Writer's Note

Querying

I finished my novel a couple months back and have been on and off the polishing business. But this week (ending today) I have finally arrived at the point of sending it to literary agents. It is an exhilarating and unnerving moment at the same time because I’m young, inexperienced and most of all, a terrible self-selling man. I hold it to be a huge injustice against artists, looking for representation, that they have to be able to promote themselves, market themselves because all through history it’s been common sense that they are the most shy, introverted people. Well, I’m not the typical introverted person but I still don’t like talking about what I’ve written. I like writing it fine, even discussing it but not like a used car salesman, who’s trying to point out why a wreck is still something to be wanted. Anyway, it’s beside the point--it would be if I had a point. I guess I’m just trying to get some feelings out of my system. I genuinely love the period of writing and creating but now I feel like an alien, who’s destined to fail, though I hope I’m destined to succeed but my emotions are hard to control. But now, off to bed, off to sweet dreams.

Since 1974

#southbound to Her, to the dentist and to sweet innocent dreams from the past

What is Reckless?

Tumblr’s prodigal son returns to his audience of one--himself.

The past four or five years I’ve been consumed by ideas. Articulations. Unraveling mysteries.

But what kind of a mystery is something that can be articulated or unraveled? Very low quality.

Prose and poetry and music feel a little bit like things of another elevated reality. Such a place it must be, where those irresistible people live from myths and novels, such muses there must be to inspire some of the melodies out there.

So, where I can articulate something, or explicitly understand meaning, there I must break myself. And through the mystery, can one only reach anything worth reaching.

Waiting is hard but it's better than having nothing to look forward to.

Tarsem’s The Fall #2 - Immersion

In this series I’m exploring the reasons why Tarsem’s “The Fall” is my favorite movie.

Seeing a movie for the first time can be awfully important because as the viewer goes along with the story they build up their attitudes, which will hardly change later. Now this doesn’t apply in all cases, since many art films heavily rely on alienation, absurdity and obscurity, all these undermining the importance of the first time, as the case is often that the conception and solidification of attitudes and a deeper understanding of the experience come later. In fact we regularly process movies after the event, however this is usually more of an adjustment in the case of genre movies.

One feature that I find overarching The Fall is its generosity and it is present and foremost here, in the field of immersion, as well as in many other places. The Fall, being an independent film with an R rating, didn’t have very much to win by being as viewer-friendly as it ended up being. My argument is that this film is enjoyable and not at all puzzling at the first time viewing but it serves an artistic purpose and not popularity.

I found two interconnected parts of the film that helped it accomplish this feat.

#1: Placing us in Alexandria’s point of view. First off, a child seems a relatable protagonist, since everyone has been one. Her being in a hospital with a broken arm seems like nothing out of the ordinary; even if one has never had a broken bone, there’s nothing predominantly exotic about it.

#2: The narrative arc is gradual. To delay the exposure of the audience to the more powerful motifs of a film is a hard thing to do because it requires confidence in the script and performances and high payoff value expectation. As I mentioned in the previous paragraph, the story’s starting point is very familiar and seemingly simple. When we are shown the characters and their depths, the movie follows a classic formula: we start with more mundane details and progressively move toward the more dramatic. A juxtaposition: in today’s storytelling it’s more common to try to shock the viewer early on and thus induce an immediate and strong emotional response.

The Fall follows through with this approach of gradual expansion on every layer, e.g. Roy’s story starts out as an independent tale, which is very safe and light, then it becomes inseparable with their reality and concerns the darkest and hardest topics around the end. In this narrative mode the audience is granted safety from confusion, as there’s an obvious story on the top that is entertaining in itself. At the same time, however, the more profound layers of the film, through being concentrated in the later parts, can be encountered without the deception that sudden shocks and an ensuing emotional chaos would have caused. Thus I think the art in The Fall is exquisitely genuine and can be experienced as such, which is a very rare merit.

I read Bram Stoker's Dracula right after changing the course of my studies. From a fine university I went to another brilliant one. Everything around me seemed to take new shape and I had to learn new customs. In this phase, when my brain was forced to let fresh things pass, I found myself absorbed in this piece of literature, which I had been meaning to read for quite some time then. And so it was, I read it and found it interesting and original. On the contrary, I felt it wasn't a perfect match for me, since it was set in and meant to be understood in another era.

Time passed and I concealed my Dracula experience in the back of my head. This period, however, came to an end, when, yesterday night, I stumbled upon Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula (1992), and I couldn't resist, so I watched it.

The cast is near perfect, Keanu Reeves being probably the only odd one out, since he looked way too young and inexperienced to take on the role of Jonathan Harker. But all in all, Gary Oldman (Dracula), Winona Ryder (Mina Harker) and Anthony Hopkins (van Helsing), acted so stupendously, that left me breathless at certain points of the film. The directing was also terrific--of course, what else could we anticipate seeing Coppola's name on the credit roll.

Before saying anything I must remark, that I'm a huge supporter of book adaptations, so I had a very positive attitude towards the movie beforehand. At the very end of the film, it sadly turned into bitter disappointment. But remember, I write this, having established, that it was almost perfectly made.

Dracula's original story operates with stereotypical characters and countless elements brought in from superstition--not strictly, just in comparison with contemporary ways. The story has its twists and mysteries but those aren't as shocking and sudden as it would be expected from a current book. It begins with a solicitor, Harker's visit at castle Dracula and an encounter with the monster, Dracula. From here the count goes to London, seeking new lands to hunt humans. Harker's fiance, Mina is staying at her friend's place, at the same time. This friend, Lucy, has a habit of sleepwalking. When Dracula arrives to England, she, conveniently, happens to be the easiest target. The count feeds on her regularly, killing her little by little, until it gets too suspicious and Lucy's noble admirers, joined by professor Abraham van Helsing, unite to discover what torments the woman. They come to a right conclusion eventually but then it's too late and Lucy's transformed into a hellish creature, so they are forced to kill her, in order to grant her eternal rest and avoidance of godly condemnation. The fellowship decides to hunt the original vampire down and through Mina they get acquinted with Harker, who just returned, having scarcely survived his stay at the count's castle but is now resolute to bring down destruction upon the demonic creature. Dracula, moving on from Lucy, also turns Mina into a vampire, or comes really close to it, and then the men (and Mina) enter into a tight chase him and kill him.

In Stoker's novel, Dracula is a very instinct-driven killer. He only seeks base things and is not a bit a human. We don't get to see his backstory’s smaller details, only that he used to be an important and  extraordinary man, then, at some point, he attended the Scholomance and has been like this ever since, only growing greater in his abilities. The only thing he engages in, apart from killing and turning people into vampires, is experimenting with ways to become more efficient at his other pursuit. Stoker wrote him as someone, who is led by evil and nothing else.

Dracula has one equal: van Helsing, who is almost identical to him, with the crucial difference of being motivated by good--by christian ideas in this story, mixed with superstition.

The movie tried to remain true to the source material in regards of the plot and interfered where intellectually a renovation seemed due. For example Coppola kept the means, by which the mourners of Lucy hunted the count but fundamentally changed the motives of Dracula. He tried to give sense to the character and so came up with the idea, that it would be of bigger service to the plot if the count was led by romantic feelings. It is supposed to give depth and seriousness to the drama. However, it works only if we fail to understand Stoker's original intents or if we are reluctant.

In the movie the count is fueled by grief and longing, after his dead wife, tragically killed hundreds of years ago. This event is where the movie’s Dracula experiences his extreme disappointment in the church and turns to other sources. The director takes it even further: Mina is somehow the reincarnation of Dracula's dead wife--this is very explicit, since she has actual memories from her past life. They both recognize each other and are gravitated to each other, even so, love each other honestly.

The movie has another important aspect: All of the good characters are humanized. The screenwriter threw away the naive figures and applied contemporary materialist tools to repaint them.

Coppola took the good characters and made them as bad as any other man and took the evil one and made him as good as any other. But what are the vampire hunters without a high ground? Dracula, in the other hand, has a morose reason behind all his evil-doings and is thus legitimized, made the victim of the story. 

Stoker painted a picture, that was clearly white and black and then came Coppola, saying 'Hey dude, life's more complicated, than that'. Of course life is more complicated, than that but Stoker had an entirely different meaning. In his story: There is a transcendent world, there are transcendent values. In Coppola's vision, what we get is very grounded: we all are the same (not equal but identical!), regardless from the appearances, and the idea that everyone faces something after they're dead is as old as Stoker's vampire, and just as much an entertaining element of folklore but nothing more.

The movie denied the concept of good and bad. It rationalized that if we were Dracula, we'd probably end up doing things that could be deemed wrong, yet we would be as valiant as humans ever were. This is not necessarily killing or whatnot but we wouldn't be perfect if our lives weren't perfect. Dracula was demonic but with a certain justification. He had to be killed, of course, but it was tragic, in contrast with Stoker's ending of the story, where it was a relief.

Originally I liked Dracula's story because everything the characters did, even when they killed the abominations created by the count, or the count himself, served other purposes, than to increase the spectacle of the story. The hunters freed souls and granted them such things, that were impossible for the victims to attain on earth any more but existed nonetheless. Stoker believed in morals that aren't based solely on practicality but on a grand concept, that there exists the metaphysical and good above the world we know--that there exists God.

...one day you love them and the next day you want to kill them a thousand times over.

What a mystery, this world…

that’s about humanity’s dignity