Award shows.

For the first time in years, I gathered together with friends in Cornerstone's media department to watch the Academy Awards.  As I watched these incredibly talented and creative people give emotional speeches thanking everyone from their agent to their dogs, I wondered why it is that we watch award shows.  Why have they become such a standard of American television, garnering viewers in the millions?

I read once that the Olympian gods, perhaps, still exist in Hollywood.  That the worship that humans once threw at Aphrodite, Zeus, and Mercury, we now give to Brad Pitt, Kim Kardashian, and Conan O'Brien.  There's something in us that wants to look up to creatures like us, but better. 

Of course, they have their problems.  They fight, they argue, they cheat.  In fact, their problems comfort us.  We really aren't that much different from what we worship, after all.

As I watched the awards tonight, I didn't find these people worthy of my worship.  But, I was... inspired. 

The ellipsis is there in that last sentence because it surprised me.  I'm not someone who gets caught up in who's marrying who and for how long and what this guy said on set that was such a big deal.  I have no need for gods in my life.  I am, however, a creative person.  I am a filmmaker, a writer, a member of an academy (however small and backwater-seeming at times).  Watching these complete strangers whose work I admire greatly receive awards with humility and gratitude rekindled in me many things.

One of the strongest was a desire to write.  But not so that I would be honored with an award.  Rather, it was because I wanted to give actors the chance to experience the catharsis I remember feeling as an actor.  I want to tell stories that move people, that cause them to think, that make them feel something they haven't felt before. 

I want to be part of an Academy.  I want to see the beauty in the creative works of others and be a part of recognizing that.  To give the sublime joy of affirmation, "Yes. What you poured your heart and soul into has worth.  It is beautiful.  It was worth it." to an actor who never expected it.  Or to the first hit screenwriter.  Or the industry veteran who has continued to move us with their craft. 

So perhaps this is why we watch award shows.  Not to participate in some kind of subtle cultural idol worship of neo-Olympian gods, but to be inspired.  To see what humans are capable of in the hopes that we, too, may achieve something great.

I need you so much closer.

Oh hey.  Long time no see.  I think I want to start blogging again.

I've been terribly busy starting off 2012 right as the Year of Being Invested.  That's meant a deeper involvement in the things that I love than I had last year.  And I love a great many things.

This last weekend, the youth ministry I work with had our annual winter retreat.  It's a story in itself that I'll spare you from, but I wanted to share a quick story from our last night at the camp ground. 

Christian bands are not known for their originality.  Worship bands, even less.  Mostly, I think it's understandable.  When leading a group of people in something, sometimes you have to hit the lowest common denominator to find community and some kind of shared knowledge.  But this band this weekend didn't seem to have that philosophy. 

We stood up to sing and I heard a familiar guitar riff.  I tried to place it, but I just assumed it was one of the probably hundreds of Christian songs I've memorized in my lifetime.  Then they started singing.  "I need you so much closer...  I need you so much closer..." 

 

Right about 3:00 in...  You'll hear that beautiful line...

It's one of my favorite Death Cab for Cutie songs.  In a worship service!

Normally, I'm categorically opposed to appropriating secular songs into worship services.  Usually this is done just to be "relevant" or "edgy".  It tends to be a desperate attempt to "culturize" the church, which almost always robs both the song and the church's message of their power. 

(My church once did this awful rewrite of "Sweet Home Alabama" that was turned into "Sweet Home Up in Heaven."  I nearly died.  They've never done it since.  Praise God.  Seriously.)

This, however, carried none of that spirit.  This was recognizing that, though the original artists didn't intend to worship God with their music, God was still honored.  God can be worshiped with songs that were not expressly created for that intent.  It was beautiful.

As the song continued, we stopped repeating "I need you so much closer", but the guitar line undergirded a transition into a more familiar song, transposed and rewritten.  It was a beautiful experience and truly worshipful (at least, to me). 

I would like to see more of this in the Church, I think.  The redemption of lines, riffs, and pieces of popular songs.  It models an engagement with culture that glorifies God and calls attention to the common grace given all of us as image bearers of the Creator.  It's something I strive for in my life and, for me and the few others in the room who knew Death Cab, it turned into one of the more beautiful moments in the weekend.

Directing.

Man, remember the good old days when I'd post on this blog every day?  Those were really good times.  We had some laughs, shared some stories, discussed some hot-button issues...  It was really something.

And then, on the little side-bar to the right, "Directing a short film" appeared.  My life has been consumed.

I swear I'll go back to regular updates sometime after the first of the year.

So far, I have found directing to be a very enjoyable experience.  I've been blessed to be surrounded by an incredibly talented team, so my stress level has been relatively low.  We start principal photography on Sunday and I'm really excited to start working with actors and seeing this script come to life.

See you all on the other side, where I will continue the Minecraft chronicles and respond to a couple articles I've read in the last couple weeks.

Player Expectations.

Courtesy of Critical Distance last Sunday, I was directed to these two articles analyzing Modern Warfare 3.  The first, written by John Walker of Rock Paper Shotgun, is fairly critical of MW3's design and lack of choice. The second is a rebuttal by Brendan Keogh (a writer for Edge and Kill Screen) defending the game a bit more.

When we play games, we tacitly agree to a contract.  We agree to be bound by the rules of the game as long as the game will give us the experience we're looking for.  In soccer, that means that only 11 players can be on the field at a time.  If we didn't follow this contract, some teams would rush the field with 25 vs. 5.  The experience of competition and teamwork that most players play soccer for would be ruined by the unfair odds.  In Hide and Seek, opening your eyes while people hide ruins the exploratory and deductive fun to be had by actually following the rules.  Likewise, by obeying the rules of video games, we gain the entertainment, challenge, competition, etc., that its gameplay has to offer.

For example, no one complains about Zelda's linearity.  I've never read a review that complains that a Zelda game doesn't allow you to join Gannondorf or asks for the ability to kill random townspeople.  No, in Hyrule, we are on our best behavior.  We put the cuccos back in their cages, we go on fetch quest after fetch quest, we save the children, rescue the horse, and, at the end of the day, prevent the end of freedom and goodness at the hands of Ganon.  In so doing, we feel like a hero.  We are challenged.  We participate in a story of courage and sacrifice.  These choices are part of what we expect from the game and we submit to the limitations of "goodness" gladly.

I think this is the central point that Keogh makes in his follow-up article.  Modern Warfare 3 makes no attempt to be a free-flowing, open world game where choice is a central theme (and mechanic).  This in no way makes it less of a game (After all, choices are still being made on a moment-by-moment, objective-by-objective level), it just makes it a different kind of game than Walker wanted to play or expected to play.

The core difference between Keogh and Walker's playthroughs also comes down to their beliefs of what a player should be.  Increasingly, I think this is what will divide games more than anything else in the coming few years.  Must players, necessarily, be the sole decision maker for how the game progresses (e.g. Minecraft)?  Or can players take a slight back-seat position to the designer's decisions (e.g. Final Fantasy)?

I wholeheartedly support Keogh's final conclusion and I think he says it more elegantly than I could.  So here it is:

So this is what I ask of you [Walker], and of all videogame critics and players alike: stop using “freedom” as a metric for a game’s quality or, even worse, for a game’s gameness. Every game is a dance between player and code, but that doesn’t mean the player always gets to lead. A game that leads the player can be just as meaningful, significant, intelligent, stimulating or exhilarating as a game that lets the player do whatever they wish (within the games confines). The player is not the centre of the equation, and neither is the game. It’s the interrelationship between the player and the game that matters most.

Minecraft Chronicles, pt. 2

I’ve been on this island for months, probably.  After those first few nights, struggling to scrape together enough supplies to survive, I’ve made a decent home.  I’ve plumbed the depths of a huge cavern.  I’ve mapped out my surrounding ocean so that I know where to go next.  To that end, I’ve been slowly building out a minecart track to the nearest continent. 

It’s been a few weeks of work on the track.  It’s slow going.  Iron is not exactly the most abundant resource in my caverns.  I’ll lay out 64 tracks, spend a few days finding iron, lay out 64 tracks, etc…  This morning, I finally completed the stone support going off to the continent and a thought struck me.  Why am I building track out here?  Why don’t I just move my base?  Heck, why don’t I go find a village?  That’s why I came here in the first place, right?

I head back to my base and gather a few supplies.  My clock, a compass, enough materials for a new map as I’m exploring, a few pickaxes and swords.  Basic survival stuff.  Maps are huge, right?  It surely won’t take long to find a village.

After about a week of exploring, I’ve exhausted my map.  No village that I could find anywhere in its borders.  Disappointed, I start heading back home, across the forest, through the huge swamp, and over a very nice plain.  I take a look at my map to make sure I’m walking the correct bearing, when all of a sudden, I fall.

Turns out that plain had a few ravines cutting through it.  Big ravines.  My insides are squashed out by gravity and, in my last moments, I see my two maps, clock, a good amount of iron, some gold, and all of my tools scatter across the ground.

Horrified, I respawn all the way back home.  Now mapless, I have no idea how I’ll get back to my body to get all my valuables back.  All I had left in my base was a half-used stone pickaxe.  Trusting in the map I had somewhat memorized in my head, I immediately run in the direction I think my stuff might be.

It’s four days of wandering before things start looking somewhat familiar.  There’s the forest that I crossed through.  And the edge of that desert.  And there’s a bunch of pigs here.  I think that’s near the plain.  Lo and behold, I came across the very same plain that I traipsed across before.  Before long, I found the ravine, all of my belongings still at the bottom. 

Very carefully, I mined my way to the bottom of the ravine, accidentally hurting myself in the last little jump.  But everything was there.  Now, to get back up…