Film Review: The Hobbit (2012)

Hobbit Review!

There is a lot to cover so I'm not going to beat around the bush: this was a great movie, it was a ton of fun to watch and very well done, I enjoyed it immensely. Get it. Got it? Good. Also, there will be talk of 3D and the 48 FPS. Oh, and midnight showings are the best showings.

Acting: The acting was great. Bilbo is sufficiently Baggins-y in the first act and ends up much more Took-ish by the last, which is great. All the dwarves were just a lot of fun to watch, whether they were fighting or singing or making physical body-humor type gags they were all very interesting. You might now remember which one is which, but they work great as an ensemble cast and it’ll be great to see Bilbo work his way into that ensemble more in the next two films. Ian McKellen did a great job, as always, with Gandalf - especially since The Hobbit Gandalf is much younger than the Lord of the Rings Gandalf. Here, he is much more surly and spry to fit the role. Oh, and Radagast is probably my favorite character in the whole thing.

Music: A good deal of the soundtrack was reused from the LOTR trilogy and I'm sure I don't have to mention how good that soundtrack is. There are many scenes that play on the audiences' knowledge of the LOTR and certain tracks rise and fall in a way that reflects LOTR. We have a strong connection to that music already - we have scenes in our mind about what certain tracks mean - and it helps link the collective lore of Middle Earth together. I'll never forget the moments of revelation for Bilbo or the LOTR hobbits when the Shire theme swells up and reminds us of the peaceful homely hobbit holes that they all left in favor of hard adventure. My only real criticism is the singing: the book has a ton of music and song as a part of the charm, but it always felt out of place to me. They aren't musical numbers, but characters are still breaking out into song and it is just strange to have in a film. In a book, it makes sense as a storytelling device; in a film, you have other story devices to use. The singing just felt a bit forced to me the whole way through.

Direction and Cinematography: There was just so much cool stuff going on here and I can't do it justice on paper, but here goes. If you are familiar with LOTR, then you think you know exactly what to expect…well, for the most part you'd be right. Most of the techniques are the same or similar, all part of the overall style of the collective Middle Earth universe. Many scenes are shot in a way to reference the other films and build continuity. For example, Bilbo and Frodo have mirrored scenes when it comes to the ring. However, there are some key scenes that I thought stood out. Minor spoilers if you haven't read the book. The game of riddles in Gollum's cave is beautifully shot and edited with a great sense of timing. The mood and tone swings rapidly between cheerfully morbid and eerily threatening (partly due to the actors, but the scene all around as well) because the camera suddenly changes attitude to fit the feel. Also, the escape from the Goblin King was one of my favorite sequences in recent years. The whole escape was shot at a breakneck pace with Gandalf and the Dwarves sprinting through the vast and cavernous underground city fighting goblins the whole way. They vault across bridges and use some fabulous improvised weapons (a ladder, a tree, a giant boulder) and many parts of the sequence are shot to appear like a 2D side scrolling video game. Depth is tactfully removed to show the party sprinting in single file down passageways in a way that is reminiscent of Indiana Jones mine-cart scenes. Actually, there was whole lot of Indiana Jones references going on the whole time they were underground. It was beautiful. It was just such a treat to see a demonstration of the range of skill and technique that could be employed to make the sequence work and visually make sense in a fresh way; the sudden 2D shots amidst a rich 3D environment was just too cool.

Effects and Locations: Special effects were great as always. At this point Peter Jackson has a firm grasp of knowing what things should be CGI and what things should be real life effects. Some directors don't know and the effects look terrible as a result (cough, Phantom Menace, cough). Here, it all looks great. Additionally, the combination of real landscapes and CGI additions to the landscapes was flawless. I happen to know where certain things were fabricated because, well, I was there. Living a semester in New Zealand and getting to know the landscape gives me some special insight about the locations and I'll just say: Any time the landscape was fabricated (which was rare) it is almost impossible to tell. There may have been one or two times in the theater I struggled not to yell out: “GUYS, I’VE BEEN THERE!”

3D: I saw this film in 3D and it was great. The 3D was not used for terrify-the-audience-with-things-flying-at-them gimmicks, rather the 3D was all about giving the film a fantastic sense of depth. When you have huge and beautiful landscapes and enormous caverns and cities, 3D is a great way to experience it all. There was the occasional gimmick - arrows being shot directly at you in 3D, for example - but usually it is used for monumental moments like Bilbo's interactions with the ring. With rare exception, if something is coming at you in 3D it is not to scare you. For some reason though, there was a need to have Bilbo’s buttons popp off at us in 3D during his escape scene. But, whatever. Also, the 3D glasses are SWEET and shaped to imitate the key to the mountain. And they come in a sweet little pouch, which to be honest, could easily be a dice pouch. The Hobbit's PR department knows their audience too well.

48 Frames per Second: This was a hot button topic for a lot of people when it was announced, so let me explain. Our eyes are trained to see screens at 24 frames per second (fps) and film has always been at 23.97fps. It is what we're used to and what looks best to our eyes. 48fps, double that, is uncanny. We are not used to seeing humans move on a screen at 48fps. Sure, most video games these days play at 60fps so it isn't too far fetched, but those are animated graphics, not real people. Seeing a higher fps on people looks too much like real life for our brains to be comfortable. We simply are not used to it, so many people hate it. I hate it. I cannot stand watching a show in 48fps because, to me, it hits the Uncanny Valley, where things look so much like real life that it is just unsettling. Our minds want to reject the fact that something mechanical, like a TV, can replicate reality so well. Now, that said, at first this was jarring and entirely unsettling, but after about 15 minutes I got used to it. The thing is: this is a fantasy setting, not a real life setting, so the 48fps does a brilliant job a representing an alternate reality - not my own reality, so it appears less uncanny. There is definitely an adjustment period where you have to get used to it all, but after that it is fine. Just like when the jump-cut was introduced in early cinema, 48fps is just something that is a little jarring to get used to but I wouldn't be surprised if it became the norm.

Plot and Lore: The plot of the film does NOT follow the book exactly. There are some minor lateral changes and a number of things that are added into the plot for the sake of lore. The lore of the dwarves is shown in great detail to give the viewer a greater sense of the overall history of the characters and of Middle Earth. Most of the changes to the plot are fairly minor and are simply contrivances to introduce more lore that was left out in the original text but are within Tolkien's universe. These things mainly revolve around the Necromancer - a villainous character briefly mentioned in the book but plays a large role in world. The changes, as I mentioned, are lateral: everything that is supposed to happen, does. All the main plot points are there, just some things are shifted sideways to make room for those additional lore related events. I am very glad that this will be a trilogy because there really is so much content to show.

Overall: This is a very fun movie and I would highly recommend it. There are a number of fantastic and memorable moments, great action, great physical body humor, and a very strong cast. Sure, there are some contrivances to make reference to the LOTR trilogy, but never in a bad way. You have to remember that this crew and Peter Jackson have the whole LOTR under their belts already. They know how to craft a film and use that huge budget to the best possible effect. Everything is deliberate and well thought out. When you watch this film, you are comforted by the fact that this master storyteller knows exactly what he is doing and you are more than willing to just let yourself enjoy the story.

Favorite moment? In the Goblin City, the dwarves approach a bridge teeming with goblins. Dwalin, at the front, lets out a monosyllabic grunt. SOMEHOW the other dwarves know that this means “Hey guys, lets pick up this tree and use it like a windshield wiper to sweep these goblins off the bridge.” And then, that happens. I just thought it was hysterical that he just barks a non-word, and everyone is just like “Dude, we know exactly that that means we gotta just do the most badass thing we possibly can right now. We got your back. Let’s do this.”

9/10

- Jay

Episode 6: In Which Jay Gets Killed by the Mafia About Ten Times.

Previously, on Keep Calm and Joust On

Jay bought a bunch of paintings from salvation army to use a decorations. No jokes here, second hand shops are like the best place to obtain awesome art on the cheap. Hell, you can even buy some crappy art and a few tubes of paint then rework the canvas into some sweet multimedia piece. I got four paintings $9.

Whales Are Probably Aliens

Day 5: The fifth day on Rarotonga was our first real day of the educational part of this field trip. We started with an economics lecture from a disgruntled and very angry economist. He had some choice things to say about the current state of affairs on the island and about how poorly he thought Pacific politics are being handled. The lecture was at the 'university' on the island, which was one building with a bunch of computers and tribal statues. I believe we sat in the only lecture room in the building, but I was still a bit blown away that there was a university at all. The island only has a population barely over 9000. After that lecture we headed to our second: a lecture by Nan Hausser, a fairly well known whale researcher. We learned some crazy things about whale movement patterns, reproduction, and navigation. It turns out that there is a large amount of research that indicates that whales actual navigate the ocean by stars. Celestial navigation was used by human navigators with a heavy amount of math and logic, but apparently whales have long hairs that allow them to be expert celestial navigators. Basically, whales are goddamn space aliens. Which, honestly, I could totally understand that - it kinda makes sense to me.

After lectures we headed off to a farm and learned to plant taro, the native root vegetable. Taro is a vital part of sustenance in the Cook Islands and is basically a really bland and chalky tasting grey potato. But, it is one of the only vegetables that natively grows, so it ends up in almost every meal in some way. Then, we learned the art of climbing coconut trees. It is difficult. Our native guide, however, managed to shimmy up the tree trunk in a few mere seconds. He went on to teach us how to properly husk, crack, drink coconut water and eat the meat. He somehow managed to husk a coconut with his teeth and in about a fraction of the time we were able too. The proper way to husk a coconut is to smash it at various angles onto a sharpened ironwood stick that you've put in the ground and prying off the thick husk. Most people don't realize, coconuts don't come off the tree as they appear in the supermarket. Instead they are enclosed in massive nut shaped husks about a foot in diameter. I can now truthfully say that I've climbed a coconut tree and husked and eaten a coconut freshly from said tree. In a jungle. On a tropical island. So, I feel pretty badass about that.

The final part of our educational day was spent at the Pacific Island Forum opening ceremonies. There was a great deal of pomp and ceremony as 15 Pacific countries were represented. Dignitaries were brought in on thrones, carried by manservant teams of 8 dudes each. There was a solid amount of press and security and lots of food and performance to go around. It did strike me as funny: for all of the ceremony, the only place big enough on the island for this was the local indoor basketball gym. The bleachers were full and we had to peek in through the windows to see the performances. Afterwards, we all unwound, cerebrated some birthdays within our group, played cards, and traded stories about life late into the night.

Day 6: We woke early for another lecture, this one on island bio-diversity. It was actually quite interesting to learn about the sheer number of endangered and protected species that lived on such a small island. Our lecturer could say "that is endangered" and just point to what he was talking about. However, I could hardly pay attention because today was our awesome day trip day. We quickly left the university to go on a cross island walk through the jungle. Since the island is so small it only took less than four hours to trek all the way up a mountain and down the other side. The foliage was lush and green, the air hot and breezy, and the path treacherous. We scrambled up and over tree roots, climbed steep slopes, and hopped across streams on our way to the top. At the top of the mountain we were faced with amazing views all around, seeing the coast in 360 degrees put the fact that we were on an island into some serious perspective. The climb up was intense, the climb down was dangerous. Along the way we found streams and awesome plants and wildlife. The views were great, the people awesome to walk with.

After that, we headed off to the beach to rent kayaks. The island is small and there are tiny islands surrounding the various lagoons that were easy to paddle to. We hopped in and explored some islands, finding cool things and having some solid bonding time. Probably my prize of the trip was discovering half of a rusted harmonica in the shallow pools on one island. We set back for dinner on the beach next to a stunning sunset. The bar was run by an eccentric Hawaiian white guy named Jim who was, as they say, a hoot and a holler.

We returned to further celebrate birthdays and play some of the most intense games of Mafia I've ever seen. This went LONG into the night, everyone wanted the chance to play god and tell the story to hilarious effect. As a future note: getting people drunk for playing mafia is always a hilarious idea. It also gave me a great premise for Mafia: townspeople are hobbits, the town is the shire, mafia are ring wraiths, the medic is a ranger, the detective is a wizard, and the hobbits all die in gruesome ways when they try to go off on adventures. We just need someone with knowledge of LOTR to be the story master.

Day 7: Massive breakfast, we packed everyone up into one cabin. 18 people in a space for 6. Then we just had a free beach day, which was great. We had to walk about a mile to an actual beach, but we could easily do so by walking around the island through the lagoon. I went on this walk around the lagoon, white dog following, with a gorgeous girl, on a gorgeous sunny day, bare feet in the water, book under one arm, and could not help but think "well, this just plain sublime". I've never been so relaxed and happy at one time. Even though I totally accidentally dropped my book in the lagoon, I was still as happy as possibly could be. I mean, actually, I don't know what could top that. As a group, we spent the day on the beach, reading, chatting, and accumulating a small pack of dogs. We seemed to attract animals wherever we went. At the house there was Tim the cat, if I hadn't mentioned him, and a flock of chickens that hung around as well.

Finally, we packed up for good, went to the airport and left Rarotonga late at night. We all tried to get shut eye, all 18 of us packed into one cabin or lying on the balcony. The airport security was hilariously easy to pass through and we flew away from that one landing strip all the way across the international date line back to Auckland. Technically, because of traveling back and forth over the date line, we pulled some impressive Back to the Future time travel. In Aukland we said our goodbyes with a great big cinnamon roll hug before heading to Christchurch. 

I will miss those Aukland kids, and can only hope to meet up with them back in the states at some point. Amazing people who were just so much fun to be around and interact with.

- Jay

Episode 5: In Which Jay Never Knew What Time It Was On The Island

Previously on Keep Calm and Joust On

Jay completed his courses at University of Canterbury, had a BBQ, feared for the life of a chinchilla that was being chased by an aardvark, and was generally productive. Oh, and on the island we 'adopted' a white dog that followed us around, his name was Charlie/Lester and he was a total boss.

Pa's Magical Mystery Tour

Day 3: On the third day of Rarotonga we got dressed and snazzy to go to a local church and experience a sunday mass island style. It was interesting to say the least, and I struggled not to dick around as I typically would. Despite the exotic location, island dialect, and baptist church style hats…I still hate going to church. Something about it just is off putting and makes me think that I'm in a cult. It might have something to do with the fact that I am of the opinion that organized religions are essentially glorified cults - the blind worship, the money collecting, the ritualistic chanting in unison, the eerily synchronized patterns of rising and sitting. Thankfully, I didn't offend anyone when I was there. I guess being around so many devout christians in Christchurch has taught me valuable lessons in holding myself back. 

After that affair, we went onto something that I would consider to be potentially a far more religious experience: snorkeling in the reef. The water was warm, the fish brilliant, and the coral beautiful. I never had gone snorkeling before and after that experience I found myself stunned that no one had ever made me go before. It definitely inspired me to go diving someday. After seeing so many incredible fish (including a stonefish!) we hung out with our British guides and ate coconuts. Cool dudes. Later we went to a bar/restaurant/mini-golf place called Coco Putt and chatted with them more. I love mini golf, and island mini golf is one hell of an experience. Messing around, trying crazy strokes, and all the while a goddamn jungle just a few hundred meters away. The clouds crowded in and let down some torrential rains to end out night in a big drenched bang as we sprinted back through enormous puddles with giant smiles on our faces.

Day 4: The next day we visited the Takitumu primary school on the island and were swarmed by small children. We learned some basic Maori language pronunciations and words and how to make crafts out of various ferns from the island. The faculty treated us to a special buffet of traditional foods, which was amazing. During the recess type period we all got swarmed, I mean zerg-rushed, by a small horde of children demanding piggy-back rides and to be spun around by their arms. I suddenly understood how exactly how lone survivors in horror movies feel - the swarm surrounding them on all sides. Relentless. They take no prisoners. We all were quickly run ragged from playing and barely escaped with our lives.

Afterwards we set out on a special tour of the jungle. Pa Tangaroa, a local medicine man took us on a walk to show us the various traditional healing plants the island offered. It was interesting to see the strange combination of tribal superstition, christian superstition, and actual science melding together. Unfortunately, most of it came off as a crock of shit. He would often point at certain plants and proudly proclaim they would cure cancer. "See this plant? If you boil the root and eat it, it cures cervical cancer in a week!" All I could do was think in sarcastic tones: "Wow, you should tell more people about that, see the rest of the world is having a huge problem with cancer. The people of the world could really use a cure, dude." Interesting, yes; credible, not so much. The only thing of note was that there were eucalyptus plants and a certain kind of mint leaves that helped out with clearing airways. Claire has lost most of her voice at the time, and the mint helped her out a bit - even if it tasted horrible. The best part about Pa's tour was towards the end: he suddenly strayed from the path and grabbed a long stalk-like plant and told us that is was narcotics. He actually used the word 'narcotics' I shit you not. He regaled with tales of his drug use, which, of course brought him closer to the christian god. The plant he had in his hand, he said, could be and-processed into a fine powder and either snorted or dissolved in water and drank. According to his story, this would induce a hypnotic trance that seemed to bring users to the edge of consciousness while also hyper stimulating senses for a sort of heightened drunkenness. Then, to SHOW us what the powder looked like, he took a tin out of his pack and opened it to reveal over a kilo of this drug. Just casually. IT WAS THE ONLY THING IN HIS PACK. We thought, "oh, maybe he has shoes in his pack, or water, or food, or maybe a first aid kit." NOPE. JUST DRUGS. He proceeded to offer us the drug, out of the tin in his pack. Our program directors were not impressed. Naturally, Chelsea tried a little.

We finally, got away from Pa, another great escape (did I mention he was in his 50s and would creepily make sex jokes and hit on the girls in our group…no? Well, consider it mentioned.) and headed out to dinner. The Aqua Cafe was easily the nicest place we ate, a full hotel set up with more amazing food. We all bonded over how ridiculous Pa was and had ourselves a grand-old time. A final walk back to the huts in the dark was followed by cards, shenanigans, and a good time.

That wrapped up our fourth day, easily the most entertaining day we could have had. To be continued….

- Jay

Creative Work: Brain Eating Zombies From Area 51 (video)

Music Video

This is a project I've been working on off and on for the past two months. Primarily done in my spare time, I've finally been able to finish now that I'm done with papers and course work. It is a music video for a little known ska band from Germany called Skankshot. I found them wandering around the internet looking for royalty-free/Creative Commons 3.0 licensed music and I really dig their sound. Since the song is about zombies, I figured I'd use George Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968) - also CC 3.0 because Romero is the man. I present: "Brain Eating Zombies From Area 51"

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSRScxarBiI

- Jay

Creative Work: On the Topic of Life Goals

Creative Writing and Monologues and Projects

I figure that since I have so many small personal projects that I work on, I might as well put them up online somewhere. Well, my blog just happens to be 'somewhere'. I've started this process already by creating a youtube channel for my video and audio work (http://www.youtube.com/user/SolidGambit). The title "Solid Gambit" comes from the idea that putting any sort of work you think is good in a public space is a gambit - it is my first foray into openly publishing my work online and I risk as much criticism as I can muster. Bring it on. The piece I am posting here is my final monologue for my creative writing class at University of Canterbury, which I submitted as my 'final exam'. Hopefully before I get back to the states I will have recorded an audio version and edited together some footage to make this a short film. Here's hoping. As a fair warning, this is a long monologue.

On the Topic of Life Goals

Scene: The following monologue is spoken over film footage. The footage is all first person and hand-held shaky-cam. The camera takes us on a late night journey through a nearly deserted town. It takes us into cars, drives by neon signs and traffic lights, stops occasionally at supermarkets and shopping centers. The film is grainy and unprofessional. We assume that the camera is point of view the person speaking.

I want to make a gritty reboot of Scooby-Doo. I mean, really gritty. It'll be like a "where are they now?" sort of thing. Real gritty, you know? Like, Daphne is a stripper at Fred's skeezy club in downtown LA. Velma runs a meth lab in the basement; Shaggy and Scooby are the drug mules. Fred is venturing into organized crime and at some point the Mystery Machine will get shot up in a police chase. After so many years of trying to help the cops the team realized that mystery solving just doesn't pay the bills. They had to make a living somehow and all their dealings with the criminal underbelly of the city put them in contact with some major players. I bet Fred would be the mastermind. He was always the one with the complicated plans in the TV show after all, so I bet he'd make these elaborate deals and power plays against various mafioso. Of course, the plans would always go awry because Scooby messed something up – but Scooby's dumb luck and a "scooby snack" or two would make it all work out in the end. Oh, and I'd kill off Scrappy-Doo as soon as I got the chance. I always hated him. I don't know, I guess I just have a lot of free time to think about this kind of stuff. Who the hell would want to make a gritty reboot of Scooby-Doo? Probably just me.


I really want to make a gritty reboot of Scooby-Doo, but I can't. I'm still just a film student. I don't have those kind of resources yet. I don't have the know-how. I don't have the connections. It takes a lot to make a tv show or a film. Next time you watch a movie, and everyone else gets up to leave the theater, wait and watch the credits. Count. Just try to count all the names in the credits. It takes literally hundreds of people to make a film and they all need to get paid. It is unfathomable. Absolutely insane. But, eventually, eventually I'll make that gritty reboot. There would be interest in it anyways. I figure enough people still grow up with Scooby-Doo that they’d want to watch it. I mean, I'd watch that movie. I'd watch the hell out of that movie. That's why I want to make it. I feel like too many producers and directors, these days, just don't like what they make. So many crap-tastic films come out every year: you just know that during filming those directors woke up every morning after hitting the "snooze" button - at least three times – before going to work disgusted by their 27th remake of Halloween or Texas Chainsaw Massacre only with more boobs and gore than the last one. How many different Michael Myers and chainsaws do we really need? As many as the studio wants, I suppose.


Maybe I should do a reboot of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Not a remake, but a sort of re-imagining, you know? The whole thing is about a demented family that kills and eats stupid teenagers, right? I could do something with that. Totally. Let's see…well, the family is all male, so we'll make them all female for starters. Maybe instead of a leather facemask, one just wears a lot of make-up. Instead of being real creepy looking and inbred they'll be pleasant and proper, but we'll keep that gross corpse-like grandfather. That bit is always good for a laugh, even if it is a bit grotesque. I think it'll be a nice sort of statement about gender roles in horror films: a decrepit corpse of a paternal figure loosely in control of pleasantly psychotic cannibal women that run around a Texan farmhouse killing teenagers with blatantly phallic chainsaws and hammers and meat hooks. It's brilliant is what it is.


I should make that film. I can't wait. Like I said, right now, I’m still just in school. All I can do is get my degree out of the way as fast as possible. All I can do is read about film and art and get the most out of being here. After that, I’ll be able to make my venture out into the film industry and create my very own Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I guess I'm really just drawn to the idea of re-doing stuff that already exists. Just because one filmmaker made a film one way doesn't mean it should end there. I don't mean plain remakes, I hate those. I think that anything one person builds another person has the right to tear it right down and rebuild it however they like. Take Beowulf for example. The classic epic tale of Beowulf fighting off the terrible creature Grendel and going on crazy adventures and fighting a dragon and all that. See, the story is all good and cool, but it's all from Beowulf's point of view. There was this writer, Tom Gardner, and he thought like I think: let's tear it down and build something new! So he wrote a book called Grendel - see, its the story of Beowulf, but from Grendel's point of view. Grendel gets to explain his murderous rampage and his mommy issues. We get to see this whole other side of the story that we never saw in the original. Margaret Atwood did the same thing, only different: she wrote this book called The Penelopiad, you see, it's all about The Odyssey but its told by Odysseus' wife, Penelope, looking back on her life after she died and went to Hades. In The Odyssey we never really hear from Penelope; in The Penelopiad, she finally gets her say about everything.


It's really…. postmodern. I guess. Do you know what postmodernism is? It's really cool. Basically, if existentialism asks, "why am I alive?" then postmodernism asks, "why do you presume there is an answer to that?" It seems a bit nihilistic, sure, but it forces you to think about the concept of meaning and assigning meaning. There is this famous postmodern art installation by Joseph Kosuth that goes by the name "One and Three Chairs". There is a chair, a picture of that chair, and an enlarged dictionary definition of the word chair. This piece begs the question: how can we possibly have a single and concrete definition of "chair"? After all, each of the three chairs is a valid representation of "chair". Meaning is flexible and inconsistent in everyday life and we take it for granted: no one thinks about the meaning they've assigned "chair" but this installation makes us realize how fragile and relative that meaning really is.


Of course, always take these sorts of ideas with a mountain of salt, or else you'll go mad. The very concept of realizing that our entire library of meanings barely means anything at all could send an individual into a complete downward spiral. We're talking complete nihilism. If our lives can mean anything, then our lives can mean nothing at all. If Scooby-doo means can mean justice, then Scooby-doo can mean corruption. If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you. Oscar Wilde said that. Brilliant author and you've got to admit: he's got a point. In fact, this is why a lot of intense questions of postmodernism and nihilism and existentialism are posed in joke form. Difficult stuff to digest but it makes you laugh in case the question frightens you.


Take this one, for example: Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side!


I've always had a sort of love/hate relationship with this joke. Well, I guess it is really an anti-joke. First of all, who is this chicken and why should I care? Is this chicken actually important or is it just some random chicken we, the audience of the joke, have just magically stumbled upon? Is it a magic chicken? Does it belong to someone? Does it have a family or some sort of story? WE just don't know. WE get absolutely no contextual clues about this chicken or the situation. All we get is "why did the chicken cross the road?" But, this is entirelyx intentional. We're supposed to either fill in our own answers or cope with the fact that there might not even be an answer. This is a postmodern exercise really. Just like defining "chair" we are faced with defining "chicken". It isn't a red chicken, it isn't one with spots or funny feathers, it isn't short or large, its just a "chicken" and whoever is telling the joke is manipulating our minds into filling that ambiguous chicken-sized gap with whatever we define as "chicken". I guarantee that whatever I imagine that chicken to look like is completely different to what you are imagining right now.


I say love/hate because I hate that this joke it puts us in a position of unwilling agency. Asking that question assumes that we are in some sort of position to actually know the damn answer - yet, we have no idea. Whenever I'm asked, I'm overcome by this sudden wave of guilt and shame: I should know why that chicken crossed the road, and I can't believe that I never took enough interest to actually know why. Great. Thanks, you jerk joke-teller. Now I feel bad. Ultimately, there is simply no way to know the answer. Like I said: no clues or context. It is impossible to know that chicken's motives. We've been faced with an impossible task and I feel nothing but helplessness at my inability to understand this enigma of a chicken. I'm helpless to understand a mere chicken, how pathetic is that? Even if it is a hypothetical chicken, this chicken is still a complete mystery. Behind its imaginary beak and beady eyes lies the greatest mystery I've ever encountered. This simple chicken is suddenly more mysterious and interesting than James Bond. I should make a reboot of James Bond, too. I'll figure that one out later.


Anyways, the joke always gets me frustrated. Why did the chicken cross the road? Why don't we just ask the chicken? Hell, why are you asking me? I don't even give a shit about this chicken. I shouldn't anyways. You know what? Fuck this chicken! But, I digress.


The joke inevitably comes to it's natural conclusion: to get to the other side. Wow. And just the set up alone gave me a lot to think about. Now this punch line? To get to the other side of WHAT? The road? I doubt it. If we have such an enigmatic and abstract postmodern chicken on our hands I think it is safe to assume "the other side" has some deeper meaning to it. Maybe the other side means the afterlife. Maybe the journey of crossing the road is the chicken's life and getting to the other side means its racing towards death… which is pretty depressing for a chicken. But it makes you think, doesn't it? Maybe this is a cautionary tale: don't go through life just to get to the end. Maybe this is cautionary tale: while the road can be filled with cars and hazards that might kill you, if all you do is try to just get to the other side, what's the point? You die anyways. Or maybe, the other side of the road is irrelevant. Maybe the chicken is counting on being hit by a car or truck so it can die and get to "the other side". Do we find out, at long last, that our chicken is actually suicidal? That dramatically changes the question! Why did the chicken cross the road suddenly is transformed into why did the chicken commit suicide? Come to think of it: chickens only have beaks and claws, they can't really kill themselves at all - crossing the road to get hit by a truck could be the only way. And, hell, maybe our chicken really needed to commit suicide, we don't know what its life has been like. Maybe it just can't stand to lay another egg that will only be stolen by a farmer, put into a crate, bought, sold, and fried up with bacon. Maybe it thinks that suicide is the only way out this miserable reproductive slavery. Or, maybe the chicken is really a metaphor for ourselves. Why would we commit suicide? The question is a hard and very serious one, but I suppose masking that sort of deep existential crisis as a chicken joke is a pretty good way of disguising such a serious topic. The next time someone asks you why the chicken crossed the road, I suggest you give a good hard think as to why they are asking about your mental health!


Of course, maybe there is just some food on the other side of the road and our chicken is just a bit peckish. I guess we'll never know - and that is my point. We'll never know the meaning of the joke or the chicken's motives and we have to live with that fact: something has no knowable meaning. All we can do is make up meanings for ourselves. All we can do question existing meanings. All we can do is analyze the chicken's motives. All we can do is tear down our concept of meaning and build it anew and THAT is why I want to make a gritty reboot of Scooby-Doo.


The camera, in a car, pulls into the driveway of a suburban house and parks. The shot lingers and then fades to black.


Thanks for reading.
- Jay

Episode 4: In Which Jay Arrives in Rarotonga and Makes Friends

Last time on Keep Calm and Joust On:

Jay figured out that the automatic posting function does not work the way he thought it did, went bowling, and made a music video for a German third wave ska band named "Skankshot".

You Can Dance if You Want To. You Can Leave Your Friends Behind.

As an IES abroad student we have several group trips through the semester, and our big one is to Rarotonga, the largest of the Cook Islands. Because our group is so small, only three of us, we joined up with the Aukland IES program for a much larger trip. Three of us became eighteen of us. And that was pretty awesome.

Day 1: After a restless night we woke up to catch our 4:30am taxi to the Christchurch airport for a one hour flight into Auckland. We hopped off the plane and wandered the airport, I was pretty familiar with it after all the time I spent there entering the country in July. Our small group met the Auklanders and we tried remember each others names. Check in. Customs. Security. A quick stop at the duty free shop and we were off. A three and a half hour flight was made easy by a hot meal and the movie Drive. Which was pretty sweet. I was able to grab an hour of shut eye in between watching a large older gentleman practically die of laughter as he watched Anchorman. A pleasant flight and we arrived in Rarotonga. Let me paint a picture real quick: ocean, ocean, ocean, ocean, oh shit why are we defending there's nothing but ocean! We decended so close to the water is was bit terrifying. The runway of Rarotonga airport begins a grand total of ten feet from the shoreline. Coming by sky, the island seems to jump up underneath you out of nowhere. Then you walk out of the plane onto the one, singular runway, and realize: holy fuck I'm on an island. All you can see is beach and jungle covered mountains. Oh, and it was damn nice weather. The actual airport is tiny, two customs officers, one luggage belt, and the whole thing is open air. For the first time in my life, I arrived by plane on-time, got my luggage, and got through customs without a single hitch. Best flight of my life.

We moved into our accommodations: girls in beach-side bungalows and guys in cabins up the road. From the balcony of the cabin we had the most stunning view of the lagoon, beach, and mini-islands nearby. Talk about paradise. The one thing that just floored me was that when we looked out at the ocean horizon, there was just nothing there. I realized I was on this tiny, 6 mile wide, speck in the middle of the entire Pacific ocean. No feeling like it. We dined at Mama's Cafe, Maddie was forced to dance for her birthday, apparently customary. Later we tried to go down to the beach, making friends as we went, but were thwarted by the tide receding too far out. Why not just walk out to the water? Sea slug mine field. In the dark they look like rocks and they were everywhere - some as big as my forearm - and that is not pleasant to walk through. We chilled and turned in for the night.

Day 2: Wake up. Its fucking beautiful. We just sat on the balcony looking out, just stunned by our first tropical sunrise. We headed off to the saturday market, a touristy affair but filled with awesome food, music, dancing, and local goods. Sadly, I didn't bring much money with me, not expecting it, and had to pass up some great souvenirs. The craziest thing was the black pearls, the Cook Islands' claim to fame. They are really something else to just see in the tropical setting. It is one thing to see a pearl under glass in a shop, but to see one about 200 meters from where it was found? A whole new perspective.

After the market we headed off to our coordinators place to learn some local culture. Using coconut tree palms we constructed woven plates and ceremonial accessories. We used inks to dye sarongs and learned islander dances and the local haka. We sat and ate traditionally prepared mangaian food (cooked underground in a giant makeshift oven) off of the plates we made. The food was awesome, it generally was everywhere on the island - even if taro is pretty bland. Following the dinner was a sweet dance competition where we had to get on stage and try to dance the islander dances, which, honestly, are incredibly difficult and we generally just flopped around looking like fools. The dance for guys consists of wildly swing your knees apart and together again while lifting your feet up and down to the beat of wood drums. Oh, and you can't look down at your feet while you do it. Oh, and the beat is breakneck fast. Go ahead, give it try if you think you can.

We wrapped the night with saying our goodbyes and heading back to the cabins. Naturally played cards and swapped stories and generally got to know each other better before turning in, exhausted.

To Be Continued....(7 day trip, this is only the first 2 days 0.o)

- Jay

Episode 3: In Which Jay Adventures to Springfield and the Southern Alps

Last time, on Keep Calm and Joust On:

Jay learned the secret art of the Wasjig, met his flatmates, became an international film superstar, single-handedly ate some fries, shuffled a deck of cards, met Jesse the "Jinger", and was proposed to by a crazy Welsh woman. We call her Welshy.

Simpsons, Alps, and Friends! Oh, my!

As a precursor to our first big adventure we went to a touristy museum/zoo filled with incredible birds, the goofiest pigs I've ever seen, white deer, kiwi birds (too cool), gigantic eels (ever pet an eel?), and a type of lizard that has been around so long it is technically classified as a dinosaur. Know what that means? I SAW A DINOSAUR GUYS.  A REAL DINOSAUR. We learned a Haka, learned some culture, and ate some goddamn delicious Maori food. Sure it was a total tourist spot, but, we're tourists. So there. 

The next day we really started out. Accompanied by our program director and our guide (a large, mysterious, bald Japanese man who would only go by the name "Hedge") we packed into a van and drove out towards Arthur's Pass, taking a left at Albuquerque, and ended up in Springfield, New Zealand. Before reaching Springfield we took a stop, in Narnia.

By Narnia, I mean Castle Rock. Castle Rock is an area used in the recent Narnia films to film several epic battle scenes. I WENT TO NARNIA GUYS. The thing about places used for epic battles in films is that they are even more epic in real life. The whole grassy knoll of the area was littered with colossal boulders that we could scramble up and down and all around, even jump from one to another in some spots. To really understand you've got to realize that each boulder was anywhere between 10 and 100 feet tall, one or two might have been even higher. Now imagine hundreds of them. Each was conveniently carved by the wind to have small passageways and ledges so it was easy to go from one to another. The place was just a giant natural playground, I could have spent days exploring and playing but we had to go…to Springfield.

While Springfield is common name for a city or town in the states, thus the butt of the joke for The Simpsons, here there is only one Springfield and the locals take a bizarre pride in the town name - so much so they erected a giant concrete replica of the pink-frosted donut from The Simpsons in the town center. The pub also made a big deal of serving Duff beer. The town was tiny, when I say "the pub" I mean there was only one pub; the whole town was practically just a main street of shops that served as pit stops and gear-rentals for passersby heading into the mountains. We spent the night at a hostel, more amazing food, and we also went to the packed pub and watched a real NZ rugby match on the TV - there is quite the eclectic bunch that seems to turn out for rugby games.

In the morning we headed toward the towering Southern Alps, gorgeous snow-capped mountains. Hedge would point to each peak and say in broken english: "See that? I've ski that. Good skiing up there." We took a jet boat tour through the hills and into a canyon - which was awesome. Basically a jet boat is a motor boat on steroids. We flew through the canyon at about 60 to 70 mph, doing some Tokyo-drift action around turns, whipping by the rock walls sometimes just inches away from collision. Just for kicks, our captain would occasionally cut the wheel into a water-skid and spin donuts the same way you might spin donuts with a car in an icy parking lot. We also stopped occasionally and he would explain some of the history of the area: things like proposed dams, wildlife issues, and earthquake damage. Seeing actual fault lines close up is an awe-inspiring thing, especially since feeling earthquakes is still a pretty new concept to me. Seeing the giant gashes and fissures that can spilt those massive canyon walls can really put quakes into perspective.

After jet boating back up the canyon, this time nearly getting acquainted with the other side of the rock walls, we stepped back onto shore with the biggest damn smiles plastered all over our faces. The adrenaline and speed along with the cold water and winds might have frozen those smiles there for a while longer than we thought. We then went further into the mountains, along steep dirt roads in our dingy little van, to a sheep farm. We saw a pretty sweet sheep herding demonstration (way cooler than it sounds), got to shear a sheep, played with the smartest border collies I've ever seen, and ate some more delicious food. The lamb was especially good. Oh, and Hedge played the guitar. We were BFFs at this point. On our way back towards Christchurch we stopped scare some sheep and visited a cool cave. We were not equipped to go spelunking but we still could admire the underground from the exit cavern: the cave ran about a mile through rock from entrance to exit, carved out by a crystal clear stream. At some point I'd love to go caving, sounds a lot like draining in Rochester, but I'll need some gear for that. 

We finally rolled back to the city, bid Hedge farewell, and went back to business.

Man, Hedge was such a legend. I miss that dude. At one point we cut down a tree together. Good times.

- Jay

Interlude 1: In Which Jay Reaches His Personal Goal of Watching Over 1000 Features.

Three years ago, I graduated high school with no idea what my life would become. First, I tried my luck with engineering at WPI. Didn't work out much. I decided to try a different subject in Rochester, assuming that I'd just figure it out when I got there. In a fever dream the morning of my last Physics II final at WPI, I had an epiphany. Of sorts. I knew that to be happy with my work I would have to sink my teeth into the english program at U of Rochester. This led me inevitably into taking film classes and I fell in love with film. I had always loved watching movies for fun or for escapism, but never in an academic or critical setting. I was refreshed and couldn't get enough. I hadn't seen many movies and I usually only saw what was popular or in theaters or would just rewatch old favorites with good friends so it was pretty fantastic.

I decided by the end of freshman year that I was going to really devote myself to film studies. I would expand my film knowledge. I started my summer with a netflix subscription and a shit job washing dishes full time at an Italian restaurant. I decided that I needed to broaden my film repertoire so I watched as much film as I could that summer. Then, as much film as I could in the fall semester afterwards. Then, as much film as I could over that winter break. Then as much film as I could in the spring semester. I couldn't stop myself. I've been watching as much as I can ever since. Oh, and I've been making sure to keep track.

As I finished up my last semester I realized that I was getting dangerously close to a big number. I've finally reached it. Usually, I try to be modest as all hell, but this is one accomplishment I just have to be proud of.

I've seen over 1000 movies. 

I know it is just a number, but those four digits mean a whole lot to me. 

It is a sort of representation of all my work and effort to educate myself about film both in and out of school. These are movies seen with friends, with classmates, and lovers. Movies seen in theaters and in classrooms; in dark basements and living rooms. Movies seen through dreary rains, lazy summers, and frigid winters. Movies seen in best of times and the worst of times; at the most momentous of occasions and the dullest of days.

I just want to say thank you to anyone involved. If you have ever seen a film with me, or talked about film with me, or taught me something - anything - about film, thank you. If you've contributed to this milestone in any way at all, thank you so much. I've got a whole lot of memories of the first thousand, here's hoping the next thousand will be just as great.

-Jay

Episode 2: In Which Jay Learns What a Wasgij is and Meets the Flat.

Last time, on Keep Calm and Joust On:

Jay finally defeated the zombies, valiantly fought corporate copyright law, vigilantly cleaned up the streets, and watched Kill Bill Vol. 1 for the sixth or seventh time. It is still just as good as he remembered it to be.

The Lament of the Mighty Wasgij

Wasgij, noun: 1. The word jigsaw spelt backwards. 2. A 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle, but the picture on the box depicts the events just preceding the picture of the completed puzzle and not the actual picture. The box picture acts as a context with hints and clues instead of a picture to be replicated. Pronunciation: wuz-jig. Origin: United Kingdom. 

Note: Wasgij puzzles are best used as tools to promote social interaction between an American student visiting New Zealand and his kiwi flatmates.

By employing the sacred ritual of Wasgij I have managed to successfully befriend the natives. At first they were wary of my presence but over time this initial ritual has lead to other initiation rituals. These rituals include such acts as hall-jousting with a scooter and a longboard, busting a move, grocery shopping, as well as watching movies and reality TV. The local favorite is the Jermey Kyle show: the UK equivalent of the Maury show. We gather daily to preform the Jermey Kyle Ritual and occasionally also to watch reality cooking shows (there is no Food Network here, so we make do). These "kiwi" people seem to accept me as their own, although they do occasionally question my foreign behavior and I do often rely on them to teach me their ways.

After waiting the initial few days, the whole flat finally arrived. Rachel, Briar, Ryan, Tom, and the-flatmate-formerly-known-as Josh. Our powers combined, we drink tea and get into shenanigans.  I got to the flat worried that things might not work out, but can honestly say that I am super lucky to have the best kiwi flatmates I could have asked for.

Speaking of which, I also made my own BBQ sauce.

-Jay

Episode 1: In Which Jay Actually Manages to Eventually Get to New Zealand

Now this is a story all about how

My hemisphere flipped, turned upside down

I'd like to take a minute as words I will search 

I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Christchurch.

In Rochester, New York, stressed and crazed

In Rush Rhees where I spent most of my days

Chilling out, reading, and writing all cool

All watching some films and studying at school

When a couple of guys, on their way to Mordor

Showed me a landscape that I couldn't ignore

I saw three little films, pen flew from my hand

I said, 'I'm moving in with some sweetas kiwi's in New Zealand!'

I got pumped and excited day after day

Got me a pack and bag to help me on my way

Parents gave me a kiss and handed me my ticket

I put some tunes on and said, "I might as well kick it."

Flights delayed, yo I'm getting aches

Sleeping with the hobos there in LAX

But after twenty seven hours the end was in sight.

Hmmmmm, this might end alright.

First to Auckland then finally got near

After a flight or two I met up with a peer

We got us a cab, man those seats were fuzzy

But I thought 'Now forget it' - 'Yo homes to Canterbury!'

I pulled up to Ilam about 3 or 4

And I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes you hardcore'

I looked at my flat

I got to my perch

To sit on my throne as the prince of Christchurch.

(http://youtu.be/hBe0VCso0qs)

To explain: 

On my way to Christchurch everything that could go wrong…did. In beautiful flying colors to boot. My flight from BOS to LAX was delayed, because a flight attendant was a half hour late. LAX to AKL was delayed, because we went to the wrong runway. AKL to CHC was delayed, for no apparent reason. In all the confusion my cab didn't show up. Oh, and my luggage was delayed by 3 days because LAX never got the message to transfer my bag. Lesson: never travel United Airlines. Although I guess they are pros at rebooking flights, so I suppose that is a plus.

After realizing I missed the flight in LAX I got pretty pissed since I have notoriously terrible luck traveling - but I got over myself pretty quick. I ended up sleeping in the B terminal of LAX outside of security next to a few other defeated looking soon-to-be passengers and a couple of hobos who got kicked out in the morning by the cops. I was stuck there for a total of 27 hours because my next flight to Aukland was also delayed, by about an hour. Since the flight from Aukland to Christchurch was delayed I had to rebook once again. I also learnt at that point that my luggage had never made it out of LAX. Of course. So, I laughed, figuring that I shouldn't expect any less at this point and I genuinely stopped worrying. After all, I had at least gotten to New Zealand and that was the important bit. I met two other american students also en route to the University of Canterbury and we hung out a bit, finally got to Christchurch, and I ninja'd my way into their cab. Why? Because my cab never showed up. Naturally. It worked out though: the driver was nice, the seats were furry, and I flipped out over the roads being opposite from as they are in the states. I finally got to Ilam apartments and moved into my flat. Well, I moved my backpack into the flat anyways. Total travel time: 51 hours.

-Jay