitch chunk of storytelling here. What do we know about this deep past? Nothing. Surprise us. But to connect it to the movies, you must deal with this Sith problem if you show Sith waving Sith weapons around.
   You could have done a story set in the past all about smugglers. No Jedi. And no Sith. Or maybe hints that some people are Sith. Make it a crime/spy story, in space. Test loyalty. Pull the rug out from under the characters. No blasters! Well, no. Loads of blasters. No lightsabres.
   Crime/spy story in space. No Jedi. As far as we know. But ANDOR, hell that’s been done.
   The Sith aren’t there at all, even if they are there. This is how we roll. Beyond preserving that, what do you have? Little, unless you stray from the usual Jedi tales. The stakes, then, are murky.
   Keep the hidden existence of the Sith hidden. That’s it. And so it goes. Phew, that was a close one. After a hell of a high-wire walk, we did it. Spread over eight episodes. We made it. All the way to the end. Which is more than a lot of the audience did. We made it. One job. Success. Until near the end of episode eight and…
   For fuck’s sake. You had one job. Over eight episodes.
   Ah, the episodes…
   They barely pass half an hour of TV each. In at least one case, we were offered just under half an hour. I checked once. Once was enough.
   So, essentially, we’re looking at what amounts to four episodes that run for an hour each. And even looking at that level of the equivalent of two movies, you still ask where the money went. It didn’t turn up on the TV screen.
   Short episodes. And yet, they drag. There is no unexpected bonus of cramming loads of action into a brief episode. The opporchancity is frittered away. Instead, there’s this faffery about hiding the Sith. And little else, beyond the tinny jangling of well-worn keys.
   Keeping the Sith secret could have worked. Maybe it all worked for you. That’s your business, not mine. I wish you well. If the focus of the show had been with the Sith from the start, and the relentless threat of discovery at every turn…then you’d have had tension.
   We’d be on the side of the Sith as they hide out. Almost uncovered. Maybe uncovered, but they laugh it off or throw down some ruse. Hell, I’d be up for a Sith sacrifice to preserve the secret. Would’ve been something.
   Darth Carbonara was awesome. Using those funky moon boots to walk up the walls of the doomed space station as it fell from orbit, I thought she’d jump to the Jedi ship at the last second.
   But leaping into space and taking her secret lightsabre with her, burning up in the atmosphere, was a legendary sacrifice.
   Cue twenty YouTube videos on how Darth Carbonara survived the freefall using her Sith Skillz, based on the type of lightsabre she wielded and a half-remembered bit of advice on attuning to your surroundings she picked up from the deathbed of her old master.
   Instead, we had this series with no content. If you liked the show, you liked the show. Not my business.
   Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.
   Spoiler. It was really sad when Jedi #4 and Jedi #5 died to preserve the integrity of admittedly shaky STAR WARS lore. Maybe they were Jedi #5 and Jedi #6. Let’s not trivialise that. Just as sad, really. Whoever they were.
   #TRULYMISSED.
   #GONEBUTNOTFORGOTTEN.
   #TOTALLYFORGOTTEN.
   #IFNOTICEDATALL.
   #SADFACE.
   #SUPPORTTHECHANNEL.
   #BUYMEACOFFEE.
   #UTINNI!
   Here’s the basic tale. Jedi are being hunted. The trailer tells us so. This is a problem with STAR WARS: dialogue is often indirect. The passive statement tells you the Jedi are being hunted. An active statement comes across as dramatic. Someone is hunting Jedi. Hell, now I am interested in someone hunting these Jedi.
   It turns out there are these two sisters. Identical twins, by the look of them. One grows her hair longer, we’ll say. She has a cult tattoo, as well. Covered by her longer hair. Cults feature heavily in the story.
   I feel remiss in not having mentioned Basil the Space Beaver. He’s a merchandising gimmick.
   Once upon a time, on a planet far away, several years ago, there was a cult. That cult was steeped in the lore of the Dark Side of the Force. This is the magical mystical religious scientific stuff that gives Jedi and Sith access to mad funky space powers.
   Too lazy to pick up that coffee cup from across the room? Use the force and levitate the damned drink to you. Communicate across space using telepathic interplanetary Skype calls. And so on.
   Right now, the story is about someone who wants revenge against a particular group of Jedi over an incident that happened sixteen years before. So, in the flashback scenes I guess we’re 116 years before STAR WARS.
   Yikes.
   We’ll get there. Basically, the Jedi turned up years ago and mishandled a mission to recruit two young girls who were very strong with the Force. One twin sister died. For reasons of drama and action, we learn both sisters survived.
   Cue Darth Vader muttering about a twin sister. On second thought, nah, forget that.
   The “dead” sister went off to train with a Sith Dude. And the living sister went to train with the Jedi. It didn’t work out at Jedi HQ. She left the Jedi to become a member of some kind of galactic repair team. Your spaceship is still under warranty and she, Osha, turns up to fix the broken thing.
   Osha has a cute robot that’s a merchandising opporchancity.
   Someone is going around flat-out murdering Jedi fools. She looks like Osha. Therefore, she is Osha. It isn’t long before the Galactic Cops go after Osha. But there must be a better explanation for this. Surely Osha’s Evil Twin™ is still alive and she’s the killer…
   Come on. That’s too obvious. Osha must be the killer. Take her in for questioning.
   I should introduce a spoiler for The Matrix
   There’s only one Matrix movie. Thank me later. Second and third spoons need not apply. There sure as fuck isn’t a fourth one. Spoiler alert. In The Matrix, Trinity – actress Carrie-Anne Moss – gets into a bonkers fight right there at the start of the movie. She’s trapped in a room.
   Then she’s off and running. She is up against supervillainous agents: Men in Black™. Dramatic shit. She hurtles herself across the rooftops...only to face what looks like certain death.
   EXCEPT. That’s part of the plot. To understand what The Matrix is you really just have to see it for yourself. Or watch videos online, explaining it, I guess.
   Now. Imagine you want to start THE ACOLYTE on a high. Carrie-Anne Moss gets herself into this Trinity-style fight. It’s Carrie-Anne Moss. With a fucking lightsabre. Well, hell, Jeeves, sign me up to that shit.
   And now imagine the start of The Matrix, but Trinity doesn’t make it out of the room alive. Bummer. That’s what we are treated to. And you can hear the committee it took to make this TV show squealing into their ersatz coffees…
   That means, right from the start, no one is safe.
   NO ONE IS SAFE. They tell us that in the fucking trailer. I know no one is safe. Anyone who catches a glimpse of the Sith must die. Of all the stories to go with, you went with a severely limiting tale.
   You gave us Carrie-Anne Moss for a fight knowingly referencing The Matrix, and she dies? This show cost a fortune. You couldn’t pay her for more than that?! Spoiler alert for THE ACOLYTE.
   There’s a whole thing about flashbacks. We’ll be seeing more of Carrie-Anne Moss later in the show and earlier in the timeline. More flashbacks. Too many flashbacks. In one case the flashback-too-far, what else to call it, serves as an extended recap of previous episodes for people who have the attention-span of no attention-span.
   We view what should be a great set-up. Someone is hunting Jedi. So we’ll bring in a character who follows the trail. The good sister. Osha. Your sister is hunting Jedi. It’s revenge for how you were all treated sixteen years ago on that far-off planet with the pretty tree.
   There’s a planet with a pretty tree.
   We see subtitles telling us the names of these planets. Unless you are on an UNKNOWN WORLD. If it’s an unknown world, how did anyone know to go there, or give it a subtitle? Well, the world was so unknown that they didn’t know it was an unknown world: kinda sorta blundered across it. But the subtitle droid stepped in and plastered letters across the screen.
   The planetary subtitles are never explained. Do they have to be? No. But they are bound to be used in YouTube videos telling you why every dead character in STAR WARS secretly survived to come back as a Jedi/Sith or the Bendy Jesuit from the DUNE movies.

KID VADER: I hate sand.

Osha should be the ideal candidate to lead the team in search of Mae, her twin sister. Or I should say “twin” sister. Maybe I should say “twin sister” instead. What would be better than having Osha leading the charge against evil forces?
   Oh, I don’t know. Maybe skip this storyline and show elements of the Republic going after smugglers and scoundrels and rascals, and the like. Show that there are evil factions operating from the shadows, as a precursor to the Empire that’s on the way. Robot armies. Early clone technology. Space werewolves. Hell, at this point I’d accept FINDING SPACE NEMO.
   STAR WARS is A Disney property. I thought we’d be in for an identity switch along the lines of FREAKY FRIDAY. Instead, another Disney production loomed into view: THE PARENT TRAP.
   Fuck, you’d get more mileage out of TWINS OF EVIL, and that’s a Hammer movie about identical twins. One’s a vampire. The other isn’t. Yes, it’s absolute nonsense.
   But you’d be better spending your cinematic time in the company of Jodie Foster on a Friday, Hayley Mills and Hayley Mills trapping some parents, or the Collinson sisters maybe kinda sorta being evil twins, as you’d expect from their movie’s title…
   The big problem with THE ACOLYTE is the reluctance of the twin characters to get involved. If only at least one of them went off on a damn-fool idealistic crusade…
   Your character can refuse the mission at the start. In the first (fourth) STAR WARS film, Luke Skywalker is interested in the idea of taking action. But when he’s presented the choice, he turns that offer down. Then the plot gets in his way and he’s all fired up for adventure. He goes off to the wars out there in the stars.
   But THE ACOLYTE…gives us identical characters who don’t want to travel the path on offer. Spoiler alert. The good one is tempted to the bad path and the bad one is tempted to the good path.
   You see the obvious identity-switch coming from light years away. It ain’t no spoiler. There’s a whole cast of characters, but I’m trying to keep this blog post down in size. Something below the length of a Space Slug.
   Yes, the Jedi are Space Cops. And they have a Space Cop Cadet along for the ride. She’s all about restoring public order and arresting people and clapping cuffs on wrists and taking names.
   On the way to grandmother’s house in the woods, she glimpses a Sith. We’re going to need a bigger spoiler. I should say something about Obvious Bad Guy. How does that go? Obvious Bad Guy is Obvious. What do you call a Plot Twist that runs in a straight line? You don’t call it a fucking Plot Twist, that’s for sure.
   And I have to reference Admiral Ackbar. This fish guy turns up for the defeat of the Empire at the end of the main saga. When not realising it’s a trap or concentrating all firepower on that Super Star Destroyer, he’s a pretty chill dude. A late arrival to the movies, he’s there at the end and that counts for a lot.
   Except…the saga goes on for a few more movies beyond the end. He’s there once more, out of retirement, I guess, for one last hurrah against a new generation of villains.
   Admiral Ackbar dies so fast that you blink and miss it. His death might as well be off-screen for all the difference this makes. There then follows a tragic announcement that he’s gone.
   Not dead. Gone. To the shops, perhaps, for…whatever intergalactic fish guys go shopping for. A space vape. I dunno. Anyway. To casually dismiss a character in an off-screen death, or near as damn it, is to Admiral Ackbar someone.
  With this in mind, I’ll turn to the Wookiee Jedi. Holy flying fuckballs, there’s a Wookiee Jedi. And the Sith Chippendale is sure to hunt him down. This is going to be fucking awesome.
   Wookiee is hiding out in the woods, in his fucking element, while the villain closes in, all Sithed up with no place to go. The clash is going to be absolutely fucking awesome. You’ll see a Wookiee Jedi go full-on prime-fucking-eval on this Sith Bastard and you…
   You fucking wha?!
   Wha?
   Seriously. Wha the fu?
   Did the story just…Admiral Ackbar the Wookiee fucking Jedi?!
   What’s the point? The point is the point of a lightsabre that slashed the Wookiee while he was sitting in his chair. Outstanding action scene of the decade goes to…well, not to that fight, obviously. Off-screen bullshit.
   There’s a lot of cape-flapping, key-jangling, lightsabre-ism, and the truly awful resurrection/reassembly of lines from better STAR WARS products. Ooh, the character said the thing. Wait, saying the thing in that context is absurd. Don’t worry. Another thing will come along shortly, and someone will say that.
   (No, I am not touching that fucking abysmal ALIEN movie, Crapulous, and its recycled mangled characters and recycled mangled lines. Get away from the franchise, you bitch. I prefer the term artificial sequel, myself.)
   Money? I was stunned to learn the average cost of an episode was almost $29 million dollars. And I struggle to see where the money went on the television screen. The huge event in this show is the arrival of the Jedi chorus line in the woods. Need to talk to that Wookiee.   Oh, too late. Killed off-screen in your chair, watching the Twi’lek formation swimming event on the Galactic Olympics. Farewell, Wookiee Jedi. You will be remembered. Who the fuck am I kidding? His name was…
   Toast.
   Everyone is sad. Then the Sith Dudebroguy turns up. Masked, of course. He looks like a serial killer from a slasher movie. Then he sparks up his red lightsabre and the battle is on.
   He’s there to kill all of the Jedi. Any of these Jedi could remember, from training, that the Sith used to be around back in the day and they had red lightsabres. So the Sith are back in town. Except, in the woods.
   Which means…
   Everyone who fights in the woods must die. They can’t report to Jedi HQ that the Sith are back in town, the Sith are back in town. Shout out to Darth Lynott for the musical reference.
   I don’t want to dwell on the cost of an episode and a bunch of unknown Jedi weaving in and out of the woods…but they’d have achieved the same effect filming in a park at night, waving neon tubes around.
   One by one, and sometimes two by two, the Jedi fall to the Sith. And this works. So keep doing this. Wipe out all those who know. You’ve destroyed any hope of suspense, but, hey, you have one job in telling this story. Everyone who realises the bad guy has a red lightsabre…everyone dies.
   What about Space Cop Cadet Blondie? They wouldn’t dare kill off the blonde…if you believe that, I have a Hitchcock movie to sell you.
   After much faffery, we follow Lone Jedi Dude from the trailer, back on the ship and heading off to fix things. And the writing comes in and smacks the story up the side of its fool head. I hate it when the writing comes in and does that to a tale.
   Sadly, the interplanetary telephone isn’t working. It can’t work. Mustn’t work. If a Jedi survives the slaughter, which he does, then he can’t fly back to HQ or even phone home like Spielberg’s Extra-Plastic-Terrestrial.
   You see how tied to the concept the whole narrative is. No deviation. Can’t avoid it, swerve, stumble over, or dodge. The Jedi Team died a fucking death. Leaving this guy to inevitably go up against the Sith Dude once more…and die in the process...later.
   For a whole bunch of characters set on running away, they spend an awful lot of time stopping in the middle of a chase. It’s a thing. A whole thing. But I never got around to the music…
   Heavy spoiler. Come on, you’ve seen clips on the internet. Is there a place for songs in STAR WARS movies or TV shows? Yes. There are musical numbers. Aliens playing in the cantina band back in episode…four. And Jabba’s Palace hosts a musical number in episode…six.
   Is there a place for musical numbers in AGATHA ALL ALONG…yes. That works. It’s riffing off The Wizard of Oz musical. But the musical bit in this STAR WARS show just reinforced the cult theme. You see, kids, the Jedi and the Sith are all about recruiting powerful youngsters to their respective causes. And that narrative paints all sides as horrible.
   The grand notion of a flawed yet benevolent Republic, with its ancient order of magical guardians, the Jedi, is shot down in flames, painting the Jedi as little more than a step removed from being child-enslavers. Or worse.
   Yep. That’s the heavy hint in the narrative.
   Remember this, if nothing else. No one killed STAR WARS. It is still there, on my shelf, ready to watch whenever I feel like it. Even if Disney takes it off the streaming service for eternity.
   I didn’t make it past the first episode of that Willow TV show. And it is gone. Show needed a sense of urgency. More urgent than the one Disney provided. The original movie shares a lot of midichlorians DNA with STAR WARS.
   Plucky adventurers. Mad characters. Encroaching evil. Not a Darth Vader character, honest, guv. And not an Evil Royal behind it all. Madmartigan isn’t Han Solo and he doesn’t fall in love with the princess who happens to be the daughter of the evil one.
   So that’s okay, then. No, the show wasn’t urgent enough. But to kill it off by removing it from the streaming service. Now I know who really fired that shot at the start of Bambi.
   Spoiler alert for Bambi and Finding Nemo. There will be blood. Anyway, look at that interesting thing over there…
   I don’t want to take this over ten pages, so let’s skip to the very end. Ultimately, why can’t we all just get along? There are Sith to fight, that’s why. We reach a point at which all of the Jedi who go up against the Sith…they are taken care of.
   Yes, they went to live on a nice moisture farm in the country. It’s too far to visit, out there by the Dune Sea. But Uncle Owen, the farmer, writes regularly to say everything is going to be okay. We’re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?
   No, I didn’t mention the Jedi woman with the green skin and the laser-whip. Indiana Jones in Spaaaaaaaaaaaaaace. Turns out, she whipped the Sith Dudester when he was young, and left scars on his back. And she puts the whole mystery together like an episode of MURDER SHE WROTE on fucking steroids.
   There’s a heavy reference to shifting the Balance of the Force. We didn’t need that, or the idea that anyone else could be a pupil of mine, before he turned to evil. Sure, strip-mine scripts that are set in the future if it makes your typing sessions easier on the fingers. Understand, though, that I will hunt down the people who taught you how to read and write.
   But the context, mutter-mumble. Here is the green Jedi, who had an evil pupil thought dead. She discovers that her pupil is alive. He has to be Sith. So, remember, you have one job. Every Jedi who learns of the Sith must die, to preserve the fucking story.
   Instead, she lives, and she takes her peculiar problem to the head of the Jedi order…Yoda. We see a glimpse of Yoda here, and more of Yoda in later historical documentaries.
   That’s it, though, right there. Fucked up beyond all recognition. You did what you set out to do. Introduce Sith to Jedi for a lively session at the dance in the old barn. And that would have worked, if you’d killed all the Jedi who were up dancing.
   No. You had to go and do that bit at the end, where the green Jedi goes to reveal all to another green Jedi. And I have few words left, beyond raw expletives, at this point.
   Update. I should’ve said the Wookiee had a fight in a flashback, but the damage was done. He couldn’t die in the flashback. Just in the here and now, in a chair, watching synchronised Twi’leks aim for gold in the Space Olympics.
   Oh, and a character showed up, skulking in a cave. It was Gollum, looking for the One True Ring. But it fell through the TV cracks into another show that caused J.R.R. Tolkien’s rotating body to give off a high-pitched whine that fells birds on the wing to a distance of five miles out.
   THE ACOLYTE bows out disgracefully by plundering a scene from the end of another STAR WARS property, giving us the oddball hope that setting this show up for a sequel automatically killed off any chance of making a sequel.
   As for finding faults in ROGUE ONE, here’s a classic: they had Billie Lourd right there. Should have hired her to dress up as her mother instead of giving us CGI Carrie Fisher. If you haven’t seen ROGUE ONE, that’s a spoiler. I haven’t ruined it for you…merely prepared you for that moment.
   With the right hair, makeup, and costume, Billie Lourd would have served as younger stand-in for her mother long enough to make the scene work. Carrie Fisher looked like Debbie Reynolds and Billie Lourd resembles both of them. Why head down the Uncanny Valley™ of face replacement for so short a scene?
   Luckily, I am not in charge of making STAR WARS. Unluckily, it appears no one is. But that’s okay. No one killed STAR WARS. Right there, on my shelf, any old time I want to watch it. Don’t give in to hate. But, also, you don’t have to like sub-standard fiction.

Wednesday, 24 July 2024

RETURNING TO A WIZARD OF EARTHSEA: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

This monthly blog post is very late in the day for many reasons. Squirrels. We’ll blame the squirrels. They can’t answer back. Shifty characters. Blame squirrels. That works out for all parties concerned. I was beyond busy in the first week of the month. Luckily, months have spare weeks built into them for safety’s sake.
   The plan, a week later? Blog about a truly atrocious movie. That occupied my thoughts in the second week of the month. Which movie? The film played dress-up, pretending to be the thing it so desperately wanted to be. No, I won’t trouble you by firing up the kinematograph here. Or anywhere.
   I realised, without setting anything down, that I’d go into hellish detail to write of the movie with anything approaching accuracy. Accuracy seemed important, at the time. I can’t imagine why, now. An opinion, peppered with facts, is still just an opinion. Manage your energy well.
   Would I really watch the damned thing again, taking notes as I suffered? No. I abandoned that plan and spent the energy on worthwhile viewing instead. This took me into the third week of the month, and a nefarious scheme to scribble about a truly boring television show.
   What was I thinking? Hell, what were they thinking?!
   Sadly, I worked up a few pages on that folly. I don’t always blog at least 1,500 words. On the other hand, I don’t always limit myself to around that figure. On this televisual opinion, I passed the 1,500-mark and then stopped dead.
   Damn. I’d truly go over the show once more, to confirm a few things, right? Unavoidable? Was this worth the effort? I concluded the endeavour was not worth my continued effort. Task? Avoidable. That’s how I shattered week three on the blogging front.
   And so…
   I steered myself in the direction of mentioning something I liked. Why not blog about Ursula and her creation of Earthsea? Okay. Sounds good. Do it. I turned to my copy of…
   But wait a bit. There is no copy of…
   Check again. I’ve read the books. Have I read the books? There aren’t any here. I borrowed them.
   They were novels. Weren’t they? I had to confirm a vague something or other. Research into Earthsea was a lot easier on me than research into a blasted heath of a movie or a nothingness of a TV show that I hoped would start even as the end credits rolled.
   Ursula K. Le Guin.
   What to say of her? If born the daughter of Henry the Eighth, Ursula would’ve been listed on the announcements as a prince. And no one would go against Ursula for referring to herself as a most excellent prince.
   BILL: Dude, Ursula is a most excellent prince.
   TED: Bodacious.
   But Prince Ursula wouldn’t have given us Atuan or Earthsea or any of her other creations back in the Tudor day. She’d have busied herself with seeing off the Spanish and having people executed.
   We don’t know how many people Ursula executed. But we do know she wasn’t Henry’s daughter. And she wrote stories. Lived them. Breathed them in. Exhaled them on blank pages, magically filling with words as her lungs moved…
   There’s no one quite like Ursula. This is a shame. Her great talent lay in absolutely failing to stay young. I recommend this course of action. Fail at this task for as long as is inhumanly possible. Ursula was slightly ahead of the game. She managed to die before Covid went chasing everyone.
   Timing isn’t everything, but it’s close enough for government work. And a damned sight cheaper. If Ursula survived to see Covid plunder the world in a way no Viking ever could, she’d likely have kept a short diary of her approaching demise.
   If a hacking cough of a death chases me, I like to think of my famous last words as Famous last words.
   She wrote many things. Check them out. I went to check them out and checked again. Must have borrowed them. They were novels, right? No. Ursula produced short stories in the later part of the cycle. The books about Earthsea are divided into two trilogies. Looks as though I only tackled four out of six volumes.
   I suspect a compilation tome was at work, there.
   Ursula walked the same school halls as P.K. Dick. He’s another writer I’ve read, and…no, he isn’t on my shelves. Speaking of him, I’ve seen my share of movie adaptations of his tales. If I misremember rightly, or wrongly, I’ve heard a radio adaptation, too.
   We don’t go near Ursula with talk of adaptations. She was raging at the decidedly bland TV desecration of her work. I left the keyboard behind to examine the fossilised relic of a trailer for said show.
   URSULA K. LE GUIN MARLON BRANDO: Look how they massacred my boy.
   The timing of the TV adaptation carried the stench of many a Tolkien cash-in. Well. Damn. The Lord of the Rings worked its magic at the box office, and a great darkness was rising in the land of adaptation.
   Speaking of Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising was adapted, rather atrociously, as a movie called The Seeker. This, too, followed in the wake of Tolkien’s movie success. A great blight fell upon popular culture as one century turned into another.
   I left the keyboard behind to examine the fossilised relic of a trailer for said film.
   SUSAN COOPER MARLON BRANDO: Look how they massacred my boy.
   Ursula’s books, and the Susan Cooper volume, didn’t see justice when turned into moving images. On the other hand, if you were Christopher Tolkien staring at Peter Jackson’s Mordor Tourist Board information films, you, too, would reach for a bottle of the Brando.
   CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN MARLON BRANDO: Look how they massacred my boy.
   The K. in Le Guin’s name is the same K. as in P.K. Dick’s: both stand for KETAMINE. In later life, they would frequent sewers converted to nightclubs under the rainy streets of a whore-ish Berlin. There, Dick would indulge in the drug. Le Guin generated the same level of outlandish storytelling without recourse to the horse tranquiliser.
   I am interrupted in my endeavours. Instead of being called from the tyranny of typing to accept a parcel of books, I am summoned to the news that my parcel of books will arrive at or around sunset tonight.
   It’s a gloomy summer’s day in the Grand Duchy of Scotlandia, and I suspect true sunset will arrive a shade early if the greying of the clouds intensifies. All clouds and no rain. Like waiting for a tooth to be pulled during an appendectomy.
   I’ve been interrupted by parcel news. The parcel will arrive in the next 31 minutes. It’s nice to be told this 29 minutes into the parcel delivery window. I must listen out for an ineffectual knock as I clatter away at the keyboard.
   As I typed that, I was interrupted by an ineffectual knock. The parcel, lurking on my doorstep, refused to be scanned by the delivery system. Ursula, making her presence known. I can’t believe it took seven e-mails to deliver that to me.
   The six books in the parcel are A Wizard of Earthsea, The Tombs of Atuan, The Farthest Shore, Tehanu, Tales from Earthsea, and The Other Wind.
   I could, churlishly, skip the first few and tackle the ones I haven’t read. No. I am here, in this blog post, to revisit Ursula’s work. This raises the question of stories you return to. Earthsea and Narnia, yes. Middle Earth, no. My preference.
   Narnia also benefited by and lost from the resurgence in Tolkien’s fortunes. I cast the weariest eye over the near-criminal output of Walden Media, with the pillaging of Jules Verne’s fiction coming in for a dastardly mention. Dastardly enough to be accompanied by a cartoon dog named Muttley.
   The best version of a writer’s story is almost always the writer’s story. Movies often compress the action. Occasionally, they flatten it. Would any production crew ever earn Ursula’s blessing? Or even go looking for it?
   Earning the original creator’s blessing does not guarantee a good movie or TV show. I am struggling to sear the trailers from my mind. Earthsea envisioned as a TV show comes across as a low-rent nod in the direction of a mighty princess forged in the heat of battle. Xena wore it better.
   And The Seeker is certainly a thing. The problem with adaptations is that they are adaptations. Here’s an enduring rule. If adaptations are bad, they do not destroy the original works. I can go to my shelves and read The Dark is Rising or…once the parcel arrives…any of Ursula’s stories concerned with magical island life, a school for wizards, and a maze.
   Ursula does amaze. To the people who say how can you read books we answer how can you NOT read books…
   That most excellent prince Ursula K. Le Guin is a writer who will get you reading. And keep you reading. Where’s the harm in that?
   Ursula is readable. This is a terrible crime against literature, I know. But the way was signposted long ago. If it’s good literature, it’s not science fiction/fantasy. They steal it in the night, while everyone is looking. Well, they will park under the lamp.

Friday, 8 March 2024

VIEWING ANOTHER PILOT EPISODE – ABOUT A PILOT. SHŌGUN: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Anjin.
   Pilot.
   I sat down to watch a pilot about Goody Three-Shoes Galadriel and the Rings of Something or Other, Does it Truly Matter? Just to refresh your memory…

 

*

 

Galadriel returns home and has to attend a town council meeting to receive some kind of STAR WARS medal. These town council meetings are always the fucking same. The rebellious character is on to something, but the elders don’t want her interfering. So she’s dragged back from the latest scraped knee incident to be given a final warning about not doing the thing.
   At which point, she proceeds to fuck off and she does the thing she was not meant to be doing – leading to adventure. Except for that very last part. Her reward at the meeting is to sail to Elf Heaven on a boat that is so fucking viciously green-screened that I cannot say the visuals were the best thing about this pilot episode.

 

*

 

My conclusion? Clearly, the best thing about Galadriel’s pilot episode was the ending. In the sense that the torture finally ended.
   But The Rings of Pah! reminded me of SHŌGUN in one respect. Town council meetings. Except…these really are council meetings, and they all have meaning. It is a time of unease in Japan. The old SHŌGUN appointed a council of five regents to watch over his son until that young boy grows old enough to rule.
   Then the old guy died. And that’s when the differences of opinion came in.
   Five friendly lords. Four lords are allied against one. You may have seen Hiroyuki Sanada in a John Wick movie or an Edward Zwick production of The Last Samurai. The man has an impressive list of credits to his name.
   But this. This is his time. And this is his role. It helps that he’s a producer on the show. Often you are told a character is a master strategist. And you know this on the basis that you’ve just been told the character is a master strategist. Not here.
   Hiroyuki Sanada plays Tokugawa Toranaga, the lord who is given the shortest and shittiest end of the stick in these council meetings. You see, you are shown, in every scene he occupies that this character truly is a master strategist. Every furrow of the brow, each pause in speech, the concealment of his true plans, the shifting of his schemes to take account of outrageous swings in fortune…
   There’s lot of acting involved in SHOWING you that he’s a master strategist. And we need more television along the same lines. All I learned about Galadriel in that shit-fest of a travesty of a TV show was that…she’s blonde.
   Mm.
   James Clavell was a writer who worked in movies. Somehow, he ended up directing To Sir, with Love. Yes, that’s a film about an outsider. The movie was a box-office hit. It helped that he was a producer on the film. You’ll find his writing spread across cinema. He has an impressive list of credits to his name.
   Being taken prisoner in World War Two made Clavell as a writer. The Japanese put him in Changi in Singapore. His wartime book was King Rat. From there, in leaps and bounds, he worked his way up to writing SHŌGUN.
   Clavell wasn’t the first to take history and fictionalise it into a page-turner. The master strategist Toranaga is a thinly-veiled fictional copy of Tokugawa. But you can send your fictional fellow on different paths. You do this to keep a rein on pacing and the absurdity of life.
   History takes bizarre turns at times, and often outdoes fiction. Clavell worked on the script for The Great Escape – based on the book by Paul Brickhill. Brickhill’s account of a mass escape-attempt from Stalag Luft III was toned down for the movie version.
   Partly, that’s about pacing and turning in a film that isn’t as long as World War Two. Many of the escape efforts defy belief and would come across as ridiculous if you piled them on, one after the other.
   If you write a historical novel, you do so under the confines of history. You must colour your picture within the lines. But if you change the names to protect your own narrative, history becomes a broader canvas, and you throw buckets of paint at the damned thing.
   Did you write a history book at that point? No. Did you create a page-turner? Clavell wrote a page-turner. He involved one William Adams, a ship’s pilot who arrived in Japan in 1600. But he’s John Blackthorne in the book.
   Prison obviously shaped Clavell’s whole life when World War Two ended. Watching the pilot episode of SHŌGUN, you see John Blackthorne spend a lot of time as a prisoner of the Japanese. There’s no getting away from that.
   You’d think this would crush the narrative. No. It opens the story up. You get more scenes of interest from a character who is imprisoned than you view in the whole of that misbegotten pilot episode for Galadriel and the Masters of the Universe. Or whatever it is called. Amazon and the Folly of Bezos.
   Goody Three-Shoes spends an episode walking around Middle-Class Earth twiddling her fucking thumbs. Over in SHŌGUN, John Blackthorne, a man with the occupation of twiddling his thumbs while held prisoner, does more.
   Everything in the sub-Tolkien parody is so fucking earnest. Meanwhile, in Japan, practically every second character is a barbarian or calls another character a barbarian. I watched a shower of bastards being a shower of bastards to each other.
   And there was more sympathy for these rascals, rogues, rapscallions, and ruffians than there was for all the nice/twee characters across the way in Tolkien-ish land. Spoiler alert. One character has a man cooked in a big metal pot. We have sympathy for this swine when he almost dies in the sea.
   Not by drowning. He’s going to commit ritual suicide before that happens. Gchaladriel went about being nice and I didn’t care. (People became unaccountably Welsh when they uttered her name, hence the extra letters.)
   In Japan, a bunch of bastards thrived. Everyone had an agenda, and that agenda was often violent and bloody. The English pilot? Bastard. All the Portuguese? Utter shower of bastards. The four Japanese lords, intent on protecting the heir – but secretly plotting to kill him and each other – total bastards. Toranaga – under sentence of death from the start of the show – has to be a bastard in order to survive.
   His main rival, Ishido, is a complete and utter bastard who wants to kill everyone on the council. And then he wants to find more people to kill so he can die gloriously in a legendary battle. We even have sympathy for him.
   No sympathy for Gchchchchaladriel. Even less for the photocopied Indiana Jones who lumbered through a non-movie. These things were difficult to watch. SHŌGUN was easy to drink in.
   A character speaks out of turn at the council meeting. Well, that’s it for him. He must go off and commit ritual suicide. Oh, and his baby must die with him. Surely his lord will be merciful?! Toranaga allows the man’s wife to live. That’s it. No last-second rescue for a loyal follower who let his emotions get the better of him, almost creating a massacre right there in the room.
   Why does it work? The stakes are all-consuming and they are explained to us. Then they increase vastly at every turn. Is it a perfect TV show? Perhaps it’s asking too much that the characters speak in their own languages…
   There’s a little bit of The Great Escape here. The movie convention for the years 1939-1945 is that all the actors speak the same language for the benefit of the audience in that country. The Great Escape is in English for the English-speaking market. But you know everyone in the movie speaks German for the German market.
   Here, with SHŌGUN, the Japanese characters speak Japanese with subtitles. John Blackthorne “speaks Portuguese” to the Portuguese bastards who do their damnedest to have him hanged or crucified when they translate from Portuguese to Japanese. But for the English-speaking audience the “Portuguese” speech is all in English.
   I think they could have gone full subtitle with this show. Throw in all the languages with all the subtitles. It’s a weak mark against a production with so many strong points, and I let it pass without real complaint.
   Speaking of strong points. The production has such a great level of detail to the costumes that the costumes bleed character. I love the acting, particularly across the language barrier. It’s great. Some of these bastards truly are dressed like a shower of bastards. And others, perhaps even bigger bastards, are resplendent in the finery of peacocks.
   I understand there’s a degree of technical wizardry involved in portraying scenes. John Blackthorne at the tiller of a ship in raging weather simply can’t have been filmed in a genuine storm. But the scenes at sea look as good as they can look. You are right there with the crew as water dominates the deck.
   Contrast that with the choir of heavenly angels at sea in Middle-Class Earth. I watched two pilot episodes. One about an elf named Blah-Meh of the Beige. Barely a character. I’m having trouble spelling Galadriel. The other pilot was about a pilot. A bastard. Prisoner. Liar. Pirate. Heathen. A character we could care about.
   One story had no story and made me flee the series in search of sanity. The other story made me want to tune in for more. Which I did. The pilot episode of SHŌGUN was the least-impressive episode of the series. Stakes increased in episode two. No matter the awful things characters did, I’m guessing you’d be cheering them on at that finish to episode three. At least, in that show, the characters dive into the sea for a reason.