Remowned

I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed that BioShock–one of the most aggressively original games that has shipped recently–is so quickly becoming a full-on Franchise, with an 18-month (or so) sequel and a Hollywood sequel. It is inevitable, really–but that’s the most telling part.

Now, I have met a number of people working on BioShock 2, and honestly I think it would be difficult to find a group that is more talented and more suited to the material, so I don’t want to give the impression that I am ragging on that studio or its project, because I’m not. I can’t wait to see what they’re thinking up.

Similarly, director Gore Verbinski gave an interview that puts his enthusiasm for and knowledge of BioShock in an encouraging light. He and screenwriter John Logan have definitely skewed towards the more box office Hollywood blockbuster side of the cinematic experience, which wouldn’t be my first pick, but I can see the justification and necessity there.

Logan did write one of my favorite films of the last several years, Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator, so that’s a plus–and I can see some parallels between the eccentric billionaire industrialist Howard Hughes and consummate captain of industry Andrew Ryan, both larger-than-life figures consumed by larger-than-life principles. Ken Levine is said to be involved; it isn’t clear to what extent.

So it isn’t that I don’t have faith in these projects. It’s just that I find it unfortunate that the video game industry is still so relentlessly hit-driven, in a way that hit-driven Hollywood isn’t even close to being, to the point that once somebody does find a hit you can pretty much draft up a map of commodification, effective immediately, with your eyes closed.

I watched the Coen brothers’ Prohibition-era gangster flick Miller’s Crossing at the Castro the other evening. I’ve seen it enough at this point that I’ve internalized the interpersonal connections and intricate subplots, and can focus entirely on appreciation when I watch it.

In particular, I want to point out the introductory scene, which sets up the relationships and general convictions behind local boss Leo O’Bannon and up-and-coming rival Johnny Caspar. Even if you aren’t entirely sure what all they’re discussing, the scene completely frames these two men in a way that informs your perception of them for the remainder of the film.

This is reminiscent to me of the opening scene from Tim Schafer’s brilliant 1995 biker adventure, Full Throttle. (more…)