Month: September 2010

Script writing has degenerated to such a degree in Hollywood that plots are no longer necessary. The original predator involved a jungle showdown between an alien from outer space and gun wielding folks as end state, right? Well the entire premise of Predators is predicated on an absurd deus ex machina: rather than go through the effort of establishing a reason for the cast, setting and plot to exist, the cast is virtually teleported into a jungle with predators immediately and without explanation. I am not arguing that action movies should be Shakespeare, but Predator had a number of interesting and compelling plot points: the supposedly missing cabinet minister, a CIA cover-up, false flag operations, the whole subplot involving the rebels (clearly modeled to reflect US relations in South America during the 19870s and 80s) and a general climate of military realism. Even the reason why the cast of the original Predator has to trek through the jungle rather than be magically saved by a helicopter pick up makes sound sense: the first chopper sent in was shot down by a heat seeking missile, and the LZ is too hot. They can’t make subsequent contact with friendly forces because as we might recall command has established a small window by which to talk to the special forces team in order to avoid interdiction by potentially listening enemy forces. This makes sense from a military perspective, and grants the film a plausible reasoning for throwing the cast into a horror/sci fi scenario.

In Predators, there is 0 exposition. The cast is literally thrown into the jungle with only the flimsiest of implied explanations. The cast of characters find themselves parachuting from the sky, apparently not knowing how or where they got there. As there is no connection between the characters whatsoever, or a reason for the plot existing, the film comes off of as a sort of fanboy’s eroticism and an exercise in violence masturbation – a “plot” so simple that it cannot rightly be called a plot and might as well been cooked up by a 12 year old kid having a daydream.

“Guys I totally just got the coolest idea, just like, take 10 guys and their in a jungle with predators.”

* * *

This leads me to my next point – the characters themselves. They consist of a series of racist caricatures, evoked to explain their nature materially and without nuance. We have the crazed, hillbilly, tattooed, cussin’, death row guy who loves knives and having fist fights for no reason, the African tribesman who speaks primitively and has done “barbaric” things, the meditating, katana wielding, Japanese samurai, the smarmy Mexican drug dealer,  the Russian (who is identical to the Russians from the 80s),  the Hispanic hot girl who is tough and knowing, the effeminate, white collar, geeky scientist who spews out random scientific facts and the magical negro, Laurence Fishburne. Adrian Brody is perhaps the worst lead in recent memory – his horrible attempt at speaking like a tough guy (think Christian Bale) and imitating manliness and arete is painful and nauseating to watch. His womanlike hipster looks and overcompensating weapon don’t help matters. He is as much of a man as Pee Wee Herman and shames the memory of Ahnuld.

Aside from the DP – a note on the character development and drama. There is none. One of the most depressing scenes is when the scientist literally abandons the Commie and makes no efforts to save him (mere seconds after the latter saved the former). This is to say nothing of the fact that an on screen friendship is alluded to. The scientist takes 0 time to reflect on what has just happened, or the fact that he made no effort to save his new friend (who was not in a hopeless situation by any means – about 10 meters away from the gun toting cast). Does the scientist alert the cast that the Commie is about to be murdered? Of course not, he just keeps running. Excellent character drama in Predators.

The film also represents a serious degeneration in the conception of hero. The protagonist does such heroic antics as:

1. Leading a group of less experienced fighters into what is clearly an ambush in order to gain intelligence about his enemy.

2. Abandoning two members of his party because one of them is injured and the other refuses to simply boobytrap the wounded one and leave him for dead.

3. Signaling the predators to his location in order to free himself from a trap, simultaneously leading to the deaths of most of his party.

4. Torturing a captured prisoner.

5. Making an alliance and then betraying his ally by not aiding him in a decisive battle.

…and generally using those following him as tools in order to save himself.

Inspiring stuff.

* * *

It seems as if every movie coming out of Hollywood, and most creations of society in general, are nothing more than mere pastiche of good memory. All one needs to do to make a movie nowadays is to remake something worthwhile, as if simply the memory of the artifact will overcome the flaws of the new production. Indeed, the American psyche appears unwilling and unable to process new concepts, ideas and mythology and instead has become reliant on a stream of imitation and reinvention. As with the Freidberg and Seltzer films, the American public is seemingly entertained just by recalling something, anything, they can remember. Freidberg and Seltzer just take pop culture references and play them back to the audience, this is somehow funny, while Predators invokes scenes and music from the original Predator, and this is somehow invigorating. And while the events they plagiarize had essence, the recreation is soulless and absurd.

Take the scene from Predators in which the samurai sacrifices himself Billy style. In the original film Billy was a member of a special forces team which had existed for years, and some members had been traveling together for decades, working in Vietnam together. The members of the team respect and love each other. Each loss if a terrible catastrophe, although the team soldiers on in military style in order to complete the task. Billy’s sacrifice can be interpreted as an act of honor to aid and preserve his friends. It is also in line with his spiritual roots – he considers himself to be a warrior, and after sensing the predator by subtle intuition throughout the film, challenges his opponent to a showdown out of frustration. The director even had the dignity of not making the Billy stand into a gimmicky fight scene – we used our imagination to fill in the blanks (remember when everything didn’t have to be vulgarly and explicitly displayed?), and everyone was OK with that.

This scene is shamelessly reproduced in Predators. The katana wielding samurai replaces Billy, stripping his clothes in the same way, revealing a back full of traditional Japanese tattoos. Even the same music is used in the scene. Cue the fanboy eroticism: “Oh gee, I wanted to see Billy fight the predator, so gay!” Cue the 5 minute sword fight between a Predator and the samurai. Except this time around the samurai had no previous indication of being a warrior (other than racist stereotyping) and has no relationship with any of the other characters. He also had no evident frustration with the predator, and has no other apparent motives for committing what is almost assuredly going to be suicide. While early in the film another character, the African savage, detects the predator for a moment with his intuition as Billy once did, this character is killed early on the film, and has no relation to the samurai. Such trash.

* * *

Don’t watch this.

***

A man after my own heart, I came to the same conclusions after reading Hesiod and the Mahabharata. While for most of my teenage years I exhausted myself with futile efforts to reform a world of chaos around me – through a constant effort to speak the truth and live virtuously, a living reproach to the disorder – I realize now that the best stratagem to remain healthy and sane in such a world is to ride it to its extinction. Indeed, bracing against such a change is not wise action for a Stoic. It is the behavior of a dog pulling against a firm leash. Better to go with the stream. Yet, not to be changed by the stream, or to stop living beautifully.

***

From Julius Evola:

The idea just mentioned refers to a perspective that does not really enter into the argument of this book, because it is not concerned with inner, personal behavior, but with outer circumstances; not with present-day reality, but with an unpredictable future upon which one’s own conduct should in no wise depend.

This is a perspective already alluded to, which sees that the present time may, in the last analysis, be a transitional epoch. I will say only a little about it before approaching our principal problem. The reference point here is given by the traditional doctrine of cycles and by the idea that the present epoch, with all its typical phenomena, corresponds to the terminal phase of a cycle.

The phrase chosen as the title of this book, “ride the tiger,” may serve as a transition between what has been said hitherto, and this other order of ideas. The phrase is a Far Eastern saying, expressing the idea that if one succeeds in riding a tiger, not only does one avoid having it leap on one, but if one can keep one’s seat and not fall off, one may eventually get the better of it. Those who are interested may be reminded of a similar theme found in the schools of traditional wisdom, such as the “ox-herding” episodes of Japanese Zen; while in classical antiquity there is a parallel in the trials of Mithras, who lets himself be dragged by the bull and will not let go until the animal stops, whereupon Mithras kills it.

This symbolism is applicable at various levels. First, it can refer to a line of conduct in the interior, personal life; then to the appropriate attitude in the face of critical, historical, and collective situations. In the latter case, we are interested in the relation of the symbol to the doctrine of cycles, with regard to both the general structure of history and the particular aspect of it that refers to the sequence of the “Four Ages.” This is a teaching that, as I have shown elsewhere, (1) bears identical traits in the East and in the ancient West. (Giambattista Vico simply caught an echo of it.)

In the classical world, it was presented in terms of humanity’s progressive descent from the Golden Age to what Hesiod called the Iron Age. In the corresponding Hindu teaching, the final age is called the Kali Yuga (Dark Age). Its essential quality is emphatically said to be a climate of dissolution, in which all the forces–individual and collective, material, psychic, and spiritual–that were previously held in check by a higher law and by influences of a superior order pass into a state of freedom and chaos. The texts of Tantra have a striking image for this situation, saying that it is the time when Kali is “wide awake.” Kali is a female divinity symbolizing the elementary, primordial forces of the world and of life, but in her “lower” aspects she is also presented as a goddess of sex and orgiastic rites. In previous ages she was “sleeping,” that is, latent in the latter aspects, but in the Dark Age she is said to be completely awake and active. (2)

Everything points to the fact that exactly this situation has been reached in recent times, having for its epicenter the civilization and society of the West, from which it has rapidly spread over the whole planet. It is not too forced an interpretation to link this with the fact that the present epoch stands under the zodiacal sign of Aquarius, the waters in which everything turns to a fluid and formless state. Thus predictions made many centuries ago–for these ideas go back that far–appear strangely timely today. One finds here an analogy to what I have said above regarding the problem of what attitude is proper to the final age, associated here with riding the tiger.

In fact, the texts that discuss the Kali Yuga and the Age of Kali also declare that the norms of life, valid during epochs in which divine forces were more or less alive and active, must be considered as cancelled in the final age. During the latter there lives an essentially different human type who is incapable of following the ancient precepts. Not only that, but because of the different historical and even planetary circumstances, such precepts, even if followed, would not yield the same results. For this reason, different norms apply, and the rule of secrecy is lifted from certain truths, a certain ethic, and particular “rites” to which the rule previously applied on account of their dangerous character and because they contravened the forms of a normal existence, regulated by the sacred tradition. No one can fail to see the significance of this convergence of views. In this as in other points, my ideas, far from having a personal and contingent character, as essentially linked to perspectives already known to the world of Tradition, when abnormal situations in general were foreseen and analyzed.

We shall now examine the principle of “riding the tiger” as applied to the external world and the total environment. Its significance can be stated as follows: When a cycle of civilization is reaching its end, it is difficult to achieve anything by resisting it and by directly opposing the forces in motion. The current is too strong; one would be overwhelmed. The essential thing is not to let oneself be impressed by the omnipotence and apparent triumph of the forces of the epoch. These forces, devoid of connection with any higher principle, are in fact on a short chain. One should not become fixated on the present and on things at hand, but keep in view the conditions that may come about in the future. Thus the principle to follow could be that of letting the forces and processes of this epoch take their own course, while keeping oneself firm and ready to intervene when “the tiger, which cannot leap on the person riding it, is tired of running.” The Christian injunction “Resist not evil” may have a similar meaning, if taken in a very particular way. One abandons direct action and retreats to a more external position.

The perspective offered by the doctrine of cyclical laws is implicit here. When one cycle closes, another begins, and the point at which a given process reachers its extreme is also the point at which it turns in the opposite direction. But there is still the problem of continuity between the two cycles. To use an image from Hoffmansthal, the positive solution would be that of a meeting between those who have been able to stay awake through the long night, and those who may appear the next morning. But one cannot be sure of this happening. It is impossible to foresee with certainty how, and on what plane, there can be any continuity between the cycle that is nearing its end and the next one. Therefore the line of conduct to be followed in the present epoch must have an autonomous character and an immanent, individual value. I mean to say that the attraction of positive prospects, more or less short-term, should not play an important part in it. They might be entirely lacking right up to the end of the cycle, and the possibilities offered by a new movement beyond the zero point might concern others coming after us, who may have held equally firm without awaiting any direct results or exterior changes.

Before leaving this topic and resuming my principal argument, it may be useful to mention another point connected to cyclical laws. This concerns the relationship between Western civilization and other civilizations, especially those of the East. Among those who have recognized the crisis of the modern world, and who have also abandoned the idea that modern civilization is the civilization par excellence, the zenith and measure of all others, some have turned their eyes to the East. They see there, to a certain degree, a traditional and spiritual orientation to life that has long ceased to exist in the West as the basis for the effective organization of the various realms of existence. They have even wondered whether the East might furnish useful reference points for a revival and reintegration of the West.

It is important to have a clear view of the domain to which such a proposition might apply. If it is simply a matter of doctrines and “intellectual” contacts, the attempt is legitimate. But one should take note that valid examples and points of reference are to be found, at least partially, in our own traditional past, without having to turn to non-European civilizations. Not much is to be gained by any of this, however. It would be a matter of conversations at a high level between isolated individuals, cultivators of metaphysical systems. If one is more concerned with real influences that have a powerful effect on existence, one should have no illusions about them. The East itself is now following in our footsteps, ever more subject to the ideas and influences that have led us to the point at which we find ourselves, “modernizing” itself and adopting our own secular and materialistic forms of life. What is still left of Eastern traditions and character is steadily losing ground and becoming marginalized. The liquidation of “colonialism” and the material independence that Eastern peoples are acquiring vis-á-vis Europe are closely accompanied by an ever more blatant subjection to the ideas, the mores, and the “advanced” and “progressive” mentality of the West.

Based on the doctrine of cycles, it may be that anything of value from the point of view of a man of Tradition, either in the East or elsewhere, concerns a residual legacy that survives, up to a point, not because it belongs to areas that are truly untouched by the principle of decline, but merely because this process is still in an early phase there. For such civilizations it is only a matter of time before they find themselves at the same point as ourselves, knowing the same problems and the same phenomena of dissolution under the sign of “progress” and modernity. The tempo may even be much faster in the East. We have the example of China, which in two decades has traveled the whole way from an imperial, traditional civilization to a materialistic and atheist communist regime–a journey that the Europeans took centuries to accomplish.

Outside the circles of scholars and specialists in metaphysical disciplines, the “myth of the East” is therefore a fallacy. “The desert encroaches”: there is no other civilization that can serve as support; we have to face our problems alone. The only prospect offered us as a counterpart of the cyclical laws, and that only hypothetical, is that the process of decline of the Dark Age has first reached its terminal phases with us in the West. Therefore it is not impossible that we would also be the first to pass the zero point, in a period in which the other civilizations, entering later into the same current, would find themselves more or less in our current state, having abandoned–“superseded”–what they still offer today in the way of superior values and traditional forms of existence that attract us. The consequence would be a reversal of roles. The West, having reached the point beyond the negative limit, would be qualified to assume a new function of guidance or command, very different from the material, techno-industrial leadership that it wielded in the past, which, once it collapsed, resulted only in a general leveling.

This rapid overview of general prospects and problems may have been useful to some readers, but I shall not dwell further on these matters. As I have said, what interests us here is the field of personal life; and from that point of view, in defining the attitude to be taken toward certain experiences and processes of today, having consequences different from what they appear to have for practically all our contemporaries, we need to establish autonomous positions, independent of anything the future may or may not bring.

***

Something about Evola’s words reminds me of a note from the Prince :

[Spent the afternoon] with these boors playing cards or dice; we quarrel over farthings. When evening comes I return to the house and go into my study. Before I enter I take off my rough mud-stained country dress. I put on my royal and curial robes and thus fittingly attired I enter into the assembly of men of old times. Welcomed by them I feed upon that food which is my true nourishment, and which has made me what I am. I dare to talk with them, and ask them the reason for their actions. Of their kindness they answer me. I no longer fear poverty or death.

I had some narrative plan in mind yesterday but today i’m just going to blurt out why I enjoy and play pen and paper games. Why? I lost interest in writing a treatise on my history with pen and paper games.

Why I play pen and paper games:

1. I get to experiment with and experience the themes from the classics, as well as examine ethical theories through the laboratory of character.

2. I love to immerse myself in the material, especially in regards to conducting extensive research, developing vocabularies, etymology and ethnographic sketching. It can be catnip for historians and scholarly types.

3. Socializing in a creative, clean, mentally stimulating environment.

4. Creating compelling stories and especially seeing my literary concepts be improved and matured by the actions of my players. I have always been greatly compelled by the epic hero, indo-european mythology and symbolism, the great keystone texts of humanity;  running pen and paper games is a way of authoring a story in a way that I am most familiar with. I simply enjoy writing, and although I keep my pen and paper writings to high standards, I still need a vacation from my scholarly duties, an opportunity to do “fun stuff.”

5. The process of preparing materials for games is itself motivating and can be quite fun: trying your hand at cartography and publishing is always interesting. I feel most happy when I am actively using my mind, either at play (tabletop games) or in my professional life (studying and philosophizing). The process can help you keep sharp mentally if you hold your work at extremely high standards.

6. Its gratifying to entertain your friends for a night, and to see your imaginative creations be well received.

7. As a player (and not perhaps a referee), it’s simply fun to roleplay a persona other than yourself. This is especially true if you strictly divide your personality from the character in play, and hold that character to a rigid code of conduct in appreciation of the game setting and laws. This is to say nothing of the perpetual joy of discovery and adventure within a well crafted game world.

I recently watched The Dungeon Masters (2008) on a whim, hoping to gain some insight on the lives and styles of other pen and paper game referees. The movie turned out to be a work of exploitation. The documentary featured obviously edited (and later I would learn, forced) conversations arranged in such a fashion as to suggest that the subjects were highly dysfunctional people. It is implied by pernicious editing that the social anxieties and failings of the subjects can be attributed to their pen and paper hobbies. I am not writing today to review the film however, but to speak on the topics which it compelled me to contemplate. Why do I play pen and paper games, and what do I “get out” of it? In essence I would like to speak to the topics The Dungeon Masters may have posed in a more ethical and less sensational documentary.

I first got into pen and paper games after playing Baldur’s Gate, a computer game bound by the rule set of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2nd edition. I had spoken of my interest in the game at school, which I do to this day still consider one of the finest games ever produced, and a friend referred me to a fellow who actually lived down the block, Ian. Ian supposedly had books which would allow you to play a game like Baldur’s Gate, but with pen and paper. I can’t recall how I tracked him down, I think he walked home from school the same route I did. I introduced myself and eventually we came acquaintances. He explained the basic concept of the game, an interactive oral story telling coop bound by a complex system of rules, and I was instantly enraptured. I thought Ian was so cool, because he happened to know about these sort of games, although he wanted little to do with me because I was several years younger than him. Interacting with middle schoolers while in high school was considered a social stigma, apparently even for a D&D nerd, but I was finally able to convince him to tell me his Everquest server, and I ran into him in that “digital world” a few times. This was all a general scheme by myself and my friend Thom to borrow his player’s handbook. Eventually I took the leap and asked him if I could borrow the book he so fiercely defended as his prized possession. He refused, but after a few more weeks of nagging he finally relented, and I got my hands on a pristine condition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2nd edition Player’s Handbook (PHB).

Due to school obligations we were unable to dive into the book the week it was loaned to us, and soon Ian demanded his precious back. I painfully surrendered the tome I had been unable to explore, but just from a few quick glances I was determined to try playing this game. So what to do when you are poor, not much liked by your parents and without gaming gear? Use the Baldur’s Gate game manual of course! Our first foray into D&D was informed by such a manual, which included a very truncated version of the PHB and explained much of the basic D&D game mechanics. It did not however have a THAC0 chart printed in it, so me and Thom reasoned that the natural way to determine one of the most important character statistics in the game was to randomly roll it when you first created your character, and to keep that number forever. Hence our first wizard, Brandon the Necromancer, played by, you guessed it, Brandon – had a THAc0 of 6, while our fighter had an 18 or something. The Baldur’s Gate manual soon became the holy primer on D&D matters and we attempted to use it as a source book, making up rules for whatever gaps it did not cover.

I also knew by reading the few pages of the PHB I had been able to before it was returned and by recalling Ian’s description of the gameplay, that one of the players was supposed to be a “dungeon master,” or supreme referee who created and handled the game world the players interacted with. A natural strategy game player and storyteller, I immediately took up this job. Somehow I managed to create adventures without use of the critical Monstrous Manual (MM), which includes statistics and information on introducing fantasy creatures into your games, or Dungeon Master’s Guide (DMG), which teaches you how to actually run games. I recall spending an afternoon at my friend Steve’s house. Me and Thom had specifically gone over there to introduce the idea of D&D to Steve, to sell him on it, so that we could get our first game going. I made my pitch like a salesman while we hung out in the pool and discussed manhunt and pro wrestling. Steve reluctantly gave it a “sure” and off we went. Also included in the first game was Ryan. Other first group gamers were Brandon and Jeremy.

The first game was a great moment in my life – combining awe, pure fun and imagination. I had managed to get back the PHB from Ian for the day so we could “roll up” characters. But we still made characters the “Baldur’s Gate way” and totally fucked up our character stats. Regardless, my players became obsessed with buying random animals from the PHB’s equipment section, as they found they all had at least sixty to one hundred gold, and small critters like chickens and goats cost mere copper and silver pieces.  The first party had traveling with it approximately sixty chickens, which they used to disarm traps, the messy way. The animal retinue also included a spider money trained to do “DX suck it” named Shawn Michaels and a pot belly pig named Bam Bam Bigelow. The first adventure we played was one that I found online, “ADND Fast-Play” by Jeff Grubb. The first time we played it I followed the instructions by the numbers but as is the nature of D&D, ran into a number of unexpected reactions by my players. This I instantly recognized was the beauty of this game, the ability to do “anything” without it being simply a cheesy game of make-believe. You could create events with verisimilitude and gravity, and greatly entertain yourself and others while doing it. The first game was filled with a nearly endless wall of laughter, as the hopeless animals were sent to their death against the nasties of the dungeon. I even threw in some random encounters, including a wounded and defenseless phoenix (I expected the players to save and nurse back to health), which was slain by the party and made them instantly rich. By that point I had bought a Monstrous Manual, but had no idea of how to use it.

For the next few months we played the same scenario over and over again. Each time I changed it somewhat, until eventually it transformed into a campaign setting. As we eventually spent our hard won Christmas and Birthday dollars on D&D books, I learned about the Forgotten Realms setting, and my campaign eventually turned out to be taking place in a part of Faerun. I always stayed close to what I knew – Baldur’s Gate, in those early years. While I first took the game to be canon for the city of Baldur’s Gate and environs, I eventually became more creative and experimental as I matured into a capable and well liked Dungeon Master. Me and my friends got so into D&D we would play it sometimes three or four days after school. In the next part of this blog I’ll talk about whats so compelling about the game and why I played it, then and now.