A digital watch in a Western

I had an interesting conversation a while ago with a friend, where we saw together a godawful vampire movie set in the Old West, Bloodrayne 2: Deliverance. It was sheer masochism on my part: I heard Ewe Boll was bad, but I wanted to see how bad.

I don’t think I’ll be surprising anyone by saying that it was in fact, as bad as everybody says.

For example, in one scene, there’s an extra that quite visibly is wearing a digital watch. A digital watch in the Old West! The guy wasn’t even hidden in the background, either: he was front and center and the watch was unmistakable.

Something about that error just pissed me off even more than ordinary goofs, because it was the kind of sloppy mistake that’s made when the people making a film just don’t care.

A friend of mine that watched the film with me was baffled by how much the watch thing got to me and laughed it off. “So what, baby? It’s a movie about vampires, and you’re on about a digital watch being unrealistic?”

That comment totally took me totally off guard. Implicit in it is the idea that as something is a vampire movie, a crass error made in it is somehow less of a crass error.

That comment is also symptomatic of a mentality that science fiction and fantasy fans frequently suffer from: underestimating the importance of suspension of disbelief. Suspension of disbelief is like trust: it can be broken, and it is hard to regain when lost. Like trust, suspension of disbelief is never just “given” away, and must be earned. The more we are convinced of the reality of a story, the more we’re emotionally involved. The more we’re emotionally envolved, the more moving and entertaining a novel or movie experience is.

1. If an error is unacceptable in any other type of fiction, it shouldn’t be acceptable in science fiction or fantasy, either. SF and Fantasy shouldn’t be treated differently from any other genre, or held up to different standards than any other genre. No one should ever say “he acts that way because it’s science fiction.” Characterization is just as important in SF (and for that matter, action/adventure) as it is in regular fiction.

2. Science fiction and fantasy have an even greater obligation to be “realistic” than so-called “realistic” genres. In “plausible” espionage fiction, legal thrillers, or detective stories, suspension of disbelief is easier because the story could happen. SF has to work harder because it features elements not present in everyday life. For another example, in superhero comics, just because characters wear costumes and fire proton beams doesn't mean they're exempt from the responsibility of plausibility.

3. Science fiction and fantasy work according to rules and those rules are just as important as the rules of the real world. If having a watch in a Western is sloppy and takes a person out of the reality of the film, then having multiple versions of Atlantis existing simultaneously with totally different properties (as happened in DC during the sixties) is every bit as bad.

For a somewhat more contentious example, having Yoda fight with a lightsaber, as he did in the prequels, is a mistake every bit as bad as the digital watch, because Yoda was never shown as having a laser sword all through his appearances in the original movies, never trained Luke Skywalker in the use of a lightsaber (all those other things were more important) and as Yoda was a wise, spiritual teacher that taught the Force as something wondrous and beyond the physical, having Yoda fight with a lightsaber contradicts the very essence of the character. Just because Yoda is a fictional character and a fictional alien in a fictional galaxy doesn’t change the fact that going against his nature is a very, very real error.

Aaron Allston's "Doc Sidhe"

I should go a little easy when reviewing this book, because it was written in 1996, a year after "The Golden Compass" (published as "The Northern Lights" in Britain) and at the time, there was something very trendy and novel in the idea of alternate worlds that look a lot like a post-industrial past. Nowadays, this trend has been pretty much played out, and the Steampunk craze has run its course. "Doc Sidhe" does have something to offer, however, because the characters are so interesting and Aaron Allston is very good at extremely poignant moments.

In short, "Doc Sidhe" is about a down on his luck kickboxer that discovers a portal to the fairy world, an alternate universe that progressed to the cultural and technological level of the 1930s. The fairy world has human-sized fairies that live in cities with skyscrapers, but with a weirdly fairy tale edge: giant stone chimera and dragons adorn the art deco buildings. "Doc Sidhe" is a wizard/inventor from the fairy world, who befriends Harris.

If you want to make a checklist of steampunk elements this world has, you can take it almost beat by beat:

Airships. Check! I cut them some slack here because airships are cool, so I can understand the fascination.

Referring to things by old fashioned names, so you know it's an alternate universe? Check! One day, someone somewhere will visit an alternate universe where chocolate is called chocolate, but thus far, no dice. Spain is called "Castillan," Britain is "Cretanis." Like the Golden Compass, chocolate is called by a weird, Mesoamerican and historically accurate name, "xioc au lait," or "xioc with milk." Everything in fairy-ruled America is called by British names, like "lift" for elevators and "lorry" for trucks, and people drive on the left side of the road. This is to be expected in British-written fiction, but Anglophilia is one of the most bizarre American characteristics, and one that I unfortunately can't blame the South for, like I usually do with traits in my own country that I don't like (anti-intellectualism).

An aristocracy surviving to modern times? Check! Why do people find this exotic and interesting, anyway? The Star Wars or Dune-style resurrection of noble houses and monarchies in future or alternate societies always struck me as one of the more bizarre choices that writers make, since that particular stage in human development is behind us, even in places that historically had aristocracies like Sweden and Russia.

There are lots of cynical little details that make the world feel a lot less romantic, and thus more interesting, but frankly, not enough for my tastes. Darker-skinned fairies are unfortunately treated as shabbily in the fairy world as they were in the real 1930s for instance.

There are a few really great ideas in the story, among things that feel cliche for readers of industrial fantasy. The first is a superpower that, to the best of my knowledge, I have never seen anyone use before anywhere. The second is that, as a society becomes more complicated, "magic" becomes something that is technologically harnessed and studied. In the Fairy world, even the term magic itself is a discredited one.

What's more, the single most interesting thing about the plot is the main character, Harris, a down on his luck kickboxer. He's the classic textbook definition of the audience identification protagonist. He actually adds a lot to the story as a point of view character, something many pulp influenced stories are generally missing. When he goes on a mission with Doc's gang and has to plug a criminal, he feels horrible, something that a traditional hardboiled character wouldn't. His relationship with his girlfriend, who dumps him at the very beginning of the book, is the most interesting part of the story. Harris is a really nice guy, which is his problem: he lacks his own needs and wants of his own, and the reason his girlfriend left him is that she felt he wasn't a real person - just putty in the hands of anyone.

The character of Doc Sidhe only really becomes interesting at the very end of the novel, with a shocking twist that comes in the last 20 pages. Doc Savage was a great character, but like Tarzan, he's very distinctive, so anybody that is even slightly influenced by him shows his imprint. The way Aaron Allston created Doc Sidhe was to write him in a way that we think Doc Sidhe is identical to Savage...then, suddenly, have a sharp reversal that has all the more entertainment value because we don't see it coming. For instance, towards the end, we learn to our great surprise that Doc Sidhe has a girlfriend, a sexy Aztec fairy that is crazy, foreign, extroverted and says whatever comes to mind.

Aaron Allston is a supremely gifted writer at characterization. He creates people you like, and everyone had a personality trait, and you could never confuse dialogue from one character with dialogue from another. This book gives the feel of something written in a single draft, and believe it or not I mean that as a compliment: Allston was obviously figuring out who these characters are in the middle of the story, which is interesting to watch. It certainly means that unlike other books, it isn't something that starts off strong and then falls flat at the finish line; the book is "meh" in the middle and then quickly speeds up to a very, very strong finish.

Aaron Allston is extremely skilled at squeezing very powerful emotions. The death of one major character is much more profoundly moving than one would expect. One of the characters is Joseph, a golem-like monster made of clay created by a criminal that is a gentle being that in the past, was compelled to perform murders. Needless to say, his story does not have a happy ending.

In terms of action and adventure, Aaron Allston's characters aren't immortal and assured of victory. You get nervous for them because of their mortality, and how much you find you care about the characters.

In short, I'd recommend it.

Where there's a whip, there's a way

I've been rereading "Lord of the Rings" over the past week or so, and something occurred to me that I don't think anybody else has ever talked about. I had just finished the chapter at the beginning of "The Two Towers" were Merry and Pippin were taken prisoner by the mixed band of Isengard and Mordor Orcs.

To me at least, the Orcs are easily the most likeable race on Middle-Earth. Their dialogue is snappy, punchy and to the point, and they have a lot of humor. When the Orcs complain about having to move through sunlight, their leader urges them with, "oh, don't worry, you'll move fast enough with me behind you." There's another sequence where one of them asks if they should stop to rest while in the territory of the Riders of Rohan, and one of them says, "Oh, of course! Then let's invite those cursed horse-boys to a picnic afterward, while we're at it?"

After all the rhymed poetry and poncy speeches...someone actually used sarcasm in "Lord of the Rings!" It was such a breath of fresh air. Maybe the reason I respond so well to the Orcs is because they sound so American. It's interesting how in Hollywood, an English accent adds to your villainy, whereas Brits make their evil forces sound and talk like Yanks.

Anyway, it's hard not to find amusing a song like "Where there's a whip, there's a way."



The Orcs are tough, skinny and capable of sudden, stabby violence for very little reason. They remind me a little of the Nazi villains from "Inglorious Basterds," who were werewolves in human form.


Incidentally, speaking of Rohan, you know who Peter Jackson originally wanted for Eowyn? Allison Doody, best known as the Nazi double-agent from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. If you were to ask me what her nationality is, the list would be very, very, very long before it gets anywhere near Irish.

I don't know the circumstances, but shoot...if you look like that, and you can't get a part as a Scandinavian warrior princess, it's time to give up acting forever.

The one and only thing that I think Peter Jackson's otherwise extraordinary film version did wrong was that it explicitly made a character as grandiose and terrible as Saruman a mere puppet of Sauron. Saruman and Isengard was more like a very dangerous third factor at play, a second deadly enemy that wanted the power of the Ring for himself, who, perhaps because the characters actually interacted with him, was actually a more dangerous and interesting figure than even the otherwise dull Big Bad Sauron himself. Saruman was the closest these movies got to a "Doctor Doom."

As a consequence, some scenes just don't make sense. For instance, in the book version of Fellowship, when Saruman offers to use the One Ring together with Gandalf, that "together we can be the Lords of the Ring," Gandalf rebuffs him by saying "there can be only one Lord of the Rings, and he would not share power" (referring to the innate evil, jealousy and corruption of the Ring that makes it impossible for more than one to possess it).

Roger Zelazny's Greatest Hits: "Nine Princes in Amber"

I'm very surprised that I enjoyed Zelazny's NINE PRINCES IN AMBER, Zelazny's take on the mythology of the Tarot, as much as I did. I generally dislike the traditional kind of "fairies and dragons" fantasy, opting for the more innovative and weird kind like Tanith Lee and Moorcock's. There is still a soft spot in my heart for Andre Norton's WITCH WORLD.

One advantage I had was, I read NINE PRINCES IN AMBER "cold," without any prior knowledge of the series, so the mysteries in the beginning part of the book really were captivating. Corwin wakes up in a hospital bed after a car crash without his memory, where the nurses are determined to keep him drugged. Corwin has no memory of who or what kept him prisoner, and he discovers that he is kept prisoner on our Earth by members of his own family, all of whom have been struggling for power since their father died.

"Never trust a relative. It is far worse than trusting strangers. With a stranger there is a possibility that you might be safe."

The greatest prize is Amber, located at the center of the universe and the very model and archetype of the perfect city. Everything else in the multiverse, every other city, every other earth (even our own) is a mere shadow reflection of the true Amber. This is why Corwin and his relatives fight over Amber. Sure, they could just as easily find in the cosmos another Amber where they are rulers, but only Amber, the perfect city, is "real." Each and every one of them have a distinct appearance, fit to be placed on playing cards: Corwin's colors are black and silver, for instance.

The character of Corwin himself is one of the most fascinating in fantasy fiction. Corwin is rather like Elric in a lot of ways, and the series shows a definite Moorcock influence: Corwin is a brilliant strategist whose greatest advantage is his mind, from a family, a race that is expected to consider other races in the multiverse as disposable cannon fodder, so haughty that even insulting a Prince of Amber means the offender can be killed on the spot. Yet, at the same time, because of his time on our Shadow-Earth, Corwin is "softened," and fights between his natural instincts and his embryonic conscience. In the world of Amber, evil can only be opposed by a better class of evil, and Corwin remarks in THE GUNS OF AVALON that if the day ever comes when evil itself ceases to exist, Corwin too, would be dragged into oblivion.

Corwin is hardly a clean-limbed gallant prince, but a rough, tough scrapper, more Humphrey Bogart than Prince Charming, reminiscent of the brawling he-man heroes of Leigh Brackett. Unlike Elric, Corwin has a wonderful sense of humor: when battling a demon, the demon warns him against using the name to summon him.

"Use it? I can't even pronounce it...!"

The world that Zelazny created was nothing short of astonishing. One of the more incredible sequences features an exact double of the city of Amber, Rebma, located entirely underwater. Astonishingly, the water is entirely breathable by air breathers! Every member of the sons of Amber are equipped with a Trump Deck that enables the family to communicate with each other no matter where they are in the cosmos. What's more, the closer one gets to Amber the less likely things are to work: gunpowder, for example, doesn't ignite in any dimension close to Amber, which gives the warfare on that world an old-fashoined character.

One of the more fascinating sequences involves Corwin and his little irresponsible little brother brother Random zipping through the cosmos in a Mercedes-Benz. They watch the Mercedes-Benz shift and change as they switch between Shadow Worlds, where their brother Julian (nice name!) guards the entrance to Amber. His enchanted silver mail stops their bullets, and his huge hounds keep pace with their car, ripping bumpers off with their teeth.

"It's a good thing his hounds never hunted a car before," Random says, "or else they'd know to go for the wheels."

It's that sort of humor that defines the Amber series. It's not broad Gilbert-and-Sullivan stuff like Fritz Leiber, but a subtle, very venomous and dry kind. It's also the series's best recommendation.

Coming up next: Zelazny's magnum opus, LORD OF LIGHT!

Del Rey Publishes new "deluxe" Elric collection

Well, it's about freakin' time.

Del Rey, the guys responsible for those great, complete Robert E. Howard collections, are giving the same treatment to Mike Moorcock and his famous Elric stories. These tales are dynamite supernatural adventure, a place where "nightmare armies assemble for battle and statues scream."

This is Elric as he was originally published in the pages of SCIENCE FANTASY, the short stories that Moorcock eventually blew up to become his novels. If you've only read them in that form (I only read Elric in the White Wolf editions and the DAW reprints), this stuff is familiar but very shocking. The full-length novels explained things like, for instance, how Yyrkoon usurped Elric's throne, how Elric discovered Stormbringer.

This collection features the initial stories as well as the first Elric novel, STORMBRINGER. Some people have complained about Conan the Barbarian, a hero of his statue deserved a Gotterdammerung, a send-off. Moorcock does so in a big way. STORMBRINGER is a grim, Ragnarok end-of-the-world story. It gives Elric what Conan never got, a legendary death that suits him.

If you can only read one Elric story, read "The Dreaming City." It has everything that makes Elric "Elric" (well, except the part where Elric keeps on popping up as a guest-star in Moorcock's less profitable novels when those series need a shot in the arm): Elric's leading a human pirate army against his own people, his grim destiny, the hideous demon-god Arioch, and ultimately, the curse of Stormbringer, an evil vampiric sentient sword with a taste for the blood of Elric's friends and loved ones.

That one story, the first Elric story, details everything Elric is about. His hallucinogenic weirdness (Elric is what Tolkien would look like, if Tolkien took acid).

The specials are terrific: essays by Michael Moorcock where he goes on about his favorite topic, Michael Moorcock, as well as dozens of original covers, STORMBRINGER's first review, and even a story by Moorcock from his fanzine days (it's about as bad as you expect).

The illustrations by Joe Picaccio are gorgeous and really give a sense of fear and atmosphere...though all Joe usually does is paint Elric in an angsty emo pose holding his sword.

You know, I've noticed that illustrators never illustrate the things you'd like to see illustrated about a book. How many illustrators have shied away from doing the blind alien elephant monster from Howard's "Tower of the Elephant?" The single most dramatic scene in Burroughs's "Gods of Mars," where John Carter watches while the door slams shut, Phaidor is about to stab Dejah Thoris, while Thuvia races to the rescue...to the best of my knowledge, I don't think has ever been illustrated.

C'mon, STORMBRINGER had a million different memorable scenes to illustrate: the battle between Elric and Arioch, the friggin' Vulture Lions, Elric vs. a giant intelligent squid god on the deck of a ship, and a cloud of thousands of floating black swords attacking a god like a school of pirahna. None of them were really drawn up.

One artist that bucks this trend is Frank Kelly Freas. I always loved his SHE cover, mostly because it didn't spoil the peak scene with Ayesha naked in the fire.