Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters review

Sigh.

I don't often sit down to watch movies that I know are going to annoy me.  I really don't.  But I was bored.  So I did.

I was annoyed.

The Percy Jackson series of books by Rick Riordan is a clever, interesting, and often fairly nuanced story that features the gods of Olympus in the modern world (hey, they're immortal, so why wouldn't they be around?).  They behave in quite mythologically recognizable ways, right down to the rather common habit of sleeping around with mortal women and creating half-blood heroes.  Percy Jackson is one of these heroes, the son of Poseidon.  We meet him at twelve, and stay with him through his sixteenth birthday, which takes place in The Last Olympian, one of the best story wrap-ups I've seen in these lengthy series.  So many series drop the ball and get weird or go off on un-set-up tangents (I'm looking at you, Dark Tower and Harry Potter).  But Riordan hits the target dead on, bringing in all the things he's brought up, working it into an interesting and emotionally satisfying climax that not only fulfills the plot, but nails down the theme.

But that's neither here nor there, since I'm not reviewing the books.  I am reviewing the movies that someone put the name of the books on.

I'm not talking about some minor tinkering that would only annoy hardcore fen.  The first movie, The Lightning Thief, had an entirely different plot from the book... and started Percy as a high school senior.  Now, I admit, I only went up through undergrad levels of developmental psych, but I'm pretty sure that a senior in high school is not going to behave in the same manner as a twelve year old, even if the plot calls for it.  In the process of this contrived new plot with same name (but totally different) characters, they also managed to forget to build in the things needed for the rest of the movies.  I remember thinking, "Well, at least they can't do any more damage."

Remind me not to tempt fate.

They managed to not only screw up the book canon, but to somehow or other mangle the internal movie canon further by trying to retcon things they needed into it.

Oh, and they also managed to soft-pedal things so much so that the book -- which was aimed at a younger audience (presumably, they made the characters teenagers to attract the older kids) -- was edgier than the movie they made from it.

I can't blame the actors.  I won't say the "young actors," because, though they are all playing teenagers, they are clearly twenty-something adults.  They do what they can with some utterly wretched dialogue.  (Definition of screenwriting FAIL: The dialogue would have been better if it had just been copy-pasted from the book.)  And hey,  nothing wrong with moving Anthony Head into the role of a hero's mentor, or Stanley Tucci as the god of wine (who manages to crack the one actually funny joke in the movie).  Nathan Fillion manages to get across at least some of the concern that Hermes is supposed to show for his son Luke, even though the movie inexplicably skips the fact that HE SENT PERCY IN THE FIRST PLACE.

So I blame absolutely nothing on the actors.  The wretchedness of this adaptation is squarely on the heads of the behind-the-scenes people.  The casting director.  The producers.  And whoever may have cobbled together that "script."

Whenever people want to defend unfaithful adaptations, they love to say, "It's not about getting the exact text on screen, it's about capturing the spirit of the book!"  Fine.  I'll give you that.  Obviously, adaptations can't have everything.  Though, oddly, I find that the spirit is often caught better if the end product somewhat resembles the beginning product.

Sea of Monsters doesn't even make an attempt to capture the "spirit."  In fact, like Lightning Thief, it manages to entirely miss the point.  A major theme in SoM was the characters learning about their fatal flaws.  Annabeth faces her hubris, Percy, his impulsiveness, Clarisse, her pride.  Luke has already failed once against his wrath. A major theme in the movie is learning that they're good enough, they're smart enough, and doggonit, people like them.  No, really, I'm serious.  They INVERTED THE THEME.  There was a major undercurrent in the book as well about what  heroes mean.  Chiron tells Percy that, as children of earth and heaven, heroes join the hopes of man to the realm of the immortals.  The movie?  Again, not so much.  The producers seem deeply uncomfortable with the philosophical underpinning of the stories.  The prophecy that drives much of the series is given, but then for some reason, a series based on Greek mythology decides that the important thing is to ignore the prophecy.  This is a thing that happened in this movie.  Because it's so totally in tune with the classical worldview espoused by the books. [/sarcasm mode]

And shall we talk dumbed down?  Again, recall that the movie is aiming for an older age group.  The book has a whole sequence -- which occurs before any explanation is given -- where Annabeth uses Odysseus's tactics against Polyphemus, telling him that "nobody" is back to torment him again.  Percy is able to sneak out under a sheep.  The references to the Odyssey are fast and furious.  At one point, in the lair of Circe, Percy is turned into a guinea pig.  The movie has Clarisse, daughter of Ares, mention that a boulder might by the one Polyphemus used to block off the entrance, and then it's dropped.  Really, it is.  I'm not making this up.  They're going through the flipping sea of monsters, dealing with Charybdis, fighting Polyphemus, and they managed to do it without a single wink and nod to the master.  The movie people assume the audience is much dumber than Rick Riordan assumes.

As a librarian, I can tell you... Riordan is closer to the mark.  Kids who read these books turn around and snap up mythology like crazy, and then get even more of what's going on.

And then, there are just the inexplicable things.  Why is there an amusement park on Polyphemus's island, name-checking Circe?  It has nothing to do with the Circe episode in the book, which is skipped entirely, or with the Circe mythology.  It's just there.  Doing a big fat nothing.  It doesn't even make for especially interesting visuals.  There's the decision to have Posiedon, Hades, and Zeus all have escaped Kronos's cannibalistic spree, and Poseidon killed him with the blade he gave Percy, none of which makes sense in the story, or in mythology.  And, by the way, Scylla and Charybdis, in this movie, are not anywhere near each other.  Do they really think viewers don't even know that much mythology?  Plus, better visual!  And what's with needing a satyr to sniff out the Golden Fleece?  Where on earth does that come from, and how in the world does it make sense?  This is where reading the book would have been helpful to the screenwriters, since it has a much more sensible explanation of why Grover is on that island.

I do not understand the choices made by the people who bought this property.  All of the books are pretty good movie length, the material lends itself to quotable quotes and funny scenes, there's plenty of action, and plenty of chances for good heartwarming moments and Dumbledore-explains-it-all moments.  They could have picked actors like the Potter franchise did and let them grow up with the characters.

Instead... this.

:grinds teeth:

Boredom and an insomnia lead to bad movie-watching decisions.  That's the only theme I got out of this evening's viewing.

Catching Fire Review

I am a big fan of the Hunger Games trilogy, and I know the books quite well. The first book didn't catch me quite as much as the second -- it was after I read Catching Fire that I just couldn't put the things down. Spoilers, as always.

That said, the trilogy should have been a pentalogy. The first book was beautifully self-contained and had exactly the right length for the right material. The latter two (though in many ways superior) are each two books crammed into single volumes, in order to arbitrarily make a trilogy. Catching Fire is the story of Katniss learning about her world through the Victory Tour and the invasion of District Twelve by Thread, then it is the story of the second Quarter Quell. Mockingjay is the story of the build-up to the Revolution and the awful truth of Katniss's situation, and then it is the story of the war. There are even sensible break-points in both books -- the announcement of the Quarter Quell should have finished book 2, the end of CF was good for book 3, book 4 should have ended with -- well, to avoid spoilers, the return of Peeta, and then the remainder should have been book 5. Tell the truth and shame the devil: The pacing was off because of the decision to make it a trilogy.

The movies have wisely chosen to split Mockingjay. They should have done the same with Catching Fire.

I'm not saying I didn't fully enjoy it. As a reader, I could fill in the blanks of what was going on. The performances are much better the second time around (and they didn't start out shabby). There are some quite beautiful touches, and I would see it again in a heartbeat. It's just that the flaw of the novel is really amplified here.

So, review by elements:

Theme:
The theme of Catching Fire -- the cost of rebellion -- is decently addressed. Snow's threat to District Twelve, the riot in Eleven, the implied riots elsewhere... this is serious stuff. Snow's understanding of how Katniss functions, and the series-arc theme about the power of the media are caught very well. No complaints thematically. Nice work.

Plot:
As I mentioned in the intro, Catching Fire has two separate plots. The movie covers both of them. The first is Katniss's realization, in the course of the victory tour, that she has become a symbol of defiance, that she and Peeta are both trapped in the roles they created for themselves. This is in contrast with her relationship with Gale at home, which always served as a comfort for her. This part of the plot is kept, but its mirror plot, of her growing relationship with Peeta, gets something of a short shrift, probably because they figured he was the star of the second plot. The second plot is the Quarter Quell, in which the tributes are drawn from among existing victors, thereby sending both Katniss and Peeta back into the arena, where each one plans to die for the other. Problem? No time was really taken to establish why. More later.

Setting:
There are a lot of interesting points to the setting. You can certainly see where the extra money went (though it didn't go for night filters or decent night lighting -- the lighting in the scene at midnight is atrocious, people). Oahu made for a fine arena. The Capitol is great. The districts continued and expanded the take from the first movie. This isn't a complaint so much as just an apparently radically different reading of the setting between me and the set designers, but I don't understand the urban look of both D12 and D11. These are small town and rural areas, as I understand it. It wasn't a big platform in Eleven, but part of the Justice Building called "the Verandah." It's meant to evoke the old south, for obvious reasons. District Twelve is a small town, with a square that even Katniss describes in the books as "pleasant." Both were interpreted in the first film (and continued here) with a sort of industrial junkiness to them. Did the set designers maybe think that an audience couldn't put the pieces together that the place could be pleasant looking and still dirt poor and oppressed? Shrug. Minor quibble.

Character:
I'll get to the flaws in the "Style" section, but I have to take a minute to praise the performances here. Every actor hits dead on with the characters, whenever they're given a chance. (The only misstep was with Mrs. Everdeen being freaked out at injured Gale. She's a weak person, but she's supposed to find her strength when someone is hurt. This is not the fault of the actress, and it gave Willow Shields a chance to shine as Prim. But it was baffling, conceptually.) Woody Harrelson again knocks it out of the park as Haymitch. Granted, they should have dyed his hair because of the social situation in Twelve (blondes belong to the merchant class, rather than Haymitch's Seam background), but I'll forgive just about any random detail for the way he completely inhabits this character. If this weren't a big budget blockbuster, I'd think he was a shoo-in for an award. Alas, it is a big budget blockbuster (science fiction, no less), so he'll have to settle for the fat paycheck he amply earns with it. Only two actors (Gale and Prim) look like my mental versions, anyway. It's not an actor's job to look the role, but to play it. Jennifer Lawrence gets the confusion and fear in Katniss very nicely, while never compromising her strength as the protagonist. She doesn't show one second's doubt that she is the heroine of the piece. Josh Hutcherson seems more comfortable in Peeta's shoes this time. And Elizabeth Banks as Effie? Gold star for the team. She really manages to convey the duality of the character (an extremely nice woman who is the harbinger of extremely horrible things).

And then, there is the cast of thousands. Once we get to the Quarter Quell, we're introduced to the characters who will be vital for the rest of the series. Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee will continue on, and I like the performances just fine. Jena Malone manages to get Johanna across with very little screen time. Jeffrey Wright impressed me particularly in Beetee's interview scene, where he managed to respond to Stanley Tucci's Caesar with almost no dialogue and face acting that implies everything. Sam Claflin's initial introduction -- the famed "Sugar cube?" scene -- was a little flubbed in the direction, but Claflin brings it in the arena. (For those complaining that he just looks "too young" to be the most beautiful man in Panem... guys, the actor is five years older than the character, and the character is a great favorite of people who fawned over him at the age of fourteen, and did worse to him because of it later on. If he looked one second older, he'd have aged out of the part.)

There's not much to complain about in terms of the characters, except that we didn't get enough of any of them to really give a damn if we hadn't already read the book. Which brings us to...

Style:
Two words: SLOW DOWN.

Seriously, I know that a huge number of the people seeing the movie have read the book and can fill in, but even with that knowledge going for me, the whipsawing from one thing to another was too much. There wasn't time to care about anything!

I know I'm generally a canon purist -- to the point where film students who think it's their right... nay, responsibility... to "interpret" a book until it's unrecognizable think I need to be shouted down -- but come on. Even I admit that there are things you can do in narrative that you just can't do on film. One of those things is glossing over events.

In narrative, you can give the emotional reactions to people and situations as the character experiences them. You can take a second to flash back, or give outside information. In a movie, you are utterly dependent on scenes. These narrative breaks can also give a sense of time passing, of feelings growing. So the two halves of the book, already rushed in narrative, become breathless and herky-jerky on film. With no dramatic depiction, you have no idea why (or even that) Katniss cares enough about Peeta that the first thing she does when she comes to her senses is to go to Haymitch and say that Peeta has to be saved. One moment of her seeing that he's decent and kind in Eleven does not do the trick, especially since the last film short-shrifted the iconic Boy With the Bread scene. All you have is Haymitch saying, "Yup, he's a good guy and totally better than us." That doesn't work. It wasn't sacrificed in favor of Gale, either, since Gale gets about the same amount of time, ultimately. No one gets a lot of time because, even clocking in at two and a half hours, there is not time to get to know anyone.

There is also no time for world building. In film, you can take some shortcuts, because you don't have to pause to describe. But since D13 was glossed over in the first one, a brief mention of it by Snow isn't enough to build up the surprise at the end that they're heading for D13... by then, so much has happened that there's no way that made any kind of emotional impression. You needed that scene with the runaways from Eight, to establish that there is such a place, and that it might well still be there, and then you need Haymitch denying that it could be there. You need something. You have to have some hint that Snow hates Haymitch, and who Haymitch really is, for the end to come off believable, and, just as important, to give some historical depth to the created world.

And then, the cast of thousands. These people are critical to the remainder of the story, but the shorthand here doesn't make the grade. The actors do well with what they're given, but they're not given much. There's no breathing space. Jena Malone comes off best because Johanna is a character that doesn't waste any time with niceties, so she comes off as reasonably Johanna-like. She even gets a brief extra line (proving that world-building can be quick and efficient) about how there would even be rioting in the streets of the Capitol -- a fine look at some of what's coming. But even the main characters, the ones with all the screen time, are getting pushed from scene to scene. The scene of Katniss and Peeta's kiss on the beach, a hugely important scene in terms of the characters, is well played in it's half-length form, but because we haven't seen what's going on with Katniss, because we haven't seen the way they've grown genuinely close, it just rushes through like everything else. She needs him? Since when in the film's narrative? (Yes, those of us who've read the book can probably quote her inner monologue -- "I realize that if Peeta died, only one person would be damaged beyond repair -- me" -- but there's not even time to mentally fill it in.)

So, yes, stylistically speaking, this movie should have ended with the announcement of the Quarter Quell, with the Victory Tour and the drama of the building rebellion as the main theme, with the next movie picking up immediately and heading into the Quell itself. Then there would have been time to do it properly.

However, they chose what they chose. I don't mean to sound like they didn't do a fabulous job with the road they did decide to take. It's just that I wish they hadn't decided to take the ten lane, eighty-mile-an-hour freeway that breezes past most of the world.

Anyway, there's a fan film out there that does a good job with Haymitch's Quell. Let's just say this is it, and call it good.

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I'm curious about Agents of SHIELD. I've been watching it. I like it all right. I want to like it more, but something just isn't clicking for me.

It's not that I don't like the MCU, and Joss Whedon's sense for dialogue is always great. The plots are solid. Whedon hasn't gone for the annoying and obvious choices (OMG, SHIELD is really bad guys! Even when he let his characters leave with that idea on their minds, he makes clear to the audience that it's not the case) Some nice, complicated questions. Good performances all around. Not so tied up in its arc that it's inaccessible to the non-fanatic.

So why am I not obsessed with this show? It's got almost everything that I like.

Some of it may fix itself as the writers become more accustomed to the characters. It happens.

I think for me, the problem is that they seem to be interested in the two characters -- Ward and Skye -- who hold ZERO interest for me. Everyone else, I sort of like. I adore Fitz-Simmons. Coulson's awesome. May is awesome (hey, she's freaking MULAN). But you have all of these pretty interesting folk, and attention ends up going to... Riley Finn and Kennedy, from Buffy. Except that I actually sort of liked Riley, in a secondary role and before they started messing with him so there was an excuse to take him off the show. Not that they're the same characters, though Ward obviously has some spiritual ancestry with the Initiative. Just... two characters that the producers are trying really hard to sell, and the sale is not going through. No matter how much fake implied drama there is, they're just huge energy-sucks every time they're on screen, and they tend to make the episodes lose momentum. It's not the actors, it's the characters.

Guys, you can do better. Ward's salvageable, if given someone else to interact with. Ditch Skye. You don't have to go full-on Riley with her and make her do things that are obnoxious and repugnant for an excuse. Just have her flunk out of training. Change her mind. Give a heroic sacrifice moment. Whatever. Introduce someone new. You're supposed to be on the lookout for people with superpowers. How about someone with such a lame superpower that it never makes a difference, except in minor creature comforts, but puts her on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar anyway? You could get some comedic traction with it. Or maybe bring back Akela. Or find someone interesting on an away mission. Or send in the daughter of one of those people Nick Fury answers to. (Or maybe one of them themselves is young enough to appeal to the planned demographic.)

Anyway, that's where I am with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.. It's workable. I like it whenever it's not paying attention to the energy-sucks. Please let them suck less.

Placemaking

I've been interested in placemaking for a while now -- pretty much since I read The Great Good Place by Ray Oldenburg back in the '90s. Something about the idea of a place where everyone belonged equally (hence my gratuitous Cheers music link) appealed to me as a shy girl who has trouble meeting anyone -- the thought that there was someplace where it's natural to just run into people... that seemed wonderful. The more I read, the more I liked it. Public spaces really are the backbone of a community, and I don't think it's possible to deny that. Modern architecture and design have often ignored people for the sake of intellectualism. (Case in point, the Johnson building of the BPL. Surrounded by forbidding plinths, windows barred up like prison cells... very bad connection to the McKim building, and a terrible, street-stopping face on Boylston... until you get to McKim, with its wide porch and wrap-around bench.)

You can see the way people straighten their shoulders and perk up in a good space, and the way bad spaces seem to weigh people down.

You can see where it becomes very difficult to know your neighbors when neighborhoods are mowed down in favor of some city planner's notion.

You can see the way fast-running roads cut people off... look at Albuquerque, with six lane freeways running at around 45 mph (official 40 mph) passing for city streets, nothing in walking distance, no little grocery stores, just supermarkets. There aren't even a lot of cheap bodegas in some neighborhoods. Going out means planning it -- driving, parking, figuring out what to do with your vehicle should you join other friends somewhere else. And if you're planning to have a drink or two, arranging for a driver. There are parks with nothing particular to do in them. Usually, there's a play area, but it's carefully noted as for children only, and there's nothing for adults -- no fountains, no food carts, no little knick-knack booths (I got some cute things for my hair at Boston Common, down by Park Street station, and some jewelry, too.) No one is ever there giving a random soapbox sermon to comment on, or a fun street performance. Walking down the street, except in very select neighborhoods, you're not likely to spot something and think, on the spur of the moment, "That sounds fun. I'll do that." There don't need to be "no loitering" signs -- it's implicit.

Only, we need places to loiter. It's important to have places to loiter, to meet with people, to enjoy a spontaneous moment. Somehow, this was forgotten in the midst of a lot of very bad top-down urban planning in the 60s and 70s.

So, I became interested in placemaking.

Today, I linked from the Project for Public Spaces website to a white paper from MIT, which says, "As the cases in this paper demonstrate, today’s placemaking addresses challenges such as rising obesity rates, shrinking cities, and climate change, to name a few."

It took me a while to figure out why this was bothering me so much. I've even thought some of these things. (My personal opinion is that supermarkets are more responsible for our bad diet than McDonalds -- when you go to a place that isn't worth going into if you're shopping for less than a week at a time, you're going to get things that are stuffed with preservatives, so it doesn't go bad on you.) But it finally dawned on me.

This new placemaking is a warmed-over version of the top-down urban planning that got us into trouble in the first place. It's not meant to ease something that people already want and are missing (someplace where everybody knows their name). It's designed to MAKE PEOPLE THINK AND BEHAVE DIFFERENTLY. It's starting with the premise of changing the people in a community.

I don't necessarily think any of the goals is a bad thing. Some, I think are very good things. But they are not things you can impose. It's one thing to add a bike path because you have a lot of people in the city who want to bike a lot. It's another to add a bike path in order to make more people want to bike a lot. It's a great goal, but it's not the business of... well, anyone... to decide, "This is the way the people here should think, so we'll keep at them until they think that way." Look, I like advertising. I really do -- it's kind of the psy-ops department of the commercial and government world -- but be honest when you're advertising something. Make commercials. Make PSAs. (The Australian government managed to make one that went viral... it's not a lost cause, and I'll never be a "dumb ways to die" statistic!) Don't say, "I'm making a better world, and the first thing I need to overhaul are those stupid people I live with."

For one thing, it most likely won't work. A few people may pick it up. Others will move out, leaving it for new people who like it to come in... but if you have an entirely new population, you haven't actually fixed the place. You've kind of killed it. For another, come on... it's a little bit morally questionable to try and force everyone onto the same hobby horse, isn't it? It doesn't even matter what the hobby horse is. I don't care if you start with the premise of "Everyone should bike more" or "Everyone should go out hunting more." Look at the people you've got RIGHT NOW, and look at them as they are in reality. Start there. If the community shifts on its own, the places will shift with it. But don't use placemaking to force a shift.

Give them better spaces, by all means. And you may well find that when a city is more navigable, more people will get on bikes, and want bike paths. OR NOT. In which case, hey, it's a free country, go someplace with a community you like.

Well, if all the placemaking hasn't gentrified it out of your price range.

That's the other thing. In the brag about how much good the Bryant Park turnaround has done, they mention that rents have skyrocketed in that neighborhood, even faster than the rest of New York.

Lovely. Glad to hear the wealthy folk have a nice place to hang out. Too bad about people who can no longer afford to live there, and have to move out to the next place that will be gentrified.

We need to find a way to fix places where everyone lives. People who aren't well-to-do also live in places and use places. They shouldn't be dispossessed in the effort to make their homes better. (This is what's bothering me about some of what I'm hearing out of Buffalo. It sounds like it's really improving for the white collar yuppie crowd... and the blue collar ex-steel workers are getting the shaft again.)

I don't have a good theory about this. The more you improve a place, the more people want to live in it, and the more the market will bear. But it's very unfortunate. We need a mixed group.

Review of "House of Hades" by Rick Riordan -- spoilers galore

I have a few go-to recommendations for kids who think they don't like to read. The Percy Jackson books are among those go-tos: funny, smart, packed full of references that will reward kids who read the source material (Greek mythology)... these are just terrific books for kids. They're also fun for adults who enjoy mythology and like Riordan's wink-and-smirk attitude about how a lot of it would translate in the modern world.

House of Hades is the fourth book in the second series, Heroes of Olympus. It follows the five of the seven demigod heroes (and their protector, satyr gym teacher Coach Hedge) on their voyage from Rome to Greece aboard the Argo II. The other plot involves the main heroes of the first series, Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, as they try to escape from Tartarus.

How is it? Eh. Three thumbs up and an eyeroll. I generally liked it, but there were a lot of problematic parts.

Fair warning, I review with spoilers.

Character
With seven points of view, the characters are starting to get a little short-shrifted here. There's a lot going on, some of which didn't have to do with the seven prophesied POV heroes, so along with those seven (Jason, Piper, Leo, Percy, Annabeth, Frank, Hazel), you're getting a little sidelong glance at Hedge, a much fuller exploration of Nico, and even the return of Calypso (last seen in Battle of the Labyrinth, five books ago). None of this is bad, but ten character arcs and seven points of view contained in two action-packed and separate plot-lines, you often feel kind of jerked around from one place to another.

Not that there's not some good stuff. I think I was happiest when Leo was interacting with Calypso. It felt like a breathing space, and I felt like we actually got the right length there. Leo, in general, seems to be the new character with the most natural, lifelike work about him. Almost everything in the Tartarus plot (Annabeth and Percy) worked like a charm, as they're both dealing with things that, even as very powerful demigods, they aren't remotely prepared for. I like that Riordan doesn't tinker with their relationship a lot. Exploring them as devoted to each other is much more interesting (and DIFFERENT) than wondering what big nasty thing is going to come around the corner and smack them apart.

The more problematic character stuff happens with the Argo II. Nico di Angelo is keeping his promise to Percy to get everyone to the doors of death, and that's interesting (he's a fan favorite for a reason), but, much as I like seeing him again, he's not one of the main characters in this series. His half-sister Hazel is, and that would have been a good way to deal with him, but instead, we get Jason spending a lot of time watching him and dealing with Nico's "big secret" (he has a crush on Percy) rather than Jason dealing with a fairly big point of his plot, which is the fact that he's feeling more Greek than Roman, and has to make a choice at a pivotal point. When it came time for Jason to make this choice, it came off as strange, because instead of dealing with that conflict in himself through the story up to that point, he'd been commenting on Nico's plot. Nico's sister Hazel, who had less internal conflict and a real plot of her own, might have been a better choice for viewing Nico. She could have found out in the process of him helping her. And Piper... fandom didn't take to her, and there's a very clear sense that she's being pushed off the bus here to make room for elements the fans do like. You really shouldn't be able to see those wheels turning. Frank Zhang gets some good moments, but I'm still kind of indifferent to him.

Setting
Tartarus is amazing, full stop. As Percy and Annabeth deal with the extremely unpleasant side of the underworld (they realize that they are actually walking on the body of the primordial god Tartarus), Riordan gives a hellaciously detailed experience of it for the reader. The smell, the burning lungs, having to drink fire. There are creatures beyond anything Percy and Annabeth have needed to deal with, including creatures who revisit them with the pain of the foes they've defeated across the rest of the series. Possibly the strangest was Annabeth having to deal with Calypso's anger and loneliness, which was maybe a bit too close to her re-introduction to be as effective as it might have been, but was still a scary moment. There are black pits and armies of monsters and... elevator music. The last stage of hell involves riding up an elevator playing that pina colada song. (Pure Riordan.)

Calypso's island of Ogygia is a re-visit, so there's not as much description this time around (Riordan assumes at this point that you've read the others). Still, it's given enough of a sense of place that Leo's sojourn there has a lot of dimension to it. I hope he does come back.

We're in and out of Bologna too quickly to have much of an impression. Venice gets more, but I'd have liked a more visceral explanation. Somehow, everything that's not Tartarus or Ogygia feels a little generic.

Theme
With as many threads going on as there are, the theme is a little disjointed, but I'll say a lot of the threads end up with the idea that choices have consequences, but you need to make them. It doesn't fit *every* line, but it's prominent enough to call it a theme.

Style
Riordan's style is always great. The elevator music from Tartarus, random lines that mention "explosives and high velocity pineapples," the mix of modern and ancient, all with the humor that's been part of the series from the top... there's nothing to complain about with the style. It's strong, it's consistent, and it's just great.

Plot
The plot, on the other hand, kind of dropped the ball. Not the Tartarus plot, which was great, but the Argo II plot... it was, literally and figuratively, all over the map. Is it about Hazel learning magic? Why is Jason so prominent when he's not doing much? Is Piper doing anything? Is all-powerful Frank going to be... all-powerful? (Spoiler: Yes.) Why is Hedge sending so many iris messages? What's going on with Leo? Is there another army of the dead to raise? Will Nico have to spill his secret to Cupid in order to raise an army? None of these things is bad, but since this plot is only half the book, it's less than three hundred pages for more plots than you can shake a stick at.

A lot of it had the unfortunate sense of Trying to Give the Fans What They Want. Perco shippers? Hey! Nico's got a crush on Percy! Will that keep you happy? Leo finally gets the girl, and she's awesome-sauce and he deserves her way more than another hero who had a shot. (This came off well, but it's definitely a fan-wish.) Here's Bob the Titan from the out-series book Demigod Files! Weren't you just wondering what happened to him? And Piper, um... okay, she was going to be big, but isn't she a big silly with her magic cornucopia and no plot at all? Feel free to ignore her, since you're going to, anyway. And Frank can't be pudgy and short! No... he gets the magic blessing of Mars which turns him all studly. And Hazel does lots of magic!

I don't want to act like this is a bad book. It isn't. It's an interesting enough story, and I adore the series enough that I don't mind the occasional disjointed entry. But it is disjointed. I hope the next book -- presumably the last one in Heroes of Olympus -- comes together a little more strongly. I think it will. I still hold up the last book of the first series, The Last Olympian, as the best I've ever seen an epic YA series resolved (I skeptically raise my eyebrow in your direction, Jo Rowling and Stephen King), so I trust Riordan on that count.

Review of Carrie 2013

There was no way I wasn't going to go see Carrie.

It was the first Stephen King book I read, though many were out by the time I was old enough to read Stephen King. I always liked it. I've seen both of the other movie versions, and liked them.

So, I had to go see it.

On the question of, "Why did they need to make it again?", I'm afraid I'll be very disappointing and say, "Why not?" It's a good story. I've seen and read a lot of Cinderellas (including Carrie), and a lot of Sleeping Beauties. I've lost track of the "Little Red Riding Hoods" that I've read. Why wouldn't someone else tell Carrie? All three versions have something to offer. None of them really reaches the level of the book, but then, I should probably give up on the idea of Hollywood being able to properly adapt a book.

This particular one just updates the source material to 2013. So, how did it do?

I'll break it up by the classic five elements of fiction.

Character
The characters themselves are pretty much the characters known from the book, though some names have changed. ("Helen" was barely current in 1974, for instance (though I do know young Helens), and has become Heather, which weirdly just places it around the '80s; the Thibodeaux twins have also been given updated names.) Chris Hargensen is still the alpha bitch, Sue Snell is still the misguided do-gooder, Miss Desjardins is still the sympathetic gym teacher. (Though the 2002 version is the only one that pronounced it properly -- day-zhar-DAN; this one goes with Dess-jar-dins, which I guess is probably what it would eventually turn into. The 1976 version just gave up and called her "Miss Collins.")

Carrie and her mother are still the primary figures in the story. Julianne Moore is much more restrained in her performance than other actresses I've seen in the part, though she comes out with a little scenery caught in her teeth. Chloe Grace Moretz, I think, does a good job with Carrie, and, being fifteen, certainly looks the part more than Spacek or Bettis did. (And no, Carrie was not supposed to be ugly in the book. The mean girls called her ugly, and after years of hearing it, she believed it, but the more disinterested characters, like Tommy, describe her as oddly pretty, with a bizarre and unsuccessful effort to hide it.) The relationship here hews closer to the book in its details, beginning with Carrie's birth as theorized in the novel.

The bully characters -- primarily Chris, Tina, and Billy -- are a bit flat. Billy gets back a little of his agency here, and what screen time he has, he fills pretty well, but never entirely manages to scare me. Chris going off on her "right" to attend her prom, and to bully Carrie... well, on the latter, they took the interesting tack of not having her so much indifferent and hateful as having her fully believe that there's nothing whatsoever wrong with what she did, and Carrie pretty much deserves what's coming to her. Chris believes herself to be the one wronged.

I think there was some shortchanging on background events. The scene with the Morton and Desjardins facing up to Mr. Hargensen didn't come off very well. The threat in the book to countersue on Carrie's behalf was much more effective than the little charade they give here, where they offer to let Chris off if she hands over her phone and proves there wasn't a video on it (more later on this). They both, basically, come off as very weak. The fact that none of the actors in the scene exactly commands the screen probably doesn't help.

Sue Snell (Gabriella Wilde) comes off pretty well. She's not quite as vague as the Amy Irving version or as badass as the Kandyse McClure version. Tommy gets the most credit here, actually taking actions on his own (as he did in the book), and both listening to Sue and not minimizing what she did. (He even gets his book line back about "What did Carrie White ever do to you?") This is handled nicely, and without changing the fact that he's clearly nuts about his girl. He even texts her during the prom to say he misses her.

So, good with the characters.

Plot
Not much to say about the plot. It's Carrie. Carrie is picked on, Carrie goes to the prom, there's pig's blood, then she goes on telekinetic rampage. I'd been led to believe that the end was some kind of weird tacked on bit of smarminess, but it wasn't. It was a change from the book, where Carrie seems to have caused Sue to miscarry, but the question of whether or not Sue was pregnant was definitely part of the story. And testifying in front of the White Commission forms a large part of the text. Granted, they soft-pedalled it, but I suspect that was about running out of time.

I was disappointed that they still haven't gotten around to the full destruction of Chamberlain -- the power lines in the streets, the townspeople all running around in their housecoats and slippers, Carrie praying in a church while the pews and hymnals fly around her... this is very well described in the book, and I was hoping that a big screen movie with a bigger budget wouldn't rush through it and just suggest in a couple of shots. Come on, people! These are money shots. I'll have to wait for the next version.

The build-up to Margaret's attack on Carrie is done pretty well, using the rule of three -- she first tries to kill her as an infant, then when she hears things moving around, then, well, prom night. The choice to use sharp objects to kill Margaret (per the 1976 version) rather than telekinetically stopping her heart (per the book) was disappointing. And I don't know why the order of events was changed. The drama of going out after that to destroy the roadhouses (along with Chris and Billy), then having the meeting with Sue in the middle of a field as she dies, was much better than just sticking them in the house and having Sue offer to help. Shrug. Not bad, but just not an interesting way to do it.

Setting
Here's the part that's most changed. Carrie, in this version, is a creature of 2013. I didn't think it was possible to top the horror of the bullying in the locker room, but Chris manages it by recording it on her cell phone and posting it to YouTube. This video is also played on the big screen at the prom while Carrie's standing there covered with blood. I like this addition. It adds to the sense that the psychological horror of "Blood Sport" is mirrored in the physical and supernatural horror of Prom Night. Unfortunately, it wasn't used as well as it could have been. Something like that would follow her everywhere, but she barely seems to know about it until it's shown at the prom. If it had gone viral (a review I read suggested that it had), she'd have been at the center of an extremely unwanted spotlight. It probably would have eaten up too much screen time if they'd done that, but a few nods to what a video like that would have done to her wouldn't have been amiss.

Other than the time setting, there were some weird choices with the physical setting. In fact, I can't tell what the setting is, exactly. The school appears to be in some kind of affluent downtown area (you can see fancy high rise buildings in the background when they're outside). It seems to be a very large school. The town they shoot seems kind of suburban, and Chris's house looks like a horrific suburban McMansion. But Carrie and her mom still seem to live on a small town street, Sue and Tommy go parking out in the country, and there's a pig farm in easy distance.

I don't understand the physical setting choices. The rural/small town setting isn't as important for Carrie as it is for some other King properties (Salem's Lot comes to mind), but much of the action is something that very much comes from a small town environment. Everyone being together in the same school since time out of mind is very small town. And come on -- kids who lived in the city or the 'burbs would break into a butcher shop for the pig's blood, not think about hauling themselves way out to Old Man Henty's farm to kill themselves a real pig. It's not a fatal flaw or a deal breaker, just kind of a headscratcher. I know more kids live in cities and suburbs than in small towns, but kids do still live out there in the hinterlands, and much of the action makes more sense in that context.

Theme
The theme is the same as ever -- someone pushed beyond endurance will eventually lash out. Unfortunately, we have not exactly learned this lesson in a few millennia of human history, and neither a bestselling novel nor any of the movies made from it are likely to change that.

Style
Only one of the three movies (the 2002, which was lovely up until the last fifteen minutes or so) has even tried to approach the epistolary style of the book. It's too bad -- it gave a much wider view of what was going on, and didn't ever lose sight of the center of the story. You get to see people's reactions who might not have been in the know, people who weren't close to anyone, but saw everything at a sidelong glance. You get to see how the story was pieced together by the White Commission, and how, in the end, they tried to pin everything on Sue, which is what explains why she's still mortally involved with Carrie so many years later (one of "excerpted books" is her tell-all, My Name Is Susan Snell). I'd guess it's harder to keep focus in a movie than in a book, but I'd still like to see someone succeed in this style of storytelling on the screen. I want to know if it can be done, even.

The style here is nothing to write home about. Lots of blood running through it, which fits with the book's symbolism, but actually overdoes it by a long way. By the time the pig's blood comes, you're kind of inured to it, or at least I was. Mostly, it's just competent directorial work. Nice job, nothing fancy.