Q:Dear Geek Attack, I saw that you posted on Dear Mr Potter a letter about fear, consolation and seeking magic in the ordinary. I just wanted to comment to you personally that I am in the exact same position and while I have been struggling, your words have been a much needed aid from the despair. I am an avid fan of the books but in my uncertainty, I had forgotten about how much guidance and joy they could bring. Thank you for sharing your inspiration and helping me to find mine.
Anonymous
It warms my heart to know that my words were able to help you, even just a little. Best of luck in your journey and keep your head up!
Dear Mr. Potter: Adam G.
Whoa, I submitted this in July and I finally got published! Crazy re-reading this now and thinking about how much things have changed since then.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I am a young man, not much older than you were yourself when your now famous adventures came to an end.
One might think that the similarities between us would end there. I do not have an all-powerful dark wizard to confront, or the fate of the Wizarding World resting on my…
Source: dearmrpotter
Nick Fury, director of the intra-office recreational softball league.
Random sketch from messing around on a friend’s high-end Wacom tablet today. First time I’ve ever done a sketch start to finish on the computer. I’ll always be a classic pencil and paper kind of guy, but with practice I could get used to this.
I’ve been playing The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks. Can you tell?
Alyssa is so wonderful. That is all.
Oscars 2012: If I was in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences…
It’s with a certain amount of masochism and bitterness that I watch the Academy Awards each year. I won’t belabor that point. Without a doubt, there are many of you out there right now of like mind, who watch each year and will watch again tonight not to admire the ultimate selections, but to sneer and criticize as little-watched, pretentious films steal trophies away from your favorite films of the year (if those films were even nominated).
To celebrate Oscar day this year and to vent my frustrations that are sure to mount this evening, I won’t tell you how I think the Academy system is broken and that its awards ultimately mean nothing. I won’t posit what things would look like if Internet geeks ran the Oscars (the short answer: probably a little bit more interesting and entertaining). You will have no trouble finding myriad versions of these arguments across the web today. Instead, I will simply tell you my perspective, for what little that is worth.
If I were a member of the Academy, here is how my ballot would have looked in some key categories…
Best Original Screenplay – Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris
I want to start with this award because I think Midnight in Paris is not only a wonderfully written film, filled with Woody Allen’s trademark wit, but is also in many ways a perfect allegory for the Academy Awards, the Academy, and many of its members. In Midnight in Paris, the protagonist, Gill Pender, is unsatisfied with the era he lives in. He desperately wishes he had lived in another time, in the “Golden Age” of the 1920s in Paris. Look at the nominees for this year’s awards, films like Hugo and The Artist lining every category, and it’s clear the Academy is awash in nostalgia, obsessed with its own history and heritage. This is not a first-time phenomenon. The Academy Awards each year are if nothing else an opportunity for the Academy to glorify its perceived “Golden Age,” as it longs for earlier days.
Best Adapted Screenplay – Steve Kloves, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2
I can think of few jobs that involved more pressure than the job of adapting the Harry Potter novels into film form. Adaptation like this is in general a risky business, one that comes with waves of fan ire with every concession made, no matter how necessary or sensible. But to adapt the biggest franchise of our time to the screen!? It has not come without some bumps in the road, and it wasn’t always perfect. But in the final film you can see all the lessons learned along the way. This adaptation is a fitting send off. It captures the heart and soul of the franchise and almost all of its additions and deviations are for the better and give the film a lasting legacy of its own.
Actress in a Supporting Role – Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids
Without Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids would be a good film, but an entirely unremarkable one. Her presence in the film elevated it and made it one of 2011’s most talked about films and one of its biggest surprises. That to me makes this choice a no brainer for Best Supporting Actress.
Actor in a Supporting Role – Alan Rickman, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2
Since the nominations were announced, Harry Potter fans have been seething over every category the final Potter film missed. I would contend that if Potter fans could have just one award, could overcome just one snub, they would not choose Best Picture but instead this award for Alan Rickman. And as far as I’m concerned, they deserve it, and so does Rickman.
Actress in a Leading Role – Rooney Mara, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Rooney Mara came out of nowhere to unexpectedly dominate the role of Lisbeth Salander, the iconic titular character of Stieg Larsson’s first novel in the best-selling Millennium trilogy. This was one of the most fascinating roles of the year, and Mara rose to the challenge, creating the brutal and calculated Salander we expected, while also making her surprisingly vulnerable and human. I think there were plenty of doubts at first, but today I cannot see any other actress filling the role.
Actor in a Leading Role – Andy Serkis, Rise of the Planet of the Apes
If I could single-handedly break the system and give one award at this year’s Academy Awards, I would give the Best Actor Oscar to Andy Serkis for his role as Caesar in Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Playing an ape and acting through the barrier of motion capture technology, he still managed to be the most human character in this film. I’m curious if one day Serkis will receive the same acclaim for his methods as traditional actors do. I hope that day comes, and it comes sooner rather than later.
Best Director – George Clooney, The Ides of March
This was probably the toughest choice to make, as I could see no clear frontrunner for Director among the films I’ve seen in the past year. But as I thought about it more, the Ides of March returned to my mind. Specifically, I remembered the film’s dark shadows, lending this modern political yarn the visual stylings of old crime noire. It matches the tone of the film perfectly and reinforces the narrative of an idealistic young man’s realization that even the seeming paragons of the political world are not immune to the clutches of its darkest corners.
Best Picture – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 2
When The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King dominated the Oscars in 2004, it was widely accepted that those awards were an overdue acknowledgement of the achievement of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy and those who made it possible. I don’t see any reason why the Harry Potter series of films does not deserve the same treatment. None. In fact, I would argue that the scope of their achievement is much larger, and as such, even more deserving of that honor. Harry Potter will take home some technical awards, and may get a special mention somewhere in the telecast, but it was not even nominated for Best Picture. I could think of countless snarky, underhanded ways to respond and come to terms with that, but all I will say is this: that is really unfortunate.
Sonic Generations and the Science of Nostalgia
I have this ritual of sorts with one of my closest friends. Every so often, maybe about once every month or two, I’ll go over to his house on a weekend night and we’ll play Nintendo 64 for many hours. This friend of mine doesn’t own any modern video game systems, just a Nintendo 64.
We grew up together with video games a big part of our childhoods, starting with the Game Boy up to the Super Nintendo and then the Nintendo 64. But after that, his interest in gaming essentially fell off a cliff. He was ready to move on to other things.
His gaming today is largely confined to those sessions we share together, and as far as he’s concerned, the Nintendo 64 is to this day the pinnacle in gaming. For me, it’s obvious the complete opposite is true, as I voraciously seek to consume every new thing the world of gaming can throw at me. Despite this stark difference between us, I think these sessions we share speak a lot to the common relationship that all of us have with the games we play, particularly the ones played when we’re young.
On these nights we burn through a tall stack of N64 games, beloved titles from years past – Mario Kart, Tony Hawk, NFL Blitz, Goldeneye and many more. I can’t say for certain for my friend, but I think for both of us these nights are not fueled by a desire to return to these games. No, these nights are fueled by our desire to return to those times and places in which we played them. Times and places of youth, living a life that was much simpler, largely carefree.
Because in truth I know many of these games are not worth returning to on their merits alone. Some of them may be, but the fact still remains I could just as easily be playing newer or better games. This is the effect of nostalgia. When talking about nostalgia in the context of gaming, it’s easy to be misdirected and think it’s the old games that we’re romanticizing, but it’s bigger than that. We are romanticizing the past.
The past, even when filled with moments of struggle, is easy to look to with fondness. After all, we survived it. It offers to us more than anything comfort. Conversely, the present and the future can offer little comfort. They are more apt to present us with uncertainty, doubt, fear.
This is exponentially true in certain stages of our lives. Take for example the stage that both my friend and I (and a huge chunk of the gaming community) are in now: young adulthood, nearing college graduation or recently looking back on it, attempting to carve out a fruitful adult life.
Old movies, old music, old pictures, old places, they all offer us nostalgic comfort, but none can do it at the same level that gaming does. Because of their interactive nature, I feel there is something particularly powerful about the nostalgic effect of games. They are embedded in our memories in a way few things are. When it comes to returning to the past, old games may be the closest thing we have to a time machine.
If you look at many of the business and creative trends driving the gaming industry today, it’s immediately apparent that leaders in the industry know and understand this hold the past has on us (and are eager to capitalize on it) – or they are under the same hold themselves.
In either case, I think no game typifies this discussion better than Sonic Generations. In an industry awash in nostalgia, Sonic Generations is the most potent cocktail of nostalgia yet.
It’s appropriate because I can think of no gaming series that has a more complex relationship with its own past, present and future. By extension, I can think of few gaming series that I personally have a more complex relationship with. And I have a feeling I’m not alone in that.
I’ve spoken briefly before about my first encounter with Sonic the Hedgehog at a demo unit in a Toys R Us store. That is but one example of the many deeply embedded memories I have of Sonic. It takes little effort to start constructing in my head mental recreations of times and places spent playing Sonic, Sonic 2, Sonic Adventure and so many more.
When looking at the arc of the Sonic games over all these years, I can almost see a bit of my own arc in life. A promising, happy beginning, followed by awkward years, fraught with growing pains in a time of change, and finally, a seeming breakthrough beyond those awkward years, bringing within reach opportunities at self-realization and contentedness.
Sonic Generations does a lot right, and I think it can be taken as an indication that Sonic is returning to form. On one level, it works like nostalgia should; it manages to make even the grimy parts of Sonic’s past look not so bad in hindsight. On another level, it feels like the first time in a long time that there is some real creative energy, excitement and even confidence fueling a Sonic game.
Playing Sonic Generations, one metaphor kept returning to my mind: the game is much like a weekend trip back to the town you grew up in after much time away. It offers brief respite from your life in its current state, and ample opportunities to reminisce and retrace old tracks.
However, these trips always bring with them a realization, that as much comfort as this place offers, you cannot stay there. You have to return to “real life,” and in the best cases, this rendezvous with the past will have you returning to it refreshed and refocused, not preoccupied or conflicted.
I’d say this metaphor applies as much to Sonic Team and their time spent developing the game as it does to our time spent playing it. As such, this will be the true test of success for Sonic Generations. Will Generations have this effect on Sonic Team? Are they refreshed and refocused, ready to leave the past behind, return to the present and seize the future? We won’t know that answer for some time.
But Sonic Generations gives me hope. It borrows enough from its past to remind us why we loved these games in the first place, while finally showing an emerging understanding of what things from recent years are worth losing and what things are worth keeping. It seems to give Sonic direction for the future. It tells me there will be a time soon that I can play a Sonic game not to seek comfort in the past, but to look forward confidently to the good things that lie ahead.Q:After stumbling across your Uncharted post (very well written by the way) I took it upon myself to check the blog and was pleasantly surprised to see intelligent, informed opinions on many video games I've played and discussed myself. I can't say I agree with your views on the quality of the Uncharted story but it's refreshing to see writing that tackles gaming with a bit more ambition than every other Tumblr account I've seen until now!
Thanks for reading, Matt! My goal is to write about gaming with a thoughtful and personal voice, and it’s always great to hear from other gamers and geeks out there who connect with that.
Now, I hope you won’t mind as I scour through some of your old posts…
Uncharted 3 and Our Unquenchable Thirst for Adventure
Many are quick to compare the Uncharted games with the Indiana Jones films. It’s a logical comparison to make. From the beginning, Nathan Drake’s modern-day adventures have owed much of their creative fabric to Indy’s adventures from many years earlier. In Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception, this link is stronger than ever, as Drake’s third adventure kicks off through an unexpected flashback sequence, and an introduction to our hero in his youth.
Fans of Indiana Jones will remember, his third adventure, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, opened in this same way. Seeing Young Indy set to embark on his first thrilling chase after an important historical artifact was illuminating. We already knew the man he would grow up to be, but this look backward gave us perhaps the clearest look yet at what kind of man Indy was, and what motivated him as he constantly and consistently plunged himself into ever greater dangers.
“It belongs in a museum,” Young Indy says with consternation, as he watches a fortune hunter admire an important, assuredly valuable historical artifact. This now iconic line shows that more than anything else Indiana Jones is an archeologist – after all, he is Dr. Henry Jones Jr. to be more precise. While his adventures have him going toe to toe with Nazis and other villains, putting a stop to their diabolical designs, one could argue that Jones is propelled primarily by scholarly intentions, committed to the pursuit, protection, preservation and passage of knowledge and history.
Entering this third Uncharted adventure, and reflecting on these thoughts during my time spent with Young Drake, it occurred to me: after two epic quests with this supposedly similar fortune hunter, I still had no idea what rested at the center of his pursuits. What drove Nathan Drake, I wondered?
In his flashback sequence we don’t get a perfectly clear answer, like the one Last Crusade offers us, for better or for worse. However, it does set the stage, as this question of intention and motivation in many ways becomes the center of the narrative in Drake’s Deception, particularly in the early hours.
After escaping two particularly dangerous situations, even by the standards set in prior Uncharted titles, Drake’s companions begin to question him and his latest quest. Of course, the biggest question here is not the who, the what, the where, the when or the how; Drake and friends, resourceful as can be, always find a way to answer those questions, no matter how great the challenge may seem. The truly vexing question is why.
Why is Drake so willing to repeatedly risk his life, and the lives of those close to him – to say nothing of the numerous lives he takes – and how far is he willing to go in these pursuits before he’s had enough?
One gets the impression that Drake’s companions know the answer, even if none of them will come out with it explicitly when the tough conversations start happening. And we as players know it too. We call him a “fortune hunter,” sure, but these adventures always seem to end conveniently deficient of riches, wealth or fortune. He’s the “good guy,” we contend, but often more because of his place opposite a series of cartoonishly villainous figures than any pure or noble intention of his own.
No, we have to be honest, for we know the answer. Nathan Drake gets off on it all, just as the delightfully wicked Katherine Marlowe posits in an opening sequence. Drake needs the thrill and the excitement that comes with cheating death, with escalating danger, greater stakes, and endless adventure. He needs to be the hero.
And we need it too. We get off on it vicariously, the controller connecting us to Drake, our proxy in these adventures.
The overall theme of Drake’s Deception, and the whole Uncharted series really, is found in the Latin message inscribed on a ring that Drake wears around his neck, “Greatness from Small Beginnings.” We see in Young Drake those small beginnings, a young orphan boy, without a mother, abandoned by an unfeeling father. In adult Drake, we see the man, petrified of a small middle and small ending, accordingly chasing and gripping greatness with desperation.
We can relate, I think. I certainly can. In today’s modern society, it seems increasingly widespread that we as individuals fear the idea of being ordinary, just another nameless cog in the giant machine. In our highly routinized, simple lives we thirst for something more, we hunger for that greatness and we crave excitement.
Alas, greatness is not in store for all, and adventure is not so easily accessible. And save for a select few – daredevils, thrill seekers, real Evil Knievel types – we cannot or will not go to the levels that Drake would to find them. This is where gaming comes in, and more broadly adventure fiction like Uncharted and Indiana Jones. It offers us all escape from the ordinary, and it gives every one of us contact with significance, meaning, and excitement in lives that look so different from our own. Everything from Harry Potter to Star Wars and the Legend of Zelda fit the mold, along with countless others.
But what of Nathan Drake? He does this job ever so capably, but at the current pace the integrity of the man as a character and the stories of his adventures stand to suffer. By all accounts Uncharted 3 pushes Drake to his limit, right past it and around the block a couple of times for good measure. As an effective character, I fear Drake may have reached his breaking point. After what he goes through in this latest adventure, I can’t imagine the man ever wanting to embark on another quest or chase another treasure. And perhaps appropriately so, I can’t picture the developers at Naughty Dog ever outdoing themselves when you look at the technical scope of what they’ve achieved this time. So where does Drake go from here?
Another way Uncharted 3 mirrors the third Indiana Jones film is as a father-son story. Drake doesn’t have a present father you’ll recall, but in our introduction to Young Drake we see how he found a father figure in Victor ‘Sully’ Sullivan. I think this is the one area of Uncharted 3 that deserves further exploration more than anything else.
What a unique role Uncharted could play, this cutting-edge pinnacle of grand adventure fiction, if its next tale offered something different, something a bit more subtle and nuanced, focused entirely on Young Drake and emphasizing not a fixation on achieving and extolling greatness, but the value found in our small beginnings, and the small middles and endings too. A reminder that we ought not take that for granted. After all, life’s smaller moments are filled with a meaning all their own, and different kinds of adventures, which can be no less challenging or exhilarating.
You can brush off Uncharted as simple popcorn entertainment, with little depth. And it can be that for you, if you’d like it to be. But for me, there’s a surprising amount to relate to here, which I had not seen until recently.
As Sully tells Drake in one last parting piece of wisdom, seemingly addressing Drake’s largest inner turmoil and gently, implicitly giving him direction for the future, “We don’t get to choose how we start in this life. But real ‘greatness’ is what you do with the hand you’re dealt.” Such is the case for all of us, fortune hunters or not.
This was the Christmas card for our house this year, inspired by my Tumblr doodlin’.
Wishing you all a very Merry (and geeky) Christmas, and a Happy New Year.
