The Number 23

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Numerology is kind of cool, I guess. It’s like astrology or fundamental Christianity in that you can grab the parts that you think fit with your life and run with them, and ignore the parts that appear to be irrelevant. Or even better, you can go in for that one Jewish Kabbalah group and get the best of two worlds! None of which is particularly relevant to my having seen The Number 23, except for the part where it’s all numerological its own self. And particularly with 23, since it’s been popularized via such well-known groups as the Illuminati and the Discordians and so forth.

The movie, of course, takes little note of any of this. Except the numerology, I mean, because it’s all about that. So Jim Carrey gets this book, and notices strange parallels with his own life, just off enough that it’s not literally a retelling of his childhood. And as soon as the main character takes note of the frequent occurrences of 23 happening all around him, Jim Carrey starts noticing the same things in his own life. Letters in names adding up to 23, the number appearing in odd places, birth dates, social security numbers, pretty much everything. (And, fun for the audience, it crops up in all kinds of places that he doesn’t notice even though the camera does.) Unfortunately, the number eventually drives the book guy to kill, which sets off Carrey’s paranoia about what he might do in his real life. And then he discovers a real murder which, if it’s possible to believe any of the thoughts bubbling around in his mind, can easily be attributed to the man who wrote the book.

The mystery part is pretty good, the filming of the book’s story is a delight to behold, and for the rest, any of the rough patches in believability or dialogue are smoothed over by the eternal quest for more references to 23 scattered across the filmscape. No rough acting patches that I can point to; I was pretty happy with everyone. I got to have a treasure hunt and laugh frequently, which gives it a leg up on most movies I see. (The treasure hunt part does, I mean.)

300

I find that I haven’t got much to say about 300. I think this is because everything that you need to know about it, you already knew long before you ever entered the theater. It’s a historical tragedy, which means that everyone is going to die. But it’s a Greek historical tragedy, which means that none of them will mind dying, because all that talk about your name being remembered down through the ages was actually true in those days, for those people. So, death and glory; the rest is just the details.

However, it must be acknowledged that the details were quite awesome. At least, they were after the plodding introductory exposition on the youth of King Leonidas of Sparta had finally run its course. Lots of cheesecake and beefcake? Check. Creepy giants and hunchbacks and monsters that would not look out of place in a Resident Evil videogame? Check. Political intrigue? Absolutely. Piles and piles of bloody violence? You’re damn right. Stilted dialogue that sounds like it could have been written 3,000 years ago? Well, but that’s kind of a feature, right? Unfortunate imagery that forces comparisons to Gladiator? Well, you can’t win ’em all.

On balance, it pleases me that these graphic novels are being written, and it pleases me that they’re being adapted. There are other reasons, but the fact that Stylized Comic-Book Movie is a genre that still feels fresh and new would be reason enough all by itself.

Y: The Last Man – Unmanned

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And now, the first of two new graphic novel series I’ll be in the middle of. Which, counting the Sandman reread, brings my total to five. I approve of this, inasmuch as so far they’ve all been really fun and I get to catch up on a completely new medium. And that doesn’t even count the forthcoming Buffy Season 8 or the three or four years of old X-Men comics I’ve read lately. In theory, this indicates that I am 31 going on 11. In practice, there’s not been anything yet that I’ve thought was beneath me, discrete instances of eye-rolling at the X-Men stuff notwithstanding.

In Y: The Last Man, we have this fellow named Yorick. He is an escape artist, has a pet monkey, a girlfriend in Australia and a mother in Congress. Suddenly, mankind is wiped out! Well, okay, malekind. Because it’s not just the people, it’s all of them. Or maybe just the mammals? I’m not sure. The point is, amoebae are probably going to have a field eon before very long. Unless the women start cloning themselves, I guess. Or Jeff Goldblum’s curse comes to fruition and some of the females spontaneously become male? They might just die when it happens, though, because there’s no way to tell what caused the insta-death in the first place, or if it might be reversible. Except, wait. That guy Yorick, he might be relevant to the story in some way despite being male. Else, why bother to explain his circumstances?

As it happens, Yorick (and his wholly non-euphemistic pet monkey!) survived the world’s being Unmanned after all. Which, come to think of it, makes the name of the series a lot more sensible as well. The problems that face him are numerous: his girlfriend is on the other side of a world in which much of the grid has collapsed; there are roving bands of women on motorcycles who are removing one of their breasts Amazon-style and who think this is pretty much the best thing that has ever happened, and are on a crusade to make sure that whatever caused it didn’t miss any stragglers; everyone who is not Yorick and who does not want him dead thinks he needs to be studied and/or studded, in the hopes of getting things back on track; and hell, the two-party political system isn’t even finished being a pain in the ass yet.

Good art, fun and somewhat breezy storyline despite a fair amount of violence, a couple of good twists already. My favorite theme so far is the idea that men are not to blame for the patriarchal system in which we live. That is, they are, of course; they did it. But the point in the book is that it was inevitable. Nature abhors a vacuum, and once the horrible men in control of everything are gone, you can rest assured that some horrible women will come along and recreate the same system, never recognizing their culpability or the irony of their desires. I trust more themes will spring forth as the series progresses.

The Grapple

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As anticipated, another alternate history of the many wars between the USA and the CSA was released, and then I read it. I mean, months later, also as anticipated, but that’s fine because there’s only one left, and now I can not wait a long time to see how things turn out, if that’s my preference. It probably won’t be, but, y’know. It’s nice to have options. Also, of course, it would probably be easy to keep on rolling the clock forward even after World War II ends, since the face of the planet is so different after eighty years of Confederate existence. America allied with non-fascist Germany, Russia still under the control of the tsar, Canada occupied… lots of differences.

The main problem with The Grapple is that the surprises are running out. Is there a crazy guy in charge of a downtrodden nation who has united his people in hatred of an outsider ethnic group, which group is now being slaughtered by the millions? Why, yes. Does this slaughter actively interfere with what could have been a successful war effort? On multiple levels, in fact. Does he at least have VX rocket analogues with which he can create a little bit of tension? You know he will sooner or later! Is there a top secret atomic arms race? Heck, that even happened in the aliens version of World War II that Turtledove already wrote, so no way is it going to vanish this time.

The one thing that does recommend the series is that it has spanned ten books now and three generations. As a result, I find myself interested in the individual fates of the characters, wherein some drama is still possible. I suppose I couldn’t expect the outcome of the war to be different, since there are stark lines between good and evil at this point. But it still hurts a series when you know almost exactly how it’s going to end and you’re only a little over halfway through it. (I mean, not that there will be twenty books, but that this particular war forms its own “mini-series”, if you will. That right there is a handy term. You’d think someone would have thought of it before now.)

Brief Lives

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a4bd3d100d9f3f35934316d5567444341587343I realized in the midst of all the graphic novels I’ve been reading, I had completely neglected my Sandman collecting. So I immediately ordered Brief Lives, and read it a much shorter than usual time afterward. (I mean, I buy stuff and then don’t touch it for a while, due to the stack.) And I’m so glad, because it’s probably my favorite one. I’m also glad because of how much more depth I’m picking up this time. Foreshadowing and all, sure, but there are just so many layers all over the place that I could probably re-read the series annually and not run out of things to love.

In Brief Lives, Delirium (which is to say, the personification of the human experience of delight, inevitably corrupted by time and perspective) decides upon a whim to go in search of her mysterious elder brother, frequently referred to in the series but never identified, who some centuries ago decided to abdicate his responsibilities to his family and to his role; after all, he claims, they’ll continue along this path whether I’m here to oversee things or not. The consequences of her decision are the driving force behind the now-inevitable climax of the series.

So, pivotal turning point, plus my favorite character in the cycle, from the moment I first laid eyes upon her. Some fictional characters just do it for me, I guess, in ways that are inexplicable to other people. Well, some of them are probably wholly explicable, but I fancy that the choices I can think of offhand aren’t. Laura Ingalls, when I was reading those books as a kid? A crazy, literally Endless girl that has the ability to render me insane almost in an instant, if she got it in her head that I had done something she didn’t like? (I mean, maybe I did, but maybe I didn’t. She’s crazy, remember.) Okay, I can’t think of anyone else offhand, so I guess it doesn’t happen that often. But still, these can’t be normal tastes. Despite all that, I remain convinced that Brief Lives, with its wide-angle focus on life and death and how much life is enough and which deaths are timely, plus the awesome plot part, is a high point in the Sandman series, if not the high point. But, as I’ve tried to imply, I might be biased.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

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This book has in macrocosm what most zombie stories have in microcosm, the thing that has always attracted me to them. Here’s this world, usually Earth, with people going about their lives in the way that people do, and then suddenly everything is completely different, and it’s time to find out who people really are. World War Z has a pretty cool conceit behind it. During the rebuilding years after the Zombie War, a commission is established to report on everything that led humanity to its direst straits and the manner in which it extricated itself. This is not that report, but it is the personal stories and reflections that were gathered and then deemed to be outside the scope of the commission’s directive, published by the researcher who did the bulk of the gathering.

So there are these stories of survivors from all over the world: doctors, military personnel, human transporters, filmmakers, politicians. It’s never spelled out exactly what happened or exactly how, but there are enough stories from enough places to get a wispy, watercolor picture of how things were, and of the myriad ways in which the world is a completely different place in this future that is less than a generation away. It is surprisingly well done, by turns touching, engrossing and horrifying, for someone whose previous résumé is mostly in on-screen comedy writing.

Plus, of course, zombies. Right? Right.

Ghost Rider

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And now I will demonstrate the usefulness of lowered expectations. Going into Ghost Rider, I expected a big pile of badness surrounding some enjoyable special effects. The special effects were, as predicted, pretty enjoyable. Of course, the fact that they can be in a February movie says more about the current state of the art than it does about the care taken on this particular project. But my sense of wonder has not yet faded on this axis, so I’ll let that part slip by unnoted. Then there’s the plot and the acting.

Acting first, as it’s easier. The scenery-chewing characters chewed scenery appropriately. (The Devil, the animatronic actual Ghost Rider, the bad guy, etc.) Sam Elliot made the best of his restrictive archetypal role. Eva Mendes made the best of her role as Bringer of the Cleavage. And Nicolas Cage played per usual. Any time he tried to be funny or dramatic, I was forced to cringe. Any time he tried to be soulful, he was fine. Best of all, though, any time he didn’t really try to be anything, he was pretty good. Especially with deadpan humor, possibly because he wasn’t told it would be funny? I really don’t get how he can be so hit or miss, but he definitely had some amount of hit on this one, which helped a lot.

And then there’s the plot. Well, really, the two plots. They’re inextricably tied together, but still pretty distinct despite that. On one hand, you have the origin story. Why did Johnny Blaze decide that jumping motorcycles over things wasn’t enough to get out of life, that he had to melt off his flesh and go all flamey and collect evil souls? How did he get that awesome chain whip? How has it affected his romantic life? Will the cops disapprove? And so forth. This part was pretty good, more engaging than any of the other February Marvel releases I can remember. And on the other hand, you have the story of the Ghost Rider vs. some demons. This was choppy and boring, and the payoff at the climax was too little, too late.

I wish I was in junior high or something right now, because ‘Ghost Rider: A Study in Contrasts’ would make an excellently pompous title.

The Messengers

The last few years have seen a resurgence that I thought video had killed entirely. There have been a lot of decent to extremely good horror movies, multiple per year. And they just keep happening. I feel like a kid in a candy store some days, when I’m watching movie previews. Creepy, scary, bloody, occasionally naked… everything a movie should be. Well, maybe more naked.

Case in point: The Messengers, in which a family of erstwhile sunflower farmers is terrorized by the same dark forces that drove off (or much more likely killed) the previous inhabitants. Spooky Japanese-style ghosts crab crawl all over the place, frightening the teenage girl and mysteriously silent toddler while leaving the adults unscathed. Well, the mother has a recurring stain to clean. The point is, spooky stuff is happening, and the adults aren’t listening. Even handyman John Corbett, while sympathetic to what our young heroine is going through, has nothing to add in the way of evidence of ghostly happenings.

Also, there are a lot of ominous crows flying around. Like I said, pretty decent movie, marred primarily by my concept of one character’s role being better than the one provided by the writers. By the time the ending had somewhat disappointed me, I was already sold on all the good stuff that had come before, so that was okay.

Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth

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I think what keeps me from reviewing this graphic novel is the fear of being sucked back into the depression of it all over again. So I sit here staring at the blank screen that is in one incarnation or another over 24 hours old now. Which I’ll have you know isn’t all that uplifting itself, even by comparison. Therefore, I’m going to buckle down and power through it.

So there’s this dude, Jimmy Corrigan, right? He is named after his grandfather. In one timeline, adult semi-modern Jimmy is slouching towards middle-age in an apparently dead-end job with only his nursing home resident mother for real human contact. In the other timeline, young James is trying to survive his abusive father’s daily tirades while navigating the casually racist turn of the century Chicago school system. Both of these people are missing a parent, both of them are desperately unhappy with their circumstances, and both of them are due for a gradually worsening spiral from these rosy points of origin.

Without all of the misery bringing me down, there would have been a lot of interesting things to take note of. For example, the women in Jimmy’s life almost never have faces. (Notably, the only ones that do are women that James has seen.) Both men have vibrant fantasy lives; James’ allows him to briefly escape his genuinely tragic circumstances, while Jimmy’s is mostly farcical reimaginings of how his life might be going instead, each of them ending more pathetically than the already quite low reality. I suppose the point of the exercise is to watch each of them gradually get past their current lives and into a better place? I will opt not to reveal the secret answer to this question. I am willing to divulge that Jimmy Corrigan is not the smartest kid on earth. In fact, that may have been an example of this newfangled irony thing I keep hearing about.

Mort

41Q2E9H3D0LI have purchased more than half of the Discworld books by now, but I haven’t read any in a long while, because of a continued failure to find the actual next one. Then, last month, I finally did, which means books and books stretch before me before I need to have found the next missing link. Which is nice. I like it when little stresses disappear. I mean, it shouldn’t be a stressor at all, except that I wanted to read the books. So, then.

Also good is the book itself, Mort. For one thing, it is unquestionably funnier than its predecessors, relying a lot more heavily on situational humor rather than bits of random oddness. The random oddness is there, as it should be; it just isn’t the centerpiece. Also and perhaps due to the same root cause, the story is a bit deeper than at least the first two, if not necessarily Equal Rites. In Mort, our titular hero takes a most unusual apprenticeship and learns that even the least common of jobs can have their ups and downs.

Okay, that was trite even for cover-copy, much less a review. It’s like this. Death (the anthropomorphic personification, thin fellow, carries a scythe) opts to take on an apprentice, pass on the trade as it were. Mort learns the importance of the job that might one day be his, Death learns the importance of a vacation, and the reader learns, at excruciating repetition, the way that light and dark work on the Disc. But really, other than that (which I’m sensitive to after the last Anita Blake book), this was a fun, breezy book. The breeziest examination of causality and predestination I’ve ever read, in fact.