Ugh, there’s going to be a new Death Note movie? As if the Japanese live-action films weren’t awful enough.
I just don’t get this obsession with maniacally adapting stories into every damned medium under the sun. Just wait ’til the Death Note Movie Novelization comes out (graphic or otherwise) as prelude to the launch of the weekly television series (live action or otherwise). And perhaps some truly scary creature will go so far as to novelize the inevitable video game(s) to follow.
Just look at the horror spawned by the Resident Evil movie franchise. (Sacrilage, I tell you!) Look what DC did to Vertigo — pimping her out to the networks like a two-dollar whore. And does anyone else remember those crappy “JP” comics from the 1990s? Topps nearly succeeded in turning those into a Saturday-morning cartoon.
Bottom line: those original stories ought to be treasured for the gems they truly are, let substance and style determine the means of delivery, and if a Death Note movie absolutely must be made, there could be no better Ryuk than Dee Snider.
Been rereading The Hunger Games trilogy, and I’m now midway through Mockingjay — which took me all of a day and a half to read the first time around and about a week and a half to sort through the myriad of competing emotions that held me in their grip.
This to me is the number one mark of phenomenal storytelling: when a tale continues to haunt you well beyond its finishing, and persists as a object of periodic reflection as if held in actual memory. What George R. R. Martin wrote about stories being old friends that need to be revisited from time to time is so true.
If I could impress but a single moral axiom upon my child, it would be this: stories are to be cherished — worshipped, even — as abstract idols encompassing the very best the human mind has to offer.
From the Tragedies of Sophocles, down through the comedies of Monty Python; where would be be without stories to inspire us, enlighten us, caution us, frighten us, anger us, or make us laugh? Still cowering in caves, no doubt — shackled to the darkness
When WILL they learn? “Rebooting” a fictional universe for its own sake is a categorically awful idea that inevitably leads to an alienated fan base and (following the initial hype), significant drops in sales. We saw this with New X-Men, JLA, The New 52 (*shudder*) — basically anything Grant Morrisson dips his grubby little fingers into. (I’m amazed anyone’s still willing to hire the shmuck.)
You want to redefine a title for a new generation? Leave that to visionaries like Frank Miller, Alan Moore, Dan Jurgens, Jeph Loeb, Garth Ennis, Chris Claremont, William Messner-Loebs… y’know, writers who value the integrity of the story over what’s hip, whose works are as “big” (as Jim Gordon would say) as the charactors they transformed into legend.
Few would argue that any Batman writer has ever understood the Dark Night (et alia) better than Frank Miller. Yet looking back over the years, I have to say that Jeph Loeb comes a close second. And while there are panels from Dark Knight Returns that make me want to kneel, I have to say that The Long Halloween remains my favorite Batman story, and indeed one of the greatest ever told — the 20th century’s answer to Oedipus the King.