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D.R. Ranshaw

D.R. RANSHAW

He's Dead, Jim...

11/26/2018

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Today’s post title, as any good Star Trek fan can tell you, comes from that lovably crusty old medical doctor and philosopher extraordinaire, Dr. Leonard McCoy, affectionately known to many as ‘Bones.’ McCoy spoke that line, or a variation of it, so many times in The Original Series (TOS) that it became a catchphrase. It was commonly spoken in the teaser, before the opening credits even rolled, and frequently (but not exclusively) referred to one of the hapless ‘red shirts’ --- anonymous crewmen from the ship’s Engineering and Ship’s Services Department --- who became something of a cliché in their own right because of the depressingly astounding rate at which they tended to get killed off (they became known in Trek parlance as “expendable crewmen,” arguably one of the more unfortunate labels in dramatis personae history).
 
Now, sooner or later, we all have to “shuffle off that mortal coil,” heading off to death, “the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns,” as Will famously said. And that extends even to literary characters. But the cavalier fate of those poor red shirts, who kept dying unmourned, episode after episode, came vividly back to me after watching a lovely little film titled Stranger than Fiction (StF).
 
Released in 2006 to generally favourable reviews, StF featured a stellar cast that included Will Ferrell as protagonist Harold Crick, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Queen Latifah and Emma Thompson. Crick is a lonely, introverted IRS agent who, out of the blue one day, starts hearing a voice in his head, narrating the events of his life in real time as they occur --- and providing one truly terrifying piece of foreshadowing: his impending death. Naturally, at first, he thinks he’s crazy. But as the film progresses, it becomes evident to him (and us) that he is really a fictional character somehow hearing the storyline of his author, Karen Eiffel (played with terrific despair by Emma Thompson as she struggles with writer’s block to type out the narrative). Eventually, Crick and Eiffel meet… which you’ve got to know would be a pretty surreal experience/shock for any writer… and it is. Unfortunately, the film doesn’t really explore the metaphysical aspects of this situation at all, Dustin Hoffman’s role aside (he plays a university creative writing professor who ultimately comes to the conclusion that Crick is, indeed, a fictional character hearing his creator’s voice). Hearing our Creator’s Voice. That alone would be a pretty stunning cosmic moment for any of us, but as I said, the film rather glosses over such weighty matters, which is a shame, because exploring them would have made a good film even better, but hey --- as Cinema Sins is so fond of saying on YouTube, no movie is without sin. And in any event, I found the film rather thought-provoking, which I suppose is certainly saying something in these days of vapid, big budget, heavily CGI laden movies that mostly seem to deal with comic book franchises and cardboard cut-out characters. And spawn a host of mostly uninspired, unimaginative sequels featuring same again. But I digress.
 
Now, as a writer who’s finished my first novel (Gryphon’s Heir) and is hard at work on the sequel (Gryphon’s Awakening) in what will (hopefully) be an epic fantasy series (trilogy at least, maybe more), I’ve already killed my fair share of literary characters. Quite a few have been the equivalent of Star Trek’s red shirts, and I must confess, rather shamefaced, that I killed them off with nary a qualm. “I mean, they were extras, man… you know, static, flat characters who were little more than glorified props!” (Or as Arnie Schwarzenegger’s character said in the film True Lies when questioned by his horrified wife as to whether he had ever killed anyone, “Yeah, but they were all bad people.” Oh, well, that’s all right, then, Arnie.) But in my second book… yeah, that one, the one currently under construction… I do kill off a fairly major character. In rather a grisly fashion, to boot, when I stop to think about it. And she’s not a bad person, so I don’t even have that rather flimsy moral justification to fall back on. She’s just a sweet young woman whose life is saved by my protagonist in book 1 and who kinda-but-not-quite becomes a sorta-but-not quite love interest for him.
 
I guess, when we’re contemplating murdering a literary character, perhaps we need to ask ourselves several questions:
Is the death gratuitous? In other words, why are you killing this character? Shock value alone is neither sufficient nor in good taste (in spite of what lessons you may have absorbed through watching current television series like Game of Thrones or The Walking Dead).
Does the death advance the storyline? In other words, what is going to be gained through this character’s untimely demise? Does our protagonist stand to gain some deep philosophical or practical understanding about Life, the Universe, and Everything In It? If not, why not?
Is there any other way the storyline can be advanced without this death occurring? In other words, does the death have to occur? Is it a Needful Thing?
 
Now, yeah, I know, I know: it’s a rum old world out there --- both real and imaginary worlds --- and Bad Things Happen. All The Damn Time. Some of those Bad Things seem completely arbitrary, even capricious. (I happen to believe they’re not, but that’s a discussion for another time.)
 
But I also know I’d hate to have a fair-haired, radiantly beautiful young woman, dressed in a flowing gown, show up on my doorstep one day, gaze soulfully at me and ask with achingly sweet innocence, like Cindy-Lou Who in How The Grinch Stole Christmas, “Santy-Claus! Why? Why did you kill me?”
 
“Well, my dear, you see, it’s like this…”
 
Yikes. ‘Tis a consummation devoutly not to be wished. (With apologies to Will.)

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The Doom of Men

11/12/2018

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Picture
You know, there’s a great scene in John Boorman’s 1981 film Excalibur that is very germane to the topic I want to touch on today. (Excalibur’s script drew largely from Sir Thomas Malory’s epic poem Le Morte d’Arthur, written in 1485 AD, which deals with the life and death of the legendary King Arthur.)
 
In the scene, Arthur’s knights have all just assembled following their victories over the last barbarian tribes still opposing them. It’s a heady moment for the knights, because it marks the culmination of all their endeavours to unite Britain under a single king --- Arthur --- and bring an end to the bloody chaos and barbarism ensuing for centuries in Britain after the Romans withdrew their legions and stabilizing influence. So, knights being knights --- i.e. a little rough around the edges --- their exuberance overflows. Just a tad. And Merlin, Arthur’s wizard and seer extraordinaire, gets jostled around. Just a bit. Which is probably not the smartest thing the aforesaid knights could do. (J.R.R Tolkien has a character in The Lord of the Rings dispense this little pithy gem of advice about wizards to Frodo: ‘do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.’ Oh, yeah. Indeed.)
 
So in line with that, Boorman’s Merlin does not take kindly to this jostling. He sends a jet of flame roaring from the tip of his staff and swings it menacingly ‘round the circle of overexcited knights, warning them to shut the hell up and pay attention. Or words to that effect. This is what he actually says:
 
STAND BACK! Be silent! Be still!... That's it... and look upon this moment. Savour it! Rejoice with great gladness! Great gladness! Remember it always… for you are joined by it. You are One… under the stars. Remember it well, then... this night, this great victory. So that in the years ahead, you can say, 'I was there… that night… with Arthur… the King!' For it is the doom of men that they forget.
 
Nice little speech, delivered with great panache by Nicol Williamson, who played Merlin. And that last line is truly great. It’s almost a throwaway, but if you pay close attention to it, I think you’ll agree, it’s a gem.
 
For it is the doom of men that they forget.
 
Yesterday was November 11th, which in Canada is Remembrance Day. In the USA, it’s Veterans’ Day. In the UK, it’s Armistice Day. And so on. In all cases, it’s a day when we remember the end of that terrible conflict, the First World War. (And, of course, later on we tacked on the Second World War. And Korea. And… sigh. Our propensity to add to the list seems woefully endless.)
 
The young man poised confidently --- perhaps even jauntily --- in the picture above for the camera, is my maternal grandfather, Robert Francis Clews. He was a corporal in the Royal Artillery, and was a professional soldier… not a conscript who enlisted in the first heady days of the Great War, as the 1914-18 conflict came to be known. He was in the first wave of British troops dispatched to France after war broke out in August of 1914… a war that left many politicians (…and civilians… and soldiers…) scratching their heads over just how the assassination of the heir to the crumbling Austro-Hungarian empire could ignite a conflagration that would engulf not just continental Europe, but many countries in the rest of the world as well.
 
Those first British soldiers who traversed the English Channel in August 1914 were called the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), although the German Kaiser Wilhelm had another name for them: he called them ‘that contemptible little army,’ a name the survivors proudly adopted, as veterans of the BEF called themselves ‘the Old Contemptibles.’
 
I never actually knew my grandfather very well. He and my grandmother came over to Canada to visit us twice, if memory serves, the first time when I was four and the second when I was nine, and we visited them in England once when I was 11. Then he died, very suddenly and unexpectedly, a couple of years later. What I chiefly remember about him is a rather stern old man who was not particularly easy to talk to as a young child, and I regret that, because I’m sure it would have been very rewarding to have gotten better acquainted with him. However, I do remember him. Especially on November 11th. I look at the two World War One medals of his I inherited, hanging in their frame on the wall of our family room, and I look at the picture of the young man at the top of this entry, and I wonder what was going through his mind when the picture was taken. And I remember.
 
So why do we remember? Because we need to. Because it is the doom of men that they forget… and they shouldn’t. They mustn’t. Because, to quote the famous philosopher George Santayana, ‘those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ 100 years after the First World War, and only 73 years after its much more terrible younger sibling, the Second World War, we’re seeing so many of the awful ideas and beliefs and populist dogmas that caused those conflicts springing up yet again. It’s like we’ve already forgotten.
 
So we remember. We must. We cannot forget.
 
Or we’re truly doomed.
 

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Declarations

11/5/2018

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Picture
It’s a warm, humid summer evening in a small coastal Oregon town named Arcadia Bay, and golden cricket song is everywhere. The sun dipped below the horizon some time ago, but the last vermillion glow on the clouds has taken a while to soften into the azure of night. And at a tony private high school named Blackwell Academy, an outdoor presentation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest is underway.
 
The curtain almost couldn’t rise this evening: the actress playing Ariel didn’t arrive, a crisis with the potential to sink the show. But Rachel Amber, the student playing a female Prospero, was accompanied by a friend, Chloe Price, who came intending only to watch. And Rachel pointed out to the drama teacher, Mr. Keat, that Chloe could pinch-hit the Ariel role until the regular actress’ arrival.
 
Chloe, who is definitely one of those let’s-fade-into-the-walls-when-confronted-with-an-outside-the-box-situation teenagers, was aghast at the idea; only a direct plea from Rachel --- who has become an extremely close friend --- convinced Chloe to very reluctantly accept the part.
 
This is the scenario in Life is Strange: Before the Storm, an Xbox game that actually (for the benefit of video game sceptics) features an interesting storyline with some really, really nice moments in the narrative. It’s one of those moments I want to look at today.
 
(I happen to like this game a lot --- just because it’s a video game doesn’t mean the writing has to be simplistic and the characters mere cardboard caricatures --- so I’ve written about it before. You can read those posts here and here if you’re interested).
 
The moment I want to examine is this: it’s early in the play --- Act 1, Scene 2 --- and Ariel wants her release from indentured servitude to Prospero. The scene has gone more or less according to Will to this point, but when Chloe gives Ariel’s line about desiring freedom, Rachel abruptly veers waaaay off course into the Land of Complete Improvisation:
 
Rachel: Thy… liberty? Nay! This most of all I will not grant!
Chloe: (confused, thinking) That’s not her line… is it? What’s going on? (Aloud, stumbling as she tries to stay in character while dragging things back on track) But thou assured my freedom… didn’t thou?
Rachel: I never said how dearly I hold thee; my habit’s been to keep my soul well-draped. (pause) Most loyal spirit… companion and friend… is acting in my service not replete with excitement, amusement, and delight?
Chloe: (slowly, but with increasing confidence as she begins to understand what’s going on) Of course, mistress… most truly, it is so.
(Cut to backstage)
Caliban: (urgently, to the director) Mr. Keat! They’re way off script!
Mr. Keat: (excitedly) Shh! It’s… magical!
(Cut to closeup of Rachel and Chloe)
Rachel: Then why, I pray you, wish you to be free?
Chloe: Excitement’s… a mere... counterfeit of bliss. These storms and these adventures? I prefer… to know… thou still cared for my… plainest self.
Rachel: (stamps her staff) I have thee in my grasp; I will not bend! I will not see thee flying forth alone! The envy would be more than I could bear.
Chloe: So come with me! Is that not in thy pow’r?
Rachel: Spirit, take my hands, most faithful friend. (kneels) For but a little longer I beseech: continue in thy service to my schemes. And when they are complete, I swear to thee… we shall fly beyond this isle, the corners of this world our mere prologue. I’ll seek to make thy happiness so great that e’en the name of liberty’s forgot. What say’st thou to my most hopeful wish?
(Cut to long shot from the rear of the theatre of the two on stage. A voice in the crowd calls out, “Say yes!”)
(Cut to closeup of Rachel and Chloe)
Chloe: (smiling) Yes.
Rachel (to applause as the audience reacts) I am most pleased. (Getting back to business --- and on script --- as she stamps her staff again) Your duty, done for now. So go forth hence with haste. I’ve work to do. (It is a dismissal. Chloe turns and, with enormous relief, heads offstage, where she is met by Mr. Keat)
Mr. Keat: Well done. An admirable effort. And the ending! Absolutely transformative. I am… humbled.
Chloe: No problem. (Thinks) What the hell just happened? Was that real?
 
Sure was, Chloe. And we can tell that you understand what occurred as well as we do: under the guise of Will’s Prospero, Rachel has, very publicly, declared what she wants in her relationship with you. Now, the vast majority of the audience will be blissfully unaware Rachel has gone majorly off script to make her heartfelt declaration --- you’d have to be intimately familiar with the script to realize that, and let’s face it, this is The Tempest. By Shakespeare. How many people are intimately familiar with it? Yep, that’s right: damned few. I don’t know if Rachel actually planned this out in advance when she knew Chloe would be assuming the role. I’m guessing not: based on what I know of human nature in general, and Rachel’s character in particular, I think it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. But that doesn’t make it any less important or meaningful. (And, as completely fabricated Shakespearean-style dialogue, it was well done, too. You can check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYF9KkTN5Sg and go to about 1:54:15 in the timeline. The soundtrack complements the action well: a soft piano melody that perfectly captures the wistful nature of the moment.)
 
So the question is, why should we as viewers/readers care? Well, simply because of its instructive qualities for storytellers: it’s a quite lovely, tender moment in a narrative, marking an important milestone in the development of the relationship between two characters. And it’s done in a very clever, creative way. There’s a sweetly earnest simplicity to it that I find compelling. Will has a different character say to another later in the same play, “I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” but it’s not quite the same as what Rachel does for Chloe. I mean, how often does one character declare their feelings for another in so public and yet simultaneously so private a fashion?
 
‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
 
(Still Will, different play.)
 
 

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    D.R. Ranshaw's Blog

    Author of The Annals of Arrinor series.  Lover of great literature, fine wine, and chocolate. Not necessarily in that order.

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