Filming for the second series of Jersey Shore is currently under way in Miami and, by from everything I've read, it's been a total disaster. MTV made the decision to stick with the cast from the first season whose reputation is preceding them. Which means they're getting turfed out of the Miami hot-spots because the club owners know exactly what kind of bullshit shenanigans follow these knuckleheads wherever they go.
If you ask me, they should have gone for a whole new cast for the second season. It's like Borat or Dennis Pennis or whatever - once these characters get a little famous, people stop falling for their pranks and the whole joke is over. It's the same with Jersey Shore. The first season was a bunch of no-name guidos getting into the kind of trouble you can imagine every guido gets into. Now we've got a bunch of people jumped up on the sense of their own fame surrounded by people who know exactly who they are. Everyone is in on the joke. It's not funny any more.
At the same time though, I can see why they decided to stick with the same cast. This was a perfect storm of ridiculous, over-the-top personalities. With J-WOWW, Snooki, The Situation and Pauly D (and to a lesser extent, Ronnie, Vinnie and Angelina), MTV managed to capture lightning in a bottle. I doubt they could repeat it again if they tried.
Wanna know what I think? Of course you do! I think that if you absolutely had to stick with the original cast, rather than sending them to Miami, a better idea would have been to pack them all up and ship them off to Italy.
Can you imagine how incredible that would be? I'm getting tingly just thinking about it. They'd come face-to-face with real Italians. It's would be an amazing fish-out-of-water story, as they have their ideas about what it means to be Italian both crushed and affirmed. Possibly at the same time! Not only that, but MTV Italia only started showing Jersey Shore last month, so these kids aren't nearly as famous in Italy as they are in the States. They could wander around, jumped up on the sense of their own fame, but with near-complete anonymity.
Ubisoft have announced that they are ditching paper manuals for games in favour of electronic on-disc copies. This is sad news. Not that I was particularly fond of paper manuals - they are now mostly just legal boilerplates more than anything to do with the game - but because this means we're almost at the end of game pack-ins entirely.
I was a little disappointed when games switched to DVD-style cases. Yes, it's great that publishers finally settled on a standard shape and size for their boxes and my games collection doesn't look like a fucking cardboard shanty town, but it also meant that game designers couldn't pack extra things into the game box. Back in the 80s, Infocom games usually came with 'feelies'. These were ostensibly copy protection, but it's not fair to say that's all they were. Rather than the usual, bland, hard-to-photocopy sheets of teeny-tiny numbers for the game to ask you "what is the number in row G, column 16?", the Infocom feelies also gave you something that felt like an artefact from the game world. It was something physical that helped you identify with the game, made the game come alive and feel more realAnd let's face it, those Infocom text adventures needed all the help they could get to feel more real.
Looking back, I think most of my favourite games had some sort of pack-in to enhance the player's experience. For example, the graphic adventure of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came with a small, 20 or 30 page replica of the grail diary on top of the usual copy-protection. It wasn't essential and you didn't need this grail diary to finish the game, but they gave them out anyway. As an 11-year old who was crazy for that game, this cheap, paper copy broke the game's fourth wall and made the whole experience more real. It felt like treasure.
More recently, there's Heavy Rain which has you hunting for a serial killer known as the "Origami Killer", who gets his name from the fact he leaves a little origami figure in the cold, dead hands of his victims. Origami is used as a visual motif for the entire game, right down to the logo to indicate the game is being saved. Even though creator David Cage has a major boner for movies, he ignored the whole ubiquitous floating head idea for the poster, and stuck stuck with a simple image of the origami crane from the game.
When you're installing the game, a process that can take a few minutes, a message comes up on the screen to tell you to take out the flat sheet of paper packed into the case and, over the course of 12 steps, you're taught how to make your own origami crane, just like the one from the cover. Things to keep you distracted while your game loads/installs aren't anything newYou hearing me, Kojima? Watching an old fart smoking for 10 minutes is not fun, but it's hard not to be impressed by Heavy Rain's implementation. It's different, it's fun. And how difficult was it? It's a sheet of paper, yet that one sheet of paper enhanced my experience of the game and my overall impression of the care that went into the game.
So today I'm pouring a 40Not literally, obviously. What a waste of booze for game manuals and pack-in tchotchkes. At least we have special editions, right?
Going back to the old well of the videogames-and-art debate, film critic, Roger Ebert is once again trolling the entire internet by pronouncing from the mount, that video games can never be art. For writers, these kinds of articles are a great way of generating ad revenue, since they represent a massive source of 'clicks' and comments. For contrast, an insightful article about uncovering the meaning of Michael Haneke's Cache got 224 comments in three months, in three days his anti-videogame piece has gotten over 1200. I ususally try to avoid feeding internet trolls - especially one who makes a living criticising movies and yet whose contributions to that same medium arecompletelyappalling - but I'm making an exception here. Mainly because of a couple of things Ebert has said that I feel are completely bone-headed.
Her next example is a game named "Braid". This is a game "that explores our own relationship with our past...you encounter enemies and collect puzzle pieces, but there's one key difference...you can't die." You can go back in time and correct your mistakes. In chess, this is known as taking back a move, and negates the whole discipline of the game. Nor am I persuaded that I can learn about my own past by taking back my mistakes in a video game. She also admires a story told between the games levels, which exhibits prose on the level of a wordy fortune cookie.
I can't argue with his criticism of the prose in the game. It really is that hackneyed and bullshit. However, the issue is that he clearly has not played, nor sat down and watched anyone play, Braid. If he had, he would have realised that the going-back-in-time mechanic in the game is not just some giant "undo" button. It's not a ctrl-z for your mistakesEbert's bone-headed argument here seems to be that this mechanic is seen as antithetical in the game of chess. This is like complaining that the rules of Poker go completely against the 'discipline' of the game of chess. What the hell is he talking about?. The game relies on your ability to manipulate the flow of time, and it's this mechanic that really sets this game apart from other platform-puzzling games. Not only because you play it and are completely awed by how someone could create something this clever, but also because it's also the thing that gives the ending the emotional impact that it has - the time mechanic allows a level of reflection and re-evaluation that feels cheap and manipulative when done through more conventional storytelling methods (As in BioShock, for example).
When Pinter's stage version of "Betrayal" first appeared, back in the late 1970s, there was a tendency to dismiss his reverse chronology as a gimmick. Not so. It is the very heart and soul of this story.
Now in 2010, here comes Ebert, dismissing Braid's time-manipulation device as a mere 'gimmick'. He's wrong. It's the heart and soul of this storyThat's not to say that it's all about the mechanics. The Misadventures of P.B. Winterbottom has a similar time-manipulation mechanic, but has no emotional payoff. The story and the writing in that game just aren't able to pull it off..
We come to Example 3, "Flower". A run-down city apartment has a single flower on the sill, which leads the player into a natural landscape. The game is "about trying to find a balance between elements of urban and the natural." Nothing she shows from this game seemed of more than decorative interest on the level of a greeting card. Is the game scored? She doesn't say. Do you win if you're the first to find the balance between the urban and the natural? Can you control the flower? Does the game know what the ideal balance is?
I think this passage highlights precisely why Ebert will never 'get it' - he still thinks that games are about competition. He's still stuck in the Pong mentality of 'avoid missing ball for high score'. For him, games are strictly about 'winning'. This is not the case, any more than films are about using narrative devices to tell a story ('sup Koyaanisqatsi?). For reference, no, there's no score in Flower, and there's no 'winning'. This is a game that you play just for the joy of playing.
And it's completely divisive. People either hate it or love it.
Personally, I'm firmly in the 'love it' camp. Let me explain why. Like most people, I went through a fairly rough patch when I turned 30. Anxiety, depression, all that fun stuff. All stemming from an overwhelming fear, not so much of death, but rather of non-existence. And everything I read or watched exacerbated this fear. For example, I made the stupid mistake of reading The Road in the middle of this funk. Even more stupidly, I watched The Wrestler. It seemed like everywhere I looked, things just made me aware of my own mortality and how fragile it is.
Flower, by contrast, made me aware of the beauty of life and nature. More importantly, it delivered this message with an experience I could not get anywhere else. People talk about how it's the interactivity of videogames heightens the emotional impact of whatever you're doing, whether it's shooting some fool in the face or trampling prostitutes. Flower shows this swings both ways. Transcending the TV-controller interface, I was a gust of wind, bringing life to the environment. Although it sounds simplistic, it is precisely this simplicity that helped the game have such a profound effect on me. Think back to American Beauty, an Ebert favourite. This is a film that beat us over the head with its message, and so we are treated to five minutes of staring a plastic bag blowing in the wind, with some weird gargoyle-looking man telling the audience "this is beautiful". Fuck this didactic bullshit. Flower lets us experience this beauty for ourselves. It doesn't tell us, it shows us.
Remember when Entourage was good? This was way, way back. Back before the writers went off on wild story-tangents that no-one cared about and before almost every character became completely unrecognisable, loathsome shells of their former selvesAri Gold as empathetic solver of personal problems? FUCK YOU.
Yeah, good times.
There's definitely a sense that with their new show, How to Make it in America, HBO is trying to recapture the spirit of the early Entourage. At its core, the show about a couple of schmoes trying to... uh... make it.
New York, to be precise. And no, they haven't quite managed to capture the fun, carefree spirit of early Entourage. My wife has yet to watch an entire episode without commenting on how much she hates the main character ("Look at his face! It's so hateful!"). And it's true, Bryan Greenberg comes from the school of acting where "emoting" means "look smug whilst simultaneously looking like you're nonchalantly trying to pass a kidney stone".
Which all sounds terribly negative, and it probably would be if this is all there was to the show. So thank goodness the show is more of an ensemble piece. People like Eddie Kaye Thomas, Shannyn Sossamon and Martha Plimpton pop up occasionally. HBO regular James Ransone (Ziggy Sobotka from The Wire, Corporal Ray Person from Generation Kill) even appears in a blink-and-you-miss-him cameo. But, best of all, it's got Luis Guzman. I mean this in a completely hetero way: I love Luis Guzman. His dreadful sitcom aside, I think Luis Guzman steals the show whatever he appears in, and, more importantly, he also makes things infinitely more watchable. He's even one of the best things about Community, and that only has a statue of him. He's perfect in How to Make it in America, playing a felon released from jail and trying to establish himself as a legitimate businessman (with his energy drink, Rasta Monster). He alone makes the show worth watching.
It's still early days yet, and I'm not quite sure I know where the show is going, but it's definitely worth checking out.
Ten or eleven years ago, I was in a pub and we got talking about Jimmy Stewart. For some reason, I thought now would be a good time to try my hand at a Jimmy Stewart impression. Now, if you've ever seen me try to do an impression of anything, you know I can't, it's just embarassing. Maybe the stars were smiling on me or something because that day, I managed to do a pitch-perfect impression of Jimmy Stewart.
That was the first and last time I ever tried a Jimmy Stewart impression. I will probably never be able to do one again, let alone do a better one, so why even try?
I was playing GTA IV a while ago and, like most people who play it, I started fucking around in between missions. Goofing off - crashing cars, shooting random people and generally acting like a deranged psychopath. One of my favourite things to do in that game is to punch someone and then stand there. Maybe it's because I'm a complete pussy and I'd never try this in real life. Anyway, I punch people and see what they do. Most times they just go "Hey!" and walk away. Sometimes they scream and run away.
Except once, I punched the Charles Bronson of Liberty City. He just snapped, went berserk and started beating the living fuck out of me. I would have fought back, but he was going so nuts that I never got a chance to punch him. So I ran away.
He started chasing me.
I swear to God, I don't know if the developers made it this way, but I could have sworn he was foaming at the mouth.
I ran and ran and ran. Usually, with videogames, you run far enough away and the person chasing you gives up and goes back to their pre-scripted routine. Not this guy. I ran into my apartment - your safe-house, where you can save your game by lying on your bed and 'going to sleep' for a few hours. He chased me in. I didn't even know non-playable characters could open the door! So I did the only thing I could, I lay on the bed, went to sleep and saved my game.
When it was done saving, my character woke up, the guy was still standing over my bed, barking and shouting at me, and started punching the moment I stood up. I eventually just grabbed a gun and shot the guy.
Now I can't play GTA IV again, because I know I will never be able to top the image of a crazy guy yelling and screaming at me as I lie in bed asleep. I don't care how good the rest of the game is, it can't beat that.
Frustrated by the way BFBC2 players will happily sit and snipe while doing nothing to help the squad, or win the round, Tom Chick invents a new class, the sniper cop:
Did you know the tracer dart can stick to friendly targets? It sits there and glows. For instance, if you affix it to someone's head - say, someone with a sniper rifle crouching just behind a ridge or in some foliage - that person's head will be super easy to spot from a long way off by other players with sniper rifles. Furthermore, if you attach it to someone's face, it will shine a red glow into his line of site and maybe even obscure his vision. It's like a fantastic glowing clown nose
First up, a quick warning. We're talking about Lady Gaga here, so if that doesn't immediately ring your NSFW alarm, then let me state it clearly: this post is probably NSFW.
Here's the new Lady Gaga video for 'Telephone', which has a load of oversaturated shots of big-titted women dancing around the place in their bikinis. As is usual for any video directed by Jonas Åkerlund, it's almost painful to watch.
Since I've been doing a lot of to'ing and fro'ing between Ireland and Rome, I've made a firm decision to never fly Ryanair ever again, unless it absolutely cannot be avoided. There's a few reasons behind this.
First, and most obviously, Michael O'Leary could possibly be the world's biggest cunt. The kind of person I would be very happy to hear had spontaneously burst into flames and choked to death on his own melting oesophegus.
I'm sick of being treated like a piece of shit by Ryanair's barely-competent ground crew. I was blind drunk one night and went into Zaytoon, where the extremely condescending guy behind the counter started acting all "wellity, wellity, wellity, what a surprise, the drunk fat man wants a kebab". I remember thinking "Hey fuck you, dicknose! You're the shithead who works in a kebab shop, you're in no position to judge anyone. Just slice the meat and shut your stupid face." This is kind of how I feel about Ryanair ground staff.
I'm sick of being hawked shit every ten minutes on their flights. Especially when I just want to sleep.
They're a false economy. Ryanair gives you 15kg for your checked luggage, and it's €20 per kilo above that. Aer Lingus gives you 20kg. So whenever I'm booking a flight, I'll always add an extra €200 to the Ryanair price. They're never cheaper than Aer Lingus.
Simply avoiding them isn't enough for me though. I want them to know each time I avoid them. Down the street where I work, there are a bunch of bars that we used to go to, but that we now avoid because they decided it would be better to try and rip us off once than have our continued, regular custom. Now, I'll occasionally walk into one of these bars, wait until someone acknowledges my presence, and then leave and go to another bar. It's ridiculous and petty, I know, but so am I.
So I want to do something like this with Ryanair. Every time I take a trip, I'd like to send a letter saying "Hello, I'm flying between $city_a and $city_b, but I decided to fly with one of your competitors because I think your business practices are appalling." I thought this was a great idea until someone pointed out that they're such cheap cunts that they'd probably charge me an administrative fee for having opened and read the letter/email.
So what's the best way to let Ryanair when they're missing out on a fare from me? The pettier and more ridiculous, the better.