Oh the Humanity

The art of basing a novel almost solely on strength of characters is a risky balance. The existence of plot is the force which drives readers from page to page wondering what could be next. In theory if a novel possesses a mediocre plot, it would be imagined to be a mediocre story as a result. Yet, in practice, this is not always so, as is the case with Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen does little to concern herself with plot: she strips true to life circumstances and just dictates them as they would happen. The aspect, however, that launches this novel far above the orbit of mediocrity, is that it is filled to a near saturation point with characters that provide such a large spectrum of views on the same subjects, and all with such a sense of hilarity,   that it is impossible not to be fascinated, and deeply amused, with the goings on of the Bennett family and their surroundings.

Character driven bodies of work are only as strong as their weakest persona, and the beauty of Pride and Prejudice is that there is truly not a weakest link. Austen plays favorites, and aims the most titillating insults at those she despises, but that in no way means they are weakened by this. For example, Collins may be a blubbering idiot, and easily discernible as disliked by Austen, but the way he mucks up the works provides a look into the deeper ideals and tribulations of being a male in that time-period. In comparison, Mr. Bennett is much more liked, arguably one of the most beloved of Austen’s characters, and through his expansive wit and subsequent inability to parent a reason for some of his family’s behaviors can be gleaned.

As more and more of the novel is revealed, there is an evident relationship in my eyes between another melodramatic and character driven vehicle and this novel, that body of work being Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. In both works the plot becomes secondary to the dialogue that goes on between the characters inside. Admittedly, Virginia Woolf possesses a more intricate plot line, but at the close the viewer remembers the lines that filled the advance of the story, not what was advanced through. Both works are captivating and enduring because of the memorability of their characters, and they are both testaments to the human need to connect with characters. I am unable to imagine myself in a battle with my mother over marriage rights, but I certainly can place myself in a heated disagreement laced with sarcasm and intelligence, and that is the beauty of Pride and Prejudice.

Inspiration

       The more and more I work on my graduation speech, the more and more I find I must look backwards to go forwards. In writing a speech with the goal of encompassing the essence of high school, it is necessary to remember all that went on within those four years. and for me to do that, I feel the need to look further back to be able express myself fully. I began looking through much of my old writing and came across a poem I had written about a dear friend of mine. 

        Until I was five, my family lived at a wonderful house on Flag Pond Road. We were forced to move because with my brother on the way they felt a house as close to the busy road as ours was wasn’t a good idea for little children, but I still to this day attest that I WILL buy it back. Across from lived a woman who became my friend, confidant, and grandmother for years to come. Her name was Bernice, and she was something special. She lived to the age of 103, and she laughed and hugged her way right up to the end. 

        I began to write a section of my speech focusing on the power of other people in our lives, and it reminded me of Bernice. The poem below was my attempt to capture what she meant to me as closely as can be done with words and paper. That is my goal for the speech, and so here is my inspiration:

 

I see a boy sitting on a porch, staring at a house across the street

He sighs and turns around, knowing it is out of his reach

He gets up and walks off of the porch and sits down with a forever friend

 

And these are all that I have left

Memories that just seem to go by too fast

One minute I am sitting, taking in the view

All of a sudden the minutes grow too few

The time just slips away without a second glance

 

And now it is years later, both houses out of view

We sit together now, in a very different room

She asks me how I got so big and I wonder how she’s seemed to get so old

 

And these are all that I have left

The better times that just never stick around

One minute we are sitting, taking in the view

All of a sudden the minutes grow too few

The time slips away without a second glance

 

Now I sit alone, in another room across town

I hear the door open, and the voices carry down

What I hear I do not want to believe and I can’t take it

 

And this is all that I have left

The words that I had left unsaid

One more time would have just enough

All of a sudden the years fly on by

Our time may be gone, but I’ll always give it a second glance

There are a handful of directors who’s films I will go see no matter the genre, plot, reviews, or hype because they are in charge. Directors like Quentin Tarantino, Woody Allen, David Fincher, and of course Christopher Nolan. In particular, following the beauty of Memento, the genius of Inception, and the triumph of The Dark Knight, Nolan has secured a place as one of my favorite directors. I have never seen a film helmed by this man that has not delivered, and with the first extended look at his next project, Interstellar, I expect that streak to continue.
Christopher Nolan is very secretive when it comes to details about his projects. Until the release of this trailer, nothing besides the tagline (“Mankind was born on Earth, it was never meant to die here”) was known. What the trailer reveals is that the movie promises to take on Kubrick size ideas of interstellar space travel, and the fate of the future of the human race, and all will be placed in the hands of Matthew McConaughey, who’ll be a hot draw coming off the resounding success of Dallas Buyers Club.
I am a huge fan of 2001: A Space Odyssey, and I have an enormous attraction to science fiction when it is done well. Nolan’s attention to detail promises a twisted and turning plot that will take us through scientifically sound projections to come to a halt at some dramatic pinnacle of storytelling. The Dark Knight trilogy is a hard act to follow, but Interstellar seems like the perfect chance to top it. Christopher has had enough with that within our world, and like many directors before him, he will now look to the stars.

The King of Monsters Reigns Again

        I am an admitted sceptic of blockbuster films. I have an enormous soft spot for anything Marvel ever puts out, but beyond that I have my doubts when it comes to big budget, over the top, crowd-pleasing entertainment in the 21st century. Movies that rely on thrills and explosions often seem lacking to me in the finer aspects of filmmaking beyond the phenomenal effects that usually reside within them. That being said, I do enjoy one every now and then, and this weekend I sat for a blockbuster that fully delivered: Godzilla. 

        Remakes are a very grey area, and Godzilla is a character who has been reincarnated time and time again with varying degrees of success. The original in 1954 captured the fear that had raged through Japan in the aftermath of the horror created by the dropping of the atomic bombs. Godzilla was a warning of a world that would come to be dominated by monsters if the path of nuclear acceptance was followed. The success of the film spawned decades of remakes that lost that vein and focused instead on mass destruction and faulty dystopian futures. The culmination of this failure came in 1998 when Roland Emmerich took on a production of Godzilla that was so disappointing it has joined the ranks of the worst films ever made. With all that in mind there were enormous expectations for this years addition to the Godzilla legacy helmed by Gareth Edwards, and in my not so humble opinion he deliver, on a monstrous scale.

        From the opening scenes of Godzilla, a mood of impending doom is secured by the shots of nuclear tests that lead into the destruction of a meltdown that destroys a family. Immediately, this version uses what many of its predecessors ignored, and recaptures the foreboding tone of the original. I was glued to the screen from beginning to end. The rendering of Godzilla and the MOTA’s that he is pitted against are flawless, and Edwards gives a nod to Spielberg in his decision to shroud the beasts full girth until deep into the film when the suspense has built (there is a particular homage to Jaws in his decision to name the lead family Brody, like the family in the before-mentioned). The cinematography is dark and beautiful. Edwards takes a commendably artistic approach to this film and it delivers the indie aura that his debut, Monsters, hinted of. 

        With its immediate box-office success I can only imagine that a sequel will soon be in the works, as is the norm for studio movies these days, and I don’t mind at all. The adrenaline rush I had in the final fight scene with buildings crumbling, atomic breath blasting, and bullets ripping through the air is very welcome. Welcome back King of Monsters, I missed you. 

Ap Exam

I just cannot believe that the AP Exam is this Thursday….

The year has absolutely flown by in every sense of the word. It seems only a few weeks ago I was researching Blake for the poetry project, or loosing my fingertips to biting cold while filming the meridian short film, yet it was much longer than a few weeks. We have done so much in class, be it critical writing, heated discussion, or just plain fun. With all this considered, I’m shocked the test is upon us, but not worried.

English as a subject has always been my strong point, and I feel that I have only grown as a writer during this year by being pushed at such a pace in AP Lit. I admit its a tad odd, but I look forward to the challenge that will be the exam on Thursday. Looking back on the AP Lang., it was strenuous and tiring, but I’m still proud of the essays I wrote. This exam is a chance to show off the skills we’ve polished all year, and I’m excited to let them shine. 

A Very Rough First Draft of Part of My Graduation Speech

Good afternoon everybody. Before I begin I would just like to take a moment to thank you all for coming today. It has been a long..long…very long time coming, and now that it is here, and I think I can speak for my class on this, we are honored that you have chosen to experience it with us. A lot of people have put an astounding amount of work into reaching this point, and I have no doubt it is with great pride that this ceremony commences.

High school is a place where we as students have the opportunity to explore what it is we love doing, and discover those things that we will be fine never ever having to study or experience again. In classrooms and labs, on playing fields and stages, and in all the corners of this school people find what it is they are passionate about. In the end that is the point of high school. It is where the chance lies to craft the first rungs on which you begin your ascension into whatever may lie in wait. In my time here I have found that one of my greatest passions is for all things of an relating to movies. They are the works of art that bring together all manner of people to create a story that comes alive before our eyes. Everyone has a movie that they can immediately relate to, and that ability of movies to seamlessly inject themselves into reality fascinates me.

These films are populated by characters that are the manifestations of every person who watches them. They are extensions of the writers, directors, and performers who see the same  complexities of life that we see before us. They are more than just pixels on a screen. If we take the time to listen to what these characters have to say,they can give some remarkably sound advice.

I’d like us all to take a step back to when things were a little simpler. When sitting around and watching Disney movies filled the space that essays and assignments do now. I’ve found that some of the most enduring counsel can come from these places, and so my first bit comes from one of them: The Lion King

In a world so obsessed with advancement and success, it is often much more difficult than it should be to allow ourselves to sit back and just enjoy. With this in mind, the first character I’d like to quote is Timon, when he told Simba “Hakuna matata.” This phrase  translates to “no worries,” and I believe this simple idea to try and take at least a little while every day to put yourself in a place of peace should resound with all of us. We off the class of 2014 are embarking on the next phases of our lives, whatever form that may take, and with these changes there comes a laundry list of opportunities for stress to get the best of us. It is inevitable that there will be deadlines, and days that seem to exist for no other reason to try and create countless worries for us, but that doesn’t mean in any way that they should dictate the entirety of our lives.

We as a class now have the opportunity to make decisions that will impact the rest of our lives, but that in no way means that the process of making these should inspire fear. They are decisions birthed in the joy that is the fulfillment of dreams.

When Timon and Pumba let Simba in on their mantra they are doing their absolute best to help him settle down in the wake of a terrible time. They represent the escape we all need, and it is within this escape that the best moments of our lives can be found. So as we go forward from this day I hope all of you here can allow yourselves to let go of that seemingly impossible presentation, or that sonata you just can’t seem to learn so you can sit down and have a good time with people just for the sake of nothing more than happiness. I know I struggle with that, but when I take the time it’s well worth it. 

With that in mind, it is important to recognize that there will always be stretches where this seems impossible. We as humans have before us lives rich with spells of heartbreak that make it difficult to find the beauty and happiness of just living. That brings me to my second quote.

In the film Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Jimmy Stewart plays a small town man who is confronted with filling a senate seat vacated by the death of the man that held it. He rushes in to Washington wide-eyed and ready to change the world, a shock to those who had been numbed by their tenures in the city. When he is asked how he can stay so assured of his causes, he tells a story that his father once told. He says “Have you ever noticed how grateful you are to see daylight again after coming through a long dark tunnell? Well, always try to see life around ya as if you’d just come out of a tunnel.”

It is with this in mind we should try to look at every day life. We live in a world of extraordinary circumstances which allow us to experience things those that came before us could only dream of. At times it may be difficult to remember this, but that is why we are surrounded my others who have felt the same way. There are people around us at all times who commit themselves to helping us find that light no matter how long the tunnel. There are countless faculty members at this school who do just that, and I am reminded of a particular tunnel I went through and the teacher who helped me remember that the light doesn’t have to be blinding.

My sophomore year I missed just about two months in the beginning of the school year because of an injury that became more of a problem than I had expected. After a particularly rough stretch I decided I needed to get away, and so I decided to go stay with family, which would mean missing another week of school. Now, I hadn’t made it to many of of any of classes, so I didn’t know my teachers all too well, but that didn’t stop one teacher from holding up a candle to help light my way. 

I had gone into pick up my homework, and my last stop was the history lounge to see Mrs. Sharland. She came out and gave me my work, and gave me hug, but what has always stayed with me was the note that I found on top of the homework. It read “Something to cheer you up:”, and underneath it was a picture of a man holding an enormous fat cat. Below that it read “Happiness often sneaks in through a door you didn’t know you left open.” – Mark Twain. I have the note here. I kept it, and  ever since that day it has helped to remind me that people generally care about one another. This note made me smile in a time when it had seemed nearly impossible to, and it has continued to help me see each new day in a light of discovery, and not dismay.

 

A musing

Saved on my computer I have many beginnings of stories that suddenly came upon me in the midst of going about my daily routine. I return to these every once and a while to expand upon them, but I usually find that what was a promising beginning lost steam as I attempted to stretch it into more than it was. Every once and while though, I start with one that I know I can come back to and transform a few paragraphs into a much longer and more satisfying venture. Today I had one of those after I finished watching American Beauty. Here a few paragraphs that I intend to revisit to give a story to. I possess no idea of where I intend to take it, but I’m excited to see where it will take me:

 

The brook was filled to its upper reaches when we came upon it. All of the snow shocked out of existence by the much awaited visit of spring propelled the current around all manner of stony figures that had found themselves rooted in the body of a cold and brisk creature. I was mesmerized by the foamy swirls that seemed almost like constellations on the the surface of the celestially reminiscent brook. The bottom of this water was as unknown to me as the farthest reaches of the sky above, and both of these expanses captured the complete lack of knowledge I possessed of the person standing beside me. 

We as humans kid ourselves into believing that the most mysterious of puzzles are those that concern black holes and little green men, but I have never had any doubt that the most tantalizing void of knowledge is that of other humans. The mysteries of space and the natural world can be documented, tested, and explored, yet life is the culmination of individual experiences,  so how can any of one person’s be effectively compared with those of another to answer any semblance of a question about life as we know it? In the end, how can we really be sure we know the inner workings of the minds surrounding us?

As I looked deeper into the water, I heard what I knew to be a signal of an impending disturbance on my abstruse thoughts. Just as the river was split by shards dispelled from the banks, my thoughts would be splintered by the dead wood that was the extent of possible communication from my company.

A few months ago when I finished “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn, I finished arguably the greatest piece of crime fiction I had ever read. Flynn had spun a tale of intrigue, distrust, and grand metaphor that transcended what is usually expected of the thriller genre to reach levels of social commentary and suspense rarely realized. I was hooked from the first page, and even when the ending didn’t provide the emotional justification I wanted, I realized later that it was perfect exactly the way it was. It was dark. It was twisted. It was ingenious, and much of the world shares my opinion because it has stayed very popular since its release.
This fact meant that inevitably it would be adapted for the big screen, a reality that I always approach with wary excitement. Over the years I have seen some remarkably faithful adaptations of books I have loved (“Of Mice and Men”, the “Harry Potter” series, etc.), as well as some dreadfully unfulfilling ones (“The Hunger Games”, “The Book Thief”, etc.), so I’m still not sure exactly how I want to be feeling going into October and the theatrical release of “Gone Girl.”
The darkness of “Gone Girl” is something that would take a truly inspired director to translate, so when I read David Fincher (“Fight Club”, “Zodiac”, “Se7en”, etc) was directing my excitement was peaked, and stayed that way until I saw later on in the article that Ben Affleck had been cast in the lead role of Nick Dunne. I had pictured many skilled actors in the role, as well as I had imagined many no-names making their debut, but at no time did Mr. Gigli cross my mind as filling the role. I find his acting successes to be made up of many performances of the same character, and Nick Dunne does not fit in the niche that Affleck has come to inhabit. Nonetheless, a small part of me possesses enough faith to hope that the pivotal role won’t be a disappointment.
So with all of this roiling around in my mind for months, I was a tad ecstatic to see that the first trailer for the movie dropped today. With baited breath I hit play, and was presented with a heartening display of dramatic flair and half-convincing acting on Affleck’s part. Trailers are a poor judge of a film’s merit, but they do give a glimpse into the overall tone of the film and if the tone of the trailer holds true for the film, there is hope. The gloomy mood of all the shots, and the spot-on image of Amy Dunne provided by Rosamund Pike have inflated the low expectations I had and allowed them to rise up a few levels. Now I hold my breath for October.

The Underwood’s and the Defarge’s

     ***Spoilers***

 

        Since the premiere of House of Cards in 2013, there has been incessant comparison of Frank and Claire Underwood to Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. This is a fair and valid comparison because both couples are founded on the pursuits of power and control while leveled with a healthy dose of darkness. These power couples exemplify the idea that “the ends justify the means” to such an extent that human life carries little weight in decision making. In my opinion the Underwood’s are more dastardly and devious than their Shakespearean counterparts, but the similarities are vastly apparent. Yet, now that we are finished A Tale of Two Cities, I find a couple that reminds me of the Underwood’s even more: Monsieur and Madame Defarge, with only some slight tweaking to match up the gender’s. 

        Revolutions come in many shapes and sizes of varying degrees of justifiability and logicality, and both the Defarge’s and the Underwood’s find themselves smack dab in the middle: the former in a fight for rights and equality, and the latter in a political reforming of the ranks. Both couples possess an unwavering drive to achieve complete recreation of the systems they find themselves in by destroying all that stands to implement their own designs. While the Defarge’s are partial to the guillotine and mobs to achieve this, the Underwood’s rely on a small, dedicated few to carry out much cleaner destructions of opposition. Nonetheless, the result is the same: control at any cost. Expanding on this idea, a parallel can be drawn in the way that the Defarge mentality that was rampant throughout the Third Estate during the French Revolution led to the demise of those within the ranks just as the Underwood’s system led to the harm of their most faithful servant: Doug Stamper. These couples walk such a fine line between chaos and control that it is only a matter of time before the fire spreads unchecked.

           Just as Lady Macbeth matches up with Claire Underwood, I see much of Monsieur Defarge in her, and vice versa. Both characters are ruthless in their pursuit of advancement, yet they have a limit, unlike their spouses. Near the close of Season 2 after Claire had been fighting for sexual assault awareness bills, she is shown breaking down inside the townhouse soon after being torn into by the innocent young woman she had been manipulating, It is here that, for the first time, a limit to how much she can handle is reached. Similarly, Monsieur Defarge disagrees with his wife when she becomes set on pursuing little Lucie Manette, and others only loosely associated with the monarchy. He has had no qualms over torturing, murdering, and pillaging those he sees as in the way up to this point, but when the range is spread a little too generously by his wife he cannot stomach it. These two characters are undeniably thirsty, one for blood and the other for power, but they have within themselves a slightly more existent moral compass than their spouses.

         Sitting opposite from the more redeemable characters, we have the two that undoubtedly have no more than a shriveled mass of a tissue where a heart use to sit. Madame Defarge and Frank Underwood are unrelentingly ruthless and devious minds that will stop at nothing to advance their wishes far beyond any possible resistance. When Defarge sees the beginnings of a threat in the Manette family, she turns her wrath to reach past the protection of celebrity that Dr. Manette possesses to weed out the threat. She loved the Manette’s when they were a symbol of the Revolutionary spirit, but the moment there is any deviation from the accepted route, destruction is imminent. Frank acts similarly in relation to Peter Russo. When he saw Peter, he saw a soul he could manipulate into a position of exploitation that would serve the Underwood cause well into the future. Yet, there came a point where Russo’s thoughts became different than those Frank’s, and that spelled the end. The heartless slaying of Russo mimics the attempted slaying of little Lucie and Charles in its representation. No one is safe from the soulless pragmatism in the minds of Madame Defarge and Frank Underwood.

           It has long been thought by the masses that villains are more fun to watch. The complexities that lead to such a disturbed mind as those which populate the darker side of the spectrum provide a much richer story than the backgrounds of those who have always fought valiantly for hope and peace. The Underwood’s and the Defarge’s are sets of characters that have unending supplies of entertainment in their slimy stories. Audiences may hate them, audiences may love them, and audiences may throw books and remotes at their actions, but more than anything audiences know one thing: the entertainment world would be less enticing without them in it. 

Stream of Consciousness

        The style of writing in stream of consciousness is a remarkably revealing one. When an author makes the decision to write this way, no detail or tidbit is spared in the description of events, people, places, and thoughts. The reader is transported into the entirety of a character’s mind. In the case of Atonement, the stream of consciousness narration reveals a tremendous amount about each character’s temperament. In Part I inside Briony’s mind, the narration gives us both the passionate writer side of Briony as well as the brooding and darker side of the character. This complete picture helps put the rest of the events of the story into perspective as the reader progresses through the novel, and it becomes especially helpful in understanding the epiphany at the very end. This is also true for the narration in the minds of both Cecilia and Robbie. In their differing accounts of the fountain moment, the reader is allowed to see the different ways they perceive it, but also that there is a similar spark of realization buried in each mind. 

        In contrast to the more informative uses in Part I, the narration style allows for a doubly harrowing depiction of war through Robbie’s unchecked thoughts. The reader is subjected to all of the horrors of battle with no filter, and this allows for a perception that no matter what Robbie sees Cecilia is never far from his thoughts. This fact amplifies the existence of their love so grandly that the reader can’t help but start to fall in love with Cecilia with Robbie. This is true of many of the emotions felt strongly by the characters throughout the book: the hatred of Robbie for Briony, Briony’s detestation of Robbie, Cecilia’s boredom at the Tallis household, and the list goes on and on. 

        In any piece of writing that gives complete exposure to all the nooks and crannies of a character’s mind there exists a more complete story. Limited narration has just what it implies: limits on the story that is told.