Since its introduction in 1977, the lightsaber has become a stable of Star Wars, but also of pop culture as a whole. Considering the weapon's gimmicky nature, this may come off as a bit surprising, but the reasoning is solid. The lightsaber goes beyond the typical qualifications for a "cool laser-sword," especially in its first few installments. Normally, in sci-fi stories, plasma-based weapons are there to drive home the setting's, aesthetic, provide some eye candy, or engage the audience in some other way. The lightsaber does this as well, but with some smart decisions that make it more engaging. To begin, the lightsabers of the original trilogy are wreathed in mystery. During A New Hope, the audience sees three lightsabers, each with their own mystery: Luke's, which relates to his unknown father and the organization he was a part of; Obi-wan's, which relates to the weapon's capabilities in the hands of a master; and Vader's, which relates to the simple question of a different color. Because of all of these threads to follow, the appearance of a saber on screen is bound to get the viewer's attention, even if it's just Luke swinging it around for a couple of minutes. In The Empire Strikes Back, Luke's skill with a lightsaber reflects milestones in his training, starting with the AT-AT, following through to the fight with "Vader" in the cave, and finally ending with his real fight with Vader on Bespin. In Return of The Jedi, Luke gains a new saber, leaving the audience to ponder why his iconic blue blade has become a green one. From there, however, many of the mysteries surrounding the sacred blades stop and are replaced with gimmicks and flashier special effects. The Force Awakens tried to create a mystery surrounding Luke's old saber, but that turned out to be a total fluke, sadly. The second reason for the lightsaber's unique fame is its connection to the main factions of the story. Much in the same way wands relate to the wizarding world of Harry Potter, lightsabers serve as a symbol of the Jedi. In the originals, they are an expression of power and skill, as we covered before with Luke's training. There was really only one duel per film in the original trilogy, which added hype and intensity . The prequels featured lots of fights, but the real excitement came from the scale of the battles. The arenas were elaborate set pieces closer to what we saw during the duel in Return of The Jedi. The sequels of course drove the lightsaber's uniqueness and elegance into the ground but that's neither here nor there. Because of the weapon's connection to the Jedi, and Sith respectively, it also became inseparable from the franchise. It's for this reason that there hasn't been a single Star Wars movie without a lightsaber. So, despite their gimmicky nature, why are lightsabers a cut above other cool weapons? To put it simply, they are a symbol of many of the greatest aspects of their beloved franchise. (At least until the sequels went and ruined it.) Extra Credit: 4:14-7:07 of: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL83p4GxAvw
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There is a saying that you should "never judge a book by its cover." Bullshit. "The cover" -- a game's graphics, aesthetic, and overall appearance -- is a crucial part of any title. This is true whether the visuals are for the world of the game itself, or for the world of its sales projections. For example, the bright and colorful style of many Nintendo games wouldn't appeal to a target audience that plays shooters, even if the game includes the same elements. Much in the same way, the darker and grittier style of many shooter games cannot convey the same whimsical tone as Nintendo's bright and colorful style. Realistic graphics will appeal to a group, so much so that they want to buy the game solely for that purpose. Visuals aren't disposable when it comes to reaching a target audience. And much like a movie, visuals are a key part in providing the experience. But visuals aren't the entire experience. Feeling awe at what has been created for your very eyes is only natural, but maybe we should all make an effort to "see past the curtain." Because visuals are needed, they have become a crutch; one that may be effective for sales, but detrimental for experiences. With the recent explosion of Dungeons & Dragons into the mainstream, the complexity of roleplaying games (RPGs) is more relevant than ever. It is hard to learn the many rules spread throughout unending books and websites; it is even harder to learn when there are multiple iterations of one system. After all, D&D is only one game in this genre. Branching out can take many forms, whether you just want some new rules for your fantasy-style adventure (consider Pathfinder), or whether you want to try something so fundamentally different that it is only connected by a simple attribute. Enter Call of Cthulhu, a mystery/horror RPG that draws inspirations from the Cthulhu mythos and its many facets. This mythos is, of course, attributed to one H.P. Lovecraft, and though it is the basis for the game, that is not what makes the it interesting. For one, Call of Cthulhu focuses on an entirely different aspect of roleplay than D&D. Though versatile, the latter typically conveys a sense of power. Whether a campaign is difficult or not, being able to project flame from your finger-tips at a whim, or cleave a goblin in half with your blade, fills players with an inner strength. Call of Cthulhu uses the power RPGs for the opposite purpose. It makes players feel out of their depth and under assault from all sides by an unfamiliar environment. The atmosphere is accentuated by a semi-modern setting, where much of the technology we rely on in the real-world is ineffective against foes. This is perfect for one intending to branch out, as not only are you learning a new system, you're learning an entirely new style than what's normally associated with Dungeons & Dragons. Call of Cthulhu is steeped in roleplay. Much of the game's actual mechanics, which are found in the Keeper Rulebook, are minimalist and only there to prevent controversy. The keeper, or the game-master, is given much of the power to describe and relay how situations go. This power is increased compared to that of a dungeon master due to a lack of gradient in Call of Cthulhu's roles. In this game, you either succeed or you fail, and little emphasis is placed on what number you actually roll. This is a departure to be sure, and this game is far less versatile than that of D&D. It is best for keepers to have a group that appreciates roleplay more than combat. And that is effectively the concept of Call of Cthulhu, a great new game for those wishing to branch into other RPGs. Though based in a more modern setting and focusing on more horror than adventure, this new edition to a player's library can result in some great roleplaying moments; moments would've otherwise never come to pass. (Disclaimer: Call of Cthulhu is a bit hard to get an initial grasp on. I'd personally advise getting a copy of the two starting books for seventh edition, the Keeper Rulebook and Investigator Handbook, combined with some YouTube videos for starting out.) Greatness comes in many shapes and sizes... but for this masterpiece it came in four. The Impractical Jokers Movie is the single greatest work of media ever conceived. It has a simplistic plot that carries these magnificent characters to their destinies as the comedic gods we know today. The driving force of this movie is the characters. All of your favorites are here including Joe, Murr, Sal, and Q. You get to see them in school before their greatness, out of school before their greatness, and many seasons into their job before their greatness. Each of them experience unique challenges that unlock a special revelation in their complexly written personalities. Joe begins the narrative as a bad hype man, and ends the narrative the exact same way, except this time he's famous! (Truly the writers of this film have hidden a complex allegory for the society in which we live in and how money and fame inevitability raise others' opinions of you.) Sal begins the narrative as the only member of the jokers that doesn't wish to revisit their terrible past, but Sal becomes a driving force in their pursuit to revisit that mystery when it matters most. (He summons a 2-by-4 and he threatens his friends until they make the right decision.) Q begins the movie with a butter knife, and carries that butter knife with him until the end of the line. (He keeps that symbol of pride and determination through some of the most difficult challenges he has ever faced.) And finally, there's Murr, the epitome of a well-written character. Murr begins this movie surrounded by friends and hair. First goes his hair, but throughout the general run-time of this intense narrative, Murr always has his friends to rely on. But then Murr loses a challenge, they leave him all alone, and it destroys him. Yes, the film is essentially just a string of challenges with the weakest plot ever conceived. But this is all just a courier of the theme: the jokers are better as one. And when they finally realize they're better together, Murr still is left alone on the top of a plane during the end of the film. Truly this is art. My words cannot do this movie justice, you must see it yourself. With its varying settings, complex characters, and interesting world, this film is only held back by a simple plot. And isn't that okay? I for one believe that this is the single greatest work of cinema since toilet paper. The bombastic soundtrack, memorable characters, and surprisingly fun ideas are all terrific aspects of Pirates of The Caribbean; but what really sets this franchises apart, at least in the first three films, is a dedication that really didn't need to be there. Created from a Disney attraction, this project could have very easily been a cash-grab. But because they rose beyond our expectations, because so much effort and charm was put into the first two movies, the franchise grossed nearly 2.7 billion dollars over three films. So why is this series better than it has any right to be? The quality foundation of diverse ideas. In the first movie alone, The Curse of The Black Pearl, a neat historic setting is implemented in the form of a Britain-occupied Caribbean infested with pirates. If the namesake wasn't enough to catch your interest, how about a curse that tackles heavy themes such as "is immortality worth it?." Heavy themes not your speed? Well, the film has some brilliant action sequences involving swordplay and a terrific use of the setting. Still not convinced? How about a comedy? Romance? Political commentary? This movie has it all. And that's not even to mention the other two films of note: Dead Man's Chest and At World's End. In these two films a variety of new settings and challenges are introduced; this includes cannibals, an eldritch god, and a living manifestation of Davy Jones. You know... a metaphor for the bottom of the ocean? The series' coverage is admirable, but to forget characters would be a crime. To start with the obvious... Captain Jack Sparrow. Beyond being one of the most entertaining roles Johnny Depp has ever portrayed, the genius of this character becomes apparent at one key point of the series: the first time Sparrow responds to a question with "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." Rarely does a fictional character's infamy feel so justified. Jack Sparrow makes the audience respect him, despite having one of his fundamental strengths be dumb luck. This isn't to mention the fact that Captain Jack Sparrow is a Disney protagonist without a moral compass. Every single "good" action he performs, is either unintentional or forced upon him by established circumstances. There is not a single moment in this series where Captain Jack Sparrow is a good man, but rather he is always a bad man forced to do good things for other people. This creates a sense of realism, as the main character of several movies about literal sea-thieves is a bad person, while ensuring he remains likable. Sparrow's greatness can never be properly explained, it must be viewed. There is something about the energy that Depp brings to the character that makes him Captain Jack Sparrow. While the captain may be the star of the show, other additions include two fantastic antagonists: the skeletal swashbuckler, Barbossa, and the loyal soldier Becket. Will Turner, the protagonist of the series, follows a simple, yet well-executed in character arc that makes At World's End a great closer. These movies aren't necessarily the greatest, especially from a technicality standpoint. Someone could easily dive into the choreography or other such aspects and find many mistakes. But these films have charm, and we could all use little of that in these times. There is a large divide between the almost comical scare of old, and the lingering fear that plagues modern viewers. This divide can be mostly attributed to the setup of normalcy in horror. In the 2018 film Hereditary, there is an extended buildup to the supernatural scares of the movie. Though buildups are a necessity in the genre, this example has a key difference: the most horrific aspects are plausible events rather than supernatural ones. This concept seems backwards, but it actually allows the fear to resonate more. When a viewer thinks back on that movie, they aren't going to worry over the generally impossible elements, as they aren't a realistic concern. What they are going to remember are the events that could haunt their real lives. This is normalcy in horror. Looking back on films like Us, this method's effectiveness becomes clear. From a basic standpoint, Us is a movie about a clone tracking down and killing the original. Though this idea can be scary in its own right, it is helpful to remember that movies such as 2019's Gemini Man have a very similar idea. The difference here being that Gemini Man is an action film starring Will Smith. Will Smith playing himself for two roles is the scariest part of that whole experience. So which is scarier Us or Gemini Man? Us uses its final twist to integrate itself with our world, and changes some viewer's perception of our society. Gemini Man's argument for why there are two Will Smiths has been deliberately refuted by scientific study. Now this may be an extreme example, as Gemini Man is not intended to be a horror film, but on the conceptual level, this comparison is the easiest to understand. In order for a film to be truly terrifying, even after the credits roll, it must implement a sense of normalcy. Because without normalcy there wouldn't be horror movies in the first place. (DISCLAIMER: I am aware that the aforementioned horror movies do far more than implement normalcy to strike fear into viewers. But I am also aware that without that normalcy, none of the implemented techniques would pack the same punch.) Many would argue that perfection is impossible to create, but between the many different media there is a crucial step toward achieving it: a mix of idea and execution. Without vision, even something unoriginal, the execution cannot come to fruition. Likewise, without a decent execution, an idea can never really be conveyed. As displayed above, professional wrestling provides a good example of this. Conceptually, nothing about professional wrestling is sensible or cohesive; nor is this "sport" intentionally meant to be funny. The strength of this medium is its execution. People who don't think too hard can find themselves believing this nonsense and, like it or not, that shows good use of their concept. One of the greatest anime of all time, Hunter X Hunter, has a rather random world. It takes traditional shonen tropes and combines them with a weird settings. This makes the world creative, but also disrupts a sense of cohesion and explanation that many other shows possess. Only through expert implementation of shonen story points does this show stand against the odds and become one of the greatest. Now we've established execution is important, but when does a better idea make for a beloved creation? Just look at a crowd favorite: Naruto. Sure, Naruto was a forerunner of many classic shonen anime, and it used spectacle well in its fight scenes. But that isn't relevant today, as many other shows do the same thing. What separates Naruto is its concept. Magic ninja are cool. And this is far from the only example. As much as Undertale's gameplay contributed to its success, what drew all of those players in was an RPG where killing wasn't the only way to win. For another example of a concept-driven game think about Minecraft: a game where the player could "build anything." These are only a few of countless examples. Without both concept and execution can't have a good story. On the fundamental level, the job of a critic is to dissect a creation -- a cruel occupation -- that can embellish or shatter a person's vision. But despite what they do, critics only do it out of a genuine love for art. Without this passion, the drive to pick something apart and see how it functions would not exist. So this is a personal thank you to all those out there who have created something. Whether you are a living legend like Gary Gygax (pictured above), or just a dungeon master for this game, you are a creator; and that impacts the world around you. Every indecipherable doodle, crappy poem, garbage fan fiction, flawed RPG system, cliched narrative, Soundcloud rap or any stupid idea is new and exciting. It may not work on the fundamental level. It may not ever become as great as you intend it to be: a timeless classic bringing millions of people joy every day. But it is yours, and that is something to be proud of. You should never stop creating. It is humanity's greatest strength. Not everyone will like it, for art is subjective. But for those who don't love your art there will always be those who do, maybe even as much as you do. For all of time there has been a genuine love for all types of art, whether from one person or one million people. Contribution to the greatest umbrella term, "art", is a feat worthy of respect. Though your skill may not be honed it is a skill nonetheless. So no matter what we critics say, you are creating, and thus adding to a concept greater than all of us. Thank you. Nothing can avoid the passage of time. With such announcements as several new MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe) movies, an upcoming Lord of the Rings show, only five episodes of Rick and Morty being released in 2019, and The Simpsons still running, time has been called into question more and more lately. How long can something last before it ceases to be appealing? Before it loses what made it great in the first place? The animated show RWBY is currently on its seventh season, though its visionary died in 2015. Many argue that the hit anime, My Hero Academia, lost its luster after only first couple of seasons and has been reduced to a painfully generic shonen experience. Steven Universe has its newest season on the air right now despite some arguing that it should have ended long ago. Star Wars has released movie after movie since 2015, with a substantial decrease in quality and a great decrease in popularity. Disney itself seems quite content to consume franchise after franchise and abuse every one of them until there is no more money to be made. Endless sequelization is a disease resulting from a paradox. Consumers want as much of something as they can get, whilst also wanting the quality to remain the same. When a show like Gravity Falls or Hunter X Hunter ends on a terrific note, the audience is left sad and craving more. But when a beloved show like Avatar: The Last Airbender gets a sequel, it is berated to no end for being "worthless". What people need to understand is that shelling out money with the vain hope that maybe the next iteration will be "better" is entirely pointless. The creator in question doesn't need to make it better because they know you'll make them rich either way. So whenever the new Marvel movie comes out and you don't like it, remember that you payed for it. No complaints for the five episodes of Rick and Morty we got this year, because 30 episodes would've done just as much for the people behind the scenes. If fans want change they need to earn it. Because in the end, fans hold the power. Dreamworks' Flushed Away and D&D are not often put into the same sentence. This is because one is a children's film made with claymation, while the other is an iconic role-playing experience. However, Dungeons and Dragons is only universal because of its hand-tailored stories, and anything can be seen as material for a D&D campaign, even something as childish and immature as Flushed Away. A tragic villain plotting to flood an underground city resembles many narratives, though in the movie it is done with a goofy cast and light-hearted tone. If a dungeon master were to take the plot of Flushed Away, give it a more serious tone, and replace the cast with his players, that could be a campaign for years! Stories are always inspired by other stories, so if a writer is able to derive an exciting adventure from the book Holes, or the show Friends, or even the movie Flushed Away, they are a good storyteller. Maturity has no place within the quality of a story, and the transition of Flushed Away into a fantasy epic is proof of just that. |
AuthorMcRae Walker, an 20-year-old writer and lover of many dorky topics. Archives
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