When we first thought about this, which was at least a year ago (at the time working on the project also with Jaton Zulueta), I decided that I wanted to try my hand at the hundred word short story myself. And so, here’s my stab at it. I will tell you, thankfully, a lot of the stories that made it into the book are way better than my own attempt.

SPACE AND TIME

We’re at a friend’s wake, more than a decade since the exhilaration at sixteen of wrapping my arm around her shoulder, our hand-holding hidden beneath the spines of upturned textbooks, the reluctant fuzz of my upper lip tickling her nape. Like a wormhole this death has created a tear in space and time bringing us here to this pew where she struggles and fails to stay awake. I feel my heart expand when her head drops into my shoulder and I hold her as I think about mending the tear in space-time, of taking her hand and going back to the moment when I first held it.

In attempts to temper this tendency to do other things (yeah right, okay I know I’ll backslide and do these things every once in a while), and see if these are common things to do, I’m making a list of the stuff I do (mostly stupid) instead of writing. This is the stuff that I suddenly realize I should do, or suddenly feel a compulsion to do when I finally find time to sit down and supposedly write.

1. Write something else.

For some reason, this works exceptionally well. When I’m supposed to be writing literary, I suddenly find myself preparing notes for class, or doing online forum discussions. And vice versa. When I need, need, need to prepare a syllabus or reading list, suddenly the ideas for a story or essay come surging forward. Right now, I’m supposed to be working on this novel I’ve been threatening to finish, and this wonderful blog entry popped into my head. The worst instance of this is the scribbled notes that form the outline of a second novel that are on my whiteboard, which as yet cannot be entertained because I was supposed to be working on aforementioned novel.

2. Air Guitar.

3. Air Bass.

4. Air Drums.

5. Converting ebook files from one format to another and loading them up on my Kindle.

6. Compulsively checking my latest Facebook status to see if anyone has liked it.

7. Thinking about Food

8. Arranging my iTunes library and filling in information.

9. Fixing my room. Arranging stuff, piling DVDs and books nicely.

10. Cutting my nails, shaving, other personal grooming concerns.

11. “Research” which is really just surfing the net or watching music videos on youtube.

12. “Consulting with possible readers” which is really just bugging people via IM.

13. Walking around, stretching, supposedly getting the blood flowing.

14. Playing word games in my head, anagrams mostly.

15. Thinking of all the fun things I could be doing instead of writing.

To be honest, I wind up usually doing these in the order that they are listed. When I’m lucky, after some Air Guitar or Air Bass I’ll actually get to do some writing. But when I get past the Air Drumming, then I kind of jump around while sneaking in a few sentences. And it’ll go back and forth between writing and these activities.

And so as a high schooler, when we migrated back to the Philippines, fireworks became a major thing for me. My friends and I would go around the block with packs of different fireworks, though our favorite was the cheap and ever-reliable Five-Star. What we did was a combination of fireworks and vandalism, I suppose, as we were never satisfied with just letting the fireworks go off. We wanted to blow stuff up along with it, and we’d find stuff on the street which looked ripe for exploding. One of our favorite targets was the “Tubero” metal plates that we’d find on posts. We would wedge Five-Stars into a few sides and then, boom, the metal plate would go flying somewhere. I think our biggest target was a few years ago there was some congressman’s banner or other which we blew up and eventually set fire to. That was before I started getting sick during the holidays.

I know most people get colds or the flu during the season. Mine work like clockwork, especially in accordance with the massive amounts of smoke generated during and around the New Year’s celebrations.

The worst incident was a few years back. It was the first and only time that I had to be rushed to the hospital (apart from football injuries). I had been begging my mom to take me to a doctor because I couldn’t breathe. I would normally just buckle down and power through anything, just to avoid the prospect of doctors and hospitals. But I knew this was different, because I was wheezing and I could feel that something was different, something was definitely wrong. We called a cousin of mine who had studied nursing, and she offered the quickie remedy of boiling water and throwing some vaporub into it, and then having me inhale the steam. It worked a little, but served only as temporary respite. I was still breathing short, clipped breaths. And then after a series of hacking coughs, I could not breathe and I keeled over. It was then that my mother acceded to my requests to be rushed to the emergency room. I was put on some oxygen for a couple of hours and then sent home. The official explanation was that the  mucus in my lungs had hardened because of the smoke that I had inhaled.

Since then, I have been sick every year. Every single year. And so I approach the New Year’s celebrations with a mixture of excitement and dread. Of course a new year means new potential, a sense of renewal (even if it’s all only psychological), and all that. But at the same time, for me, it means that the festivities will take their toll on me, leaving me wheezing and coughing, as I am doing as I struggle through this entry.

But this year, I’m thinking it may hold something else too. This year I had one of the most fun New Year’s celebrations of my life, with the warm Katigbak-Lacuesta families (my own family is scattered and problematic), who welcomed me wholeheartedly, and from Sarge and Mookie’s 33rd floor home we watched as the whole city launched its fireworks. And it was a good celebration, great food, great drinks, great company, and lots of fun. Which made me hopeful. And it prevented me from what I was really expecting of myself as the new year set in; I thought that I would spiral into some drunken fit and start screaming. “F*#^ you 2011, f@$# you!”

Needless to say that while the last year had a lot of boons, it had some pretty nasty banes. And though I feel lucky for all that I’ve accomplished and received, these bummer things have weighed heavily, so heavily on me. And so, as I was coughing up nasty stuff and sweating like it was summertime as the air-conditioner chugged on, I was thinking that perhaps this is a sort of purging. All of those bad germs, all the bacteria and infection and whatever, getting forced out of my body as the year turns. Maybe my mind should follow suit. Maybe as my physical body rids itself of these negative things, my mental and emotional aspects should similarly expectorate all of the bummer things of 2011.

For all the good the year did me, it served me betrayal, deceit, job insecurity, politicking, people ready to stab me in the back at the least provocation, and the dissolution of another relationship. And these things, I now expectorate. I take a few hacking coughs, gather them up from my throat up into my mouth, the thick gooey suspension almost causing me to gag, and I spit them out. Crappy things from 2011, I spit you out. And then I flush you down the toilet yo. That’s where you belong.

And with the passing of this nasty cough and cold, I hope that I come up fresh and ready to face 2012. Happy New Year everybody.

That’s where we’ll start, with the hating. It’s what gets all this thinking going anyway, so might as well start there. 

In a year when I feel like I’ve gotten to accomplish some things, and I can be proud of these things (finishing my MA, releasing my first collection of short stories, contributing to the work of the UST Publishing House, leading the UP Press’s digital publishing program, oh and no small feat for me: starting to cook), this is also a year when I feel I’ve been subjected to a lot of negative energy, a lot of things being said about me, a lot of people trying to bring me down.

This hate isn’t our dictionary definition of hate per se, but our contemporary use of hating, like “Haters gonna hate,” not necessarily the intensity that the word denotes, but rather, in general terms, just other people trying to pull you down. That’s pretty darn vague, but I don’t really want to get into details here of who’s doing the hating or how, but rather come to question the whole point of it in the first place. Why do we bother with such negative thoughts, feelings, actions? What good does it do us to bring people down when what we should be trying to do is build each other up, improve ourselves, and then the people around us, and then hopefully our communities, our surroundings, country, world, universe, whatever man. I don’t know if it sounds like my mind’s coming from a Disney movie, but I want to have this kind of youthful, childlike optimism that people can see beyond their immediate surroundings, personal needs, and opportunities, and think of a larger thing that they are contributing to. I want to believe, after being so angry for so many years, that we can all come to things in a positive manner, looking to build, to contribute, to enhance, basically to raise each other up and make each other better.

By now, with thirty years under my rather stout belt (which for my health and future must really get smaller) I have to admit that where I am now, working in the humanities, particularly in the literary arts, is probably the field that I will be working in for the foreseeable future. I will admit to this longing to get an MBA, to try my hand in different fields, and to explore other things which I can apply my humanities background to, enriching that field or area of study or work. But even with those desires, it is clear to me that I will be devoting myself to the humanities and creative writing.

While this seemed the clear trajectory as a writing major, moving along that course and actually knowing that you’ve put in the work and have moved in that direction to such a point that the coordinates are pretty much set are two different things. But with the acceptance that this is most likely the field which I have a chance to contribute to lays things out, makes certain things clearer.

I will be devoting a substantial amount of my cognitive processing, my creative energies, and my life, to the humanities. I’ll be mixing up the time between being in the classroom and trying to teach kids who could care less for epiphanies and dramatic tension about how to read and hopefully appreciate literature, hopefully helping young writers develop their skills and talents in and out of the classroom, trying to contribute to local publishing in attempts to deepen the current readership’s interest and reach a larger, untapped readership, and in between all of this writing my own stuff, for 2012 the optimistic projection is finishing a book about urban planning for laymen and (fingers crossed) my first novel. I want to throw in that as I was staring at the page that would not move forward, I was suddenly hit by the idea for a second novel, which combined these ideas that had been stewing for a couple of years with some new ideas I’ve been playing with. I ran to the whiteboard and wrote the concept down, and ever since it has been staring at me, asking me when I will start on it.

So there, I’ve decided to generally devote my life to the humanities. The humanities, which is a field of study which struggles to figure out, really, what makes us human. And to enrich our sense of humanity, which in my belief means to enhance our capacity to connect with other people, to make other people’s lives better, whether it be through direct action, indirect action, or merely through the sharing of ideas that enrich the way that we interface with the world.

It is ironic then that as I have approached closer and closer to the point of no return in this field, I have been exposed to more negativity, more behavior that breaks me down, talk that paints me in a terribly unprofessional and generally crappy light (sadly coming from people who have similarly devoted themselves to the humanities, some even being remarkably creative). I have never had to deal with as much hating and pulling down than I have had this year, a year when I feel like I’ve made some pretty substantial contributions to things.

I know at this point that some readers may start seeing this entry as a pity party. And if you’re doing so, hey you’re free to think that and just move on. But then I think you might not be getting it. If this sounds like some guy angst-ing about people hating on him, then yeah, that is part of it most definitely.

But more than that, it leads me to the question that has been bothering me the last couple of weeks. When so few people outside of the arts communities care about insight, dramatic turns, and epiphanies, and people of artistic bents are constantly searching for these in various artistic media, why are we in the arts communities so negative towards each other? Why are we, who surround ourselves with great art, we who read the best books and listen to the best music and watch the most artistic films, why are we who are exposed to so much extraordinary beauty, beauty that it is a privilege to have access to, why are we sometimes capable of some of the worst things.

Okay, I know where that goes, and how anyone is capable of doing bad things. But what makes me wonder is that how we, who strive to enrich ourselves, who write critical analyses of artistic work, we who actually produce art, how can we be exposed to and create such beauty, and yet manage to turn around and do bad things to each other? Wouldn’t it be logical to think that people who are so immersed in art, in beauty and in human accomplishment, would turn out to be more appreciative, understanding, loving, giving?

The question, as stated in the title, is shouldn’t our appreciation for and capacity to create art translate to being able to lead a better life. I know that we could debate the definition of “better life” to death. Of course we could. But I’m sure that we all have a general idea that we can agree on. Treating people well, improving ourselves, helping people out, making contributions to our fields, doing good work. We also have an idea of the bad things that we do, our own flaws and limitations. And by exposing ourselves to art are we not building in ourselves a stronger sense of self-awareness, a stronger connection to people, which will help to stop us from treating other people badly.

I don’t know. I will admit that for all the books that I’ve read, for all the great music and great movies and everything that I’ve exposed myself to, I also have the capacity (if not tendency) to self-sabotage, or to just flat out F things up in the most F-ing spectacular manner. But I’m hoping that this thought, this line of thinking, will lead to a change. I am hoping that an awareness of this issue, a hard and long look at this dilemma, will lead to some sort of epiphany, some sort of realization that will lead to me living my life a little better this year.

It saddens me that people with such amazing intellectual and creative capacities can choose to devote their time and energy to talking crap about me, trying to break me down, trying to mess with my writing and my career and all kinds of other aspects of my life. More saddening is the fact that this goes so far beyond me, and that this kind of behavior is so rampant that some people view it as systemic and even worse, as just a given.

The last few days I’ve spent hours just thinking about this, thinking about the cognitive dissonance between beauty and the ugliness of hating, and how easily these things can co-exist in even the best minds. And I’ve been thinking, here’s a thought so terribly naive, so dumb and obvious that I don’t know how it never occurred to me before: it’s actually a lot easier to write a really good critical paper, or to write a literary work, than it is to make the good and right decisions in life. It’s so much easier to conjure up a fictional world and then impose justice on a story in that world than it is to commit oneself to justice in this world. It’s so much easier to find logic and order on, say a comic book page, reading the progression of panels and understanding the meaning of it all, than it is to find a logic and order in our often chaotic and problematic world.

So I guess that’s where we near the end. Sure there are the haters (and I wouldn’t be surprised if sometime soon I was back in the unemployment line looking for a new job, or if I were deprived of opportunities, or just generally hassled thanks to these haters). And there are always going to be the bummer things in life. The world is full of suffering and sadness, hardships and trials. But it’s also full of beauty, things that make us proud to be human, things that make us proud to be part of the human race, accomplishments and admirable feats, whether these are the discovery or development of new technologies, or an amazingly powerful poetic line.

I guess I’m deciding that I will be as positive as possible, and spread this kind of thinking as far as I can. It sounds corny and it sounds uncool, it’s so anti-existential, anti-nihilist, anti-hipster, and so unabashedly sunny and sounds like it’s coming from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood or Sesame Street. But this is where all this thinking has gotten me.

I’m lucky, I’ve been fortunate to have opportunities that a lot of other people around me never got. If not for a few lucky answers on the UPCAT, I would have wound up an out of school youth, probably delivering filtered water, cooking up Isaw, washing cars at the corner carwash, or something else. My family wrote me off as hopeless, and just a shade over ten years later I’ve got an MA, some books, and I’m doing something I love. How can I not be positive? How can I not believe that things can be better? And how can I not share this hope and this positivity?

I think that we do have a responsibility to work harder, to try and make things better, try and make each other better. I know also that those kinds of statements might raise eyebrows, might sound like threats of hegemony, imposition of beliefs, or other possible concerns. But no, it’s really just this idea that by bringing a good, positive approach to things, by bringing positive energies, and by dismissing all that hate, we can do so much more. We just get past those things that are stopping us, and focus on building and improving, and we can accomplish so much.

For many years I believed in a jolly fat white man who came from the sky and showered gifts upon me. Even when reality was strained, even though I lived in California and there were no chimneys through which he could pass with his giant bag of gifts, even when I had already caught my mother typing a “letter from Santa,” I held on doggedly to my belief because the world would become so much harder and harsher if I had to stop believing in Santa Clau

It was pretty much the same when I became an atheist. The weight of science, physics, logic, and the development of my own moral code and belief system based on my reading of various religious texts and search for meaning led to the most logical solution, and something that I could believe in, despite my years of Catholic school and what was what I once believed to be the fervent burning fire of faith in my heart. I believe, ultimately, in science, they physical laws of the universe, the improbability of life in the vastness of the cosmos, and the miracle that is man. And in the face of all this improbability, we have a responsibility to ourselves, our species, our planet, and the universe, to do amazing things. 

My life hasn’t changed much since my “coming out” as an atheist. It also hasn’t changed the fact that Christmas, and the holiday season in general, are my favorite time of year. I love the finery, the decorations, the spirit of the season. My sister, who is younger but way cooler than I am, thinks I am a spaz or a big softie because sometimes on cab rides home I still point out Christmas light displays or houses decorated for the season.

I know people would think that my non-belief puts a damper on the season. But really that’s not it. In much the same way that we now expect Christians to respect Muslim holidays and vice versa, I think that we can also include atheists in this mix. Further, while I won’t believe in certain aspects, such as divinity, I will wholeheartedly admit that I totally dig the philosophy of Jesus. Atheism doesn’t mean we can’t respect, understand, appreciate, or like things.

I love Christmas music. I mean, come on, I still love Handel’s “Messiah,” George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord,” or Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks” regardless of my belief system. Beauty is beauty, and it’s a glory and wonder that the human mind can appreciate and create such things. So yeah, I still love my Christmas music and often my old Catholic school boy training comes in and I can still mouth the lyrics in Latin when I hear the melodies, doing this sometimes when I’m walking in the mall. But once the music disappears, my knowledge of Latin does too.

What does my Christmas look like? Pretty much the same as yours. And with the globalization and commodification of the holiday and its symbols, the monikers and logos and items of the season, then we can be sure that it’s pretty much the same the world over, whether it’s in the first or third world, or elsewhere.

I’ll be up late for noche buena, having my fill of queso de bola and ham. I’ll be giving some gifts, while also hoping to receive some too. And I will be sharing in a season that celebrates families, love, and the coming of new life that renews and rejuvenates. The most important thing about the season, the birth of someone who forced the entire world to change for the better, is what we get together and sing about, feast about. That’s because we all should aspire to make the world better, no matter where we’re from or what we believe in.

The movie will be part of the Metro Manila Filmfest, in the New Wave category. Here’s the screening schedule:

PINTA*KASI:
December 18 | GALA | 6pm Regular Screening
December 19 | 3pm
December 20 | 9pm
December 21 | 11:30am
Robinson’s Galleria CINEMA 3

And here are the film credits:

PINTA*KASI
2011 December 17 to 21 | Robinson’s Galleria

Inihahandog ng Creative Media of the Philippines
Mula sa Direksyon ni Lee Meily
Official Entry for Metro Manila Film Festival: New Wave Section

Starring:
Erich Gonzales
JM De Guzman
John Wayne Sace
Boots Anson-Roa
William Martines
Giselle Sanchez
Hazel Ann Mendoza
Alwyn Uytingco
Alchris Galura
Jeremiah Carandang
Winryll Banaag

with Special Participation of Ces Quesada

Production Designer: Buboy Tagayon
Music & Sound: JM Diego
Editor: Danny Anonuevo
Director of Photography: Lee Meily & Larry Manda
Writers: Judith Albano | JM Diego | Carljoe Javier
Line Producer: Vilma Morales Bacani
Animation Director: Nelson Caliguia
Executive Producer: Imee Marcos

Please come and check it out. Feel free to repost and share.

He answered with a hearty laugh and a “Gago!” and we both laughed and I hugged him and congratulated him again on what is a beautiful and moving book, The Highest Hiding Place. And so, as I predicted, I sat on a panel and watched as Larry Ypil’s book won the award. I can’t tell you how happy I am for Larry, and how proud I am to be able to say that he is a friend, or that I know him, or that someone so brilliant has sat around and had beers with me.

Of course the other nominees were hitting it out of the park as well. Jose Marte Abueg, who had won the Centennial Literary Prize with his poetry collection Bird Lands, River Nights, and Other melancholies, sat next to me and explained how his collection was inspired by a picture depicting birds committing suicide. Clarissa Militante, whose novel Different Countries was long-listed for the Man Asian, explained the experiences that helped to bring order to her work. And though they were not there, Robin Lim and Larry Ypil had representatives. All in all it was flattering to just be sitting at the same table as these writers, and throughout, I was thinking, dude what am I doing here?

Once again, congratulations to Larry (who gets a nice fat check along with the distinction), and to all the other finalists, whose amazing books are great additions to our literature. And now here’s what the judges had to say about And the Geek Shall Inherit the Earth:

Filipino geekery’s foremost and most candid spokesman, Javier in this first book talks his head off about all the usual things geeks obsess over–girls’ panties, video games, computers, and what-have-yous–and reveals that there may be something to geek groupies’ fascination, after all. Certainly, Javier’s nonfiction pieces are pretty fascinating and interesting examples of the finest sort of memoir writing, but perhaps the biggest attraction of this book’s by-turns-glib-and-broody speaker is his unremitting self-awareness, which is enough–the reader ends up suspecting, by the end of this all-too-slim volume–to redeem not only veritable madmen, but self-confessed geeks as well.

I tried getting apps via the amazon app store. Worst thing for us out here in the third world, the app store does not work in our region. This is precisely the problem with us trying to access content in the supposedly borderless.world. while we say that digital bridges so many divides, content issues still exist. We are restricted from buying certain kinds of content if not locked out altogether.

I did manage to get apps onto the kindle by installing a file manager and the apps downloaded from 4shared. But the point is that we shouldn’t have to do that, and the target market of the fire, which isn’t the tech savvy crowd, will.probably have problems.

I do hope that amazon gives us access to the store soon (though content like music still hasn’t been made available in our region). In the meantime it is important for pinoys to know that while the kindle fire is a wonderful device, you won’t be able to maximize its potential at this point.

So in the span of a year, I have owned and gone crazy over four ebook readers now. I started with a CDR King reader, which was so (seemingly) amazingly cheap at a shade under 4K. With its LCD screen and limited customizability, as well as lack of wifi and problems reading different formats, well, there were some real limitations to it. But if you wanted to read PDFs (and I did get to read quite a number on it) then it was a pretty reliable, if not so sturdy machine. After about two months of use, I gave it to my sister, who didn’t use it for another two months. Then when we tried turning it on, it just wouldn’t. Still, I suppose if it had been taken care of better, it would have been alright. And shelling out 4K for a reader at the time was a good deal, considering that the Kindle was selling in some stores here for as much as 2oK.

After that I picked up a Kindle 3, which was just a great product. I still miss reading on e-ink. And the battery life, oh the battery life. If you want something just for pure text reading, it’s an e-ink reader that you want.With the new Kindles going for just $99 I am expecting these to be a major seller this holiday season, abroad and hopefully even here in the Philippines.

Next I picked up a Nook Color for my birthday, supposedly. Again I found a wonderful excuse to get a new ebook reader. The Nook Color, as I already mentioned, boasts great design, a nice interface, and a good range of apps. Also, it made for a very good reading experience.

Now I know the issues with LCD/LED screens and the possibility of eye strain. But I’m a gamer who has gone for 8-12 straight gaming binges, so I’ve never had any problems reading on them myself. And while I love reading text on the e-ink displays, the full color displays allow me to read comic books and other colored content. So I think if you’re sticking with text, the cheaper, easier-on-the-eyes e-ink readers are great, but the tablets just offer so much that you can do. It’s worth the tradeoffs I think.

So now here we are with the Kindle Fire. And while I was worried about proprietary issues, getting books into it, and other things, it’s been working like a dream so far. I’ve read about wifi problems, as well as people having problems with the buttons on it, and i haven’t encountered those problems either. We will have to see as the week wears on, but thus far it’s a very happy early-christmas acquisition for me.

I hope that this extends not only to book geeks like me, but to the larger public. Who knows, maybe parents will give their kids e-ink readers to encourage them to read. And in a best-case scenario, people buy tablets to play Angry Birds, they get bored, and they wind up downloading some books and reading. I have no fear for the death of literature or books, only the greatest optimism that a new revolution in the way we read and experience books is so happily upon us.

Lackluster story is not something you would ever accuse The Adventures of Tintin books having. Nor this year’s film adaptation, which is surely this holiday season’s technological breakthrough. A visual feast that is powered by a compelling story and lovable characters, Tintin strings together memorable action set pieces that will be entertaining many generations of young viewers, just as the comics have done for decades. 

A re-reading of Hergé’s comics (done before writing this review) helped to refresh the sense of fun and excitement that were inherent in the books, and also helped to remind me of how much a genius he was in the comics medium. And luckily working on the film adaptation is a set of geniuses in their own right. Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson are producing, Spielberg’s taken the helm as director. And providing the script are Steve Moffat, showrunner of Dr. Who and Sherlock, Edgar Wright who directed movies like Shaun of the Dead and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, and Joe Cornish, who is behind new cult classic Attack the Block.

The Adventures of Tintin combines elements from three different books, picking and choosing (though leaning largely on the plot elements of Tintin and the Crab with the Golden Claws) to provide us with an exciting new story filled with swashbuckling, intense chase scenes, and on-the-edge-of your seat adventure. If there were a problem I had with the film, it would be that it doesn’t change its tempo, it’s always at a high-pitched, frenetic pace. There’s hardly a moment to breathe or think as we are overwhelmed with everything that is happening onscreen.

We begin when Tintin buys a ship replica of The Unicorn, which as our hero and the ever loyal Snowy discover, is a ship with a rich history. Even before they can piece things together, their house gets trashed and a dude is gunned down in front of their house. This is more than enough impetus to get our intrepid boy reporter on the case and working to get to the bottom of things.

And when he isn’t working at getting at the bottom of a barrel, Captain Haddock serves as Tintin’s companion through this adventure. Played by mo-cap go-to-guy Andy Serkis, who we’ve all met in the forms of Gollum, King Kong, and genius chimp Caesar of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Captain Haddock here is brought to life with vivid movements and great funny moments. It’s Haddock who’s key here, as his family history is intertwined with the treasure they are chasing after, as well as the big bad that he and Tintin have to face.

We’ve got familiar pieces here, Tintin, Snowy, Captain Haddock, and an adventure. From there Spielberg adds in his signature touches, from the inevitable play with shafts of light, to the knowing wink he gives older viewers when Tintin swims with his bit of hair sticking out creating a Jaws-effect, to breathtaking action that one wishes the director had brought to his last Indiana Jones flick. There are so many amazing moments in this film, and I don’t want to spoil any for the viewer, but I feel the need to mention that there’s a chase scene where we have a number of people chasing and being chased, a water mane bursting, a number of vehicles as well as a falcon, and entire sections of a city moving along with the chase. It’s just this massive piece that could not be done in any other medium or art form, and it’s executed with flurry and flourish and I can’t help but stop thinking about and admiring it. Honestly, if only for that scene I would watch the whole movie again (and there are a lot of other reasons for me to head back and see this movie again).

There’s so much that the film offers on a visual level. It’s got those heart-pounding action sequences, great bits of suspense (watch out for a scene with Haddock, an airplane propeller, and Tintin’s hair), and even these small, well-executed transitions to look at and admire. Mo-cap animation can be freaky sometimes (especially in its early days which suffered from problems like dead eye), but here it works well. There will always be a charm to Hergé’s art and panelling that film will never be able to capture, but what Spielberg does is he translates this to the film medium in a masterful way. Spielberg knows films and visual language, and he makes it clear here that that’s a fact we won’t soon forget.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was watching Raiders of the Lost Ark on crack, because it did bring back that film’s feel, but also ramped things up and made them so much more intense because of the CG-work. I came away from the screening suffering from a bit of sensory overload (watched in IMAX 3-D). I had been overwhelmed by how much the film offered. The Adventures of Tintin is an exciting and memorable romp that packs in a heck of a lot of stuff in its screening time. And I expect to be enjoying this film (and hopefully its sequels) for many years to come.