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pandorasboxoftreasures · 1 year

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A lot of you guys have no idea... Really. You don’t. The accuracy is chilling. (TW Child Abuse/Homicidal Thoughts/Violence/Mental Illness/Depression)

People that think they know me: “You’re so nice and kind and have a strong sense of justice and fairness and wouldn’t hurt a fly. How could you possibly identify with that awful, angry, violent alien monster?”

Me: *Explains the time a year after leaving school I found myself sat opposite on a bus from the kid that two years prior stabbed me in the ear with a pencil and worse, then had the whole class that watched and laughed defending him saying he did nothing when I fought back, even though he permanently scarred my right eardrum and damaged my hearing, then used my reason for having to leave class early that day (my dad had a hospital appointment) and forced me to be kept behind by the teacher and punished for fighting, even though I was literally trembling with shock and pain and barely able to speak through my PTSD episode to ask to have my ear checked but being ignored.*

*Makes this exact face remembering imagining following him off and the permanent damage I was going to do to him if he gave me any additional reason or opening to and looked down at him like that the whole time leaving him squirming in his seat, terrified, unable to make eye contact while also saying to him with the exact same tone and pitch as in that shot and said the following word for word because that moment was burned into my brain with how much I look back on it years later scared with what I'm^ capable of doing to someone and how close I was to doing it*

“Hello, Michael... That’s you, aye? Yeah... That’s you. Like my new look...”

“... or am I too legal?”

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^ Yes, present tense. Because those wounds can only be managed since they don’t fully heal. I find myself getting very close once in a while to that violent 17 year old looking for relief from my grief and pain of what he and others like him did to the bright, friendly, happy, excited child with a promising future that walked into that school building and never came home.

The fact that they could figuratively kill that kid like that, drive the husk left behind to almost literally finish off the job and then walk away and live happy little lives with relationships and children and careers and good reputations and family support and nothing coming back to bite them ever while my world and future had completely crumbled and imploded boils in my veins to this day.

Over three dozen therapy sessions have helped with management. Hobbies provide an outlet. My career path is in the one that ultimately saved me where all others failed. Video games. The places where I could safely trigger catharsis.

But I still need to keep checking myself so I don’t become that scared and wracked with despair thrashing for someone vaguely related to the people that pushed me into the water to pull down and stop myself from drowning empty shell of a former being again.

Seeing it on screen that night I impulsively bought the tickets for seat M10 in Screen 12, hit me like two couch-sized arrows to the chest.

I didn’t think I would ever see it happen and be so accurate with something I didn’t make. I was making it. But it looks like I got beat to the punch.

And how haunting, but also how great it is to see. Someone in the pipeline between the firing of neurons and the firing of pixels empathised enough to make it realistic in the face of the convenience of a simple villain.

It may make him more scary because of how raw he is and people like me knowing what he’s capable of with that knowledge and experience of being there (especially after the end of Way Of Water where he’s in an even lower state), but it’s real.

I’m scared for Ritch as much as I’m scared for what he will do to others.

I wasn’t just being like “Oh, no, Lo’ak/Kiri! Don’t hurt Lo’ak/Kiri!”. I was at the other end of the gun/knife going “Don’t do it, man. It’s not gonna make it better. Crossing that line is a lot harder to come back from. Don’t do that to yourself just to get back at him. You’re a snake coiling yourself around a saw. YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS!”

It’s the same with Neytiri grabbing Spider, too.

I think I need to drop this video down here before I consider this post done for now. I’ve still got a lot more to say, but that’s probably better saved for later.

But last word on it? Yeah. He better get a redemption arc... AND LIVE!

Because Christ knows there’s not enough characters like that in media for how many people are battling those demons IRL.

The more there are, the more conversations the real people can start.

Trust me, you don’t wanna keep sending the message that the only way to heal, repent and move forward after these kinds of thoughts and actions is to die.

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

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Psycho Analysis: Huey Emmerich

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

The Metal Gear franchise is known for its hammy and despicable villains, villains with complicated schemes, giant robots, and awesome boss battles. But what if I told you that, out of all the villains in the series, the most disgusting, vile, reprehensible, and cruel one had the same face and voice as the kindest man in the series.

Huey Emmerich is, in short, a piece of shit. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this worthless ass. This may seem a bit shocking if you’ve only played Peace Walker, where he seems little more than a clone of his son Otacon, or Metal Gear Solid 2, where he is mentioned as having committed suicide after catching his wife taking advantage of Otacon. But play through The Phantom Pain, and you’ll soon see that Huey is perhaps the most morally reprehensible monster in the entire game, and maybe the entire franchise.

And you will absolutely, without a doubt, love to hate him.

Motivation/Goals: Huey is motivated by one thing and one thing only: cowardice. He sells out Big Boss to Cipher to for a job offer and then lies out his ass to Venom, Ocelot, and Kaz when they eventually come and get him. Huey is just always in it for himself, and is perfectly willing to screw over any person who gets in the way of his research; even back in Peace Walker, he was strangely happy about cheerfully being able to continue developing WMDs for Big Boss and company after betraying his (admittedly crappy) former boss Hot Coldman, and after that he abandoned his wife to die for daring to hide their child Hal away from him before he could use the kid as a living battery in Metal Gear Sahelanthropus.

And while being a megalomaniac is nothing new for A villain in this franchise, Huey takes it to the next level by never once accepting any responsibility. He constantly shifts blame onto others, denies doing anything bad ever, and lies, lies, and lies to the point of insanity. At one point he straight up continues to insist his wife Strangelove committed suicide even when irrefutable evidence was shown that he left her to die inside the Mammal Pod. The man is a pathetic, nasty little weasel through and through, and his complete and utter lack of honor just makes him stand out as reprehensible even when compared to an absolute lunatic like Skull Face or even a violent brute like Eli (AKA Liquid Snake).

Performance: Christopher Randolph, the actor for Hal, somehow manages to turn everything good, sweet, and heroic about Snake’s best pal Otacon and turn it on its head for Huey. Huey has the same voice and the same face as his son, but his actions and deeds show that, no, this man is absolutely nothing like his son, and is in fact the very antithesis of who Otacon is. Props to Randolph for using the same voice we’ve come to know and love and delivering a performance so twisted that even if it is the same voice, there is absolutely no way you would ever confuse Huey dialogue for Otacon dialogue.

Final Fate: The best part about Huey is that he is constantly, constantly getting his ass handed to him. In The Phantom Pain, after he unleashes a virus onto Mother Base which forces Venom to put down some of his own soldiers, with Huey blaming him all the while, Huey is put on trial and found guilty, because… of course he is. Literally the only person who believes Huey is innocent is Huey himself, and that is because he outright rejects reality and all of the evidence against him. Venom casts him adrift on a dinky life boat, one that begins leaking and causes Huey to ditch his precious robotic legs to the sea, turning him into little more than a miserable cripple once again.

But if you thought that Huey would go out in any other way other than making the world a more miserable, bitter place, you’d be wrong. Years later, he discovers his second wife having an affair – that is to say, statutory raping – his son, Otacon. Rather than being a good father and trying to do anything about this sexual abuse of his child, Huey decides to do the world a favor and kill himself… but unfortunately, he drags his stepdaughter Emma along with him, causing her to nearly drown and giving her a crippling fear of water as a result.

And when you first play Metal Gear Solid 2, this seems like an awful, depressing tragedy… but after playing The Phantom Pain, it becomes abundantly clear that Huey’s suicide was one final, spiteful act., and Emma nearly dying was almost certainly on purpose. His final act in life was to try and spite his own son and the woman who was abusing his son by taking away the person they loved most in the world. He saw his own son as having cuckolded him and took his son’s sexual abuse as a blow to his own masculinity, and so went out of his way to hurt and traumatize him in the only way he knew how: by dragging innocent people down with him. Huey Emmerich couldn’t even kill himself without ruining everything.

Best Scene: Pick a scene where Huey is abused or forced to face consequences, be it Hot Coldman or Skull Face pushing him down the stairs and causing him to piss himself, Ocelot torturing him brutally, or Venom banishing him from Mother Base and sending him back to the world to be revealed as a fraud, and you’ve got yourself a good time. The sound of Huey suffering is music to the ears.

Best Quote: I think the quote that truly defines how much of a despicable two-faced hypocrite Huey is would be the vicious verbal berating he gives you as you kill the Diamond Dogs infected with the parasite that he released. He berates Venom for doing this despite being fully to blame for the situation. It is the culmination of this snivelling little bastard’s arc, and he’s only revealed to be worse from there.

Final Thoughts & Score: Huey is perhaps the ultimate hate sink in all of fiction. There is absolutely nothing likable about the guy; he’s a pathetic coward, he constantly lies, he’s an utter prick to everyone around him, and he causes untold amounts of suffering all while whining and crying about how it’s totally not his fault! He commits atrocity after atrocity, heinous act after heinous act, and spreads so much misery, and he does it all without ever once looking cool or intimidating like just about every other villain in the franchise. You’d think this would make him the bottom of the barrel and a terrible character… but it does the opposite.

Huey serves as a dark contrast to his own son and helps to highlight how much of a better man Otacon is. Both came from similar backgrounds and both have similar roles, with both developing Metal Gears and befriending a Snake. The difference, though, is that Hal has a moral courage that allows him to own up to his mistakes, accept responsibility for his actions, and dedicate himself to doing better. The man is so utterly selfless that he basically blames himself for his stepmother raping him; Hal is beyond humble, to an almost martyr-like degree, and truly lives up to the ideals of The Boss more than anyone in the series. His mother would be so proud of that. Meanwhile, Huey lacks that, and as shown throughout The Phantom Pain, his lies eventually pile up to the point where even he can’t escape the truth, and he suffers for it. Huey is a cautionary look at what would have happened if Hal didn’t have the spine to stand up for what was right and own up to his mistake, and this is nowhere more evident than Hal having a long-lasting relationship with Snake that went until the day he died whereas Huey was cut out of the life of Venom with extreme prejudice after Huey again and again stabbed his so-called friends in the back.

But aside from this wonderful contrast, I think how awful Huey is becomes more acceptable because he constantly, constantly suffers for it. The man gets constantly put through the wringer for his lies and schemes, and is despised and treated like garbage by Ocelot and Kaz. His own wife even hated him and considered Hal her kid with The Boss more than with him. Huey’s own moral failings catch up with him, and while it doesn’t lessen how evil it is, it does give you a sense of catharsis when that son of a bitch gets kicked, literally or otherwise.

Huey gets a 10/10. No, I’m not exaggerating. He isn’t the most impressive villain in the franchise. He’s not flashy, or hammy, or over-the-top and exciting. Huey is a very real, very miserable type of person who is cowardly, self-serving, and loathsome, and it is just so much fun to watch him suffer for his own sins. He is the epitome of “love to hate” villains; it’s just such a blast to despise this man and attribute everything awful to him, even if it isn’t really his fault. He’s a dark deconstruction of the lovable coward, he’s an utterly evil reprehensible bastard, and I hate him oh so very much… but it’s the kind of hate that I’m happy to have.

Fuck you, Huey.

#Psycho Analysis #Huey Emmerich #Metal Gear #Metal Gear Solid #The Phantom Pain #Peace Walker #Christopher Randolph

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brinnygetsstabbed · 4 years

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[ DEADLY AGREEMENT // MOUSE’S MEMORIES]

She made a promise.

She made a promise to get herself into the woods when she could. Be it after Trial or when the others drifted away to do their own thing. To return to that hidden place, where nothing useful is. The edge of survivor territory.

It’s dangerous, and she knows it’s dangerous. It’s just not compared to the doom looming over her if she doesn’t put herself in danger. There’s no choice. She’ll be hurt either way, it’s just a matter of postponing the pain. But, if she does this now, if she goes, maybe she can escape it for a bit. Make him happy, keep him calm.

Just fulfill the promise.

Her legs tremble with each step, the further she gets from the fire, the darker the world around her gets. Brin hates the feeling of being so alone, yet so surrounded at the same time. She has no bubble, no shield around herself to hide behind. Exposed, an easy target. Still, she pushes forward, going by uneven memory.

Lots of deals, the concepts of arrangements were vaguely thrown onto the table. She does something for him, and he lets her go. He lets her go and with that, he offers a mocking version of security. It’s easier to see the light when he’s not snuffing it out, when she’s still got her eyes. She can see how awful he is. How terrible she is for even listening, for not turning to her real friends for help. This will just isolate her more, only leaving him. The only person she’ll have left to turn to is the person who is hurting her.

the person who is using her. She knows it.

Yet still, she is walking.

The air shifts, the little pocket comes into view. A small area missing trees, a rock sits right in the center. The canopy still acts as a weird roof to this space. She doesn’t feel safe, but at least there’s no immediate danger. Not until he shows up, and he will. She knows he will. He always does.

Brin holds her arms tightly around herself, a slight shiver clings to her bones. Just wait.

Time gives her room to think, to consider. To figure out a way to escape this, escape him. The game she fell into. It's a trap, and she curses herself for not seeing it sooner. What was so special about him anyway? She shouldn’t be so hooked on a killer’s attention, but she is. And he knows it.

Her thoughts trail off to analyzing him, again. Probably for the hundredth time, despite how much she hates it. Everything about him is so wrong, because it’s so normal. He can be nice, funny, caring. It’s all a goddamn lie, though. He doesn’t care. He can’t. He’s a killer, he’s killed her, several times now. And each time, it’s only gotten worse.

Like a knife dragging up her spine, Brinley’s mind screeches to a halt. Panic surges, the shaking and trembling is much worse. She’s exposed- actually exposed- now. Her eyes dart everywhere, looking for that white mask.

She hears his sigh of satisfaction before she sees him, “Good, just making sure I’ve got your attention.” His voice is muffled, but finally he steps into view. He’s been hidden, probably watching her for at least a minute now. Bastard.

Her shaking is as bad as it could be, Brin swallows the ball of fear in her throat, only preparing to speak. Don’t say anything, yet, don’t set him off. This can be easy, just… Wait and listen.

He approaches so casually, stopping at the side of the rock, leaning against it. His hand pats the top of the dark stone, very politely asking- probably telling- Brin to take a seat next to him. With so much reluctance, she does. Her muscles tense, coiled like a spring, a bullet ready to fly; she’s ready to bolt. She wants to run away so bad, but being around him makes her crumble instead. She’s exposed anyway, running will only turn this into a very bloody discussion.

“You’re early, that’s good,” He comments, tone unbearably gentle. Before saying anything else, the mask comes off, and is set on the rock, “I’d hate to have to chase you down outside a Trial, really.”

Liar. He’s already done that.

Brin says nothing, her eyes are glued to the patchy grass. Only a hum of slight acknowledgment is let out, just to signal she’s listening. He has her full attention, well, her unharmed attention. It’s the eye contact that really hooks her brain. He’s terrifying. Something about silver eyes is so… Intense. It’s migraine inducing.

Of course that’s not good enough for him, though. No, the selfish prick needs more than her everything. Still maintaining the delicate demeanor, his finger nudges under her chin, bringing her gaze snapping up to his. The reaction is more than immediate. No touch, bad touch, she’s already overwhelmed. Fine, he wants 101% of her attention? He’s got it.

As always, his eyes pierce her, his presence digs into her soul. Like a magnet, she’s pulled in, regardless of the struggle she tries to put up. He looks too smug, too happy with how easy it is to throw her brain into a paper shredder. For a moment, he simply scans her, his face changes to concerned, worried maybe, “Aw, Sweetheart, why are you shaking?”

He should know why, “I- It’s… I’m just nervous, Jed, it’s fine.” Brin struggles to find her voice, when it comes out, it’s weak, just barely a few squeaks of an explanation.

The vibe changes, with it, a chuckle rumbles in his chest, setting her nerves on a razor's edge. She wants to run, to escape her own skin, but she’s locked in place by conditioning. Fear tactics and pain, but with the glowing lure of the catharsis of comfort. He’s able to turn on a dime, shifting from monster to some sort of guardian. It’s wrong, it’s so unbearably wrong and it hurts, but she can’t get away from it. No matter how hard she tries, “Relax, bunny, I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna talk.” He’s facing her more now, looming closer, “I’ve got a little job for you.”

A… Job? Jesus, what the hell does that even mean? The flicker of actual fear in her eyes makes him hum, “Don’t worry, it’s easy.” His reassurance isn’t convincing, “We��re both new here, aren’t we? Why don’t we help each other, then? All I need you to do is act as a sort of… Tracker.” Now she’s just confused, “Stick to a teammate, accidentally damage generators, don’t touch the totems if any are lit. Don’t waste your time trying to get them off hooks.” Ah, so he just wants her to lock herself away and be useless? Her heart hurts at the idea.

Brin’s eyes finally fall, her head turns away, her arms hugged tighter around herself, “I can’t.” She murmurs, finding speaking much more difficult, “I can’t betray them like that, I'm sorry…”

Again, the emotions in the air grow agitated, all this altering is giving the survivor whiplash. This conversation could go a lot faster if he just gave a clear order and left, but he’s never that simple. Quietly, a cooing hush comes from his lips, “Hey, it’s ok. They won’t know, they don’t need to know.”

… She shouldn’t feel relieved to hear that.

“I can just make them think it’s all me. They’re mean to me, Brinny. Them and the other killers.” Jed’s tone gets hurt, dull, melancholic, “Didn’t the other kids out there push you around? Help me out, sweetheart. In return, I can let you go more often.”

Cynicism mixed with the hatred of death makes this offer sound lovely. It’s not, it’s wrong. Everything about what they are is wrong. He’s a killer, a murderer and a stalker, and she shouldn’t be so willing to talk to him. To be near him with no one else around. Realistically, it’s horrifying, but in the moment, so many different emotions mix into something she can’t describe.

Is he even actually bullied by the other survivors? Sure, she’s not always there to see it, but she shouldn’t feel empathy so quickly either. Jed, being bullied? That doesn’t really make him seem scary, just pitiful. Her brain is tearing itself apart just to figure out what he’s trying to do. Is he trying to get her emotions? He already has that. Is he… Trying to seem human? Weak? Is he trying to earn her pity so she’ll help him? Or is he trying to make her dislike the other survivors? To dislike even other killers?

None of it makes sense.

She can’t answer, she can’t do much other than sit and fester in her own panicked confusion. She wants to know which game he’s playing so she can try and outsmart him, but the possibility of more than one game is what’s throwing her off. It’s already hard enough to constantly have to remind herself that she’s being played in the first place. She’s so desperate to feel something other than danger, and with him having given her that, she just wants it back. She wants the nice Jed, the Jed that serves as the personal bubble she lacks.

But this isn’t nice Jed. He’s scheming and plotting and if she threatens his plans, he’ll get angry.

And when he gets angry, he gets violent.

Brin doesn’t want violent Jed.

A brow is raised at her silence, his outward presence seems to get stronger just by him willing it so. How does he do that? He hasn’t moved an inch, yet somehow he feels so much more intimidating than before, “Ignoring me now, are we?” His tone is subtly scolding, that’s never a good sign.

It makes her practically jump from her spot, taking a wary step back just to have room to think. It’s so hard to think when he’s that close, all attention is glued to him just out of self-preservation, “N- No! Just… I'm sorry I don’t know… I wanna help, I do but-”

“But what, Brinny?” He asks, cutting her off sharply, “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You don’t want to help me, you just wanna make sure your little survivor buddies keep caring about you.”

Tears bite at the corners of her eyes. The air is hot, it’s thin but so heavy and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. She’s cowering, another step back, “J- Jed, no, please just listen.” Brin pleads, trying not to cry, “I can… I’ll help, yes, but- But I can’t betray them, I need to help them.” Ok, ok. Her voice finds a slight levelness, the shaking in it isn’t as noticeable. Her desire to help her true friends is helpful in combating the fear his now harsh stare inflicts.

But, like with everything good, it’s short lived.

He strides closer, brow creased in apparent irritation, “Who do you want to help, then?” He questions, “You can’t get greedy and do both, Brin. It’s them or me.”

God- she’s backing up as he gets closer, soon there won’t be anywhere else to run. The ultimatum is agony. He doesn’t have any right to do that to her, she doesn’t- she isn’t his item. She isn’t a knife, she’s not some tool. She isn’t a spy for his bullshit. Justified anger mixes with fear, leaving a bitter taste in her dry mouth, “Don’t- you can’t… That’s not fair, don’t make me choose.” Please. She can’t do that, she just can’t. That’s why she goes to the others to guide her.

Whatever she said, it clearly snaps something inside his head. His hand shoots forward, grabbing her roughly by the jaw and pulling her forward, “I’m giving you options here, sweetheart.” Jed growls, glaring right into her soul, “Them or me. Who can really protect you from the other killers?”

That’s not a rhetorical question. She wishes it was, though, because now she’s only got so many seconds to come up with an answer, “...You.” That’s not what she wants to hear. Sadly, that hardly matters now.

“And who can get you out of more Trials?”

“...” For a moment, her brain refuses to speak, only breaking under the pressure of his grip tightening on her jaw, “You.”

“Who can get you better food?”

It might seem silly, but food matters here. In a different way, obviously. It keeps the occupants of the Fog sane for much longer. Keeping sensations alive, keeping the concept of life itself alive, “You.”

Finally his hold relaxes, as does his posture, “I do. So won’t you just do this little favor? I’ll still let you go, Bunny, just make a few simple mistakes.”

Brinley can’t make herself look at him anymore. All of that mental training crumbles under the stress that his eyes bring. She could look into them all day, if only he wasn’t so goddamn terrifying.

Her hands instinctively grabbed onto his wrist, not even looking to try and pry him off, just clinging to support. Her stomach is tied into knots, those knots are in other knots. She’d puke if she could, but sickness is strange here. So, she’s left with queasy nausea. She can’t do this, not to them, she just- think of the good. The stories, the laughing around the campfires. The little celebrations after they all get out of a Trial together. Those little moments where they’re all just humans, suffering together. Calm silence, small gestures.

That’s what she should be holding onto, that’s the good. Not this, not a killer. If she just told them about what was happening, they’d help. They’d all be there for her. Right? How could she have even considered the concept of working with the enemy just to survive?

“...N- I just…” Her main objective is escape, just she’s not willing to pay the price. She can’t accept this offer, he’ll treat it like a bloodpact. It practically could be, given all the blood he’s drained from her. No, she won’t be trapped in that agreement, because if she fails at it, he’ll probably torture her worse than before. Worse than a mori. Nothing is worse than being the only one left in a Trial with him, “Please, I- I can help in a different way, I just need time to think.”

Now she’s done it.

Attempting to toss out another, much less scary idea is impossible. His hand shifts, clamping down on her throat. Her own hands grip his wrist harder, nails digging into the cloth of his shroud, “Tick tock, Brinley.” Shit. Full name. No nicknames. Never did she think she’d prefer to be called ‘Brinny’ over her regular name before now, “I’m not interested in anything else. You do this favor, or I’ll hunt you for sport, even outside the Trials.”

No amount of good memories can keep the streak of selflessness going. Trials are already hard enough, sometimes other killers already give her enough hassle. She can’t speak, but she can try, nodding as she does, “O- o… Ok. Ye...s”

The guilt is agonizing, but if she didn’t answer, he’d probably strangle her to death. Brin wants to keep the dying to Trials, as much as she can.

Her response seems to please him enough, anyway.

Jed hums, letting go of her neck, gently holding her face after she coughs and wheezes for a moment or two, “See? There we go, it’ll be easy, I promise.” He’s back to being sweet. Fear does something wicked to her brain. Sweet means good, no pain, no danger. Fear also makes her want to break down. No pain? Time to go looking for something secure to crumble against. He can see it, too. Fuck, he can probably even sense how close her brain is to shattering completely. Indigo eyes shine with overflowing tears, all it takes to make them roll down her face are more gentle words, “Hey, you’re ok, Sweetheart, you’re ok.”

She’s not ok, but she can be.

Swaying forward, her eyes squeeze shut, her shoulders twitch in tandem with muted sobs. Nothing matters anymore, she doesn’t have the energy to care about what she just signed off on, she just needs to hide. Jed is the only thing to hide against.

So, she lets herself break down. He’s been particularly good at putting her back together. And then tearing her apart. Over, and over, and over.

Though, maybe with this, that’ll happen less.

God she hopes so.

#Moments from the Fog;; oneshots/shorts #//not so short #//for some context on Brin and Jed's history.#//He pretty much just forced her into sabotaging trials to make his job easier #//and in turn; isolated her from the other survivors #//fun times #//cut for length

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eternalgirlscout · 4 years

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a while back @lesbians4sokka (i think? sorry for @ing you if i’m thinking of a different blog) asked me to share my thoughts about The Rise of Kyoshi, and seeing as i just finished the book last night (because i am a monster who gets most of the way through a book and thinks “if i keep reading it’ll be over i can’t have that”) i’m finally doing it now!

this got long as hell OOPS

spoilers under the cut

I want to talk about vengeance and justice in this novel.

back when I was only maybe a third of the way through it, i said on twitter that i was excited to see an avatar with an “opposite moral trajectory” to aang; in AtLA, aang has to learn to value justice over conflict avoidance, whereas RoK’s kyoshi has to prioritize justice over revenge. they come to similar conclusions from wildly different starting points. now that i’ve finished the book, i can’t decide how much i stand by that assessment. it feels reductive--which is a testament to the strength of F.C. Yee’s storytelling. while yes, aang and kyoshi both learn a great deal about justice, they act justly in very different ways.

aang, for reasons i like and appreciate from storytelling, ethical, and characterization perspectives (if you haven’t read my The Lion Turtle Is Good, Actually manifesto, you are legally obligated to do so now) has a strict rule about how he enacts justice that aligns with his beliefs and duties to the legacy of the air nomads. rather than killing people who abuse power to oppress others, he takes away the mechanism by which they accomplish violence--namely, their bending. in LoK we see that he continues to use this ability as an alternative to taking a life for at least most of his career as the avatar when he takes yakone’s bending.

kyoshi, on the other hand, has a very different philosophical development and ultimate approach to justice. her last conversation with lao ge summarizes the conflict between the mode of justice that works for aang (though obviously AtLA takes place chronologically after RoK, the novel is well aware that the reader has almost certainly seen the series first and takes ideas and details from it to flesh out the world, which i think is another strength of Yee’s) and the mode of justice she creates for herself.

“I feel... inconsistent. Unfair. Like I should have either killed them both or let them both live.”

...

“If you had a strict rule, maybe, to always show mercy or always punish, you could use it as a shield to protect your spirit. But that would be distancing yourself from your duty. Determining the fates of others on a case-by-case basis, considering the infinite combinations of circumstance, will wear on you like rain on the mountain... You will never be perfectly fair, and you will never be truly correct,” Lao Ge said. “This is your burden.” (405)

the stark difference between aang’s philosophical background and kyoshi’s leads them to very different outcomes with regard to their choices as the avatar. yes, aang makes decisions on a case-by-case basis as well, but he is not interested in retribution as much as restoration and has a line he will not cross. i could argue that kyoshi sees the two (retribution, restoration) as inextricable in the pursuit of justice.

but what about vengeance?

kyoshi’s hatred of her parents wears away over the course of the novel, but her need to enact revenge on jianzhu only becomes more urgent. she is not universally vengeful, but she does not let go of revenge as a goal until she has it... sort of.

speaking of which, i fucking screamed when yun showed up again. i had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of him, but the timing of his appearance and the change in him hit me like a lightning bolt. sorry, i have to gush for a second about how interested i am in what’s up with him. i am a sucker for a literal dead boy walking, for someone who has been turned into something Other by forces outside their control, and no matter what kyoshi ends up having to do to deal with him, i know i’m going to go feral for it. this is a Yun Stan Account until further notice.

anyway. it’s fascinating that kyoshi doesn’t actually get her revenge per se. yun does. he avenges himself, and it (likely) only causes more problems for kyoshi. and i think the distinction between vengeance and justice is quite wonderfully articulated afterwards:

How could such a container [as Jianzhu’s body] have held the volume of her anguish, her wrath? If any feeling at all pressed through the numbness... it was the ire of a hoodwinked child who’d been promised the end of her bedtime story only to see the candle-lights snuffed and the door slam shut. She was a girl alone in the dark. (430)

she gets the outcome she wanted: jianzhu dead. but her path to him “simply ended.” she has pragmatic advantages now that he’s out of the way--freedom, for one thing, and rangi’s safety, but those weren’t the things that drove her to want her revenge. there is a hollowness to it, a lack of catharsis. revenge is about the self, not the other.

and selfhood is something else kyoshi gives up.

one of the most striking lines in this novel appears when she walks into the tea house to meet jianzhu. at this point, kyoshi has assembled a motley outfit of expensive armor, theater costume pieces, battle accessories, outlaw facepaint, and bending aids for the heretical air nomad. she looks fucking weird. she’s like a video game PC wearing all the highest-stat armor she could loot from random dungeons and none of it matches. literally an assemblage of the places she’s been and the people who have helped her.

This was who she was now. This was her skin. This was her face. (418)

as the avatar, kyoshi has to be a symbol more than a person, even though she is fundamentally a human being as fallible as anyone else. the people who hear of her defeat of xu think she’s a spirit or a dragon in human disguise--regardless of what kyoshi wants and who she is, the world expects her to be something More. so, she gets dressed up and gives them what they need to see.

watching that transformation over the course of one novel is incredible. the path from the girl she is at the start of the novel to the woman we see advise aang that only justice will bring peace is far from over, but the trajectory is more than established. i’m really excited to see what Yee brings to another novel. kyoshi is just getting started.

some other miscellaneous thoughts:

i loved the choice to have a YA writer write this novel. not just for the obvious reason that Avatar is a franchise primarily for kids and teens, but because a lot of the common stylistic elements in YA fiction serve this story incredibly well. (by no means are any of these universal, of course; YA is a broad category of literature with huge stylistic and generic diversity, but in general it has these strengths.) the third person limited pov that switches between various characters gives a vital breadth to the story. there are a lot of moving pieces, and being able to see most of them in real time cuts back on exposition and heightens tension when you can watch their collision course. the focus on the given pov character’s interiority is put to incredible use, especially on the occasions when kyoshi enters the avatar state--and when it’s revealed that jianzhu hides things from even the reader, it becomes all the more staggering what a cunning bastard he is (jianzhu hate blog right here). kyoshi’s blushy crush on yun and even blushier crush on rangi are so good and are woven naturally into the story (bi fuckin rights babey!). that’s a teen with a big heart right there. also, fun swerve to the love triangle trope to get one of the love interests eaten by a spirit a few chapters in! his mind...

the part where kyoshi runs through a stone wall and leaves a kyoshi-shaped hole had me rolling, not just because i was impressed by how well that visual gag worked in prose but also because i can’t believe neither (to my memory) AtLA nor LoK pulled that.

HIDDEN PASSAGE... HIDDEN PASSAGE... THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS...

again i say: bi fucking RIGHTS

and i guess that’s all. stay tuned for the masterpost of Rise of Kyoshi memes i made as i read the book because i have a whole folder of them

#rise of kyoshi #Avatar!verse #meta #more or less. mostly just rambling #do not expect formal coherency from this i just got excited #liked the ending a lot! liked the characters! liked it as a piece of avatar lore!

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eclectia · 5 years

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Silent Hill 2: As A Disabled Woman

Please be warned this piece discusses ableism and abuse, including murder, and contains a minor mention [just a passing plot-point, not elaborated upon] of childhood sexual abuse.

The Ancient Land is in its final stages- I'm finishing up the coding and there'll be a demo very very soon; so in my downtime I've been working out other concepts and brainstorming a lot of various things for what may or may not become my next project. There'll be more on those in the coming weeks, but I wanted to post something slightly different in the meantime to make up for the fact that I can't really keep posting “yep, still coding, still bad at it”.

One of the ideas I had revolves around a horror game, and in working out concepts for it I've been revisiting some of my favourite horror franchises – films, video games, and novels, to try and work out what makes me tick, what makes horror tick, and how I can make my game tick. In doing so, I replayed one of my perennial favourites in Silent Hill 2. As well as being one of my favourite games, it is widely held as one of the best horror video games to date, held up alongside Resident Evil, Clocktower and Alone in the Dark as a foundation of Survival Horror.

It had been some time since I last played it, and when I was a newly-diagnosed diabetic it resonated with me because of its portrayal of chronic illness, more specifically, that a character within the game had one. There weren't any games that dealt with that subject matter in such a visceral manner. At a young age, 11, I was processing my diagnosis and trying to understand how it would effect my whole life, a process which I am still trying to come to terms with and this was isolating to say the least. I was traversing my own fog.

Silent Hill 2 is not my favourite Silent Hill, that honour goes to 3 – teenage girls in horror!-, but it holds a special place in my heart, important during a time of my life where I was processing the lifelong grief of my new diagnoses. And, as I grew and co-morbidity –the tendency for multiple conditions to cluster around a primary condition - meant I had a great many other diagnoses, I found myself revisiting those claustrophobic streets as a source of comfort. It seems oxymoronic to play a horror game for comfort, but horror as a whole is a genre I have often retreated to during my darkest periods. There's safety in monsters too fantastical to exist. Yet, the real horror of Silent Hill 2 for me isn't in its psychological monsters but in the real fears of ableism and sickness.

I realised as I grew that Silent Hill's handling of and representation of illness was the reason for my constant revisits. It comforted, repulsed, terrified and saddened me and helped me process the guilt of being sick. As my relationship with myself and my disabilities [they're multiplying!] has evolved so has my reading and relationship with Silent Hill 2. There will be spoilers if you've not played it, so if you don't want it spoiled don't read any further.

I am in two minds about it on many fronts, mostly for how it handles and represents disability conceptually and literally. On the one hand, stories about how disabled people are burdensome and which usually end with their dying are a constant staple. We are a tragic love story, and in many ways Silent Hill 2 reinforces this- indeed, this is the crux of the story. The narrative of Silent Hill 2 is driven by its unreliable protagonist James Sunderland; his actions are frequently cast into doubt and Mary's right to live is what drives the main conflict within James' psyche, manifesting as the horrors of the game. Her slow death, James' desire to prolong and shorten her life, and how this conflicts with both of their wishes all form important narrative milestones. James and Mary both are cast in sympathetic lights, and many players come to understand through the naturally presented narrative that James was in the wrong. At least I hope so.

This journey of guilt mirrors the traumas of the cast of supporting characters, all of whom are dealing with guilt stemming from murder – Angela kills her sexually abusive father [which frankly I cannot criticise]; Eddie, bullied, snaps and kills a dog and perhaps a person although this is left ambiguous. Between Angela's self defence, Eddie's snapping and James' sympathy-killing of his wife, there are many facets and stages of guilt portrayed within this game. And in this world, moral greyness, like fog, presides. Yet I don't think I can agree with how yet again a disabled character is killed off to forward the plot of an abled protagonist and often we feel sorry and empathise with him by vice of his being the player character. We view the game through his perspective, and in controlling him the default perspective and empathy lies with him. This could be a problem if twinned with a player who's view and experience of disability is informed solely through media or second-hand experience. Being asked to sympathise with a character, especially one who killed a disabled woman, might lead to your average abled person simply thinking he is in the right because, concerningly, it is something they would consider. Within the context of real life this sad story -of a carer or lover who kills a sick partner, thinking it's the best thing for them- happens all too often. A very real horror for me.

Just a few years ago, in Japan nonetheless, an able bodied man slaughtered 16 disabled people because he felt they were better off dead. I am not inherently against assisted suicide, but this is not that. It is important to note there is a form of ableist abuse wherein abled people coerce disabled people that they're not worth anything, and would be better off dead. I want to make it clear that these two things are entirely different. This is not, explicitly, the situation in Silent Hill 2. There is an ending where Mary thanks and forgives James but it is also shown Mary does struggle with feelings of self-loathing during the course of her illness; not brought on by James in any way, at least not actively, and definitely something I as a disabled woman have dealt with, but worth considering. And, I think, abled people want to feel justified in their views on the worth of disabled lives, so perhaps the apology is there as a form of catharsis for abled people more than it is anything else. It is OK to sympathise with James, we'd all do the same in his situation, disabled people all secretly want to be put out of their misery. This is the unpleasant streak that runs through the game, the crux of where our sympathies stem from.

Having mentioned this, his actions are never actively condoned by the game. It is simply a harsh reality of ableism that often, abled people think they are putting us out of our misery or that our existence is inherently twinned with suffering. I don't think the writers of the game were aware of this when they wrote this in, they simply wanted a psychological angle to take so this accidental aesop is perhaps, a fluke. Many aspects of the game were planned and researched meticulously, but as far as I know none of the development team had any personal experience with illness, so the game comes from their wholly abled perspective.

As I have grown as a person, I have come into my own internal conflict with the themes and presentation therein of the game. When I was newly diagnosed with a condition that, at the time I was told would carve years off my life and which needed lifelong medication simply to function, I found solace in Silent Hill. James' struggle to understand and cope with the death of his wife was similar to how I was struggling to cope and fathom the life-changing diagnosis I had had. I think, perhaps, that when I ran through the streets again and again I was searching within the game, for some ways of processing the diagnoses I found myself saddled with. James mourned his wife of 3 years [3 days] dead, I mourned for a life drastically changed in a matter of days. James, struggling to understand his wifes' illness, was just like me struggling with mine. I was lost in my own fog, in the streets of my own head trying to come to terms with myself.

Bearing this in mind, as I have grown up and come to terms with my conditions my attitudes towards the narrative of Silent Hill 2 have changed. In it, illness is this fearful beast – it could be you! You could be sick!-, except I was; and I didn't want scares, nor did I find the implicit implications of illness scary in the same way an abled person might. What might be horrifying to an abled person was just a daily experience for me. I knew how scary illness could be. I wanted to feel normal.

Looking for normality in a horror game might feel extraneous except for when we take into consideration that many monsters in horror are stand-ins for minorities within society; the queers in the vampire, the proverbial “other”, the rejection of Frankenstein's Monster. Like them, the monsters in Silent Hill 2 all represent something, illness and the multiple perspectives of illness that James has, and I found it less comforting and more... melodramatic. Illness is a daily fact of life for me, and using my existence as a threat to abled people – you could be sick and burdensome just like Mary- just felt insulting. In Silent Hill, illness and sick people are as much the monster as James. Mary looms like Orlok's shadow.

As a character Mary is shown to be multi-faceted; James' manifestations of his guilt and feelings about Mary show her to be venomous, angry bitter, a monster spitting acid but her final letter to him reveals that she admits to this, but more than that: she is a guilt-ridden wife who knows her illness is effecting her spouse. It is heart-wrenching, and beautifully written, and as an ending monologue is poignant and reflected many of the feelings I have felt as a disabled woman. There have been times I have lashed out to people I love because of a particularly bad month of illness, and then the guilt comes because I am only human. Anger, pain and this endless cycle is an intrinsic part of Mary's character throughout the game, and despite it all, Mary is shown to be all that James wants. This is not a narrative fault, but a character flaw within James that he readily recognises and criticises repeatedly, and again, desire and the nature of it is wholly human.

Mary's portrayal within the game is both progressive and sympathetic, and concerningly backward. Mary is humanised in a way that very little media about sickness has ever done, and shown as a multifaceted and complex character just as James' own motivations and desires are shown to be both good, and bad. My readings of Silent Hill are in no way the only way to read it, and in no way lessen the story Silent Hill 2 is telling; it is an amazing, visceral game with a humanising and terrifying portrayal of how illness can take over lives.

Silent Hill 2 holds a special place in my heart. At a time in my life where I was processing the first of many illnesses to grip me it allowed me to process and deconstruct my own feelings towards my mortality, dwindling health and illnesses. Experiencing and living with illnesses is isolating and lonely to say the least, not least because of how abled people treat us and I think Silent Hill almost nails that on the head accidentally.

This is not to say that people living with spouses who deal with illness should feel wrong, or guilty, for feeling bad about illness and I am not silly enough to suggest that illness does not have an effect on those around me; it does, but the way Silent Hill missteps is in showing illness as a singularly burdensome, corrupting thing, and offering justification for James' actions. It is left up to the player, ultimately, but I do worry for how abled gamers might perceive and justify James within the wider context of society.

There isn't much point to this post. Its just a ramble, and an internal struggle, I've dealt with for a little while and decided to finally try and hash out.

#Silent Hill 2 #disabled #disability

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sapphirestream · 7 years

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So I’ve been watching Thrilling Intent and I just need to get a rant out or I’m going to stay mad at Gregor forever. I know that’s not a valid solution because he’s a lovable character most of the time and he sticks around and needs to be forgiven if I still want to continue to enjoy watching the show. I don’t really trust the formatting to give the issue space to breath and be properly addressed rather than just falling into the background due to the serialized nature, so I’m going to get out all my feelings here and hopefully get some catharsis doing so. I WILL acknowledge that I am a bit biased, because Ashe is my favorite character so far, and she’s the one who has the most conflict with Gregor on these issues. I still think I would hold these same opinions if the positions were flipped though. The first big conflict between Ashe and Gregor was, of course, the Charoth issue. At first, I agreed with Gregor’s stance. “Cool motive, still murder” and all that. And sometimes the only option to stop the killing IS to slay the monster even if it is hungry or just being itself. And if regular slaying would have done anything, I would have agreed that it was the right thing to do, especially since we couldn’t fully gauge Charoth’s mental state at the time and had no way to know of its childlike understanding of the world.

HOWEVER. However. Killing Charoth would not have done anything productive, and the only way to permanently slay it was to destroy it’s literally immortal soul. Just on an ethical level, that is a step so extreme it SHOULD be a last resort, as Markus stated. Even with all the monsters and even people they have killed before, this is not a step that they had taken. It is striking it beyond all chance of redemption, even after a complete wipe of identity. Other methods should be tried before it, even if they don’t ‘punish’ the creature for its wrongdoings or are risky. Fighting it is risky anyway. You don’t slay a creature because you want to punish them, you slay them to STOP them. Ideally, in the real world you relocate them before they hurt somebody, but even if a bear or something is put down, it's because you can’t control the risk, not because the bear is inherently evil and need to be punished for its sins. The goal is to STOP the monster, not get vengeance for those lost. It also bothers me on a practical level as well. Gregor did have a point that this could lead to future troubles if something happens to Ashe, but honestly, it was the option that mitigated the consequences the most. Especially after they had already talked him down! Kylil even said she had experience coaxing spirit folk back from their wispy state, and Charoth had an entire island to socialize with now that he wasn’t locked in the temple by a short-sighted father figure. Even before they decided to set up shop in the Nine Shrines bar, Charoth had the beginnings of a loving childhood and a budding support network to help him work through his grief. Also, if you ever wanted justice or remorse for those who died, this would be the only option. Charoth will eventually have to face what he did during these times, but if you kill him he will truly be a new person. Some of the spirit folk will surely still blame him and be scared of him, but as it is now he has the framework to deal with that guilt and would deserve it. He could come to regret what he did during this time and work through that fear and try to earn forgiveness, rather than being unfairly blamed for a previous incarnation. If he has to grow up surrounded by fear for something he no longer is responsible for, that can only breed resentment rather than healing. Killing him would have only put the danger off into the future, and erased whatever ground they had gained. He MIGHT have been ok, if Kylil had still taken a hand in his raising and the spirit folk had a good handle on separating out previous incarnation’s misdeeds. But you would have erased whatever good work and morals his father had managed to instill in him for twenty years. And he certainly would no longer have any love for humans and would take his cue of humanity from the clearly biased (rightly so! they’ve been burned before and we can be pretty awful) spirit folk. No way would Ashe have wanted to stick around on the island after that (nor would I blame her considering her backstory), so Charoth would have grown up with no human influence at all. Which doesn’t sound too great for humanity later, does it, if later it decides to continue wrecking ships, this time on behalf of the spirit folk? They might not have the temperament to do so, but Charoth would certainly have no qualms about it if they asked him in this scenario. This would not have helped the spirit folks goodwill toward humanity either, ESPECIALLY if Gregor had killed Charoth after a peaceful solution had been reached. And destroying him utterly? Besides it being the most morally dubious way to go, it would also have potentially the worst consequences! Charoth is a GOD. He is the line between life and death! What happens when you erase that!? Does anyone even know? BEST CASE you just get a new one forming anyway, with an entirely unknown temperament. Alternatively, everyone could be stuck on the island forever, metaphysics fucked from the missing death god. There’s no saying that death itself wouldn’t be royally fucked in the localized area, and we already saw that even just Charoth stoppering it was causing problems. That’s not even mentioning if an unfriendly death god neighbor saw that the Shrouded Isles were undefended and decided to take over! This is only an option if you care about no one and nothing on the island, because this fucks them over hard. This is NOT a good deed, nor does it save anyone but humans. The party would just be one in a long line of people who have screwed over the natives and left them the worse for wear. Legen’s Eye is actually what prompted this rant, as I had to take a break after watching the conclusion of Wizard Highschool. I have a lot less to say about it because it’s been percolating in my mind for a lot less long, but it was HIGHLY frustrating to watch Gregor shut down all discussion and go straight for destroying it. I’m still not sure whether they should have kept the artifact, but they CERTAINLY should have had a thorough talk about it without Inian and taken more than two seconds to decide. Inian should have been excluded not because she wasn’t part of the group or whatever, but because she was *actively shutting down discussion as well* If she had been willing to sit down and actually talk through everything then I would have been fine with her participating. If they felt that strongly in their convictions, they should have trusted them to shine through and convince the others. The group honestly probably would not have been able to put it to good use, but even if they had shoved it in a corner and let no one know they had it, it would have been a better option. Even setting aside if more magic would be better for equality, you never know if humanity+ is going to face some kind of natural or supernatural disaster down the line where that artifact could make a difference. You can never un-destroy something, and that's a decision that should at least have been talked about rather than decided by one person. They talk about not having the right to make those kinds of decisions, but they made a decision not just against their own party, but humanities(+) entire future, and banked against them EVER figuring out a way to use it wisely, or even the possibility of the necessity of its use. As an example, I once had a dnd game where the players went into a timestop for hundreds of years and emerged in a world overrun by demons. The gates of hell had busted open and there was a war between the celestial and hellish planes with humanity being the unfortunate battleground. Do they think such things are impossible? Do they think cataclysmic events will never happen where something like Legen’s Eye could make a difference in the material plane’s survival? No, it might not be the answer to all the world’s social ills, nothing simple will be. There is no magic bullet for our own weakness and greed. But this is the kind of artifact that should have been entrusted to future generations, as an ace in the hole if nothing else. Overall I am just extremely disappointed in Gregor’s unwillingness to talk things out and his black and white thinking. I know it comes with the territory of a Lawful Good character, and kudos to his player for a doing a good job with him, but damn is it frustrating to watch. This show is so good and so investing that I just want to reach into the screen and argue my own viewpoints with the characters, and I’m glad they cover these hard issues that other shows would skip over entirely. I really appreciate how willing they are to tackle things like this, and we wouldn’t even have had a discussion without varying viewpoints. I know Gregor’s in the hard spot of being devil’s advocate a lot of the time. (ironically it’s not Markus! Isn't he a Demon AND a ‘lawyer’?). Still. Still. I guess the counterpoint to being so invested and tackling hard moral issues is sometimes your viewers are just going to have to go rant on social media to get in their own two cents. God damn do I need a friend who watches this show.

#Thrilling Intent #Charoth #Legen's eye #Gregor Hartway #Aesling #Hit me up if you want to talk about this #though I would ask kindly for no spoilers #I wish I could convince one of my friends to watch this show too #But I think I used up a lot of my cred on Higurashi #Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it #and then I remember their face and think ah yes it was lol #(also a lot of my nerdy interests just don't align with the person most likely to actually take me up on media suggestions)#(they didnt even like fma what the heck)

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into-the-demimonde · 7 years

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Game of Thrones Season 7, Episode 2: Stormborn review

This week on ‘Thrones, Daenerys sizes up her motley crew, the Greyjoys have a family reunion, Arya sees an old friend, Jon faces more division among his allies and Sam takes a gruesome task upon himself.

Virginia: My friend Alex is here again to review the episode with me. What was your favorite, and least favorite, part of the episode?

Alex: My favorite scenes were the ones where Daenerys made preparations for war. Emilia Clarke was such a find for this role, and she has a presence that lends these moments gravitas even when she’s just standing around listening. Her back and forth with Varys is terrific, and you can feel how difficult it is for her to take a risk as big as trusting someone who had to betray his former masters to serve her. Then Olenna gets involved and things get even better.

V: She has to be one of the best side characters on this show. I love that she’s teamed with Dany, and it looks like they’re about to team with Jon Snow. I love Sansa and I like Jon and I’m getting tired of the tension between them. Their reunion last season was wonderful, and it was honestly iconic when they re-hung the Stark banners. I want them to get along. However, more often than not I find myself agreeing with Sansa. She has a keen political mind, a result of what she’s been through with the Lannisters, Boltons etc.

A: There seems to be a running theme through the episode of the good guys, even though they’re finally getting their act together, having a difficult time getting along so they can actually stop the Lannisters and their confederates. Jon and Sansa have destroyed the Boltons and united the North, but they can’t seem to agree on much of anything. I like the way Jon handled things this week; he’s deciding against Sansa, but he’s showing her that he trusts her by putting her in charge in his absence. Last week he just argued with her in front of everybody and it didn’t much help matters. Now he’s putting them on almost equal footing, which hopefully will allow them to be better leaders.

V: I liked his ultimate decision, though at first I suspected he would send her in proxy. My problem is that if he’s taking her and her opinions seriously, he should talk to her about these things BEFORE announcing them to everyone else. Not only would it bring them closer together, it would be better for him because she wouldn’t argue every time.

A: That’s very true, and it’s an indicator of how out of their depth they are. Jon knows how to command an army, but as the King of the North he’s in virgin territory, and territory in which he never really wanted to be. Sansa’s learned a lot from her experiences, but she’s never been in a real leadership position before,and her experience is with people who didn’t care what she said, so she’s got her antennae up for Jon taking her for granted.

V: I guess since she told him exactly how she felt last week, I can’t understand why he didn’t handle things differently this week. Either way, I can’t wait to see him, Tyrion and Daenerys in the same room together next week. However I also feel like something bad is coming. After all, the good guys can’t win this season, or next season wouldn’t exist, right?

A: No, and we got a reminder of that at the end of the episode when Euron destroyed a bunch of Daenerys’ allies. That was a great moment, partly for the action but also because it finally made Euron feel like a real threat. In one fell swoop he severely crippled Dany’s alliance, and he looks like he’s far from done with her.

V: I don’t particularly like Theon, Yara or especially the Sand Snakes, so I can’t say I was even sad. After all, regardless of how “unpredictable” people think the show is, Daenerys will win in the end. So if a few of her more annoying allies die and or lose, it’s all good with me. Is it bad that I cheered when the Dornish women were being killed?

A: Ha ha, I was doing the same, honestly. That’s what makes this so perfect, too; it gives Euron some teeth while whittling down some of the lesser characters. Yara and the head Sand Snakes are technically still alive, but I doubt they’re all getting out of this. As for Theon, well, I guess what he did shouldn’t be too surprising, but it actually fits with his character. His moments of bravery after being tortured have been fleeting and usually when there was minimal danger to himself around. Once things looked dire(wolf), though, he literally jumped ship. It was a great followup to Yara saying he was her protector.

V: I think Theon was a coward even before being tortured. He was never admirable or likable, and he only became sympathetic when put up against one of the worst monsters in this show. It’s important to remember that he did bad things, and has done very few good or helpful things in his entire life. I’ve been intrigued by Jorah’s condition the entire time, and I hope Sam is able to cure him. But oh my god, that scene was disgusting.

A: I’m just glad Sam is doing something useful. If we have to endure him, he might as well move the plot along. I felt for Jorah during that scene; he’s got to be in tremendous pain, but he can’t scream or Jim Broadbent will put a stop to it. I am happy it looks like he’ll be cured, though; I want to see him get back to Daenerys having fulfilled his promise.

V: And that’s sure to be a great moment. I anticipate a lot of catharsis these last two seasons. I also really enjoyed the short scene with Arya in the bar.

A: That was a nice scene. Arya finding out about the resurgence of House Stark is satisfying, but my favorite part was Hot Pie straight up calling the fight “The Battle of the Bastards.”

V: That was kind of meta, wasn’t it?

A: I love it when shows get to a point where they can do that without it feeling cheap. Everyone knows why he’s really calling it that, but it fits with his character to make it into this legendary event like it was for us. Arya also encountered another old friend, and I imagine I’m in the minority on this but her being reunited temporarily with her direworld didn’t do much for me. I understand the point -- like the wolf, she may have been shaped too much like her experiences to return home -- but it felt like another moment of Arya not doing much.

V: I admit I really liked the scene, though I was hoping Arya would be gaining an army of evil puppies. One thing that disappointed me was Melisandre showing up at Dragonstone. Ewwww.

A: I liked it an “Oh my god, bad things are about to happen” way, because I don’t trust her as far as I can throw a Clegane. She’s no doubt bringing something horrible with her, and I imagine Jon Snow’s arrival will lead to some conflict here.

V: I hope he warns Daenerys what a cunt she is, though I aso doubt it. I thought one scene between Missandei and Grey Worm was quite touching, if unexpected. I’m not surprised they hooked up, I just didn’t expect it to be so physical.

A: That was nice, and I liked how he told her she’s the only thing he’s ever been afraid of. I feel bad that their sexual encounters have to be so one-sided, though. Those slavers deserved their crucifixions.

V: That’s true. I wa thinking that’s awfully selfless of him, since she can’t possibly reciprocate. Nonetheless a sweet moment. How did you like Cersei’s scene?

A: It’s not one of the better Lannister moments, but I like her tactic of using Daenerys’ scorched earth battlefield strategy against her, as well as her uniting of the different armies. Suddenly these guys are facing the prospect of being displaced by foreign hordes and getting set on fire if they say two words about it; Cersi may not look like such a bad option in comparison. And that’s a good thing, because it seems like she isn’t particularly well liked among the other leaders.

V: The best part is that we later find out that only Westerosi armies will be invading King’s Landing. They’re going to prove her wrong and it will be glorious.

A: I love that whole sequence. It’s a brilliant strategy -- though I don’t know how feasible it is now that Euron fucked their shit up -- but even better is how the different members of her war room are all pulling her in a different direction, and Olenna’s ultimate advice is for her to just be herself and do what she believes is right. I read somewhere in its early days someone called this show a medieval fantasy version of The West Wing, and that scene reminded me of a specific moment from that show, where Leo told the President the new strategy would be “Let Bartlet Be Bartlet.” It’s something Jon Snow and Sansa are currently trying to figure out, and despite her many victories, Daenerys is still learning as much as they are.

#game of thrones #season 7 #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #jon snow #varys #Tyrion Lannister #arya stark #samwell tarly

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indigozeal · 7 years

Photo

In the April 28, 2000 issue of Dreamcast Magazine (available at segaretro.org), Illbleed’s director Shinya Nishigaki (and Sega producer Hiroaki Kojima) gave an interview following the game’s announcement on Nishigaki’s hopes and inspirations. Naturally, the workings of the mind behind Illbleed are too big and beautiful to be contained in just one language, so a translation of this interview is below.

Hat tip to humanofmicomage, who alerted me to the existence of this interview with their excellent barrage of Illbleed content last October.

Just before the latest Tokyo Game Show, Sega's "hidden gem" Illbleed was suddenly announced. The material on the title released for gaming magazines bills Illbleed as "the world's first haunted house game!" The game's genre poses many questions: just what kind of game is this? Illbleed was created by Climax Graphics, the studio behind the rousing action-adventure title Blue Stinger, which made extensive use of cinematic techniques. The game featured sensational action scenes, puzzles that toyed with players - and a pervasive smorgasbord of explosive nonsense "catering to dumbasses" at every turn. Does Illbleed carry on that tradition? We held an urgent interview with the supreme commander of the game, Climax Graphics president Shinya Nishigaki, and Sega Enterprises producer Hirokazu Kojima to get some answers.

What is a "haunted house game"?

- Illbleed has been called "Sega's hidden gem." It really was announced out of the blue.

Nishigaki: Everyone who's visited our homepage has been getting excited, saying on the bulletin boards that "it looks like they're announcing something on March 25," talking about how we've gotta be up to something. We're sorry for announcing it on our webpage before we even told you guys at Dreamcast Magazine. (laughs) But we wanted everyone to see the details in a publication like Dreamcast Magazine, so we started by announcing just the title and genre.

- On the Sega BBS, too, there seems to have been a big response, with people asking, "What is a 'haunted house game'?".

Nishigaki: We've had a lot of people access our homepage, too! So as our initial hook, we think it's gotten us off to a pretty good start.

- That aside, "haunted house game" is a pretty cool name for a genre.

Nishigaki: With this game, when we're asked "what's the name of your genre?", for the time being, we're saying "virtual horror land," but "haunted house game" naturally rolls off the tongue more easily! "Horror land" has a special meaning, though, since the stages are really big! The game will take over 10 hours to complete. So to explain the "haunted house game" concept simply, it's a game where you can enjoy exploring the world's longest haunted house!

- But how was it that you decided to take a "haunted house" theme as your inspiration?

Nishigaki: First, the only thing we didn't do with Blue Stinger was horror. With the trends at the time, there were a lot of titles like Resident Evil in the adventure genre that were dealing with horror themes, so we wanted to set ourselves apart. But there was always that feeling that "if we could do it all over again, we'd want to do something with horror"! Also, one of Blue Stinger's themes was "wit" or "humor" - but there's a huge personal component to that. Because everyone's idea of what's funny is different, you see. But everyone has the same idea of what's scary - you're walking in the middle of the night and bam! someone pops out at you, that's scary. It's universal human psychology, right? We didn't want to leave out the "mass-market entertainment" part from our approach; we decided to take a big-bandwagon approach to "horror" as our theme. [Note:I believe this is the first time in recorded history that anyone accused Blue Stinger of possessing wit.]

- There're differences in the degree of fright, but everyone is afraid of stuff that's scary. Your approach of trying to create a piece of mass-market entertainment is consistent with your previous game, isn't it?

Nishigaki: Yes, it is! I've always wanted to create "entertainment-oriented" work - things that everyone can enjoy on their weekends or free time. And now, horror titles are becoming all the rage - like with The Ring and Rasen. And there's now a renaissance in horror movies that began with Scream. It's like we're in the middle of the second coming of the '80s horror boom that gave us movies like Friday the 13th - a new generation of horror.

- Horror certainly is becoming more popular.

Nishigaki: To be honest, we went back and forth over whether we should make a sequel to Blue Stinger, but, of course, we ultimately decided to go with something original, and make it horror. And so, everyone attended a camp together, held discussions, and the conclusion we came to was: "We knew it: horror is TOUGH!". Tackling such a well-worn theme made it all the more difficult to bring something new to the table. So we researched stuff like human psychology and approaches to horror. We would start watching horror movies in the middle of the morning; we'd go around to see haunted houses... For example, we'd go, what about the Super Scary Labyrinth of Fear at Fuji-Q Highland [amusement park] - isn't that a haunted house; what about that? Around summer of last year, our staff got to talking about "what would a haunted house that took 45 whole minutes to go through be like?", and so we went. Six men, together. (laughs) And it was really, really scary. After that, we got the idea to create a haunted house incorporating all the tricks of the '80s horror movie trade - one that could be experienced through a game. [Note: "Super Scary Labyrinth of Fear" is the English name given to the Fuji-Q Highland attraction; it doesn't mesh with the attraction's Japanese name, which translates to something like the "Condemned Ward of Terror." There is an attraction called the "Bloodthirsty Ward" within the Labyrinth, but the "Labyrinth of Fear" is the English name given to the "world's longest haunted house." You guys figure it out.]

We've got it all in this game!

Kojima: I have to wonder if the nature of games that sell hasn't been changing recently. In other words, I feel that we might all be getting tired of the same old games. Right now, the games that are selling are offering material that is extremely new. Illbleed also starts out as a "horror adventure," but there are so many of those games, aren't there? That's why something we're creating something new that sets itself apart from them - in other words, a "haunted house game"!

Nishigaki: Ultimately, while other titles have haunted-house elements, we decided to take it the next level. In other words, we decided to create a game that was an adventure set in this ultimate haunted house that cost 55 billion yen to build - something that could never exist in real life.

- In a game, you can create as elaborate a haunted house as you like, right?

Nishigaki: Because your budget can be as large as you like! In the game, I mean. (laughs) The traps are awesome, too.

Kojima: With rooms that can move at 150 km/hr and stuff. (laughs)

Nishigaki: We have a lot of traps like that in the game that couldn't possibly exist in reality. But we did do a good deal of research on actual haunted houses and did use them as a reference! For example, haunted houses are dark, but you can kind of make out your surroundings, right? And since you can see, you can spot places that look suspicious - you think, "it looks like something's gonna come from over there." When it does happen like you expected, you think, "Whoa, I knew it!" - and when nothing happens, you let out a sigh of relief! We studied the psychology of haunted houses and how they let you savor that sort of anticipation. I think we did a good job of flowcharting that process to create our game system.

- That's awesome! So you really did create the system from scratch?

Nishigaki: It's not as simple as setting Blue Stinger in a haunted house! Of course, we incorporated the know-how we gleaned from working on Blue Stinger and the "catering to dumbasses" atmosphere, but the system had to be made totally from scratch.

A game system created from the ground up

Kojima: For example, when people are scared, their heart rate goes up, right? That's how it is in the game, too - if you see too many shock events, your heart will start racing, and you'll faint or die of shock.

Nishigaki: Also, the secretion of adrenaline sharpens our senses - but we have only so much adrenaline.

Kojima: The game features an item called a "Horror Monitor"; one of the objects of the game is to use it effectively to detect the traps that are hidden all around you. So if something is suspicious, or if you think that it looks like a monster is going to appear from somewhere, you can look for a hint on the "four-senses sensor" on the upper part of the screen. However, you need adrenaline to use the Horror Monitor.

Nishigaki: In RPG terms, it's like MP. So when you use the Horror Monitor, it makes it easier to progress, but later on in the game, you can run out of adrenaline, and the game becomes a test of fortitude. Also, we used motion capture to portray characters who are panicking or about to die with we call a "weak-in-the-knees motion." Of course, just like with horror movies, you can also enjoy looking at the girls in the cast when they're frightened, right?

- Naturally, if you're panicking, it hampers you gameplaywise, right?

Nishigaki: It does. If you're scared, you won't be able to stand up out of fright, but if you anticipate enemy encounters, that won't happen. If you do a great job of engaging the enemy, you get more of a sense of catharsis than you do in Blue Stinger.

Kojima: So there are indeed weapons that appear and whatnot.

Nishigaki: When you're surprised by a ghost or monster in a haunted house, you get angry, don't you? You want to kill it, don't you? Well, here, you can. (laughs) But you can't kill everything; you also have to deal with the terrifying prospect that if you're surprised, the monster might kill you.

Kojima: Even if you die, though, if you have life insurance, you'll come back to life.

- So complicated! (laughs)

Nishigaki: If you're bleeding, you'll be OK if you get a transfusion, you know - but if you don't know your blood type, it's a big problem. There are a lot of systems like that. There's also an element of puzzle-solving. Each stage has a particular objective: you have to solve the mystery of the grudge of someone who was murdered hundreds of years ago, or a soldier who went missing and was killed in action - figure out why they're attacking people. But because it's a game from Climax, there's just a continuous parade of utter mixed-up nonsense that occurs. (laughs) In Blue Stinger, you piss, you change into Santa Claus, etc., right? There's just a steady stream of stuff like that. [Note: The allusions to life insurance and transfusions refer to systems that were excised from the final game; references to them, however, can be found in UI elements on the game disk.]

- In Blue Stinger, there was a lot of concern voiced about the "changing camera perspective." What about this game?

Nishigaki: Much was said about the camera perspectives; they were improved for Blue Stinger's overseas release - so that the player could choose the perspective used. I don't know what we'll be going with for this game, but there'll be no stress when it comes to the camera. We've learned a lot from all of you.

- Ahh, we're almost out of time. For our final question, do you have any words for our readers? If you do, make it quick! (laughs)

Kojima: Well, in any case, we have a lot of traps waiting for you. We have a lot of promotional events in mind for the game, too.

- You're gonna build a Real-Life Illbleed in an actual amusement park or something? Right next to Joypolis [a Japanese amusement park chain].

Kojima: That'd be interesting! (laughs) But honestly, I think this will be a really scary, fun game, and I hope everyone's looking forward to it.

Nishigaki: No one dies in real haunted houses, of course! But in Illbleed, there's the sense that people really do die if they're attacked by creatures, and the fear that you might die if you're ambushed by the traps. Normally, such a haunted house would cost too much money and could never be built, but in a video game, you can be as extravagant as you like, right? So you see, we have a 55 billion-yen budget! (laughs)

[Captions on article photos:]

Illbleed's mascot Dummyman: Dummyman is the Mickey Mouse of Illbleed. He sometimes attacks visitors as an enemy - ironic, considering that he also gives them a warm welcome after the end of a stage!

Blue Stinger: Climax Graphics' debut title. An action-adventure set in the near future, the game was renowned for sensational action scenes that made extensive use of cinematic techniques and a smorgasbord of nonsense "catering to dumbasses."

Climax Graphics Home Page: Illbleed's title and genre were first announced on Climax Graphics' official site. The Illbleed promo video shown at the Tokyo Game Show can also currently be downloaded here (but only by PCs). http://www.cgstudio.co.jp

Kemco's late-era Famicom titles: The concept of "the fear of being killed by monsters" as depicted in Illbleed is said to be strongly influenced by Western games such as The Uninvited and Déjà Vu released by Kemco in the waning days of the 8-bit era.

Shinya Nishigaki (Climax Graphics): President & CEO of Climax Graphics. Broke away from Climax to found Climax Graphics. Known for Blue Stinger. Also renowned for his extensive knowledge of Hollywood movies.

Hiroaki Kojima (Sega Enterprises): Producer with Sega Enterprises. Has previously worked on NFL2K, NBA2K, Ready 2 Rumble Boxing, and more. Not directly involved with Illbleed but is supporting Nishigaki from behind the scenes.

Incidentally, there's a short article on the page following the interview analyzing how Illbleed uses its game mechanics to convey a horror atmosphere, and it includes a couple isolated quotes from Nishigaki and Kojima about the possibility of escaping the park:

Kojima: There are so-called "emergency exits" where visitors who are too scared to stay can give up and leave - but I don't whether or not they'll necessarily be able to actually get out!

Nishigaki: The emergency exits might also be traps. There's a second layer there. Take even Dummyman, who gives the player a warm welcome - you never know when he's going to turn on you. I think that's another intriguing aspect of the game!

#illbleed #shinya nishigaki #translations

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imisphyx · 7 years

Text

} { } - life, still

Even though he’d been skeptical of my monster-hunting plans, Joyce still brought them to life with inexhaustible enthusiasm. I could have traced it back to his father’s conditioning, if I’d looked hard enough, but I wasn’t looking. I was busy gaping at the walls of our tree-house, which he’d managed to cover with dancing paleolithic horrors within days of me first suggesting we play the game.

He still liked painting with white-out, and he went through bottle after bottle of it while inventing beast after beast to slay. No one monster on its own was very complex, each just a handful of gooey dots and smears on the rough wood boards. But their individual simplicity belied their combined menace: in the amber lantern light, they were a constellation of cryptid limbs and eyes, both lovely and terrifying.

At least I found them terrifying, because it was up to me to slay them all.

My own supply of dime-store dragons and demons had dried up fifteen minutes into our first practice, and he deconstructed my inventions so swiftly and so utterly, I realized it would never prepare us to face a real threat.

So I’d embraced my role as hunter, content to watch him squint at the walls of our fortress, like a small Michelangelo scrutinizing the Sistine, porcelain fingers caked with white dust that left ghostly streaks across his peacoat. His hands trembled when he lost himself in his dreams, and whenever I got close to killing one of his creations, he’d reach into his pocket for that little bottle of white, fussing with it as though he could barely wait to present me with his next invention. I don’t think he realized he was doing it.

Then one afternoon, his ideas took a sharp turn toward something…different. I recall watching as his meddling neared madness; his nails dug into the tiny ridges in the bottle’s plastic cap, twisting right for five or six turns, then twisting left for just as many, then right again.

Closed. Open. Closed.

I was so caught up the waltz that I lost my train of thought until he cleared his throat.

I glanced up to find him waiting, an anxious gleam in his eyes. The hieroglyphic outline of a perfectly average human haunted his left shoulder.

“Well, this… uh…” I fumbled back into my thoughts: “This ‘hobbit dance’… it’s a demon, right?”

“Hobbididance,” he corrected, gently. His lips twitched into the phantom of a smile. “…and yes.”

“Okay, so I would just exorcise it, right?”

“Exorcise it how, exactly?”

“I guess by reciting the right Bible verses? I mean, I’m not sure which ones. I’d probably have to try out a couple, but—”

“It wouldn’t work.”

I scowled.

“Why not?”

“Because, the Hobbididance is The Prince of Dumbness,” he said, with a gravity that didn’t at all match the ridiculous thing he’d just said.

“The Prince of Dumbness?” I snorted. “What kind of lame title is that? Are you telling me he won’t understand the verses I’m reciting because he’s too stupid?”

“Not that kind of dumbness,” said Joyce. His answer was a very particular combination of warm and weary: a voice he used only when he knew damn well that he was withholding the lantern but was nonetheless teasing me for being in the dark.

“Well what kind of dumbness, then?” I played along.

“The Hobbididance prevents people from being able to speak.”

I considered this carefully. He returned to twisting the bottle cap.

“But, shouldn’t it only affect the person it’s possessing?” I asked. “So why wouldn’t I be able to speak?”

“That might be true of an average demon in his order. But he is The Prince. So his silence is a blanket effect.”

“That’s cheating,” I complained.

“How is that cheating?!”

It wasn’t cheating. I just really didn’t like it. So I huffed and went rummaging for my lunchbox in the corner, thinking maybe I at least had some celery sticks left.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, and collapsed down beside me, tossing up his hands. “Let’s just say, for the moment, that the Hobbididance only affects the person it possesses. How would you have known to exorcise it?”

“What do you mean? It’s a demon. That’s what you do to demons…”

“But how did you know it was a demon?” he demanded.

“Because you told me—”

“But I’m not part of this! If you’re out monster-hunting and you come face-to-face with a possessed person who can’t tell you they’re possessed, or by what, how would you know?”

He was close enough that I could nearly feel the way his throat clawed at the words of his question, trapping the last of his breath in his lungs. I stared at him, transfixed, and he stared back. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or seasons of silence—

—until he finally, finally blinked—

—his pale lashes looked like the afternoon light filtered through the slats in the wall behind him—

—and it seemed to restart time.

“There are lots of ways to detect demons…” I whispered, hoarse and barely believing myself: “Holy water. Holy artifacts. If the person cooperated I could have them write down what happened—”

“—If the possessed person cooperated?” Joyce’s eyebrows soared to the roof. “Gods, Danny, are you serious?!”

But he was laughing, and I allowed myself to feel triumphant for a spell. Not because I’d solved his riddle—I still hadn’t tackled the original version—but because I thought I’d succeeded in distracting him from reality. I believed I was fulfilling my duties as best friend, and admirably at that. I was too busy trying my damnedest to impress him with my hunting tactics to consider that maybe creating the monsters was his true catharsis. I was too busy battling a tiny, persistent creature in my stomach that watched the brilliant shiver of his hands and asked my brain what it might be like to reach out and hold them—just to stop them from trembling, just to keep them still.

My triumph upon closer examination looked an awful lot like greed.

- ❀ -

All the while, November’s chill took hold of the earth, and my desperate greed began to permeate my methods for finding Mrs. Jacoby’s flowers. The autumn crocuses were quickly passing their prime, as were the mums, and my neighbors threw their browning pots into the compost heap.

I turned to exotic imports, stealing blooms out of the living-room vase my mother kept bursting with color year-round. At first I tried to be subtle about my selections, only taking smaller specimens, or the ones that were hidden in the middle of the vase, but after a week or so I began to grab the first thing that caught my eye.

Exotic flowers yielded equally foreign results, I learned. Brighter hues produced wilder stories, high on emotion but lower on coherence. Redder flowers seemed to agitate her, while those on the bluer side of the spectrum made her melancholy. I wondered briefly if maybe I was being cruel, but the experimentation seemed worth it, somehow, just to get her to speak at all. She seemed to relish the chance.

Then there was the zinnia.

The surprise on Mrs. Jacoby’s face was apparent when I pressed it into her fingers—as was the confusion. I took a few stumbling steps backward, in case she decided that my gift was unsuitable, or worse: an insult.

She scrutinized it for a long, silent moment, brows furled as she twirled it this way and that between her thumb and forefinger. Her two front teeth, almost fey in their smallness, peeked out to gnaw on her lower lip, and for a second her son was blindingly present in her features. I shivered and tried not to be obvious about pulling my coat tighter.

“I can take it back,” I began, “If you don’t—”

“What color is this?”

“What?” I said, one step behind as usual.

“What color is this flower, Danny?” she asked, more urgently.

“It’s uh… it’s pink?” I wasn’t very good at the shades of pink. I hoped she wasn’t expecting something more specific.

“No… no…” she shook her head vehemently, pressing her eyes shut like an insolent child. “No. No, that can’t be right.”

“Okay,” I said, softly. After months of playing games with Joyce I was always open to the possibility of my assumptions being wrong. “What color do you think it is?”

“When I came to him, the rot had already taken root in the earth,” she replied.

I sank slowly to the floor at her feet, because that had to have been the craziest thing she’d ever said, and she didn’t seem to be finished. She tugged the tiny petals off of the zinnia one by one, stripping it bare as I listened:

“It had been summer for ages, and the hearts and souls of man had grown drowsy in the humid warmth, not recognizing the sweetness of the air for decay. He bought me spun-sugar at the county fair, and his sweetness wasn’t rot. It was dusty pink clouds and tacky pink fingertips and pink cheeks and pink-maned horses on a carousel meant for children. He brought me to his home, and his sweetness was bubbly rose wine and opal pendants and the ears of our newborn son. He was one of the last, the very last, and I came to him and kept the rot from finding him. But something else found him instead, and the pink in his cheeks became a fever, not a balm. And I could no longer protect him. I can no longer protect either of them, but—”

She stopped.

“But?” I whispered.

But she did not continue. Her fingers had frozen, centimeters from the head of the zinnia, but there were no more petals left to pluck. They were scattered like rain across her lap and around her feet.

That settled it, then—at least that’s what I remember thinking. Something sinister had gotten ahold of Mr. Jacoby, and possibly Mrs. Jacoby too, though she couldn’t say what. And even though she hadn’t finished her thought, I was positive that I knew its conclusion anyway:

“I cannot protect Joyce, but you must.”

I stood, shakily, and went to her, lowering her pinched fingers and extricating the barren stalk from her fist, settling both of her hands in her lap. “I-I’ll… I will,” I grit out. I had to say it twice to make the words intelligible; I was surprised to find myself in tears. “I… um… I’m going to go get the dust pan, okay?”

“Thank you, Danny,” she said. I was quick enough to realize that it wasn’t for the dust-pan.

I fled the room, scrubbing my shirt-sleeves hastily over my eyes and snuffling snot.

Joyce was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. It was unclear whether he’d been on his way up to find me, or if maybe he’d just been standing there the entire time, waiting for me. I braced against another shiver. But he was smiling, and enthusiastically thrust a tiny object into my fingers.

“I’ve been monitoring the flowers for days now,” he said. “And I think you might be right…”

The object was a ring, made of polished aluminum, and lined with tiny blueish lights that flickered on and off in an inscrutable pattern.

“You know I don’t know how to work this thing,” I said, tossing it back.

Joyce rolled his eyes and sighed a why-do-I-even-bother sigh. He slipped the ring onto his own thumb, and grabbed my coat sleeve, dragging me into his living room.

The last light from the front windows was barely enough to resolve the outlines of a camelback sofa and a few wing chairs—and the silhouette of Joyce lifting his hands toward the ceiling beside me: a shadowy maestro about to conduct a symphony.

The ring on his finger uttered a tiny, agreeable chirp, and the coffee table before us glowed brightly—lit by multitude of tiny projectors embedded in the geometry of the room. Arthur Jacoby had always been into the latest gizmos and gadgets, and their house, despite its Victorian charm, boasted a hidden myriad of high-end tech.

I fell back into one of the wing chairs, sitting on the edge of the seat so as not to drown in the size of it, and waited as Joyce commanded the “Ring of Power,” as he called it, with a series of delicate hand gestures.

“Shoulda just let the scrying stone watch them,” I joked.

Joyce said nothing, but spared me an approving glance in between hunting through the videos he seemed to have been collecting.

One by one, I watched the bouquets I’d given to Mrs. Jacoby take shape, suspended above the coffee table in a neat matrix as he stacked feed upon feed. The resolution was almost too good. It made the flowers look like the ever-perfect plastic replicas that my Mom bought in craft stores. She always claimed she would make a wreath for the front door, but they usually ended up on the opposite side of a closet door, never touched again…

“I kept a camera on each one for three days. It’s mostly the most boring thing ever,” admitted Joyce, and the flowers all flickered in unison as he skipped forward in time, “but I watched almost all of it—

“—What?!—”

“—I kinda thought it would help me get better at drawing if I tried to sketch them all,” he explained, hastily, “But just like you thought, every so often one of them changes color. Like—there, see?!”

The flowers flickered again as he rewound and replayed the last ten seconds. My gaze darted from bud to bloom, eagerly awaiting something fantastic—but I saw nothing.

“I feel like I’m trying to set a bunch of my mom’s ugly old paintings on fire with my mind,” I complained. “What am I looking for?”

“There,” said Joyce again, pointing at a cluster of red and orange mums. “That one got a little more purple.”

His fingers continued to play and replay the same few seconds of footage, twitching an obsessive pattern at his side. It did look like one of the mums was changing. But even though I’d been quick to suggest that monsters were mixing colors, I now found myself desperate to disprove my own hypothesis.

“It was probably just a change in the light. Like, a cloud passing over the sun or something—”

“But that would make it darker,” he protested. “It’s not darker. It just goes magenta and then back to red again.”

“Well maybe the camera is broken,” I said, suddenly irritated. “Give me the ring.”

“You said you didn’t want it.”

“Well, I changed my mind,” I said. “Give it to me.”

“Make me,” he taunted, idly. He was still watching the flowers, lost in his thoughts. He clearly didn’t expect me to take him up on the provocation.

…which made his undignified yelp twice as satisfying when I lunged for his hand and checked him bodily onto the carpet.

“What the hell, Danny!” he coughed, breathless and struggling as I tried my damnedest to uncurl his knuckles and claim the ring.

Above us, the video feeds began to dance, swapping places with each other and exchanging themselves for other videos in the family collection—birthday parties and science documentaries and a tutorial on how to bake christmas cookies. They cast a discotek rainbow around the dark walls of the room, and through the quartz of his wide eyes beneath me.

“C’mon! I wanna see something,” I said, pinning his arm to the floor.

“You said you didn’t even—Ow!—know how to use it!”

“I just didn’t feel like it right then.” It was only half a lie. “I needed to get the dust pan for your mother, and I—”

“Wait. What’s that?” Joyce cut in.

His eyes were glued to something beyond my shoulder.

“Yeah no, sorry. Not falling for that,” I said.

But to my surprise, he twisted and slipped from my grasp so quickly that it left me staring gobsmacked at the rug where he’d just been.

“Danny,” he hissed. He was standing behind me at the table, as if our tiny sparring match had never happened. “Look at this.”

“The flowers didn’t change color,” I pled with him in a whisper, suddenly incredibly tired. “They couldn’t have.”

“It’s not the flowers, Danny. Someone’s been in here. Look.”

At that, I whipped my head around, following Joyce’s gaze to a dimly lit feed on the far right. A few flicks of his wrist got rid of the rest of the miscellany and centered the footage in the room. He zoomed in until the shadowy protagonists were nearly life size.

“That’s your basement…” I said, because I always provide helpful commentary. Joyce, understandably, did not reply. His earlier delight had been replaced by quiet terror. “What are they doing?”

“I don’t know…”

There were two figures moving about the lab bench Arthur Jacoby kept downstairs—one altogether average, with short, dark hair, and the other thin to the point of frailness, with long, lighter hair drawn back into a ponytail. They dressed in black, the way spies from old war movies did, and the amber Edison bulbs that Arthur fancied didn’t shed much light on what either of them were doing.

And neither of them had a face.

The videos were three dimensional. I could walk around the coffee table and see the scene from whatever angle I wanted, thanks to the absurd number of cameras Arthur had installed. But there wasn’t a single angle that revealed so much as a nose. Anywhere there should have been a face just seemed to fade, like when you try to take a picture indoors, but you’re too close to a window, and all you get is glare.

Another twirl of Joyce’s fingers conjured the video’s metadata out of thin air. The timestamp read October 12, 8:47PM.

The night his father died.

Joyce was frantic, whirling through all the video feeds of his house, hunting for any other glimpses of the mysterious intruders. But my eyes were stuck to the original footage, desperate to make sense of it.

All at once everything went black, and it took me a moment to understand that Joyce had shut down the media system, and not my mind. We stood there, side-by-side in the dusk, listening to each other’s hearts pound for what felt like an hour, until I managed to find the courage to speak:

“We need to tell somebody.”

“No!”

His reply was barely more than a whisper, but it stung like a smack to the face.

“But—”

“Danny, we can’t. You can’t tell anyone,” Joyce insisted, voice trembling. “If they think I’m not safe here—”

“—But what if you’re not safe here—”

“—they’ll take me away. They’ll take her away. I won’t let them take her away from me.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but my jaw dangled uselessly on its hinges.

“Please…” he whispered.

I sat with a thump on the floor for the second time that afternoon. Mrs. Jacoby’s lament echoed in my skull: I could no longer protect him. I can no longer protect either of them, but—

“They won’t take her from you, and they won’t take her from me, and they won’t take you from me, okay?” I said. I didn’t even know who ‘they’ were. Why had they come? Were they Mr. Jacoby’s colleagues? Burglars? Wraiths? By that point in my life, almost anything was starting to seem possible. “Nobody will.”

He sank down beside me, hugging his knees to his chest.

“… Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep over at your house tonight?”

“Sure,” I said instantly, but then paused. “I mean, I think so—but only if my mom says yeah.”

My words were only a formality, and he knew it. He smiled, gently.

- ❀ -

Every time Joyce spent the night at my house, my mother would try to offer him the guest room, and every time, Joyce would politely turn it down in favor of sleeping on my floor, causing her to turn the house inside-out to give him every spare pillow and blanket we owned, while Joyce tried and failed to stop her. This time was no different. It took her an hour to finish doting and leave us alone, and when she did it was with a reminder not to stay up talking on a school night.

Joyce didn’t need the warning; he shook hands with the sandman the second he crawled into his enormous blanket fortress. But I couldn’t for the life of me get the crusty bastard to pay me a visit less than five feet away, so I just lay there in a ball at the very edge of my mattress, and watched Joyce sleep.

We’d made sure Mrs. Jacoby was settled for the evening before we’d taken off for my house, but it didn’t feel right, leaving her there alone. My legs twitched with a ceaseless desire to get up—to don my shoes and coat and venture back into the night to check on her—or, at very least, to walk down the hall and wake up my parents, and tell them about the trespassers in Joyce’s basement.

You can’t tell them. They’ll take her away…

Joyce’s hands were curled into fists in one of my mother’s quilts as he slept. I stared at them, thinking suddenly about the way they’d felt in my grip when I’d tried to take the ring from him. I’d been afraid to pry too hard for fear I’d snap his fingers. His wrists had been warm and beating with life, their blue and red blood barely concealed beneath milk-white skin. I’d thought I’d had him pinned, yet he’d vanished the moment his will had shifted…

They’ll take me away…

I’d kept secrets from my parents before, but this one felt awful.

You have to protect him…

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

At some point, finally, I slept, and dreamt that the wraiths in Joyce’s basement were there because they were waiting for light to seep through the cracks in the concrete and give them their eyes back.

- ❀ -

He was gone by the time I woke up at eight— he always was, when he stayed with us on weeknights. His school started an hour before mine, and even before his father died, Joyce was the one who made his mother breakfast.

I, meanwhile, slouched sleepily at the kitchen table like a typical ten-year-old as my mother plopped a waffle and a bottle of maple syrup in front of my face. She hovered as I began to eat, and I waited for a question. For an announcement. For her to realize I wasn’t Joyce. For something.

“Danny, why do you keep taking flowers out of the living room vase?” she asked, finally, and I nearly choked.

“I didn’t—”

She sank down into the chair across from me and tilted her head toward the refrigerator door, which was displaying the last few days' worth of home-security footage at 40x speed. Apparently Joyce hadn’t been the only one pointing cameras at flowers that week.

I watched myself repeatedly plucking blossoms from a bouquet: a thief caught red-handed, and yellow-handed, and pink-handed. A thief like the wraiths in Joyce’s basement.

I pushed my plate away across the table, suddenly too nauseous to eat.

“It’s not okay to just take things that don’t belong to you, Danny.”

“I know,” I mumbled.

“You could have just asked me. I would have let you have them.” My mother’s voice was gentle, but unyielding, and it only made me feel sicker. But to my surprise, when I didn’t say anything, her mouth slid into a mischievous smirk. “If there’s a girl at school, you can ask her over, you know. I’d love to meet her.”

“No! Mom. Ew. No. It’s not… it’s… it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it like, Danny?” she pressed.

There are monsters in Joyce’s house, and I think they killed his dad, and I’ve been using your flowers to try to track them down.

“They’re for Mrs. Jacoby,” I sighed. “There’s nothing in her garden anymore and… I dunno… I thought they’d make her feel better?”

My mother’s face was a difficult thing to read, at that moment. It somehow simultaneously softened and tensed.

“I’m sorry,” I added, when I didn’t get any other response.

“I wish you wouldn’t go over there so much.”

She said it all at once, like she’d been trying really hard not to say it.

“Why?” I asked, startled.

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to. There’s nothing for two boys to do in that house. Over here you have your tree-house, and all sorts of games, and I keep the pantry stocked with all your favorite snacks—”

“All of Joyce’s favorite snacks!” I snapped, before I could stop my half-awake brain from sending the words to my tongue.

My mother blinked at me like I’d smacked her. I half expected her to yell, or ground me on the spot, but nothing came. I pulled my plate back toward me, mostly so the squeal of the china across the table would fill the silence.

“Danny—”

“Why don’t you like Mrs. Jacoby?” I asked, impaling the undeserving waffle repeatedly with my fork.

“Honey, it’s not that I don’t like her. She’s… I mean… your father and I don’t know her that well—”

“Because you’ve never even tried!”

“Because we’re scared, Daniel!” cried my mother, then, and it was my turn to blink like I’d been struck. “It’s not just Joyce’s mother, Danny. You know that! You know there are other people at your school who just—” she made some opaque gesture with her hands, “And if you follow the news, it’s the entire East Coast! Maybe the whole country. And nobody knows how it happens or why it’s happening, Danny. And your father and I, we love you, and we care about Joyce, and we don’t want either of you to—”

“Hey-ho, my Comet and Cupid!” my father’s voice echoed through the landing. He walked in still buttoning the last few buttons of his dress-shirt. The collar was still all askew. “Who here is ready to rot behind a desk for the next eight hours, huh?” he asked, jovial until his gaze fell upon our faces. Then he frowned. “Christ, who died while I was in the shower?”

“Hank—”

“Mom thinks Mrs. Jacoby is going to make me sick,” I said.

“I didn’t say—” started my mother, but she trailed off with a sigh.

She and my father shared a long look, while I shared a long look with my abused breakfast and pretended not to notice.

“I, for one, think that it’s very noble of you to be so kind to her,” my dad announced, then, putting his hand on the back of my chair. His voice had the same soft tension as my mother’s face. “I’m proud of you for having such a big heart. We could all stand to learn a little from you, son.”

“We just want you to be careful, okay?” whispered my mother.

“Right. Just be careful. That’s all.”

You know nothing. You’re worried about Mrs. Jacoby making me sick, while there are monsters in Joyce’s basement. I watched the damning security footage of my flower-snatching continue to play out across the fridge, and said nothing.

#imisphyx #prologue #danny #oh look an update #progress is progress however small!

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findbeggar84-blog · 5 years

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The Halloween List: A Quiet Place, Emelie, and Hereditary

I'm kicking off The Halloween List this year with one of my favorite hidden gems, and two of the biggest Horror movies of 2018. 2018 has been so long that it's easy to forget A Quiet Place even came out back in April, right?

All three of these films attack the family in very different ways. A Quiet Place is about family surviving in a country that's destroyed; Emelie is about a family that thinks it's safe until they hire the wrong babysitter; and Hereditary is about a family haunting itself. Each is powerful, but which kind of conflict is the most effective on you?

A Quiet Place (2018)

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I have been waiting a damned long time for A Quiet Place. Horror has a troubling history of relegating disabled characters to the roles of villains. I wrote about that phenomenon for Fireside Magazine last year. You can take solace in the well-meaning portrayals of Wait Until Dark and Silver Bullet, but those are moves with abled actors cripping it up, and screenplays that pander. They could never get beneath the surface.

Millicent Simmonds is a deaf actor, and she’s the emotional core of this movie. She plays Regan, the oldest child in one of the few families to survive an invasion of monsters. The monsters hunt on sound; they can hear a toy space ship from miles away, and be there in seconds. Regan has saved the family, because since they all know ASL, they know how to communicate and live without speaking. They walk into town to scavenge on paths of sand to quiet their footsteps. They have adapted.

What’s even more rewarding about this disability rep is that Regan isn’t defined by her disability. If a monster is coming, she can’t hear it behind her, but that’s a peril of a moment, not a constant agony. Regan is defined by her grief that she thinks she was responsible for the loss of a younger sibling, and she has some very creative ways of expressing that. It’s not grief about being disabled, or grief that makes her curse it. This is a relief in contrast to a hundred movies about disabled people who curse being trapped in wheelchairs, or wish they could see the sunrise. Disabled people are going to live lives, and regret openly, not narrowly. A Quiet Place gets this.

The movie is strongly constructed, naturally never giving us an exposition dump on where the monsters came from, or how life has been. We can tell what their lives are like by what they keep around the house, and what chores we see them do. It’s at its best when there’s minimal music, letting us sit in the same terrified silence as the family. They have a baby on the way that won’t be easy to deliver in this world, and the kids are restless to live bigger lives. We see them pushing against the boundaries forced on them with a healthy naturalism.

At under 90 minutes, the movie is tight and knows what it wants to do at all times. Its big set pieces, like the kids falling into a corn silo and the threat of drowning in it, all click. The moment you see a nail sticking out of a step in the stairs of their the basement, you know what’s coming. What comes is harrowing. It’s all worth it, too. It yields one of the most cathartic endings in modern Horror.

Emelie (2015)

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Emelie is a movie good enough to kill your career. It is so unsettling that it might have been more commercially successful if it had been worse. I can see some studios not wanting to work with the people involved because they were willing to make this thing.

Emelie is also a great response to John Carpenter’s Halloween. Halloween is a babysitter’s worst fear: that someone will come in the night when no one older is around to help and attack them and the children. But that isn’t the fear of children. Children’s deepest fear is that the babysitter will hurt them. Emelie is about that fear.

Following a disturbingly casual opening sequence in which a babysitter is kidnapped in broad daylight, we meet a small and intensely believable family. There are three kids, the youngest of which is so naturalistically sweet and excitable that he might just be a six year old that the director gave some sugar to and let roam through the set. Here we have a brooding pre-teen older brother who doesn’t want to spend time with his siblings, and a controlling middle-sister who constantly comes up with costume ideas and games for the youngest and most impressionable of the kids. Their parents are going out for a special dinner. They’ll be gone late. At the last minute their sitter has been replaced, but surely she’ll be fine. What could happen?

From there, Emelie would be a much more comfortable movie if the babysitter (guess her name) whipped out a steak knife and chased these kids. But it’s not a conventional Horror movie. She has the kids pose for photos that seem like a game to them, but are inappropriately morbid to the audience. There’s a scene where she invites the oldest boy into the bathroom with her that isn’t explicitly sexual or violent, but is palpably uncomfortable because even the boy knows this isn’t normal. Scene by scene, the movie pushes you to guess what she’s planning to do to them. The suspense is almost Hitchcockian, except she’s more of a black box than most of Hitchcock’s villains.

The older brother has to pull it together and find ways to call for help when the sitter hasn’t technically done anything explicable yet. It’s surprisingly effective character growth for the kid, who begins the movie as a pouting brat, and who wouldn’t be equipped to stand up to an adult no matter what his attitude was. He’s the only line of protection and he’s intensely vulnerable – perhaps the most vulnerable because Emelie reads him like a book from the minute she steps into the house.

I can’t recommend this to most parents. Many of my friends are having kids now, and for most of them, the natural fear for their children is going to make the tension of this movie too much. Again, it’s not a movie that has them eaten alive or smashed by a hammer. It’s the slow menace that will be too much. It’s easier and more escapist to fear that a werewolf, vampire, or even a serial killer will come in from outside your neighborhood and go after your family. Emelie is a movie about someone you think you can trust.

I spent so much of the ending of this movie yelling at the TV. No movie has sunk its teeth into me like this in years.

Hereditary (2018)

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This is Ari Aster’s debut film. You know you’ve done well when critics argue whether the first movie you’ve ever made is a masterpiece. The guy has an entire career to turn in his masterpiece, but sure, let’s work ourselves into a froth now.

Anything Hereditary does well at all, it does masterfully. If it had a different ending, it’d probably be my favorite movie of the year because of how powerful the rest of it is. Instead it’s one of the best movies that I don’t feel like rewatching.

There are few pieces of art in any medium about an abusive family member dying before anyone gets catharsis from them. You probably have someone in your family who died before someone else got closure with them, and if you’re lucky enough not to, you definitely know somebody whose family has that kind of suffering. Hereditary wallows in the discomforting legacy of a grandmother who traumatized both her daughter and granddaughter. She’s dead, and her shadow is still longer than that of any living member of the family. She haunts them figuratively, and eventually we’ll wonder if she’s doing it literally.

Toni Collette deserves all the praise for her performance that she’s gotten. Nominate her for stuff, and write her fan mail. She lays bare this damaged mother who knows she can’t let go, who hates her mother for always interfering in her parenting, and demeaned her daughter for not being a boy. At the same time this life has made her so uptight and repressed that she can’t talk to her kids honestly without exploding. It took one scene to sell me on this movie, when Collette’s character went to a grief support group and her hatred of her own insecurities flowed out of her. This is not a stock Horror character with stock Horror angst. This is something real and festering, that makes you wish exorcisms worked on trauma.

And suspense? The clucking of a tongue here is scarier than the rev of a chainsaw in another movie.

It’s to Hereditary’s credit that act one pivoted the film somewhere entirely different than I’d expected. This isn’t a “and there are also ghosts!” pivot. This is a demolition of the family’s status quo mid-grieving process, which is the sort of curveball I could only expect A24 films to support. Suffice to say that this family goes through a Hell that, even without the eerie and horrific elements, you can’t expect any family to be equipped to deal with.

If this movie had come out in the 1980s, it would be a part of the canon right next to The Shining and Rosemary’s Baby.

It’s 2018 now, and I’m not surprised that mainstream audiences hated it.

It is an unpleasant movie with an unpleasant view of both family and the supernatural. The characters lack agency because the themes of powerlessness before death and grief are so important, and that builds to an ending that is both tricky to understand and, once you understand it, doesn’t feel worth sitting through an entire movie to get to. It has more to say about who we are as people than the average Horror movie, but the actual payoff of its climax is just another example of an overwhelming trend that I’m sick of. No matter how well executed the rest of your story is, the ending needs to satisfy. Hopelessness is not its own answer.

Come back Friday for Slice, Summer of '84, and the new hotness that is Nicholas Cage's Mandy!

Source: http://johnwiswell.blogspot.com/2018/10/the-halloween-list-quiet-place-emelie.html

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theliterateape · 6 years

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Violent Video Games Might Have Saved My Town

By David Himmel

In the continuing politicized slog that is the debate/discussion around preventing public mass shootings, I keep hearing things like, “It’s not about gun control, it’s about treating the mentally ill and not subjecting people to violent television shows and movies and video games.” Last week, NPR’s All Things Considered had a short segment on the issue. I don’t disagree that the mass shooting problem is not solely about gun control — we absolutely need common sense gun control — I disagree with the idea that violent TV shows, movies and video games cause people to shoot up their school or church or whatever.

For one, I’m convinced that many of those all wet, hot and hard for the NRA think that guns, guns and more guns are the answer because they have an unhealthy kinship with violent movies like Rambo, Die Hard, Commando, and any other Cold War Hollywood blockbuster featuring the owners of Planet Hollywood. So be careful there, Buddy, you don’t want to end up stripping yourself of your favorite films.

As for violent video games, there I’m fairly sure that if I hadn’t had access to such things I might have taken my frustrations out on a shopping mall or a university or myself. Instead, I was able to take my rage and human instinct to vanquish my enemies and focus it into an absurd fantasy of blasting monsters in Doom, Nazis in Wolfenstein and anyone I chose, especially the police and military, in Liberty City in Grand Theft Auto III.

The pro-gun folks are right. We’ll never stop evil. Bad guys will always find a way to do their bad deeds. But it’s more than excusing bad behavior for plain of evil. Violence is an inherent part of the animal kingdom. Jesus Christ, have you ever seen giraffes go at it? And wouldn’t you know it, it’s always over turf or women. Not that different than the reasons humans go after each other.

Most of us humans have evolved to the point where we can manage our base instincts. Those who haven’t are often the ones we see shooting up schools, churches, concerts. Being angry, sad, vengeful… these negative feelings aren’t bad. They happen. It’s what we do with them that matters. You know that old saying: “Feelings don’t kill people, guns do.”

During a bad row, one of life’s tests, a wretched hardship, most of us find a reasonably constructive way to deal with our sadness, anger and need for vengeance. We work out, we take a vacation, we smoke weed and watch 30 Rock, we drink a few beers and play bar trivia with our pals, we rock climb or scream into a pillow or box or play video games.

A decade-plus back, I was in the midst of an on-again-off-again relationship with a woman I really shouldn’t have been with. During my twenties, my only regret is that I spent too much time with the wrong women and not enough with the right ones. This relationship, and my behavior in it as much as hers, left me confused, frustrated, angry, feeling cheated and dumb and worthless on a near daily basis.

“Why’d you stay with her, Dave? Why not just break up with her?”

Glad you asked, dickhead. Because of the sex. Isn’t that always the case for all of us? And because of pride. I didn’t want to painted as the bad guy. It was a battle of stubborn will. So, yeah, of course the sex was worth sticking around for.

At the end of each day, especially the bad ones, I retreated to the comfort of my friend Christopher’s house. I needed his friendship and support. He always had at least a six-pack of Miller Lite we could drink. And he had Grand Theft Auto III for Playstation. Grand Theft Auto III is a third-person shooter game. In it, you’re involved in the criminal underworld somehow and you have to steal cars, fistfight enemies, shoot those enemies and outrun the law. If you get too much heat on you, the military comes after you. I never played the game for the story. I took the less intelligent form of entertainment.

I had secured all the cheat codes, made myself invincible and loaded up on every weapon from a six-shooter wheel gun to a Gatling gun and bazooka. I summoned tanks from the sky and drove them through people and over cars. I hijacked a military helicopter. I paid hookers for sex then beat them to death and got my money back and the money of other Johns. I perched on top of tall buildings as a sniper and fired at will. I was a monster. But I was a monster who never actually hurt a single living soul.

I found great release in manifesting this kind of violence on screen. It allowed me to completely disconnect from my troubles — the girlfriend, the overdrawn bank account, family stressors, just life — and let my lizard brain-wild ape flex his muscles. Sometimes, when I didn’t feel like beating hookers, shooting cops or driving a tank through a grocery store, I would steal a motorcycle, find a good radio station — the Grand Theft Auto games have great radio stations — and drive out of the city to tool around on the open road alone. After a few hours of mindless screen time, I was calm, ready for another day of fighting against my own daily existence. Woe was me because, well, sometimes we are woe.

To be clear, I never once —ever — considered hurting a real person or thing. What I wanted was a world where I was untouchable, where I could find solace in my own kind of Fortress of Solitude. In real life, we can’t ever really escape away from everything whenever we want, or even need. Grand Theft Auto III gave that to me. It let me play God. That violent video game provided me with the one thing I could never have otherwise — total control.

Douglas Gentile, a psychology professor at Iowa State University who has studied the effects of violent video games and spoke to All Things Considered, disagrees that they can be cathartic. But I disagree with him because for me, pulling a man out of his red sports car and beating him to death then driving off in that car at top speed while spraying bullets throughout a crowded downtown was absolute catharsis for me.

That’s not to say that Grand Theft Auto games should be given to the emotionally enraged and unstable. I’m not sure what to do with them. I’m evolved. I don’t hold back all of my instincts to lash out all of the time, but I’m evolved enough to know the difference between the cartoonish over the top violence of a video game and the horrific impact of actually blasting a tank shell into a busy intersection. Had I not had Chris’ Playstation and Grand Theft Auto III to express my basic rage instincts, I still don’t think I would have snapped and procured an actual weapon and shot up my girlfriend at her workplace. I mean, maybe, but I really doubt it.

If anything, I probably would have broken up with her sooner.

#Grand Theft Auto #Gun Control #Grand Theft Auto III #Violent Video Games

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