Archive for the ‘Narrative Analysis’ Category
Uncharted, Unabashed
Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune was released in North America on November 20th, 2007, and two years later, I got to play it for the first time…
Disturbing Providence
It would be fair to confess that my adulation for Revolutionary Road had galvanized my impulses to purchase the rest of Richard Yates’s oeuvres, possibly as a self-conceivable mean to prop up his forgotten works even by the tinniest margins. I am fixated on reading them sequentially by their years of publication, simply to get a sense of Yates’s ruminations and intents after he went through each of his stories, and to observe whether he would do anything to circumvent his myopic endeavors and low sales. After a collection of short stories and two novels later, it seems hardly the case, so far, that he lost his domestic realism in favor of maintaining a lucrative career in writing. He might have lost some of his sensibility in A Special Providence and Disturbing the Peace, his stories, however, shrewdly remain as vehement and uninhibited as they come.
A Cycle of Human Experience
- This post is dedicated to my cousin, who has graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in film production from SIU this Saturday.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring, is pretty much a film about the forces of nature as it is a depiction of human’s frailty, and the consequences that follow when childhood innocence gets tainted with the lust of adulthood. Renowned South Korean film director and extraordinaire, Kim Ki Duk, has masterfully guised his meditative picture with a Buddhist’s stern scrutiny; it is not quite loquacious in judgment, though subtle in wisdom, harsh in discipline, and profuse with quaint imageries. Despite his hypnotic, naturally visualized storytelling, Kim’s message in his feature is critical, intense, and rather pervasive. While it is easy to conclude that the film is an elaborative domino effect (and possibly it is), the themes and the intricate progression of human’s growth are doubtlessly successive.
Organized Chaos – The Wonderland of Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
It has been almost three months since I finished Haruki Murakami’s “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle”, a modern tale of magical realism that echoes a comparable stupefaction to “Alice in the Wonderland”. Though, unlike Lewis Carroll‘s masterpiece, Chronicle evokes both delightful musings of an ordinary man and sometimes a grotesque depiction of a sympathetic nature of Japan’s involvement during World War II. What started as a mundane detective tale becomes something far extraordinary, but Murakami is by no means a sensationalist in his writing, rather a tranquil surrealist who lets his readers to freely wonder in his imagination. While the book is relatively fragmented, the chaos that engulfs Murakami’s work is orderly and constructed, and even though it leaves too many unanswered questions to ponder, Chronicle manages to linger a sense of completion and satisfaction behind.
The Squall of Resolve and Ambition
It appears it’s rather easy to criticize (or even ridicule) the chief titles of Final Fantasy games these days, considering that the release date of Final Fantasy XIII is creeping closer now. And of course, the easiest approach to do just that is by nitpicking the games’ plot and characterization, which might allude to a sense of criticism when, in actuality, it’s a mere trivia comprised of poor judgment and attention to cheap laughs (1UP’s childish “Top 5 Most Irritating RPG Protagonists” is an excellent contender). That doesn’t mean Final Fantasy games are exempted from criticism, but seldom have I ever read a practical critique of the games’ narrative and characters that not only is well-reasoned and valid but at least convincing.
Final Fantasy VIII also seems to be the favorite title among Final Fantasy critics (though the word “critics” might elevate their merit than necessary). Few of their assessments are legit but most of them are crudely vague. Saying the characters are “annoying”, or the plot is “awful”, or the gameplay is “broken” without giving any elaborative examples, or at least semi-extensive clarifications, doesn’t indicant anything evident on their conclusion. Of course, it is always the main character that gets the short end of the stick, and in this case, it’s always Squall Leonhart, the gunblade-wielding protagonist.
Quite the opposite, Squall, personally, is one of the most tenderly written leading characters I’ve ever encountered in an RPG. His lone wolf persona is nicely justified in his arc (more on that that later) and Kazushige Nojima, the writer of Final Fantasy VIII, made sure to disclose enough credentials for him to be as persuasively detached and compassionless toward the rest of his teammates, specially in the initial stages of the story. A specific plot device among many in Nojima’s design in Final Fantasy VIII is the prospect to perceive Squall’s inner thoughts and contemplations, which cleverly exposes and flourishes his character to the player than he candidly allows. Yet, Squall isn’t resistant to influence; indeed, he inevitably and willingly becomes to accept his comrades, confess his love to Rinoa, and assume his role as the student leader of the military school of Balamb Garden more earnestly. The following paragraphs will succinctly particularize this transformation by examining Squall’s character progression in the plot. In other words, spoilers are abundant.
A Revolutionary Insanity
In the midst of egotism, self-denial, social conformism, and self-made delusions that seem to pervade a large sum of Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, the voice of reason seems to lose its echo among all the society’s hypocrisy. Yet, Yates’ commentary manages to be carried out by his characters, even though their selfish acts often overlap their criticism of the American’s suburbia of the 1950s. Frank and April Wheelers, the young and frustrated couple regrettably harbors little affection for each other just as much they dislike their hollowed existence in the estates of Revolution Road. They recognize that their youth is withering away on meaningless and unfulfilling prospects that rarely provide incentive to incite self-worth.
November BoRT: The Implications of Modern Prometheus
“Frankenstein, or, The Modern Prometheus: by Mary Shelley is considered by many to be the first science fiction novel ever written. That makes it the perfect title for our first Literary Design Challenge BoRT. Many attempts to translate Frankenstein to other formats have fixated on the science of bringing the monster to life, but the book itself doesn’t focus on this aspect at all. Instead, it examines what it means to produce life and the impact that has on those who comes are directly and indirectly involved with the process.”
Two years ago, when I took Major British Writers class in college, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus was included in the syllabus as a required reading. On the first day we began discussing the book, my professor began the lecture on lamenting those who referred to the Gothic novel only by its first name. He stressed that referencing the book without its subtitle didn’t foretell anything imperative about its premise, particularly since Frankenstein and his monstrous creation were indecently profuse in their pop culture manipulations.
The Urban Intimations of Tokyo!
“Tokyo!”, the omnibus triptych film that is independently envisioned by three distinctive filmmakers can be hardly described as a valentine to the populated Japanese megalopolis. Unlike other collaborated and commemorative anthologies such as “Paris, je t’aime” and “New York, I Love You”, “Tokyo!” is all about the stillness of urbanism. Its allegorical storytelling cunningly stymies anyone’s grasp of the Japanese culture, casting more enigmas than usually expected or conceived. Despite the prevalence of Japanese actors in the film, none of the directors and writers is actually Japanese. While it would be more practical to take this three-course meal at face value and not deem it as an accurate depiction of contemporary Japan, its experimental narrative and occasionally esoteric presentation warrant at least a solicitous assessment.
A Prime Example
I insensibly tend to compare any first-person shooter I pick up with Metroid Prime, forgetting the fact that a mutual share of vantage point doesn’t qualify a mutual comparison in design. Obviously, it would be incongruous to lump Metroid Prime, Far Cry 2, and Mirror’s Edge, for example, in a singular typology, partially since these games are representatives of their subgenres: fruitions that have conceptually meshed two or three novel devises in their premises. However, as subjective as this may sound, Metroid Prime properly culminates the enlivenment of an adventure and the ambiance of a first-person unlike no other. Even if we detach Prime into its elements, we will still come across to an opus finessed in quality and peerless gameplay. The Texan Retro Studios have certainly fashioned a tough model to follow, for them and for any game that aspires to tread Prime’s lead. Therefore, it would be better to consider this post as a critical accolade instead of an all-encompassing critique.
