"We're the same temperature now."

I have to report a crime. I… I've done something… terrible.

Before you shun me into the mythical realm of sparkly people whose sole weakness is in the juncture between head and shoulders (who would have thought: without their heads, they're powerless!), and where awkward conversations abound because the focus of them is a girl who has one facial expression, zero personality, and an inability to close her mouth; hear me out. I can explain.

I'm a bit like Rowan, a friend of mine who can't watch one film in a series and not the rest. Except, in my case, it's adhering to a tradition. Said tradition involves venturing with mates Nicky and Douglas to bear the latest 120 minutes of twilight pandemonium. Yet, if you treat the saga as a comedy, and you watch it with like-minded people, it can be more than bearable. Dare I say, it can be entertaining - but only because it's hilarious. Alas, we were the only ones in the theatre overcome in constant hysterics.

The first scene was no exception. Bella is embracing Edward (as one does after waking up from a coma during which one died) when Edward, barring nothing from his romantic tone, says, "We're the same temperature now." I honestly thought I might be watching a parody.

A later scene sees Alice walk into the living room where the rest of the family are sitting in silence (though they seem perpetually poised for a family portrait, no matter the setting. I concluded it must be a vampire thing). Without warning, she has a premonition of their doom, and upon returning to the present, drops her vase of flowers (I suppose it's better than dropping a wedding cake). Everyone turns to her, but that isn't enough for Jasper. No, he vampire-sprints over to her side, close enough for his nonexistent breath to condense on her cheek, before asking, "What is it?"

Why did he need to run to her? Why couldn't he have just stood up and asked from where he was? Why wasn't there a laugh track?

Those are just two examples, but believe me, the laughter was endless, even during the fight scene, when countless heads were being torn from their shoulders. I was waiting for Bella to split in two, but the premonition ended before then, at which point you find out the entire fight never happened. It would've happened; that's why it was a premonition; but it didn't, because the bad guy was going to lose, and losing is undesirable. It was then, when I realised everyone's bodies were still intact, that the laughter stopped. Not only that, I was disappointed.

Now, you can't call me ignorant, because I've read the book corresponding with the film, and in that, they prepare for a fight which never happens. That sucked. But the trailer for the film hyped itself up by showing snippets from an action scene never realised in text. I guessed that the film developers changed the ending - that they followed through with the fight. But my hopes were cut short. Sure, they filmed the fight, but it was a fight that never really happened. No consequences, no remorse. What a stupid story! In other words, the first 90 minutes, a boring slew of awkward conversations and training sessions spread far too thin as a build-up to their inevitable doom (as foreseen by Alice), yet sufficiently appeased by numerous episodes of unintended humour, was, in fact, a build up to nothing! This means the film's drive didn't even exist, leaving it utterly void of purpose.

Furthermore, the action scene was all but saturated in cheese! Not garlic, cheese! This was primarily due to the Volturi leader sending his cohorts one at a time to have their heads removed. Why not just attack all at once? Seriously. Logic. You see? Even the fight scene - the one part of the film I thought might be worth watching - failed to deliver. Not that it would've: an action scene needs to be grounded in plot for it to appeal; and this film's 'plot' was contingent on said action scene. So the fight had no purpose; the movie had no fight; and the entire film caved.

In hindsight, I blame Alice. If it wasn't for her future sight, Breaking Dawn: Part 2 might've had a chance at a decent ending. It's a shame, really. I was always on team Alice.

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Does Grammar really Matter?

Grammar and Punctuation¹: a volatile blend of simplicity and complexity. Simple in purpose, yet horrendously difficult to master. Each one of us knows what the term means - it isn't rocket science - but when it comes to hearing its application, I oftentimes close my eyes, picturing a cave occupied by men and women. They wear the skins of primitive beasts, and their tools are a collection of stones and bones. Fittingly, like the mammoth they slew and from whose bones they procured, grammar and punctuation is too great a beast to simply tame. It must be laid to rest.

Forsooth, some say that grammar doesn't matter; that it is an old-fashioned mix of arbitrary rules belonging to a minority who refuses to adapt; that those who claim to be well-versed are all compensating for things of actual significance that they lack; or that it is only relevant in some situations, like during a job interview or an exam.²

Such claims are bold, but they are no bolder than the ones proclaimed from those who hold a different view. Indeed, some would go so far as to say that grammar and punctuation might be the Achilles heel of today's Western society.

To those who uphold the former-most view, that language is changing, and that we ought to change with it: I agree. Language is always changing, much like fashion. Yet, no matter the fashion, there are standards; and in every instance, there is a scale ranging from inappropriate to over-dressed, with just right sitting in the middle. It is the same with grammar. There are standards, even today - standards that many people would rather do away with. I might want to wear shorts and a tee shirt instead of a suit to my wedding, but you would all gawk at me (or not attend) if I actually did. Likewise, I gawk at the eight out of ten native English-speaking people who can't differentiate 'have' from 'of'.

Granted, this comparison fails to shed any light as to why grammar and punctuation matters in the strictest sense of the word, and it even appears to support the claim that grammar is only important in some situations, like during a job interview or an exam. Perhaps that is because this claim is spot on. Just like most things, finely-tuned grammar only truly matters when its counterpart, poor grammar, bears unwanted consequences. Applying sun block at the beach matters because, if I don't, I'll get burnt. Correctly-punctuated writing matters in an exam because the alternative is to lose marks. Following is a spam email I recently received.

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

T-Mobile Nederland BV
Waldorpstraat 60,
2521 CC Den Haag,
The Netherlands.
online-client service.

CONGRATULATION!

From T-mobile NL we are proud to inform you that your email address have
won you 850,000.00euros from our online anual coordination.

Chose an option which you will like to receive your winnings presenting
along side your winning reff number: NL/VV5-421/0031012.

(1). Come to the Redemption centre here in the Netherlands.
(2). On-line Bank Transfer
(3). Courier Delivery service

Congratulations once again.
Regards,
Robijn van-kloose.
Award Coordinator for T-mobile NL

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

A sore thumb is a grave understatement in illustrating just how jarring this email is to anyone with half a brain. Indeed, it is completely submerged in discrepancy. You might have noticed that the word in capitals is missing a letter. Just one letter of a fifteen-letter word, yet we all notice it, and I'm sure we would all agree that it is unacceptable. Even with the 'S', the word itself, capitalised to grab the reader's attention, is a tell-tale sign of spam, yet the typo (I'll give them that much) is icing on the cake. Then there are 99 others. You see, even if I would have been so easily fooled, this one slip up is the ultimate sacrifice of credibility.

Credibility. It matters.

Things that uphold credibility: research, enthusiasm, confidence, good grammar.

If you can't back up a claim, prepare to be criticised. If your tone is dry and stale, prepare to be ignored. If you sound as confused as the people you're trying to instruct, prepare to be questioned. If your grammar is atrocious, then you can forget about everything else; you're going in the spam folder! Essentially, in all cases where you want to be taken seriously, strong grammar and punctuation strictly does matter.

via cheezburger.com

But what about in all other cases? Does grammar matter on Facebook, on Skype, or in casual emails? Your first response might be: no, it doesn't. You have nothing to prove on these mediums; you type like you talk; and there is no reason to put any effort into it. Fair enough, I say. And once again, I completely agree. In fact, I see no need to comment on the structure of someone's imperfect Facebook status when there isn't any pressing reason for them to write it correctly. If everyone understands it, and it makes sense, then that's all that matters. My hope is that, in cases where grammar does matter, they know what to do, and they'll get it right.

There is a difference, however, between a man who knows better but simply doesn't care, and a man who strives to get his grammar and punctuation correct, yet falters at the last word. My view is that everyone is innocent until proven guilty. In other words, it's only when there's a genuine mistake that I consider addressing the author. In such a case, my train of thought plays something like this: "If John has made a grammatical mistake despite making an effort not to, then he is likely to make the same mistake at a later time when it may prove detrimental." What is the next step upon this realisation? Do I point out the food caught between his teeth, or do I leave it unnoticed, hoping that he won't be too embarrassed when he eventually gets given a mirror?

In essence, grammar and punctuation on mediums like Facebook doesn't matter, or at least it wouldn't matter if these social mediums were the be all and end all of communication. But they aren't. Eventually, you will write something - a report, an essay, a personal statement - in which your understanding of grammar and punctuation will be your backbone. A good performance requires practice. Whether or not your grasp of English needs a polish is entirely up to you. Perhaps you know it well enough; but when it comes down to it, will you know where to place the apostrophe, if any? Should there be a comma before the quotation, or not? And can you properly distinguish its and it's, or there, their and they're? Your lecturer can. Your employer can. If you can't, then teach yourself. Google it, learn it, then practise it. 

Facebook, text, email - they might not matter right now, but they will matter when it's too late. For the sake of a job interview or exam, it's not unheard of to, you know, prepare.

For those times where grammar and punctuation strictly matters, every other instance may or may not matter in retrospect. It is your call to make. But it's all part of a constitution, and governing that constitution is a language that probably stems from your childhood. Do you remember? You learned a 26-letter alphabet, and you came to appreciate 26, not 25, distinct characters as the building blocks for communication. Today, not once do you forget one and replace it with more of the others. You accepted the whole package. It was either that, or nothing at all. Creating your own language, choosing your own rules, it doesn't work. You speak English, a constitution complete with standards and guidelines. Typing "your" when you mean "you're" is like spelling CONGRATULATIONS without the S. It's incomplete and, quite frankly, irresponsible. This, my friends, is why grammar and punctuation matters. It's the same reason the letter 'S' matters in the English alphabet. Forget everything else. You can punctuate and spell how you like on Facebook; you can rebel against your employers with a typo-ridden resume; but you can't then call it English. English has 26 letters; it has spelling and grammar rules; and it has punctuation marks.

If you say "should of" or "yous" or "Some-think", then by all means, keep saying these things. I trust you of all people are the smartest of us all, for your grasp of language is so firm that you feel confident to play with it, as if the tendon above the heel bears no limit to its stretch.

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

1. As both nouns are part of the same constitution, I'm treating them as a single term. For instance, "Parks and Recreation" IS a TV program.

2. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7E-aoXLZGY I love this!

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More Betterer

Let's face it. English is too damn demanding. We have to spell words, use commas and full stops, and then decide how many exclamation marks to use at the end of something remarkable!! And then that's not all. Nowadays we're having to contend with… with…  double superlatives! "Say what?" You ask, your tone aghast and your face warped with shock. Precisely.

Let's be clear. Saying things like "more nicer" and "more stronger" don't make any sense. But not saying them is yet another cumbersome task for the burden of speechcraft. All these regulations - it's hard enough as is not to break the law without worrying about the rules of… how do I say it… language! Well, worry no more. For I offer you the most moral code of moral codes: if you really don't want to give something up, justify it!¹ After all, if you can't beat'em, join'em.

The phrase "more better", along with all its variations, has become widely used in today's declin- I mean Western society. It probably stems from the fact that some words allow you to attach "er" to the end, like 'cuter', 'smoother' and 'funnerer', while others don't, like 'satisfied-er' and 'beautiful-er'. In the case of the latter two, one should say "more satisfied" or "more beautiful". Halt! All of a sudden we have two different utensils for the exact same piece of pie, and only one of them ever serves as proper etiquette. It's only natural, therefore, that they sometimes get mismatched, or we simply become too accustomed to our spoon of choice.

There are two main reasons why a man shouldn't say terms like "more better".

1) They don't make sense.

2) They sound retarded. The 'er' in "better" does the same job as the word 'more' preceding it. Forsooth, they mean exactly the same thing and do exactly the same job. Thus, if you say something like, "My new job is a lot more better," it's like saying, "My new job is a lot betterer," or, "My new job is a lot more more bett," to either of which I'd ask, "Who hired you?"

But this phrase, which simply leaves the word 'more' completely and utterly redundant, has been ingrained into your minds like the alphabet. Like how one plus one is two and not, in fact, sixty-five. It's part of the basics, and cannot be simply erased without you questioning the authenticity of your very own childhood. Fortunately there is no such need to wipe your memory. At least not yet.

It should be noted that I'm a man who doesn't just complain, but comes up with solutions as well. In fact, I can think of an entire one reason that completely justifies the use of 'more better'. Take Bobbery, for instance. Bobbery broke his leg last Sunday. It's now Tuesday. Life sucks because he's maimed and can't do much. But he can still talk - and his mouth is now his only remaining source of dignity. Screw that up, and he might as well be a fish.
Sarmeena, one of his good friends, pops in for a visit. "How's the leg?" she asks.

"Well," Bobbery begins, "it's more better than it was yesterday."

"Uh, what did you just say?" she says, her tone aghast and her face warped with shock. Rightfully so.

"Sarmeena, I can explain."

"I'm listening," she concedes, proving her loyalty as a friend through thick and thin.

Bobbery takes a deep breath. "You see, yesterday I was feeling a bit better than Sunday; but today I'm feeling much better than yesterday."

"So?" Hostility is creeping into her tone now.

"So, the amount by which I feel better today in relation to yesterday is greater than that which I felt yesterday with regards to the day before."

The ensuing silence is awkward, and Bobbery senses that the threads of their friendship are wearing thin and farther between. Much to his relief, she simply laughs and flicks her hair. "Oh, why didn't you just say so?" And she proceeds to share her chocolate with him, chocolate that she was about to keep to herself. It's berry and biscuit.

So what did Bobbery mean, exactly? Simple. The improvement in Bobbery's health between Monday and Tuesday was greater than the improvement between Sunday and Monday. Thus, he feels more better today than he did yesterday. So long as this explanation can apply to your uses of the term 'more better' or any of its variants, you will be able to defend ridicule, embarrassment and the Facebook-approved certainty of your friendships.2 You can thank me laterer.

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

1.    Sarcasm

2.    This justification actually holds no water at all. "More better" still sounds retarded because Bobbery could (and should) have instead said, "even better," or, "better yet". Fortunately you probably didn't read this far.

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First World Angst

Today I experienced a bout of first world angst. It only lasted five seconds. After that I ate food, resolving all previous problems. Then tonight it happened again, this time for about thirty seconds - maybe more! For half a minute the entire world was against me. Of course, self-awareness yet prevailed, and here I now sit, writing this blog, twisting the truth to make a point. Oh, I've already said too much.

It's not right.

It wasn't enough. That fridge, closing without permission as fridges are wont to do. Sometimes I end up holding it open with my foot while I pour the milk on my cereal over at the bench¹ - I'm quite coordinated like that - and then swivel round to return the milk before the door shuts, all in one fluid motion. But today wasn't just so.

Today, I had toast.

As a man having toast does, I took a plate from the cupboard, a knife from the drawer, the toast from the toaster, and the butter from the fridge. That evil, evil fridge. I'm sure it hates me, for within its lair is where I encountered the terror of the first world.

You see, a man can leave the pantry open when he's borrowing the bread, or even the cupboard above the bench housing the sugar. But the fridge? Nope. Can't do that. Can't leave cold condiments and beverages exposed to the elements. That would be counterproductive. Why, world, why? Why do you make us suffer so? You give us electricity, lots of cool stuff, and an appliance that keeps the food chilled at a constant three degree using negligible amounts of energy. But you make us KEEP THE DOOR CLOSED!? Agh!

Alas, in the five seconds it took me to butter my toast (my finesse with the butter knife is unparalleled, even when the weight of the world appears to be resting upon my shoulders), my frustration quickly tempered. A certain thought, something like, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I… FOOD!" occurred, stopping just short as I began devouring my breakfast.

You must be miserable.

It wasn't until later tonight, in the midst of my shower, that that previous thought was given the time to conclude. Of course, the thing which triggered said thought was a mysterious and perhaps uncanny bout of bipolar disorder going on in the water pipes. For a good thirty seconds, the temperature was bouncing between hot and cold; and the cold wasn't fun. To make matters worse, one of those bounces lasted just long enough for me to think it was permanent and make the water hotter. Suffice it to say that, thanks to my Samoan blood, I came out of that bathroom unscathed --- but just barely. During this second encounter, I was all up in arms at the fact that I shouldn't have to deal with indecisive showers! But in the end, I again became aware of my foolish thinking and, in introspection, thought, "Oh, right, I have so much more than I need. Why the heck am I complaining?"

I don't know the answer to that; but I think the constant pipeline of awesomeness, in the form of technology, food, great people, good weather, stable jobs, convenient healthcare, are all part of the constitution. They're great, make no mistake. But they fuel an insatiable appetite for more. and our capacity for expectation only grows with each subsequent undertaking in first world convenience.

Sort of like this: "I'm complaining about a fridge door shutting. My life must be so boring. OMG, my life is boring! Time to complain!" Like that.

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

¹ Sure, I could open it all the way without the need for the whole foot-stabilising, but then the fridge door would slam against the pantry door, which was already left open for added bread-returning convenience.

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Grammar Matters, Otherwise You'd Still Say 'Brang'

Important: This post was originally a column written for Nexus - the University of Waikato's weekly magazine. However, it went unpublished because, I think, there wasn't enough room in this week's issue what with it being the last issue for the year. It's all wrap-everything-up themed, so they replaced my column with something way less cool (I read it, and decided it was way less cool). Since it didn't get published there, I decided to publish it here! Naturally, this column is aimed at a university audience, but it's just as relevant for them as it is for everyone else. Read on, if you will.

With the end of the year approaching, it's time to look back, to reflect, and to let go. Remember when you let go of that word 'brang'? It's a non-word kids substitute for 'brought', and it's often interchanged with 'brung'. You've probably forgotten, because it's been over a decade since you grew out of it; but I'll try to jog your memory.

One day in your fleeting childhood, you were given a divine revelation. You realised that 'brang' and 'brung' sound like both of two things, and nothing at all like 'brought'.

via Your Daily Portion of lol's page on Facebook

For one, they sound like creative uses for 'bleep' when someone curses on a candid video clip. For instance a man might say, "I'll BRANG you up good." If this was on TV, you'd hear the sound of clanging cymbals instead.

Secondly, these words 'brang' and 'brung' suitably fit onomatopoeias for the violent strumming of a guitar. Onomatopoeia, by the way, means a word formed from the sound with which it is associated. Examples include flap, meow, clap, patter and brang. 'Brung', of course, is simply the past tense. Clap, clapped; brang, brung.

"Tama brung his guitar as he walked to school. The guitar strings snapped from all the branging."

I bet you remember now, right? In hindsight, it wasn't too difficult to grow out of. After all, 'brought' sounds so much better and more sophisticated than 'brang'. So you quickly detached yourself from 'brang' and 'brung', and dumped them in the sewers to float amongst all the others. By 'others', I mean: 'should of', 'ragland', 'alot', 'some-think',misplaced apostrophes. The list goes on. 

You got rid of them, yes? 

What? You say you still use some of them? 

You say you still cling to these foul and pungent mutations? 

You, who stand here at the crossroads of your life; you, who hope to make it to the top someday. My friend, you're still deep, deep underground, where the waste of yesterday churns, where vermin gnaw through decaying flesh, and where unrealised dreams become lost in the darkness.

To this I have but one question. As the season changes from spring to summer; as the cool fog clears for the rising sun, will you forfeit the burdens of the past that hold you down, and rise up out of the ground like a flower through soil? If so, then stay your tongue and sever those foul words; for a flower can be full of potential, but as long as there are weeds, it cannot hope to grow.

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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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