Tag Archive for 'artistic overanalysis'

Whatever Happened to Surrealism?

The Conqueror by René Magritte
I’m a Magritte fan. In fact, the name and mascot of Plankhead was inspired by his 1926 painting The Conqueror. This, in turn, inspired my fascination with people with inanimate objects instead of heads, which I first explored in this clip about Nintendo and continued at length with Your Face is a Saxophone. (Incidentally, Magritte worked in advertising)

The surrealist movement focused predominantly on letting out all of the absurd, crazy thoughts in your mind. The result was a slew of bizarre, dream-like art, fascinating and highly entertaining. But after than the 1960s, other than a few David Lynch films here and there, surrealism seemed to disappear from the public consciousness.

But now it’s back.

When I was in high school obsessing over surrealism, I wondered why it wasn’t a speculative fiction genre right alongside sci-fi and fantasy. Unbeknownst to me, a lot of people were wondering the same thing at the same time, and started writing bizarro fiction. Weird books that are weird for the sake of being weird. It’s wonderful stuff.

While I’m not sure if it was influenced by bizarro fiction, Ugly Americans is probably one of the first truly bizarro shows on television.It depicts a world where humans, zombies, demons, wizards, koala-people, robots, floating-brain-things, and pretty much anything else the writers decide to come up with coexist (semi-)peacefully in modern-day New York City.

Lightbulb people in Ugly Americans

Also, it seems to be on some of the same wavelengths as Your Face is a Saxophone. (From Season 2 Episode 13)


I’d say seeing the weird juxtaposed with the familiar — with all of the characters regarding as completely normal — is as close to a trope that the bizarro genre can ever get.

Meanwhile, Dadaism — the inbred father/sister of the Surrealist movement — is seeing a resurgence as well. See, Dadaism was about doing stuff like turning a urinal upside down, signing it, and declaring it to be a sculpture. Now have a look at this:

That’s kind of Dada, isn’t it?

    Internet Comments are Terrifying


    “New comment on your video”

    My heart skips a beat as the words touch my retinas, the notification chime ringing in my ears like a flashbang. I start to sweat. My stomach ties itself in knots. All I want to do is put down my phone, back away slowly, and get under my covers holding onto a little plush Siberian husky. But I’m not at home right now. I’m out with friends. Good friends, but not the kind who can wrap their arms around me and tell me it’ll all be okay if shit goes bad.

    Clear the notification. Leave it for later.

    “New reply to your comment”

    Which comment? Where? What did I say? Was it a silly joke, or was it a thoughtful opinion? My heart races again. No. I don’t want to look at it now.

    Next day, I’m home. I open up my inbox. There they are. I’d forgotten about them last night. I turn white. I’m all alone now; just me and the comments. The words of random, anonymous people somewhere on the other side of the planet, judging me. Taking the communications I’d poured my heart and soul into and scrutinizing them. Scrutinizing me.

    I’ll look at the reply first.

    “Wow, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Etcetera etcetera. Bashing me over the head with why I’m wrong. I’m not wrong, of course, and I clearly know what I’m talking about better than this guy. For some reason, the ignorance makes it sting more. And it really stings.

    The knots in my stomach tie themselves into bows. My throat clenches. It was everything I’d feared: rejection, disdain, scorn, hatred. I know it’s meaningless and insignificant, but I’m helpless to stop the debilitating haze of gloom that overruns my senses. Everything looks flatter. Grayer. My head throbs with a dull pain.

    I know people on the Internet are dicks, and I’ve seen it a million times before. But when it happens to me, it’s still a slap in the face. It still hurts.

    This is why I wanted to let this wait until I was someplace safe. Because when you look at a comment on something you made — no matter if it’s the most insignificant thing — if it means something to you, then anything can happen. They can utterly destroy you in five words.

    But on the other hand…

    I open the reply to my video. “That was one of the best things I’ve seen in a long time.” He goes on for a whole paragraph telling me what he loved about it. I’m smiling. Beaming. Walking on air. I feel like I’m flying. Like I could take on the world.

    This is how it goes. Every single time, when I open one of those emails, it’s a game of roulette. Am I going to feel stabbed in the heart for the next ten minutes, or king of the world for the next twenty?

      Non-Euclidean Character Arcs: How to Write Characters With Hyperdepth

      Tesseract rotating through the 4th dimension
      In fiction, we often hear people talking about complex characters as having “depth”, and simple characters being “one-dimensional”. I’d like to talk about what this means, because in Your Face is a Saxophone, I’m striving to make some of the characters four-dimensional.

      We all know the basics of geometry. A line is one-dimensional. A square is two-dimensional, made up of four lines connected at their endpoints. A cube is three-dimensional, made up of six squares connected at their edges. And a tesseract is four-dimensional, made up of eight cubes connected at their sides.

      Actually, you might not have heard of the last one. But take a look at the image up top: it’s a tesseract rotating through hyperspace. Whether that breaks your brain or not, the point is: there can be more than three dimensions to any given thing.

      So how does this apply to characters in fiction? Let’s have a look at some examples.
      Continue reading ‘Non-Euclidean Character Arcs: How to Write Characters With Hyperdepth’

        Mass Effect 3 as Automatic Performance Art by the Collective Unconscious

        All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players

        A large group of devoted Mass Effect fans absolutely detested the ending to the game’s third, final installment. The outrage became so frenzied that developer BioWare announced that they were going to change it. This news has led to further frenzied outrage from game developers fearing that their artistic integrity will no longer be respected, critics decrying it as the death of games-as-art, and other general quasi-enlightened indignation.

        The simple answer to all this is that video games are inherently a collaboration between author and audience. The more holistic answer is twofold:

        1. An author’s intent is meaningless if they fail to communicate it to the audience
        2. Art and meaning does not have to be intentional, and is often unintentional

        The first point is a uniquely metamodern observation: it neither rejects nor accepts the validity of authorial intent, but makes it contingent upon its relationship to the audience’s interpretation. The second point is something that has been well-established since the dadaist and surrealist movements (but obviously not widely-understood). The result is that Mass Effect is not a mere series of video games. It is performance art, being unwittingly performed both by BioWare and their fans.

        VAGUE SPOILERS FOR MASS EFFECT 3 FOLLOW
        Continue reading ‘Mass Effect 3 as Automatic Performance Art by the Collective Unconscious’

          Why We Do “Product Placement” in Your Face is a Saxophone


          At a screening of Your Face is a Saxophone Episode 2 last weekend, someone asked me why we had product placement for Lay’s potato chips. He suggested that we use a fake brand name that evokes the same product. This isn’t the first time I’ve had someone bring this up to me — why we litter real brand names and logos all over the place, instead of showing “Zony” TV sets and “Croaka Cola” — so I figured I’d address it once and for all.

          The common practice of using fake brand names is to avoid claims of trademark infringement. Production companies will go to great lengths to create fictional products to show on-screen because they fear a lawsuit from the trademark holder. This is because trademark holders will go to great lengths to sue every unapproved appearance of their logo on anything because they fear losing their trademark. Trademark law requires holders to maintain control over their marks, which generally results in them go completely overboard about it.

          This cycle of fear results in the censorship of reality. Part of what we’re trying to do with Your Face is a Saxophone is to vehemently point out how pervasive branding, commercialization, and consumerism actually are in our world. We casually refer to “drinking a Coke”, “buying an iPhone”, and “checking Facebook” in everyday conversation. We’re surrounded by our electronics from Audiovox, LG, Sony, and Antec; our office supplies from Scotch, 3M, Bic, and Sharpie; our Kraft macaroni, our Heineken beer, our Hershey’s candy, and our Mott’s fruit. This is what the real world looks like, people.

          But the moment we start populating our real-world settings with bizarro-world brands, the impact is gone. We’re no longer satirizing the real world, we’re escaping from it. Perhaps we’re vaguely commenting on the concept of hyper-commercialization in general, but the unreality of drinking a Doke while using a Pineapple uPhone to check on Friendbook neuters it entirely.

          I’m chiefly referring to the incidental use of brands there. There are certainly examples of fictional brand names being used to great effect in satire, without lessening the impact very much at all.
          So, in Your Face is a Saxophone, I suppose we could structure our plots not around Pepsi, but around Schwepsi; not around Miller Lite beer, but around Schmiller Lite. But it’s those little things in the background — the Apple computers, the Lay’s potato chips on the receptionist’s head, the Motorola/Verizon logos on Leora’s phone — that we can’t ignore. We’re not going to let fear of a trademark claim (which we’d have a very strong fair use argument against) stop us from pointing out that in the real world, real brands and real logos surround us everywhere we go.

          Perhaps it’s jarring that all of the characters are decidedly bizarro-world — nobody in the real world has a light bulb for a head — but the brands and logos aren’t. Good. We want you to notice the brands. That’s the point.

          In Your Face is a Saxophone, we refuse to make up fake companies* to make fun of. If we want to make fun of Pepsi, then dammit, we’re going to make fun of Pepsi.

          *Yes, there was Sqwoogy in the first episode. Sqwoogy was not a parody of Twitter, it was a parody of Silicon Valley startup culture and all of the dumbassery that stems from it.