Took me a while, but I finally made it to the end of episode 1 of Discovery.
It's not bad. But I consider this to be a different canon. It is a different Star Trek with a different tone, and perhaps different values. Time will tell.
What sets it apart from prior Star Trek like the original series and TNG is its format. Prior shows were more like procedural dramas. A problem presents itself; the crew investigates; decisions must be made; a resolution is reached.
The J.J. Abrams movies, unlike the prior shows, presented themselves more like an action movie, where the characters spend more time running around amidst chaotic events than they do trying to solve a problem. The movies were fast-paced; there wasn't much intellectualizing, pondering, or pontificating; and the villains left no room for moral dilemmas--they simply had to be stopped. (If there was a moral gray area, the heroes were never in a position to make a decision and act on it.)
After having seen only one episode, the best way I can describe Discovery is calling it a soap opera in space. This show cares less about the politics and more about personal motivations.
Perhaps this will change down the line. It's certainly different. And I can't really call it bad, although I'm sure many other Trek fans would leap at the chance.
I am intrigued, though. It's fascinating.
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
Sunday, October 27, 2019
A Watchmen for our time
Took advantage of a free weekend of HBO to see the first episode of Watchmen.
I liked it a lot. If it stays this good, I will likely purchase it at some point.
I think it also helped me understand something about the original comic that I didn’t understand before.
I didn’t like the original comic. I recognized it was well written, well plotted, well designed. I recognized it was complex and dark and different. I recognized it was interesting. I recognized that, at one point, it was relevant.
In misunderstanding this comic, I decided that the reason I disliked it was because it was dark and joyless. I blamed the tone. But that doesn’t really make sense, because there are some dark and joyless things that I actually like.
Watchmen is a comic about ideas. It has superheroes, but it is more about the *idea* of a superhero, and what happens to that idea when it departs from the fantasy world and clashes with realism. What is a superhero in the “real” world if not something that looks ridiculous and strange? What are superpowers in the “real” world, and what happens to humanity in a world where superpowers exist? Does a person have to be insane to put on a mask? Is a costume a reflection of masculinity or femininity? Is a man who can see all of time a god or a prisoner? Are superheroes even effective? Do the good guys even win in the end?
These are all interesting ideas. But I was unable to connect with this book before, and I think I realize why: It was the time.
The book is set in a specific time period, the 1980s, where the issues of that era govern people’s motivations. Fear over nuclear war, for instance. The fears and uncertainties that plague the world of Watchmen feel very near to them, but they feel very distant from me.
In other words, despite being *interesting*, it lacked the one thing that would have probably made me love it—relevance to me and my time. I had a hard time relating to the *people* in the Watchmen comic, so I could only really relate to the interesting *ideas*. Without a human connection, I couldn’t truly get into it.
Maybe I lack empathy. But I prefer to believe I simply lacked context.
This new show on HBO is promising something to me that a 30-year-old comic was unable to deliver: relevance. It is set in a world that understands what we are afraid of *today*. It understands that the ticking clock we hear today is not the same as the one from 30 years ago. It understands what we fear will happen when it stops.
This may be the Watchmen that was made for us, and for our time.
As long as they don’t fuck it up.
I liked it a lot. If it stays this good, I will likely purchase it at some point.
I think it also helped me understand something about the original comic that I didn’t understand before.
I didn’t like the original comic. I recognized it was well written, well plotted, well designed. I recognized it was complex and dark and different. I recognized it was interesting. I recognized that, at one point, it was relevant.
In misunderstanding this comic, I decided that the reason I disliked it was because it was dark and joyless. I blamed the tone. But that doesn’t really make sense, because there are some dark and joyless things that I actually like.
Watchmen is a comic about ideas. It has superheroes, but it is more about the *idea* of a superhero, and what happens to that idea when it departs from the fantasy world and clashes with realism. What is a superhero in the “real” world if not something that looks ridiculous and strange? What are superpowers in the “real” world, and what happens to humanity in a world where superpowers exist? Does a person have to be insane to put on a mask? Is a costume a reflection of masculinity or femininity? Is a man who can see all of time a god or a prisoner? Are superheroes even effective? Do the good guys even win in the end?
These are all interesting ideas. But I was unable to connect with this book before, and I think I realize why: It was the time.
The book is set in a specific time period, the 1980s, where the issues of that era govern people’s motivations. Fear over nuclear war, for instance. The fears and uncertainties that plague the world of Watchmen feel very near to them, but they feel very distant from me.
In other words, despite being *interesting*, it lacked the one thing that would have probably made me love it—relevance to me and my time. I had a hard time relating to the *people* in the Watchmen comic, so I could only really relate to the interesting *ideas*. Without a human connection, I couldn’t truly get into it.
Maybe I lack empathy. But I prefer to believe I simply lacked context.
This new show on HBO is promising something to me that a 30-year-old comic was unable to deliver: relevance. It is set in a world that understands what we are afraid of *today*. It understands that the ticking clock we hear today is not the same as the one from 30 years ago. It understands what we fear will happen when it stops.
This may be the Watchmen that was made for us, and for our time.
As long as they don’t fuck it up.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Moving Right Along
After 10 years of Marvel films (and various other superhero films that couldn't quite measure up to their ambitions), I'm convinced it's time to take a break.
Endgame was the perfect place to stop. After all, it was an ending. It was a good ending, too--one that rewarded 10 years of following each installment.
And I don't necessarily want to stop watching Marvel films or other superhero films. But I do want to start watching them on my terms--not theirs. To me, this means not having to go to the theater to avoid spoilers. It also means no longer caring about spoilers.
The Marvel Cinematic Universe only gets bigger and more unwieldy from here. I want to be more selective now, more judicious with my time. And part of that means deciding when/if to subscribe the upcoming Disney+ streaming service.
My relationship to content has been changing recently. I've started to realize that I already have enough content. I don't need another Star Wars movie or show, because I already have all the Star Wars that I need. New Star Wars might be fun, but it's unlikely to leave a strong impression unless it is either extremely exceptional or extremely upsetting. So I have to wonder whether the three new Star Wars shows announced for the streaming service is really something that will enrich my life. Likewise, I have to wonder the same for something like Marvel.
I already subscribe to Netflix, Hulu, and Prime. In my opinion, everything I need or want ought to be available between the three of them. So I kind of resent every additional service that isn't something niche like Crunchyroll or WWE Network.
Frankly, I wouldn't mind unsubscribing from some of these services, resubscribing only when I have the time and desire to binge-watch something.
Having too much content feels like it ought to be a good problem to have. Despite that, it can feel overwhelming. Falling behind on anything is usually a stressful experience. Knowing that I will never catch up--never be done with content fills me with a kind of dread.
I mean, isn't there more to life than just consuming? Shouldn't we also be creating? At some point, I need bigger goals than to finish that show. I need higher ambitions than to stay ahead of spoilers.
Maybe I feel this way because I haven't found the thing that resonates with me at this point in my life. When I was a child, it was the Saturday morning cartoons. When I was a teenager, it was Star Wars. When I was in college, it was Neil Gaiman's Sandman. At various points in my life, there were a handful of things... stories... that really meant something to me. And maybe what I'm feeling right now is just that void--that empty feeling of having so much content yet being largely unaffected by it.
I want content to affect me. I want content to awaken something within me. And it seems no amount of nostalgia will carry the same weight as something truly original, like Steven Universe, like Fruits Basket, like the Adventure Zone podcast.
I need creativity, not regurgitation of the "greatest hits." I need to be challenged--not by taking things from my childhood and transforming them into something different, but by showing me something that cuts through my adult cynicism and speaks to my heart.
Something like Star Wars has already given me everything it possibly can. Whether this has more to do with my limitations or its limitations is anybody's guess.
I suppose that's the one good thing about the overwhelming amount of content. In the vast, endless pile of content, there must be one more thing that can speak to me, change me, make me grow.
But it'll take some convincing to make me believe that I'll find such a thing on the Disney+ service.
(Zootopia was a fluke!)
Endgame was the perfect place to stop. After all, it was an ending. It was a good ending, too--one that rewarded 10 years of following each installment.
And I don't necessarily want to stop watching Marvel films or other superhero films. But I do want to start watching them on my terms--not theirs. To me, this means not having to go to the theater to avoid spoilers. It also means no longer caring about spoilers.
The Marvel Cinematic Universe only gets bigger and more unwieldy from here. I want to be more selective now, more judicious with my time. And part of that means deciding when/if to subscribe the upcoming Disney+ streaming service.
My relationship to content has been changing recently. I've started to realize that I already have enough content. I don't need another Star Wars movie or show, because I already have all the Star Wars that I need. New Star Wars might be fun, but it's unlikely to leave a strong impression unless it is either extremely exceptional or extremely upsetting. So I have to wonder whether the three new Star Wars shows announced for the streaming service is really something that will enrich my life. Likewise, I have to wonder the same for something like Marvel.
I already subscribe to Netflix, Hulu, and Prime. In my opinion, everything I need or want ought to be available between the three of them. So I kind of resent every additional service that isn't something niche like Crunchyroll or WWE Network.
Frankly, I wouldn't mind unsubscribing from some of these services, resubscribing only when I have the time and desire to binge-watch something.
Having too much content feels like it ought to be a good problem to have. Despite that, it can feel overwhelming. Falling behind on anything is usually a stressful experience. Knowing that I will never catch up--never be done with content fills me with a kind of dread.
I mean, isn't there more to life than just consuming? Shouldn't we also be creating? At some point, I need bigger goals than to finish that show. I need higher ambitions than to stay ahead of spoilers.
Maybe I feel this way because I haven't found the thing that resonates with me at this point in my life. When I was a child, it was the Saturday morning cartoons. When I was a teenager, it was Star Wars. When I was in college, it was Neil Gaiman's Sandman. At various points in my life, there were a handful of things... stories... that really meant something to me. And maybe what I'm feeling right now is just that void--that empty feeling of having so much content yet being largely unaffected by it.
I want content to affect me. I want content to awaken something within me. And it seems no amount of nostalgia will carry the same weight as something truly original, like Steven Universe, like Fruits Basket, like the Adventure Zone podcast.
I need creativity, not regurgitation of the "greatest hits." I need to be challenged--not by taking things from my childhood and transforming them into something different, but by showing me something that cuts through my adult cynicism and speaks to my heart.
Something like Star Wars has already given me everything it possibly can. Whether this has more to do with my limitations or its limitations is anybody's guess.
I suppose that's the one good thing about the overwhelming amount of content. In the vast, endless pile of content, there must be one more thing that can speak to me, change me, make me grow.
But it'll take some convincing to make me believe that I'll find such a thing on the Disney+ service.
(Zootopia was a fluke!)
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Does having an interest make one interesting?
So... what makes someone "interesting"? I think I've got "nice" figured out to a reasonable degree (not to be confused with the famously not nice "Nice Guys" who plague us all). But interesting? No idea.
Like... having a hobby doesn't really make someone interesting. Maybe--MAYBE--you could be interesting to someone else who has the same hobby. But in any group, there is always someone who has more charisma, whom everyone gravitates toward.
I like to think that everyone is interesting. Everyone has a story. That's what Neil Gaiman implied anyway.
But sometimes it takes more effort to find what makes us unique. Sometimes you gotta dig.
I have to believe that there is something within each of us that makes us worth knowing. Sometimes it's hard to find. Sometimes it's hard to express.
But if people are willing to put in the work, they can find it within themselves and within others. I have to believe that.
Thursday, December 20, 2018
About to see Bumblebee
Michael Bay's sins are many, but none have angered me more than The Last Knight, where we saw a human NOT react to a robot turning into a car.
She was running, the robot turned into a car, and she got in without once acknowledging that there was a robot doing an incredible thing. She didn't even glance in the robot's direction.
She was literally running to the spot where the robot was going to be, like she'd dealt with this sort of thing all the time. It was as if she was instructed just to run to the car and get in, and the animation was added afterwards.
From her point of view, all she was doing was getting into a car. And I think that's why, on a fundamental level, Michael Bay is the worst and his Transformers movies are the worst.
From Bay's perspective, the robots are not characters. They are just special effects for the humans--i.e., the REAL stars--to interact with.
The worst.
And now I'm off to see a new Transformers movie.
It's okay, Bay wasn't involved with this one. All they did was give him a producer's credit or something. There's a good chance this one won't even be racist or sexist.
She was running, the robot turned into a car, and she got in without once acknowledging that there was a robot doing an incredible thing. She didn't even glance in the robot's direction.
She was literally running to the spot where the robot was going to be, like she'd dealt with this sort of thing all the time. It was as if she was instructed just to run to the car and get in, and the animation was added afterwards.
From her point of view, all she was doing was getting into a car. And I think that's why, on a fundamental level, Michael Bay is the worst and his Transformers movies are the worst.
From Bay's perspective, the robots are not characters. They are just special effects for the humans--i.e., the REAL stars--to interact with.
The worst.
And now I'm off to see a new Transformers movie.
It's okay, Bay wasn't involved with this one. All they did was give him a producer's credit or something. There's a good chance this one won't even be racist or sexist.
Sunday, December 2, 2018
Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV
Just watched Kingsglaive. I have a lot of thoughts about this movie, which is never a good sign.
First, I should say that I haven't played the Final Fantasy series in a long time. The last one I played all the way through was FFX. So my first concern was whether there would be a barrier to entry--an unbreachable wall, if you would. To the film's credit, I more or less understood the status quo.
This movie serves as a prequel to the game. I know this because the main characters of the game do not appear until the very end. This was the equivalent of the Star Wars prequel trilogy--or Rogue One, if I'm being generous. The drawback is that none of the featured characters seem very interesting, nor do they seem to have much agency. Their character arc is to sacrifice themselves so that the (hopefully) more interesting main characters can do the job in the video game. It's like someone made an entire movie about Biggs Darklighter.
It felt very much like no characters in the movie made any real decisions. The movie was a series of cutscenes, tolerating no deviation. All momentum, no humanity. The Uncanny Valley didn't help either.
The characters are little more than archetypes with a bit of backstory. Our stalwart hero is interchangeable with any number of stalwart heroes. He is a soldier who talks of duty and lofty ideals. For that matter, the king and the princess do as well. There are almost no scenes that humanize these characters, save perhaps a few that occur very early in the movie and become buried by the subsequent action sequences. I mean, tell a fucking joke! It's hard to take seriousness seriously these days! You have to break it up with human moments!
The themes of the film seem almost irrelevant. They appear only in dialogue characters exchange when they are confronting one another. The villain can't break free from the past; the hero fights for the future. I'm not even sure why the protagonists and antagonists always talk to each other while they're trying to kill each other. When did that trope begin? "I'm trying to kill you, but first I must convince you that my perspective is correct."
The action sequences are flashy and extravagant. And also boring. As usual, the stakes are as high as they could possibly be, probably to match the budget. But it is folly to create such lengthy sequences without doing everything you can to make sure we care. Filmmakers seem to think that they need good action sequences to make us care about the story. In reality, they need good story to make us care about the action. Most of my favorite moments from Die Hard are the human moments. I barely remember the large action sequences. And the industry's inability to recognize that a good story should always come first is... exhausting.
And it's not like there wasn't room for a good story. There was clearly a lot of love and attention given to this movie's characters and lore. But as with the recent Fantastic Beasts film, none of that love and attention translated to a movie that told its story well.
First, I should say that I haven't played the Final Fantasy series in a long time. The last one I played all the way through was FFX. So my first concern was whether there would be a barrier to entry--an unbreachable wall, if you would. To the film's credit, I more or less understood the status quo.
This movie serves as a prequel to the game. I know this because the main characters of the game do not appear until the very end. This was the equivalent of the Star Wars prequel trilogy--or Rogue One, if I'm being generous. The drawback is that none of the featured characters seem very interesting, nor do they seem to have much agency. Their character arc is to sacrifice themselves so that the (hopefully) more interesting main characters can do the job in the video game. It's like someone made an entire movie about Biggs Darklighter.
It felt very much like no characters in the movie made any real decisions. The movie was a series of cutscenes, tolerating no deviation. All momentum, no humanity. The Uncanny Valley didn't help either.
The characters are little more than archetypes with a bit of backstory. Our stalwart hero is interchangeable with any number of stalwart heroes. He is a soldier who talks of duty and lofty ideals. For that matter, the king and the princess do as well. There are almost no scenes that humanize these characters, save perhaps a few that occur very early in the movie and become buried by the subsequent action sequences. I mean, tell a fucking joke! It's hard to take seriousness seriously these days! You have to break it up with human moments!
The themes of the film seem almost irrelevant. They appear only in dialogue characters exchange when they are confronting one another. The villain can't break free from the past; the hero fights for the future. I'm not even sure why the protagonists and antagonists always talk to each other while they're trying to kill each other. When did that trope begin? "I'm trying to kill you, but first I must convince you that my perspective is correct."
The action sequences are flashy and extravagant. And also boring. As usual, the stakes are as high as they could possibly be, probably to match the budget. But it is folly to create such lengthy sequences without doing everything you can to make sure we care. Filmmakers seem to think that they need good action sequences to make us care about the story. In reality, they need good story to make us care about the action. Most of my favorite moments from Die Hard are the human moments. I barely remember the large action sequences. And the industry's inability to recognize that a good story should always come first is... exhausting.
And it's not like there wasn't room for a good story. There was clearly a lot of love and attention given to this movie's characters and lore. But as with the recent Fantastic Beasts film, none of that love and attention translated to a movie that told its story well.
Thursday, September 20, 2018
What do wrestling and comics have in common?
In wrestling, there is a moment when things aren't looking good for our babyface. In that moment, our face starts reaching out to the audience. "Only your cheers can save me," they seem to say.
Maybe they summon cheers and chants by reaching and wiggling their finger, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach. Maybe they start stomping on the mat to encourage the audience to clap.
Most of the time the audience is happy to do so. The audience likes to participate. But it's also kind of a problem.
It's very telling that the audience is being "cued." It reveals that the audience's attention and engagement is not in sync with the match happening right in front of them.
With a bloated roster that does nothing but expand, it makes sense that the audience might seem aloof. There is so much wrestling being offered, but I'd wager only a handful of fans care about every match. After all, everyone has their favorites.
I've said this before: Watching WWE is a lot like consuming a comics publisher's entire line of comics in one sitting. Some fans just want to read the Batman or Wonder Woman comics, but they are also getting Green Lantern and Aquaman. It takes a special kind of talent to make me care about the likes of Green Lantern and Aquaman, and I'm not just talking about the talent of the individual wrestlers.
The problem with wrestling is essentially the same as the problem with comics. There's very little difference on the surface. Good guys vs. bad guys. Shocking twists. The occasional payoff.
The thing is, comics have done a much better job over the years of reinventing itself. They've learned how to bend the rules without breaking them. Meanwhile, wrestling (specifically WWE) isn't all that different from how they've been in the '80s.
Think about Chris Claremont and his run on X-Men. He defined the X-Men, arguably more than Stan Lee did. It was his vision that saved X-Men from cancellation. But here's the thing: he stayed on the book too long. It got stale. His voice--his stories--grew to be out of sync with the audience. In addition, the product was diluted with numerous spinoffs and companion books. (The X-Men "world" is notoriously difficult to keep track of.) They were popular, so there was more money to be made by producing more product.
At this moment, WWE has many shows. There's the flagship show (Raw), it's companion show (SmackDown Live), it's niche shows (NXT, 205 Live), its special projects (tournaments like Mae Young Classic, or the experimental Facebook show Mixed Match Challenge), and its pay per views (WrestleMania, SummerSlam, etc.). That doesn't even include its "noncanonical" shows (like Main Event).
The product is bloated. Twenty X-Men books bloated. Yes, they have several of the most talented wrestlers in the world, but they are essentially telling the same story: good guys and bad guys.
If I were to pick just one show to watch, it would be NXT. With only one hour a week, they have been able to get to the core of what makes wrestling great: story and talent. Talent alone will not get the job done. The audience no longer recognizes talent because there's just so much of it. There needs to be story, and the stories need to be different. The wrestlers need to be well defined, but more than that they need to set themselves apart from the others. But that's hard to do when you have a roster this big. Much of the time, it feels like you're watching a rerun. "Haven't I seen this before?"
NXT does the best job of taking the raw WWE talent and cultivating it into both unique characters and compelling stories.
Unfortunately, by design, much of this talent is "called up" to the main roster (either Raw or SmackDown). You know that awesome X-Men story you just read? Well, those characters were just handed to a creative team that doesn't really "get" them.
Once they reach the main roster, much effort is put into rebuilding these characters from the ground up. NXT does this amazing job of developing these guys, and then the main roster slams the brakes on that momentum. Why? Because the audience for NXT is not necessarily the same audience as the main roster. Remember, NXT is a "niche" show--as much as anything with a WWE brand (that also has action figures at Target) can be considered niche.
This causes cognitive dissonance. It makes me feel like I'm not seeing the same character that was so engaging in NXT--it feels like a new, alternative universe version of that character. Like when a new creative team takes over a comic. On the surface, everything looks the same, but certain inconsistencies pop up. Sometimes Batman remembers who killed his parents; sometimes he doesn't.
It makes the product convoluted, complicated. It needs to be streamlined. It needs compelling stories. It needs a consistent vision. It needs a vision that is in touch with what fans react to. It needs to take risks and experiment with the format. It needs to be different from the way it was 30 years ago.
Comics change from decade to decade. In one decade, they were lighthearted and goofy. In another decade, they were serious and dramatic. In another decade, they became more tonally balanced. Each time, they recognized a need to change. Marvel and DC--they are essentially the WWE of comics. They fall under one umbrella known as the Big Two. Like WWE, they are too big. Unlike WWE, they have changed. They will continue to try new things. They can do this, because their size relative to WWE's is still quite small. There is not a comic published today that has as many as 1 million readers. WWE has several million fans. Superheroes have a lot more room (and need) for growth, even though they consume too much of the retailer's shelf space. The Big Two, despite being too big, still feel like underdogs. They are on TV and in movie theaters, but that doesn't translate to book sales. Meanwhile, WWE is like Galactus, constantly growing and spreading, consuming all the talent, shitting out the product. It's exactly what DC and Marvel would become if given the chance. It's what DC and Marvel were in the '90s.
One major difference between comics and WWE is how they engage the fans. Comics has done a better job of listening to what fans want. Maybe not right away, but they do come around. When people were upset about how women are portrayed, we (eventually) started seeing more books led by women (both characters and creators). Change is slow and frustrating in comics, but it happens.
In WWE, change is an illusion. Everything that appears to be "progress" in WWE feels hollow, shallow, cynical. As with comics, the audience demanded more and better representation for women. So WWE developed their women's roster--stopped calling them "divas." The "let" the women have the main event. They celebrate every "first" (first main event, first cage match, first iron man match). So inspiring, right? But here's how you know it's just a cash grab--the women tend to get only 10 to 15 percent of total air time.
WWE doesn't take risks the same way comics does. They won't put the women in the lead role. Not right away. Not until they know it's "safe." And then they will pat themselves on the back for breaking barriers. Led by the same mind and vision that brought us bra and panties matches. Comics understood that it was time for Chris Claremont to stop writing X-Men. The problem with WWE is that "Chris Claremont" is also the owner, and he'll die before he stops writing those X-Men books.
Maybe they summon cheers and chants by reaching and wiggling their finger, as if trying to grasp something just out of reach. Maybe they start stomping on the mat to encourage the audience to clap.
Most of the time the audience is happy to do so. The audience likes to participate. But it's also kind of a problem.
It's very telling that the audience is being "cued." It reveals that the audience's attention and engagement is not in sync with the match happening right in front of them.
With a bloated roster that does nothing but expand, it makes sense that the audience might seem aloof. There is so much wrestling being offered, but I'd wager only a handful of fans care about every match. After all, everyone has their favorites.
I've said this before: Watching WWE is a lot like consuming a comics publisher's entire line of comics in one sitting. Some fans just want to read the Batman or Wonder Woman comics, but they are also getting Green Lantern and Aquaman. It takes a special kind of talent to make me care about the likes of Green Lantern and Aquaman, and I'm not just talking about the talent of the individual wrestlers.
The problem with wrestling is essentially the same as the problem with comics. There's very little difference on the surface. Good guys vs. bad guys. Shocking twists. The occasional payoff.
The thing is, comics have done a much better job over the years of reinventing itself. They've learned how to bend the rules without breaking them. Meanwhile, wrestling (specifically WWE) isn't all that different from how they've been in the '80s.
Think about Chris Claremont and his run on X-Men. He defined the X-Men, arguably more than Stan Lee did. It was his vision that saved X-Men from cancellation. But here's the thing: he stayed on the book too long. It got stale. His voice--his stories--grew to be out of sync with the audience. In addition, the product was diluted with numerous spinoffs and companion books. (The X-Men "world" is notoriously difficult to keep track of.) They were popular, so there was more money to be made by producing more product.
At this moment, WWE has many shows. There's the flagship show (Raw), it's companion show (SmackDown Live), it's niche shows (NXT, 205 Live), its special projects (tournaments like Mae Young Classic, or the experimental Facebook show Mixed Match Challenge), and its pay per views (WrestleMania, SummerSlam, etc.). That doesn't even include its "noncanonical" shows (like Main Event).
The product is bloated. Twenty X-Men books bloated. Yes, they have several of the most talented wrestlers in the world, but they are essentially telling the same story: good guys and bad guys.
If I were to pick just one show to watch, it would be NXT. With only one hour a week, they have been able to get to the core of what makes wrestling great: story and talent. Talent alone will not get the job done. The audience no longer recognizes talent because there's just so much of it. There needs to be story, and the stories need to be different. The wrestlers need to be well defined, but more than that they need to set themselves apart from the others. But that's hard to do when you have a roster this big. Much of the time, it feels like you're watching a rerun. "Haven't I seen this before?"
NXT does the best job of taking the raw WWE talent and cultivating it into both unique characters and compelling stories.
Unfortunately, by design, much of this talent is "called up" to the main roster (either Raw or SmackDown). You know that awesome X-Men story you just read? Well, those characters were just handed to a creative team that doesn't really "get" them.
Once they reach the main roster, much effort is put into rebuilding these characters from the ground up. NXT does this amazing job of developing these guys, and then the main roster slams the brakes on that momentum. Why? Because the audience for NXT is not necessarily the same audience as the main roster. Remember, NXT is a "niche" show--as much as anything with a WWE brand (that also has action figures at Target) can be considered niche.
This causes cognitive dissonance. It makes me feel like I'm not seeing the same character that was so engaging in NXT--it feels like a new, alternative universe version of that character. Like when a new creative team takes over a comic. On the surface, everything looks the same, but certain inconsistencies pop up. Sometimes Batman remembers who killed his parents; sometimes he doesn't.
It makes the product convoluted, complicated. It needs to be streamlined. It needs compelling stories. It needs a consistent vision. It needs a vision that is in touch with what fans react to. It needs to take risks and experiment with the format. It needs to be different from the way it was 30 years ago.
Comics change from decade to decade. In one decade, they were lighthearted and goofy. In another decade, they were serious and dramatic. In another decade, they became more tonally balanced. Each time, they recognized a need to change. Marvel and DC--they are essentially the WWE of comics. They fall under one umbrella known as the Big Two. Like WWE, they are too big. Unlike WWE, they have changed. They will continue to try new things. They can do this, because their size relative to WWE's is still quite small. There is not a comic published today that has as many as 1 million readers. WWE has several million fans. Superheroes have a lot more room (and need) for growth, even though they consume too much of the retailer's shelf space. The Big Two, despite being too big, still feel like underdogs. They are on TV and in movie theaters, but that doesn't translate to book sales. Meanwhile, WWE is like Galactus, constantly growing and spreading, consuming all the talent, shitting out the product. It's exactly what DC and Marvel would become if given the chance. It's what DC and Marvel were in the '90s.
One major difference between comics and WWE is how they engage the fans. Comics has done a better job of listening to what fans want. Maybe not right away, but they do come around. When people were upset about how women are portrayed, we (eventually) started seeing more books led by women (both characters and creators). Change is slow and frustrating in comics, but it happens.
In WWE, change is an illusion. Everything that appears to be "progress" in WWE feels hollow, shallow, cynical. As with comics, the audience demanded more and better representation for women. So WWE developed their women's roster--stopped calling them "divas." The "let" the women have the main event. They celebrate every "first" (first main event, first cage match, first iron man match). So inspiring, right? But here's how you know it's just a cash grab--the women tend to get only 10 to 15 percent of total air time.
WWE doesn't take risks the same way comics does. They won't put the women in the lead role. Not right away. Not until they know it's "safe." And then they will pat themselves on the back for breaking barriers. Led by the same mind and vision that brought us bra and panties matches. Comics understood that it was time for Chris Claremont to stop writing X-Men. The problem with WWE is that "Chris Claremont" is also the owner, and he'll die before he stops writing those X-Men books.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)