An Open Letter to M. Night Shyamalan

So, um, hey. About your movie “The Happening”…

Look, M (do you mind if I call you M?), I like your movies. “The Sixth Sense” was awesome. I enjoyed “Unbreakable.” “Signs” was a fun movie, even though Mel ‘Kill All The Jews, They Killed Christ’ Gibson was tragically miscast.

I’ll even give you “Lady in the Water.” I enjoyed it, despite the critical savaging.

But dear God, M, what were you thinking when you wrote “The Happening?”

For starters, there’s the title. I really, really wish you’d chosen a different title for this film, something perhaps a bit more appropriate to the story. You see, “The Happening” makes the movie sound like it might be interesting or mysterious, and that’s just plain false advertising. I would perhaps recommend a different name, something like “When Maples Attack” or “Poplars Gone Wild.” Then perhaps I would have gone into the theater with a clearer sense of what to expect, or more likely given it a miss altogether.

And dude, seriously, Learn something about science. Please. Anything about science. If your main character is a scientist, it helps to know at least a little bit about the field. Knowing what science is might be a good start.

Here’s a hint, that I’ll give you as a freebie without charging you a script consulting fee because I like you. No scientist would ever say something like “Science doesn’t prove anything. At the end of the day, any explanation is just a theory.”

See, simply by using phrases like “just a theory,” you demonstrate that you don’t know what the word “theory” means. Unlike, for example, a character who is, say…a scientist.

And enough with the “camera staring at the actor’s face so we can see how they’re emoting” schtick. It worked well enough in “The Sixth Sense,” but by the time you’d gotten to “The Village” we’d all been clobbered over the head with it enough. We get it, we get it. Your characters Feel Profound Emotions. How ’bout branching out a bit, developing a new visual language, rather than relying on the same tool over and over again, m’kay? We’ll all appreciate it. I’m just sayin’.

Oh, and about your characters Feeling Profound Emotions…that’s nice, but occasionally we’d like to see them do something, too. Passivity gets annoying after a while, y’know? When every single character in a movie, including extras in the background of the scenes, ends up dead save for three, and those three are saved only by pure luck and not as a consequence of any of their own actions, that’s not Bold Storytelling. It’s tedious, pointless dreck. The audience likes to see a story unfold as the result of the actions of the characters. Occasionally, it’s nice to see characters making decisions and doing things which advance the story arc, too. Again, I’m just sayin’.

And what’s with the little old lady in the run-down house? I haven’t seen a more pointless and ultimately unsatisfying side plot since the unbearable scene with the psycho pedophile in the basement in the awful film version of “War of the Worlds.”

Oh, while we’re talking about characters, consistency? Please? Look, M, I know they’re your characters and you can do what you want and all, but when the main character keeps alternating randomly between “smart and determined” (as in “He sure is resilient, isn’t he?”) and “dumb as a box of rocks,” with occasional detours through the land of “socially incompetent,” “utterly passive,” and “freaking out because it’s windy,” he doesn’t really feel like a character. Goddamnit, I’ve seen 70s porn flicks with greater depth and better character development.

Like I said, M, I don’t want to tell you your job, but if you’re making a movie that’s supposed to be a character study, a good place to start might be with a character.

I really gotta tell you, M, if you want to keep getting my money, you gotta stop with the movies that make me feel like I’ve just wasted two hours of my life I’ll never have back again. Kthx.

Love,
Franklin

PS: You owe me ten bucks.

Spam poetry

“Harry potter loves hottie lover, who loves mighty shocker poker.”

Spam for yet another penis pill site (are there really people in the world who honestly believe that taking a pill can make one’s penis bigger? For real?), but the poetry is quite nice.

Come, let me introduce you to my mighty shocker poker!

Fun Link o’ the Day: Chemistry

http://pubs.acs.org/cgi-bin/abstract.cgi/inocaj/2004/43/i11/abs/ic0352250.html

“Two novel ruthenium polypyridine complexes, [Ru(bpy)2Cl(BPEB)](PF6) and {[Ru(bpy)2Cl]2(BPEB)}(PF6)2 (BPEB = trans-1,4-bis[2-(4-pyridyl)ethenyl]benzene), were synthesized and their characterization carried out by means of elemental analysis, UV-visible spectroscopy, positive ion electrospray (ESI-MS), and tandem mass (ESI-MS/MS) spectrometry,” reads the abstract, “as well as by NMR spectroscopy and cyclic voltammetry.”

But oh, those wacky chemists. You have got to see the accompanying illustration of the macroscale molecular complexes in question.

pwn3d!

In an IM conversation, even!

Tacit: “P
Tacit: s/”/:
visudo: ‘DELETE FROM users–/g
visudo: I totally just XSS’d your substitute statement, cause you forgot the terminal slash.

Security is hard.

In Soviet Russia, bread bakes YOU!

So I just got back from lunch at Schlotzsky’s. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a deli chain–they make sandwiches and pizzas on sourdough crust, that kind of thing. Very tasty. I don’t eat there nearly often enough.

Anyway, the Schlotzsky’s near my office has a huge mural on the wall over the cash registers, which pretty much dominates the internal decor. It’s quite a piece of work, though I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

The style of the piece might best be described as “Stalin-era Soviet Russia mets American Dustbowl.” I apologize for the quality of these snaps; I took ’em on my camera phone. The more I look at this mural, the weirder it gets.

It has that kind of flat color scheme and weird perspective of the old Cold War-era Soviet propaganda, but with a few odd little twists that just kind of make my head go all asplodey-like. Take the woman selling vegetables, for example:

Doesn’t look too happy, does she?

“Things just haven’t been the same since my husband died of gout. That was in…let’s see, must have been the summer of ’02 or ’03. I’ve been chipping out a life for myself since then by selling vegetables I raise out back behind the shed, and turning tricks in town for fifty cents. Most times, the only thing that gets me through the day is quiet thoughts of suicide. My husband left a .12-gauge in the shed; it’s a little rusty, but it might still do the job. But then, who would feed the kids? Screaming little brats they are, and they eat me out of house and home. I could give them to my sister, before I do the deed, but you know, she just hasn’t been the same since Bobby went to jail. What? Oh, yes, three cents.”

Now the baker, on the other hand:

“I bake bread! Good bread, for strong people! My bread feeds workers in glorious Worker’s Paradise! Much bread, for day of Soviet triumph!”

Except that, y’know, his eyes are closed. He still sees images of his father, up against the wall, cut down in a hail of gunfire after the Revolution. But it had to be done; all the bourgeoise stock brokers getting fat off the backs of the proletariat needed to be swept aside to give way for glorious worker’s paradise. He still remembers the family mansion in the country, and when he returns home every evening to his cubicle in worker’s dormitory #137, he stares at the blank wall and sobs…

Inappropriate.

This one’s for datan0de, latexiron, physicsduck, and anyone else on my flist who appreciates this particular brand of science gone mad.

Inappropriately rocket-powered items. Includes all kinds of bizarre vehicles and not-quite vehicles fitted by various madmen with rocket engines, including but not limited to a rocket-propelled shopping cart (made even more terrifying by the close proximity of the red-hot combustion chamber to the…err…driver) and a rocket-powered street luge (because the only thing more dangerous than shooting down the asphalt at sixty miles an hour while only centimeters from the ground is shooting down the asphalt at a hundred and sixty miles an hour while only centimeters from the ground).

Found via danjite.

Remembering the Reason for the Season

So now that Thanksgiving’s over and the leftovers in the fridge are slowly dwindling, it’s time to turn our attention to the upcoming holiday season. And I’d just like to take a minute to remind each of us to remember the *true* reason for this holiday.

With commercialization, and vacation scheduling, and all those other things, it can be easy for us to forget. Even the carols we listen to quickly become mere words, and we no longer remember their true import.

Think about it. Really. Those carols are not just empty words:

Up from the sea, from underground
Down from the sky, they’re all around
They will return: mankind will learn
New kinds of fear when they are here

The traditions we enjoy have a much deeper meaning, and one that we lose far too easily, I fear. The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree were originally there to remind us of the stars, and of the threat that looms like an ominous shadow over everything we love: on that winter solstice night when the stars are right, the Great Old Ones will awake from the slumber of death once more, to wreak destruction and terror on all mankind, exposing our existence for the hollow and purposeless shell it is.

We have no hope on that day but to pledge our souls in service to the Elder Gods, so that we may be devoured first, spared the long slow spiral down into gibbering madness.

So as the nights grow longer and the days grow shorter, take some time out of your hectic schedule to meditate on the coming of the Great Old Ones. Should the stars not align properly in the heavens this year, and humanity be granted yet another year of our tiny, meaningless existance before the Crawling Chaos covers us all, breathe a sigh and exchange presents with those close to you in thanks.

Ia! Ia! Cthulhu Ftaghn!