Movie Reviews with Matt: Looper

*Minor spoilers

Ever wanted to go back in time? Well, news flash, it probably wouldn't work. But don't worry; it works in Looper because, in Looper, all the paradoxes that come with changing the past are completely pushed aside. Yes, they're entirely ignored in a film whose plot revolves around that very concept. But it's not all bad. In the end, you get a three-dimensional sci-fi flick about love, identity, sacrifice, and creepy ten-year-olds who look more like six.

This newest instalment in the time travel universe centres on Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a desensitised junky with no purpose in life other than to accumulate silver and 'move to France'. The year is 2044, the state of living is declining in America, and every now and then a person the Mafia wants dead appears from the future and is killed on the spot. Indeed, in the year 2074, time travel is invented, outlawed, and only used in secret by people like the Mafia. It's almost impossible to murder without a trace, what with all the uber technology; so the Mafia sends their liabilities back to 2044, where, as soon as they arrive, a man they've commissioned (known as a Looper) does the job for them. Joe is such a man; and since his victims have silver attached to their bodies, his dream of starting over is certainly coming into view. However, things get interesting when the Mafia no longer has need for Joe. As is custom, they send his future self, Old Joe (Bruce Willis), back to be killed by, well, himself. Of course, it'd be silly if Willis died after five seconds of screen time. So he doesn't, and instead, his mission is to kill the murderer of his (future) wife, who in the present is but a child.

The plot is constantly moving and evolving in Looper, keeping the film feeling fresh and exciting. What starts with but one character becomes a full-fledged cast of five or six, each with different goals, often clashing. Forsooth, no character is all good or all bad. Everyone has a past, and the concept of time travel is used to emphasise the vehicles driving different characters' ambitions. Old Joe is fuelled by the love of his dead wife; Sara (Emily Blunt) is ready to sacrifice herself out of love for her son; and Joe - well, be sure you don't count him out, even though he smokes. But with Old Joe, it becomes particularly intriguing when the very drive to avenge his wife - his memories - is thwarted by the actions of his past self. What if he never meets her? There would be no one to avenge, and his purpose to live would vanish from existence. There's a scene in which this almost happens. While short, it questions the very concepts of identity and purpose - who would he be without his past? - and thus suggests the importance of treasuring one's own memories.

Of course, this scene also reveals, dare I say it, a plot hole. Old Joe's 2044-self is doing this and that, any of which might change what Old Joe (from 2074) has come to know. But what about all the things he might do between 2044 and 2074? Shouldn't Old Joe's mind be in perpetual flux from all the things his past self will now do differently based on his recent, life-changing experiences? Well, he's not. It seems that his 2044-self, and nothing outside of that instance in time, matters. To me, this makes absolutely no sense. Bear with me; there's more.

Ever heard of the grandfather paradox? Looper runs on the assumption that, if time travel were possible, a man could go back in time and alter his past, thus changing the future from which he came. The grandfather paradox can be understood in the following example: Bobbery uses a time machine to go back in time, before his grandfather had had a son (Bobbery's father), and then proceeds to kill his grandfather. So now Bobbery's grandfather is dead, which means Bobbery had never been born. However, if Bobbery had never been born, then he couldn't have come back in time to kill his grandfather. As such, if he could've never come back in time to kill his grandfather, then his grandfather lives, and Bobbery was born after all! Which means --- you get the idea. In other words, the universe would implode. Anyway, a certain event towards the end of the film makes as much sense as going back in time and killing your grandfather. That is, it makes no sense at all.

A third and final plot hole (there isn't room for more) joins us in the restaurant scene, where Old Joe attempts to kill Joe. If Joe was to die, then Old Joe wouldn't exist. So why is he shooting at him? Also, if Old Joe never existed, he couldn't have killed Joe. Whoa, slow down! Another paradox!?

If you can ignore these inconsistencies - Willis pretty much tells viewers several times not to think about time travel too much - the film is mostly good. Some of the major details are predictable; Joe narrates at the beginning to inform us who's who (a shortcut method to get the premise covered); some scenes simply feel weird in their execution; and there's a ten-year-old who's more like six and way too smart for either age, who's a paradoxical combination of creepy and cute. However, these finer details are more-or-less shoved to the bottom in light of a well-developed plot, action which entertains, and a cast of interesting characters. The ending, while cheesy, is very apt and refreshing. It completes the film and solidifies a message veiled behind all of the action - that true love means sacrifice. That, or the future has lots in store for coming generations - like telekinetic powers!

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Bad Endings

There are good endings, there are bad endings, and there are those endings that would've been good if so-and-so had died properly and not come back to life five minutes later. Be it book, movie or even videogame, the ending is the last thing we see or read. It's the final impression we get, and it has the power to make or break the entire narrative. A good ending often means a good movie. I say 'often' because it can sometimes mean a redeemed movie. For instance, the movie sucked but the ending was fantastic. Following are some of media's not-so-fantastic endings, at least according to my personal opinion.

Salt

via IMDB

I don't know what's worse: a bad ending, or no ending at all. This movie shocked us with the latter. Granted, it might've been its only innovative factor. But I almost got a fright when the credits began to roll. Where did they come from? Ted Winter is revealed to be the main bad guy about two minutes before he dies, and then Salt is taken prisoner on a helicopter. Next, she's running through a forest and then whoa! Credits!

Spy action is always fun, but this movie had no build up, no climax, no nothing. The antagonist's death was as impacting as the bit where Salt removes her contact lenses. I remembered that bit because I, too, wear contacts. Despite not having a personality, she was likeable from that moment onwards. Of course, that only made the ending (or whatever it was) even worse, because I'm still at the edge of my seat waiting to find out what will become of my contact-lens-wearing heroine!

The Hunger Games (film)

via IMDB

I knew the credits were coming for this one. The music told me so. But the scene itself wasn't end-worthy at all. Without the "this is it, guys" music, and the fact that the film ran for 142 minutes and was at its 141st, there would've been nothing endy about it. It didn't even feel like the end of a scene. President Snow (who looks uncannily like Santa, and whom I therefore like to call 'Evil Santa') is staring at a TV screen. He isn't happy with what he sees, so he walks up some stairs. No way! (That's the ending).

I remember the scene well because a) it wasn't in the book, and b) it was bad. I recall expecting him to go somewhere - a hidden room perhaps - where he'd unveil a secret weapon or some type of trump card; you know, to create one of those 'dun dun DUN' feelings, or a cliffhanger for you technical folk. I think viewers deserved something like that, what with the lack of any twist whatsoever throughout the entire film. But no, it just ended. Granted, I read the book, but the book had no twists either. In the end, because it was impossible to replicate Katniss's thoughts from novel to screen (the book ends with her not wanting to let go of Peeta's hand), the filmmakers decided to add a shot of Evil Santa walking up some steps. What does that even mean!?

Every Videogame Ever Made

Superb game, bar the ending.

I use the term 'every' lightly. What I mean is, rather, the vast majority of story-driven videogames. In almost all of them, you spend somewhere between 20 and 100 hours making your way from start to finish, and there's always some major obstacle to overcome at the end. It's fun, of course, because otherwise you wouldn't have made it this far. Anyway, after dying countless times and wasting more of your fleeting life trying to out-button mash the computer, you eventually make it. It's the end: quite often a five-minute cinematic of the world now liberated from evil. After that, it's the credits. That's it. You don't even get to save your game, to explore the evil-ridden world with all of its evil-ridden-ness. Once the credits are done and you reload your game, it pits you right back on the brink again. You sit there moping as you finally realise that glory and honour don't last. No one remembers you. When you look at the screen again, it's just before the final battle. Everyone's terrified, and you're the only one that can save them. Or can you? After all, no one will ever know. Such it is with life; and like life, perhaps it's just so that you cannot see the onscreen, fictional world free from evil, for no man can, in fact, perceive such a world. It doesn't truly exist. All you have is the personal achievement of conquering yet another videogame. You'd put it on your CV, but then who would be your reference!?

Fortunately, for every bad ending, there's a good one, right? With regards to film and novel, I think you can remember a few. But in terms of videogames, it would appear not. However, utilising such endings as metaphors for life itself, perhaps the final reward is in the lessons they teach us. Life is short; kill off the lead character.

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Introverts 101

*Interlaced with helpful analogies and metaphors!

Introverts are often misunderstood. I would know, because I'm one of them. But we're humans too, and like all human beings - regardless of gender, race or hair colour - we just want to be acknowledged. But how can we be acknowledged unless we're understood? Thus, I shall endeavour to explain, in a logical fashion, how introverts work based on my own experience and the general nods of affirmation I've received in previous discussions on the subject with like-minded people. The key term to keep in mind is social energy. Having said that, it must be noted that a man should not, upon reading this, put introverts, or anyone else for that matter, into a box labelled 'explained'. After all, "you're unique, just like everyone else." Rather, I hope only to demystify, even if just a little bit, the clouded notion people tend to equip pertaining to introverts.

Social energy is exactly what it implies: it's the energy one has to be social. Like sleep, we all need it, and like regular energy, it's expendable. Some people have large social energy 'tanks', if you will, while others have smaller ones. Of these people, some expend their energy quickly, while others are able to trickle it out over a long period of time. I for one use it up pretty fast. It sort of gushes out (I often appear quite extroverted), but I'm able to adapt to the situation. For instance, I can go to a four-day non-stop social conference, and use it up over those four days, or I can go on a two-week long non-stop social trip to Nelson, and have enough social energy to last the entire time there. Regardless, at some point or another, the social energy depletes, and from there it needs time to restore itself. For the introvert, this means being alone, or around few people, just so he or she is recuperating social energy faster than he or she is spending it. I'm sure everyone needs time alone sometimes; but introverts undoubtedly need more. Lots more.

During this period, social events are hideous beasts, while time by oneself is heaven on earth. Therefore, if a friend text messages me, "Hey, come over! I want to catch up with you and ten other people all at once!" I'm likely to say no. However, it's not because I don't like them, or any of the other ten people for that matter. It's simply because I can't be social right now. I'll talk sparsely, get irritated easily, and wish I wasn't there. Simply put, my company wouldn't be enjoyed, and I'd think myself inconsiderate. As a general rule, I don't take well to spontaneity. However, you might notice that even your introverted friends take quite kindly to spontaneous events, at times. This would likely be because you caught them at a time when their social energy is high, and they're rearing to use it like a dying man in a desert is rearing to drink of the fresh waters and eat the magical pineapples in the sparkling oasis he's just discovered. However, like this sparkling oasis, such occasions are rare and should not be depended on.

via blog.lib.umn.edu

You see, introverts generally like to plan ahead. This is because social energy cannot simply be 'summoned' when there is none. So, if my social energy is low, and you invite me to an event today, I will likely decline, even if I'm not doing anything. However, if you invite me to something a few days in advance, I'll likely accept, because I can plan for my social energy meter to be full and usable. If it's planned, it'll work out.

On that note, there is another factor to consider when trying to understand the concept of social energy. You see, I like socialising, but I also like not socialising (often, choosing between the two is like choosing which flavour Subway to get: not easy!) I also get accustomed to things that are yet to happen. I might have a super busy few weeks, but know that Saturday is going to be a nothing-at-all day, which I'll look forward to, and which will thus motivate me to get through the week in high spirits. However, if, on Friday, some friends invite me to lunch on Saturday, I might say no, because it violates my plans to do nothing. However, if they invited me before I made those plans, then I would've said yes! I also said yes to a two-week long beach mission in Nelson, because I had time to think, and I was given six months' notice.¹ In short, social energy not only restores over time, but even when full, it often needs time to prepare itself. Your food might be in the fridge, but it needs time to heat up.

I hope the concept of social energy is easy to grasp. If so, then it should have helped to explain and justify why introverts like me need time alone: primarily to recuperate and to prepare. When my social energy is high, I talk a lot, and appear very extroverted; but I could just as easily be at home doing nothing, and that's equally fun. However, everyone's different, and when an introvert declines your invitation to the game, or when he or she is quieter than normal, it might not have anything to do with social energy. It might just be that they don't like rugby, or that they have nothing to say. It might even be because they're busy. Introverts make plans, too, you know. In the end, don't adopt the idea of social energy to every instance where an introvert says 'no' to you. And don't bother asking why, either; it'd take all my social energy to explain it again.

----------------------

1. You don't need to give me six months' notice, or any notice. Just don't take it to heart if I say 'no'.

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'Fun Size' chocolate, with added moral

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have overlooked something. I realise that language changes. 'Thus' and 'hence' are used interchangeably; 'whom' is pretty much a goner; and 'gotten', I'm still getting used to gotten. It makes me think of mutated cotton. But I'll get there. 

What I don't get - what I'll never get - is something far graver than any of the aforementioned tweaks to the English language. It quite frankly contradicts the very thing it aims to promote. Still wondering? Then let me ask you, at which point did 'fun' become synonymous with 'MINISCULE'?

Some things can be small and fun: Gameboys, cell phones, iPods, vegetables. In fact, vegetables so small they're invisible are the most fun. But chocolate -- chocolate is never fun when chocolate is small. Better word associations for a lack, or shortage, of chocolate, include: taunting, tormenting, torturous, dire, deprive-yourself, I'd-rather-die, and so on.

No man even closely associates any of these words with 'fun', unless they're a masochist. And even if they are, leaving one's taste buds pleading after a nibble of melt-in-your-mouth chocolate is never, ever fun.

So, why do we have this?

The bit in the yellow.

Let's hope they don't release a SUPER FUN size.

Yes, you may get twelve in a pack, but there's only ever enough for one each. Don't try to argue. And one 'fun size' Snickers is like one measly bite of pizza, after which you're forced to endure the mouth-watering aroma of pepperoni and cheese and whatnot without so much as another taste.

You see, I like to down my Snickers in one no-mess mouthful, but other people nibble away at the corners like it's secretly disgusting but they're trying to be polite. Still others save theirs for later. To that group I always think, "Why didn't I do that?"

But when I try to do that, it never works: the chocolate must be eaten. And so it always is that I'm left chocolate-less, contending with the delicate munchings of those around me whose secret motives, I'm certain, are to torment me. Fun.

It was fun while it lasted, sure. But when it's gone, all you can do is sit and watch as someone else does a better job with their Snickers (an atrocious metaphor for time and resources). Regretful, wasted, depressed - these are the only emotions you feel now, and they're never fun. Wasting what time you have today could mean it'll all be over by tomorrow.

Remember, "the consequences of today are determined by the actions of the past. To change your future, alter your decisions today." (I made that up, then added quote marks to make it official.)

In life, we're told to lower our expectations and settle. Well, you know what? It's time to take a stand. Say NO, that's not fun-sized, that's crap-sized! I deserve more!

And other meaningful things.

Now go buy loads of chocolate! And avoid the I'd-rather-die size!

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Ten Reasons Why You Should Own a Cheetah

"The lion is said to be majestic, the leopard ferocious and shrewd. But elegant and graceful best describes the cheetah."

This gay marriage excuse for a debate has recently got me thinking: I want to own a cheetah! Here are ten reasons why you should own one, too.

1. The cheetah is the friendliest of all the big cats.

2. It's the only big cat that can't roar. It chirrups, mews and even purrs!

A heterosexual couple of cheetahs.

3. It's super pretty.

4. It's non-aggressive.

5. It has a super long tail for balance and coolness.

6. It's the fastest land animal, reaching speeds of up to 113km/h!

7. During the day, it can see its prey from five kilometres away!

8. It's the only cat with blunt, non-retractable claws, which help grip the ground like cleats for traction when running. Its pads act like tire treads for sharp turns at high speeds.

9. It knocks its prey to the ground before suffocating the animal with a bite to the neck. Cool!

10. It only gets thirsty once in every three to four days. Economical!

I don't want some attention-seeking, ass-licking, milk-drinking Siamese. I want a cheetah. It's my right! No... it's our right!

(Also, they're endangered. So there's a legitimate reason, if you needed one.)

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Whingebooking

A man once said, "No one sees your diary unless it's called Facebook; and if that's the case then don't expect to keep your friends."¹ That man was me, and today it is these words upon which I wish to expand.

To break it down: Facebook should not be used as a diary. You can get away with it once or twice, but, eventually, you'll lose your friends (or get your posts removed from the News Feed). Note: I have little proof that this happens, but the 'unsubscribe from x' button was implemented for a reason, and I certainly make the most of it.

"What do you mean 'as a diary'?" 
To answer that question, I point you to a term from the Urban Dictionary – whingebooking. “Someone uses Facebook as a ‘dear diary I hate my life’ platform on a regular basis […] Sufferers are often in a ‘complicated relationship’ […] or hate their job/partner/life, so most of their facebooking is negative and when challenged about it [they] will often whinge even more.”² Here are a few examples:

“FML.”

“I can’t imagine this day getting any worse…”

“I just don’t care anymore...”

“I’m going to kill myself.”

“Seriously! I wish people would just leave me alone!”

I’m sure you’ve seen some of these before. They’re all the same: The person writing has recently discovered that life isn’t perfect, and everyone on Facebook needs to know about it. What’s odd is that if you enquire as to what’s wrong, they either won’t respond or they’ll say something like, “Oh, it’s nothing…” or, “Can’t talk about it now…” which begs the question: Then why the heck did you post it on Facebook? Logically, if they aren’t going to respond to comments, then they shouldn’t have whined on a social networking website; what they should have done was write it in their personal diary. 

But the reality is that someone’s been gossiping about them behind their back - this evidently means that life can’t get any worse - and they need to share this bleak truth with everyone they know (or everyone they think they know. They don’t know, for instance, that I’ve blocked them!) And the reason they demand those valuable kilobytes from everyone’s Internet is this: they want attention. What’s worse is it works; they get the attention they ask for. It seems that time and again a stream of people will come running to their rescue with comments such as, “What happened?” or “You okay?” or “Wanna talk about it?” to which they, of course, don’t reply, and which only encourage the poster’s attention-seeking behaviour, making them more likely to repeat it in future.

Thing is, anyone with half a brain (those who don’t comment on these posts) realises from the outset that such people are seeking comfort in the form of ‘likes’ and “there theres”, and any actual details are hidden so it seems like the person whinging is suffering the worst fate imaginable. But they aren’t. In fact, their life is no 'worse' than any other person with a home, food, clothes, Internet and tertiary education thanks to excessive loans from the government. They simply have unrealistic expectations of life. It’s true. People with problems worth whinging about can’t afford the Internet to whinge on; people who truly want others to leave them alone wouldn’t be on Facebook; and if you can’t imagine your day getting any worse, then please, try being a quadriplegic, or getting fired, or living under a bridge with nothing but the elements to keep you company.

Every time I see a post like “I just don’t care anymore…” I am so tempted to comment, but not with “Hope you’re okay” or anything like that; rather, “You obviously do care if you’ve taken the time to tell the world you don’t”, or “Stop spamming my news feed, please.” Of course, I never end up commenting, but not because I’m nice. No, it’s because I know that it’s these comments, comforting or no, which they want. These comments fuel their attention; so even a rather blunt ‘look in the mirror’-like response could somehow reinforce their Facebook diarying – their whingebooking.

So to those who’re nodding in agreement as they read this: know that the best thing to do (at least until a better solution is found) – and, believe me, it’s not easy – is to say nothing and walk away. Yet for those whose stomachs churn with the familiar tendrils of guilt – you know who you are – please, do us all a favour and “face your problems, don’t Facebook your problems.”³

References:

1.     http://sanctuaryofsynonyms.blogspot.co.nz/2012/05/im-not-one-to-rant-but.html

2.     http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=whingebooking&defid=5219588

3.     http://www.boardofwisdom.com/mailquote.asp?msgid=445933

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Metro Man

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who learn the hard way, and those who learn from the first kind.

I was in Melbourne a couple of weeks ago, shopping, eating, exploring. On the Tuesday, my good friend Jenny and I were at Hoyts, about to watch The Amazing Spiderman. She thought it would be wise to use the bathroom beforehand lest she either miss a pivotal moment or wet herself; so I waited in the corridor for her, unaware that the to-be victim of ridicule and laughter, nicknamed Metro Man, was about to enter the scene. His get-up wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; but the way he walked was like he owned the show, like everyone should stop what they were doing and acknowledge him. He swung his shoulders with every step and wore sunglasses as if no one was worthy of gazing upon his face (I couldn’t think of any other reason. The corridor wasn’t exactly well lit); and he took pride in his adept balance of large drink in one hand, large popcorn in the other, and second large popcorn in his mouth. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he wanted everyone to know about it.

Analysis complete, I turned my gaze down to my phone where the news feed was still loading. A group of tweens whispering to the left revealed that I wasn’t the only one who thought the guy was too cool. They giggled as he walked past; his back was to me now. And as I looked up to appease my boredom with the immediate surroundings, he stopped, just for a second. But it was the longest second, and the greatest, for Metro Man sneezed! Popcorn sprayed; heads turned; and laughter ensued. He almost dropped the second carton, but prevented further awkwardness by catching it between his arms. Regardless, a torrent of buttery deliciousness painted the floor around him, and high-pitched, poorly-concealed giggles only added to the amusement. I, however, ensured that my snickers went unheard, and smiled only because I knew he wouldn’t see me. He asked for it.

At this point, I expected him to embrace the awkward and join the party – of laughter. But instead, as slow motion wound back into real time, he simply kept walking - as if the bucket-dropping sneeze never happened; as if the heckling laughter didn’t occur, and as if slow-motion sequences of epic awkward weren’t a thing. Yet, with an episode of unanimous nods throughout the whole room, it was quite clear that they were, in fact, a thing. Meanwhile, the giggles continued as the girls proceeded to mimic the disaster, turning around to make sure mister Metro couldn’t see, and then laughing some more at their own silliness. Silly indeed, those tweens.

Replaying the scene in my head for maximum satisfaction, and growing more and more disappointed that Jenny missed it, I was oblivious to the fact that Metro Man’s performance was not yet finished. As he came to some glass doors that led to nowhere, it occurred to him that he was going the wrong way. I aimed palm for face, but he turned around and would’ve seen me; so I quickly and aptly turned it into a head-scratch while pretending that something on the black screen of my phone was interesting. He retraced his steps, traversing the sea of popcorn, then trailed bits of it over the poor carpet as if he writhed in embarrassment and defaced property - to which my expression was now a confused mix of disgust and suppressed laughter. Speaking of suppressed laughter, I could feel it welling over by the girls. Pressure continued to build; then, just as Metro Man strutted out of sight, it burst in an uncontrolled bout of high-pitched squeals. All this before the film had even started! Life is good.

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