King of Kings

It’s been years since I read a novel by Stephen King. His On Writing is a staple on my bookshelf, but despite his name perennially displayed in the New Releases section at the local bookstore, the last novel I read was Gerald’s Game in 1993, and even then, I did not finish it. Too scary.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I still believe The Stand is his best work. Cal Leandros even gives it an honourable mention in Roadkill!

The man doesn’t need a book release to get my attention, however. I have long admired him for his honesty and, in particular, his sense of humour. The guy’s a hoot.

Little did I know that he and George R.R. Martin have been friends for decades, since before GRRM struck gold with A Game of Thrones (the book, not the TV series). So imagine my delight on finding a video of the two old pals having an onstage conversation when Steve’s recent book tour brought him to New Mexico. The bulk of the talk was stuff I already knew, but I always appreciate hearing how the professionals operate. One of King’s genre policies is this: “Aim for terror. If you can’t reach terror, aim for horror. If horror eludes you, settle for the gross-out.”

The other thing he said that had me rolling on the floor was during an elaboration of a storyline. He mentioned a villain’s recent diagnosis of pancreatic cancer as motivation for a diabolical act and the audience gasped as one. He looked at them and scolded, “It’s written on page nine, for Chrissakes! Spoilers? Spoilers? There’s no such thing as a spoiler. You can’t ‘spoil’ a book; people read books to have an experience, so who cares?”

Or words to that effect.

He’s right. If he was wrong, I’d only read a book once. How else can I explain my passion for revisiting The Night Circus or GRRM’s series, or Station Eleven or the Cal Leandros novels; or for multiple viewings of Orphan Black or The Newsroom, for that matter? Knowing what happens ahead of time is clearly no deterrent. It’s the joy of reconnecting with beloved characters that brings me back time and again.

I recognize that some folks prefer the slow reveal. I admit, I prefer it myself, but knowing before I saw The Empire Strikes Back that Luke Skywalker’s dad was Darth Vader did not prevent me from paying to see the movie. If you really care, you won’t care. Stephen King certainly doesn’t.

Long live the King.

Dark Dynasty

Of course I’ve seen the new Star Wars movie! Of course it’s a blast! J.J. Abrams directed and Lawrence Kasdan co-wrote—how can it fail?

It doesn’t … except perhaps in the most critical area of an epic battle between good and evil.

The villain is a petulant adolescent rather than a deeply disturbed and thoroughly traumatized adult.

Sigh.

The kid tries his best to be rotten, but he’s up against a legend, and even if Darth Vader became a pop icon instead of a modern-day Mephistopheles, he still packed a heavier punch in a galaxy far, far away than the reedy stripling who swears to avenge him.

Um, he doesn’t need avenging, kid. He was redeemed at the end of Episode VI.

So here’s hoping that we get some back story in the next movie, because without a darned good reason for his subversive behaviour in this one, I have a problem with a baddie who needs a timeout and a good spanking.

The Empire Strikes Back remains my favourite of the franchise. All hail Lord Vader!

"Black Friday"

Oh, Lord … Vader.

Aloud:

“Oh! Lord Vader!”

“Hoo-ha, hoo-ha.”

“When I asked to speak to the manager, I expected, ah … ahem … okay, when this cart of Christmas gifts was rung through, it only came out at 30% off.”

“Perhaps you feel you are being treated unfairly?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but, um, the deal in the Imperial flyer was that I pay 30%, not save 30%. See, it says right here - ”

“I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it any further.”

“Yes, my lord. Merry Christmas, my lord.”

“Hoo-ha, hoo-ha …”

This must be why it’s called Black Friday.

Vanity, Thy Name is Vader

I’m a big fan of Star Wars. Okay, I’m more a Vader ho than a series fan, but hey, what can I say? I like tall men in boots, cloaks and black masks, and there’s a really hot and husky rhythm in his respirator. 

Admittedly, that may be too much information. My passion for the Dark Lord, however, is why I was particularly excited to see “Episode III: Revenge of the Sith” some years ago. Being third in the story sequence but sixth (and last) in the movie series, it promised to provide closure on the story of Anakin Skywalker’s betrayal of his Jedi training and descent into service of the evil Galactic Empire. This was the episode where we witnessed his transformation from star pilot hero to mechanized villain, or how a handsome and promising young warrior went so horribly, tragically wrong. 

Great garment-rending plot potential, yes? I thought so. But all six episodes are “leave your brain at the door” popcorn movies spinning the universal tale of good vs. evil, with the hero triumphant and the bad guy finding deathbed redemption. At its best, it’s a fun romp through space. At its worst, it’s a mindless monster that became an example of art imitating life by consuming its creator and spitting out the Emperor of Mass Marketing. No matter. I went in with my eyes wide open, caring solely for Anakin’s tipping point and Vader’s subsequent rise. 

Ter and I saw the movie before our dear friend Treena did. That we saw it first was a bit of a surprise, as Treena is a frequent cinema flyer averaging two or three movies per month. She’s also got fairly high standards when it comes to screenplays and dialogue. After I saw the film, she asked me how it was, I gushed, and she followed up with a question about the dialogue: Were there any memorable lines? 

“Treen,” I replied, exasperated, “this is Star Wars, not Shakespeare!” 

Some years later and I find this at the bookstore:

 

 

Oh, I am Fortune’s fool …