Doctor Strange Can Cure the Country's Ills

There’s nothing more disheartening then realizing how sick our country is. If these election results have shown anything, it’s how divided we as Americans have become. Our politicians, media, and very way of life have us seeing incredibly nuanced issues as simple matters of black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. But I didn’t start this blog to get political, merely to go on very long, detailed rants about movies. 

The problem is, it’s sort of impossible to blog about movies when the election is on everyone’s mind. What’s the point of covering entertainment, when so much of it is escapist fantasy? It’s not anchored to our world, right? Merely a way of escaping to another reality for a few hours, living in blissful ignorance of the world around us. To confront the issues of today, we must put aside escapism and live in the real world. I’m all for living in reality, but ignoring escapism doesn’t sit right with me. I’m here today to get rid of that mindset.  

While much of our entertainment can be escapism, we must remember that our movies, books, comics, games and shows do not exist in a vacuum. They are a response to the world around us, and in many ways force us to engage with our own reality in new and exciting ways.  Much of this seemingly “escapist” entertainment can actually be the cure for this anxiety-riddled election year. And most recently, that cure ironically comes in the form of a doctor who literally hops realities.

I speak of course, of Doctor Strange, the fourteenth installment in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Starring the British Tumblr god that is Benedict Cumberbatch in a Hugh Laurie-esque American accent, Strange tells the story of an egotistical neurosurgeon who turns to magic to heal his damaged hands. He is taught by the always ethereal Tilda Swinton, a stern Chiwetel Ejofor and a badass but comically challenged librarian named Wong. He travels through Astral, Mirror and Dark dimensions, channeling mystical energies and the psychedelic drawings of the late, great Steve Ditko. And in doing so, the good doctor has given us a socially relevant superhero whose message rings louder now that our country is more divided than ever.

A Familiar Formula, with a Touch of Magic

First, let me say that this film is not perfect. Of course, no film is, but coming off the superhero nirvana that was Captain America: Civil War, it doesn’t hold up. This isn’t the worst of the MCU films, but it’s not in the top five either. Much of that stems from having to tell Strange’s origin story, which plays like a mix of Iron Man and Batman Begins but with magic.

The now stale MCU formula of underdeveloped villains (Mads Mikkelsen’s Kaecilius) and unneeded romance (Rachel McAdams’ Christine Palmer) is still very much in effect. Strange’s character arc isn’t anything new, if you factor in how Tony Stark and Thor began their first films. But despite the overly familiar story, this film manages to do some wondrously strange things that let it stick out from its MCU brethren, all while carrying the entire universe forward.

For all the flak that the familiar storytelling may get, I can’t fault this film’s visuals. This is probably the most gorgeous looking Marvel film since Guardians of the Galaxy. While that film opened up the cosmic level of the MCU, this one sets up the mystic. For the first time, we get to play around with alternate dimensions and the Multiverse. One scene in particular, where Strange is sent flying through several realities by Tilda Swinton’s Ancient One, wouldn’t look out of place during an intense LSD binge. It feels like Stanley Kubrick looked at the Stargate sequence from 2001 and said, “Not trippy enough. More acid!” To say the film is a visual delight would be underselling it.

Not to mention, the magic itself is gorgeous. We’re talking fiery whips, shields and portals made of pure energy, sentient floating cloaks, shifting dimensions that turn New York into a living M.C. Escher painting (enough to make Inception go “damn, son”) and an item that can screw with time itself. These wizards didn’t graduate from Hogwarts, that’s for sure. They’d probably give Potter and his pals a serious run for their money, and that’s great when it comes to giving this world’s magic its own visual style apart from Rowling’s. 

What’s even better is how director Scott Derrickson manages to make all this click in the same universe with Iron Man and Captain America, while never detracting from the mysticism of it all. Sure, it’s explained the sorcerers draw power from alternate dimensions, but it still looks and feels like magic. The MCU just pulled off another huge feat, at least in world building if not in storytelling.

The Bill Comes Due (Warning: Here There Be Spoilers)

Speaking of which, while the story itself may be Strange’s weakest link, try telling that to the actors. Cumberbatch’s arc may be familiar, but by the end of the film he is Strange, both in looks and personality. After getting past the American accent, you can see how much Cumberbatch embodies this once arrogant man who learns to find new meaning in life. It’s an old story, yes, but this talented actor still gives it weight. Swinton’s Ancient One is a clever riff on the old mentor archetype, exuding the power and wisdom that comes from immortality while still bringing a youthfulness to the role.

And then there’s Chiwetel Ejofor as Karl Mordo. Comic fans know him as one of Strange’s archenemies. Here, the filmmakers thankfully bypassed the obvious villain arc and made this man much more nuanced. Mordo is a loyal disciple of the Ancient One rooted in tradition. He embraces the natural order of things, seeing rule-breaking as a cardinal sin, and holding his mentor above reproach. Mordo begins as an ally of Strange, and assists him in the final battle. But due to a heartbreaking reveal, he learns the world is not what it seems, and begins his path to darkness.

It is Mordo’s arc, perfectly juxtaposed against Strange, which reveals the true nature of the film. Mordo learns that the Ancient One draws her immortality from Dormammu, ruler of the Dark Dimension. Realizing this, and seeing Strange use an Infinity Stone to rewrite time itself in the finale, convinces him that sorcerers defy the natural order of things and must be eliminated. Since he lives his life by unbendable rules, Mordo cannot reconcile that his mentor used forbidden powers for the greater good.

Strange may have been humbled throughout the film, but right to the end he saw that sometimes rules need to be broken. Unless Strange was willing to be flexible and open to change, accepting that magic does exist, he would never have been able to defeat Dormammu. Mordo becomes disillusioned with sorcery because of his unwillingness to bend the rules, while Strange embraces creativity in using magic. How else could he have defeated a demonic dimensional overlord by weaponizing time itself?  

Open Your Eye

This basic idea, that the battle between “good” and “evil” is much blurrier than we thought, drives the whole film. Strange has to adjust his whole outlook on life when he realizes he’s nothing compared to the vast Multiverse in front of him. But just because he’s one man in the face of infinity, doesn’t mean he’s worthless. The burden of having power, and fear of losing it, plays out in a lot of superhero films. Thematically it reached a crescendo in Civil War, and was covered in its own unique (if not well-handled) way in Batman v Superman.

In Doctor Strange, we see how Strange derived power from being a great doctor and then felt worthless after his accident. Sorcery gave his life meaning again, but even then he had to learn how to surrender to forces greater than himself in order to master them. It speaks volumes of the way control plays into our own lives, and how we cope with situations where we feel powerless. This is the message that an escapist fantasy can give to us. It’s a message that seems especially relevant, following this election.

So much of our politics stem from wanting to feel empowered, to enact true change in our daily lives. How often do we wish we could actually use magic, to cast a spell on the world, maybe even rewind time the way Strange does. If Doctor Strange has taught us anything, it’s that being small in an incredibly large universe doesn’t mean we’re worthless. Life in and of itself has value and meaning. As long as we learn to be flexible in our views and unite in embracing the vastness of our world, then there’s real magic to be found.

Strange may not be the best of the MCU films, or the worst. It’s not politically charged in the same way Civil War was. But it did have an intense morality to it, which bears repeating in this brave new world we now face. It’s no coincidence that this simple yet complex story was timed with the election. Stories like these still inspire us in times of great happiness and, more importantly, in great peril. No matter what your views, take pride in knowing that we’re at least getting films like Doctor Strange that can serve just as well as morality lessons as they do as escapist fantasy. After all, life needs to be strange sometimes to see its real value, doesn’t it?

Suicide Squad is Very Bad, but also Kinda Good

The Problem with Expectations

There’s a problem circling the internet in this day and age. A problem with fandom, and the giant blockbuster epics that thrive off it. That problem is one of expectations, and how a big movie is labeled either a masterpiece or the worst thing to hit cinemas since Manos: The Hands of Fate. That B-movie reference too old school? Fine, the worst thing to hit cinemas since Movie 43. It’s a problem that’s plaguing a lot of movies this summer, but none more so than Suicide Squad (okay, maybe the new Ghostbusters, but that’s another rant).

Here’s a movie that was meant to be counter programming for the DC Extended Universe’s big tentpole, Batman v Superman. It wasn’t supposed to have all these huge expectations thrust upon it. It’s a B-list title about C and D-list supervillains doing government black ops. In the hands of a surrealist director like David Ayer, we could have gotten something truly wacky and out of the box. Ayer was just supposed to make his little grimy supervillain movie, while WB reaped billions off its huge Batman/Superman smack down.

Instead, Batman v Superman sucked, and Suicide Squad went from being a counterculture arthouse project that just so happened to play in the DC sandbox to the potential savior of the cinematic DCU. That’s a lot of pressure. Then you have that brilliant marketing campaign, which made a film about freaking supervillains (you know, assassins, murderers and alligator people) look more upbeat and joyful than Zack Snyder’s entire filmography.

Case in point: fans and critics were expecting big things from this film. And because of that, we’ve now got a situation where this is a love-it-or-hate-it type of movie. According to social media, Suicide Squad is either a fantastic, joyful thrill ride with great performances, or a colossal dud that retreads every superhero and villain cliché in the book. The truth? Well, far from me to preach from an ivory tower, but it’s more somewhere in the middle.

You see, we can no longer look at a movie as “just okay” or “it was good, could’ve been better.” And the truth is Suicide Squad is that kind of movie. Oh yes, in my mind it’s leagues better than Man of Steel and Batman v Superman. But that’s due to it being more of a breezy B-movie with some real character moments, instead of a meditation on hope that’s just really depressing. Rather than shove symbolism down our throats, Squad just wants to be a fun film about villains trying to be heroes. The problem is, it doesn’t always succeed. But it does succeed just enough to make it enjoyable, and for that, the film works.

Putting on a Show

Let me start off by saying that despite all the flaws, the performances are indeed the best thing here. Will Smith’s Deadshot is extremely likable, in that he’s channeling his infinite charisma from the ‘90s again. Viola Davis shines as the Squad’s handler Amanda Waller, a “take no crap from anyone” kind of woman. Jai Courtney’s Captain Boomerang makes for great comic relief. Even Jay Hernandez delivers as El Diablo, a repentant gangster with fire powers. But it’s really Margot Robbie’s Harley Quinn who runs away with the film.

Energetic, witty and truly crazy all at once, Robbie is everything any fan could want from Harley, now one of the most iconic female comic book characters ever. One need only walk through any comic convention and marvel at all the Harley cosplayers to see the impact she’s had. Robbie does them all proud, perfectly encapsulating the psychiatrist who’s seen the funny side after falling in love with the Joker.

Ah, the Joker. Might as well bring him up now, because here’s where the film’s problems come in. Some will say Jared Leto’s Clown Prince of Crime is too ghetto to embody Batman’s greatest enemy. He’s covered in tattoos, dresses like Scarface and has grills in his teeth. It’s certainly a far cry from Ledger, who’s still the go-to Joker in live action (animation, that’s a different story). But Leto clearly has fun playing him, working wonders against Harley and bringing their unique dynamic to life. The thing is, it’s not really the performance that falls flat.

Leto’s an intimidating presence on screen, and conveys his relationship with Harley well. But he’s not around long enough for you to form a true impression of him. Joker’s in the film for less than ten minutes, and isn’t even the real threat. His story is entirely cut off from the Squad’s mission, and half of his footage is from Harley’s flashbacks. In this sense, Joker should’ve either been cut from the film’s main plot entirely, relegated to flashbacks only, or beefed up into a main role, probably as the big villain. As is, we see only a glimpse of him, enough to see he’s different from Ledger but not enough to really compare them. He’s just there, and that’s a big problem. For the editing fails not only Joker, but the whole film.

Bad vs. Evil: Not as Good as You Think

As I mentioned earlier, Batman v Superman was supposed to be a surefire hit, but ended up laughably bad. So that film’s reception forced this film to course correct. You can tell just from the way Squad is structured, since Deadshot, Harley and Waller get multiple introductions while the other Squad members are first seen in a sprawling flashback montage.

Now granted, some of the flashbacks are really intriguing. Unlike BvS, they actually give this shared DC film universe a sense of history, making it feel lived in. Instead of one shot of a vandalized Robin suit, we see Batman confront Joker, Harley Quinn and Deadshot, giving us a sense of his 20 year career in Gotham. Another hero cameos in a Captain Boomerang flashback, which adds more to the wider DCU as well. It’s a nice little surprise for DC fans, and works much better than Wonder Woman’s YouTube playlist from BvS.

But these flashbacks take up the first half hour of the film. It’s almost justified in a “we’re building the team, here’s who they all are” kind of way, but it also feels like throwing too much at us at once. The film doesn’t really have a first act, so much as tons of set up followed by the big mission. We learn Waller controls a demonic witch called Enchantress who’s possessed a woman named June Moon, but only find out the bare bones of her story.

Turns out, this witch is the main villain. June’s story could’ve been really interesting, if it had time to develop. Instead, we know June gets possessed, Waller thinks she can control her, then she breaks out and takes over a city. The first half hour has to juggle all this, plus six or seven other backstories. It’s incredibly rushed, to say the least.

For example, we learn the Squad’s field leader Rick Flagg loves the Enchantress’s other half, but we don’t get any scenes showing that romance. We don’t buy into Flagg’s feelings for her, or June’s struggle to control the witch inside her. Everything rings hollow, so the big threat has no stakes. Her big plan is to take over the world, so there’s nothing interesting on that front either. She releases her demonic big brother, and together they turn people into an army of mindless flesh blobs. These make for great canon fodder, but not much else.

This is a real shame, because the first attempt to introduce real magic into DC's films comes off as a dud. It’s visually interesting to look at, yes, but it all boils down to another big CGI climax. You know how it's going to go down the minute the final fight starts. Giant light show in the sky, mindless minions, big boss battle, the end. Marvel’s already beaten these tropes to death, and Squad doesn’t do things any differently.

Squad Goals Not Met

There’s also the problem of lots of build-up and only partial pay off. This supposed ensemble with multiple backstories  only gives insight into Waller, Deadshot, Harley and Diablo. Members like Boomerang, Killer Croc and Katanna are just there to round out the Squad. While they get a few cool character moments, we don’t really learn anything about them. This never feels like a full Suicide Squad movie. Instead, it’s more of a Deadshot and Harley Quinn movie with the Squad in the background.

Boomerang doesn’t even justify his presence here, since he doesn’t contribute to the climax. Slipknot is gone after one scene, a redshirt to show Waller’s not bluffing with the death threats. Granted, that was his role in the comics, but he could’ve at least been developed a little so his death was more surprising. How are we supposed to think anyone on the team can get offed if the only death is the guy we just met?

Human After All

So yes, the film has some legitimate problems. Problems so great that the critical slaughtering makes sense. But here’s where the upside is. Those performances I mentioned earlier? They make the film. While Enchantress is evil for evil’s sake, Slipknot is just there and Katanna is the stoic noble warrior, every other character just oozes fun. Their camaraderie is infectious, making it next to impossible not to crack a smile when they're bouncing off each other. They give the film a personality not seen in either of Zack Snyder’s DC efforts. For a film about supervillains, Suicide Squad feels surprisingly human, more so than either Man of Steel or Batman v Superman.

There’s a scene with the upbeat Harley showing real sadness, which she drops immediately in front of her Squad teammates. Then it’s followed by a quiet scene in a bar, where we truly see the Squad interact. Diablo really shines here, showing genuine regret as he explains his tragic backstory. It’s great character work, showing these people are still the focus even in a film as badly cut up as this one. I’d love to see more of them in future movies, whether they be direct sequels, Batman films, solo spinoffs, or even a “v.” movie against the Justice League. Hell, I’d even settle for just a few more bar scenes. That’s how great this cast is.

While the final quality is definitely sub-par, you can tell this film isn’t all bad from how much fun the cast is having. That fun rubs off on you, or at least it did for me. Ultimately, it comes down to how willing you are to look past the glaring flaws and just enjoy the ride. The music choices help, even though it’s never worked into the story like Guardians of the Galaxy. Most of the time it’s really jarring, since the songs jump several times and don't really gel together. But it’s still fun, and while it may not be the perfect DC film everyone was searching for, if you let it revel in its badness, you may see the good in Suicide Squad after all.

Batman: The Killing Joke Isn't Entirely Funny

A Classic's One Great Flaw

Everyone is up in arms lately over the critical mugging of Suicide Squad. It’s a controversial film that’s worth talking about, but before I dive into that hornet’s nest, I want to call attention to that other Joker-infused DC Comics film. I’m speaking of course, of Batman: The Killing Joke, the animated movie adapting Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ iconic Joker story.

So, what exactly is there to say about The Killing Joke? For those unfamiliar, this seminal ‘80s storyline follows the Joker as he tries to drive Commissioner Gordon mad, mainly by paralyzing his daughter Barbara (secretly Batgirl). All the while Joker flashes back to the night he was driven mad, back when he was a failed stand-up comedian turned criminal to support his pregnant wife. It’s considered by many to be the definitive Joker story, and has inspired everything from Batman: The Animated Series and Batman Beyond to Jack Nicholson and Heath Ledger’s live-action takes.

The creators clearly held a lot of reverence for the work, given that the back half of this film translates it almost directly. But in trying to go for the source, they had to justify one element that doesn’t hold up to today’s standards. That being the shooting and crippling of Barbara Gordon. If you can’t remove the shooting, how do you keep it without reducing Barbara to a victim? She’s Batgirl, for crying out loud!

Well, the answer was to give Barbara her own mini story-arc, granting her an agency not seen in the original story. And while the idea behind this is sound, its execution makes an already murky story even murkier.

Mishandling Batgirl

In essence, the animated Killing Joke adapts the (very short) comic alongside an entirely new half-hour prologue. It’s meant to provide additional background and context for Barbara, showing a mission that she and Batman tackle. Again, on paper, this isn’t a bad idea. If you’re going to expand the original work, and make us feel more for Barbara when she gets shot, it makes sense to give us a window into her world. The problem is that window is kind of battered and broken and, quite frankly, dirty as all hell.

Batgirl, we learn, is addicted to the thrill of crime fighting. Hmm, interesting. She gets involved in a case with a mob boss’s son that becomes a little too personal. Ooh, cool. She rebels against Batman’s orders when he pulls her off the case. Promising, promising. Batman scolds her for this and the two have a brief fight. Okay, I can buy that. Barbara pins Batman down and has sex with him. Wait, what?

Yeah, apparently Barbara is attracted to her (much older) mentor and they do the *eh hem* Bat-dance on a rooftop. Now let’s get something straight here. What’s wrong with this scene, and Barbara’s characterization in general, isn’t so much the sex itself. There is an age difference, but she isn’t a minor, and actually initiates the sex. This isn’t a rape situation we’re talking about here. No, it’s more that Bruce and Barbara’s relationship wasn’t in any way romantic up to this point.

Their relationship in this short, and indeed in pretty much every comic, is that of a mentor and student. Now it’s not unheard of for someone like Barbara to be attracted to an older, physically fit mentor, especially someone like Bruce Wayne. But if anything, their dynamic plays more like an uncle and niece than lovers. Especially considering, you know, she’s the daughter of Commissioner Gordon, Batman’s chief ally. It’s kind of like getting with your best friend’s daughter. 

But despite all that awkwardness, this may have come off better if Bruce actually had feelings for her. Instead, Bruce’s protectiveness of Barbara seems more familial than overtly sexual. So why did their tension have to be resolved with sex? This whole thing would’ve worked better by sticking with the rebellious student angle. Instead, Barbara Gordon, one of the most interesting characters in Batman lore, is reduced to a jilted ex-lover of Batman.

One Bad Day, One Good Ending

So how does this even relate to the Killing Joke part of the story? Well, it doesn’t. Not really, anyway. There’s a tiny thematic connection, in that Bruce warns Barbara about going into “the abyss” and becoming a killer. This is basically what the Joker wants Gordon to do, and Batman’s chief struggle when confronting Joker. But the connection to the Batgirl story is just a little mention, nothing more.

Once the Killing Joke story gets going, the Batgirl story is kind of swept under the rug. All it really does is change the context of Barbara’s shooting, so she’s now Batman’s ex-lover instead of just Gordon’s daughter and the former Batgirl. What’s strange though is that Bruce and Barbara don’t even mention their former relationship here. It makes the entire prologue feel extraneous, as if its only purpose was to pad out the runtime to movie length. Which is kind of weird, because the film doesn’t even feel like a film. Taken together, The Killing Joke feels more like two short episodes of a TV show fused together. It’s not a coherent storyline, and thus it’s hard to even approach it like you would a normal movie.

The real tragedy in this is that when the actual adaptation starts, the film is largely brilliant. Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill, who have voiced Batman and Joker in cartoons and video games for almost two decades, are in top form here. Hamill, who for many is the definitive Joker in any form of media (yes, even beating out Ledger) stuns as both the Clown Prince of Crime and his younger, pre-Joker self in flashbacks. I think it’s a bit of an overstatement to call Hamill the king of voice acting, but by god, the way he embodies the Joker with just a laugh is chilling. And the fact that he’s delivering monologues from the best Joker story is a pure geek out moment for Batman fans.

It's just disapointing that this near brilliant adaptation is bogged down by an unnecessary, barely connected prologue. If you’re going to expand The Killing Joke, with Barbara or otherwise, it’d be nice to see that expansion worked into the actual story. More about Joker’s past maybe, or more exploration into his psyche? Maybe more of Batman searching for Joker, or Gordon fighting to stay sane after being shown pictures of his paralyzed daughter? And regarding Barbara, maybe showing her actually recovering more? Or possibly giving Batman information as he searches for her dad?

But I digress. Batman: The Killing Joke is a passionate love letter to the definitive Joker story, done with gorgeous animation and even better voice talents. But by trying to fix the one aspect that didn’t work, the filmmakers muddied this story more than it already was. With that said, maybe the film should be remembered more for how it lovingly adapted The Killing Joke in its back half than its sub-par Batgirl-focused first half. After all, if we let ourselves go mad due to one bad story arc, aren’t we letting the Joker win?

Adapting Game of Thrones Part II: Crows, Dragons and Rising Winds

Seasons 1-4 of Game of Thrones were great translations of the first three Ice and Fire books. While various changes were made, some big and some small, the showrunners largely kept the narrative of the first few books intact. For seasons 5-6, the real changes occurred. This is partially because books 4 and 5 are happening at the same time, just at different parts of the world. To keep the series’ momentum going, the showrunners wisely condensed the meat of both books down into one season. For some book plots, it helped. For others, it did not.

(Warning: heavy spoilers for books 4 and 5 and seasons 5 and 6 follow)

Season 5: Tyrion Goes East

Tyrion’s story is one of the plots that does work better here than it does in the books. For book Tyrion, it was a huge deal learning that his first wife Tysha was not a whore, but a commoner who genuinely loved him. He asks Tywin where Tysha is now, to which he sarcastically replies “wherever whores go.” Tyrion repeats these words over and over in his mind in book 5, as he goes overseas to meet Daenerys Targaryen.

Traveling to meet Dany is still Tyrion’s arc in season 5, but in the show, it’s a lot more potent. Tyrion only goes to Dany in the books halfheartedly, having nothing left to live for after fleeing Westeros. Even though his goal is to get to Dany, he spends his time sulking over Tysha, asking everyone he meets “where do whores go?”

Since Tysha is basically a non-entity in the show, having Tyrion sulk over a character we never see would be redundant. The show wisely brings back the snarky dynamic between Tyrion and spymaster Varys, who tells him of his conspiracy to restore Dany and the Targaryens to the Iron Throne. With no direction in life, Tyrion still makes his way to Dany, but meeting her becomes his new purpose, not asking for Tysha’s whereabouts. It’s a much better focus that ties into the story at hand. This simpler focus also removes some, let’s say complicated subplots that only add more filler to the overall saga.

In the books, Varys sets Tyrion up with a man named Griff and his son Young Griff. Griff is eventually revealed to be a former lord named Jon Connington, while Young Griff is Aegon Targaryen, the son of Prince Rheagar Targaryen (and thus Dany’s nephew). Varys means to restore the Targaryen Dynasty in both the show and books. But the books have him backing young Aegon, who plans on marrying Dany to strengthen his claim to the throne. By removing Griff and Aegon, a complicated piece of backstory is taken off the board, thereby simplifying Tyrion’s journey (and Varys’s plot) to backing Dany’s conquest.

However, the Griff plot seems to be a huge part of the books. Why remove it, since it makes the story more layered? Well, despite its seeming importance, the books actually imply that young Aegon is not a Targaryen. He was supposedly smuggled out of King’s Landing at the end of Robert’s Rebellion, replaced with a baby who the Lannisters killed. Dany receives a prophecy to “beware the mummer’s dragon,” implying that a false Targaryen will rise to compete with her. Young Aegon could be that pretender, which would also explain why the show cuts it. Why adapt a plot that goes nowhere, if it doesn’t serve the overall story? Removing it allows the show to focus on the players that are already in the game.

This mentality of removing filler plots is part of what drives season 5. Another aspect is giving the stories of new book characters to already existing show characters. Since books 4 and 5 are when Martin introduces a bunch of new storylines, it makes sense that the showrunners would simplify things by giving important plots to people we know. For example, Griff is attacked by Stone Men and given the sickness called Grey Scale. The show gives this arc to Jorah Mormont, making his plan to get to Dany more urgent. This mentality is also where Jaimie comes in, driving his season 5 story arc.

Season 5: Jaimie and Dorne

In book 4, Cersei sends Jaimie to the Riverlands to retake Riverrun, the last stronghold fighting against the Throne. The show does eventually adapt this subplot, but waits until season 6 to do so. Instead, in season 5 Cersei sends Jaimie off to Dorne. He is meant to collect their daughter Myrcella, who is betrothed to the Dornish prince Trystan. Dorne has a huge part to play in book 4, but the story there unfolds through a new set of eyes.

In the book, it is Dornish princess Arianne whose POV we read about. Her plan is to raise Myrcella to the Iron Throne. By Dornish law, the first born ascends the throne regardless of gender. Thus, Myrcella should be next in line ahead of her brother Tommen, the current king. Arianne hopes to start a civil war with King’s Landing by backing Myrcella as Queen of Westeros. The show removes Princess Arianne, and gives her plot to Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. But instead of trying to raise Myrcella, they plan to simply kill her out of revenge for Prince Oberyn’s death. Jaimie, then, must intervene to save his daughter. A fascinating new political subplot, which involved new characters and a peak into Dornish society, is scrapped for a thinly sketched revenge scheme.

There are several problems with this. On the one hand, it’s understandable why we would want someone we’re familiar with (Jaimie) to anchor this new part of the world. It also makes sense to remove Arianne to simplify the narrative. But by doing so, the show removes everything that made Dorne unique in the books. Interesting new characters like the Sand Snakes, supreme badass Areo Hotah and Prince Doran have none of the depth that the books gave to them.

The Snakes have no personality, and come off as violent thugs. Doran isn’t the conflicted ruler he should be. And Areo Hotah, the royal guard who’s one of the most impressive fighters in Westeros, is just there. Ellaria Sand’s character is neutered as she is consumed by revenge, never thinking of the consequences of her actions. Her plan to kill Myrcella can’t make up for Arianne’s clever (if ill-planned) book plot. Everything the show does in Dorne feels like a pointless side quest, adding nothing to the main story. What’s more, everything feels too convenient, like Jaimie turning up just as the Sand Snakes strike.  

Dorne’s biggest crime in the books is that most of these interesting new plots ultimately go nowhere. But at the very least, they develop Dornish culture and their characters’ worldviews. They also introduce a new political element that could still play heavily into coming events. The show sidesteps all this development to rush in Jaimie, get rid of Myrcella and then in season 6 have the Sand Snakes stage a (very quick) coup. Ellaria mocks Doran as he dies, saying he did nothing while his family was killed. The books go to great lengths to show how Doran is actually a quiet schemer, spending years backing a Targaryen restoration.

This leads to another book 5 filler plot, involving Doran’s son Quentyn failing to propose to Dany.  Ultimately, he’s killed by one of Dany’s dragons. Kind of makes sense why that plot was cut, right? Even so, it at least established how Dorne was more connected to Dany and Westeros than we initially thought. By simplifying Dorne’s motivations to Ellaria’s quest for revenge, and removing Doran’s development, it lessens Dorne’s importance to the story.

It’s no wonder why Dorne’s season 5 arc was the most reviled by fans. So reviled, in fact, that it only gets two scenes in season 6. The coup is the first, while the second shows Dorne allying itself with both Dany and the Tyrells. Ultimately, Dorne is still helping to back Dany’s conquest. But despite the books' filler, Dorne came off a lot better there than in the show, which made the country feel so pointless and disconnected there was barely a reason to include it. For these reasons, Dorne is definitely the weakest adaptation of the books to date.

Seasons 5 and 6: Sansa, Theon and Ramsay

But it’s not the only translation that backfires. Almost everything involving Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton and Sansa Stark is gruesome to watch, for several reasons. The books had Ramsay’s torture of Theon occur off page, so when we next see Theon he’s been fully conditioned into Reek and is deathly afraid of Ramsay. We saw Ramsay’s evil through Theon’s eyes, so the books didn’t need to develop Ramsay as anything other than a truly terrible person. The show has us witness Ramsay’s torture of Theon, and so much more. By season 5, Ramsay’s random acts of evil are already excessive, and yet they continue.

As part of the show’s mandate to simplify storylines, Sansa Stark (still in the Vale in the books) takes the place of Jeyne Pool aka “Fake Arya Stark” and marries Ramsay. She is then raped by Ramsay as Theon is forced to watch. Now rape is par for the course in Westeros, but this scene is problematic for several reasons. One: Sansa is once again victimized, after escaping the Lannisters showed her growth as a character. Two: it doesn’t reveal anything more about Ramsay that we didn’t already know. He never really changes as a person throughout the show, only committing more evil acts that get more devious as time goes on.

Finally, we have reason number three: the rape does nothing to further Theon’s rebellion. We’ve already seen Ramsay torture Theon from season three onwards. Forcing him to watch Sansa get raped isn’t the catalyst that causes Theon to rebel. It’s simply another way Ramsay bends Theon to his will. So if this scene doesn’t forward Theon’s rebellion, say anything new about Ramsay and actually regresses Sansa instead of strengthening her, what was the point of it?

Now, after seeing season 6, a lot of these scenes do make more sense. Sansa’s rape does end up strengthening her, as she and Theon flee, meet Brienne and end up at the Wall. The Battle of the Bastards soon happens, and Sansa ends up making Ramsay pay for all his vile deeds. So while these controversial season 5 moments don’t really work in that season's context, they do provide some emotional season 6 payoffs. 

But while these payoffs did work, they still don’t automatically forgive those choices in season 5. We’ve already seen Ramsay being evil in multiple ways. We’ve already seen Theon’s torture, which gives him ample reason to escape. We’ve already seen Sansa’s various hardships, which do fuel her progression in season 6. All the payoffs that come with the Battle of the Bastards still would’ve had impact, without us having to have seen that rape. If you wanted to imply it, fine. Again, it’s par for the course in this world. But having to see it, after all the excessive torture the show has put us through? It’s overkill, and another show addition that just doesn’t work, even if it’s somewhat justified by the great ending we get.

Season 6: Sweet, Sweet Justice

With that said, all the developments in season 6 make it the best Game of Thrones season yet. By this point, the story has surpassed the books, so the show focuses more on wrapping up some plots while moving others towards the end game. Out of sync timelines come together, characters interact more and several plots play out to their logical conclusion. The few remaining book 4 arcs that had yet to be adapted, like Sam’s journey to Oldtown, Jaimie’s siege of Riverrun and the Kingsmoot on Pyke are all translated in ways that gel with the story of season 6. Minor changes are made, yet the essence of those scenes remain.

Jaimie’s reunion with Brienne at Riverrun continues his redemption, while also highlighting his conflicting loyalties. Sam’s quest to be a maester reunites him with his father, showing how much stronger he’s become. The Kingsmoot doesn’t have the grandeur of the books, but it does allow for a great reunion between Theon and his sister Yara. Having Theon at the Kingsmoot (unlike the books) was a nice touch, as he and Yara take the place of another pointless new book character (Victarion Greyjoy) and get to Dany faster.

Everything in season 6 feels like more set up for the finales to come in seasons 7 and 8. And yet, this set up comes with closure for numerous characters and side plots. Even if these events haven’t happened in the books yet, they feel like organic extensions of where the show was going. And man, are they satisfying. Characters we both love and love to hate die, while our heroes actually score some key victories. Something important happens in every episode. And while you could say too much is happening, everything’s given room to breathe. The pacing is excellent, like the run up to the Battle of the Bastards and a key trial in King’s Landing. 

But I haven't even mentioned what's happening in the far north, with Bran Stark and Jon Snow. One of the best things to come out of season 5 was the episode Hardhome, which saw Jon actually go to recruit Wildlings instead of reading about events in a letter. All hell breaks loose as White Walkers attack, reminding us that despite all the politics, there’s still a giant horde of ice zombies to deal with. That episode made us remember the Walkers are a threat, and reinforces Jon’s motivations going forward.

It also bleeds into Bran’s story, as he trains to use his newfound powers to view the past. Bran’s scenes are great additions, with thrilling flashbacks building on his few book 5 chapters to deliver key backstory from the books. Not only are these windows to the past great, but they confirm several key book theories in both fist pumping and heart wrenching ways. 

Season 6 is still, in a way, adapting Martin’s saga, even if it’s largely moved on from his text. Depending on how The Winds of Winter plays out, several of these events may be entirely different or right on the money. You could say that instead of being a direct adaptation, the show has now become its own beast, keeping the spirit of the books alive but taking its own direction. At least it's actually moving the story along, letting Dany finally begin her journey west to claim her birthright. Just a tiny thing, that. 

Conclusion: A Song for the Ages

Book readers just need to accept that some plots will never turn up in the show. We’ll never get Lady Stoneheart, a beloved character who is resurrected, but at this point the show doesn’t even need her. Arya may have taken her place, given how we leave her in season 6. It’s just one of many plots that had to be sacrificed to keep the story moving. 10 hours is a lot to work with when adapting such large novels, but changes still need to be made. While the show has stumbled with some plots, it’s still one of the best fantasy sagas we have right now.

As a show, it’s one of the best on TV. As an adaptation, it’s one of the best around, even with a few flaws. Quite simply, Game of Thrones is a miracle, given how it could take five incredibly dense novels and expand and simplify them into 60 plus episodes. With seasons 7 and 8 on the horizon, the Great Game will continue. Alas, it will come to an end, but even then we’ll have two more books to (eventually) enjoy. The song will go on, and when it does end on both page and screen, we’ll be left with not one but two great versions of this epic fantasy series. Not many sagas can claim to have an adaptation be the equal of the books (not even Potter and Rings). Game of Thrones is one of the few, and that’s a tale worth telling.

Adapting Game of Thrones Part I: Clashing Kings and Storming Swords

Weeks have gone by without a new Game of Thrones episode. Weeks will soon give way to months, and then over a year will go by where we cannot check up on all of our favorite tyrants, assassins, imps and dragons in the wonderful world of Westeros. That’s a cold world indeed, even colder than the frozen realms north of the Wall.

But fear not! For I will help you fill that large Iron Throne-sized hole in your hearts. After spending the last three years binging the show and reading George R.R. Martin’s source novels, A Song of Ice and Fire, I’m finally ready to blog about this little fantasy saga that has blown up into a pop culture phenomenon.

However, instead of simply dissecting the many, many awesome things that make Game of Thrones must-see TV, I’m going to take a different approach. After reading all five of Martin’s novels, I started actively comparing the show to the books starting with season 5. As a result, I can effectively comment on Thrones as an adaptation of Martin’s sprawling fantasy saga.

The verdict? Simply put, Game of Thrones is the most ambitious translation of a fantasy series since Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings made their respective bows. Since I have a lot of ground to cover here, I will emulate what Martin did with his fourth and fifth books and split this post in two. Today I will be covering seasons 1-4, while seasons 5-6 will come in a later post. So let’s get started, shall we? The cold winds are rising, so there’s not a moment to lose.

Beware: for those who haven’t read the books or seen the show through season 6, there will be spoilers. Out of respect for those still catching up, I’ll do my best to keep certain details vague, but there’s a lot of spoiler-y analysis here, so be warned.

Seasons 1-2: Translation at its finest

The first thing you have to understand about Game of Thrones is that it basically adapts one book per season. Or at least, it did at first. Seasons 1-2 adapt books 1 and 2, which is simple enough. But book 3 was so massive it took seasons 3 and 4 (20 hours of TV!) to adapt it properly. And even then, parts of books 4 and 5 were mixed in.

Those books together became season 5, although a few minor plots became part of season 6. (Confused yet?) By that season, though, the show had surpassed the books, so it was mostly doing its own thing at that point. The one constant throughout was that the show removed the books’ reliance on POV chapters and some of the rich backstory to focus more on characters and a consistent worldview.

The first season adapted the first book as literally as it could, capturing Martin’s world in vivid detail. Only minor changes came, usually by fleshing out characters whose perspectives we didn’t see in the book. Robb Stark, King Robert and the Lannister family come to mind here.

For the second season, however, the show started deviating more, in ways that seem small yet still change the story in subtle ways. For example, season two found the captive Arya in the service of Tywin Lannister, instead of the book’s Roose Bolton. This serves to help us as viewers understand the political situation of the War of the Five Kings, while letting two great characters bounce off each other and build a thrilling dynamic.

It also puts Arya in greater danger, as she’s a captive of her family’s biggest enemy. The situation characterizes Tywin more than the novels, as we see his ruthlessness, ambition and intelligence on full display through Arya’s eyes. The irony of course is that despite Tywin’s intelligence, he never suspects that the small girl in his service could be a key bargaining chip against his enemies. The entire scenario is much more interesting than the books, while making for great television.

Season 2 also adds more conflict to Daenerys Targaryen’s travels in Qarth. Whereas the books climaxed this story by having her ascend a mystical tower and hear a prophecy, the show wisely has the sorcerers running this tower steal her baby dragons. Her story changes to her entering the tower to save them, creating more conflict and justifying her whole stay in Qarth. It’s much more satisfying than the book, even though the prophecy she learned in the books was interesting.

This is also indicative of a larger change in the overall story from page to screen. Martin uses prophecies in his novels to foreshadow events to come, but leaves them incredibly vague and delivers them to readers through conflicting imagery. The show wisely bypasses all that, sacrificing prophecies for more character work. This also makes it more shocking as various events unfold, instead of leaving readers with dense puzzles to solve.

Season 3: A Matter of Perspective

Seasons 3 and 4 make even more changes, although together they serve as a wonderful translation of the third book. Season 3 sticks mostly to book 3, adapting all the content up to the Red Wedding and climaxing with this pivotal moment. This does wonders for the show, as it affords us more time with major characters who are killed off at the Wedding. In doing so, the show makes us feel genuinely shocked at these characters’ deaths, when their book counterparts weren’t nearly as developed.

Since the book only rotates perspectives among a handful of characters, everyone else is sidelined in terms of development.  Robb Stark is a character who, despite his importance to the story, isn’t developed as much in the books since we see him through the POV chapters of his mother, Caitlyn. The show corrects this, allowing his romance with a foreign healer to play out in front of us instead of off to the side, like the books’ approach. When it comes to the Red Wedding, we now empathize more with Robb and his new wife, making the tragedy all the more heartbreaking.

Season 4: Have Timeline, Will Travel

Another side effect of splitting up book three into two seasons are some minor shifts in the story’s timeline. Jaimie’s travels with Brienne of Tarth take up all of season 3, ending with him back in King’s Landing. When season 4 rolls around, Jaimie has been back for weeks and witnesses the Purple Wedding first hand. In the book, Jaimie is still travelling with Brienne when the Purple Wedding occurs, and doesn’t return to King’s Landing until after it’s happened. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a minor change, but important nonetheless due to a key moment.

Jaimie and Cersei have sex after the Wedding in both the book and the show, but the context is entirely different. Since the book has Jaimie returning, the sex marks their reunion and feels cathartic. Since Jaimie was already reunited with Cersei in the show, their sex after the Wedding has a new context. They make love to cope with the death of a loved one, even though Jaimie instigates it and the whole ordeal initially comes off as rape. The event itself also feels tone deaf due to it happening on top of said loved one’s coffin. It’s a rather over-the-top moment that, while technically translated from the book, doesn’t have the same effect due to the different context.

The rearranging of the books’ timeline continues throughout season 4, and is more apparent at its end. With only a portion of the third book to adapt, season 4 has elements of the fourth and fifth books occur alongside book 3’s timeline. Brienne’s quest to find Arya and Sansa Stark, which comes in book 4, is adapted here even though the timeline is still at the end of book 3. Her story is actually an improvement on her book 4 arc, climaxing with Brienne finding Arya and fighting the real Sandor Clegane, aka the Hound. Book 4 had her fight a Hound imposter and still get nowhere close to the Stark girls.

The timeline change comes from mixing Arya and the Hound’s book 3 arc of travelling Westeros with Brienne’s book 4 arc. This dovetails nicely into how Arya and the Hound’s arc ends in the third novel. The Hound is cut down, not by tavern brawlers like the book, but by Brienne herself, leading to the same outcome. This change works wonders for the show but also improves on the books in a way, taking one of book 4’s lesser story arcs and redeeming it by making Brienne a more competent person.

Decisions like these help make season 4 one of the best seasons in the series, even though it’s only adapting a few hundred pages of content. The Purple Wedding, the Battle at the Wall, Tyrion’s trial and the fight between the Mountain and the Viper are all major plots in the third book that get more room to breathe here. By letting these elements play out over a full season, we get a better appreciation for the severity of these moments.

Season 4: Expanding and Contracting

Other ways in which the fourth season makes up for its seeming lack of content is by extending minor subplots to fit the season’s narrative. One plot involves a mutiny north of the Wall, which is blown into a major story for everyone’s favorite underdog, Jon Snow. The mutiny happens in the book but is quickly brushed aside and dealt with off page. In the show, Jon and a loyal band of Sworn Brothers go deal with the mutiny directly. While it can come across as filler for book readers, it actually does a huge service to Jon’s character growth. It serves to give Jon agency and emphasize his emergence as a leader. This provides a more organic transition into his taking command at the battle at the Wall that climaxes the season.

While the Wall battle is probably season 4's most thrilling moment, it’s closed by a key confrontation between Tyrion and his father Tywin. This is a huge moment in book three that, unfortunately, loses some narrative impact due to removing key backstory. Back in season 1/book 1, Tyrion explains to his new lover Shae how he once had a wife, Tysha, who was revealed to be a whore paid by his father to humiliate him. When Jaimie breaks Tyrion out of jail, he reveals in the book that Tysha was in fact a commoner, and Tywin had her beaten, raped and exiled rather than see his son happy. This infuriates Tyrion, and not only informs his confrontation with Tywin but his final scene with Jaimie, where he acts cold and venomous towards the only family member who showed him love.

While Tyrion talks of Tysha briefly in season 1, she is never mentioned again. Shae quickly becomes the love of Tyrion’s life, and so in season 4 when Tyrion confronts Tywin, it is over Shae’s betrayal. While the scene still works in the moment and has enough emotional weight, it has been re-contextualized by removing this backstory. Why would the showrunners do this, considering it was a huge moment in the books?

Well, there are several reasons. One: Shae had become a huge part of the show, so making the confrontation about her felt natural. Two: since we lose the POV narrative of the books, we lose Tyrion’s internal monologue where he often reminisces of Tysha, so we never really see how important she was to him. Three: revealing this in the show would ruin Tyrion’s relationship with Jaimie, which was built up throughout the season and does wonders for Jaimie’s redemptive arc. As such, a moment from the books that was pretty much left intact is heavily altered due to the context. The outcome is the same, but the journey getting there is different.

This is something to keep in mind, as the showrunners use this philosophy in seasons 5 and 6. It is here where the biggest changes from Martin’s books take place. Unlike widening characters’ perspectives, removing backstory or showing key book events in a new light, the next two seasons make huge changes to Martin’s story. And yet, despite this, they still have similar outcomes, in some ways even streamlining unnecessary subplots.

Many of these changes wouldn’t happen without the few subtle changes the first four seasons made from the books. Now that Tyrion’s reasons for confronting Tywin are different, his arc in season 5 is changed dramatically. How so? The next post will reveal all. I promise I won’t pull a George R.R. Martin and bait you for five plus years, either. My next post will arrive soon, as surely as the Stark words signal the coming of winter.

Editorial: Is It Game Over for Video Game Movies?

Comic books have slowly worked their way up over the years to become the dominant goldmine for Hollywood to plunder. Yet in the last few months, the studios seem to have pillaged a new source to craft their cinematic outings. Hardcore Henry. Ratchet and Clank. The Angry Birds Movie. Warcraft. This winter’s Assassin’s Creed. Video game movies may have been a “thing” since the ‘90s, but it’s been a while since we’ve seen this many video game movies come out this rapidly.

And they’re not slowing down anytime soon. The Resident Evil films are still going, a Tomb Raider reboot with Alicia Vikander is in the works and Steven Spielberg is all set to adapt the gaming-heavy novel Ready Player One. Lest we forget Hollywood is still gestating over big budget films based on Halo, Uncharted, Bioshock, The Last of Us, Shadow of the Colossus and many more. There’s just one small glitch in the system: don’t all video game movies suck?

It’s Dangerous to Go Alone: Adapt This

It’s true that films based on games don’t exactly have the best track record. The Super Mario Bros., Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter films of the ‘90s all failed spectacularly. Fast forward to the 2000s and we have a few financial successes with Angelina Jolie’s Tomb Raider and the original Resident Evil. Too bad they both didn’t do so well critically, and their follow-ups even less so, even if Resident Evil is still chugging along. We’ve had Prince of Persia, a decent adaptation yet a boring film, and other minor films like Doom, Max Payne and Hitman that came and went silently. 

Hollywood keeps trying to make “surefire hits” out of popular games, yet none of them connect with critics or audiences. Most recently, Warcraft became the highest grossing video game movie worldwide, largely thanks to a huge opening in China. But a CG-heavy fantasy action flick was bound to open big there anyway (never forget Transformers 4.) The film still tanked with critics, and while franchise fans are enjoying the faithfulness to the lore, the consensus seems to be that it just doesn't work as a satisfying, standalone film. In other words, it's just another bad video game movie.

Given how the flops keep coming, why then is Hollywood still trying to (pardon the pun) get back in the game? Are studios desperate to make the first “good” video game movie, sparking the next big Hollywood trend? There’s no question that the potential is there. No one can say whether or not Assassin’s Creed will be the new Iron Man, and give other studios the blueprint for how to make a game movie “work.” What can be said is that the cinematic potential of video games will always be appealing, and it’s not hard to see why.

Films have always had an interesting relationship with both comic books and video games. All three are visual mediums, using images as their primary mode of storytelling. Yet all three are so distinct in the way that they tell their stories that adapting one medium to the other is harder than it looks. Comics at least have character growth, rising tension, and various storytelling structures that can be mined for a 2 hour film. It’s hard to condense decades of history into said film, yes, but it can be done. For video games, it’s an entirely different story.

Perhaps the Only Solution is Not to Play

Video games come in a variety of forms, but the one thing they all have in common is that they’re very active in their storytelling approach. Unlike films, TV, books and comics, which are all passive, video games involve the audience actually participating in the on-screen adventures. Players take control of the game’s characters and lead them through a series of puzzles and challenges in order to reach a stated goal. Yes, we all know this. But trying to adapt what’s supposed to be an active experience into a passive one is actually extremely difficult. You know how boring it is to watch someone else play Halo or Call of Duty, while you just sit at the sidelines? Imagine that experience in a movie theater.

The reason Super Mario Bros. didn’t work was because the simple narrative of the game, coupled with the lack of well-defined characters, made the translation to film extremely difficult. What do we know from the games about Mario and Luigi? They’re…..plumbers? And……brothers? Um, the green one’s taller than the red one? They’re Italian? You see the point. Trying to craft a cinematic tale around them isn’t exactly a walk through the Mushroom Kingdom, if you get the drift.

This applies to pretty much every other game adaptation out there, even though as time marches on and games grow more sophisticated, so do the games’ stories. Lara Croft is a well-rounded person, as are the Resident Evil characters, along with the complicated lore of Azeroth from the Warcraft games. On paper, they would make for good films. It’s one of the reasons why the Assassin’s Creed film looks promising, since it’s a fantastic cinematic premise that has literally all of history to draw from. Then you look at how games like Uncharted and The Last of Us have such amazing stories that they’re essentially playable films, and it seems like a no-brainer to make movies out of them.

First Person Means No Person

But despite all this potential, video game movies are still flopping. And it doesn’t have anything to do with how well a filmmaker translates the game’s aesthetics into a movie (like Warcraft or, hell, the original Mortal Kombat). It has everything to do with filmmakers failing to take an active experience and turn it into a passive one. An experience that a film going audience can get invested in. If the story is too simple or the characters too flat, the film has to find a way to make you care for them.

The problem here is twofold. One, most video game stories are designed to be simple so it’s easy for players to follow the narrative as they go from one checkpoint to the next. Two, most gaming characters are cardboard cutouts by design, so the players can project whatever personality they want onto them to make them relatable. We see whatever we want to see in Mario, Link or the Master Chief because they come to us as blank slates, so we can easily identify with them as we play them. They’re surrogates for us, in other words.

Even in games like Skyrim or Fallout that come with their own built in lore, the players basically design and custom fit their own characters to fit their needs. Now try and take your customized Vault Dweller from Fallout, cast Kit Harrington to play him, and set him loose in a big budget movie. Even if Harrington played him to perfection, he would be given personality traits that contradict what players have already projected onto him.

It’s like when a movie fails to adapt a book properly because the readers have already worked up the perfect version in their minds, only a thousand times greater. Another thing to consider: we all love Halo’s Master Chief because he never takes his helmet off. We can imagine thousands of different looks for him under that mask. The minute you put a flesh and blood actor underneath that iconic helmet, then have him remove it in a film to give the A-list actor face time, you’ve just alienated your entire core fanbase.

Wreck-It Ralph vs. Hardcore Henry

Now some of you may be thinking, “If that’s really the problem, why can’t video game movies just adapt a film that replicates the experience of gameplay?” The response would be “have you seen Hardcore Henry?” While not an adaptation of any existing game, per say, this recent film attempted to mimic how it feels to play a Call of Duty-esque First Person Shooter game. It was shot with a Go-Pro, entirely in first person, with Henry’s backstory and personality conveyed through the people he meets.

Now that doesn’t mean that this narrative format doesn’t work. It obviously works great in the game world, as the billions made overnight on the latest Call of Duty can attest to. But that does not work for film. Both mediums are visual, yes, and they both turn to inherently cinematic storytelling tropes. But different mediums they remain, and as such they play by different rules. If you want to make a game into a movie, you have to preserve the essence of the game while making sure the story works as a film.

One of the only good video game movies in recent memory was Wreck-It Ralph. Yes, like Henry it’s not based on a specific game, although it cribs from Donkey Kong, Mario Kart, and Doom/Halo. That movie succeeded because it fused certain video game mechanics (evil boss fights, perfect heroes, racing games, shooting games, arcade games, glitches, hordes of enemies, trophies, etc.) into an original story that made for a compelling, passive viewing experience. In other words, it took what it needed to from games and used them to make a great movie. So really, Wreck-It Ralph has already laid out the blueprint for how to make a “good” video game movie. The answer, Hollywood, is to use select gaming elements in a way that makes for a great film.

Conclusion: Level Up, Hollywood

This is why Assassin’s Creed and Ready Player One still seem promising. Creed is taking the lore of the games and applying it to an original story, one tailored to be inherently cinematic and thus, make for an entertaining film without betraying the game’s essence. Ready Player One is a somewhat different story, since it’s based on a novel, but one that nevertheless is set almost entirely in a virtual game world and relies on many gaming tropes to tell its story. But because it’s already used those gaming elements in one medium (literature) to great success, translating it to film should be relatively simple. Still, since the novel takes gaming elements and puts them into a new story that works with a different medium, it helps the case.

So after Hollywood mines every last comic book and looks for the next big thing to adapt, video games could very well be it. Judging by this year, an argument could be made that Hollywood already looks at games as “the next big thing.” But as long as the game movies continue bombing, it won’t really spark a trend like Hollywood wants. Like comic books, Hollywood needs time to learn how to meld the essence of the source with the medium of film. In the end, it’ll be about quality over quantity. Hollywood simply needs to remember that they’re making movies, regardless of what they’re adapting. Once they do that, we could very well reach the next level in film making. And that’s a game everyone wants to play.

Daredevil Gives Justice to Marvel TV

The Devil Went Down to Netflix

I’m going to be blunt here: Daredevil is one of the best things to come out of the MCU. It’s not only Marvel’s best television show, but it might even be in the running for one of the best superhero shows ever, period. Comparing it to the Ben Affleck film from 2003 is like comparing the Joel Schumacher Batman films to Chris Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy. So yes, it’s pretty good.

On a larger note, Daredevil also marks the beginning of Marvel’s collaboration with Netflix, the first in a string of series to show off the grittier, street-level side of the MCU. It all leads up to the Defenders miniseries, a more down-to-earth version of The Avengers more concerned with protecting the little guy than world ending threats. But while the set-up for Defenders is here, it’s the very definition of subtle. Daredevil’s two seasons concern themselves more with enveloping us in the world of Matt Murdoch (Charlie Cox), blind lawyer by day, vigilante by night. The results are nothing short of phenomenal.

Season One: Good Samaritans

The binge-watching nature of Netflix is a natural fit for Marvel TV, and Daredevil in particular. Like ABC’s Agent Carter, the shorter episode run makes for a tighter narrative, with more focus on story and characterization. But since it’s Netflix we’re talking about here, the episodes are gorgeously cinematic. The serialized nature of both seasons means they play like thirteen hour movies, with far more psychological depth, bone crushing action and thrilling character work than a majority of the MCU films.

Charlie Cox is pitch perfect as Murdoch, nailing Matt the lawyer and Daredevil the vigilante with absolute sincerity. They’re two very different sides of Murdoch, but Cox makes sure we know it’s still the same person. Matt’s commitment to justice, to protecting the innocent, is both a virtue and a weakness, thanks to his Catholic upbringing. Matt knows he has “the devil in him,” as he confesses to his local priest, and hates it just as much as he wants to use it to keep Hell’s Kitchen safe.

But the real success of Daredevil’s first season is the dual focus on not just Matt, but his archenemy Wilson Fisk. Known to comic fans as the Kingpin, Fisk is a villain so dynamic and complex that he rivals Loki as the best MCU antagonist we’ve ever had. Vincent D’onofrio plays Fisk as an unusually quiet man who only needs the right situation to let his anger come spewing out. He works best as a mirror to Matt, with both men seeing themselves as good Samaritans trying to help Hell’s Kitchen.

The city is reeling from the aftermath of The Avengers, where several crime families have risen to take advantage of the destruction. Fisk wants to tear down several slums to save the city “on a scale that matters,” while Matt takes the fight to the crime families. If not for the dual focus on Matt and Fisk, juxtaposing the two as mirror images of each other, the season simply wouldn’t work.

To sell this duality, we get several flashbacks that flesh out both Matt and Fisk’s origins. And in a surprising twist on superhero conventions, it’s Fisk who gets a love interest here, who embraces him even after learning of his darker half. Not only does it humanize Fisk more, but it gives Matt a moral dilemma when he finds out his enemy has a loved one. Is it right to bring down a man who, despite his actions, is still loved by someone? Morality plays a huge role here with all the characters, making for a superhero tale that’s just as big on brains as it is on fists.

Speaking of characters, the orbiting cast is just as good as Cox and D’onofrio, complementing them perfectly. Karen Page (Deborah Ann Woll) and Foggy Nelson (Elden Henson), Murdoch’s partners at his law firm, have fully realized goals and character arcs, which help give the season more personality. Rosario Dawson’s Clair Temple is a nurse who acts as a sarcastic sound board for Matt, as he tries justifying his lifestyle. Vondie-Curtis Hall’s Ben Urich is a journalist who helps crack the Fisk case, with a compelling tale that ends in tragedy. But the most fun is had with Scott Glenn’s Stick, Matt’s blind childhood mentor whose no nonsense attitude and constant snark is a joy to watch. He only shows up for one episode in season one, but easily runs away with it.

Season one is also helped immensely by its dark tone, which gives it the vibe of a crime drama rather than a superhero slug fest. The action is brutal and uncompromising, with a hallway fight and an altercation between Fisk and some goons being highlights. Matt even dresses in an all-black ninja outfit for most of the season, referencing Frank Miller’s original comic book run. He doesn’t even wear the iconic red suit until the final episode, where the superhero tropes come out in full force. In doing so, season one marks itself as a fantastic origin story for both Daredevil and Kingpin, ending it on a note of closure but with the promise of more to come.

Season Two: Crime and Punishment

And boy, what comes after is something else. Going into season two, morality plays an even larger role with the introductions of Elektra (Elodie Young) and Frank Castle/The Punisher (Jon Bernthal). Bernthal’s Castle nearly steals the season, capturing Frank’s brutality with criminals but also tenderness when it comes to his family. His scenes with Daredevil are powerhouses, as they set up an ideological conflict over how to handle crime that doesn’t have an easy answer.

Bernthal is so good as Castle that I would dare say his performance is Emmy-worthy. The rooftop scene with Daredevil. Frank’s graveyard recollection of his family’s murder. That prison fight (!!!) It’s no wonder a spin-off Punisher show’s been confirmed. With a performance as good as Bernthal’s, it’d be insane not to give him the spotlight. And there’s season two’s problem: Bernthal is so good, it makes any moment he’s not on screen seem tame by comparison, even when every other character is given a compelling arc to work off of.

How so, you may ask? Matt Murdoch is one of the few MCU superheroes to lead a double life. Season two zeroes in on that double life, making Punisher the focus of Matt’s lawyer side and Elektra of the Daredevil side. The problem is the Punisher plot is so captivating that the Elektra plot suffers for it. This isn’t to sell Young’s Elektra short, as she’s amazing here. Fiery, exotic and sarcastic, Elektra effortlessly plays off Matt’s serious approach to vigilantism. As Matt’s old college flame, she walks back into his life eager to take Matt on a mission, treating crime fighting as a game. It’s a bold approach, and just like with Punisher, Elektra’s role here is to hold a mirror up to Matt’s ideologies on heroism.

Her mission is to destroy the Hand, an ancient cult with the power to resurrect their members. Introducing more of the supernatural is always great, especially when it involves loads and loads of ninjas. And it picks up one of the few dangling threads from season one, bringing back Stick for a meatier role. But because of the sheer excellence of the Punisher subplot, the whole Hand/Elektra business just isn’t as interesting. And the Hand has ninjas.

They are ultimately the antagonists for season two, which is unfortunate because it has no bearing on the Punisher’s arc. The Hand has huge implications for Matt, since we learn it’s a war he’s unintentionally been training for since he met Stick. In and of itself, it’s also a pretty well handled story for season two to tackle. It’s just that with the Punisher drawing so much of the focus, the Hand subplot loses some steam.

The Punisher plot, on the other hand, becomes a huge part of both Matt’s story and the season’s forward momentum. It nearly destroys Matt’s personal relationships with Foggy and Karen. By taking on Castle as a client in the “trial of the century,” it also effectively ends Matt’s legal career. When the trial reveals a conspiracy involving Castle and a bad mob hit, it allows Karen to grow into her own as a character while Foggy gains more confidence and independence from Matt. The ninja thing almost seems like this little side operation that doesn’t really effect the season in any meaningful way. Mostly because the Hand’s plan is never really stated, just hinted at, and it all boils down to set up for season three and/or The Defenders. 

To drive the point home of how inconsequential the Hand are as villains, Wilson Fisk even shows up for a few episodes to show us his prison life. Fisk is still great as ever, especially in his scenes with Castle, although a standout moment comes with his one interaction with Murdoch. Fisk’s effectiveness as a villain is what drove season one to greatness. While Punisher and Elektra do an admirable job of filling that hole, ultimately their status as allies to Matt makes this season the weaker of the two. It ends on some powerful emotional beats, sure, but without the gravity of Fisk pulling everything in, things just aren’t as consistent.

Conclusion: Justice Brought to Marvel TV

Despite an uneven second season, the show overall is still one of the strongest productions put out by Marvel. The characterizations of Matt, Fisk, Elektra, and Punisher easily erase any ill will from their various film incarnations. Like Tom Holland’s Spider-Man, Marvel simply knows how to treat their characters when they’re brought back into the fold. I’m incredibly excited to see what Defenders, The Punisher and the inevitable season three bring to the table, given the strong foundation of these two seasons.

But not only does Daredevil set these up, it also shows Marvel can diversify their genre output away from their films’ action-comedy approach. Daredevil is our introduction to another side of the MCU, and while tonally it feels different, certain flourishes ensure it’s still playing in the world we know and love. We never question why Iron Man shows up, because he’s not dealing with New York’s criminal underworld. Daredevil is, and it’s that window into the seedier side of Marvel that makes this show so entertaining. Even if you have no interest in superheroes or Marvel in general, this show works as a gripping crime thriller that knows how to treat stories, themes and characters with respect. Quite simply, when it comes to Marvel television, Daredevil can’t be beat.