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Pseudo-rants!
Regarding Slumdog Millionaire:
I haven't seen it, and so I am not qualified to talk about the movie. I have read a few articles about how it's been received, including this interesting one by someone who actually did live in a slum, and managed to work their way up from the bottom (here's the link). The most frequent criticism I hear is that the rags-to-riches story of the movie is "not realistic." That the events of the movie are too fantastic. That kind of thing very rarely actually happens.
I feel that this is deeply missing the point. The same argument is often trotted out when it comes to books, and it's pretty dumb then, too. No, the book/movie/whatever does not directly reflect reality. THAT'S BECAUSE IT'S FICTION. It's a STORY, for heaven's sake. If you want to capture reality, you film a documentary or write a non-fiction book. If you want to tell a MADE-UP STORY, about a guy who gets a one-in-a-million chance to rise beyond what would otherwise be a hard and depressing life, you make a movie and call it "Oliver Twist."
Or "Aladdin."
Or "Slumdog Millionaire."
A story may contain elements of reality, of course. How much reality and what perception thereof is a matter of personal taste, or the taste of the one telling the tale.
Real life, in general, does not make for good stories. Stories have a beginning, middle and end. They have rising and falling action, conflicts and resolutions. They have themes and morals; they have discernable purpose. They have movement from when they start to where they finish. Life sometimes has these things, but more often it does not, or the elements are hard to discern. Life is full of random events, unconnected elements, noise and clutter and chaos. A good biographer can take a person's life and find the things that make an excellent story. A good writer could look into the world she lives in and bring them out. Real life can be made into a story, but it is not a story in and of itself.
Is it really surprising if a movie-- a work of fiction that is scripted and involves actors, sets, multiple takes, cameras, budets, editing, background music, digital effects, and choreographed dance numbers-- does not give an accurate portrayal of exactly what real life is like?
Regarding Sapporo and the beer garden enkai there:
While I was in Sapporo there was a beer garden enkai that I went to, mostly for the purpose of eating the famed "Genghis Khan" -- aka lamb barbecue. I was sitting at a table full of strange AETs, which I expected because I didn't actually know anyone at the enkai. That wasn't ideal, but socializing and making friends is part of what goes on at these events, so I wasn't worried.
The majority of my table-mates knew each other; they were friends from college, or they knew each other from the JET program itself. They all seemed nice, if more inclined to take advantage of the all-you-can-drink aspect of the enkai than I was (which is normal).
They rather quickly disgusted me not by that, but by their extreme immaturity. Well, that's not true-- only one of them was extremely immature; the others were just her friends. Said immature person had not had nearly enough alcohol to justify whining in a high pitched and very loud voice (just after getting her friends to agree to do sake bombs with her, and prior to the actual doing) "noooooo, you're not doing it my waaaaaay!"
So I got to sit and listen to them talk and watch them drink. I devoted myself to eating, and joined in the conversation whenever it was remotely interesting to me (not too often). In general I'm quiet in social gatherings anyway; in this case I simply gave up on the "friends"-potential of everyone there due to their lack of interest in having a decent conversation. I didn't have a bad time; in general the stupidity and antics of everyone around me were quite amusing. Being the only sober person at a party is something I'm used to.
At one point, one of immature-girl's friends (not as loud, but fairly intelligent and under other circumstances and company someone I would probably enjoy talking to) noticed my quiet and lack of interest in drinking vast quantities of beer and said to me anxiously, "are you okay? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
This shocked me, and I wasn't quite sure how to react. Not for the words exactly, or her concern (which was kindly meant), but because it felt . . . so very, very teenage. What I wanted to say to her was, ". . . are you serious?"
It felt like . . . like college, maybe. Not even college. Gods, like high school. And yes, when I was in high school, I would have felt uncomfortable in a similar situation. In college, I might have felt uncomfortable in a similar situation. But now? Now? I was perfectly fine. Other people drinking copious amounts of alcohol and making asses of themselves does not make me uncomfortable. I find it hilarious and poke sardonic fun at them (that they are too inebriated to understand). I wasn't even bored, since I was busy cooking.
My sense of self is not disturbed by the antics of others; my position in my own eyes is not dependant on perfectly fitting in with and matching the behavior of those around me. I have grown up. And that night, I looked at the table around me, at my "peers," and saw children.
I am happy to say, though, that during the two hour enkai I probably managed to account for a whole sheep by myself. So I think it was worthwhile that I went. NOM NOM NOM.
Continuing my attempt at reposting all my writing here, this is a brief bit of backstory for Demon Hunter that went up on the saiun_challenge comm. Only one chapter has been posted so far, which can be found here:
Main Storyline
Chapter One: Departure
This story had to be under 300 words, which was quite a challenge, but I was pleased with the results. It's supposed to be creepy; I don't know if I achieved that or not.
Demon Hunter: Haunted
When Ryuuki opened his eyes it was night, and he knew where he was immediately: someone had put him to bed. Something terrible had happened, but he wasn't sure what. His memory was dark as the room.
It was far too quiet. He fought against the trembling that was spreading through him and tried to stay still, to make himself even smaller under the blanket. The darkness of his room seemed a physical thing, roiling and gathering, viscous as pond scum. But now there was a sound like lapping water, now the darkness congealed, took shape-- acquired a sick, spectral glow that only enhanced the blackness as a thing stepped forth, dripping.
Ryuuki clamped his mouth shut but couldn't keep in his whimper, inching backwards. It was his mother, her robes running with darkness, her face a pale shifting. A beautiful face-- but she had no eyes, only more darkness dripping from empty sockets. She was coming closer-- looking at him-- and then she smiled, and her face changed, bubbled, she snarled as she reached for him--
* * * * * * * * * *
Ryuuki's scream still lingered in the air. The hall outside was full of servants, whispering.
"Did you see? I swear I saw something move--"
"The room's a mess, how did he--"
"--demon-spawn, I told you, those gold eyes of his--"
Seien gritted his teeth in icy fury and shoved past. The room was indeed a mess, the bedding torn to rags. Ryuuki huddled in a corner, weeping hopelessly, and no one had touched him. When Seien gently lifted his face it was bloodied, already spreading with bruises.
He caught a breath. "Who did this?"
Ryuuki sobbed, clinging to him, heedless of his hurts. "Hahaue did--"
Did he not remember? Seien felt cold. "She's dead, Ryuuki. She died today. She can't hurt you any more."
I'm working on chapter two . . . or at least I was, but at the moment the upcoming deadline of the songfic challenge has paused my progress. At the moment what I really want to work on is Cyberpunk due to an influx of inspiring material . . . alas, I musts try to be disciplined; it's been a small forever since I made any progress with Demon Hunter, and I'm determined to do that first.
Regarding Slumdog Millionaire:
I haven't seen it, and so I am not qualified to talk about the movie. I have read a few articles about how it's been received, including this interesting one by someone who actually did live in a slum, and managed to work their way up from the bottom (here's the link). The most frequent criticism I hear is that the rags-to-riches story of the movie is "not realistic." That the events of the movie are too fantastic. That kind of thing very rarely actually happens.
I feel that this is deeply missing the point. The same argument is often trotted out when it comes to books, and it's pretty dumb then, too. No, the book/movie/whatever does not directly reflect reality. THAT'S BECAUSE IT'S FICTION. It's a STORY, for heaven's sake. If you want to capture reality, you film a documentary or write a non-fiction book. If you want to tell a MADE-UP STORY, about a guy who gets a one-in-a-million chance to rise beyond what would otherwise be a hard and depressing life, you make a movie and call it "Oliver Twist."
Or "Aladdin."
Or "Slumdog Millionaire."
A story may contain elements of reality, of course. How much reality and what perception thereof is a matter of personal taste, or the taste of the one telling the tale.
Real life, in general, does not make for good stories. Stories have a beginning, middle and end. They have rising and falling action, conflicts and resolutions. They have themes and morals; they have discernable purpose. They have movement from when they start to where they finish. Life sometimes has these things, but more often it does not, or the elements are hard to discern. Life is full of random events, unconnected elements, noise and clutter and chaos. A good biographer can take a person's life and find the things that make an excellent story. A good writer could look into the world she lives in and bring them out. Real life can be made into a story, but it is not a story in and of itself.
Is it really surprising if a movie-- a work of fiction that is scripted and involves actors, sets, multiple takes, cameras, budets, editing, background music, digital effects, and choreographed dance numbers-- does not give an accurate portrayal of exactly what real life is like?
Regarding Sapporo and the beer garden enkai there:
While I was in Sapporo there was a beer garden enkai that I went to, mostly for the purpose of eating the famed "Genghis Khan" -- aka lamb barbecue. I was sitting at a table full of strange AETs, which I expected because I didn't actually know anyone at the enkai. That wasn't ideal, but socializing and making friends is part of what goes on at these events, so I wasn't worried.
The majority of my table-mates knew each other; they were friends from college, or they knew each other from the JET program itself. They all seemed nice, if more inclined to take advantage of the all-you-can-drink aspect of the enkai than I was (which is normal).
They rather quickly disgusted me not by that, but by their extreme immaturity. Well, that's not true-- only one of them was extremely immature; the others were just her friends. Said immature person had not had nearly enough alcohol to justify whining in a high pitched and very loud voice (just after getting her friends to agree to do sake bombs with her, and prior to the actual doing) "noooooo, you're not doing it my waaaaaay!"
So I got to sit and listen to them talk and watch them drink. I devoted myself to eating, and joined in the conversation whenever it was remotely interesting to me (not too often). In general I'm quiet in social gatherings anyway; in this case I simply gave up on the "friends"-potential of everyone there due to their lack of interest in having a decent conversation. I didn't have a bad time; in general the stupidity and antics of everyone around me were quite amusing. Being the only sober person at a party is something I'm used to.
At one point, one of immature-girl's friends (not as loud, but fairly intelligent and under other circumstances and company someone I would probably enjoy talking to) noticed my quiet and lack of interest in drinking vast quantities of beer and said to me anxiously, "are you okay? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
This shocked me, and I wasn't quite sure how to react. Not for the words exactly, or her concern (which was kindly meant), but because it felt . . . so very, very teenage. What I wanted to say to her was, ". . . are you serious?"
It felt like . . . like college, maybe. Not even college. Gods, like high school. And yes, when I was in high school, I would have felt uncomfortable in a similar situation. In college, I might have felt uncomfortable in a similar situation. But now? Now? I was perfectly fine. Other people drinking copious amounts of alcohol and making asses of themselves does not make me uncomfortable. I find it hilarious and poke sardonic fun at them (that they are too inebriated to understand). I wasn't even bored, since I was busy cooking.
My sense of self is not disturbed by the antics of others; my position in my own eyes is not dependant on perfectly fitting in with and matching the behavior of those around me. I have grown up. And that night, I looked at the table around me, at my "peers," and saw children.
I am happy to say, though, that during the two hour enkai I probably managed to account for a whole sheep by myself. So I think it was worthwhile that I went. NOM NOM NOM.
Continuing my attempt at reposting all my writing here, this is a brief bit of backstory for Demon Hunter that went up on the saiun_challenge comm. Only one chapter has been posted so far, which can be found here:
Main Storyline
Chapter One: Departure
This story had to be under 300 words, which was quite a challenge, but I was pleased with the results. It's supposed to be creepy; I don't know if I achieved that or not.
Demon Hunter: Haunted
When Ryuuki opened his eyes it was night, and he knew where he was immediately: someone had put him to bed. Something terrible had happened, but he wasn't sure what. His memory was dark as the room.
It was far too quiet. He fought against the trembling that was spreading through him and tried to stay still, to make himself even smaller under the blanket. The darkness of his room seemed a physical thing, roiling and gathering, viscous as pond scum. But now there was a sound like lapping water, now the darkness congealed, took shape-- acquired a sick, spectral glow that only enhanced the blackness as a thing stepped forth, dripping.
Ryuuki clamped his mouth shut but couldn't keep in his whimper, inching backwards. It was his mother, her robes running with darkness, her face a pale shifting. A beautiful face-- but she had no eyes, only more darkness dripping from empty sockets. She was coming closer-- looking at him-- and then she smiled, and her face changed, bubbled, she snarled as she reached for him--
* * * * * * * * * *
Ryuuki's scream still lingered in the air. The hall outside was full of servants, whispering.
"Did you see? I swear I saw something move--"
"The room's a mess, how did he--"
"--demon-spawn, I told you, those gold eyes of his--"
Seien gritted his teeth in icy fury and shoved past. The room was indeed a mess, the bedding torn to rags. Ryuuki huddled in a corner, weeping hopelessly, and no one had touched him. When Seien gently lifted his face it was bloodied, already spreading with bruises.
He caught a breath. "Who did this?"
Ryuuki sobbed, clinging to him, heedless of his hurts. "Hahaue did--"
Did he not remember? Seien felt cold. "She's dead, Ryuuki. She died today. She can't hurt you any more."
I'm working on chapter two . . . or at least I was, but at the moment the upcoming deadline of the songfic challenge has paused my progress. At the moment what I really want to work on is Cyberpunk due to an influx of inspiring material . . . alas, I musts try to be disciplined; it's been a small forever since I made any progress with Demon Hunter, and I'm determined to do that first.
no subject
So yeah, good rant! :D Also, I enjoyed the snippet you wrote for "Haunted."^^ Good luck with your stories!
no subject
no subject