Alfred Bester on What a Science Fiction Author Does

The mature science fiction author doesn’t merely tell a story about Brick Malloy vs The Giant Yeastmen from Gethsemane. He makes a statement through a story. What is the statement? Himself, his own dimension and depth. His statement is seeing what everybody else sees but thinking what no one else has thought, and having the courage to say it. The hell of it is that only time will tell whether it was worth saying.

Alfred Bester, “My Affair With Science Fiction” in Hell’s Cartographers

Posted in Books, science fiction | Tagged , , ,

A Bibliographic Resource for Lars von Trier’s Melancholia (2011)

I’m planning on writing about Melancholia in the near future, and a short fact-finding mission to get a lay of the land of the scholarship on the film turned into something quite different (and much larger) than I imagined. What follows is a sketch of a bibliography of work that is directly about Melancholia. Inclusion in this list isn’t necessarily an endorsement of the work (I have read, charitably, about a third of these pieces), but I thought that if I was going to do this kind of targeted scraping that I should at least make it available for other people to make use of.

If you have suggestions of pieces that should go here, whether that is your work, the work of colleagues, or just something that I flat-out missed, please contact me by email or on Twitter with your recommendations.

Melancholia Official Website
Amazon link to buy the film

Bibliography

Anselmi, William and Lise Hogan. “Time is Money – The Acceleration of Time and the Vanquishing of Space in Melancholia, Another Earth and In Time.” Film International 62 (2013): 44-53.

Apter, Emily. “Planetary Dysphoria.” Third Text 27, no. 1 (2013): 131-140.

Connolly, William E. “Melancholia and Us.” In Politics, Theory, and Film: Critical Encounters with Lars von Trier, edited by Bonnie Honig and Lori J. Marso, 413-421. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

DeFazio, Kimberly. “Melancholia and Posthumanist Metaphysics.” In Stories in Post-Human Cultures, edited by Adam L. Brackin and Natacha Guyot. Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2013.

del Río, Elena. The Grace of Destruction: A Vital Ethology of Extreme Cinemas. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016.

Dienstag, Joshua Foa. “Evils of Representation in Europa and Melancholia.” In Politics, Theory, and Film: Critical Encounters with Lars von Trier, edited by Bonnie Honig and Lori J. Marso, 285-304. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Elbeshlawy, Ahmed. Woman in Lars von Trier’s Cinema, 1996-2014. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2016.

Elsaesser, Thomas. “Black Suns and a Bright Planet: Melancholia as Thought Experiment.” In Politics, Theory, and Film: Critical Encounters with Lars von Trier, edited by Bonnie Honig and Lori J. Marso, 305-335. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Figlerowicz, Marta. “Comedy of Abandon: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.Film Quarterly 65, no. 4 (2012): 21-26.

Floquet, Pierre. “Melancholia and the Apocalypse Within.” In The Apocalypse in Film: Dystopias, Disasters, and Other Visions About the End of the World, edited by Karen A. Ritzenhoff and Angela Krewani, 91-104. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016.

French, Sarah and Zoë Shacklock. “The Affective Sublime in Lars von Trier’s Melancholia and Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life.” New Review of Film and Television Studies 12, no. 4 (2014): 339-356.

Friedlander, Jennifer. “How to Face Nothing: Melancholia and the Feminine.” In Lars von Trier’s Women, edited by Rex Butler and David Denny, 201-214. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017.

Grodal, Torben. “Frozen Style and Strong Emotions of Panic and Separation: Trier’s Prologues to Antichrist and Melancholia.” Journal of Scandinavian Cinema 2, no. 1 (2012): 47-53.

Grusin, Richard. “Post-Cinematic Atavism.” Sequence 1, no. 3 (2014).

Honig, Bonnie. “Public Things: Jonathan Lear’s Radical Hope, Lars von Trier’s Melancholia, and the Democratic Need.” Political Research Quarterly 68, no. 3 (2015): 623 – 636. [See also the end of James Martel’s response essay “Against Thinning and Teleology” in the same issue.]

Honig, Bonnie. “‘Out Like A Lion’: Melancholia with Euripedes and Winnicott.” In Politics, Theory, and Film: Critical Encounters with Lars von Trier, edited by Bonnie Honig and Lori J. Marso, 356-388. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Kirchner, Andreas. “Painting in Time: On the Use of Digital Visual Effects in Melancholia.” In The Apocalypse in Film: Dystopias, Disasters, and Other Visions About the End of the World, edited by Karen A. Ritzenhoff and Angela Krewani, 191-202. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016.

Kollig, Danielle Verena. “Filming the World’s End: Images of the Apocalypse in Lars Von Trier’s Epidemic and Melancholia.” Amaltea: Revista de Mitocrítica 5 (2013): 85-102.

Koutsourakis, Angelos. Politics as Form in Lars von Trier: A Post-Brechtian Reading. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. [The interview in the appendix contains the most information on Melancholia.]

Larkin, David. “‘Indulging in Romance with Wagner’: Tristan in Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.” Music and the Moving Image 9, no.1 (2016): 38-58.

Latour, Bruno. “Waiting for Gaia. Composing the Common World Through Arts and Politics.” Lecture given to French Institute in London in 2011. [The film is mentioned briefly, but is crucial to the cultural affect Latour is critiquing.]

Ling, Alex. “Lars von Trier and the End of Cinema: Melancholia.” The Pleasures of the Spectacle: The London Film and Media Reader 3, edited by Phillip Drummond, 122-132. London: The London Symposium, 2015.

Lord, Catherine. “Her Green Materials: Mourning, Melancholia, and Not-So-Vital Materialisms.” NECSUS: European Journal of Media Studies 2, no. 1 (2013): 179-196.

Lyons, Siobhan. “The Dialectics of Crisis: The Romanticised Apocalypse in J.G. Ballard´s The Drowned World and Lars von Trier´s Melancholia.” Diffractions: Graduate Journal for the Study of Culture 1 (2013).

McFadden, Dan. “The End of the World: A Heideggerian Interpretation of Apocalyptic Cinema.” Cineaction 95 (2015): 40-47.

McGowan, Todd. “Not Melancholic Enough: Triumph of the Feminine in Melancholia.” In Lars von Trier’s Women, edited by Rex Butler and David Denny, 181-200. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017.

Matts, Tim and Aidan Tynan. “The Melancholy of Extinction: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia as an Environmental Film.” M/C Journal 15, no. 3 (2012).

Merola, Nicole. “Mediating Anthropocene Planetary Attachments: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.” In Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman, edited by Dennis M. Weiss, Amy D. Propen, and Colbey Emmerson Reid, 249-268. Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2014.

Mitchell, Sian. “Deleuzian Affect and the Transformative Film Experience: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.” The Pleasures of the Spectacle: The London Film and Media Reader 3, edited by Phillip Drummond, 301-312. London: The London Symposium, 2015.

Peterson, Christopher. “The Magic Cave of Allegory: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.” Discourse 35, no. 3 (2013): 400-422.

Peterson, Christopher. “The Gravity of Melancholia: A Critique of Speculative Realism.” In Politics, Theory, and Film: Critical Encounters with Lars von Trier, edited by Bonnie Honig and Lori J. Marso, 389-412. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Read, Rupert. “An Allegory of a ‘Therapeutic’ Reading of a Film: Of Melancholia.” Sequence 1, no. 2 (2014).

Robertson, Eric. “Volcanoes, Guts and Cosmic Collisions: The Queer Sublime in Frankenstein and Melancholia.” Green Letters: Studies in Ecocriticism 18, no.1 (2014): 63-77.

Sandberg, Mark B. “Apocalypse Then and Now: Verdens Undergang (1916) and Melancholia (2011).” European Journal of Scandinavian Studies 46, no.1 (2016).

Shaviro, Steven. “Melancholia or, The Romantic Anti-Sublime.” Sequence 1, no. 1 (2012).

Shields, Matthew. “From the Sublime to the Romantic: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia.” Bright Lights (2012).

Sinnerbrink, Robert. “Anatomy of Melancholia.” Angelaki: Journal of the Theoretical Humanities 19, no. 4 (2014): 111-126.

Sinnerbrink, Robert. “Provocation and Perversity: Lars von Trier’s Cinematic Anti-Philosophy.” The Global Auteur: The Politics of Authorship in 21st Century Cinema, Edited by Seung-Hoon Jeaong and Jeremi Szaniawski. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016.

Sweedler, Milo. “The End of the World of the End: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia and Political Theory.” A Critical Approach to the Apocalypse, Edited by Alexandra Simon-López and Heidi Yeandle, 175-84. Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2013.

Sweedler, Milo. “From One End to Another: Allegorizing Apocalypse Now and Melancholia.” Framing the Apocalypse: Visions of the End-of-times,  Edited by Sheila C. Bibb and Alexandra Simon-López, 167-82. Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2015.

Szendy, Peter. Apocalypse-Cinema: 2012 and Other Ends of the World. Translated by Will Bishop. New York: Fordham University Press, 2015.

Wenaus, Andrew. “Mechanized Bodies, Human and Heavenly: Melancholia and Thinking Extinction.”  ESC: English Studies in Canada 42, no. 1-2 (2016): 133-153.

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On The Yawning Portal at Paste

Tales from the Yawning Portal rides the line between nostalgia and ease of access for new players. I can imagine sitting down with Danni, my Mages & Murderdads cohost, and replaying “The Sunless Citadel” and having as good of a time as we did all those years ago when we played it the first time (we’ve already had this conversation, in fact). I can just as easily imagine running headfirst into “The Hidden Shrine of Tamoachan,” an adventure that I don’t know a single thing about, and trying my hand as a player or as a DM against the monsters and snail gods (yep!) that live there.

I reviewed the new Dungeons & Dragons book, Tales from the Yawning Portal, for Paste Games.

Posted in Video Games | Tagged , ,

On Free Fire

I’ve just finished watching Free Fire, the newest film from director Ben Wheatley (and Amy Jump who he cowrote and coedited it with), and while it’s very late I have some thoughts I want to get down about the film.

1.
Back when John Wick was released, I wrote this piece about it in which I argued that the most interesting part of that film was how it replaced fists with guns in the martial arts film. In that genre, a protagonist navigates the world via their martial prowess, and its their mastery of their hands and feet that carves their protagonist film through the trials and tribulations of that world. Within John Wick, the intimacy of that martial combat was maintained, but the navigating tool was the gun instead of the fist.

Free Fire performs the exact same conceptual maneuver, but instead of fists becoming guns, language becomes guns. It’s apparent even from the trailer that Free Fire is a kind of locked-room drama in which the characters move through their arcs in a very tight physical space. It’s very theatrical, very David Mamet, but the actual spoken dialogue is all one-liners out of 1970s films.

The pacing of the shooting, how it wounds those who are assailed by it, and the consequences that are reaped from it all have the feeling of language. There are “conversations” in the film that happen purely formally: a gun fires, another gun fires in reverse shot, and then another, and another. It spins around this factory, never landing anywhere, and the characters joke that they don’t know whose side they are on anymore. There are slow gunfights and there are fast ones; there are spectacular ones and boring ones. And they all function as conversations, punctuated arguments between one character and another.

2.
It’s critical that the constant gunfight opens with a failure of language, or more precisely, a failure of language to produce justice. One character has supposedly “bottled” another’s cousin, and honor has to be restored between both these men and the injured woman. Justice has to be done, and everyone agrees to it, and someone gets beat up. And then language bubbles up again in an insult, and the gunfights begin.

If guns become language here in the sense that the function of language is usurped by the firing of a gun, then we have the assumption that only guns can deliver justice (and this is a familiar argument from a lot of media from a lot of time periods). But even weirder, it means that language can be liberated from its deliberative capacity; in Free Fire, language exists almost wholly to crack jokes around the more serious, deliberative function of the gun that delivers justice. Language gets to play at whatever it wants, while guns have to take over the heavy work of working on group dynamics.

3.
Sharlto Copley’s body is the posthuman image par excellence. From District 9 to Elysium to Free Fire, we have watched this one particular guy become things other than human, and in this film we have seen him become a crappy dude from the 1970s. He’s materialistic, manipulative, willing to sacrifice anything for money, and vicious. More than that, we see some actual horrifying physical transformations that are cringe-worthy. I think that someone should probably write about this at some point: this South African guy who has stood on the precipice of the inhuman, the posthuman, and the neoliberal sleazeball.

4.
Free Fire is a movie that is all about people shooting each other, but it’s very sedated for a long time. Guns don’t necessarily punch massive bloody holes in people. Bullets penetrate and stick, or they go through, or they enter and bounce around. Bullets are not what we’re presented with in The Expendables; they’re much less exciting and much more terrifying for it.

By dialing down the extreme violence for much of the film, the director is able to do some truly surprising and brutal things. A wound being sewn up or a used needle stuck in someone’s hand isn’t shocking in the context of a John Wick or a Bourne film, but in this movie they become cringeworthy, horrifying things. By turning the thing that we associate most heavily with have-to-look-away violence into something banal, the “less interesting” violence becomes that much more difficult to watch. It’s a honed idea, and it works here.

5.
I liked Free Fire, and I think you should try to see it in a theater while you can.

Posted in Film | Tagged , , , , ,

“The horror of life itself”: Wes Craven on his films

Christopher Sharrett – “‘Fairy Tales for the Apocalypse’: Wes Craven on the Horror of Film,” 1985.

Posted in Film | Tagged , , ,

Weedopia and Everything

Just wanted to crosspost two pieces I wrote that were published today:

  1. I wrote a short essay on the game Everything and what I think it does as a game (and how it is in conversation with the creator’s previous game Mountain). I’m really happy with the piece, so please give it a read.
  2. I was finally able to write something longform about the game-that-isn’t called Weedopia. If you’ve been following this blog for a minute, you’ve probably seen me mention it at some point, but I also really like the essay that I wrote about it for Waypoint. In it, I ask where the How High of games actually is.
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Bad Affect as Game Design, Or It Feels Good For Overwatch To Feel Bad

This was originally written as a monthly essay for my Patreon. If you like it, consider chipping in $3 a month.

There’s a lot of talk in game design about how to make people feel things.

For the Skinner Box people, the ones who are trying to psychologically dial in exactly how good it should feel to win a match of a competitive card game you play on your phone, you do it through stimulus. You click the button, and it lights up just right. When you open your box of loot that you got from winning way too many games, it shakes in just the right way. But if you hold off on that shake-y click, you might be able to upgrade that bronze box into a silver box when you collect enough doodads. It’s all about the design of making things click in your lizard brain.

While most, if not all, massively popular games are trying to go down that route for various (cough, financial) reasons, I think that lots of game designers would still say that they are going for “classic” methods of getting you to feel good about a game. They’re designing levels, skill trees, and open-world environments with those tried-and-true ideas of flow or game feel in mind.

Those theories aren’t the same, but they’re attached to each other in the belief that games are at their best when their mechanics and expectations are clearly communicated to players. Each desires an end-state of consistency, and the optimal gameplay experience is one in which the player seamlessly melds into the experience of playing a game. With that established, you can play with the model, but that initial smooth space of play is critical.

I’ve done some research at my day job on player toxicity in games, and I’ve even written about my experience of toxicity in a game that many claimed had “fixed” the problem of players being rude as hell to each other. The general belief about toxicity is that it interrupts the smooth space of play–that it generates a bad feeling in players, and that bad feelings tend to spread out into everything. Riot, the developers behind League of Legends, promotes a lot of statistics that suggest that toxic players make for a bad time in a quantifiable and repeatable way, and that if you want to have a good time in a game then you should avoid being toxic.

I’ve now put an embarrassing amount of time into Overwatch for the PS4, and I’ve come to a weird conclusion about how I think bad affects, or bad feelings, might impact a seamless state of play. I think that they help generate one. I think negative feelings might be fully incorporated into my seamless and fun experience of play. And that’s weird.

In other words, I think becoming consistently angry about particular things in Overwatch might have a calming effect that generates a smooth space of play. I’m meditative in my being angry.

To be clear, this is probably an edge case. I play a lot of Overwatch, but I never play with a headset unless I’m in a party with friends. I would say that the total percentage of games that I have played in a party with those friends is probably less than 10% of my total games played.

So when I get angry in Overwatch, it’s with that weird little radial communication system. There are no tanks and we’re dying over and over again to Hanzo headshots from across the map? I’m spamming the “Thank You” command. No healer and I’m dying over and over? Spamming the “Need Healing” command. I’ve finally bit the bullet and I’m playing Mercy, but my team is fighting way off the point and is letting every McCree who has ever played the game jump right up into my face with utmost glee? It’s me, on the couch, hitting the “Thanks!” button until I’m locked out of using it.

I’m not proud of any of that, and I’ve tried to cut it down because it helps no one, but at this point it’s automatic. I’m on autopilot when I sarcastically use these commands to signal my unhappiness, and from a personal perspective it’s an entirely neutral thing. While I’m sure that deep in my brain I am feeling some kind of anger, on the top level I am just hitting that button to signal my unhappiness.

My ability to signal that I am having a bad time allows me to process that out within the game itself. It’s rare that I put Overwatch down and have any lingering feelings of anger or frustration, even if I lose several times in a row. That radial dial of bad feelings allows me to put it all out there, and importantly, to leave it there.

It’s probably crucial that it’s (mostly) impossible to target another player with sarcasm using the communication wheel. Short of walking up to a teammate and spamming the emotion right in their face (which I guess I could do), there’s no way for me to say “THANKS!” to a particular Reinhardt after he fails to use his shield for the 50th time in a row. I can only denote that I am unhappy, and that lack of targeting means that I don’t have people messaging me on PSN asking me what my problem is (or why I am so bad at the game).

It feels weird to admit to a kind of passive haterism, but this particular anonymizing and untargetable generation of bad affects sorta works. I get to immediately divest myself of unhappiness, and other players are able to do the same. It’s a way of expressing anger in the game without anyone knowing that they’re to blame or that you’re angry at them. You’re just someone spamming a button, and you can be ignored.

My weird play experience suggests to me that toxicity (and this is, I’m sure, considered toxic play) can be the baseline of that consistent and full game state that generates the “best” or “elegant” gameplay experiences.

[Addendum a little while after original publication:]

I don’t think this is intended behavior in that it is put there by the design team, but I do think this very limited form of button-based communication that can be spammed generates something different from being able to write text with your keyboard or yell with your mouth in voice chat. I also don’t think any of this “working” (in the sense that I’m able to leave these emotions in the game) is really a positive development. After all, for other players, it just looks like I’m being a huge jerk. And I am, to be clear, being a huge jerk. But I think all of this points to some interesting spillover effects from solutions that, at least on a theoretical level, should limit toxic play.

From my experience that I’m trying to lay out here, though, I think it might just morph into a different form that’s qualitatively different for the end user although maybe not different in kind.

I wrote this little addendum after rereading the piece and not thinking that there was a clear conclusion.

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