As any purveyor of a "threequel" knows, the third film in a trilogy has to have more, better, bigger and louder than before. This is accomplished by POTC: At World's End.
However, as any viewer of a film knows, true enjoyment comes from a coherent plot, engagingly presented, that takes precisely the time it needs to tell the story and no more. Hmmm. Not so much.
It's not that it wasn't enjoyable. Some of the more fantastic, weird scenes were rather wonderful for appearing in an adventure film based on a Disney fairground ride. Afterlife hallucinations are a great cinematic gift, and these were handled with style. It's just that it was too much, too long and too aimless.
The plot, such as it is: to rescue Jack Sparrow from his sort-of eternal sleep in Davy Jones's Locker and to marshal the forces of the pirate lords who are trying to stop Tom Hollander's East India Company baddie rid the high seas of, erm, murder and theft (it was much easier to like the pirate anti-heroes when they contrasted neatly with the prissy pomposity of the dull protagonists... when they're just killers, thieves and rapists, it's not so convincing).
The problem is that there are about fourteen subplots, wasted opportunities to play off characters such as Barbossa and Sparrow against each other, pointless meanderings and a lot of inexplicable explosions (although these are good fun and break up the tedious chunks of exposition).
The humour is a little laboured, although the acting is energised and consistent. Probably the most annoying bit about it is the requirement for a suspension of disbelief at the wrong moment.
The thing is this. We're all very happy to believe, Buffy-style, in monsters, ghosts and ghouls if there is an element of humanity. The minute we're asked to believe that two people (who for the majority of the film have shown no interest in one another nor really spoken to each other) make an agreement that stretches even the most romantic credibility, our patience snaps and twangs painfully against our brain.
So here we have all the hallmarks of a film that's lively, excitable and sometimes funny pitted against a turgid plot and a near three-hour runtime that distends the patience of even the most aggressive Johnny Depp fan.
Oh well. I guess an indulgent "meh" is better than most threequels get. At least it's not The Godfather III. Oy.
Friday, 8 June 2007
Writing Footle: Why Blog?
I'm certainly not the first person to tackle this topic, and I won't be the last. But as blogging has now become my profession as well as a personal habit, I feel it necessary to take a look at the reasons (individual, rather than commercial, for the most part) why blogging has such appeal.
Firstly there's the diary element. Who didn't rip open a new, pretty notebook as a child and start scribbling? I still have the effervescent effluent of many years of tortured adolescence. I still keep a diary on occasion, irritated by the fact that my Moleskine notebook isn't full of only exquisite black ink because sometimes the compulsion to scribble comes with a red pen. Having somewhere to marshal your thoughts is the only one-on-one outlet some people get in their busy lives. For me, it's a necessity, since every day I find myself describing people and places in my head - if I haven't literally or metaphorically written it down, I don't remember it.
Secondly there's the sense of individual opinion and the double-edged sword of public perception. Even commercial blogs are inclined to be more independent than, for example, print media. Yes, there are sponsors and advertisers and PR people, but for the most part blogging is about opinion, and even within an organisation disagreement, debate and discussion are encouraged. Public feedback is both the most rewarding and most crippling element of all. How wonderful to learn that Ada in New Brunswick loved your analysis of a social trend; how disheartening that Julie in Coventry thought it puerile and simplistic. In your reaction to your commentary, you find your strength. The day you learn to write off blistering, envious negativity without a second thought whilst at the same time absorbing positive, constructive criticism is the day you have come of blogging age.
Mostly, though, it seems to me that blogging, be it personal or community (as, for example, with PostSecret), is supreme self-indulgence. It's the absolute result of a media which no longer looks to the spokesperson and the institutions, but to the individual and to everyone. A world which tolerates Big Brother must include the opinions of its viewers, detractors, admirers, critics, analysts and contestants. What better way to justify any statement than to label it an "opinion" - that poor thing we abuse so much in the name of our prejudices. One of the strengths of journalistic blogging is that it does, at least, inspire both integrity and forethought in its participants. Knowing that you've got the freedom to differ on points of interest from your colleagues is wonderful thing, but the responsibility that comes with being a member of the press is the necessity to research, support and justify your conclusions. Leaving aside that these are basic prerequisites for calling yourself a "journalist", it's just a simple precaution: being a "professional", you've got an even bigger troll target marked on your chest than most.
Why blog? Because it's the perfect marriage of thought and superficiality and therefore teaches that most excellent skill (undoubtedly missing as I ramble on here), the concise presentation of a thought or idea. You can (professional constraints excepted) go as in depth, analytical and long-winded as you like, but, with a few exceptions, no-one will read it. So you're forced to quickly, intelligently acquaint yourself with the hills and valleys of your IQ, and write an eloquent summary of your point. It's the perfect arena for those who did well in those school debating competitions.
And with that, Speaker, I rest.
Firstly there's the diary element. Who didn't rip open a new, pretty notebook as a child and start scribbling? I still have the effervescent effluent of many years of tortured adolescence. I still keep a diary on occasion, irritated by the fact that my Moleskine notebook isn't full of only exquisite black ink because sometimes the compulsion to scribble comes with a red pen. Having somewhere to marshal your thoughts is the only one-on-one outlet some people get in their busy lives. For me, it's a necessity, since every day I find myself describing people and places in my head - if I haven't literally or metaphorically written it down, I don't remember it.
Secondly there's the sense of individual opinion and the double-edged sword of public perception. Even commercial blogs are inclined to be more independent than, for example, print media. Yes, there are sponsors and advertisers and PR people, but for the most part blogging is about opinion, and even within an organisation disagreement, debate and discussion are encouraged. Public feedback is both the most rewarding and most crippling element of all. How wonderful to learn that Ada in New Brunswick loved your analysis of a social trend; how disheartening that Julie in Coventry thought it puerile and simplistic. In your reaction to your commentary, you find your strength. The day you learn to write off blistering, envious negativity without a second thought whilst at the same time absorbing positive, constructive criticism is the day you have come of blogging age.
Mostly, though, it seems to me that blogging, be it personal or community (as, for example, with PostSecret), is supreme self-indulgence. It's the absolute result of a media which no longer looks to the spokesperson and the institutions, but to the individual and to everyone. A world which tolerates Big Brother must include the opinions of its viewers, detractors, admirers, critics, analysts and contestants. What better way to justify any statement than to label it an "opinion" - that poor thing we abuse so much in the name of our prejudices. One of the strengths of journalistic blogging is that it does, at least, inspire both integrity and forethought in its participants. Knowing that you've got the freedom to differ on points of interest from your colleagues is wonderful thing, but the responsibility that comes with being a member of the press is the necessity to research, support and justify your conclusions. Leaving aside that these are basic prerequisites for calling yourself a "journalist", it's just a simple precaution: being a "professional", you've got an even bigger troll target marked on your chest than most.
Why blog? Because it's the perfect marriage of thought and superficiality and therefore teaches that most excellent skill (undoubtedly missing as I ramble on here), the concise presentation of a thought or idea. You can (professional constraints excepted) go as in depth, analytical and long-winded as you like, but, with a few exceptions, no-one will read it. So you're forced to quickly, intelligently acquaint yourself with the hills and valleys of your IQ, and write an eloquent summary of your point. It's the perfect arena for those who did well in those school debating competitions.
And with that, Speaker, I rest.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Morality Footle: The War of the Teapots
Bertrand Russel in 1952 wrote an essay encapsulating a concept which became known as "Russell's Teapot" (sometimes known also as the "Celestial Teapot"). In it, he posited that if one were to state that there was a teapot between Earth and Mars, the statement would be utterly disprovable provided that it came with the disclaimer that the teapot is too small to be detected by our best telescopes. To say that because it is undisputable it is therefore neccessarily true, is an absurd leap to make. He then goes on to say that if the story of the teapot were supported in ancient literature and re-asserted as truth every sunday, it would be on the head of the sceptic to justify his scepticism simply due to the overwhelming consensus of the disprovable idea.
Since then, the idea has been wildly popular, giving rise to all sorts of comical spin-offs such as the invisible pink unicorn at the centre of the universe, and the notorious Flying Spaghetti Monster. The moral has always been the same: "If you want me to prove your God does not exist, you need to demonstrate that you can disprove a negative by tackling these concepts".
In 1995, a new teapot analogy was born, this time on behalf of the deists and theists: While on the stand as a fact witness, Dr. John Haught was asked by the prosecution to explain why science and religion were not in conflict. ^1 His response was the boiling kettle analogy: If you ask "Why is the water boiling?" you can get a number of answers, all of which are true:
1. the water molecules are bouncing around excitedly and the liquid state is turning into gas.
2. it is boiling because my wife turned on the gas.
3. It's boiling because I want tea.
They do not conflict because they all answer the question on different levels - when studying the molecular activity, you would never bring the desire for tea into the equation - doing so would only cloud matters (and possibly make scientists thirsty). So too, he argues, works the relationship between God and science.
This line of reasoning fascinated me and made me wonder about the nature of the mind of Oxford Professor Richard Dawkins. Let me make this clear - I do not intend this as an ad hominem attack of Dr. Hawkins character. In his book, The Ancestor's Tale, he talks at great length about the "affliction of the absolutist mind", meaning a person who pattern matches in the extreme - mentally cataloguing things even when there is a gradation from one group to another in front of him. In his more recent book, The God Delusion, he refers to the Dualist Mind, to mean people who see a separation between their body and themselves and use this to conclude the existence of a soul. But what of Vaught's "Explanatory Pluralism"? Are there types of mind that we can categorize to encompass those in an absolutist manner, separate from those who do not work at that level? I am not meaning to suggest that Dawkins would fail to grasp that water is boiling because someone wanted tea - more that he exhibits a form of compartmentalisation when it comes to the ultimate questions such as "where we all come from". He has an answer, which is correct, or at least a promising route to an answer which seems most parsimonious and is correct, and therefore concludes that the question is answered on all levels. I suspect that his brain is quite capable of handling such things, but perhaps (and I think this is more likely) the far reaching questions of whether a deity may want evolution are of no direct relevence to anything in his life, whether it does want it, or whether it even exists enough to want it.
Can theistic intent really work hand in hand with so-called blind evolution? Yes, in the same way that fate and free will could co-exist provided your free will is not above the laws that fate encompasses: You have every right to choose whatever you want, so long as it's your personality making the choice, and that personality is not affected by the outside world, then yes absolutely whatever choice you end up making will be the choice your personality was always going to make. Put another way - I am bound by the laws of gravity, but I still have the freedom to jump as many times as I want - each freely made jump does not break the gravitational pull any more than a freely made decision breaks the laws of fate.
I feel like we just stepped off the edge of a thought there which deserves much more time than I have now to give it, so reeling us back in quickly - my initial purpose in writing up this little entry was to illustrate the way a piece of the material world, such as the humble teapot, can be used as a tool for ridicule, or a tool for explanatory mind expansion, depending on the motivation of the person wielding it. I believe this world is one filled with irony and self fulfilling prophecies - in 2000 years, scholars will come across ancient documents about teapots, some of them bewailing the lack of ancient teapot documentation. I shall leave you with another quote from Dawkins:
"The reason organized religion merits outright hostility is that, unlike belief in Russell's teapot, religion is powerful, influential, tax-exempt and systematically passed on to children too young to defend themselves. Children are not compelled to spend their formative years memorizing loony books about teapots. Government-subsidized schools don't exclude children whose parents prefer the wrong shape of teapot. Teapot-believers don't stone teapot-unbelievers, teapot-apostates, teapot-heretics and teapot-blasphemers to death. Mothers don't warn their sons off marrying teapot-shiksas whose parents believe in three teapots rather than one. People who put the milk in first don't kneecap those who put the tea in first." -The Devil's Chaplain, 2003.
The teapot is benign, depending upon the hand that wields it. How will you use yours?
Footnotes
1. The case was Kitzmiller v Dover, Pennsylvania - a landmark trial where a high school had tried to introduce Intelligent Design into the science classroom without first running it past the scientific community. The teachers, parents and some council members successfully sued on the basis that this violated the separation of church and state. The entire court transcript can be found at http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/dover/
Since then, the idea has been wildly popular, giving rise to all sorts of comical spin-offs such as the invisible pink unicorn at the centre of the universe, and the notorious Flying Spaghetti Monster. The moral has always been the same: "If you want me to prove your God does not exist, you need to demonstrate that you can disprove a negative by tackling these concepts".
In 1995, a new teapot analogy was born, this time on behalf of the deists and theists: While on the stand as a fact witness, Dr. John Haught was asked by the prosecution to explain why science and religion were not in conflict. ^1 His response was the boiling kettle analogy: If you ask "Why is the water boiling?" you can get a number of answers, all of which are true:
1. the water molecules are bouncing around excitedly and the liquid state is turning into gas.
2. it is boiling because my wife turned on the gas.
3. It's boiling because I want tea.
They do not conflict because they all answer the question on different levels - when studying the molecular activity, you would never bring the desire for tea into the equation - doing so would only cloud matters (and possibly make scientists thirsty). So too, he argues, works the relationship between God and science.
This line of reasoning fascinated me and made me wonder about the nature of the mind of Oxford Professor Richard Dawkins. Let me make this clear - I do not intend this as an ad hominem attack of Dr. Hawkins character. In his book, The Ancestor's Tale, he talks at great length about the "affliction of the absolutist mind", meaning a person who pattern matches in the extreme - mentally cataloguing things even when there is a gradation from one group to another in front of him. In his more recent book, The God Delusion, he refers to the Dualist Mind, to mean people who see a separation between their body and themselves and use this to conclude the existence of a soul. But what of Vaught's "Explanatory Pluralism"? Are there types of mind that we can categorize to encompass those in an absolutist manner, separate from those who do not work at that level? I am not meaning to suggest that Dawkins would fail to grasp that water is boiling because someone wanted tea - more that he exhibits a form of compartmentalisation when it comes to the ultimate questions such as "where we all come from". He has an answer, which is correct, or at least a promising route to an answer which seems most parsimonious and is correct, and therefore concludes that the question is answered on all levels. I suspect that his brain is quite capable of handling such things, but perhaps (and I think this is more likely) the far reaching questions of whether a deity may want evolution are of no direct relevence to anything in his life, whether it does want it, or whether it even exists enough to want it.
Can theistic intent really work hand in hand with so-called blind evolution? Yes, in the same way that fate and free will could co-exist provided your free will is not above the laws that fate encompasses: You have every right to choose whatever you want, so long as it's your personality making the choice, and that personality is not affected by the outside world, then yes absolutely whatever choice you end up making will be the choice your personality was always going to make. Put another way - I am bound by the laws of gravity, but I still have the freedom to jump as many times as I want - each freely made jump does not break the gravitational pull any more than a freely made decision breaks the laws of fate.
I feel like we just stepped off the edge of a thought there which deserves much more time than I have now to give it, so reeling us back in quickly - my initial purpose in writing up this little entry was to illustrate the way a piece of the material world, such as the humble teapot, can be used as a tool for ridicule, or a tool for explanatory mind expansion, depending on the motivation of the person wielding it. I believe this world is one filled with irony and self fulfilling prophecies - in 2000 years, scholars will come across ancient documents about teapots, some of them bewailing the lack of ancient teapot documentation. I shall leave you with another quote from Dawkins:
"The reason organized religion merits outright hostility is that, unlike belief in Russell's teapot, religion is powerful, influential, tax-exempt and systematically passed on to children too young to defend themselves. Children are not compelled to spend their formative years memorizing loony books about teapots. Government-subsidized schools don't exclude children whose parents prefer the wrong shape of teapot. Teapot-believers don't stone teapot-unbelievers, teapot-apostates, teapot-heretics and teapot-blasphemers to death. Mothers don't warn their sons off marrying teapot-shiksas whose parents believe in three teapots rather than one. People who put the milk in first don't kneecap those who put the tea in first." -The Devil's Chaplain, 2003.
The teapot is benign, depending upon the hand that wields it. How will you use yours?
Footnotes
1. The case was Kitzmiller v Dover, Pennsylvania - a landmark trial where a high school had tried to introduce Intelligent Design into the science classroom without first running it past the scientific community. The teachers, parents and some council members successfully sued on the basis that this violated the separation of church and state. The entire court transcript can be found at http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/dover/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)