Like many fans of the blockbuster film The Dark Knight, I was thrilled when I saw that Wendy's would be continuing the story of the popular Dark Knight character Thomas Schiff (David Dastmalchian) in their 3conomics commercials.
However, it's now been several months, and I've yet to see any noticeable advancement in Schiff's character from lovable, George Washington impersonating fast food bargain hunter to psychotic Joker-henchman. The scene has been well-set for sure, the characters are all established, and the spectre of economic downturn festers on the periphery of the spots like a cancer, threatening to spread at any moment, to turn the once joyful office breakroom into a place of fear and sorrow. However, there has not been one indicator, one single connecting thread to link the Schiff we see in the commercials to the desperate schizophrenic we meet in The Dark Knight.
I'm not sure how long Wendy's plans on running the spots, and while the whole Dark Knight prequel thing is a fantastic idea, fans need some character development in every commercial to keep them interested. By now we should at least have gotten some hints at Schiff's backstory, or the conditions in his life that would make him susceptible to recruitment by the Joker. But Wendy's hasn't even introduced the Joker yet!
You've done a great job so far Wendy's. You've taken a character that was portrayed only as a villian in the original movie and fleshed him out. I cannot watch that scene in the Dark Knight now without thinking, "Wow, Thomas Schiff used to be a regular guy just like me. He liked getting a good deal on fast food and joking around with his friends about said deal. I guess anyone could turn to evil if pushed far enough." And it makes a good scene even better. But, please, Wendy's, show us the next step. You've given us the dots. Now connect them.
It's not a big leap. $.99 for a Junion Bacon Cheeseburger? At that price, the question isn't "How does Thomas Schiff go crazy." It's "How has he managed to stay sane for so long?"
One of my goals for 2009 has been to ready more books. As a kid I was a voracious reader, often guzzling down a few books a week. That wasn’t so terribly long ago, but even in the 90s we didn’t have constant internet, Tivo, etc. to distract us at every turn. All the innovations, plus the added pressures that come with being an adult, make it more and more difficult to sit down and spend time with a good book. This is a shame, because unlike a lot of the stimuli we have available in the 21st century, reading is an entirely intellectual, interactive pastime. (Though they get a bad rap from many, video games may be the closet modern parallel. But that’s a topic for another day.) So far I’ve been doing pretty well with books this year, though I wish I had the time to read even more. One of my favorites so far is the poorly marketed and classified but ultimately enjoyable Drood by Dan Simmons.
Simmons has been a popular horror and science fiction writer for a long time, but I (along with many others) first became aware of his work with the phenomenal 2007 historical horror novel, The Terror. This book combined the real life story of the doomed Franklin Expedition which disappeared without a trace on a mission to explore the Arctic in the 1840s, with supernatural horror to fantastic effect. With their ships frozen in the ice, the crew’s struggle for survival gets increasingly desperate; all the while they are threatened by a terrible, polar-bear like monster that seeks to tear them limb from limb in the best horror tradition.
Simmon’s prose is so rich you can feel the sting of the -40 degree temperatures and see the blood of the monster’s victims as it streaks across the ice—all this set against a backdrop of beautiful and absolutely terrifying isolation at the top of the world. Even with the horrors of the climate and the monster to contend with, the real danger comes from within the crew itself, and as the struggle for survival becomes more and more desperate, the crew members begin to turn on one another. I’ve never read a book with a character more loathsome than Cornelius Hickey, who commits actions against his fellow men far more disgusting than anything perpetrated by the monster.
To watch this vile man ruin the crew’s hopes for survival time and time again is heartbreaking. In modern fiction it has become too much of a cliché that villains are the most sympathetic and wronged characters—in Cornelius Hickey, Simmons created a monster that was just that: a monster. All the worst instincts of humanity squished together in a horrible package. It is a testament to Simmon’s skill as a writer that this character was so utterly detestable, and The Terror is stuffed to the brim with similarly well drawn characters, moody descriptions, and a plot that makes it’s 700 plus pages fly by.
Drood is not that good.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved the book. But after an achievement like The Terror, it’s only natural that the follow up is somewhat disappointing. Most of the problem is in the way the book is marketed. On the cover we see a shadowy figure against the familiar backdrop of Victorian London, and from the description inside the jacket Drood seems to be another historical horror tale in the exact same vein as The Terror. It is even placed in the horror section of the bookstore, so the reader can be forgiven for coming to the book with a certain set of expectations. There are horror elements, for sure, and some of them are quite terrifying, but this book is far more history than horror. Instead it takes a cue from Simmon’s portrayal of Hickey and makes its monster not some external nightmare creature, but that most ugly and disgusting of human emotions: Jealousy.
I will go ahead and damage my English major credibility by admitting right of the bat that before I read Drood, I knew very little about the novel’s two main characters, Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins. Of course I knew who Dickens was and had read a few of his books, heard the stories of the people waiting at the docks for the latest installment of his tales, and had used the adjective ‘Dickensian’ in multiple situations over the years. But I knew almost nothing about the man. As for Wilkie Collins, the book’s narrator and central protagonist? Sadly, this was the first I’d heard of him.
Like I said, I went into this book expecting a tale of Victorian horror; something along the lines of Dracula or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with perhaps a bit of A Christmas Carol or Oliver Twist thrown in for good measure. I’ve always been a fan of the time period, and when I was in high school I even attempted a god-awful Victorian novel of my own, something about the true story of Jack the Ripper. (I think my brilliant original take on the idea was that Jack was actually the sympathetic hero of the story, and the world simply didn’t understand, i.e., the Anakin Skywalker explanation of evil).
In any event, the first few chapters of the book definitely met my expectations, both for a horror novel and for a successor to The Terror. Dickens explains to Collins in vivid detail the events of the Staplehurst rail crash of 1865—a horrific disaster in which Dickens’ train jumped the track and hurled into a ravine, killing many. Dickens and the book’s title character, the mysterious, corpse-like Drood, flit among the dead and dying, doing their best to help (?) the survivors. It is a scene of wrecked fuselage, shattered bodies, severed limbs, and the desperate moans of the wounded. Hovering above it all is the mysterious figure of Drood, who we later learn was traveling by coffin. Is he a man? A zombie? A vampire? These are the questions the first section of the book lays out for us.
And then they’re not answered. Or they are answered, but after the first hundred pages or so they hardly form the focus of the book. It becomes much more historical and biographical, and, some have argued, less interesting. But I disagree. If you can divorce yourself from expectations, what you will find in Drood is a story of two men, both of them writers, and their competition with one another. Wilkie Collins is Dickens’ friend, but, more importantly, he is jealous of the older, more famous writer, who he calls the Inimitable with no small amount of sarcasm.
This jealousy, combined with Collins’ growing addiction to opium, forms the basis for increasingly twisted ideas, visions, and actions. We never quite know which of Collins’ hallucinations are real and which are false. They all share one thing in common, though: The signs of a jealous, sometimes petty man who would believe in anything except his own inferiority. Whether this is a massive character assassination on the real life Wilkie Collins I will never know, but for me our narrator’s cruel cynicism and selfishness came off poorly against Dickens almost childlike joy at everyday life.
This is a book for writers. It gives physical manifestation to the all too common reality of professional jealousy, and both main characters have an intimate understanding of the writer’s life. In one of my favorite passages, Collins writes:
When the last autumn of Dickens’ life was over, he continued to work through this final winter into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation?
Would we trade all of those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute?
There is no one who has lived the life of the writer who has not had these thoughts from time to time—some more than others, of course, but thoughtful passages like this keep the often reprehensible Wilkie from coming off as completely despicable. Writing can be a lonely profession, and often one that brings with it no clear signs of reward, at least not immediately. What I love about this passage and this book is that you can tell it was written by someone who takes writing seriously, who knows all to well the pain and setbacks and frustrations that come with failure, but also, in the person of Dickens, the beautiful joys that come with effort. Unlike Dickens and Collins, most writers are both Dickens and Collins—at one moment frustrated by loneliness or lack of recognition, and at others overcome by the overwhelming joy that comes with being creative, with creating characters and stories, with the simple use of words and language.
Another favorite moment is earlier in the book, when Collins takes an unfinished draft of his upcoming novel, which he plans to call “The Serpent’s Eye (Or, possibly The Eye of the Serpent).” Dickens loves the novel, he says, but then lays into poor Wilkie with a list of possible corrections and changes. This moment is very real and well done, and anyone who’s ever tried to do anything creative has been there. Listening to someone else easily rattle of possible changes and alterations to something you’ve been working on for months is difficult in any situation, but oftentimes, as is the case with Dickens, those suggestions are right on the money. It’s a wonderful little moment, us alone together with these two great writers, watching them work, watching as Wilkie’s resentment of Dickens builds and builds despite the obvious wisdom in his suggestions. In the end, Wilkie takes the advice, and the result is a better, more popular novel.
Eventually, and by slow degrees, Wilkie’s jealousy descends into madness. As I’ve said, we are never sure which of his delusions are real. I would have liked some more explanations and follow up to certain things, certainly (Just what was in the servant’s stairs at Wilkie’s house? Some type of Lovecraftian horror? Or another delusion?). But in the end, that’s not what the book is about. Drood has far more in common with the movie Amadeus than with a horror novel. There were many moments in the book, such as the revision scene above, when I was reminded of the final moments of Amadeus: Mozart on his deathbed, composing another masterwork with baffling ease, while Salieri can only look on in awe and wonder. If you go into this book expecting The Terror II you’re bound to be disappointed. If you go in expecting Amadeus with writers instead of musicians—well, that’s exactly what it is.
Writing, like music, like all art, is mostly subjective. You can learn various rules, sure, but what makes people fall in love with a movie or a poem or a story or a painting? That is unknowable. Sometimes it can seem unfair. In the final pages of the novel comes what I consider the book’s most powerful scene. After Dickens has died, Wilkie rummages through some of Dickens old books, trying to prove to himself Dickens’ inferiority. He finds problems with characterization, plot, and more, but finally, in a passage in Bleak House, he comes face to face with the Charles Dickens the world saw and loved:
Dickens had gone on by having the fog in the harbor lift over Esther’s shoulder by writing, “these ships brightened, and shadowed, and changed…,” and I knew in that instant…merely passing over these few words in these short sentences, that I would never—not ever, should I live to be a hundred years of age and retain my faculties until the last moment of that life and career—that I would never be able to think and write like that.
The book was the style and the style was the man. And the man was—had been—Charles Dickens.
Simmons is a master at portraying the ugly side of human nature, and this ability is on full display in Drood. There is perhaps no human emotion worse than jealousy and the book is an excellent look at the hideous manifestations of that at once understandable and reprehensible feeling. In many friendships and professional relationships there's a very fine line between love and hate, and this is a book that explores that line wonderfully. Don’t go in expecting a horror story, and you just might find a lot to like.
I got around to seeing I Love You, Man this weekend, and am very glad I did. Paul Rudd and Jason Segel are probably my favorite actors in the whole “Apatow crew,” and their easy everyman likability elevates the simple premise.
Watching the movie, you really get the feeling that Jason Segel’s character Sydney is the kind of friend everyone needs once in a while—the guy that’s discovered the secret for gathering up the wisdom and perspective that come with adulthood without sacrificing the lifestyle of an adolescent. He’s even got a Rush poster on his wall. You really feel these guys’s friendship, and it helps to show that some of the greatest moments in life are the ones where you’re not doing much but laughing with your friends. Most of the movie is just Paul Rudd and Jason Segel onscreen together having fun, and most of the time that’s all you need. If just watching these two jam out together to Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” doesn’t bring a big stupid grin to your face—well, I don’t know what else I have to say to you.
I’ve been somewhat critical of the recent comedies from Apatow and others for focusing a bit too much on upholding traditional family values and social roles (I went to a self-righteous liberal arts college, so it’s okay for me to think of things like this). There’s 40 Year Old Virgin’s implication that the world breaks down into people who postpone sex until marriage, and crass, selfish hedonists; Knocked Up and Juno’s strong anti-abortion undertones (I’m okay with Juno’s treatment of adoption, less okay with Knocked Up’s premise that two people who have a baby together should be together); even Superbad descends into a saccharine paean to the value of male-friendship.
That’s not to say I Love You, Man doesn’t suffer from some of these issues, notably in the suggestion that Paul Rudd’s character is somehow missing out on life without male friends. But it’s always bad to let a general impression get in the way of a specific story. Paul Rudd didn’t need male friends in his life, but he did need Jason Segel. He needed someone to go out and have a beer with, to talk Rush with, just to do the things he couldn’t do with his wife. And that’s fine. The film deals with the sometimes awkward world of male friendship without falling prey to the bizarre and overly sentimental version of the same thing in Superbad. These are two real characters in a real world that happens to be, embellishment aside, pretty damn funny.
And that’s the main contribution of the new wave of comedies. Only a few years ago we were dealing with Austin Powers III and Scary Movie—Now we’ve got movies like Forgetting Sarah Marshall and I Love You, Man that for the most part deal with real people suffering through real situations. Things don’t always go well, and there’s a lot of pain and other nonsense to deal with, but the end result is something decidedly hilarious. The Ancient Greeks had it pretty well right on this: Tragedy generally deals with the god’s relationship with people, comedy with people’s relationship with people. I’d take 40 Year Old Virgin, Juno, Knocked Up, and especially Forgetting Sarah Marshall and I Love You, Man, over the manufactured over-the top crap that so often passes for comedy any day of the week.
Anyway, that was a long pretentious rant. But the short version is I Love You, Man is a hilarious and very real movie that has a lot of fun with the sometimes difficult world of male friendship in a society where gender roles have become more confusing (ACK!! There I go stumbling into liberal-arts talk again. I am sincerely sorry. Once you’ve spent a couple semesters in Gender Studies or Feminist Theory classes, it’s harder to control than Dr. Strangelove’s Nazi sympathies) I loved I Love You, Man for showing that adult male friendships don’t have to be the poker playing chug fests so hilariously illustrated by Jon Favreau’s character and his friends. Being a perpetual teenager and a responsible adult isn’t mutually exclusive, and there’s a lot of fun in life (at any age) if you just get out there and find it.
Shorter version: Great comdey. Loved it. Now bring on Jason Segel's Muppet movie!
However, it's now been several months, and I've yet to see any noticeable advancement in Schiff's character from lovable, George Washington impersonating fast food bargain hunter to psychotic Joker-henchman. The scene has been well-set for sure, the characters are all established, and the spectre of economic downturn festers on the periphery of the spots like a cancer, threatening to spread at any moment, to turn the once joyful office breakroom into a place of fear and sorrow. However, there has not been one indicator, one single connecting thread to link the Schiff we see in the commercials to the desperate schizophrenic we meet in The Dark Knight.
You've done a great job so far Wendy's. You've taken a character that was portrayed only as a villian in the original movie and fleshed him out. I cannot watch that scene in the Dark Knight now without thinking, "Wow, Thomas Schiff used to be a regular guy just like me. He liked getting a good deal on fast food and joking around with his friends about said deal. I guess anyone could turn to evil if pushed far enough." And it makes a good scene even better. But, please, Wendy's, show us the next step. You've given us the dots. Now connect them. 
