"...it's man devouring man our there, so who are we to deny it in here?"

Metropolis, directed by Fritz Lang in 1926, is a movie I found rather puzzling. What is it about? Religion? Marxism? Robots stealing our women and murdering us in our beds? It seems to be a mix of all three, and then some. The movie is silent, with German intertitles; this inconvenience caused me a small bit of panic at the beginning, since it's been awhile since I had opportunity to practice my German (and I've never been good at reading it.) The translated subtitles were no help, as they were in Spanish, but somehow I muddled through, managing to understand the bulk of the intertitles- the overall meaning of the film, however, might have escaped me.

There seem to be two groups of people in the futuristic, industrial city of the film- the wealthy business owners who know little outside their frivolous Great Gatsby-esque world, and the workers, who slave away doing meaningless, senseless tasks adjusting steam engine-powered machines night and day, as the fate of the factories rest in their abilities to pull a lever to the right place at the right time. But then one day, one of the young upperclass gentlemen, the son of a factory owner, sees the children of the workers with an attractive woman, and apparently resolves to know everything about them. This takes him to a factory where an exhausted worker fails to pull his lever and the factory proceeds to explode in much steamy glory, causing mass injuries and hallucinations of the machines as savage gods and the workers, their human sacrifices.

Son-of-bourgeoisie, a.k.a. Our Dashing Hero (replete with lipstick and eyeshadow) flips out, and runs to his father, gesturing desperately about the plight of the workers. He presumably gets nowhere, because from there he runs away and trades places with a worker and gets his own lever to pull. (One begins to wonder if there is some subtext going on with all the characters grabbing their fellow men and also needing levers to pull.) While down in the factory-world, he meets the Attractive Woman again, finds out she's named Maria, and there is either an enormous religious revival going on (the Gaze of Eternity on her face and all the crosses seem to suggest this) or she is inciting some sort of proletariat revolt, or she's dissuading the proles from revolting; it's rather unclear. In any case, Our Dashing Hero falls in love with her, promises to meet her at the cathedral the next morning, leaves her with a kiss, and she is abruptly kidnapped by the Mad Scientist, who has just been in cahoots with Our Dashing Hero's father.

Mad Scientist terrifies Maria, who expresses her terror by clutching at her breasts and writhing suggestively. Then he restrains her on a table in a laboratory that is clearly scientific. The tubes and glass bulbs of bubbly liquid prove this, of course, as does the electricity field that Mad Scientist uses to transfer Maria's body over to the body of a robotic woman. In a strange twist of fate, this is almost the same plot device that the British television show Doctor Who uses for the Cybermen, and I more than half expected Robot!Maria to go kill everyone in sight and turn them into robots as well.

She doesn't, though. She uses her Super Robot Powers to swing her hips and turn the upper class men into drooling twits (it didn't take much) and her identical appearance to Maria to incite the workers to real revolt: anthropomorphized versions of the seven deadly sins are out dancing and Death plays a flute solo on a femur, while the workers mob the factories. This, for some reason, causes the underground worker cities to flood, and their children flee, panicked. To rectify this mistake they tie Robot!Maria to the stake on top of some wrecked cars and burn her. Everybody cheers.

Our Dashing Hero doesn't, though, because he thinks that his lady love was the victim of Society. Then Robot!Maria burns into just a metal frame, Our Dashing Hero sees real Maria on the roof, and climbs a ladder to rescue her. (There is a lot of ladder-climbing in this movie. Presumably there are metaphors attached.) But no! Mad Scientist is there, grabbing her again! Mad Scientist really has a thing for grabbing screaming women. Our Dashing Hero and Mad Scientist wrestle on the roof of the church while Maria screams, and then Mad Scientist is tossed to his death, which is of course the generally accepted order of things. Our Dashing Hero and Maria snog, the workers would cheer but they're too busy running off and possibly realizing that the lunatics are now in charge of the asylum, and the leader of the workers and Our Dashing Hero's father (the leader of the factory owners) reluctantly shake hands, realizing that "between brain and hands must the heart be." But only if my German is correct.

La! A book review!

Currently reading a series of books by Lauren Willig and enjoying myself waaaaay too freaking much. They're set in Regency England, during the Napoleonic Wars- and best of all, Willig takes the Scarlet Pimpernel concept and just runs with it. The first book is The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, and it snatched me right from the first page about a grad student named Eloise, geekily delighted with history and with an alarming propensity for wearing the wrong shoes. In short, a little too much like me not to immediately cling to her in adoration.

The novels are framed narratives, following the trials and tribulations of Eloise as she attempts to find out the secret identity of the Pink Carnation (an English spy in France after the Revolution) for her dissertation. The only thing in her way? Colin Selwick, a descendant of the Purple Genetian, whose determination to block her attempts at research only matches her own determination to cling to the antique letters that hold the mystery of the Pink Carnation's name and story. Attractive, charming, and decidedly infuriating Colin Selwick.

But Eloise's story quickly gives way to Amy Balcourt's story- a half-English, half-French girl who desperately wants to go back to France to avenge her father's guillotine-assisted death and also to help the Purple Genetian in his spying; she's even taught herself the tricks of espionage to this end. So, enlisting the aid of her cousin Jane and their chaperone, Miss Gwen, she travels to France- only to be beleagured by the attentions of Richard Selwick, who is charms her with talk of Homer and Egyptology, and then is decided abhorrent for his ostensible French-supporting career. The plot takes off- adventurous and quirky, as if Jane Austen, Baroness Orczy, and Alan Bennett all got together and decided to write a novel.

Basically, the books seem to be romance novels, but with enough humor and suspense and adventure that it isn't cloying. I've finished the second book by this point, and found it just as delightful as the first. I may skip a class or two to read the third! :P

Movie review: The Shadow in the North

What with beautiful Victorian dresses, the attractive and talented J.J. Fields and Billie Piper in leading roles, and a mystery plot filled with gritty London alleyways and looming villains of all types, one would expect that The Shadow in the North, the BBC adaptation of Philip Pullman's novel and the sequel to the 2006 adaptation of The Ruby in the Smoke, to be engaging and fantastic in a beautifully historic fashion.

Dear Reader, one would be wrong.

One almost, in fact, doesn't know where one might begin to mention where one would be wrong.

Though rushed and semi-insensible, the plot is a fairly direct adaptation of the novel. Sally Lockhart, several years after the events of The Ruby in the Smoke (where she solved the mystery of several murders, including that of her father, and of the mystical Indian ruby behind them all) is working as an accountant in 1870s London, while avoiding marriage to her friend Fred Garland, a photographer and her partner in any mystery(along with another friend, Jim, who completes their trio.) When approached by a client who has lost her life's savings in a bad investment and has suspicions of corporate fraud, Sally, Jim, and Fred become involved in an investigation that will lead them to spiritualists and magicians, the cream of society and the dirty criminal element, patent offices and parties, and more tragedy than they ever imagined. And that's even before they discover a weapon of such diabolical intent that someone would be willing to kill them all, just to keep them from exposing his creation.

All in all, some very good ingredients for a splendidly suspenseful time. Except we find ourselves cheated from suspense as the director rushes through all threats from the bad guys to our heroes, dumping us off the edge of our seats to let us get a better view of their bruises afterwards. Instead of truly building the mystery, the movie rushes around to briefly touch on each of the minor characters, only to leave us without sufficient explanation of who they are, or why they merit any place in the movie beyond providing a fraction of a clue to advance the mostly-indecipherable plot- or, in fact, being memorable enough for me to recall their names the second after they leave the screen. While novel adaptations frequently change characters' relation to plot points adversely, a little compression could not possibly have hurt any more than this scattered mess did.

Possibly the most appalling thing about this movie, however, was the dearth of historical accuracy. The BBC's determinedly colorblind casting meant that a high degree of racial diversity was found at all levels of society, with none of the characters appearing to notice the differences between themselves. Not unless sexism counts- one of Sally's prime motivations is her desire to prove that women can be just as good as men at running a business or solving a problem, and frequently has to prove herself. But that is there for plot propulsion; the fact that outright racism isn't an issue in this book does not necessarily equate to all nationalities being represented at a society ball- the imperialistic politics of the time would have strictly forbid such a thing.

All of this historical fallacy seemed mostly excusable while I was watching it. After all, it might be just barely possible that an Indian man could be a clerk at the Patent Office. There might be mysterious, politics-circumventing reasons to explain how he came to be there. Maybe.

But the last shreds of the suspension of my belief were flung to the wind when a Rastafarian gentleman showed up (with no explanation for why his character should be a Rastafarian,) and I knew the movie would, in all likelihood, not get better.

As the movie spins towards its despondent and further credulity-stretching end, much of the cinematography and editing turns into a series of close face shots and extreme high establishing shots, as if to say, "Look! We have people looking Serious and Intense. We also have Victorian baubles! PAY ATTENTION TO NOTHING ELSE. Like, say, plot or historicity."

The movie ends on an ostensibly cheerful note, as Sally again violates a certain strong social more and nobody says a word, thus proving that mentioning Victorian society as it was (past the pretty dresses and decor) is unnecessary, except as it serves to fabricate character depth. Because I have a special interest in nineteenth-century Britain and am therefore rather picky about its representations, I found this film to be far less enjoyable than I expected. Perhaps someone less interested in the past would find this movie to be a good time, but frankly, if I want to see Billie Piper in the late nineteenth century, I'll just watch "The Unquiet Dead" and "Tooth and Claw" episodes of Doctor Who, where she's definitely a lot more fun.

Darkly Dreaming Dexter

Murder and mayhem and Miami, oh my!

... and at first glance, that seems to be what Showtime's Dexter is all about. Dexter Morgan (played by Michael C. Hall) is a charming blood spatter analyst for the Miami PD... who also has the little problem of being a sociopath and likes to kill people as a hobby. Thanks to the moral code instilled by his adoptive father, Harry, he only kills other killers- especially the ones that escape the justice system. Dexter attempts to blend into society by means of elaborate fake emotions, his attachment to his sister Deb, and his girlfriend Rita and her two kids, Cody and Astor. But while he considers himself a fraudulent human, we of the audience suspect there may be more to Dexter than even he believes.

The television series is based on the book series by Jeff Lindsey; the books and the show, while featuring the same premise and comparative plot, have different focuses- the show is far more detailed, rounding out many characters that are only briefly featured in the books, which are very strongly written in a first-person narrative- and who can expect a sociopath to incorporate the feelings of others in his book?

I would have to say one of my favorite things about the television series is the way it explores issues of community/isolation, realness of self/realness of others. There is so much dramatic irony to be seen as Dexter thinks himself alone and unique in his problems, even though its stuff we can all sympathize with- stuff like not understanding the people around us.

When it comes to fandom, Dexter is sadly nearly as dead as one of the title character's evening entertainments. However, there are some communities that produce some decent fanfiction- the Dexter Fanfic and DD_Dexter communities at LiveJournal especially. Thunderemerald is one of my favorite authors, for her quality characterization and dialogue- she just wrote "Water Through a Rusted Pipe," which I was totally impressed with the way she wrote Dexter and Deb. Dexter is inspiring me to explore the characters in more depth, too- so far I've written "Breakable Girls and Boys" and am writing another fic, and I'm also putting together a fanmix of songs that musically portray Dexter and Rita's relationship, and the hurdles that they both face to understanding each other.

you love me like an existentialist loves an empty room that nobody can see inside

Smell that fresh smell? New blog smell! Now available in a handy whatsit that you can hang from your rearview mirror to smell up your car! (And who doesn't want a car that smells of New Blog? I mean, really.)

This blog is intended to be the sibling-of-dubious-nature to my LiveJournal, and as such, be slightly more informative, as opposed to the colorful mess of fandom and life that LJ consists of. Why, one might as, in the maelstrom of my life, would I want another blog? Since, after all, I am pitifully addicted to LiveJournal and having another blogosphere to be fascinated with will probably cause the downfall of all academic studies whatsoever. That's definitely something to look forward to.

Well, folks, it's a class assignment. These things do happen; I am told, in times of war and great upheaval, cannibalism can be... oops, wrong topic. Um. *distracts you all with a dance and something shiny*

But no, for all my griping and whinging, I'm quite satisfied with an assignment like this. After all, I do spend half my mental time composing blog entries that I only sometimes write. They're fabulous, I assure you, these blog entries in my head. (As for the other half of my mental time, it's divided pretty evenly between fanfiction-pondering and gibbering panic at the pile of insensibility that is my life.)

Deciding on a subject for this blog = definitely one of the more challenging aspects of my day. After all, so many choices! Steampunk things! Victoriana! Books! TV Shows! Scottish Nationalism!

So for a while, a long dark period in history (more than three minutes, I swear) while I glumly perused the poll results that all my friends thought would be good ideas (making it how very obviously my friendslist is weighted towards Doctor Who) it looked like the theme might come down to Random Shit Katie Finds Interesting. I wondered if that was viable, and sent off a desperate email questioning class assignments and life in general to discover if it was.

And then I decided to Take Charge Of My Life.

I took a look at my choices, and realized that what I'm really interested in, in all of this dazzlingly confusing mess, is stories. Myth, narrative, whatever you want to call it. I care about writing and reading and analyzing, and finding how that works in terms of Story (which is a pretentious and outrageously ambiguous declaration with doubtful meaning and we should all take it for what it's worth.) I care about that when I'm watching a television show and admire the writing or the way it's filmed. I appreciate that when I'm reading a book- fiction or otherwise. I have the idea of a narrative and an overall story in mind when I'm looking at Steampunk fashion- after all, it's building an aesthetic out of the story of a culture that never existed.

So yes, this is going to be a Random Shit Katie Finds Interesting blog. But it does have a focus, albeit a very broad one that will depend on how I'm feeling the day I post.

Like today! This makes me want to know French just so I can understand what this beautifully tragic love story is all about, but it's almost better for not knowing- it just makes it all so otherworldly and achingly lovely.

Tais-toi mon coeur - Dionysos
Uploaded by Dionysos

More information on the narrative can be found here. It seems that Dionysos has focussed their latest album around the story of a boy who was born with a frozen heart that the midwife replaced with clockwork, and his clockwork heart worked until he fell in love. If there is a way to read or watch the rest of this story in English, I will find it somehow. But in the meantime, we have this beautiful music video, replete with gorgeous Victorian imagery and A PARASOL OMG.

Welcome, my friends, to the Narrative Cafe!