I've decided not to review the upcoming latest -- and most likely final -- title in the Star Trek franchise. It wouldn't be difficult. I'm sure I'd start by making cheap jokes at J.J. Abrams's expense. After that, I'd move into some examples of how the film fails to appropriately acknowledge the themes that were so important to the series interspersed with bouts of misty-eyed nostalgia from my days as a young nerd. Finally, I'd look at the big picture, castigating Hollywood and the media in general for failing yet again to come up with anything new.
Thing is, I already wrote that, only it was about Watchmen.
So, in the spirit of that Watchmen review, I am going to eschew the obligatory evisceration of a film which will undoubtedly suck a big hairy one and instead attempt to be constructive. I shall ignore the fact that Star Trek is being put it in the hands of a talentless, self-important hack in a desperate attempt to squeeze a few more dollars out of it, and devote this week to eulogizing my beloved series by remembering the good times in a little essay I'd like to call
"Why Deep Space Nine was better than The Next Generation."
Do not take this as a condemnation of TNG. It was my introduction to the series, and I recall being mesmerized by its optimism and imagination. The thing is, Star Trek is a perfect example of just how much can be learned about a culture by observing the stories they tell. The Cold War-inspired Original Series was the adventures of a Federation at conflict with other major powers, trying to do the right thing but also fighting to survive. The Next Generation sees their transformation from a regional power to a sort of United Nations. They're the biggest kid on the block, full of good intentions and the will to spread their enlightened way of life to the rest of the galaxy.
The Berlin Wall fell before I could understand what that meant and I grew wary of the idealistic, hegemonic mentality of the post-Cold War United States as I got older. The Star Trek series from those eras shared the same attitudes, that anything was possible with a can-do spirit and the right mentality.
DS9, on the other hand, was aware that things are never that simple. It was a Star Trek show that didn't shy away from gray areas. It didn't set out to knock the Federation's high ideals, but it was willing to put them to the test. Not the aggressive rival test or the space monster test, but the moral ambiguity test.
Just look at the primary adversaries from TNG. You have the Romulans -- easily the most interesting -- they used to be Vulcans, but they rejected their logic-centered philosophy when it arose and left to start their own civilization. They have an interesting history, but they're constantly portrayed as scheming back-stabbers -- as a species. This attitude persists even into DS9, but they get somewhat more exposure there.
Then we have the Borg, an enemy with which you cannot negotiate, knows only conquest, and eradicates the free will of the vanquished. Do you see what I mean when I say TNG is afraid of moral ambiguity?
Finally, there is Q. I never liked Q. Q the omnipotent space-jerk who comes out of nowhere to pester the crew whenever the show's writers couldn't think of a good space-time anomaly that week.
While there's nothing inherently wrong with any of these individually, when you add them together and account for the one-shot monsters you've basically described the whole series.
Starfleet prevails, nothing changes, roll credits.
That's why DS9 is the more engaging story. The adversaries don't swarm out of Mordor. They are rational humanoid beings with recognizable emotions. TNG never really takes the time to explore the complex political and cultural terrain of the Star Trek universe, but Deep Space Nine is immersed in it. The characters find themselves in conflict with familiar faces, old allies, and even their own people.
Even the Dominion is characterized better than the major adversaries of the previous shows. The Founders are ancient and powerful, but paranoid and xenophobic, insulating themselves from the outside world with their followers. You get the impression that there exists some alien logic behind their evil.
I appreciate the work that went into adapting the Star Trek setting from TOS to TNG. The technology level increases such that we are invited to imagine a society that is no longer limited by the scarcity of resources -- a society that is forced to re-think such ingrained concepts as labor, ownership, and value. That's why it's such a shame that neither series gives us a very good impression of just what that society looks like. They tell us it's a paradise, but I always wanted to see more of it.
In TNG, confined to a single starship, it starts to feel boring and sterile. DS9, at least, has the good sense to take characters raised in the perfect world of the Federation and drop them on the edge of civilization, way out of their element. We don't get to see the society, but we do get to see its values clash with others in the cultural free-for-all of the station.
Star Trek has never been consistent, but I would like to mention that over five television series and ten films I don't think the series has fluctuated all that much -- given the expansive time frame, anyway. Look at Star Wars, that franchise shit in its own bed and slept there like it was goose down by the fourth film. Star Trek made mistakes, but they were usually creative enough to bounce back. Star Wars made mistakes and then rode that train all the way to stupid town.
So farewell, Star Trek. You will be missed. I promise to remember you the way you were when you were good, before Voyager, before the upcoming, certainly garbage film.
Captain Sisko punching Q, over and over, forever.
Civilization Revolution
Aside from providing a satisfying outlet for my megalomania, I think the biggest strength of Sid Meier's Civilization series is how well the games balance their massive amount of material. They're so rich and varied that no two people have the same experience.
I'm not saying this format is the pinnacle of gaming or anything. There is a place for the chaotic, fast-paced action game as well, it's a matter of personal preference. The point is that as long as we're talking about the extremely complex and consequently extraordinarily time-consuming simulation/strategy games, I don't think any series has done it better than Civilization.
Although I know others disagree with me, I think that the fourth installment really is the best thus far. Each edition introduced new layers of complexity to the format, but it was always integrated logically. A game of Civ IV, even on the biggest map on epic length, is manageable. This is the great success of the franchise. They manage to fill it to the brim with choices, but they stop just short of overflowing.
Sadly, no one can resist all those console gaming dollars, so Meier and Firaxis watered-down the concept and shoved it into a format that is far from friendly to the strategy genre. The result is Civilization Revolution, a sad shadow of the game I love.
I played the Xbox 360 demos for both Halo Wars and Command & Conquer: Red Alert 3. I was actually going to review them along with the new Civ game, but all I would be able to muster in the way of commentary would be placing my hand over my mouth to generate farting sounds while I bash my own forehead with a claw hammer. Seeing as how that is neither pleasant nor easily translated into blog format, I decided against it.
What the hell happened to PC gaming? I've never been able to keep up with computer technology. It's expensive and time-consuming. I have never owned a machine capable of playing the newest PC titles, and I don't have one that can today. That's what console gaming is for, in my opinion. It is suited for action and spectacle because with a few exceptions (screw you, N64 expansion pack), you buy the console, and you can play all the games associated with that console.
On the PC, you need to constantly be aware of the specifications of games, and you will be required to upgrade your hardware to keep up with new releases. This is not usually the case with strategy games. They are graphically simpler than top of the line action games, but they rely upon the more adaptable control options the PC provides. Thus, I've found it useful to get my action and adventure on the console and my strategy on PC, and I'm sure I'm not alone.
You can see where this is going. Hardcore gamers insist that first-person shooters need to use mouse and keyboard controls to compete at high levels. Maybe they're right. I don't actually care. Strategy games, on the other hand, rely upon the mouse and keyboard to function at all. No dual analog setup is precise enough to manage all the settlements, units, and minutiae that make a good strategy title. The crossover must, therefore, choose between complexity and playability. Of course, in a perfect world, they'd choose not to make these abominations in the first place.
Civilization Revolution comes out a little better than the train wrecks I mentioned earlier because its turn-based system and grid map are a little better suited for console controls. Rather than wrangling of a mass of blobs you assume are infantry, you select a unit and move it from one territory to another. What ends up a complete disaster elsewhere is reduced to a simple mess.
Congratulations, I guess.
The real problem comes with the other adaptation Civilization had to make in order to become a console title. I'm talking about the target audience. Now this is where I'd usually make generalized disparaging comments about the intelligence level of a group of people. However, I won't do that today because Civilization Revolution beat me to it.
It's Baby's First Civilization. It's short and it's simple and I can't help but wonder why they bothered. Ostensibly, to introduce the series to new players. That's all well and good in theory, but there's absolutely no reason it needs to be a simple as it is. They don't even trust console gamers to adjust the game speed or world size. On top of that, while the player has a few different victory conditions, there are essentially two games you can play: You can either conquer the world or defend yourself until you build your way to one of the other victory conditions. Oh, and if you thought you'd try a balanced game that relies on culture and diplomacy instead of war, you'd better think again. Even on low difficulty settings, the AI opponents are so aggressive you will have to appease their outrageous demands every turn lest you provoke a war.
So, it's an introduction to a series that boasts superbly-balanced micromanagement, a plethora of viable strategies, and loads of customization options? And it's doing this by removing all that good stuff from the game?
Yeah, that'll work.
I'm not saying this format is the pinnacle of gaming or anything. There is a place for the chaotic, fast-paced action game as well, it's a matter of personal preference. The point is that as long as we're talking about the extremely complex and consequently extraordinarily time-consuming simulation/strategy games, I don't think any series has done it better than Civilization.
Although I know others disagree with me, I think that the fourth installment really is the best thus far. Each edition introduced new layers of complexity to the format, but it was always integrated logically. A game of Civ IV, even on the biggest map on epic length, is manageable. This is the great success of the franchise. They manage to fill it to the brim with choices, but they stop just short of overflowing.
Sadly, no one can resist all those console gaming dollars, so Meier and Firaxis watered-down the concept and shoved it into a format that is far from friendly to the strategy genre. The result is Civilization Revolution, a sad shadow of the game I love.
I played the Xbox 360 demos for both Halo Wars and Command & Conquer: Red Alert 3. I was actually going to review them along with the new Civ game, but all I would be able to muster in the way of commentary would be placing my hand over my mouth to generate farting sounds while I bash my own forehead with a claw hammer. Seeing as how that is neither pleasant nor easily translated into blog format, I decided against it.
What the hell happened to PC gaming? I've never been able to keep up with computer technology. It's expensive and time-consuming. I have never owned a machine capable of playing the newest PC titles, and I don't have one that can today. That's what console gaming is for, in my opinion. It is suited for action and spectacle because with a few exceptions (screw you, N64 expansion pack), you buy the console, and you can play all the games associated with that console.
On the PC, you need to constantly be aware of the specifications of games, and you will be required to upgrade your hardware to keep up with new releases. This is not usually the case with strategy games. They are graphically simpler than top of the line action games, but they rely upon the more adaptable control options the PC provides. Thus, I've found it useful to get my action and adventure on the console and my strategy on PC, and I'm sure I'm not alone.
You can see where this is going. Hardcore gamers insist that first-person shooters need to use mouse and keyboard controls to compete at high levels. Maybe they're right. I don't actually care. Strategy games, on the other hand, rely upon the mouse and keyboard to function at all. No dual analog setup is precise enough to manage all the settlements, units, and minutiae that make a good strategy title. The crossover must, therefore, choose between complexity and playability. Of course, in a perfect world, they'd choose not to make these abominations in the first place.
Civilization Revolution comes out a little better than the train wrecks I mentioned earlier because its turn-based system and grid map are a little better suited for console controls. Rather than wrangling of a mass of blobs you assume are infantry, you select a unit and move it from one territory to another. What ends up a complete disaster elsewhere is reduced to a simple mess.
Congratulations, I guess.
The real problem comes with the other adaptation Civilization had to make in order to become a console title. I'm talking about the target audience. Now this is where I'd usually make generalized disparaging comments about the intelligence level of a group of people. However, I won't do that today because Civilization Revolution beat me to it.
It's Baby's First Civilization. It's short and it's simple and I can't help but wonder why they bothered. Ostensibly, to introduce the series to new players. That's all well and good in theory, but there's absolutely no reason it needs to be a simple as it is. They don't even trust console gamers to adjust the game speed or world size. On top of that, while the player has a few different victory conditions, there are essentially two games you can play: You can either conquer the world or defend yourself until you build your way to one of the other victory conditions. Oh, and if you thought you'd try a balanced game that relies on culture and diplomacy instead of war, you'd better think again. Even on low difficulty settings, the AI opponents are so aggressive you will have to appease their outrageous demands every turn lest you provoke a war.
So, it's an introduction to a series that boasts superbly-balanced micromanagement, a plethora of viable strategies, and loads of customization options? And it's doing this by removing all that good stuff from the game?
Yeah, that'll work.
The Financial Crisis
As you may have heard, last week Somali pirates attempted to capture a merchant vessel registered in the United States. Unable to maintain control of the container ship, they absconded in a lifeboat with the captain as a prisoner. In the end, the pirates were all killed or captured and the captain was freed.
Few in the US ever really thought about Somali piracy before this incident. As usual, the news services dedicated lots of time to tearful reunions, masturbatory whooping, and self-righteous fulminations on the scourge of piracy. Obviously, they failed to spend much time on the context. Piracy is a major source of income for communities in the depressed and forgotten coastal areas of northern Somalia. The public probably has an image of flamboyantly dressed, dashing ne'er-do-wells taking what they want while they bathe in rum and generally enjoy themselves. This is fantasy. The region is known for ethnic strife, poverty, and war, and the lack of a stable government means they have no representation on the global stage. The pirates not only bring goods and currency into the area, but act as a makeshift militia and sometime advocacy organization.
In the last several months, Wall Street investment banks and other financial institutions attempted to justify losing billions of dollars by betting on an inflated housing market and bad debt. Unable to maintain the confidence of investors, they went belly-up and were forced to seek assistance from the government. Deemed too big to fail, most of them received the capital they required to survive.
Few in the US ever really thought about these underhanded business practices before the sudden collapse of Bear Stearns. The media then boned up and informed us about hedge funds and subprime mortgages and credit default swaps while they entertained us with outraged politicians and really, really awkward congressional hearings. However, I feel that no one ever adequately explained why we needed to prop up these failing institutions. There is an entire class which lives by buying promises and selling dreams and they exist in a nether-world between our elected officials' complicity and their ignorance. As a whole, the public is trained to imagine Beyond Thunderdome whenever anyone suggests a little creative destruction. This is fantasy. The system does not function to maintain fairness, it exists to turn the toil, suffering, and hardship of the many into the yachts, cocaine, and Dom Pérignon of the few.
To begin the parade of tortured metaphors which I think are extremely clever and am forced to use because they put a linguistic spin on what is essentially a math problem and math make me head hurt, I'd like you to imagine an ancient city in the desert, lost to history. Within this ruin, it is said, lies the knowledge of the ancients. We know it's there, we just can't find it because it's buried under the sand.
One day a massive sandstorm sweeps through and in its wake, the ancient city of special truths is revealed. Well, that's what the crisis has done. We all knew -- or at least those of us who cared enough to think about it knew -- that our culture was rotten, our institutions corrupt, and our way of life unsustainable. It was easy not to think about it because... you know, Xbox.
This time, we're looking right at it. It's not happening to faceless foreigners or baby seals now. There is no logic, no foundation, no real and honest value to the society we've created and we can no longer deny or ignore this simple fact.
But we will.
The bulk of the outrage has already been deftly deflected by our political institutions. The Republicans blame the Democrats, The Democrats blame the Republicans, and Glenn Beck blames his last tie to reality, cuts it, and drifts off into the ether on a updraft of xenophobic bald eagle farts.
The anger that remains cannot be used constructively. It belongs to the paranoid extremists. Those who recognized something was wrong, but found it far easier to name it Black, Jew, or Mexican. They have their own part to play in this sad drama. They become the figureheads for all who would step out of line. Every tragedy they perpetrate associates dissent with atrocity and further insulates the system.
Don't murder unless you're got a good publicist.
I think our leaders have convinced most of the rest of us that we can return to the America of yore. The 1950s post war America. Picket fences, cars with outrageous fins, and unlimited growth. We believe that if we elect the right person or give our money to the right corporations, we can be that society again. We want to be guiltless like we were -- pastel colors, living in the suburbs, cigarette smoking guiltless.
That cannot happen. The tangible work of our global economy is now done elsewhere and the United States has become the world's country club. We're all either swimming in the pool or we're cleaning it. With the poor countries who make our junk modernizing and our own institutions crumbling, the "service economy" I remember my middle school social studies textbooks proudly touting is revealed as the circle jerk that it is.
I have an idea. Why don't we try to actually be the inventive, hard-working people we claim we are and come up with something better? And I'm not talking about putting our noses to the same old grindstone and making more widgets. The events of the economic crisis have made it pretty clear that when the shit goes down, the real perpetrators get parachutes while the rest of us will be lucky to receive a backpack filled with kitchen utensils and good comedic timing. We need to treat this as an opportunity to turn a critical eye to the inner workings of our economic system while they are laid bare. We should use this as a learning experience and take steps to make our way of life sustainable and sane.
Unfortunately, it's an opportunity we seem hell-bent on squandering. We'll probably just move the debt around, consolidate some corporations, and sweep the mess under the rug. Then the next time the market sneezes, we'll go through the whole thing all over again.
I'm not saying the Somali pirates are nice guys, because I'm sure they're not. They are, however, smart enough to know when the deck is stacked and inventive enough to change the game in response. The hedge funds and investment banks took advantage of their status and legal limbo the enrich themselves and now they're blackmailing us with economic collapse if we don't give them more. How about that? Our financial institutions are starting to look more like pirates than actual pirates.
They used to hang pirates, did they not?
Few in the US ever really thought about Somali piracy before this incident. As usual, the news services dedicated lots of time to tearful reunions, masturbatory whooping, and self-righteous fulminations on the scourge of piracy. Obviously, they failed to spend much time on the context. Piracy is a major source of income for communities in the depressed and forgotten coastal areas of northern Somalia. The public probably has an image of flamboyantly dressed, dashing ne'er-do-wells taking what they want while they bathe in rum and generally enjoy themselves. This is fantasy. The region is known for ethnic strife, poverty, and war, and the lack of a stable government means they have no representation on the global stage. The pirates not only bring goods and currency into the area, but act as a makeshift militia and sometime advocacy organization.
In the last several months, Wall Street investment banks and other financial institutions attempted to justify losing billions of dollars by betting on an inflated housing market and bad debt. Unable to maintain the confidence of investors, they went belly-up and were forced to seek assistance from the government. Deemed too big to fail, most of them received the capital they required to survive.
Few in the US ever really thought about these underhanded business practices before the sudden collapse of Bear Stearns. The media then boned up and informed us about hedge funds and subprime mortgages and credit default swaps while they entertained us with outraged politicians and really, really awkward congressional hearings. However, I feel that no one ever adequately explained why we needed to prop up these failing institutions. There is an entire class which lives by buying promises and selling dreams and they exist in a nether-world between our elected officials' complicity and their ignorance. As a whole, the public is trained to imagine Beyond Thunderdome whenever anyone suggests a little creative destruction. This is fantasy. The system does not function to maintain fairness, it exists to turn the toil, suffering, and hardship of the many into the yachts, cocaine, and Dom Pérignon of the few.
To begin the parade of tortured metaphors which I think are extremely clever and am forced to use because they put a linguistic spin on what is essentially a math problem and math make me head hurt, I'd like you to imagine an ancient city in the desert, lost to history. Within this ruin, it is said, lies the knowledge of the ancients. We know it's there, we just can't find it because it's buried under the sand.
One day a massive sandstorm sweeps through and in its wake, the ancient city of special truths is revealed. Well, that's what the crisis has done. We all knew -- or at least those of us who cared enough to think about it knew -- that our culture was rotten, our institutions corrupt, and our way of life unsustainable. It was easy not to think about it because... you know, Xbox.
This time, we're looking right at it. It's not happening to faceless foreigners or baby seals now. There is no logic, no foundation, no real and honest value to the society we've created and we can no longer deny or ignore this simple fact.
But we will.
The bulk of the outrage has already been deftly deflected by our political institutions. The Republicans blame the Democrats, The Democrats blame the Republicans, and Glenn Beck blames his last tie to reality, cuts it, and drifts off into the ether on a updraft of xenophobic bald eagle farts.
The anger that remains cannot be used constructively. It belongs to the paranoid extremists. Those who recognized something was wrong, but found it far easier to name it Black, Jew, or Mexican. They have their own part to play in this sad drama. They become the figureheads for all who would step out of line. Every tragedy they perpetrate associates dissent with atrocity and further insulates the system.
Don't murder unless you're got a good publicist.
I think our leaders have convinced most of the rest of us that we can return to the America of yore. The 1950s post war America. Picket fences, cars with outrageous fins, and unlimited growth. We believe that if we elect the right person or give our money to the right corporations, we can be that society again. We want to be guiltless like we were -- pastel colors, living in the suburbs, cigarette smoking guiltless.
That cannot happen. The tangible work of our global economy is now done elsewhere and the United States has become the world's country club. We're all either swimming in the pool or we're cleaning it. With the poor countries who make our junk modernizing and our own institutions crumbling, the "service economy" I remember my middle school social studies textbooks proudly touting is revealed as the circle jerk that it is.
I have an idea. Why don't we try to actually be the inventive, hard-working people we claim we are and come up with something better? And I'm not talking about putting our noses to the same old grindstone and making more widgets. The events of the economic crisis have made it pretty clear that when the shit goes down, the real perpetrators get parachutes while the rest of us will be lucky to receive a backpack filled with kitchen utensils and good comedic timing. We need to treat this as an opportunity to turn a critical eye to the inner workings of our economic system while they are laid bare. We should use this as a learning experience and take steps to make our way of life sustainable and sane.
Unfortunately, it's an opportunity we seem hell-bent on squandering. We'll probably just move the debt around, consolidate some corporations, and sweep the mess under the rug. Then the next time the market sneezes, we'll go through the whole thing all over again.
I'm not saying the Somali pirates are nice guys, because I'm sure they're not. They are, however, smart enough to know when the deck is stacked and inventive enough to change the game in response. The hedge funds and investment banks took advantage of their status and legal limbo the enrich themselves and now they're blackmailing us with economic collapse if we don't give them more. How about that? Our financial institutions are starting to look more like pirates than actual pirates.
They used to hang pirates, did they not?
Dollhouse
I want to trust you again, Joss Whedon. I really do.
I'm no fan of serial fiction in general, and televised serial fiction in particular. I don't feel that the format is incapable of producing anything good, far from it. I see it as a high-risk venture. With a book or a film, the artist can present a coherent work, and say, "Here is my vision. Take it or leave it," Not so with a television show. You must please the viewers enough to keep them watching, feed the advertisers good ratings, and perform well enough to prevent the network dumping you for some dime-a-dozen reality show that might carry more market share.
Generally speaking, this is not an environment that is conducive to artistic expression. And you should know this better than anyone at this point, Joss.
I'm not saying that a shorter format is always better. I actually like the idea of taking your time with a story, slowly unraveling the mysteries while simultaneously just basking in the universe for a while. I think science fiction and fantasy are uniquely suited to the format, because if it's done right, there are hours of enjoyment to be had from just being there. When that feeling of wonder is supported by interesting characters and a compelling story, it's a beautiful thing indeed. Unfortunately, most shows just follow the same old recipe. Take a manageable number of young people, add a few apartments, sprinkle with sexual tension and boil... ad nauseam.
But that's not how you approach televised fiction, Joss. And that's why I've started Dollhouse against my better judgment.
Speaking of judgment, what the hell were you thinking going back to Fox? You already know that the average Fox viewer is an inbred, slack-jawed simpleton just looking for some titillation while NASCAR is on a commercial break, flipping back and forth compulsively, pausing only to wipe the crumbs of Cheetos and paint chips from his unkempt beard. You also know that the average Fox executive is a slimy weasel with too much hair product who has probably calculated the street value of his grandmother and wouldn't recognize a heartfelt attempt at artistic expression if it beat him to death with his own nine iron.
So what gives? You have amnesia? Are you toying with us? It is all part of an elaborate revenge scheme to get back inside their corporate headquarters so you can find the Fox exec who axed Firefly and beat him to death with his own nine iron?
Can I help?
Dollhouse is fun because it's not a wonderland based on magic or spaceships, but on the excesses of the rich and powerful. It's a cyberpunk TV show, and just typing those words in the same sentence makes me happy. I believe it's an under-utilized genre considering its potential.
For those who have not seen it, the show revolves around the titular organization, which is more or less a stable of young men and women who spend their days working out, eating right, and doing yoga in a childlike state of mind. Then, whenever one of the aforementioned rich and powerful clients needs their services, the dolls are implanted with a false personality for the duration of the job. They can be contracted for everything from a romantic encounter or a hostage situation, but they are given memories and skill set appropriate for the scenario. As soon as it's over, they return to the dollhouse, and their minds are erased.
Echo, played by Eliza Dushku, is the show's main character. She is the dollhouse's most sought-after agent, or "active" as they call them. Meanwhile, Tahmoh Penikett plays Paul Ballard, an FBI agent out to prove the dollhouse exists even though everyone thinks he's crazy. Of course, there's a big conspiracy and a mysterious and murderous "alpha doll" running around somewhere.
This is where the trouble usually starts. A series like Dollhouse needs to have a long-term plan that makes at least some sense. Unlike those shows that follow the "young people in an apartment" format, the setting is as important a feature as any character or four year long unrequited love plotline. The setting is going to evolve and change, and that's when things can go crazy.
This happens with your shows almost as a rule, Joss. Take Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for example. I liked the show, but when you look back on the major story arcs, they wouldn't fit together if it weren't for the common characters. I think the best shows have stories which rise organically out of the history, not the "monster of the season" stuff that happens in Buffy.
Do we need to sit down and re-watch season four?
Allow me to illustrate my point. Take The Wire. I think it's the best example of televised serial fiction ever and one of the reasons for this is that although each season has a different theme and an altered cast of central characters, nothing comes at you out of the blue. The events of one season lead into the events of the next. That change brings with it all new perspectives and new situations but there's a logic to the ebb and flow of the show's focus. Maybe you think that's unfair because HBO seems to give its series more leeway than the networks do. How about the much-maligned Star Trek Deep Space Nine? I set it above the rest of Trek because there is a strong sense of continuity over the course of the series that comes from the evolving political and cultural atmosphere in the galaxy. One thing leads to another, you see?
So far things do look good, Joss. As always, I find myself immediately absorbed in your world, because you set the scene so well. I also find the information dynamic fascinating. In most episodes, the key events are experienced by the dolls, while the other characters have a second-hand understanding of what has taken place. We the viewers get to keep that information, but the dolls' memories are erased (or blocked, at least) by the end. However, there are also characters with a deeper understanding of the history, and so the viewer is situated somewhere in between. It's a satisfying feeling and it can provide loads of storytelling options down the road.
It's not going to be easy, though. I'm rooting for you, but I'm not betting the farm. Even if Dollhouse does avoid problematic narrative detours, we both know it will have to survive the rigors of the major broadcast television gauntlet. Firefly is proof that you can do everything right and still fail. Lovable characters, unique concept, spaceships, gunfights, beautiful women, spaceships... Apparently the average viewer can't handle all that brainy junk. They'd rather watch insufferable people shriek at one another about their bullshit problems. I don't mean to sound too elitist, but I do have history on my side here. Your ideas deserve better than that.
I'm ready to give this another try, Joss, but remember I've had my heart broken before. We need to take it slow. I'll see you next Friday.
I'm no fan of serial fiction in general, and televised serial fiction in particular. I don't feel that the format is incapable of producing anything good, far from it. I see it as a high-risk venture. With a book or a film, the artist can present a coherent work, and say, "Here is my vision. Take it or leave it," Not so with a television show. You must please the viewers enough to keep them watching, feed the advertisers good ratings, and perform well enough to prevent the network dumping you for some dime-a-dozen reality show that might carry more market share.
Generally speaking, this is not an environment that is conducive to artistic expression. And you should know this better than anyone at this point, Joss.
I'm not saying that a shorter format is always better. I actually like the idea of taking your time with a story, slowly unraveling the mysteries while simultaneously just basking in the universe for a while. I think science fiction and fantasy are uniquely suited to the format, because if it's done right, there are hours of enjoyment to be had from just being there. When that feeling of wonder is supported by interesting characters and a compelling story, it's a beautiful thing indeed. Unfortunately, most shows just follow the same old recipe. Take a manageable number of young people, add a few apartments, sprinkle with sexual tension and boil... ad nauseam.
But that's not how you approach televised fiction, Joss. And that's why I've started Dollhouse against my better judgment.
Speaking of judgment, what the hell were you thinking going back to Fox? You already know that the average Fox viewer is an inbred, slack-jawed simpleton just looking for some titillation while NASCAR is on a commercial break, flipping back and forth compulsively, pausing only to wipe the crumbs of Cheetos and paint chips from his unkempt beard. You also know that the average Fox executive is a slimy weasel with too much hair product who has probably calculated the street value of his grandmother and wouldn't recognize a heartfelt attempt at artistic expression if it beat him to death with his own nine iron.
So what gives? You have amnesia? Are you toying with us? It is all part of an elaborate revenge scheme to get back inside their corporate headquarters so you can find the Fox exec who axed Firefly and beat him to death with his own nine iron?
Can I help?
Dollhouse is fun because it's not a wonderland based on magic or spaceships, but on the excesses of the rich and powerful. It's a cyberpunk TV show, and just typing those words in the same sentence makes me happy. I believe it's an under-utilized genre considering its potential.
For those who have not seen it, the show revolves around the titular organization, which is more or less a stable of young men and women who spend their days working out, eating right, and doing yoga in a childlike state of mind. Then, whenever one of the aforementioned rich and powerful clients needs their services, the dolls are implanted with a false personality for the duration of the job. They can be contracted for everything from a romantic encounter or a hostage situation, but they are given memories and skill set appropriate for the scenario. As soon as it's over, they return to the dollhouse, and their minds are erased.
Echo, played by Eliza Dushku, is the show's main character. She is the dollhouse's most sought-after agent, or "active" as they call them. Meanwhile, Tahmoh Penikett plays Paul Ballard, an FBI agent out to prove the dollhouse exists even though everyone thinks he's crazy. Of course, there's a big conspiracy and a mysterious and murderous "alpha doll" running around somewhere.
This is where the trouble usually starts. A series like Dollhouse needs to have a long-term plan that makes at least some sense. Unlike those shows that follow the "young people in an apartment" format, the setting is as important a feature as any character or four year long unrequited love plotline. The setting is going to evolve and change, and that's when things can go crazy.
This happens with your shows almost as a rule, Joss. Take Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for example. I liked the show, but when you look back on the major story arcs, they wouldn't fit together if it weren't for the common characters. I think the best shows have stories which rise organically out of the history, not the "monster of the season" stuff that happens in Buffy.
Do we need to sit down and re-watch season four?
Allow me to illustrate my point. Take The Wire. I think it's the best example of televised serial fiction ever and one of the reasons for this is that although each season has a different theme and an altered cast of central characters, nothing comes at you out of the blue. The events of one season lead into the events of the next. That change brings with it all new perspectives and new situations but there's a logic to the ebb and flow of the show's focus. Maybe you think that's unfair because HBO seems to give its series more leeway than the networks do. How about the much-maligned Star Trek Deep Space Nine? I set it above the rest of Trek because there is a strong sense of continuity over the course of the series that comes from the evolving political and cultural atmosphere in the galaxy. One thing leads to another, you see?
So far things do look good, Joss. As always, I find myself immediately absorbed in your world, because you set the scene so well. I also find the information dynamic fascinating. In most episodes, the key events are experienced by the dolls, while the other characters have a second-hand understanding of what has taken place. We the viewers get to keep that information, but the dolls' memories are erased (or blocked, at least) by the end. However, there are also characters with a deeper understanding of the history, and so the viewer is situated somewhere in between. It's a satisfying feeling and it can provide loads of storytelling options down the road.
It's not going to be easy, though. I'm rooting for you, but I'm not betting the farm. Even if Dollhouse does avoid problematic narrative detours, we both know it will have to survive the rigors of the major broadcast television gauntlet. Firefly is proof that you can do everything right and still fail. Lovable characters, unique concept, spaceships, gunfights, beautiful women, spaceships... Apparently the average viewer can't handle all that brainy junk. They'd rather watch insufferable people shriek at one another about their bullshit problems. I don't mean to sound too elitist, but I do have history on my side here. Your ideas deserve better than that.
I'm ready to give this another try, Joss, but remember I've had my heart broken before. We need to take it slow. I'll see you next Friday.
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