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Aug. 24th, 2004 02:21 pmnarrative tension
The other day Steven was flagellating himself by reading comments about Episode 3, and we launched into yet another frothing tirade about how the prequels perform illegal sex acts on Mexican donkeys and how this might have been avoided.
The boy commented that the pod race scene is very similar to Luke's trench run in SW, but the former makes you want to switch the channel, while the latter was much more edge-of-your-seat. Why is that? (there are really a dozen reasons, but I'm focusing on one at the moment)
In SW, we the audience didn't know what was going to happen. We may be pretty sure nothing too bad is going to happen to Luke, but we're not positive, and beyond life-or-death, we still don't know what might twist next. And, theoretically, we cared and wanted to find out. In PM, we know for a fact nothing happens to baby-Anikin, as much as we might wish for falling meteors or a sarlac mishap. We know it, the script-writers know it, and all the actors know it, and they know we know it. No narrative tension. It's like no one cares, and hence we the audience really don't.
Now, you may say, but we already know the story, more or less (although no one knew exactly what kind of whiny man-whore Anikin was in his youth)--how can the actors or the writers create tension when we know the outcome?
I'm not entirely sure, and I'm interested in hearing your thoughts.
What I do know is that every time--every SINGLE time--I read Guy Kay's Fionovar books, I cry in the same spots, or I laugh, or I scream "No, no! Dear God, Diar, don't do it!" It never fails. In Barbara Hambly's Traveling with the Dead, every time Anthea bursts into the room, her wedding band shining through the blood, I start to cry. In fact, I tear up several pages before-hand, knowing it's coming. I've read these books so many times I can quote them, but I am always engrossed when I read them again. And there are many movies that I know by heart, but I hope for a different ending each time. (If Mina had just timed it a little better, she could have ripped Van Helsing's throat out and provided lunch for Monica Bellucci and the other vampiresses.) So clearly one can create and maintain narrative tension even when the audience knows what's going to happen.
Is it an audience's personal reaction to a work, their 50%, that keeps them coming back over and over again? Is it just the fact the prequels are abominally written, lack-lusterly acted, and backdropped with bland CG that removes all trace of narrative tension? Any gems to be prized from this morass, or am I just talking to myself in the corner?
The other day Steven was flagellating himself by reading comments about Episode 3, and we launched into yet another frothing tirade about how the prequels perform illegal sex acts on Mexican donkeys and how this might have been avoided.
The boy commented that the pod race scene is very similar to Luke's trench run in SW, but the former makes you want to switch the channel, while the latter was much more edge-of-your-seat. Why is that? (there are really a dozen reasons, but I'm focusing on one at the moment)
In SW, we the audience didn't know what was going to happen. We may be pretty sure nothing too bad is going to happen to Luke, but we're not positive, and beyond life-or-death, we still don't know what might twist next. And, theoretically, we cared and wanted to find out. In PM, we know for a fact nothing happens to baby-Anikin, as much as we might wish for falling meteors or a sarlac mishap. We know it, the script-writers know it, and all the actors know it, and they know we know it. No narrative tension. It's like no one cares, and hence we the audience really don't.
Now, you may say, but we already know the story, more or less (although no one knew exactly what kind of whiny man-whore Anikin was in his youth)--how can the actors or the writers create tension when we know the outcome?
I'm not entirely sure, and I'm interested in hearing your thoughts.
What I do know is that every time--every SINGLE time--I read Guy Kay's Fionovar books, I cry in the same spots, or I laugh, or I scream "No, no! Dear God, Diar, don't do it!" It never fails. In Barbara Hambly's Traveling with the Dead, every time Anthea bursts into the room, her wedding band shining through the blood, I start to cry. In fact, I tear up several pages before-hand, knowing it's coming. I've read these books so many times I can quote them, but I am always engrossed when I read them again. And there are many movies that I know by heart, but I hope for a different ending each time. (If Mina had just timed it a little better, she could have ripped Van Helsing's throat out and provided lunch for Monica Bellucci and the other vampiresses.) So clearly one can create and maintain narrative tension even when the audience knows what's going to happen.
Is it an audience's personal reaction to a work, their 50%, that keeps them coming back over and over again? Is it just the fact the prequels are abominally written, lack-lusterly acted, and backdropped with bland CG that removes all trace of narrative tension? Any gems to be prized from this morass, or am I just talking to myself in the corner?
