steven ray orr

Tom Francis:

I will definitely ask you for changes to your work, regularly. Absolutely nothing to do with talent. If Leonardo da Vinci submitted the Mona Lisa, I’d say “Sorry, but for gameplay reasons the smile needs to be readable on low detail settings at wide zoom levels or players might mistake her for hostile. Can you make it a bit more pronounced?”

Although I doubt that anyone reading my blog has serious designs at doing art or music composition for an indie video game, Tom’s statement is still a good reminder for those of us that do any sort of creative work with or on behalf of anyone else: you are going to be forced to alter it to meet expectations that seem either unreasonable or merely contrary to your original design. As frustrating as it may be in the moment, it is useful to recall that our work is not for us alone. Changes will have to be made to satisfy particular situations or individual opinions. As a writer and as an improvisor, it is advice to keep close at hand.

Scott Tobias for the A.V. Club:

The line between the world of Starship Troopers and Sarah Palin’s Twitter feed gets thinner every day.

In 1997, one of my favorite novels was transformed into quite the odd movie. Despite rewatching it with an alarming frequency, I still do not know what to think of Paul Verhoeven’s Starship Troopers. It is not the novel, but it does not try to be – Scott does a good job of exploring what it may have been attempting. The volumes that have been written on this movie would make for quite the interesting library, but Scott’s article is worth checking out.

But, as always, do not read the comments.

Tim Jonze for the Guardian:

The eye contact. The sincere chest thumping. The limbo dancing right at the end, which comes straight after that stomach-churning, guttural roar. The whole thing is strangely unsettling, incredibly moving and brave enough to risk teetering to the very brink of out-and-out hilarity without quite falling off the edge.

Context.

Alexis C. Madrigal for The Atlantic

The vexing, remarkable conclusion is that when companies combine human intelligence and machine intelligence, some things happen that we cannot understand.

Netflix is a remarkable company. Google may deal with more sheer data, but Netflix has come to understand its data better – the impressiveness of the way that it navigates the complexities of categories and genres. The grammar of film and television is still being composed: What is the syntax of the silver screen? The morphology of cinema? The pragmatics of script?

These questions go far beyond the precision with which Netflix recommends content, just as understanding the form of the novel was about more than simply selling copies. Thomas Pynchon and James Joyce, masters of paragraph landscape and sentence construction. Netflix is not engaged in comparable projects to Gravity’s Rainbow or Ulysses – as good as Orange is the New Black and House of Cards may be, they do not radically break the form.¹ It is a first step though, one of analysis and understanding.

I am inclined to reject that the results of our thought and action are unintelligible. Ignorance, deliberate or otherwise, perhaps, but I distrust those that claim inadequacy. It may be true that we are lacking, but drive in the face of the impossible is the very marker of our being. Is it incomprehensible? Attempt at comprehension. Does it appear to be impenetrable? Try to pass through. Meekness in spirit all but ensures failure – which is not to say that boldness is a guarantee for success, it simply allows for the possibility where there was none before.

The rise of algorithmic thinking, the convergence between machine and human intelligence is upon us. Google and Netflix are obvious markers of it, although I wonder if it has not already long been the case. Algorithms are not a uniquely digital phenomenon. Regardless, this intersection is now the norm, not the exception; in addition to whatever else we may be, we are also algorithmic beings. To relegate this relationship to the realm of the unintelligible is to wallow in nihilism rather than teach our eyes to hear, our ears to see. The ballad of constant fools who rest comfortable in what seems to be.²

Philip Seymour Hoffman roles demanded introspection and thoughtfulness. This, of course, is not solely upon him, but also on those that helped build his characters and he recognized the importance of directors and writers in his own craft. Yet excellent writing and careful direction can all be for naught if the actor is unfit for the role – and talented actors can offer some redemption to a poor script or a sloppy vision. It is to Hoffman’s credit that he rarely fell into such films.

He was an actor that took great care with his fictions, because he knew that stories were powerful and neither the audience nor the teller can ever wholly escape. Capote has stuck with me for years and I cannot help but hear Hoffman’s voice when I read In Cold Blood.¹ He embraced his weirdness, his strangeness – and then displayed it on the screen for all to see. That particular brand of force and presence that he brought to his work will be missed.

Yanis Varoufakis for Valve:

Throughout history, whenever the number of transactions (and ‘assets’) grew in number, one of those assets soon emerged as a numéraire – a basic form of money that is. Once the numéraire acquired currency, suddenly the prerequisite of some double coincidence of wants vanished and people could trade anything for the numéraire–asset which they could then use in order to buy whatever else tickled their fancy. In short, as economies grew in sophistication, they ‘monetised’ and ceased functioning on the basis of barter. This is why never in history have we witnessed truly sophisticated barter economies (for reasons similar to why we have not developed hugely sophisticated training wheels for professional cyclists).

I study political theory through the works of Friedrich Nietzsche and Hannah Arendt; I study Canadian politics through Alan Cairns and C.B. MacPherson; and, for a while, I happened to study economics through a Professor of Economic Theory that writes for Valve – a company that develops and distributes video games.

SasquatchPhD on reddit/gaming:

I always thought “plumber”, in the Mushroom Kingdom at least, was more like our “ranger”.

The Mushroom Kingdom is obviously built on top of a vast network of all encompassing pipes which, for the last few decades at least, seem totally unconnected to anything major or modern. Things live in those pipes. Dark things. Dangerous things.

Mario and Luigi are the only two people in the Kingdom willing to “plumb” the depths of those pipe systems, clearing out the goombas, and the pirhanna plants, and the koopa troopas, making things safe for you and me. They’ll go places no one else would dare and face things no one else knows exist. That’s why they’re heroes.

This is not merely fan fiction, rather it is the measured examination of the world that must exist beyond that which is seen and heard. It is the construction of a narrative beyond that which is obviously presented. And once revealed, it becomes an obviousness in its own right. Of course Mario and Luigi are descendants of the Dúnedain.¹

As far as I am concerned, this is now canon.

Seth Godin:

If you spend enough time experiencing your own take on reality, you come to believe that what works for you might actually be a universal truth. Marketing plus psychology might equal science, it seems.

The rise of “personal science” strikes me as one of the most dangerous aspects of contemporary society.¹ The notion that having opinions is somehow equal to having knowledge has become all too common. Global warming is an obvious example, but such “reasoning” has spread to almost every field and topic. Debate is hardly possible anymore as there is can be no equal footing from which to stand when one side has an evidence-based worldview and the other is entirely opinion-based. There are parallels here between the conflict of science and faith, but few would claim that anyone contemporary is mirroring the suffering of Galileo Galilei. But even worse than these two opposing philosophies is when opinion and faith come into conflict with each other wearing the facade of fact. The fury that people come to when their “I Believe“‘s are not aligned… There can be no measured arguments, no agreements to disagree.

Tycho Brahe from Penny Arcade:

[Gabe] also does not understand pinball. I mean, he understands that there is a silver ball and that you can’t let it go down through the hole; he doesn’t understand why I find them beautiful. I tried to find a word to describe how I feel about them that wasn’t the word beautiful, but I couldn’t do that and be honest. They’re playable sculptures; I don’t know what you want from me.

For some it was Street Fighter II or Final Fight, for others it was Contra or Gauntlet. I myself have fond memories of Konami’s X-Men (and even foolishly bought it for my iPad) and my brother and I spent far too much money on both Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtles in Time and The Simpsons Arcade Game, but I have always had a fondness for pinball cabinets. A well played nudge; the long row of dibs quarters; and replays long into the night. No worries about having to compete with joystick watchers, no frustrating time limits announced with cries of “Red Wizard needs food badly”. Just my flippers and I against the world.

To those who can’t understand the appeal of pinball I have a simple reply, “how can you not?”. Playable sculptures indeed.

Eric Burns-White:

Once the mantle of Superman is assumed, the character is not becoming, he has become, and at that point the burden is on the writers – he is the figure who finds the other way, who makes the right choice.

Eric’s piece explains one of the popular frustrations with Man of Steel and he does it through the use of archetypes, ectypes¹, and Myth Criticism. This is a counterpoint to my previous post about the film, but Eric is quick to state that this is why the character does not work for him. This is the key.