Sometimes you just don’t know what to say after a film other than “huh?”

Gone, starring the utterly unsuitable Amanda Seyfried, regularly requires you basically shrug your shoulders and sigh. It’s pretty terrible but curiously amusing.

Basic plot: Amanda claims she is the sole survivor of a kidnapper/murderer. Since then she has struggled to feel safe and becomes an outright lunatic when her sister is kidnapped. She’s convinced it’s the same guy, the police are convinced she’s imagining it, so she does what anyone would: she starts lying to everyone and breaking laws to prove it happened.

What’s a little sad about this film is that, at several points, it suggests a darker, much more interesting story going on underneath. Was she really the victim of a mysterious serial killer or is she mentally unstable and fabricating everything? Is she the gutsy female who’s looking after herself or is she a habitual liar with a seriously violent streak?

You can probably guess that the film only deals with these issues in the most shallow possible way. However, it doesn’t really stop it from being enjoyable. It’s a bad film and it really makes no sense, but it is pretty fun. And there’s little to top how sinister everybody is, just to keep the red herrings swimming.

Game Front’s Ross Lincoln has done a comprehensive explanation of why the fans are annoyed, and I agree with all of it. So I won’t go over that ground. What I will go over is why I think it happened, simply from a writing/narrative perspective.

The issue isn’t that ME3′s ending is negative, or that it’s strange (hey, I’m a huge fan of David Lynch), but that it’s nonsensical and ignores the stated purpose of the series.
It’s not grown up just to be bleak, it is grown up to present shades of grey. And it’s even more grown up to reflect the choices a player has made, not just in the trilogy, but simply the game you’re playing.

This, of course, is a problem with trilogies in general, but particularly in fantasy.

Most stories do not have the breadth and depth to support three 2-hour films, never mind three 20-hour interactive experiences. The books that have managed it did so, usually because they were not written that way. They evolved that way.

Example 1: Lord of the Rings. Now it’s not a book or film series I’m fond of, but there’s so much content that filling three 3-hour films isn’t a hard task. The toughest part was what not to include.

Example 2: The Matrix. As an original 2-hour action movie it was smug, self-satisfied and shallow as a puddle. But it was also fun, inventive and playful with its own central conceit. Add another two, increasingly long films to that slim narrative, replace the fun stuff with weird ponderous monologues, and you realise they had no need to make another film, never mind two.

Regardless, it’s a big ask for any story. ME is no different in this regard. But that doesn’t make it any less of a cop-out.

Bad storytellers tell bad stories

For me, it just underlines the significant failings BioWare (BW) had and continue to have as storytellers. It was a brave gamble but they lacked the content, talent and craft to carry it off.

And it’s because, basically, if you’ve played one BW game, you’ve played them all.

Your character will be a lowly operative in their world, through pluck and dedication you become a hero, usually responsible for the fate of the world. You will gather a team to aid you and, over the course of the tale, make a number of decision that will effect the world.

It is the same every time. They made add some wrinkles, like morality, or mining, or trading, but it is identical as a narrative.  In a single game it’s a fine frame to write on. Not so in a long, long, multi-title, five-year journey.

And like I say, this isn’t a studio that has ever been particularly good with dialogue, characters or dramatic development. Events just happen and the characters respond, very rarely do the characters drive the plot. But in ME, that felt different. Even if the plot was relatively immobile, I had a level of control over key decisions.

The ending of ME3 ignores all of that. None of my moral, political or personal decisions make any difference to the end. It’s an interactive cut scene that plays out the same for everyone. You could argue that BW intended this to tie the story up the way they wanted, but as Ross argues in his excellent article, it writes over established lore in the narrative. So, either the ending was a bizarre retrospective adaptation of the story to allow for more DLC and an expanded franchise, or it was the result of people rushing to finish it to meet a Q2 profit report.

But more likely, it was just bad writing.

I don’t say that to be harsh, but there’s been a suggestion that with so many plot strands and possible decisions to take into account over two games, it was just impossible to reflect them all.

Sounds reasonable… if you’re a bad writer.

The stated goal for ME was a trilogy that would allow players to shape the character, the universe and the story. Your decisions count, it cried. Logically they must have planned a trilogies worth of story before getting started. At that point, although time-consuming and complex, they should have be able to map out ALL the possibilities. It’s a simple as buying a giant roll of paper, and working through the plot end-to-end based on the decisions a player might make.

This might discourage accounting for everything, but you could easily pick five key events per game and the butterfly effect they cause. Five times five times five gives you 125 outcomes. A good writer would have been developing this while making the first game, so really they’ve had up to eight years to get this right. And now they say they couldn’t account for everything?

Surely this must have ranked on a project report somewhere as a “risk”?

No, it’s not planning, it’s not complexity, it’s just bad writing.

Rules in fiction

Good writers might come up with an unpleasant ending, but if they’re true to the principles and rules of their fiction, then it’s easy to respect it. I loved the end of Joss Whedon’s Angel, but plenty didn’t. It might have been bleak and inconclusive in many ways, but it was in keeping with what the show had always been about.

Yes, it’s easier with a static piece of fiction, but BW are games developers and shouldn’t try to use the excuses of another medium to excuse their own failings.

And that’s what makes this sad. For a brief time, it looked like BW were creating something that showed the unique storytelling power of games – the fact you can shape what happens. It was an experiment and, because of that, some rough edges were an obvious end product. But it’s beyond a flaw when you actively violate the rules you used to sell the product in the first place.

What it felt like was that I had wasted my time. And knowing now that the endings offered are, in effect, the same whatever I did (even the three choices on offer have the basic end result) is even more irritating.

Does it ruin a very good game? Not entirely, but it has sullied the experience. Until BW hire some proper narrative writers to help them shape their fiction, these things will keep happening. And, considering how great ME nearly became, that would be a real shame.

Spoorloos (The Vanishing) – the Dutch thriller, later remade with Jeff Bridges but by the same director

Flesh + Blood – Paul Verhoeven’s middle-ages sword and shagging epic

Soldier of Orange – Verhoeven again, but this time reflecting on growing up during the Nazi occupation of Holland.

Generally, I want to watch genre films, so action, thrillers, crime (special points for good crime movies), horror, etc. But any ideas are welcome!

I’ll watch and post my reviews here.

That’s a bit sad because, overall, I’m having a pretty good time. Some new opportunities might be around at work (which will get me out of my current mire) and music-wise I’m having a grand old time. But there’s something missing. Oh come on, we’ve been talking all these years, you know what I’m on about – nothing’s changed, it’s always about girls. It always will be. Everything else in my life could be perfect, but girls always make me crazy.

The disaster that was The Kim Experiment is still stinging. Like a cheap monster from a 1950s B-Movie she wasn’t who I thought she was, but she wanted to take over my life and generally grind me down and make me miserable. Jesus, she’s given me a life-long aversion to doing the dishes because doing them feels like some sort of defeat to her all-consuming ego.

But naturally the relief at being on my own couldn’t last and I’m sort of all over the place now. On the plus side, I’ve got loads of ideas for songs!

Back to London, sorry, I got distracted. You know that about me, I’m always off on tangents. I’ll get to the point – I was managing these feelings quite well but only because I was busy. And now I’m sitting around London in a hotel where the rooms feel like prison cells (some may say “but prison cells don’t have TVs!” and I will look at them sadly) and the hotel bar is filled with the execrable sounds of The Saturdays and my head is telling me to shut up and stop being so soft while everything else just says “I’m lonely”. Because I am. I have friends, I have family… all are good. All are valuable. But I know I’m missing something and I’m not prepared to compromise just to have someone unless they are that something.

And I sort of met that something and now I can’t do anything about it. Oh yeah, that was before I met you I guess but you should know: I’m the worst for trying to do the “right thing” while denying what I actually want. I denied it for quite a while until earlier this year when, soon as I saw her, I was utterly smitten. It didn’t help that Kim picked this night to whine like a rusted gate – it pretty much cast the deepest contrast available.

There it was though. It’s just a phase, I told myself. It wasn’t though and even I knew it. Instead I ended up staying away and then everything kind of collapsed when I came back from the US. Months of resentment burned up and the feeling of release and freedom when I was over the Atlantic became a bitter aftertaste as I realised what my life would become. So I said “enough”.

And from being in a position of doing the right thing for so long I didn’t want to anymore. But the window was gone and I’m not sure it’ll open again any time soon. What an idiot.

So now, I’ve got all this stuff in my head, no way of dealing with it and too many reminders to come.

Well done, David.

That’s why I’m 29 and only just now making a concerted effort to do anything with my stuff. And that’s mostly thanks to my current crew: Jamie, Kenny, Steven and Al. Inspiring people.

Back to the machinations… gigging. It’s tough making money out of live music – it requires an investment of time, money and intelligence. And even with those things you ultimately rely on the bands. A lot of those bands aren’t really in it for the right reasons. They want to be in a band, but they don’t want to actually BE a band with all the energy and commitment that requires.

As a promoter, you could book out a venue, ask three bands to come along and sell as many tickets as they can. They turn up, having sold nothing, and play to no one before complaining they had no audience. And you’ve lost money.

So, naturally you think you won’t take that chance again. Instead you apply “ticket minimums”. It sounds officious and, more than anything, it’s not pay to play, because that’s awful and you wouldn’t do that to bands. But it’s just a variant and in some ways it’s worse.

Pay to play was awful. Basically it’s when promoters expect bands to pay their way onto a bill. If they can’t, they don’t get to play. Shameful stuff, right? The Musicians Union barred many venues in the 90s and early 2000s on account of it. Many venues blacklisted promoters. But in the last few years, spurred on by the struggling economy, it’s made a quiet and malicious comeback.

Here’s how it works: promoter gives you 20 tickets, says he needs the money from the first 10 sold. I’ve seen promoters say the extra sales are yours or need to be split 50-50. They claim they have costs to cover (venue, equipment, promotion) and that they’re giving you a great stage to play on.

How much of that is true? Not a single part of it. Let’s look at venue costs. A decent small venue like The 13th Note in Glasgow costs £50 to hire for the night. That gives you the stage, PA plus extras, staff for the bar and a sound guy. You need to bring amps, drum kits, etc. Let’s say you can source all of this or the bands agree to bring and share. Promotion is a bit trickier. Most of the local newspapers and culture type things have free event listings. You might have some posters but at local band level these are generally laser printed so even 50 will only cost maybe £5. £55 for the night.

Let’s say the tickets are £5 each and the four bands playing (often the number on these shows) give their minimum, even if they’ve not sold enough tickets (why do they do this? Because they don’t know better and think they won’t be allowed to play if they don’t have the money). That’s £145 straight into the promoter’s pocket, with the bare minimum investment.

The promoter hasn’t brought anyone along, hasn’t spent any time promoting the gig, and hasn’t done anything that will get the bands any attention. All the promoter has done is profited of other people’s hard work. The band ends up with nothing to show other than a gig that probably cost them money to play at.

That is not promoting, not the way I understand it. It’s profiteering. There are better deals out there if bands work together. You don’t need a promoter, you just need likeminded individuals to share the cost and all put effort in.

That’s what we’re going to do. We had one semi-successful shot already and we’re going to do more. Small venues, good bands, low cost, all working together to help each other grow. I sound like a hippy… (

Here’s what happened: flew to Londonland earlier this evening. Forgot what an endless journey it is between Heathrow and the city centre, got on the train arrive at my destination an hour after getting off the flight. All good, I walk to the hotel and the desk clerk says, “Excuse me sir, I’ll just be a minute,” and then disappears for about ten.

Ok, I’m getting a little worried. The hotels were all booked up when I’d been booking my room. What if they’d given my room away? What would I do?

Basically, they hadn’t given my room away, it had become unavailable due to a maintenance issue. So they’d given my room away. To make up for it and keep me off the streets, they offered to taxi me off to the Marriott in Regent’s Park. I knew no difference and just wanted my bed, so hurrah.

The taxi driver (complementary, of course) arrived. This wasn’t a London cab. It was a bloke in a Fiat. Now he was very lovely and as it turned out very calm for a driver in London. But for a few minutes I kept checking my GPD to make sure we were on a recognised route. All because Marcus at work told me a story about the time he thoughts he was kidnapped by a dodgy taxi driver in Rio.

Get to the hotel and, actually, it’s nicer than the other one. Shame I have to swap over tomorrow night. Oh well…

I’m going to get some more USA pictures up soon.

I really loved it, even though people didn’t understand a word I said. My favourite example was in the Holocaust Memorial inWashingtonDC.

Me: Hi, can you tell me if there’d be any problems with me taking photos in here?

Older attendant: Sorry?

Me: Am I allowed to take photos inside the museum?

Younger attendant: Uh, there’s a guided tour every hour.

<silent contemplation follows>

Me: I’m not sure that answered the question. Am I allowed to take photos inside the exhibition?

Younger attendant: I’ve got the brochures if you want to read them.

Me: Em… no, you’re not following what I’m saying. <I hold up my camera> Can I use this <points at the camera> inside the museum?

Older attendant: Oh no, no photos allowed.

Huh?

By the end of the trip I was slipping into that horrible transatlantic drawl pretentious Brits affect when they live between both countries. I used to think it was because they were wankers, but now it’s clear it’s because Americans don’t understand anything you say unless you use visual aids.

But oddly enough, they seem to be able to ask you for a tip. Tipping is just weird over there. Most of you will know this – they expect a tip as a formality. I imagine the conversation would go like this:

Waiter: “I brought the plate to your table, that’s worth $5.”

Me: “Please, shout for me to come and get it if it’s that big a hassle!”

This tipping madness climaxed in Downtown Disney’s House of Blues. First off, it was a bit of a let down because it had the sum of nothing to do with the blues. I heard more ofFlorenceand the Machine than I did of BB King in the hour or so we were there. She’s not blues. She’s not even any good.

The food was good though – I had a lovely steak with great mashed potatoes. So, what caused my ire? It was the waiter. Now he did a perfectly ok job. He brought the food, he was polite (if a little too friendly, in fact) but was that worth the 20% suggested tip he wrote at the bottom of the bill?

No, it wasn’t. And it’s not like it’s a hard thing to calculate, so writing it down is both patronising and terribly presumptuous. I gave him 10% for doing his job to a fairly normal standard. Yeah, minimum wage sucks, but if you want 20% of the bill how about you actually earn it?

Overall though, it’s a fantastic place to see – the sunshine, the voices, the beaches, the deeply insane news channels, all are part of a rich tapestry of theUSA.

We finished our trip inBoston, with the wonderful accents and the least credible Irish ancestry I’ve ever seen. Sorry dude, if you’re four generations from the last person that was actually born inIreland, you are not Irish. Get over it. It’s even worse than the “I’m half-Irish” balls you hear inScotland. No, drinking Guinness does not make you Irish, it just makes you slightly untrustworthy.

On the Sunday we headed back to NYC for one last night. It was still warm, but more tolerable thanFlorida’s heat. We did a bit more wandering, I bought a set of harmonicas (a delight for my neighbours, I’m sure), walked to Central Park, then headed up theRockefellerTowerone last time.

Seeing the city, all around you, with all the lights up is staggering. It’s beautiful and the night was clear enough to see past all the bridges. The area whereCentral Parksits is like a black void in the middle of the city, absorbing the light from all around it. Seeing something like that makes me feel a little sad, but strangely connected that we’re all just little lives creating something bigger than ourselves in those moments.

After that, even the flight home wasn’t too bad (mind the turbulence, though). I had a head full of experiences I’d never had before. I’m so grateful to my sister and her husband for such a wonderful holiday. It was generous beyond expectation and everything was so brilliantly planned. Thank you to them, more than paltry words can convey.

But it’s back to normal life now. At least until I save enough to go and see another part of that mad, mad country.

Almost every “family” attraction is so sentimental it becomes sickening. Disney is so sincere and so lovingly done it’s hard to begrudge it.

As much as a theme park ever could be, Disney World is art. The attention to detail, the little stories in the rides, the archives that are so lovingly displayed. The art and design of the House of Mouse is everywhere. There are cuddly toys based around Steamboat Willie, Mickey’s animated debut, as well as more unusual things – the manga-style Mickey is a little disturbing.

After we arrived on the Sunday, we had late opening tickets exclusively for resort guests. So that night was spent in the surreal experience of first seeing the Magic Kingdom in the dark. I was flung around Thunder Mountain, spun in the Mad Hatter’s TeaCups, rocketed around Space Mountain and drenched on Splash Mountain. We were staying in Port Orleans, part of the resort, so it was quick to get back after. But the next day we headed out to the Animal Kingdom and their lodge.

As became a theme very quickly, it’s beautiful. The whole place is filled with African art (its collection is second only to the Smithsonian in Washington DC, apparently) and so impeccably designed that I didn’t mind the fifteen minute walk from the lobby to my room. Especially when I looked outside and saw a giraffe wandfering around. Awesome.

The Kingdom is fantastic. On the safari I saw rhinos, elephants, monkeys, a lion, a lioness, alligators, hippos, cranes, gazelles… I could keep going. There was a bird show with all sorts of owls, parrots and a truly amazing American bald eagle. Those creatures are so stunning, it makes me sick people would hunt them.

Hollywood Studios is a stunning evocation of 40s/50s style movie studios. As well as a lot of movie-influenced stuff (including Pixar rides) there is one of my favourite things in the world now – the Tower of Terror. Another example of Disney’s attention to detail – it’s based on the 50s show The Twilight Zone and even features Ron Serling as the presenter of the ride. The amount of work, the little touches in keeping with the show, the ride itself… just amazing. And being dropped ten storeys is not a sensation that will be forgotten quickly. My stomach still lurches at the thought of it.

Anyway, Epcot was quite something in its own way. Amazing scenery, evocations of the world’s most famous cities and the show at the end of the night. Just wow.

Twice we went to breakfast with the Disney characters. Say nothing. I loved every minute of it!

Then the heaven’s opened. After unseasonably warm weather, even by Florida standards, the pressure broke and there was thunder like a shotgun. BANG! Water everywhere. In 30 seconds the place was sodden. The man-made rivers surrounding Disney were swollen.The doors were locked. So I did what any spart person would do: I bought a poncho.

We wandered around the park, watched the Electric Light Parade, and then the closing fireworks. The stormy weather left them somewhat subdued, eerie echoes of what they meant to be as they lit the clouds that shrouded them. It was still beautiful. And the light show before hand, when they imitated someone drawing the castle, was beautiful.

And that was it for Disney. The little mouse made every effort to take all my money with his sugary drinks and wonderful merchandise, but I loved it. We got up early to fly to Boston today.

We arrived around 2pm. Not my luggage though. No, it went to San Juan in Puerto Rico. Hopefully I’ll have it back tomorrow morning, but that was a bit of a dampener.

Thank America for Boston in general though. I really love it. The old style of much of the city, the history, the accents… bliss. Ok, the weather’s a bit iffy but I’m actually enjoying wearing my jeans and jumper. I’ve missed them.

Not sure what we’re doing, but I feel like this holiday has been a LOT longer than it has been. And there’s still more to come. Joy.

First, let’s cover one thing – it is HOT. Scottish people aren’t designed for heat. Certainly not when they bring three jumpers, a variety of heavy trousers and absolutely no summer wear. I’ve spent more money on that than anything else so far. Oh, and initially I tried flip flops which cut my toes to ribbons, now I’m on to sandles which are a little uncomfy but better than the alternative.

So, when you look at my photos on Flickr you’ll see a very red-faced David. That has been my look for the last week. Attractive!

All that aside, I love it here. I haven’t been swimming in the sea since I was little – maybe five years old. It was wonderful – the water is warm and the waves are big. Swimming against the tide was one of those stranger child-like pleasures. I wish I’d done it sooner. I got up early to watch the sunrise and it was simply beautiful.

My sister introduced me to the joys of boogie-boarding (if you don’t know, you have a tiny little surfboard and you jump on the waves after they crest and float on in). That was even more fun! We also saw the Ron John Surf Shop (awesome, even if you hate surfer culture as much as I do).

Last night, we walked from our hotel to the main pier. It took about an hour and we decided to go get some food and walk back. poor choice. Laura and I hadn’t realised how far we’d walked… and it was a hell of a journey back in increasingly warm, sticky weather. But other than my feet hurting, it’s been lovely spending so much time with her.

So, we’ve got most of the day here before heading to Disney and the moment I’ve been looking forward to/dreading… breakfast with the Disney characters. Wish me luck…

Luggage dumped, we ventured forth into the gorgeous centre of Washington DC itself. I’m starting to get over the heat, but it’s still a pleasant surprise not to need my scarf. Unfortunately, my outfit today was somewhat ill-chosen. Faced with looking like a total wanker, I opted to wear my shirt on top of my vest-type top. Cue general over-heating for around 20 minutes before I got used to it.

So, today we went on a bus tour of the city, well part of it at least. I saw the train station, Capitol Hill, the various buildings on the hill, the church where RFK went during his tenure as attorney general, and a few other notable places. It’s strange knowing Robert Kennedy was up there. As a Bostonian, he defined his legacy in Washington and is buried there, around 100 metres from his brother, Jack. To see somewhere he went in times of great difficulty, especially as he tried to crack down on organised crime, is strangely compelling.

Laura and I went to the Crime and Punishment Museum. The first thing you see on entering is Ted Bundy’s VW Beatle. The USA’s most prolific mass murderer used it to store his victims after kidnapping them. On the wall opposite are his fingerprints from processing and the judge’s decree that he was of sound mind to stand trial. The highlight there was an original letter from Elliot Ness to a friend, where he discusses the surviving Untouchables. Inspiring, humbling stuff.

Then something unexpected. On our way to the White House we saw a massive crowd. There was no way to get near the house, so it was a safe bet someone important was arriving or leaving. Well, yes, it was Obama and his family, on their way to Philadelphia. Naturally we were so far away that we didn’t really see them, other than brief outlines. But I caught some great shots of the helicopter taking off and zipping overhead.

Then it was off to the war memorials. The Vietnam monument is horrifying, especially when you know the politics of that war, and the terrible cost to the Vietnamese. But it’s a genuinely awe-inspiring thing to see. As the bus tour guide said – pictures don’t do it justice.

On a more touristy note – I saw the Lincoln Memorial but all I could think of was seeing it in Fallout 3. Weird. I am also now the owner of an FBI hoodie. Useless in Washington’s summer, but likely handy back home.

1 July:  The Holocaust Museum was, unsurprisingly, low on laughs. If you’re ever near it and have a strong stomach, it’s worth a visit. The exhibits and the dedication to show the very real trauma it caused is disturbing, but essential.

We queued from 9am to get our tickets. By 10am, whren they started handing them out, there were around another 100 people behind us. It’s free to enter and, while clearly having something of a pro-Israel agenda, it’s as blunt and direct as you’d hope. I’ve never been a believer in death sentences, but after seeing some of what the Nazis did at the concentration camps…

We lightened up with another bus tour, this time around Georgetown. These are some of the most sought-after and beautiful houses in the area and, heavens, they are beautiful. And expensive – one was around $4m. They are for very rich people and therefore not me. Oh well.

Then it was out for dinner again in Alexandria, with Mary and Aaron. Another beautiful, waterside part of Washington. More beautiful houses, it feels like you’re in the late-50s with all the vintage storefronts and townhouses. I’d like to stay there.

2 July: Now we’re in Dulles Airport waiting for our flight to Orlando and ready for a visit to the House of Mouse. Early excitement at wearing my jeans again will be short-lived. The sweltering heat is coming. But we’re staying at Cocoa Beach first for some relaxing beach/sea fun. And tonight I’ll get to watch the replay of Haye-Klitschko. Good luck, David!