Confession time: I love the Tales of series of games. I bought Tales of Symphonia back on the Gamecube knowing nothing about the series, but it had been reviewed really well by a magazine, and I had some Christmas money to spend...and I loved it. It took embarrassingly long for me to play anything else in the series, but when Tales of the Abyss got rereleased on the 3DS, I was all over it and it did not disappoint me.
Since then, I've played through Tales of Graces/f, which unfortunately wasn't the best offering, due to budget and time restraints; and Tales of Xillia/2, which I regard as a good couple of games, with some really good strengths, and just a couple of weaknesses that are unfortunate, but not a dealbreaker for me. I'm really looking forward to getting my hands on Tales of Xestria soon, as it looks like they've ironed out a few things I found disappointing with Xillia.
I've been picking apart why I fell so completely in love with Symphonia lately, thanks to a replay I've been doing with my fiancée on Chronicles. I love the little new additions to the game - the trophy system helps to further reward my completionist streak and point out little sidequests I'd missed/forgotten about. The extra scene in Altamira will definitely secure a few more replays in my future. I question some of the wisdom of the casino, mind, but I know I will be aiming for the extra goodies in there despite the criminal exchange rate of money to chips. The bonus costumes are a nice touch, and I love how they have tied together characters with similar story elements via the costumes. I audibly gasped when I realised Kratos' similarity to Ludger, and then had to play it off as nothing, as my fiancée has yet to play Xillia/2. In short - Chronicles helps to shine a new light on some older elements without overshadowing what made Symphonia so good in the first place.
The thing that really surprised me about our recent playthrough is that we both knew the game ridiculously well, having played it many times over many years, and yet we both had different events and knowledge to share with each other, and new scenes to show each other. It astounds me how complex the narrative of Symphonia is, and how well it rewards you for purposefully taking events out of order with extra snippets and side information. Even aside from that, the vast wealth of sidequests and extra titles, achievements and scenes that you can find definitely warrants multiple playthroughs (actually, it is impossible to see and do everything in one runthrough).
The big draw of this game for me, all those years ago, was the plot. It still is. Symphonia is a beautifully crafted story with a cast of genuinely loveable characters and a refreshingly complex plot. It feels wonderfully paced, starting with introducing the characters and world and the aims of the characters; then in true Tales style, it subverts the expectations of the player and begins revealing new and often surprising information about the world and even the characters themselves. To say anymore would spoil one of the best aspects of the game. However, I will say that a lot of additional details about character motivations and fleshing out the world are included as part of sidequests, so it's well worth exploring the world thoroughly for those little gems.
Symphonia isn't afraid to ask the big questions, either. The characters are constantly questioning elements of their world, such as racial discrimination, classism, the power structures inherent in religion (without throwing the pure intentions of religion away), the history and myths of their cultures. This a something that has been carried through the Tales series with varying levels of effectiveness, but it's a narrow fight between Abyss and Symphonia as to which tackles the complex issues best, but both do it with such empathy and skill that it barely makes a difference.
The fighting system is a refreshing change to most JRPGs, too; no turn-based battle, but an active, free-flowing system that's simple enough for beginners to hack and slash their way through, but complex enough that experts can refine a fighting style that works for them. There are truly challenging post-game elements, such as an optional dungeon and a lot of sidequests to sink your teeth into. Exploring the world fully always feels like it's encouraged and rewarded, rather than funnelling you through a strict progression of plot events.
I thoroughly recommend Tales of Symphonia for any gamers that like an engaging, complex story and want something a little different from a typical JRPG. While original Gamecube copies are rare, it is available on PS3 as part of Tales of Symphonia Chronicles (where the sequel is also included...just don't raise your hopes too high for it, okay?), a different anniversary bundle that also includes Tales of Graces/f (not the best game, either) and it will be available on Steam as a digital download for Windows in 2016.
Showing posts with label storytelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label storytelling. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 October 2015
Saturday, 3 October 2015
How Not To Adapt Books to Films: The Golden Compass
I may have mentioned a few posts ago that I prefer to focus on positives over negatives in media. But every once in a while, there comes a film so terrible, so badly thought out and so insulting to its viewers that it sends me into a frothing rage just thinking about what could have been, yet sadly wasn't. So, with that in mind, let's talk about The Golden Compass.
In 2007, New Line Cinema took a stab at adapting Phillip Pullman's epic children's fantasy 'The Northern Lights' for cinema. What it achieved, like so many book-to-film adaptations, was a mediocre family blockbuster. It lacks the controversial and darker tones of the books in order to maintain both funding and a PG rating. That's not to say there weren't things I enjoyed in the film.
Dæmons were handled particularly well, both in the way actors reacted/didn't react to them and the meticulous CGI used throughout - in fact, the film's only Oscar was for Best Achievement in Visual Effects. My only nitpick is the occasional use of real animals, presumably to cut down costs, which jarred me out of the world a little bit. I'd prefer one method or the other, not a mixture.
Dakota Blue Richards as an actress deserves high praise, and indeed many of the awards the film has received have been specifically for her. She is a pitch perfect Lyra; gifted liar, often proud, yet selfless and brave despite being convincingly terrified. Given how difficult it is to find gifted child actors and to work with them around schooling and ethical concerns, this was no easy feat, and they deserve the credit that is due for this.
What a shame it is, then, to contrast that with Nicole Kidman's bland performance. Every single line she delivered felt obviously 'acted' and lacked all the subtlety of her character. Since when can you get Nicole Kidman to fail at being a simmering, manipulative seductress? She was, however, let down by some of the scripting, but I felt as though she almost anticipated how the film was go and was distancing herself from it as soon as she could.
I winced every time a character said 'Golden Compass' as an obvious name drop, usually immediately before or after the device's real name - alethiometer. I was all ready to go into a rant about American publishers/producers changing names to make it simpler for American audiences, too (like Harry Potter's Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone), but apparently it's a very subtle reference to Paradise Lost (let's not argue that it refers to 'golden compasses' as in the geometric tool instead of the navigation one). The fact that it just happens to be easier to remember than alethiometer is a coincidence...anyway, in this particular case, I am willing to give them a pass. This is the only one they're getting.
I'm aware that this is such a minor thing to be irritated over, but the music is so bland I've already forgotten it. I love collecting and recognizing various movie soundtracks, but if you were to play me any part of that soundtrack, I wouldn't be able to remember where it was from. It doesn't have anything instantly recognizable about it, in the same way that The Lord Of The Ring's score would instantly link you to Middleearth, or Harry Potter's score takes you to Hogwarts. This is a shame, mostly because a lot of care has been taken to give Lyra's world a very distinct visual feel which is so different to our world, but it's not supported by the music. It's just incredibly generic and of no consequence, good or bad.
The small exposition scene with Lord Asriel in the Arctic honestly adds nothing to the plot, and only serves to show off Daniel Craig's action movie credentials. The book didn't need it, so I'd have preferred the screentime and budget to have been spent on...almost literally anything else.
There's one line: "the alethiometer says they'll hurt Roger" added purely to add suspense. Apart from being very lazy writing, if it was asked about anything in relation to Roger, the whole 'being sacrificed to form a gateway between worlds' would definitely have come up, even in vague terms. Of course, in the film, they never actually get to that point, which makes me wonder how they were planning to tackle the second and third books without covering Roger's death. Or, indeed, any of the darker themes of the books in general.
There is exactly no mention of Stannislaus Grumman (AKA Jopari, AKA John Parry, AKA Will's father) at all, most notably in the retiring room. I can understand why they wouldn't want to whip out a frozen decapitated head in the opening sequence of a family film, but not even hinting at his existence would have made things problematic come the second film. It would have made things seem far more coincidental than they already were. "Oh, so Will's father was missing because he was in Lyra's world? Didn't see that coming. And Lee Scoresby just happens to be bringing him to the right place to be reunited with his son? Pft."
All the complex characters who had complex motivations or situations had them changed to either paint them as wholly good or wholly evil. Iorek gets his own section below, but off the top of my head: Lord Asriel does terrible things in the books, but here he's painted as a heroic adventurer capable of no wrong. Similarly, the Master at Jordan College no longer has any part in Asriel's attempted poisoning, blackmailed or otherwise. Mrs. Coulter is just a straight up villain, now, whereas the book portrayed her in more shades of grey - doing villainous things, certainly, but there are some hints about more complex reasons as to why. Her motivations are something that is completely glossed over in the film.
Oh, Iorek. Poor, proud warrior king, what did they do to you? You were exiled for being beaten by another bear? (for non-book readers, or those in need of the refresher, he was exiled because he killed another bear by accident - while fights are common to establish hierarchy, murder is against their laws. More specifically, Iofur drugged the other bear, so he didn't give in where he would have done normally. Resulting in Iorek – the rightful ruler of Svalbard, but that got glossed over in the movie – being exiled and Iofur taking control) Aside from being an insult to his very character, it makes no logical sense. If 50% of all bears who have ever been in a fight get exiled, why aren't more of them wandering lonely around the Arctic? How is Svalbard still populated, what with them being a proud warrior race where fights are fairly frequent? And of course, it makes armored talking bears a lot less cool. All this, presumably for the sake of the PG rating. Again, I wonder how they would have handled such themes as death, all out war between worlds, killing God, original sin, etc. in the later films...it's almost lucky this film was as bad as it was, because the films could only diverge more from the books from here on out.
In the vein of panserbjørne, how did Iofur (now name changed to Ragnar) gain power as a bear king? By poisoning the previous king. Let's not think about the fact that panserbjørne cannot be tricked unless they're acting like a human. Between this and the way the circumstances behind the exile changed, Iorek has no more claim to rule the bears than any of the nameless bears of Svalbard.
Many things have been sacrificed in order to keep the PG rating as low as it is. Here's some things that weren't: Iorek punching off Iofur's/Ragnar's lower jaw, Iorek ripping Iofur's/Ragnar's throat out, Lyra almost having her soul cut away, Mrs Coulter being violent and abusive, and Lyra's dæmon being touched without consent. Oh, and the massive fight with the gyptians, witches, bears and kids verses the Bolvangar guards.
Changing the order of events in the plot isn't necessarily a bad thing. When done well, it's seemless. This was decidedly not. Essentially, when Lyra is kidnapped, she is taken to Svalbard instead of Bolvangar (which makes no sense; at Bolvangar, they would have been greatly rewarded, whereas at Svalbard, she's merely 'a gift for the king'), the events happen sort of similarly to the book, then Iorek takes Lyra over to Bolvangar. This means the bears get involved in Bolvangar in a way they didn't in the book, and weren't holding Asriel captive as per Iofur's agreement with Coulter, and so, essentially, the bears aren't part of the film's plot in any meaningful way. They could have been removed entirely, if they weren't the best selling point of the film.
The whole thing is a mess, really. It boils down a thoughtful, intricate children's series with layers of complex themes, imagery and symbolism to the most basic of storylines, relying on beautiful imagery over a well-thought out script. It's nothing short of an insult to the books and the people who love them. I can't help but be thankful that they never got around to butchering the entire trilogy.
In 2007, New Line Cinema took a stab at adapting Phillip Pullman's epic children's fantasy 'The Northern Lights' for cinema. What it achieved, like so many book-to-film adaptations, was a mediocre family blockbuster. It lacks the controversial and darker tones of the books in order to maintain both funding and a PG rating. That's not to say there weren't things I enjoyed in the film.
Dæmons were handled particularly well, both in the way actors reacted/didn't react to them and the meticulous CGI used throughout - in fact, the film's only Oscar was for Best Achievement in Visual Effects. My only nitpick is the occasional use of real animals, presumably to cut down costs, which jarred me out of the world a little bit. I'd prefer one method or the other, not a mixture.
Dakota Blue Richards as an actress deserves high praise, and indeed many of the awards the film has received have been specifically for her. She is a pitch perfect Lyra; gifted liar, often proud, yet selfless and brave despite being convincingly terrified. Given how difficult it is to find gifted child actors and to work with them around schooling and ethical concerns, this was no easy feat, and they deserve the credit that is due for this.
What a shame it is, then, to contrast that with Nicole Kidman's bland performance. Every single line she delivered felt obviously 'acted' and lacked all the subtlety of her character. Since when can you get Nicole Kidman to fail at being a simmering, manipulative seductress? She was, however, let down by some of the scripting, but I felt as though she almost anticipated how the film was go and was distancing herself from it as soon as she could.
I winced every time a character said 'Golden Compass' as an obvious name drop, usually immediately before or after the device's real name - alethiometer. I was all ready to go into a rant about American publishers/producers changing names to make it simpler for American audiences, too (like Harry Potter's Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone), but apparently it's a very subtle reference to Paradise Lost (let's not argue that it refers to 'golden compasses' as in the geometric tool instead of the navigation one). The fact that it just happens to be easier to remember than alethiometer is a coincidence...anyway, in this particular case, I am willing to give them a pass. This is the only one they're getting.
I'm aware that this is such a minor thing to be irritated over, but the music is so bland I've already forgotten it. I love collecting and recognizing various movie soundtracks, but if you were to play me any part of that soundtrack, I wouldn't be able to remember where it was from. It doesn't have anything instantly recognizable about it, in the same way that The Lord Of The Ring's score would instantly link you to Middleearth, or Harry Potter's score takes you to Hogwarts. This is a shame, mostly because a lot of care has been taken to give Lyra's world a very distinct visual feel which is so different to our world, but it's not supported by the music. It's just incredibly generic and of no consequence, good or bad.
The small exposition scene with Lord Asriel in the Arctic honestly adds nothing to the plot, and only serves to show off Daniel Craig's action movie credentials. The book didn't need it, so I'd have preferred the screentime and budget to have been spent on...almost literally anything else.
There's one line: "the alethiometer says they'll hurt Roger" added purely to add suspense. Apart from being very lazy writing, if it was asked about anything in relation to Roger, the whole 'being sacrificed to form a gateway between worlds' would definitely have come up, even in vague terms. Of course, in the film, they never actually get to that point, which makes me wonder how they were planning to tackle the second and third books without covering Roger's death. Or, indeed, any of the darker themes of the books in general.
There is exactly no mention of Stannislaus Grumman (AKA Jopari, AKA John Parry, AKA Will's father) at all, most notably in the retiring room. I can understand why they wouldn't want to whip out a frozen decapitated head in the opening sequence of a family film, but not even hinting at his existence would have made things problematic come the second film. It would have made things seem far more coincidental than they already were. "Oh, so Will's father was missing because he was in Lyra's world? Didn't see that coming. And Lee Scoresby just happens to be bringing him to the right place to be reunited with his son? Pft."
All the complex characters who had complex motivations or situations had them changed to either paint them as wholly good or wholly evil. Iorek gets his own section below, but off the top of my head: Lord Asriel does terrible things in the books, but here he's painted as a heroic adventurer capable of no wrong. Similarly, the Master at Jordan College no longer has any part in Asriel's attempted poisoning, blackmailed or otherwise. Mrs. Coulter is just a straight up villain, now, whereas the book portrayed her in more shades of grey - doing villainous things, certainly, but there are some hints about more complex reasons as to why. Her motivations are something that is completely glossed over in the film.
Oh, Iorek. Poor, proud warrior king, what did they do to you? You were exiled for being beaten by another bear? (for non-book readers, or those in need of the refresher, he was exiled because he killed another bear by accident - while fights are common to establish hierarchy, murder is against their laws. More specifically, Iofur drugged the other bear, so he didn't give in where he would have done normally. Resulting in Iorek – the rightful ruler of Svalbard, but that got glossed over in the movie – being exiled and Iofur taking control) Aside from being an insult to his very character, it makes no logical sense. If 50% of all bears who have ever been in a fight get exiled, why aren't more of them wandering lonely around the Arctic? How is Svalbard still populated, what with them being a proud warrior race where fights are fairly frequent? And of course, it makes armored talking bears a lot less cool. All this, presumably for the sake of the PG rating. Again, I wonder how they would have handled such themes as death, all out war between worlds, killing God, original sin, etc. in the later films...it's almost lucky this film was as bad as it was, because the films could only diverge more from the books from here on out.
In the vein of panserbjørne, how did Iofur (now name changed to Ragnar) gain power as a bear king? By poisoning the previous king. Let's not think about the fact that panserbjørne cannot be tricked unless they're acting like a human. Between this and the way the circumstances behind the exile changed, Iorek has no more claim to rule the bears than any of the nameless bears of Svalbard.
Many things have been sacrificed in order to keep the PG rating as low as it is. Here's some things that weren't: Iorek punching off Iofur's/Ragnar's lower jaw, Iorek ripping Iofur's/Ragnar's throat out, Lyra almost having her soul cut away, Mrs Coulter being violent and abusive, and Lyra's dæmon being touched without consent. Oh, and the massive fight with the gyptians, witches, bears and kids verses the Bolvangar guards.
Changing the order of events in the plot isn't necessarily a bad thing. When done well, it's seemless. This was decidedly not. Essentially, when Lyra is kidnapped, she is taken to Svalbard instead of Bolvangar (which makes no sense; at Bolvangar, they would have been greatly rewarded, whereas at Svalbard, she's merely 'a gift for the king'), the events happen sort of similarly to the book, then Iorek takes Lyra over to Bolvangar. This means the bears get involved in Bolvangar in a way they didn't in the book, and weren't holding Asriel captive as per Iofur's agreement with Coulter, and so, essentially, the bears aren't part of the film's plot in any meaningful way. They could have been removed entirely, if they weren't the best selling point of the film.
The whole thing is a mess, really. It boils down a thoughtful, intricate children's series with layers of complex themes, imagery and symbolism to the most basic of storylines, relying on beautiful imagery over a well-thought out script. It's nothing short of an insult to the books and the people who love them. I can't help but be thankful that they never got around to butchering the entire trilogy.
Monday, 14 September 2015
Representation Matters: Studio Ghibli
I like to focus on the positives rather than the negatives in media. Partly because there are plenty of people already calling out mass media for what they're not doing well, and those people are doing pretty well at raising awareness and getting their voices heard. But partly because I feel like if we fail to recognise the stuff that is done well, many things become seen as unsuccessful, and makes similar projects much harder to finance and make a reality. The best way to support messages that you want to see is by throwing your financial and social support behind it - the money lets executives know that this kind of idea is profitable, so they'll continue doing it, and the social support makes the message more widespread and hopefully encourages other people to support it, too.
With that in mind, I want to look at Studio Ghibli and their presentation of female characters over the years. Due to the nature of the post, there will be some spoilers, but I will endeavour to keep them to a minimum. Still, this is your early warning: there are spoilers within!
Studio Ghibli is a Japanese animation studio famed internationally for their gorgeous imagery and complex storytelling. They range from cute, family-friendly stories like Kiki's Delivery Service to darker works like Princess Mononoke. They won the Best Animated Feature Oscar in 2002 for Spirited Away, the only non-English-speaking animated film to win the award to date (the majority of winners comes from Disney/Pixar, with the occasional Dreamworks film).
Even a cursory look at the Studio's history reveals a wealth of female lead characters rarely found anywhere else: of the 22 main feature films released by Studio Ghibli, 11 have the lead 'view point' character be female and a further 5 have stories that have either an even amount of importance between the male and female lead or the female driving the plot, despite a male viewpoint. Even in the stories where women don't drive the plot, they still appear: as maternal characters, sisters, friends, family - in short, as people, with ambitions and skills and their own point of view.
But for examples of something a little more specific, I'm going to be looking at a couple of my favourite films that they've made, and point out instances of what I mean.
Princess Mononoke is one of the films where the viewpoint character is male (Prince Ashitaka) however women are a vastly integral part of the world and the plot of the film. San, the titular Princess Mononoke, is a woman raised by the god-wolf Moro, and shares Moro's distaste of humans, whom she sees as polluting the land and destroying the forest. San takes an active stance in this fight, directing her wolf-brothers into fights and attempting to assassinate Lady Eboshi.
Lady Eboshi herself is a strong woman who rules Irontown (Tatara in the original Japanese) fairly, rescuing and creating a safe haven for ex-prostitutes and lepers, and using the local resource of iron to maintain a strategic advantage over her neighbours. What I love about the film is that nothing is absolute in terms of morality. While it would be easy to completely vilify Lady Eboshi, we are shown that she is sincerely only acting in the best interests of her people, and she's highly compassionate towards the least valued members of society, not only offering them safety, but work and shelter. The women of Irontown work the bellows that smelt the iron they use for trade and weapons, and the film shows it to be hard work, but work they chose over their old lives. When men try to put them down for their work being safer than theirs, the women have the power to retort back. Without them, the economy and trade of Irontown would be diminished, if not downright broken.
Moro, the god-wolf and mother figure to San is a wonderful example of the ferociousness of a mother who is threatened. She's smart - smart enough to see what humans have done to other animal-gods, and smart enough to recognise the humans luring the boars into a trap, and to know that the boars will still charge in blindly even if they knew. She's protective of her adoptive daughter in the same way as her wolf-sons. She fights to protect her land and those dependant on her in a very similar way to Lady Eboshi.
If anything, it is Ashitaka who takes a passive role for much of the film, observing the differing points of view and only interfering when absolutely necessary. In fact, he openly acknowledges that he is watching and trying to stay neutral in the conflict. It doesn't stop him from doing the right thing, and acting to make the situation better, but it does stop him rushing 'to the rescue' of these women without understanding how and why they're in conflict, like so many films would.
The film portrays the early stages of a romance between Ashitaka and San, yet this doesn't reduce San to just a romantic interest. The characters complement each other and help each other grow - Ashitaka opens San to the idea that not all humans are bad and helps her come to terms with her own humanity, yet her goals and ideals remain the same - protect the forest. One of his major contributions to San is convincing her that she shouldn't throw her life away in mindless defence of the forest and that her life matters as an individual, not just a cause.
On all levels, the film is very respectful of women and the choices that female characters make, from background flavour characters to the women who drive the conflict and the plot forward. There are no blameless heroes, nor truly vilified characters, and all of the women have a complex nature that makes them stand out as fully formed characters, not two-dimensional stereotypes.
Spirited Away, arguably their most famous work, stars Chihiro, a young 10-year old girl moving to her new home. She begins the story reluctant to uproot her life, a little sullen and nervous and self-centred - things that are perfectly normal for a young girl, especially when facing such a big change in her life. Even this is quite a leap forward from many children's movies - she's allowed to be flawed in a way that isn't so extreme to be unrecognisable. Everyone's encountered a shy child, or a self-centred one or a nervous or sullen one. There's a good chance that was you, when growing up.
When the plot truly begins, and the 'abandoned' themepark is revealed to be a bath-house resort for the gods, Chihiro is scared and runs to her parents for support, but finds them transformed into pigs. This kickstarts her character growth, forcing her to become more emotionally independent and confident in her own abilities. The whole film explores this growth, and allows you to see a slow and steady improvement from clingy, nervous, self-centred child to a confident, generous young girl. She has to muster up courage, resourcefulness and put in a fair bit of hard work, and she's still the same person, but it is very clear that she learns a lot through the course of the film.
Chihiro is a wonderful character for children to learn from - she is faced with things children find scary, and she is scared herself, but she finds a way to be brave and get through it. She loves her parents dearly. She learns to be respectful of all kinds of people, no matter how weird or alien they might seem at first. She grows while learning to remain true to herself. She's not afraid to shoulder her fair share of the hard work, despite not being practised at it.
The supporting cast are good, too, from Lin, who acts more brusque and mercenary than she truly is, to Yubaba, the money-motivated owner of the bathhouse who would do anything to keep her baby safe. They all have their own motivations and goals and actively achieve things on their own.
These are just two brief examples from a very long list of wonderful female characters in Studio Ghibli. I could have mentioned the pirate matriarch in Laputa: Castle in the Sky, the sisters in My Neighbour Totoro, Kiki and the baker whom she rents her room from in Kiki's Delivery Service, Sophie in Howl's Moving Castle...I honestly could have thrown a dart, and as long as it didn't land on Tales from Earthsea, I would have had something positive to say.
This is (quite obviously, I hope) something that's pretty dear to my heart. I don't want all films to be only about and for women. But I do want to see women as being represented as more than an accessory for a male character. More than a 'sexy lamp'. As we can see, it's not impossible - it's not even difficult. Just treat your characters - all your characters - as human, with their own strengths and flaws and backgrounds and motivations.
In the words of Miyasaki himself: “Many of my movies have strong female leads - brave, self-sufficient girls that don’t think twice about fighting for what they believe in with all their heart. They’ll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a saviour. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man.”
With that in mind, I want to look at Studio Ghibli and their presentation of female characters over the years. Due to the nature of the post, there will be some spoilers, but I will endeavour to keep them to a minimum. Still, this is your early warning: there are spoilers within!
Studio Ghibli is a Japanese animation studio famed internationally for their gorgeous imagery and complex storytelling. They range from cute, family-friendly stories like Kiki's Delivery Service to darker works like Princess Mononoke. They won the Best Animated Feature Oscar in 2002 for Spirited Away, the only non-English-speaking animated film to win the award to date (the majority of winners comes from Disney/Pixar, with the occasional Dreamworks film).
Even a cursory look at the Studio's history reveals a wealth of female lead characters rarely found anywhere else: of the 22 main feature films released by Studio Ghibli, 11 have the lead 'view point' character be female and a further 5 have stories that have either an even amount of importance between the male and female lead or the female driving the plot, despite a male viewpoint. Even in the stories where women don't drive the plot, they still appear: as maternal characters, sisters, friends, family - in short, as people, with ambitions and skills and their own point of view.
But for examples of something a little more specific, I'm going to be looking at a couple of my favourite films that they've made, and point out instances of what I mean.
Princess Mononoke is one of the films where the viewpoint character is male (Prince Ashitaka) however women are a vastly integral part of the world and the plot of the film. San, the titular Princess Mononoke, is a woman raised by the god-wolf Moro, and shares Moro's distaste of humans, whom she sees as polluting the land and destroying the forest. San takes an active stance in this fight, directing her wolf-brothers into fights and attempting to assassinate Lady Eboshi.
Lady Eboshi herself is a strong woman who rules Irontown (Tatara in the original Japanese) fairly, rescuing and creating a safe haven for ex-prostitutes and lepers, and using the local resource of iron to maintain a strategic advantage over her neighbours. What I love about the film is that nothing is absolute in terms of morality. While it would be easy to completely vilify Lady Eboshi, we are shown that she is sincerely only acting in the best interests of her people, and she's highly compassionate towards the least valued members of society, not only offering them safety, but work and shelter. The women of Irontown work the bellows that smelt the iron they use for trade and weapons, and the film shows it to be hard work, but work they chose over their old lives. When men try to put them down for their work being safer than theirs, the women have the power to retort back. Without them, the economy and trade of Irontown would be diminished, if not downright broken.
Moro, the god-wolf and mother figure to San is a wonderful example of the ferociousness of a mother who is threatened. She's smart - smart enough to see what humans have done to other animal-gods, and smart enough to recognise the humans luring the boars into a trap, and to know that the boars will still charge in blindly even if they knew. She's protective of her adoptive daughter in the same way as her wolf-sons. She fights to protect her land and those dependant on her in a very similar way to Lady Eboshi.
If anything, it is Ashitaka who takes a passive role for much of the film, observing the differing points of view and only interfering when absolutely necessary. In fact, he openly acknowledges that he is watching and trying to stay neutral in the conflict. It doesn't stop him from doing the right thing, and acting to make the situation better, but it does stop him rushing 'to the rescue' of these women without understanding how and why they're in conflict, like so many films would.
The film portrays the early stages of a romance between Ashitaka and San, yet this doesn't reduce San to just a romantic interest. The characters complement each other and help each other grow - Ashitaka opens San to the idea that not all humans are bad and helps her come to terms with her own humanity, yet her goals and ideals remain the same - protect the forest. One of his major contributions to San is convincing her that she shouldn't throw her life away in mindless defence of the forest and that her life matters as an individual, not just a cause.
On all levels, the film is very respectful of women and the choices that female characters make, from background flavour characters to the women who drive the conflict and the plot forward. There are no blameless heroes, nor truly vilified characters, and all of the women have a complex nature that makes them stand out as fully formed characters, not two-dimensional stereotypes.
Spirited Away, arguably their most famous work, stars Chihiro, a young 10-year old girl moving to her new home. She begins the story reluctant to uproot her life, a little sullen and nervous and self-centred - things that are perfectly normal for a young girl, especially when facing such a big change in her life. Even this is quite a leap forward from many children's movies - she's allowed to be flawed in a way that isn't so extreme to be unrecognisable. Everyone's encountered a shy child, or a self-centred one or a nervous or sullen one. There's a good chance that was you, when growing up.
When the plot truly begins, and the 'abandoned' themepark is revealed to be a bath-house resort for the gods, Chihiro is scared and runs to her parents for support, but finds them transformed into pigs. This kickstarts her character growth, forcing her to become more emotionally independent and confident in her own abilities. The whole film explores this growth, and allows you to see a slow and steady improvement from clingy, nervous, self-centred child to a confident, generous young girl. She has to muster up courage, resourcefulness and put in a fair bit of hard work, and she's still the same person, but it is very clear that she learns a lot through the course of the film.
Chihiro is a wonderful character for children to learn from - she is faced with things children find scary, and she is scared herself, but she finds a way to be brave and get through it. She loves her parents dearly. She learns to be respectful of all kinds of people, no matter how weird or alien they might seem at first. She grows while learning to remain true to herself. She's not afraid to shoulder her fair share of the hard work, despite not being practised at it.
The supporting cast are good, too, from Lin, who acts more brusque and mercenary than she truly is, to Yubaba, the money-motivated owner of the bathhouse who would do anything to keep her baby safe. They all have their own motivations and goals and actively achieve things on their own.
These are just two brief examples from a very long list of wonderful female characters in Studio Ghibli. I could have mentioned the pirate matriarch in Laputa: Castle in the Sky, the sisters in My Neighbour Totoro, Kiki and the baker whom she rents her room from in Kiki's Delivery Service, Sophie in Howl's Moving Castle...I honestly could have thrown a dart, and as long as it didn't land on Tales from Earthsea, I would have had something positive to say.
This is (quite obviously, I hope) something that's pretty dear to my heart. I don't want all films to be only about and for women. But I do want to see women as being represented as more than an accessory for a male character. More than a 'sexy lamp'. As we can see, it's not impossible - it's not even difficult. Just treat your characters - all your characters - as human, with their own strengths and flaws and backgrounds and motivations.
In the words of Miyasaki himself: “Many of my movies have strong female leads - brave, self-sufficient girls that don’t think twice about fighting for what they believe in with all their heart. They’ll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a saviour. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man.”
Monday, 24 August 2015
Thoughts on Princess Peach
This is a little bit of an alternative character interpretation, and not something I usually do, but I've had this thought lately, and I feel like the only way to get it out is to write it down.
Basically, the thought is: what if Princess Peach (of Mario franchise fame) isn't all that interested in Mario?
In the main series, Peach and Mario have very little interaction with each other directly. Peach gets kidnapped, usually by Bowser, Mario comes to the rescue, and she's saved, sometimes offering a cake back at the castle, a kiss on the nose and then the credits roll. That does not necessarily scream romantic interest to me. Gratitude, yes, romance...not quite. There is an argument there for the game's intended audience and how anything else could be inappropriate for a family-friendly game, however.
In the RPGs and other 'side games' we get to see a little more of Peach as a person. In Paper Mario (N64), she works within the confines of being captured to get Mario more information on how to beat Bowser (thus rescuing her and restoring the kingdom to it's normal state). In Super Paper Mario (Wii), she's a playable character in her own right, standing beside Mario, Luigi and Bowser to help save the day.
Small romantic gestures can be written off as obligation in this way - stuck between a captor who repeatedly abducts her and proclaims romantic intent, and her consistent rescuer, there's a certain sense of obligation to repay him in some way for his efforts. Especially as, inevitably, she will be kidnapped again - it's in her own best interests not to snub the one man who reliably rescues her, when her own staff and seemingly no one else in the kingdom is even willing to try.
There's also her position to think about. As Princess of the Mushroom kingdom, there are all kinds of people apart from her invested in this relationship. Talking to many of the NPC Toads in the Paper Mario, and the Mario and Luigi games reveals that her relationship to Mario is the subject of a lot of gossip around the Mushroom Kingdom. Simply declaring that she has no interest for Mario won't work, not when so many others are invested in the outcome.
The only other notable time when Peach is approached in a romantic/sexual way by anyone apart from Bowser or Mario that I'm aware of is in Super Paper Mario, where Francis (gross butterfly collecting dudebro) talks to Peach as though she is a character in a romantic visual novel. This goes about as well as can be expected, and Peach, gratifyingly, doesn't pander to his expectations, but it does come some way to explaining how the few people who don't see Peach as an untouchable figure treat her as a mute object to possess. With that in mind, how many other options does Peach really have?
In Super Mario 64, the game opens with Peach's letter, asking Mario to come to the castle because she's baked a cake for him. This could be read as a romantic gesture, but it's not as though Mario is alone in having had Peach cook for him. Gourmet Guy in Paper Mario also receives a cake from Peach, albeit in order for her to get more information about Bowser's schemes. Even Bowser receives a cake for his part in saving the Mushroom Kingdom in Bowser's Inside Story (DS). Maybe she just likes baking?
Mario is invited to numerous events, such as the Star Festival in the Super Mario Galaxy games (Wii), tea parties in New Super Mario Bros. U (Wii), but usually with others present (like Luigi or Toads), so it's rarely them together alone. To me, this reads more as inviting friends to events, over inviting a significant other to a date.
This is, by no means to say that this is true or it's the best interpretation of her character. Merely an alternative to the obvious and easy plot of damsel in distress falls in love with her rescuer. There are other possibilities, too. Perhaps she doesn't have romantic affection for him, but a sisterly affection? There is nothing to say that she doesn't hold platonic feelings towards him, just as there's nothing to say that her feeling aren't romantic, despite everything I've just said. Characters are open to interpretation of subtext and events and especially in a franchise like Mario's, small details are often the only clues we get about a much more complex character than we initially thought.
Basically, the thought is: what if Princess Peach (of Mario franchise fame) isn't all that interested in Mario?
In the main series, Peach and Mario have very little interaction with each other directly. Peach gets kidnapped, usually by Bowser, Mario comes to the rescue, and she's saved, sometimes offering a cake back at the castle, a kiss on the nose and then the credits roll. That does not necessarily scream romantic interest to me. Gratitude, yes, romance...not quite. There is an argument there for the game's intended audience and how anything else could be inappropriate for a family-friendly game, however.
In the RPGs and other 'side games' we get to see a little more of Peach as a person. In Paper Mario (N64), she works within the confines of being captured to get Mario more information on how to beat Bowser (thus rescuing her and restoring the kingdom to it's normal state). In Super Paper Mario (Wii), she's a playable character in her own right, standing beside Mario, Luigi and Bowser to help save the day.
Small romantic gestures can be written off as obligation in this way - stuck between a captor who repeatedly abducts her and proclaims romantic intent, and her consistent rescuer, there's a certain sense of obligation to repay him in some way for his efforts. Especially as, inevitably, she will be kidnapped again - it's in her own best interests not to snub the one man who reliably rescues her, when her own staff and seemingly no one else in the kingdom is even willing to try.
There's also her position to think about. As Princess of the Mushroom kingdom, there are all kinds of people apart from her invested in this relationship. Talking to many of the NPC Toads in the Paper Mario, and the Mario and Luigi games reveals that her relationship to Mario is the subject of a lot of gossip around the Mushroom Kingdom. Simply declaring that she has no interest for Mario won't work, not when so many others are invested in the outcome.
The only other notable time when Peach is approached in a romantic/sexual way by anyone apart from Bowser or Mario that I'm aware of is in Super Paper Mario, where Francis (gross butterfly collecting dudebro) talks to Peach as though she is a character in a romantic visual novel. This goes about as well as can be expected, and Peach, gratifyingly, doesn't pander to his expectations, but it does come some way to explaining how the few people who don't see Peach as an untouchable figure treat her as a mute object to possess. With that in mind, how many other options does Peach really have?
In Super Mario 64, the game opens with Peach's letter, asking Mario to come to the castle because she's baked a cake for him. This could be read as a romantic gesture, but it's not as though Mario is alone in having had Peach cook for him. Gourmet Guy in Paper Mario also receives a cake from Peach, albeit in order for her to get more information about Bowser's schemes. Even Bowser receives a cake for his part in saving the Mushroom Kingdom in Bowser's Inside Story (DS). Maybe she just likes baking?
Mario is invited to numerous events, such as the Star Festival in the Super Mario Galaxy games (Wii), tea parties in New Super Mario Bros. U (Wii), but usually with others present (like Luigi or Toads), so it's rarely them together alone. To me, this reads more as inviting friends to events, over inviting a significant other to a date.
This is, by no means to say that this is true or it's the best interpretation of her character. Merely an alternative to the obvious and easy plot of damsel in distress falls in love with her rescuer. There are other possibilities, too. Perhaps she doesn't have romantic affection for him, but a sisterly affection? There is nothing to say that she doesn't hold platonic feelings towards him, just as there's nothing to say that her feeling aren't romantic, despite everything I've just said. Characters are open to interpretation of subtext and events and especially in a franchise like Mario's, small details are often the only clues we get about a much more complex character than we initially thought.
Monday, 10 August 2015
Final Fantasy XIII - How to Tell Stories (and What Not to do)
I often find myself thinking about how stories work in games over other media, particularly in JRPGs, which naturally have a bigger emphasis on story and character development over other game genres.
I'm haunted by Final Fantasy XIII in this regard, not because it does it well, but quite the opposite - the series does it horrendously.
A little history - when Final Fantasy XIII was announced, the focus was mostly on the new physics/graphics engine they had used for it - the Crystal Tools engine. Hence they announced off the bat that there would be 3 games in the series, to maximise the use of this engine. I'm not opposed to the idea of a trilogy - it works so well in novels and films. However, this means that before they even released the first game, and gauged critical/community reactions, they were committed to developing and releasing 3 games. They were also in a tricky position - generally, fans of Final Fantasy and JRPGs want to like a new release, and want it to be successful in their territory - it increases the chance of more games from the series and in general being released. However, after the general disappointment of Final Fantasy XII (a fun game to play: find people who have played it and ask them how far they actually got in it. I've yet to find someone who has actually completed it), there was always the possibility of another flop.
That being said, the first game was just about playable. The storyline is, when boiled down, relatively simple - the characters are drawn together by a powerful being to destroy their home, but they fight to rebel against these orders while discovering things about themselves and their companions. The problem is that in order to draw this out into a full-length game, the story is told in a convoluted and messy way, with a lot of jargon that makes it more difficult to follow, and the visuals, while very pretty, fail to help the story in some very significant ways. I spent a good 40 hours not realising that Cocoon - the home for many of the characters and a central element to the plot - was floating above Pulse, and the characters lived on the inner layer of the construct. That could have easily been shown with an establishing shot in the first five minutes. And that's only a minor issue. The character's internal dramas play out like episodic soap operas and are all over the place. I sense some of that issue was the desire to prove the graphics engine, so they wanted a variety of different locations. The easiest way to do that would be to split up the characters and this their stories. Combining this with dull gameplay, confusing subplots and needless jargon...the game failed to impress. On one level, there was entirely too much going on plot wise, which meant 'big' moments tended to be forgotten about as other moments take precedence; and the gameplay bored even gamers determined to see the mess through to its end.
The sequel improved on a lot of this. It focused on two characters, with the cast of the first making supporting appearances, but it was never about them. It had a refreshing plot on time travel that actually got me curious. As one character is from the very end of human existence, and they are changing time to prevent that from happening, what will happen to him? Yes, it still had elements of a plot that was a little chaotic, and could have been stripped down a little further and would have become something really impressive, but on the whole, told its story far better than its predecessor. However, the plot was difficult to follow if you hadn't played and completed the first game. It cut out a whole section of potential audience simply for that. There were text recaps that no one would really read hidden in the game's menu, but that is such a lazy way to introduce people to the story and the world. I am still very critical of the ending - it was designed to have cliffhanger written on it in glowing neon letters, and sidestepped all the interesting questions I had about time travel and how they were going to resolve the plot. They also give an illusion of choice to the ending - yet no matter what you do, the outcome is the same. This is the worst kind of betrayal to a gamer, to give the illusion of choice but no actual power to influence the plot in any meaningful way. The DLC released for the game also expanded on some of the original character's backstories and filled in the gaps of 'what were they doing while everything kept going on without them?' However, the fact that they were relegated to DLC means a significant chunk of the fanbase - already fractured by the first game to the point that they might not play the sequel, let alone buy extra content for the sequel - would be left out of these stories.
The third game, in my opinion, is the best. They strip the world down to focus on a few vital areas, but within those areas, you can explore and do the plot and sidequests in whatever order you choose. It encourages you to be as non-linear as you like...and you only have one playable character. The world itself focuses on one theme - the world is dying, and people are falling into entropy. And it portrays this so incredibly well, from the city where wealthy people endlessly party and enjoy themselves before the end, to the earthy people who hunt and live off the land as a last chance to get back in touch with nature, and the somber people clinging to religion as their last hope...and none of this needs directly explaining to you. You aren't working to save the world (which, incidentally, is only dying because of your actions in the two previous games); you're working to save the people to bring them into the new world. And honestly, that concept is strong enough to stand alone as a game. I honestly think that if they'd removed the complex backstory or allowed you to discover it in game, they could have released Lightning Returns as a stand alone game, and it would have done far better than simply as a conclusion to a trilogy.
The whole series does this, though. There is a lack of confidence in the strength of the story, so they throw budget at graphics and complicate the entire thing, essentially cheapening the emotional experience.
Because, as most writers know, the most effective part of the story is what is shown to you, not told. We don't need to be told the father is sad, we can figure that out from the fact that his son is out of his reach emotionally and physically and his face tells us everything else. Make us empathise with characters, and the rest will follow.
Agree? Disagree? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!
I'm haunted by Final Fantasy XIII in this regard, not because it does it well, but quite the opposite - the series does it horrendously.
A little history - when Final Fantasy XIII was announced, the focus was mostly on the new physics/graphics engine they had used for it - the Crystal Tools engine. Hence they announced off the bat that there would be 3 games in the series, to maximise the use of this engine. I'm not opposed to the idea of a trilogy - it works so well in novels and films. However, this means that before they even released the first game, and gauged critical/community reactions, they were committed to developing and releasing 3 games. They were also in a tricky position - generally, fans of Final Fantasy and JRPGs want to like a new release, and want it to be successful in their territory - it increases the chance of more games from the series and in general being released. However, after the general disappointment of Final Fantasy XII (a fun game to play: find people who have played it and ask them how far they actually got in it. I've yet to find someone who has actually completed it), there was always the possibility of another flop.
That being said, the first game was just about playable. The storyline is, when boiled down, relatively simple - the characters are drawn together by a powerful being to destroy their home, but they fight to rebel against these orders while discovering things about themselves and their companions. The problem is that in order to draw this out into a full-length game, the story is told in a convoluted and messy way, with a lot of jargon that makes it more difficult to follow, and the visuals, while very pretty, fail to help the story in some very significant ways. I spent a good 40 hours not realising that Cocoon - the home for many of the characters and a central element to the plot - was floating above Pulse, and the characters lived on the inner layer of the construct. That could have easily been shown with an establishing shot in the first five minutes. And that's only a minor issue. The character's internal dramas play out like episodic soap operas and are all over the place. I sense some of that issue was the desire to prove the graphics engine, so they wanted a variety of different locations. The easiest way to do that would be to split up the characters and this their stories. Combining this with dull gameplay, confusing subplots and needless jargon...the game failed to impress. On one level, there was entirely too much going on plot wise, which meant 'big' moments tended to be forgotten about as other moments take precedence; and the gameplay bored even gamers determined to see the mess through to its end.
The sequel improved on a lot of this. It focused on two characters, with the cast of the first making supporting appearances, but it was never about them. It had a refreshing plot on time travel that actually got me curious. As one character is from the very end of human existence, and they are changing time to prevent that from happening, what will happen to him? Yes, it still had elements of a plot that was a little chaotic, and could have been stripped down a little further and would have become something really impressive, but on the whole, told its story far better than its predecessor. However, the plot was difficult to follow if you hadn't played and completed the first game. It cut out a whole section of potential audience simply for that. There were text recaps that no one would really read hidden in the game's menu, but that is such a lazy way to introduce people to the story and the world. I am still very critical of the ending - it was designed to have cliffhanger written on it in glowing neon letters, and sidestepped all the interesting questions I had about time travel and how they were going to resolve the plot. They also give an illusion of choice to the ending - yet no matter what you do, the outcome is the same. This is the worst kind of betrayal to a gamer, to give the illusion of choice but no actual power to influence the plot in any meaningful way. The DLC released for the game also expanded on some of the original character's backstories and filled in the gaps of 'what were they doing while everything kept going on without them?' However, the fact that they were relegated to DLC means a significant chunk of the fanbase - already fractured by the first game to the point that they might not play the sequel, let alone buy extra content for the sequel - would be left out of these stories.
The third game, in my opinion, is the best. They strip the world down to focus on a few vital areas, but within those areas, you can explore and do the plot and sidequests in whatever order you choose. It encourages you to be as non-linear as you like...and you only have one playable character. The world itself focuses on one theme - the world is dying, and people are falling into entropy. And it portrays this so incredibly well, from the city where wealthy people endlessly party and enjoy themselves before the end, to the earthy people who hunt and live off the land as a last chance to get back in touch with nature, and the somber people clinging to religion as their last hope...and none of this needs directly explaining to you. You aren't working to save the world (which, incidentally, is only dying because of your actions in the two previous games); you're working to save the people to bring them into the new world. And honestly, that concept is strong enough to stand alone as a game. I honestly think that if they'd removed the complex backstory or allowed you to discover it in game, they could have released Lightning Returns as a stand alone game, and it would have done far better than simply as a conclusion to a trilogy.
The whole series does this, though. There is a lack of confidence in the strength of the story, so they throw budget at graphics and complicate the entire thing, essentially cheapening the emotional experience.
Because, as most writers know, the most effective part of the story is what is shown to you, not told. We don't need to be told the father is sad, we can figure that out from the fact that his son is out of his reach emotionally and physically and his face tells us everything else. Make us empathise with characters, and the rest will follow.
Agree? Disagree? Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!
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