Who the Hell Does Orson Scott Card Think He Is?

I guess this story starts with Netflix. I am notoriously bad at returning things. Books, movies, you name it. The way I see it, I support libraries by paying more late fees than your average borrower. I also watch a lot of movies. I have late fees at most video rental establishments. I just set up an account, rent some movies, and then a few weeks after they're due, return them to the drop box in the dead of night and never go back. Netflix is the obvious solution to my problem, so I got it. I freaking love Netflix.

About a month ago, I had two Netflix DVDs sitting at home. I'd already watched them, I just can't be bothered to put them in the mail. You know how it is. Anyway, we wanted to watch something new, so I walked down the street and set up an account at Hollywood video. I got the movies, and actually returned them on time. Every time I went there, I noticed this Xbox game called Advent Rising sitting there in the "Nobody will rent me, please buy me instead" discount rack. Each time I passed it, I made a mental note to pick it up and give it a try. I was familiar with it, but I don't like to pay full price for games I'm not really excited about.

The reason I wanted to try Advent Rising is because it was written by Orson Scott Card. Now, mister Card and I don't really get along. Which is to say, I think he's a blowhard with a ridiculous vision of the world who wrote a seriously good science fiction book (Ender's Game). I'm really interested in the branching out of video game culture and I thought this game could be really interesting.

I read Ender's Game as a pimply little fledgling geek and then re-read it a year ago. It held up pretty well. Steal it or borrow it from your local library. Don't buy it, though. Card doesn't deserve to get paid any more than he already has because I'm sure they paid him to write Advent Rising and he doesn't deserve another cent.

This game is utter trash.

It's a half-assed Halo rip-off that doesn't have an original line of code in its entire design. It has this gun and super-powers style of play that is implemented so horribly you're better off just picking one or the other and neglecting the rest. The game Second Sight did this really well, but Advent Rising managed to bungle it beyond repair.

The worst part is that the back of the case listed controls for when you're on foot, in a vehicle, in a turret, and in a space ship, leading me to believe that this would be a game with some depth, or at the very least variety. The game opens and you have to pilot a shuttle into a hangar. The space graphics are really good, and the control is fun. I liked it a lot. You land the shuttle and the story continues and then YOU NEVER PILOT A SPACE SHIP AGAIN. The only good part about this game lasts ten seconds. Sometimes you drive an alien tank which is too powerful to be fun and sometimes you get to use a jeep-like vehicle that is almost identical to the Halo Warthog (which, as Halo players will know, is extremely boring in a one-player situation).

But I'm not here to complain about the design. I'm here to call Card out for his atrocious writing. The main character is a smart-mouthed, cocky pilot (like we've never seen that character before) who gets caught up in an alien invasion. The aliens in question have searched long and far for the human race, afraid of their power. They are called... you are not going to believe this... the Seekers.

The Seekers? Come on, Card. I can hear him now, "Oh man. I forgot to name these evil dudes. Oh. Think, Orson, think. Uh... Um... They're seeking humanity... I'll call them the Seekers! YES! I am so great!"

"I wrote Ender's Game!"

Card shamelessly steals his ideas from other sci-fi stories. When humanity first meets the friendly aliens who try to save them from the Seekers, they are given little slugs that crawl into their ears and translate everything they hear (Hitchhikers Guide). The humans, however, use a computer program called the Universal Translator (Star Trek).

I'm really not sure why they decided to pay someone to write this game. Anyone could have written it. No character besides the main character lives long enough to be developed at all. At least one major character dies in every level.

Card, you are a hack. Ender's Game is great, don't get me wrong. You must have blown a few neurons coming up with that one, though, because your work after that has been utter crap. From sci-fi to politics, you've managed to make yourself look silly whenever you turn your thoughts into words. Stick to World Watch (or is it War Watch? I can't keep track) or keep your unoriginal and inconsistent blathering to yourself.

What's up now, Card?

Forumlaic Primetime Fantasy-Drama Syndrome

On September 20, CBS aired the first episode of Jericho, the tale of a small town in Kansas cut off from civilization following a nuclear attack on the United States. I won't lie to you, I'll watch just about anything post-apocalyptic. What struck me the most about the show is its very strict adherence to a formula that other new fiction TV shows follow.

It started with Lost. Although HBO and other cable channels had been successfully fielding fiction television, the networks were mired in an endless parade of recycled reality programming. I watched very little TV during this era, but I'm pretty sure I once caught five minutes of a show where people cleaned each other's houses. That does not count as entertainment in my book. Lost was, to say the least, wildly successful. It held a viewer's attention by slowly unraveling the mystery of the island while making each episode relevant and somewhat self-contained through the flashback format.

The people rejoiced. I did, at least. Fiction television had returned. As a bona fide Trekkie, and Babylon 5-ie, I was willing to overlook some of the show's shortcomings and just bask in the knowledge that my television was going to show me something besides that reality TV world of confessionals, alliances, backstabbing, and weeping… oh the weeping. Lost hit the airwaves in 2004. The following year, ABC aired Invasion and NBC came up with Surface. These shows not only sucked, but didn't have the decency to try to be original. The guiding strategy of the reality era hadn't left with their shows' popularity, "Hey that worked, let's make twenty more shows just like that!" The shows were not renewed for second seasons.

Like Invasion and Surface, Jericho appears to have a severe case of what I'm going to call Formulaic Primetime Fantasy-Drama Syndrome, or FPFDS. Yes, they're addictive. And, yes, they're a refreshing change from reality television, but we can't encourage them. I'm a fan of this trend of sci-fi and fantasy TV shows, but if it's stagnating already, that's not a good sign.

The problem isn't Jericho, it isn't even Surface. The problem is that TV is, at its heart, all about money. An inventive show is less likely to be picked up than a show that has a strong proven demographic already attached to it. This is not new information, particularly for anyone who has ever been a fan of a TV show of the FOX network.

If the past few years is any indicator, the audiences of these types of shows are a little harder to fool than others. LOST has its problems, but still manages to be interesting. Whereas the first round of copycat shows was scrapped after a season. My concern is for that idea that never got to have a pilot. There may have been a really creative show in the works that didn't make it because Jericho tested better.

These things usually work themselves out. It's not all bad news, either. While LOST may be getting stale, the new season of Battlestar Galactica has begun, and NBC's Heroes is showing a lot of promise. In the end, Jericho is going to show us something new or get canned. It's a shame. I actually like the premise. I like it less when I can predict almost every line of dialogue.

Fun With Recylced TV

Now you, too can get in on that sweet advertizing cash. Just follow these simple steps to create your own Primetime Fantasy-Drama.

1. Start with a series of interconnected characters.
A group of people connected in ways they may not even understand are brought together in a random fashion. Rich people, poor people, even people of different skin colors. Not too many ugly people, though. One or two at most, you know, for comic relief or something.

2. Put the characters in danger, isolated, paranoid, co-dependent.
This is what your show is all about. Something beyond their control or even their understanding has turned their world upside-down. They might not get along, but they have to work together. This is where your show-spanning rivalries will start. Hot-shot, no rules hero guy and dependable, "let's stick together, gang" hero guy will go at it immediately. If they seem to survive just by luck, that's fine. We'll come back to that later.

3. Let loose the amorphous antagonists.
Nothing's creepier than a crazy enemy you can't see or don't understand. These bad guys don't wear a uniform, they walk among the good characters of your fantasy-drama, gathering information and offering tantalizingly small bits of evidence to their true identity every few episodes. Your characters get even more paranoid. Don't forget the obligatory witch-hunt episode.

4. Slowly unravel the mystery.
Usually the obsession of one or a handful of characters, the mystery of their situation will be explored and enlightenment will be achieved, though usually at a high cost (Kill off your least likeable character, or the actor who's asking for a raise). Reveal things only in short bursts, and only during sweeps. Go ahead and try to explain away some of the weird stuff you did in earlier episodes. When in doubt, there's probably an internet group already deciphering the mystery and predicting the show's outcome. Steal their stuff.

5. Throw in some sex.
Not quite ready to reveal the next chunk of the mystery? Have two of your main characters totally do it. Fans of the show will watch anyway, but the writing is easier. Plus, it's even more interesting because you might actually be dealing with a "last man on earth" situation.

6. Don't forget the end of season paradigm shift.
Everything. You. Know. Is. Wrong. You have to end the season with enough information to blow their minds, but enough wiggle room for a new set of mysteries next season. Everything must change, but stay essentially the same, after all, new sets are expensive. And if it needs to be said, someone must die, and several other characters must almost die. Tune in next season to find out who bit it.