The Movies!

So I've been watching a few movies again, recently.

Rather, they've been all there was to watch in the dead of night on TV, and I thought I'd take up my old sport again... There was a time when I'd watch so many movies in a given week that I'd half-forget what part was where, which actor whom!

 In any case, that last couple of days' "harvest" has been moderate - all from local television, non-cable, without much choice.

Firstly "The Rock" - Sean Connery the old SAS agent-cum-Alkatraz-escapee managed to produce a grin or two, though for the second or third time now. Entertaining still. (Edit.)

Then the next day, a couple of TV series' episodes of the new style I've mostly not followed (apart from the first season of 24, and a few seasons of CSI), including another repeat of the "mad cultists sacrifice innocents to appease village deities" motif immortalised for me in the abominable remake of "The Wicker Man", Nicholas Cage and all.

 Did I mention my stomach churns every time that theme comes up?

It could be my reservations about the concept of "one for the good of the many, no choice involved": but there is still something deeply disturbing about how, contrary to movies with one "villain", the malign village-people in these sort of movies or series almost always seem to (mostly) get away with it.

 Surely a betrayal of the hollywood spirit itself; bad faith?

 And along this line of thought, the other series involved a desperate man who'd taken a hostage to escape returning to prison getting shot in the head unarmed by a sniper, and the "noble cop" character who was negotiating being told that "he did his job"; and not at all tongue-in-cheek. Insert further stomach-churning.

But the TV-watching night was saved by a ghastly (as in "horrible") movie about a certain fellow called the "Daemonicus" coming to signal the end of the world, which was a disgrace to whoever made it, but which also included Chopin's Nocturne No. 2 (his op. 9, no. 2 to be exact), likely my favourite of the set.

And at any rate, it was not ghastlier, nor more of a disgrace, than the movie I suffered through last night, one "Dungeons & Dragons [2]: Wrath of the Dragon God". I dare say it was even worst than the first D&D movie; while in case they intended it to appeal to the fan crowd, speaking as a long-time player and Dungeon Master, avid fan of the game, I'd call it an even greater failure.

 It was barely the right kind of "bad" to be funny, but borderline so.

However, my patience was rewarded with today's catch, Cameron Crowe's "Elizabethtown" out of all things.

 I did not expect much from this movie, I admit (despite my being known to enjoy even such un-male things as The Notebook). Yet it managed to win me over, maybe even make me smile...

 Of course, don't think too deep. But it was a sweet and somehow unusual (for the feel-good genre) effort, complete with a nigh-perfectly cast Kirsten Dunst, for once, and a surprisingly appealing Orlando Bloom, far less wooden than usual. I kid you not.

Thus, the tally is "a bunch of horrible flicks/series episodes, a re-run of an enjoyable older blockbuster, and a new feel-good movie for the (proverbial) collection". Not bad, I'd say.

 Though I'm now looking forward for "The Dark Night" on the big screen, and seeing if Heath Ledger's Joker really is as good as I'd hope. Who knows, maybe I'll even throw in some Kubrick from the private stock (i.e. my DVD collection), to liven the weekend up...

So to speak.

(M)editations

Due to some dissatisfaction with both content and presentation, I edited the already-existing posts slightly. Hopefully for the better.

And more hopeful yet am I that this will eventually stop being a necessity, when I fully get to grips with this e-medium.

I am used to forums, you see! But regardless, my apologies if all this editing business causes any undue frustration.

- And already the sixth time I edit this post. Feh! -

Zenith

According to Kotaku, Apogee is back. That is the short version.

The longer version (still shorter than yesterday's rambling concert impressions, for the length of which I blame the lack of sleep), is that in the computer-gaming equivalent of the Bronze Age, Apogee Software was a gaming company who produced a number of classic gaming titles for the audience of the time.

Being part of that audience (just starting serious computer gaming; consoles would follow only after buying a Playstation as late as 1999), I poured over Apogee's catalogue, from the cult ("Crystal Caves", "Secret Agent", "Major Stryker"), to the addictive ("Bio Menace", "Stargunner"), to the iconic ("Duke Nukum", "Duke Nukem 2").

This was a company that made polished games, distributing their first "act" as shareware and offering the rest of the game for a nominal fee (if one considers the price of games, these days).

 One of their catalogue's great hits was also id Software's "Commander Keen" series, incidentally, which Apogee published*; but I never liked Commander Keen too much - him or his pogo stick!

This was, additionally, a company that offered their catalogue online for download with payment via credit card circa 1997, much to my amazement as a European, at the time.

And all in all, Apogee Software is one of the two gaming companies that have never disappointed me (the other being Blizzard Entertainment), and a part of gaming history itself.

 Of course, it still existed regardless, under the well-known name of 3D Realms ("Duke Nukem 3D", "Max Payne", "Max Payne 2", "Prey").

 But to hear that the original Apogee is returning, with not only their old catalogue "rearmed", but new games as well - Duke Nukem games, no less, which they created quite a while before it or they became "3D" - is a very great piece of gaming news indeed.

Long may they make games, no matter the platform.

*Other games they published but did not develop include the utterly cult "Alien Carnage", stylish "Raptor", and odd-but-oddly-enjoyable "Death Rally". Did I also mention "Wolfenstein 3D"?

Ravel Unleashed

I once read about the Vienna Symphony Orchestra that, though inferior to the Vienna Philharmonic, on a good night, you'd be hard pressed to tell the two apart.

 And it does seem part of the live orchestral concert experience, the thrill of the unexpected: the good night and the bad night; the promise of that magical improvised éncore...

It was with some trepidation that I went to an all-Ravel concert in the Odeon of Herodes Atticus (Athens, Greece), as part of the yearly Athens Festival, precisely for that reason. 

 The last concert I had attended in that (otherwise incredible) open-air venue was of Olivier Messiaen's Des Canyons aux Étoiles, a superb Ensemble InterContemporain playing literally against the wind. Would the weather be a problem? Would the orchestra, the Orchestre de Paris under Christoph Eschenbach's baton, be in good form? 

As it turned out, the weather was not a problem: a fine day, not too warm, as is often the case for Greece, and just enough wind to make the evening pleasant. And the first piece on the programme, the fairy-tale suite Ma Mère l'Oie went off without a hitch; beautifully.

 Indeed, there was quite unusually beautiful orchestral playing in evidence, fully in line with my expectations of a French orchestra playing Ravel: Eschenbach in full rapport with his orchestra, including an enchanting first violin, the piece was almost made inspiring.

 All in all a very good (or even great) warm-up, followed by warm applause, then time for a break to cool off.

Back from the break, the orchestra took their seats, Eschenbach returned (more applause), and the real concert, one could say, began. La Valse was first, and what a valse!

 What was previously the rapport of conductor and orchestra seemed to become an organic link between them. The orchestral sound, delivered impeccably through the "Herodion's" acoustics became as refined as the colours of a Renoir, or a Matisse. And the piece itself, the rhythm, the flow and the ebb, intensifying, dazzling, spellbinding.

 Had the concert ended there, it would have still been an example of what an orchestra sounds like at the peak of their form on a truly "good night", that astonishing valse.

Still, there was more ahead: Daphnis et Chloé, the second suite, musical impressionism almost at its most lauded. And finally Bolero.

But here was the point where circumstances conspired to create something truly extraordinary: mid-way into Daphnis et Chloé, the mounting percussive climaxes awakened something more than the usual excitement of the audience.

 It was a cicada, sitting on the ancient edifice above the orchestra. And an opinionated insect, to boot.

 Cicadas, you see, produce a trademark buzzing sound to attract a mate. That sound is rhythmic, repetitive, and loud.

 So this particular cicada saw it fit to initiate its mating ritual, given all the ruckus, yet never opting to consult Maestro Eschenbach about the tempo. In fact, it chose a tempo that was quite contrary to that of the orchestra at that moment - albeit very steady.

Enter a highly amused audience, and even more amused orchestra - smiles all around, grins, chuckles - yet not for a moment a note missed, a cue botched, a rhythm faltering...

 If not for the rapidly-mounting mirth of the musicians and the fact that the music was getting louder and louder, even beyond the score's requirement, one might not have noticed a difference (assuming they could somehow erase the cicada's buzzing from the sound-picture).

This was an impressive feat of orchestral discipline and gusto. And Daphnis et Chloé was a particularly passionate affair to begin with, well-suited to the rising excitement all around, be it in the audience or the orchestra. But what of Bolero?

Bolero: grinding repetition, weaving of texture seemingly ad infinitum, then collapse.

 In the hands of conductors like Herbert von Karajan, Bolero is hypnotic - a meditative trance gone awry.  Maybe in the hands of Eschenbach it would have been that too.

 He conducted it without hand-movements, cueing the orchestra purely with his eyes, leaving it in their hands.

 (And here is where I wondered if "antics" like this are what has driven him out of Philadelphia, but that is an altogether different subject.)

So the orchestra were free to conjure up the sound, the rhythm, the repetition, the build-up.  And all amidst the cicada accompaniment, which even stopped and changed tempo intermittently. Such a difficult situation for any orchestra, I was thinking.

 But they took that excitement, that unexpected surprise, the mirth it generated, and they put it into the music.

I am still amazed by the results.

 What is ordinarily (to me) a meditation became the musical equivalent of a caged animal struggling against its bonds.

 More and more the sheer tension accumulated like static electricity, Eschenbach using his hands again, raising the tension ever higher, until at the end the music exploded; burst into pieces, shattered rather than collapsed. Even that cicada finally gave up.

 The ovation(s) that followed almost shook the ancient auditorium. Eschenbach gave the flowers he was presented with to the drummer who held the rhythm for Bolero, an especially difficult task that night, and I left the Herodion grinning and breathless, smiles all around.

Thus was brought to a close a concert that begun as a "good night" for the Orchestre de Paris, and ended a musical revelation for yours truly. Never had I seen in Ravel's music the potential for such an elemental outburst. I still wonder if it was the music, or the moment.

 Regardless, I will be back in Athens next summer - if only to remember that one night with the cicada, and Ravel unleashed.

Pending.

Almost two months ago, I wrote here about "starting to fulfill the rest of [The Prodigal Sorcerer's] mission statement". Thankfully, I also wrote about this blog being "whimsically updated"; though I suspect I've taken this latter statement a little too far...

Almost two months later, and there is still nothing posted here. I could blame my being busy (which I was), my turbulent private life (which it is), or the rapidly rising price of oil (a fact).

Instead, I will isolate the real reason in that, throughout this period, despite a number of issues that caught my interest, there was not that one thing I truly wanted to begin on: a high note.

Now, that high note has finally been supplied, courtesy of the Orchestre de Paris, and its music director, Christoph Eschenbach.

(Of course, the high note might equally well have been Metal Gear Solid 4, to quickly jump to another of the blog's main subjects. That is, had I played it yet: for better or for worse, I haven't.)

Therefore, The Prodigal Sorcerer is now active in earnest.

Let's see for how long it will last!