An edible Minas Tirith?

Okay, this is just plain silly (and awesome): The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, done up in cake and candy.

I have no idea how much cake mix went into that creation, but whatever the cost it was worth it.

Eaters of the Dead: A review

Given my huge love of fantasy in general, and viking/dark age-influenced tales in particular, you would think that the 13th Warrior, the film upon which Michael Crichton's fine novel, Eaters of the Dead, is based, would be a personal favorite of mine. It is not. But of Crichton's work I am most definitely a huge fan.

Eaters of the Dead is a retelling of the supposedly authentic travels of an Arab, Ibn Fadlan, and his experiences among the Northmen circa 922 A.D. Several reviews state that much of Eaters is fiction; I myself thought as much after noting both the quality of the narrative and two much more obvious clues: The fact that the book is marked "fiction" on its cover, and the inclusion of The Necronomicon as one of the general reference works listed among its sources. But apparently Fadlan is a real figure from history who did spend time among the vikings as an ambassador.

Regardless of its authenticity, Eaters is a terrific read, made all the more compelling by Crichton's skillful "adaptation" of Fadlan's journal. The viking culture among which Fadlan finds himself is dirty, bloody, and graphic, but oddly appealing if you're a fan of orgies, death-duels, and animal (and occasionally human) sacrifices. These are laid out before the reader without judgment, with only Fadlan's disgust serving as a moral compass. Yet the incredible heroism of the Northmen shines through, as Crichton portrays them as unwaveringly honest and possessed of a steadfast and admirable belief in a warrior's code. Though he's at first appalled and disgusted by the rude, uncivilized behavior of the northmen, Fadlan learns to love their bravery and even comes to embrace their culture.

Fadlan is taken in by the Northmen and becomes an unwilling participant in their mission to save a viking tribe from the attacks of the mist-people, otherwise known as the eaters of the dead. In a scene with strong parallels to Beowulf, Fadlan experiences a terrifying night raid by the mist-people in the hall of Rothgar, the Northmen king. The mist-people, which appear as hairy, brutish monsters, are later revealed to be some form of surviving Neanderthal tribe, wielding stone axes and wearing animal pelts. Though it sounds silly, I found that this explanation added even more realism, and Crichton in the afterword makes a convincing case that perhaps Neanderthal man existed long past his presumed extinction date (commonly believed as 20,000-30,000 B.C).

Later, Fadlan and a small band of northmen led by Buliwyf (read--Beowulf), a mighty warrior, undertake a perilous journey to the home of the mist-people to slay their wendol-mother and stop the source of the attacks.

Equally or even more so than the fun story it tells, I found Eaters of the Dead a fantastic read due to its examination of viking culture, religion, and philosophy. And its eminently quoteable, too. Following are some of my favorites:

The deeds of dead men are sung, and also the deeds of heroes who live, but never are sung the deeds of ordinary men.

There is too much that man does not know. And what man does not know, that is the province of the Gods.

Each person bears a fear which is special to him. One man fears drowning and another fears a close space; each laughs at the other and calls him stupid. This fear is only a preference, to be counted the same as the preference for one woman or another, or mutton for pig, or cabbage for onion. We say, fear is fear.

Praise not the day until evening has come; a woman until she is burnt; a sword until it is tried; a maiden until she is married; ice until it has been crossed; beer until it has been drunk.

A hero's great challenge is in the heart, and not in the adversary.

And finally, when Fadlan tells Buliwyf that that he is afraid, the latter replies, That is because you think upon what is to come, and imagine fearsome things that would stop the blood of any man. Do not think ahead, and be cheerful by knowing that no man lives forever.

White Dwarf: Remembering a great old magazine

The recent demise of Dragon and Dungeon magazine (in paper form-- both have since gone electronic) has gotten me a bit nostalgic for the old days of print-supported role-playing game magazines. With a few small print run exceptions, including Kobold Quarterly and the bi-monthly The Crusader, the days of widely circulated, glossy, print RPG publications are gone.

While I miss to some degree Dragon and Dungeon, both fine magazines in their own right, these days I find myself remembering and looking back most fondly at the Games Workshop (GW)-published White Dwarf magazine, "the voice of British adventure gamers."

Eh, you role-players say? Doesn't GW still publish White Dwarf every month? For the record, they do. But for me, the magazine died roughly around issue #100, when it became a mouthpiece for GW's profitable miniatures wargames line.

Pre-issue 100, White Dwarf was a fantastic magazine. Whereas Dragon very quickly evolved into a house organ for TSR and later Wizards of the Coast, and eventually covered strictly D&D, White Dwarf was a rarity in that it covered all role-playing games. Within its pages you could find articles on Dungeons and Dragons sandwiched in between Runequest columns, Call of Cthulhu adventures, Champions role-playing advice, and Traveler comics.

This model has its problems, since you're much less likely to find value in an article about a game that you don't own. Nevertheless, I derived great enjoyment as a youth examining Champions or Traveler articles and trying to puzzle out their rules based on stat blocks or descriptions. And more than any real gaming value, the pleasure in reading these articles alone made it worth the purchase. The best example I can think of is issue #53 (the cover of which I've included above), which contained Minas Tirith, a scenario about the battle of the Pelennor Fields from The Lord of the Rings. The game system was Warhammer, which I didn't (and still don't) own, but I loved reading about the background, the turns and what events would occur in each, the behavior of the Mumakil if they recieved an eye wound, the Gondor and Witch-King of Angmar army lists, and more.

White Dwarf had columns on minatures painting, scenarios and mini-campaigns, system-free articles on incorporating undead into your games or designing logical campaigns/fantasy worlds, reviews of RPGs popular and obscure, and much more. Here were some of my favorites:

The Castle of Lost Souls. Between issues 52-55, White Dwarf published a four-part choose your own adventure story that drew inspiration from the old Lone Wolf and Fighting Fantasy gamebooks. Remember those? Like Lone Wolf, The Castle of Lost Souls required you to create your own character, resolve combats with dice, etc. It was a great little romp that kept me busy in between games.

Tabletop Heroes: A regular column devoted to minatures painting. It contained lots of great advice not only on how to paint, but also caring for figures, building terrain, castles, and dungeons out of household products, and more. The color illustrations of finished figures were great, although I was left with an inferiority complex when comparing these to my own.

Treasure Chest: A great column of odds and ends, neat little ideas for treasure and devices, alternative rules, and more that you could pick up and drop into your game. Examples: The dungeon cart (a practically-designed, easily-transportable cart specifically designed for underground adventures), drowning rules, the sword of thunder (a +2 intelligent sword that allowed the user to deflect lighting bolts and absorb their charges into the blade; the clear pommel would glow blue when so charged), dragon shields (magic shields made of dragon scales/hide that confer complete protection from that dragon type's particular breath weapon), hints for creative spell uses, halfling-specific magic items, nunchucks in Runequest, and much more.

British style and humor. The letters and reviews in White Dwarf were full of that particular brand of British wit that I find endearing. Example: Issue #63 reviewed XL1: Quest for the Heartstone, a notoriously bad D&D module, with the following: Quest for the Heartstone was at first reading no more than a sales exercise for AD&D Action Toys, and is very reminiscent of everyone's first dungeon: a collection of randomly placed monsters with a random selection of Good Guys going off after some magic item and having to hack through them...my favorite is 'You may use the five-headed Hydra Bendable Monster for this encounter.'

Fun comics. My favorites were Groo, a little three or four-panel strip about the sick adventures of a thick-skulled goblin, and Thrud, which followed the adventures of a massive-bodied, small-headed barbarian that invoked all the worst Conan cliches.

Crunch-less articles. One of the reasons I stopped buying Dragon was that it seemed in the latter days too preoccupied with "crunch," aka. new prestige classes, feats, magic items, etc. This stuff gets real old, real fast. White Dwarf had its share of crunch, but devoted lots of page space to thoughtful columns and features about topics like roleplaying characters after death, discussions on how fast or slow to level, how to colorfully roleplay clerics in D&D, how to create campaigns and worlds with depth and versimilitude, etc.

Sure, White Dwarf wasn't perfect. In particular, my eyes glazed over at "Microview," a bi-monthly computer column about how to write computer programs to aid your tabletop RPGs (issue #50, for example, contained the code for creating a Taurus III striker vehicle, using BASIC language on a TRS-80. Yuck.). But nevertheless, White Dwarf was an invaluable resource from the heyday of RPGs and a vanished member of a species of magazine that, sadly, is all but extinct.

Iron Maiden, Dickinson take to the air

What can't Bruce Dickinson do? Published author, former world class fencer, successful solo musician, lead singer of the greatest heavy metal band of all time--Iron Maiden--and, oh yeah, licensed pilot.

Dickinson is actually flying Maiden around the world on its 2008 World Tour, stepping behind the controls of the band's very own Boeing 757. Check out the paint job on this baby: http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/showbiz/music/article743697.ece

Seriously, what's next for this guy? Can world domination be far behind?

The Shawshank Redemption: Cinematic perfection

Part 9 of a 10-part series in which I examine my favorite films, and the reasons why I love them so.

Warning--spoilers

Movies just don't get any better than 1994's The Shawshank Redemption. To call this a feel-good film is a gross misunderstatement: When I watch it, I'm reminded of why life is worth living, and that hope remains, no matter the depths in which you may find your spirit. It's a profound affirmation of life.

The plot is a simple one: Andy Dufresne (played by Tim Robbins) is serving a life sentence for a crime he did not commit. While in prison he befriends an old convict (Red, played by the incomparable Morgan Freeman), also serving life for murder, albeit one that he did commit.

But The Shawshank Redemption is much deeper than a mere prison film, or a buddy movie. It's a film about hope and redemption, hardly surprising given the film's title. But it's not just about the obvious, easy-to-spot redemption of Dufresne, who escapes from Shawshank Prison and takes down the corrupt prison warden on his way out. It's more so about the redemption of two souls--Dufresne and Red. This element is what makes Shawshank, in my opinion, a truly great film.

Dufresne may be innocent of the crime of which he is accused, but he is also a "cold fish," as his fellow inmates call him, an opaque, distant soul whose unfeeling demeanor casts him in a bad light with the judge and jury, and lands him in prison. At the movie's outset he remains distant, uncommunicative, and reclusive. He theorizes (probably correctly) that this flaw is what drove his wife into another man's arms, and the situation that resulted in her death: "My wife used to say I'm a hard man to know, a closed book. She complained about it all the time...I loved her, I just didn't know how to show it, that's all. I killed her Red--I didn't pull the trigger, but I drove her away. That's why she died, because of me, who I am."

Red on the other hand is guilty of committing a senseless crime as a youth. But while he's served his time and is a worthy candidate for parole, he's not truly ready for release because, until he meets and befriends Dufresne, he doesn't appreciate what life has to offer. His appeals before the parole board twice in the film are hollow and unconvincing, and result in rejection. He is, in short, without hope, an old, institutionalized man who feels his only purpose is to go on living on the inside, swapping contraband for cigarettes.

It's noteworthy that Red, always cool and in control, only loses his calm once: When Andy brings up the subject of hope: "You need it so you don't forget that there's places in the world that aren't made out of stone--there's something inside you that they can't get to that's yours. Hope," says Andy.

"Let me tell you something friend--hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It's got no use on the inside. You better get used to the idea," Red replies.

It's amazing to watch how both men bloom and grow in one another's company as the film progresses, even in the midst of the hell of Shawshank. The prison is depicted as a vision of the underworld in the opening sequence, with the new convicts ("fresh fish") stripped naked, deloused with burning powder, and marched into dark, isolated cells where other inmates bet on who will break first. Guards beat prisoners mercilessly, even to death at times. Presiding over this hell is warden Norton, who, much like Satan, thinks himself God, but is corrupt and evil at the core.

In the end, both men face a simple choice (as told beautifully by Dufresne in the film's iconic line): It comes down to a simple choice, Red: Get busy living, or get busy dying. Confronted with the choice of suicide at the end of a rope, or taking a terrible risk for the chance at salvation, Andy chooses the latter, and his escape from Shawshank is a thing of cinematic beauty. He crawls through 500 yards of foul-filled sewer pipe (an apt metaphor for life, perhaps) before he escapes, throwing his arms up to heaven in praise.

Red's redemption is more subtle but just as powerful. With his mind and soul opened by Andy's example, his third appeal before the parole board is painfully honest, heartfelt, and successful: "There's not a day that goes by that I don't feel regret--I look back at the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him, I want to try and talk some sense into him, tell him the way things are, but I can't. That kid's long gone, this old man is all that's left. I've got to live with that."

As the film ends we're left with a beautifully uplifting ending, two friends embracing on the warm sand by the blue waters of the Pacific. The colors here are achingly beautiful after two-plus hours of gray prison walls. It makes you feel like anything is possible. And that is why I love this film.

Remember Red--hope is a good thing, and good things never die.

It's worth noting that, as most people know, The Shawshank Redemption is based on a novella by master of horror Stephen King. I highly recommend that story as well (you can find it in Different Seasons). It's one of King's best.

Del Toro chosen to direct The Hobbit

Buzz around the internet, including this story from the Hollywood Reporter, appears to put Guillermo Del Toro in as the chosen director for the The Hobbit.

I haven't seen any of Del Toro's films, which include Pan's Labyrinth, Hellboy, Blade 2, and The Devil's Backbone. But I've heard lots of good things about him and Pan's Labyrinth in particular, so I'm hoping for the best.

...and the Blade Runner bashing continues

Just when I thought the Blade Runner bashing was over, along comes another smug review of its new "Final Cut" release, courtesy of the Slate Web site. Critic Stephen Metcalf accuses the film of not only possessing a light script, weak characters, and pretension--a trio of old, tired saws--but also takes some mean-spirited shots at the fans who have come to its defense. Writes Metcalf:

The mystery of Blade Runner is not that early audiences were so put off by it, but that a quasi-sacred halo has come to surround it, a force field so powerful as to apparently render nuanced critical judgment impossible.

Well, as a card-carrying member of the "cult," let me take a moment to repudiate Metcalf's review.

Metcalf's review is well-written and in some cases, quite correct. Blade Runner has certainly benefitted over the years from "ancillary distribution" on VHS and DVD, which gave ample opportunity to rehabilitate its image. I also had to chuckle at his accurate mocking of the (too) many workprints of BR floating around on video, and the pedantic discussions that spring up around the Web over why one version sucks/rules/is superior to another/is antithetical to Ridley Scott's "vision." I too find these discussions tiresome.

But Metcalf too lightly brushes over the damage inflicted by the 1982 Theatrical Cut, which dumbed down Scott's intended film, added a laughable voice-over, and removed the darkness of the ending and the Deckard-as-replicant subtext. Writes Metcalf:

Over the years, the idea of a Blade Runner wholly unfucked up by the suits has become a kind of holy mythopoeia that accompanies the film everywhere, as cherished as the idea of a childhood wholly unfucked up by parents...

Well, the hard and cold truth is that the "suits" did fuck up Blade Runner in 1982. But just because its been catalogued and rehashed ad nauseum does not make it any less true.

Metcalf later adds that the critics that panned Blade Runner in 1982 were right all along:

But for all of its supposed transmutations along the way to this, "The Final Cut," it is still vulnerable to the same criticisms originally applied to it. The movie is a transfixing multisensory turn-on from beginning to end. But because its story is underplotted and its characters almost totally opaque, the weight of the film falls to its sumptuous visual palette—its abiding strength—and to its quasi-Nietzschean theology—its abiding weakness.

In other words, Blade Runner is all visuals and no soul, a victim of "underplotting" and poorly-drawn characters. I guess a car chase could have livened things up, or perhaps Ridley Scott could have given Deckard a wife and set up a nice, juicy, love triangle when Rachel enters the picture. Because that would have made the film so much better. As for the Nietzsche influence, I see this as a strength, not a weakness.

Metcalf also says, A movie that is about what it's like to be mortal should not include the line "What is it like to be mortal?" but Blade Runner comes perilously close.

I don't even know how to respond to this last criticism, only to say that Metcalf must not have been watching too closely. The very reason Blade Runner is accused of being "underplotted" and "slow" is because its precisely not a film about action. Even as it asks, "what makes us human," it spends most of its two hours trying to answer the question, and in my opinion succeeds on a more profound level than most films seeking to do the same. I don't know why he labels such examination "turgid," only that I detect a whiff of elitism in the review.

Finally, Metcalf makes the tragic mistake of revealing that his wife "laughed" at Roy Batty's death scene. A word to critics who resort to anecdotal evidence ("hey, lots of people I know laughed at Blade Runner. Therefore, it sucks!") to make their point: No one cares. It's a shallow tactic and ultimately proves nothing. I expected better from Slate.