Dungeons & Dragons and the Old School Revolution.

Way back in 1981, I used to get to middle (or junior high, whichever you prefer) school early. I mean, real early, as in have nowhere to go but the school cafeteria early. A good hour and a half before school began early. This was mainly due to my mom having to get to work, and with her being my only way to school. I mean sure, I could’ve rode (ridden?) the bus, but damn it was a walk to get to the bus stop (nearly a mile, mostly uphill), and then depending on when you got there you had to spend so much time waiting. So all in all it was better to just get there early.

Luckily for me, I was not the only one to be at school at such an hour. There were other cafeteria dwellers in those dim hours of the pre-middle school day. And to pass the time, these croatoans liked to play a game called Dungeons & Dragons.

D&D was a mystery to me: what was this game with its strange dice and graph paper, its walls made of pasteboard covered with delicious David Trampier illustrations? In those wee hours I delved into the likes of  In Search of the Unknown, Keep on the Borderlands, and eventually Tomb of Horrors, which I died in at least twelve or thirteen times. Even after such punishment, I thrilled at yet another chance for ADVENTURE — and even more at creating  similar perilous realms of my own.

Needless to say, the game became an obsession for me, as it did for several young men and women back in the ’80s. I had my stepfather go with me to the local bookstore in downtown Knoxville and purchase the precious tomes known to all informed of 1st Edition AD&D (Advanced Dungeons & Dragons): The Players Handbook, Monster Manual and Dungeon Masters Guide, copies of which I own today. I even managed to find (at the local five and dime, no less) a copy of the White Box, that most hallowed sacrament of D&D that contains the original three booklets by the great gods Gygax & Arneson. Sadly enough I don’t have these anymore, but only PDFs of them (join me in kicking myself in the ass, won’t you?). I ended up becoming a savvy Dungeon Master, the person who leads players and their characters into the depths of peril and glory. I had players taking on the likes of Norse Gods, demons, devils, and even beings from other dimensions and universes. It was fun, not only for me but for the players as well. That was the true thrill of the game — creating a world in which the players could freely explore their own personae and still meet my own creative criteria. It was an amazing rush to literally place the road upon which they tread one brick at a time, due to the fact that they decided not to go where I had placed the detailed dungeon adventure — both frustrating and enthralling. I found out being prepared not only meant knowing the material inside and out, but having the theme or spirit of the game in mind in case things went beyond those boundaries. It was an experience unlike any other I had ever experienced, and have yet to even today.

Time passed, and later came 2nd Edition AD&D, which most of my friends liked but I never cared for. It seemed to tie down all the flapping sails of the 1st Edition AD&D, and dispose of the demons, devils and angels (or devae) of the former game. In short it seemed to take a good bit of breadth of what I considered D&D, and hampered the freedoms that I once had as a DM. Mind you, I could’ve surmounted these obstacles, but never tried to. D&D seemed to have left me behind, but I didn’t mind, since videogames were all the rage, and I happily plunged myself into my Atari 2600 or a rousing game of Tempest at the local stop-and-shop. What a time to be alive.

Flash forward several more years, after 3rd and (gulp!) 4th editions of the game known as Dungeons & Dragons. Apparently these games had little or no similarity to those before them (I never bothered, myself), and a group of enthusiasts calling themselves the Old School Renaissance decided they’ve had enough. Their credo is that of imaginative and fast paced gaming as opposed to slower and overly-detailed forms of roleplay, and have managed to create game systems which are hybrids of the original D&D rules and the more streamlined d20 systems available during the former 3rd edition. Gone are the nitpicking and excessive concern over what a fantasy campaign should or shouldn’t be — in this new era the game was only as deep as the DM’s imagination — and he or she was the final arbiter of what could or could not function in a given campaign. This revolution has stuck a major chord among the denizens of the internet, who have vigorously supported the use of such had and fast rules for gaming — so much so that the official Powers That Be (in this case Wizards of the Coast, who took over the right to Dungeons & Dragons in 1997) have decided to release yet another version of D&D — a fifth edition of the game. This sort of thing leaves me curious, but not without a sense of dread.

In any case, I’ve decided to delve into the OSR and see what I could make of the current state of roleplaying. In this new age of internet solidarity and software infrastructure I see much potential, and I would dearly love to experience the thrill of a rousing campaign again. More to come…

Conan the Barbarian (2011).

I dig the Conan. My connections with him begin long ago when I was obsessed with the art of the late great Frank Frazetta, whose cover artwork for the magazines Creepy and Eerie managed to fill the void for me between the similar attachments to Famous Monsters of Filmland until the discovery of Heavy Metal (mind you, Creepy and HM both featured the work of the amazing Richard Corben, but we’ll get back to him at a later time). Upon our first few meetings, I didn’t even know his name, he was just “that guy in the Frazetta covers”, a battle-scarred, dark-haired warrior who was always just about to clash with someone, something, or more of either.

It was quite a bit later that I saw the same Frazetta masterworks on paperback books, those by Robert E. Howard and others, about this Conan guy. I had browsed through some Conan comic books before, but had never connected those to Frazetta’s work. I liked Howard’s stories the best of course — such an economy of words to perfectly etch vivid imagery and action hadn’t impressed me since the short stories of Philip K. Dick or Tolkien’s Silmarillion. While those stories penned by de Camp and Carter tended to be flaccid and desperate to rumble about, Howard’s work never failed to hit the ground running, and send you headlong into ADVENTURE.

Mind you, I never accepted the stories as Literature — Howard’s ignorances are just as on display as his talents — but I’ve always found his land of crumbling ancient ruins, fearsome beasts and supple maidens irresistable. To compare him to Tolkien, both have realms with their own history — situated within some unknown part of our own.

Then there was the movie. The first one, anyways. Conan the Barbarian (1982) had one heck of a pedigree: the gallant direction of John Milius, the sharp scripting of Oliver Stone (not to mention the killer art direction of Ron Cobb — more on him later, too), and The Man Who Would be Quaid — Schwarzenegger himself. Pretty damned close to the books — although a mixture of them — the elements were there: the crumbling ruins, the fearsome beasts (well, a really big snake) and supple maidens (Nadiuska and Sandahl Bergman, check), all played out to the sturm und drang of Basil Poledouris’ amazing score. Needless to say, it’s one of my all-time faves. Conan the Destroyer was released two years later, and — the less said about it, the better. Let’s move on.

Now there’s the remake, or — to be en vogue with the current mindset (if you could call it that) of Hollywood — “re-envisioning” of Conan. Directed by Marcus Nispel, who gave us the rather good Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Friday the 13th remakes, and the potentially good but uninspired Pathfinder, and starring Ron Perlman, Stephen Lang and Rose McGowan, this film basically follows the same path as the first, being a revenge story. Taking on the lead role is Jason Momoa, who inspired all kinds of female fans (including my sister) recently in HBO’s Game of Thrones. He is exemplary at depicting the snarling Cimmerian, and overall does a good job, even if he seems uncomfortable with some of the lines. The  rest of the cast fares better, but really aren’t given much screentime (especially Perlman, which is a shame). While the production looks nice, with solid costume design and decent (albeit Frazetta-esque) digital mattes and animation, the major gripe I have with the movie is the script. From the get-go (after the narration given by Morgan Freeman (???)), when he is “battle-born” the story takes several implausible turns and, even though the action is enjoyable and the witty lines hit their mark, the whole thing feels hollow and on rails. What really impressed me with the Schwarzenegger film was how it was as rough around the edges as one of Howard’s stories, but had solid arcs for the characters as well as an overall progression. In this Conan, Nispel aspires to Howard’s pacing, but cannot match the author’s subtleties in setting character or scene — all we are left with are gaps between action scenes.

With this film and Pathfinder, Nispel is working his way to becoming the next Renny Harlin. He clearly has a love of this sort of tale, but not the skills to portray it properly. Best to watch this Conan while doing something else, just so you don’t pay too much attention to it.
4/10

L. A. Noire.

When I was a kid one of the staples of television were reruns of the second series (1967-1970) of Dragnet. The show (for the few of you living under rocks, or not otherwise familiar) featured the gravel-voiced Jack Webb as Friday, the sallow-faced Harry Morgan as his partner, Gannon, and “The City of the Angels, Los Angeles California”. The show would open with a slow tracking shot across the horizon, filled with buildings, lights and a touch of smog. “This is The City,” Webb would intone in his inimitable style. As a kid, I honestly believed California was like that, filled with Technicolor and lurid orchestral music. But then I grew up and realized it was really full of mudslides, wildfires, earthquakes and riots. Joe Friday would have a hard time there, even with Gannon at his side. What I didn’t realize is that a considerable chunk of my childhood had drifted off into that imaginary L.A., as the show had either been watched or provided a mental wallpaper to that time in my life.

That is, I didn’t realize until L.A. Noire came along. From the get-go the game looked fascinating, with its facial-tracking technology and wealth of actors involved — but something else fascinated me, something suggested in the snippets of screenshots that I couldn’t put my finger on. Sure, I have always been a fan of the 30s and 40s, particularly in the Art Deco movement prominent then — but still, there was a dimension that seemed oddly familiar, yet still detached from my experience. It wasn’t until I made Homicide and me and my partner “Rusty” (I will not spoiler his real name here) Galloway were questioning some schmuck about killing his wife that it hit me — I’m fucking Jack Webb.

Not literally, of course (the man’s dead after all — let him rest in peace), but you know what I mean. That whole vibe, that dimension of “This is The City” hit me hard. And I loved it.

L.A. Noire is far from being another GTA, although a number similarities exist — from all the driving (and there’s a lot of driving, unless you manage to convince  your partner to take the wheel) and map management to firefights under cover. Beyond these, however, Noire breaks its own ground. As heavily advertised, the cornerstone of the game was its use of MotionScan, a technology developed by Depth Analysis to render the entire performances of actors rather than simply use their voices. Its use in-game is to help separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were, when it comes to obtaining information from P.O.I.s (Persons of Interest). This makes for a lot of fun (or frustration), since interviews with P.O.I.s usually serve to direct the progress of each case. The player (as Detective Cole Phelps, digitally portrayed by Aaron Stanton, above) is given a series of questions in his notebook, which are put to the P.O.I.s. Their answers are to be interpreted as either Truth, Doubt or Lie. Generally speaking, Truth is just that, an honest answer (one that seems genuine and in accordance with the character in question), Doubt is an answer that seems unlikely or is evidently so, and Lie — unlike Doubt — is not only unlikely, but can be proven with evidence culled from the scene of the crime, or elsewhere. Often successful interviews (ones where each question has been interpreted correctly, and given a checkmark in your notebook) lead to a more concise path to the end of the case, instead of having to spend time at more locations, and interviewing more P.O.I.s (and more driving). Successfully solved cases lead to promotions, different cases (Phelps starts as a beat cop, and then is promoted to Traffic Detective, and from there goes to Homicide, Vice and Arson), and different partners, as well. My fave is the aforementioned Galloway, who drinks almost constantly, and prides himself on his lack of complication. He’s a self-aware stereotype, and one of many excellent characters in the game.

I could go on about the amazing look of L.A. Noire, the wonderful score, and the astounding amount of detail given to the massive recreation of Los Angeles, not to mention the smoothly interwoven stories (even supporting characters from other cases reappear from time to time) and signature Rockstar black humor, but the game isn’t perfect by any means. Often the MotionScanned heads of the characters don’t quite match their bodies, with a bit of a “bobble-head” effect, and the “street crime” missions outside casework are repetitive (most consist of different combinations of foot chase/shootout/car chase). While the overall storylines are wonderfully mixed, the dramatic arc of the main storyline is actually disserviced by the pacing created by the game’s structure, and could have used considerable beefing up in parts, but probably would’ve required a lot more gameplay to support them. Maybe upcoming DLCs could provide this, I don’t know.

The bottom line with L.A. Noire is that it took what could’ve easily been a “gimmick game” and created a remarkable new style of entertainment. As many other reviews have said, it is the closest thing to actually being in one of the noir films of the ’40s and ’50s (there’s even an option to play the game in black & white!). Major kudos to Team Bondi for their considerable achievement with the game, and to Rockstar for not only gambling on new technology, but a drastic departure from their usual fare.

9/10

Hobo with a Shotgun.

Originally a faux “trailer” shown in the Tarantino-Rodriguez sleazy masterpiece Grindhouse (although I distinctly preferred Rodriquez’s entry Planet Terror over Tarantino’s Death Proof, even though it starred Kurt Fucking Russell himself), Hobo with a Shotgun raised such a  fervor as to get it’s own due as a feature film. Staying with the Grindhouse exploitation theme, replete with garish colors and over-the-top violence, the feature-length Hobo does more than enough to qualify itself among the original two entries.

Starring Rutger (the Man Who Will Always Be Batty) Hauer as the Hobo, a solitary figure who ambles into town off a train car and into a nightmare, trading his dream of owning his own lawn care business for a shotgun, and relentless justice. His targets are The Drake (Brian Downey, better known as the hapless Stanley Tweedle from LEXX), the local crime lord and his sons Ivan (four-time Martial Arts World Champion Nick Bateman) and Slick (Gregory Smith). His only ally in this conflict is Abby (Molly Dunsworth), the Hooker with a Heart of Gold.

The film is a swiftly-paced grimy manifesto to the exploitation genre, filled with enough gore, nudity and black humor to satisfy any who may consider themselves to be fans. I personally liken it to Pepe Moreno’s early work in Heavy Metal, but that may be too vague a reference. Needless to say, all performances (especially Hauer’s and Smith’s) are suitably over-the-top and perfectly tuned to the subject matter, and I dearly hope to see more from writer/director Jason Eisener. It’s so nice when something that is set to appeal to a select few does just that, and so well.

9/10

Drive Angry 3D.

Take the slow burn that is Nicolas Cage, the perky Amber Heard (in Daisy Dukes and boots, no less), and team them up with the guy who did the last 3D flick besides Avatar I really dug, and you’ve got the beginnings of Drive Angry 3D.

Combining copious heaps of mindless violence, female nudity, classic muscle cars (Chevelles, Chargers, and a 1964 Riviera) and a non-stop rock soundtrack which includes the likes of Peaches’ “Fuck the Pain Away”, Drive Angry is what low-budget filmmaking used to be all about, but given a higher production caliber with the use of modern digital 3D. This trite description could just as easily describe the other Patrick Lussier film I barely mentioned above, My Bloody Valentine 3D, but Drive Angry comes with so much more.

It’s the story of one John Milton (Cage), who manages to rise above Hell and return to the Earthly plane, for the purpose of saving  his granddaughter from being sacrificed by a Satanic cult. This alone is enough to get my saliva running — but wait, there’s more!

Enter Heard as the tough-talking and tougher-fighting Piper, who somehow sees through Milton’s grim visage to the well-meaning soul behind it and joins him in his quest. Together they head to Louisiana, where the grandchild will be slain at the whim of Jonah King (Billy Burke), the leader of the aforementioned cult. Cage, as always, provides enough barely-hinged tension to make us wait for when he explodes again (and boy, does he), and Heard enough tough-chick sexiness to deliver her lines and make us want to see if she can back up the talk (she does).

But the best is yet to come! Not only does the legendary Tom Atkins appear as the captain of a highway patrol unit, and inevitably crumble the scenery by his mere presence, but the wonderful William Fichtner (pictured above) steals the show, entirely. He plays The Accountant, apparently Satan’s right-hand man and one particularly in charge of escapees from the devil’s domain. This is the role Fichtner was born for, and he is an epitome of grace, morbidity and comedic timing.

When not in wonder over the 3d effects, the film is constantly shocking or tickling the ribs, and is consummately entertaining. If a fan of the schools of exploitation or ’70s era road movies, this film cannot be missed.

9/10

 

Happy Birthday, Sissy.

Seeing as how my sister Lisa is a published romance author now (you can visit her official website here), I thought it only fitting that her homemade birthday card have the same theme, but with that special touch to remind her that it’s from her Bubby. The main influence came from the Barbara Cartland paperbacks that both she and my mother devoured when we were young. The titles were always like Love’s Tangled Undergarments, or some such claptrap. For the purely English-speaking (and those unfamiliar with the wonders of Babelfish) “Château Résidus de Chat” is supposed to mean “House of Cat Feces”, and Imma Lustiger Bruder is an obvious pseudonym for yours truly, meaning “(I’m A) Funny Brother” in German. Or so the great and powerful Babelfish tells me. Anyways, she thought it was funny, and that’s all that really matters.

The Walking Dead.

At last, finally, the wait is over. I had been sitting on my hands about this one for the better part of a year, ever since internet rumors began buzzing about Frank Darabont (the man responsible for the best Stephen King adaptations, like The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and my personal fave, The Mist) adapting Robert Kirkman’s Eisner Award-winning comic series. And once I heard that AMC would be the network picking it up, my worse fears were immediately quelled. The home of two of my all-time favorite TV shows, Mad Men and Breaking Bad — both programs known to have “eccentric” natures — AMC has set a new standard in network television programming. And The Walking Dead looks to be yet another fine feather in their cap.

And apparently, for once, everyone else seems to agree with me. The show premiered on Halloween night to a whopping 5.3 million viewers, which is higher than any other premiere audience for an AMC series. I’ve also heard that the show had a second season greenlit before the first had even aired. In an era where television series can be cancelled after a single airing, that is nothing short of a miracle. Or a really really good show. And if the first episode is any indication, I’m thinking the latter.

From the get-go, everything is there: the black commentary on human nature, the emotional charge between the living and the (walking) dead, and plenty of gore and gunfire. And Georgia deputy Rick Grimes,  a wonderfully drawn central character. As played by Andrew Lincoln, Grimes isn’t the perfect action hero — he makes bad moves, has his failings, and seems more than a bit bull-headed. But that, of course, is what makes him so fun to watch. We want to be his Tonto, and tell him RICK NO GO TO TOWN, but what can we do? Like everything else in the wonderfully crafted show, he leaves us with thoroughly bitten fingernails. He is our tour guide in this apocalypse, and we can only hope for his safety.

Needless to say, I’m already invested in this show. And I’m hoping like hell AMC replays the first ep before this Sunday, or I can find it online somewhere in the meantime. Until then, I’ll keep my doors locked, windows boarded, and rifle loaded — because The Walking Dead has more to come.

Preach On, Papa John.

Here in total is John Carmack’s recent post at his Armadillo Aerospace website about  his view of government, and I have to agree with him on several points. God knows bureaucracy has always been the doom of any form of government, since no system can dynamically adjust itself to its own evolution. In many ways Carmack’s view is as conservative as my own, with our government being essentially a warped stretch between the aforementioned bureaucratic luggage and an idealistic want of balance, or the “cry of ‘Do something’”, as he puts it. His euphemism of equating taxation to monthly utility bills hits home, not only illustrating the responsibility we have as citizens towards the amount of government spending, but it underscores the above points as each citizen should see it.

He posts that the main reason he posted his views was to settle things with his mother and stepfather, who are “intelligent people”, apparently using the old Koppel Method, as Zappa loved to call it*.

* Zappa often loved to watch Ted Koppel on the ABC news program Nightline, where if Koppel had described any given person on the panel or in discussion as an “intelligent man” at least twice, it surely meant that he truly thought the person was beyond stupid.

Possibly the Greatest Commercial Ever.

I simply cannot get enough of this commercial, I laugh until I cry, it’s the creepiest/funniest thing I  have ever seen:

By the way, if you’d ever like to dress up as the Snickers Creepy Lady, check this costume out. Creeeepy.

Happy Birthday, John Lennon.